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diff --git a/old/51964-h/51964-h.htm b/old/51964-h/51964-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 6d9a6a1..0000000 --- a/old/51964-h/51964-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9742 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - A Georgian Pageant, by Frank Frankfort Moore - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Georgian Pageant, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Georgian Pageant - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Illustrator: Various - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51964] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GEORGIAN PAGEANT *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GEORGIAN PAGEANT - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h3> - With Illustrations - </h3> - <h4> - London: Hutchinson & Co. Paternoster Row - </h4> - <h3> - 1908 - </h3> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE WRITER'S APOLOGY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE MONARCH OF THE PAGEANT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A COMEDY IN ST. MARTIN'S STREET </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A TRAGEDY IN THE HAYMARKET </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE FATAL GIFT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE FÊTE-CHAMPÊTRE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE PLOT OF A LADY NOVELIST </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> TRAGEDY WITH A TWINKLE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE BEST COMEDY OF THE CENTURY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE JESSAMY BRIDE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE AMAZING ELOPEMENT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE AMAZING DUELS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> A MELODRAMA AT COVENT GARDEN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE COMEDY AT DOWNING STREET </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE WRITER'S APOLOGY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE greater number - of the papers in this series, dealing with some well-known persons and - incidents of the latter half of the Eighteenth Century, are the practical - result of a long conversation which the writer had with the late Professor - J. Churton Collins upon a very memorable occasion. The writer ventured to - contend that the existing views respecting the personality of Oliver - Goldsmith, of Henry Thrale, of James Boswell, of Samuel Johnson, and of - some others whom he named, were grossly erroneous; as were also the - prevalent notions respecting such matters as Fanny Burney's attendance - upon the Queen, the “romance” of the Gunnings, and the “elopement” of - Richard Brinsley Sheridan with Elizabeth Linley. If Professor Churton - Collins had not urged upon the writer the possible interest attaching to - the expression of some opinions unbiassed by those conservators of the - conventional who have dealt with the same period, every one of them being - as careful as Indians on the warpath to tread in the footsteps of the man - preceding him, he would not have the courage to set forth his views in the - form they now assume. - </p> - <p> - The non-controversial papers in the series may increase the light and - shade in the sketches of this very humble Georgian Pageant. The romance of - Lady Susan Fox-Strangways naturally took the shape of a “regulation” - story. The details are absolutely correct. - </p> - <p> - On the very day the writer meant to keep the promise he made to Professor - Churton Collins, by sending him the completed proofs of this book, the - melancholy news of his death was published—an irreparable loss to - the Literature of English Criticism. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE MONARCH OF THE PAGEANT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the morning of - February 2nd, 1789, a lady was taking a solitary stroll in Kew Gardens. - She was a small person, of dainty features, with a dimple on each side of - her mouth that suggested a smile, varying, perhaps out of compliment to - the variations of the people with whom she came in contact in her daily - life, and shifting doubtless with the movements of the folk of her fancy - through her quick brain, but remaining a smile all the time. There was - about her a good deal of that doll-like primness which is so pretty an - accompaniment of a person of small stature; but with this particular - person it had—not quite, but almost—the additional charm of - dignity. One could at all times see that she was making a highly - intellectual attempt to be dignified; but that she was not really - dignified at heart. One could see that she had too fine a sense of humour - to be thoroughly dignified; and it may be that some of her closest - observers—her closest observers were her greatest admirers—perceived - now and again that she had a full sense of the humour of her efforts in - the direction of dignity. She had large eyes, but being very - short-sighted, she had a habit of half closing them when looking at - anything or any one further away from her than ten feet. But somehow it - was never suggested that the falling of her lids brought a frown to her - face. - </p> - <p> - She was a quick walker at all times; but on this winter day the slowest - would have had little temptation to dawdle. The usual river mist was - thrusting up a quivering cold hand among the gaunt trees of the water - boundary of the Gardens, and here and there it flitted like a lean spectre - among the clipped evergreens of the shrubberies. There was a maze of yew - hedges, in the intricacies of which one mist-spectre had clearly got lost; - and the lady, who had some imagination, could see, as she hurried past, - the poor thing's wispy head and shoulders flitting about among the - baffling central walks. (A defective eyesight is sometimes a good friend - to the imagination.) And all the while she was hurrying along the broad - track she was looking with some measure of uneasiness through her - half-closed eyes down every tributary walk that ran into the main one, and - peering uneasily down every long artificial vista that Sir Thomas - Chambers, the Swedish knight and landscape gardener, had planned, through - the well-regulated boskage, with an imitation Greek temple or Roman villa - at the end. Approaching the widening entrance to each of these, she went - cautiously for a few moments until she had assured herself on some point. - Once she started and took a step backward, but raising the lorgnette which - she carried, and satisfying herself that the group of men a hundred yards - down one of the vistas was composed wholly of gardeners, she resumed her - stroll. - </p> - <p> - Whatever slight apprehension may have been on her mind had vanished by the - time she had half completed the circuit made by the main walk. She had - reached one of the mounds which at that time were covered with - rhododendrons, and paused for a moment to see if there was sign of a bud. - A blackbird flew out from among the dense leafage, and she followed it - with her eyes as well as she could while she walked on, crossing the - narrow path that led to the seats on the mound. But at the moment of - crossing she was startled out of her senses by the sound of a shout from - some distance down this path—a loud shout followed by several others - rather less imperative. She gave a little exclamation of terror, raising - her muff to her face. Glancing in the direction whence the commotion was - coming, she gave another cry, seeing a tall man rush toward her with - outstretched arms—waving arms, frantically beckoning to her while he - shouted: - </p> - <p> - “Miss Burney! Miss Burney!” - </p> - <p> - She waited no longer. She turned and fled along the broad walk, making for - one of the many labyrinths not so very far away, and after her ran the - man, still shouting and gesticulating. She could hear the sound of his - feet and his voice behind her, as well as the cries of the other men who - were endeavouring to keep pace with him. On they came, and there flashed - through her active brain, in spite of the horrible apprehension which - thrilled through every nerve in her body, as she doubled back upon the - path which she had just traversed, the lines written by Dr. Goldsmith and - often quoted by her friend Dr. Johnson: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - A hare whom hounds and horns pursue, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Pants to the place from whence at first he flew. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - She realised, all too painfully, the feelings of the poor hare at that - moment. She longed for a friendly earth to open up before her. They were - behind her—those wild huntsmen, one hoarsely yelling to her she knew - not what, the others, more shrill, shouting to her to stop. - </p> - <p> - She was too frightened to think of obeying any of them. On she ran, and it - seemed that she was increasing the distance between her and her panting - pursuers, until one of them, having better wind, managed to shoot ahead of - the others, and to get close enough to say in a voice that was not all - gasps: - </p> - <p> - “Madam, madam, the doctor begs you to stop!” She glanced over her - shoulder, still flying. - </p> - <p> - “No, no, I cannot—I dare not!” she gasped. - </p> - <p> - “Madam, you must—you must: it hurts the King to run!” cried the man. - </p> - <p> - Then she stopped. The man, an ordinary attendant, stood in front of her. - He was more breathless than Miss Burney. - </p> - <p> - “The doctor, madam,” he faltered, “'twas the doctor—he thought at - first that His Majesty was—was—but that was at first—now - he says you must please not lead His Majesty on—'tis all too much - for him. Save us! How you did go, madam! Who would ha' thought it?” - </p> - <p> - She was paying no attention to him. Her eyes were fixed upon the group of - men who were recovering their breath while they walked slowly toward her. - The King was between his two physicians—not Physicians in Ordinary; - just the contrary—the two physicians who had been summoned from - Lincolnshire by some person in authority who possessed intelligence—it - should surely be easy to identify such a man at the Court of George III—when, - some months earlier, His Majesty gave signs of losing his mental balance. - They were the Willises, father and son, the former a clergyman, who was - therefore all the more fully qualified to deal with a mind diseased—such - a case as was defined as needing more the divine than the physician. The - King was between the father and his son, but neither of them was - exercising any ostentatious or officious restraint upon him. One of them - was smiling while he said some reassuring words to the Royal patient; the - other was endeavouring to reassure little Miss Burney from a distance. - </p> - <p> - And it seemed that the intentions of both were realised, for His Majesty - was smiling as benignly as was ever his wont, and little Miss Burney took - her courage in both hands and boldly advanced to meet her Sovereign. (She - had been for three years the Queen's “Dresser.”) But when they met, after - the King had cried, “Why did you run away from me, Miss Burney?” it - appeared that the process of reassuring the King had been but too - effectually accomplished, for before the lady could frame a diplomatic - reply to his inquiry, he had enwound her in his paternal arms and kissed - her heartily on the cheek, greatly to her confusion and (she pretends) to - her horror. The two doctors stood placidly by. They, poor things, being - quite unaccustomed to the ways of the immediate entourage of the Court of - George III—though they had doubtless heard something of the - practices that prevailed at the Courts of His Majesty's lamented - grandfather and great-grandfather—seemed under the impression that - there was nothing unusual in this form of salutation. For all they knew it - might be regarded as <i>de rigueur</i> between a monarch and the ladies of - his consort's retinue. Even Dr. Willis, the divine, took a tolerant view - of the transaction. He, as Miss Burney afterwards recorded, actually - looked pleased! - </p> - <p> - But, of course, the prim little lady herself was overwhelmed—yes, at - first; but soon her good sense came to her rescue. She seems to have come - with extraordinary rapidity to the conclusion that the King was not so mad - as she had believed him to be. Her train of reasoning was instinctive, and - therefore correct: the King had put his arms about her and kissed her when - he had the chance, therefore he could not be so mad after all. - </p> - <p> - In truth, however, Fanny Burney took the view of her treatment that any - sensible modest young woman would take of it. She knew that the King, who - had been separated for several months from the people whom he had been - daily in the habit of meeting, had shown in the most natural way possible - his delight at coming once more in contact with one of them. - </p> - <p> - And undoubtedly the homely old gentleman was delighted beyond measure to - meet with some one belonging to his happy years—a pleasanter face - than that of Mrs. Schwellenberg, the dreadful creature who had made Fanny - Burney's life miserable. It is not conceivable that the King would have - kissed Mrs. Schwellenberg if he had come upon her suddenly as he had upon - Miss Burney. People prefer silver rather than iron links with a happy - past. He was so overjoyed, that the divine and the physician in attendance - soon became anxious. They could not know much of all that he talked about - to Miss Burney. They were in the position of strangers suddenly introduced - to a family circle, and understanding nothing of the little homely secrets—homely - topics upon which all the members of the circle have laughed together for - years. - </p> - <p> - They possibly could not see much sense in his long and rambling chat—it - must have been largely in monologue—but they must have observed the - face of the lady who was listening to him, and known from the expression - which it wore that their patient was making himself intelligible. Only now - and again they thought it prudent to check his exuberance. They must have - been the most intelligent of men; and their names deserve to stand high in - the annals of their country. At a time when the scientific treatment of - the insane had not even begun to be formulated—when to be mentally - afflicted meant to be on a level with felons and to be subjected to such - repressive treatment as was afforded by the iron of the fetters and the - hiss of the whipcord—at a time when a lust for office could make a - statesman like Burke (a statesman who caused multitudes to weep in - sympathy with his harangue on the sufferings of Marie Antoinette) refer to - the King as having been “hurled by the Almighty from his throne” (in order - to give the Opposition a chance of jumping into place and power over his - prostrate body)—at such a time as this Dr. Willis and his two sons - undertook the treatment of the King, and in the face of much opposition - from the place-hunters in the Prince of Wales's pack, succeeded in - restoring their patient to the palace which his happy nature had - transformed into a home for every one dwelling under its roof. - </p> - <p> - They stood by for some time after the King had greeted Miss Burney; and - when he began to speak to her of topics that had a purely domestic ring - they showed their good taste, as well as their knowledge of the - peculiarities of their “case,” by moving away to a little distance, - signalling to their attendants to do the same. Their discrimination must - have been highly appreciated by the King. The poor restless mind had long - wanted such a good long talk with a sympathetic listener, who, he knew, - could understand every allusion that he might make to the past. He yearned - to talk and to hear of such things as some one living in a distant land - looks forward to finding in a letter from home. The <i>res angusta domi</i>—that - was what he was hungering for—the trivial things in which he - delighted—the confidences on simple matters—the sly everyday - jests, never acutely pointed even to the family circle, but absolutely - pointless to every one outside, yet sounding so delightfully witty when - repeated as a sign of a happy intimacy of the past! - </p> - <p> - Little Miss Burney had never imagined a scene like that in which she - played an insignificant part at the moment, but one of enormous importance - for posterity. She had, a few years before, been placed upon the porphyry - pedestal which is reserved in England for the greatest woman writer of the - generation. Seated there quite complacently, without reflecting upon the - possibility of her pedestal becoming a trifle rickety, she had clasped her - novel <i>Evelina</i> to her bosom, and received, without her head being in - the least turned, the adulation—respectful in some cases, almost - passionate in others—of the most notable men and women in the most - intellectual and artistic society in England. Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was - not disposed to overrate the merits of any writer whom the world had - praised, was kissing her hands, and Richard Brinsley Sheridan was kissing - her feet; Sir Joshua Reynolds was kissing the hem of her garments; while - Edmund Burke was weaving a tinsel crown of rhetoric for her shapely head; - but there were others equally great at that time who seemed to think that - only a nimbus could give the appropriate finish to the little personage on - the pedestal. The marvellous story of her success has been often told. It - is more easily told than understood in the present day, the fact being - that fashion in fiction is the most ephemeral of all human caprices, and - Fanny Burney was essentially a fashion. She followed up the marvellous - success of <i>Evelina</i>, after an interval of four years, with the - natural success of <i>Cecilia</i>, and, after another four years, she - retired from the brilliant world into the obscurity of the palace—the - palace wardrobe. She had visited Mrs. Delany, and had been introduced (not - presented) to the King and Queen, and the office of Queen's Dresser—Keeper - of the Robes was the stately designation of a very humble service—becoming - vacant, it was offered to Fanny Burney and accepted by her, acting on the - advice of her father, who most certainly hoped that his own interests as a - musician, fully qualified to become leader of the Royal Band, would be - materially advanced when his daughter should become one of the Household. - </p> - <p> - Reams of indignation have been published from time to time in respect of - Dr. Burney's conduct in urging on his one brilliant daughter—the - others were not brilliant, only mothers—to accept a post the duties - of which could be discharged by any lady's maid with far more advantage to - the Royal Consort than could possibly result from the ministrations of - Fanny Burney. The world has been called on to bemoan the prudent - indiscretion of the father, who did not hesitate to fling his gifted - daughter's pen out of the window, so to speak, and thereby deprive the - waiting world of some such masterpiece as <i>Camilla</i>—the novel - which she published five years after her release from the burden of the - Robes. There can be no doubt that the feeling which prevailed among the - circle of the elect—the Reynoldses, the Burkes, and even the frigid - Walpole—when it became known that Miss Burney's health was breaking - down under the strain of her duties at the Court—she had about two - hours' daily attendance of the most ordinary nature upon the Queen—was - on the border of indignation. Every one affirmed that it was a disgrace - for so lively a genius to be kept at the duties of a lady's maid. It was - like turning the winner of the Oaks out to the plough. Edmund Burke, - recalling his early approbation of the intentions of Dr. Burney in regard - to his daughter, declared that he had never made so great a mistake in all - his life; and we know that he made a few. These excellent people had no - reason to speak otherwise than they did on this matter. All they knew was - that the pen of the novelist who had given them so much pleasure had been - (as they believed) idle for nearly nine years, five of which had been - passed at the Court. That reflection was quite enough to rouse their - indignation. But what can one say of the indignation on this point of a - writer who actually made the fact of his being engaged on a review of the - Diary of Fanny Burney—the incomparable Diary which she kept during - her five years at Court—an excuse for turning the vials of his wrath - upon her father, whose obstinacy gave her a chance of writing the most - interesting chapter—the most accurate chapter—of History that - was ever penned by man or woman? - </p> - <p> - Macaulay wrote in all the fullness of his knowledge of what Fanny Burney - had written. He knew that for four years after she had published <i>Cecilia</i> - her pen had been idle so far as fiction was concerned. He knew that for - five years after her release from the thraldom of the Queen's closet she - had published nothing; he himself felt it to be his duty to point out the - comparative worthlessness of <i>Camilla</i>, the novel which she then gave - to the world, not because she felt upon her the impulse of a woman of - genius, but simply because she found herself in great need of some ready - money. Macaulay does not disdain to go into the money question, showing - (he fancies) how Dr. Burney had by his obstinacy deprived his gifted - daughter of earning the large sum which she would assuredly have obtained - by the writing of a novel in the time that she was compelled to devote to - the Queen's <i>toilette</i>. He found it convenient to ignore the fact - that of the fourteen years that elapsed between the publication of <i>Cecilia</i> - and that of <i>Camilla</i> only five were spent at Court. Surely any born - novelist could, without running a chance of imperilling a well-earned - reputation by undue haste in the dialogue or by scamping the descriptive - passages, contrive by dint of hard, but not over-hard, work to produce - more than one complete romance within a space of nine years. Many ladies - who are not born novelists have succeeded in surpassing this task without - physical suffering. - </p> - <p> - But even assuming that the author of <i>Evelina, Cecilia, and Camilla</i> - lost not only time but money while she was at Court, how much money did - she lose? She received at least the equivalent of £2000 for her five - years' service, and she was granted a pension of £100 a year, which she - drew for forty-nine years; so that for her enforced seclusion she was - remunerated to the extent of close upon £7000! This sum represents more - than all Fanny Burney's literary works yielded to her from the joyous - youthful days of <i>Evelina</i> down to the somewhat sordid middle age of - <i>Camilla</i>. - </p> - <p> - But what has the world gained by the lamentable short-sightedness - attributed to Dr. Burney? How is one to estimate the value of that - incomparable Diary so admirably “written up” during her tedious five years - at Court? How many <i>Cecilias</i>, how many <i>Camillas</i> would one not - give in exchange for a single year of that part of the Diary which deals - with the approach of the King's malady? In no work of fiction that ever - came from her pen did she ever show such power of observation, not only of - incident, but of character as well; nor is there apparent on any page - produced by her imagination such perfect artistic effects as appeal to a - reader on every page of this Diary of a disease. - </p> - <p> - At the outset of her account of these dreadful days we are conscious of - the vague approach of a shadow—we feel as if we were led into the - darkened chamber of a haunted house. Our attendant pauses by our side, - listening for strange noises; she lays a hand upon our arm, as it were, - and speaks to us in a whisper. We feel that the dread Thing is coming. The - King is indisposed—he has not been quite in his usual health for - some time past; but of course nothing very alarming has been announced by - Sir George Barker, the Physician in Ordinary, although there is an - uncertainty as to His Majesty's complaint. But Miss Burney has seen the - faces of the people about her who have come more closely in contact with - the Sovereign; she has doubtless noticed the solemnity of some—the - airs of mystery, the head-shakings, and she is capable of drawing her own - conclusions. “Heaven preserve him!” she whispers in her Diary for October - 19th, 1788. She is very much with the Queen, and she perceives that Her - Majesty is extremely uneasy, though saying nothing. There is great alarm - during the night. Possibly some one has heard the delirious voice of the - King coming from his apartments in that tumbledown palace of his at Kew. - The fright is general, and every one is wondering what the morning will - bring forth. Hope comes with the light. The bulletin is that the King was - ill, but is now so very much better that his physician believes the move - to Windsor, to which the Court was looking forward, may be taken. The move - is made on the 25th, and then Miss Burney has a chance meeting with the - King that causes her to suspect the truth. He talks to her with unnatural - vehemence—unnatural volubility—and without cessation for a - long time; all is exaggerated, and his graciousness most of all. She has - never met with anything like this before, but having heard of the delirium - accompanying a high fever, she believes that His Majesty is in the throes - of a fever. - </p> - <p> - The next day is Sunday, and she meets him again in one of the passages, - and she finds him rather more coherent in his talk, but still it is the - talk of a man in the delirium of a fever. It is all about himself—his - health—his dreadful sleeplessness. He keeps at it for half an hour - without making the slightest pause; and yet he manages to convey to her an - impression of his benevolence—his consideration for the people - around him—his hopes that he may not cause them any uneasiness. When - he leaves her she doubtless tells of the meeting to some of her friends in - the apartments where the equerries are accustomed to meet, and doubtless - there are more head-shakings and airs of mystery; but she records: “Nobody - speaks of his illness, nor what they think of it.” - </p> - <p> - Apparently, too, no one felt it to be necessary to subject His Majesty to - any course of treatment, although, a few days later, he became so weak - that he, who at the beginning of the year thought nothing of walking - twelve miles at a stretch—more than his sons could do—hobbled - along like a gouty man. Gradually, very gradually, the horror approaches; - and nothing that has ever been done in fiction equals in effect the simple - record of all that Fanny Burney noticed from day to day. Most touching of - all her entries are those relating to the Queen. “The Queen,” she writes, - “is almost overpowered with some secret terror. I am affected beyond all - expression in her presence to see what struggles she makes to support her - serenity. To-day she gave up the conflict when I was alone with her; and - burst into a violent fit of tears. It was very, very terrible to see!... - something horrible seemed impending... I was still wholly unsuspicious of - the greatness of the cause she had for dread. Illness, a breaking up of - the constitution, the payment of sudden infirmity and premature old age - for the waste of unguarded health and strength—these seemed to me - the threats awaiting her; and great and grievous enough, yet how short of - the fact!”... - </p> - <p> - At last the terrible truth was revealed. Miss Burney was dining with one - of the Queen's ladies; but there was little conversation between them. It - was clear that both had their suspicions of the nature of the dread shadow - that was hovering over the castle. They remained together, waiting for the - worst. “A stillness the most uncommon reigned over the whole house. Nobody - stirred; not a voice was heard; not a motion. I could do nothing but - watch, without knowing for what; there seemed a strangeness in the house - most extraordinary.” - </p> - <p> - To talk of such passages as these as examples of literary art would be - ridiculous. They are transcripts from life itself made by some one with a - genius for observation, not merely for recording. Boswell had a genius for - recording; but his powers of observation were on a level with those of a - sheep. We know perfectly well what his treatment of the scenes leading up - to the tragedy of the King would have been. But Fanny Burney had the - artist's instinct for collecting only such incidents as heighten the - effect. - </p> - <p> - When she is still sitting in the dim silence of that November evening with - her friend some one enters to whisper that there was to be no playing of - the after-dinner music in which the King usually took so much pleasure. - Later on the equerries come slowly into the room. There is more whispering—more - head-shaking. What was it all about? Had anything happened? What had - happened? No one wishes to be the first to speak. But the suspense! The - strain upon the nerves of the two ladies! At last it can be borne no - longer. The dreadful revelation is made. The King is a madman! - </p> - <p> - At dinner, the Prince of Wales being present, His Majesty had “broken - forth into positive delirium, which long had been menacing all who saw him - most closely; and the Queen was so overpowered as to fall into violent - hysterics. All the princesses were in misery, and the Prince of Wales had - burst into tears. No one knew what was to follow—no one could - conjecture the event.” Nothing could be more pathetic than the concern of - the King for his wife. His delusion is that she is the sufferer. When - Fanny Burney went to her room, where she was accustomed to await her - nightly summons to attend Her Majesty, she remained there alone for two - hours. At midnight she can stand the suspense no longer. She opens the - door and listens in the passage. Not a sound is to be heard. Not even a - servant crossed the stairs on the corridor off which her apartment opened. - After another hour's suspense a page knocks at her door with the message - that she is to go at once to her Royal mistress. - </p> - <p> - “My poor Royal Mistress!” she writes. “Never can I forget her countenance—pale, - ghastly pale she looked... her whole frame was disordered, yet she was - still and quiet. And the poor King is dreadfully uneasy about her. Nothing - was the matter with himself, he affirmed, except nervousness on her - account. He insisted on having a bed made up for himself in her - dressing-room in order that he might be at hand should she become worse - through the night. He had given orders that Miss Goldsworthy was to remain - with her; but it seemed that he had no great confidence in the vigilance - of any one but himself, for some hours after the Queen had retired he - appeared before the eyes of the horrified lady-in-waiting, at the door, - bearing a lighted candle. He opened the bed curtains and satisfied himself - that his dread of her being carried out of the palace was unfounded; but - he did not leave the room for another half-hour, and the terror of the - scene completely overwhelmed the unhappy lady.” - </p> - <p> - Truly when this terror was walking by night Fanny Burney's stipend was - well earned. But worse was in store for her when it was decided that the - King should be removed to Kew Palace, which he detested and which was - certainly the most miserable of all the miserable dwelling-places of the - Royal Family. It seemed to be nobody's business to make any preparation - for the reception of the Queen and her entourage. The rooms were dirty and - unwarmed, and the corridors were freezing. And to the horrors of this - damp, unsavoury barrack was added Mrs. Schwellenberg, the German - she-dragon who had done her best to make Fanny Burney's life unendurable - during the previous three years. Formerly Fanny had dwelt upon the - ill-treatment she had received at the hands of this old harridan; but now - she only refers to her as an additional element of casual discomfort. The - odious creature is “so oppressed between her spasms and the house's - horrors, that the oppression she inflicted ought perhaps to be pardoned. - It was, however, difficult enough to bear,” she adds. “Harshness, tyranny, - dissension, and even insult seemed personified. I cut short details upon - this subject—they would but make you sick.” - </p> - <p> - Truly little Miss Burney earned her wages at this time. The dilapidated - palace was only rendered habitable by the importation of a cartload of - sandbags, which were as strategically distributed for the exclusion of the - draughts as if they were the usual defensive supply of a siege. But even - this ingenious device failed to neutralise the Arctic rigours of the - place. The providing of carpets for some of the bare floors of the - bedrooms and passages was a startling innovation; but eventually it was - carried out. An occasional set of curtains also was smuggled into this - frozen fairy palace, and a sofa came now and again. - </p> - <p> - But in spite of all these auxiliaries to luxury—in spite, too, of - Mrs. Schwellenberg's having locked herself into her room, forbidding any - one to disturb her—the dreariness and desolation of the December at - Kew must have caused Miss Burney to think with longing of the comforts of - her father's home in St. Martin's Street and of the congenial atmosphere - which she breathed during her numerous visits to the Thrales' solid - mansion at Streatham. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0035.jpg" alt="0035 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0035.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The condition of the King was becoming worse, and early whispers of the - necessity for a Regency grew louder. It was understood that Mrs. - Fitzherbert would be made a duchess! Everybody outside the palace sought - to stand well in the estimation of the Prince of Wales, and Pitt was - pointed out as a traitor to his country because he did his best to - postpone the Comus orgy which every one knew would follow the establishing - of a Regency. The appointment of the Doctors Willis was actually referred - to as a shocking impiety, suggesting as it did a wicked rebellion against - the decree of the Almighty, Who, according to Burke, had hurled the - monarch from his throne. There were, however, some who did not regard Mr. - Burke as an infallible judge on such a point, and no one was more - indignant at the mouthings of the rhetorician than Miss Burney. But it - seemed as if the approach of the Regency could no longer be retarded. The - Willises were unable to certify to any improvement in the condition of the - King during the month of January, 1789. It was really not until he had - that chase after Fanny Burney in Kew Gardens that a change for the better - came about. - </p> - <p> - Though she was greatly terrified by his affectionate salutation, she could - not but have been surprised at the sanity displayed in the monologue that - followed; for one of the first of his innumerable questions revealed to - her the fact that he was perfectly well aware of what a trial to her - patience was the odious Mrs. Schwellenberg. He asked how she was getting - on with Mrs. Schwellenberg, and he did so with a laugh that showed her how - well he appreciated her difficulties in this direction in the past. Before - she could say a word he was making light of the Schwellenberg—adopting - exactly the strain that he knew would be most effective with Miss Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind her—never mind her! Don't be oppressed! I am your - friend! Don't let her cast you down—I know that you have a hard time - of it—but don't mind her!” - </p> - <p> - The advice and the tone in which it was given—with a pleasant laugh—did - not seem very consistent with what she expected from a madman. Fanny - Burney appears up to that moment to have been under the impression that - the King and Queen had known nothing of the tyranny and the insults to - which she had been subjected by Mrs. Schwellenberg. But now it was made - plain to her that the eyes of the Royal couple had been open all the time. - If Macaulay had noticed the passage touching upon this point he would have - had still stronger grounds for his attack upon their Majesties for their - want of consideration for the tire-woman who was supposed never to be - tired. - </p> - <p> - But how much more surprised must Fanny Burney have been when the King went - on to talk to her in the most cordially confidential way about her father! - It must have been another revelation to her when he showed how fully he - realised the ambitions of Dr. Burney. He asked her regarding the progress - of the <i>History of Music</i>, at which Dr. Burney had been engaged for - several years, and this gave him a chance of getting upon his favourite - topic, the music of Handel. But when he began to illustrate some of his - impressions on this fruitful theme by singing over the choruses of an - oratorio or two—perhaps such trifles as “All we like Sheep,” or - “Lift up your Heads,” or the “Hallelujah”—he must have gone far - toward neutralising the good opinion she had formed as to his sanity. - Fortunately the attendant doctors interposed at this point; but the fact - that the distinguished amateur suffered their adverse criticism proves to - posterity that the King was even more good-natured than he had been - painted by Miss Burney. - </p> - <p> - On then he went to talk of the subject which must never have been far from - Dr. Burney's heart—the Mastership of the King's Band: “Your father - ought to have had the post, and not that little poor musician Parsons, who - was not fit for it,” he cried. “But Lord Salisbury used your father very - ill in that business, and so he did me! However, I have dashed out his - name, and I shall put your father's in—as soon as I get loose again. - What has your father got at last? Nothing but that poor thing at Chelsea! - Oh, fie! fie! But never mind! I will take care of him—I will do it - myself!” - </p> - <p> - Could he have given the devoted daughter of Dr. Burney a more emphatic - proof of his complete recovery to sanity than this? Why, it would have - convinced Dr. Burney himself! - </p> - <p> - Alas! although the King may have been very resolute at the moment—he - had just been making out a list of new officers of State, and was ready to - show her that the name of her father's enemy, Lord Salisbury, was not to - be found in it, and he assured her that in future he would rule with a rod - of iron—yet before he returned to his ordinary way of life he must - have mislaid his list, for poor Dr. Burney remained at his post of - organist of Chelsea Hospital. He never attained to the place which he - coveted and for which his daughter was sent to five years' Royal - servitude, and (incidentally) to achieve for herself that immortality as a - chronicler which would certainly never have been won by her as a novelist. - </p> - <p> - But the King did not confine his conversation to the one topic which he - knew was of greatest interest to her. He spoke of Mrs. Delany, who had - been the means of introducing Fanny to the Royal circle; and he referred - to the ill-treatment which he had received at the hands of one of his - pages; but this was the only passage that savoured of unkindness, and the - chronicler is unable to do more than hope that the conduct of the pages - was one of His Majesty's delusions. Then, with what seems to us to be - consummate adroitness, he put some questions to her which she could not - but answer. “They referred to information given to him in his illness from - various motives, but which he suspected to be false, and which I knew he - had reason to suspect,” Miss Burney writes. “Yet was it most dangerous to - set anything right, as I was not aware what might be the views of their - having been stated wrong. I was as discreet as I knew how to be, and I - hope I did no mischief: but this was the worst part of the dialogue.” - </p> - <p> - We can quite believe that it was, and considering that it was the part of - the dialogue which was most interesting to the King, we think that Miss - Burney was to be congratulated upon the tact she displayed in her answers. - She did not cause the King to be more perturbed than he was when waxing - indignant over the conduct of his pages; and there was no need for Dr. - Willis to interfere at this point, though he did a little later on. Then - submitting with the utmost docility to the control of his excellent - attendant, and with another exhortation not to pay any attention to the - whims of the Schwellenberg, the gracious gentleman kissed her once more on - the cheek and allowed her to take her departure. - </p> - <p> - So ended this remarkable adventure in Kew Gardens. One can picture Fanny - Burney flying to tell the Queen all that had occurred—to repeat - everything that her discretion permitted her of the conversation; and one - has no difficulty in imagining the effect upon Queen Charlotte of all that - she narrated; but it seems rather hard that from Mrs. Schwellenberg should - have been withheld the excellent advice given by the King to Miss Burney - respecting the German virago. - </p> - <p> - It would have been impossible either for Fanny Burney or the Queen to come - to any conclusion from all that happened except one that was entirely - satisfactory to both. King George III was undoubtedly on the high road to - recovery, and subsequent events confirmed this opinion. It really seemed - that the interview with the author of <i>Evelina</i> marked the - turning-point in his malady at this time. Every day brought its record of - improvement, and within a fortnight the dreaded Regency Bill, which had - been sent up to the Lords, was abandoned. On March 1st there were public - thanksgivings in all the churches, followed by such an illumination of - London as had not been seen since the great fire. The scene at Kew is - admirably described by Miss Burney, who had written some congratulatory - lines to be offered by the Princess Amelia to the King. A great - “transparency” had been painted by the Queen's order, representing the - King, Providence, Health, and Britannia—a truly British tableau—and - when this was hung out and illuminated the little Princess “went to lead - her papa to the front window.” Then she dropped on her knees and gave him - the “copy of verses,” with the postscript: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The little bearer begs a kiss - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - From dear papa for bringing this. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - The “dear papa” took his dear child in his arms, and held her close to him - for some time. Nothing could have been more charmingly natural and - affecting. For such a picture of Royalty at home we are indebted to Fanny - Burney, and, face to face with it, we are selfish enough to feel grateful - to Dr. Burney for having given his daughter for five years to discharge a - humble duty to her Sovereign and an immortal one to her fellow-countrymen, - who have read her Diary and placed it on a shelf between Pepys and de - Gramont. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A COMEDY IN ST. MARTIN'S STREET - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>R BURNEY was - giving a “command” party at his house in St. Martin's Street, Leicester - Fields—the house which Sir Isaac Newton did once inhabit, and which - was still crowned with the most celebrated observatory in Europe. In the - early years of his musical career he had had a patron, Mr. Fulk Greville, - who had done a great deal for him, and in later days he had never quite - forgotten this fact, although Dr. Burney had climbed high on the - professional as well as the social ladder, and was better known in the - world than Mr. Greville himself. He had become quite intimate with many - great persons and several curious ones. It is uncertain whether Mr. - Greville regarded Dr. Johnson as belonging to the former or the latter - class, but at any rate he had heard a great deal about Dr. Johnson, and - did not think that, provided he took every reasonable precaution, any harm - could come to himself from meeting such a notability. He accordingly - instructed Dr. Burney to bring him and Johnson together, and Burney - promised to do so. Before the day for this meeting was fixed Mrs. Greville—who, - by the way, was Fanny Burney's godmother—had signified her intention - of viewing the huge person also, and of bringing her daughter, the - exquisite Mrs. Crewe, to attend the promised exhibition of genius in bulk. - </p> - <p> - Of course Dr. Johnson was ready to lend himself to any plan that might be - devised to increase the circumference of his circle of admirers, and - besides, this Mr. Fulk Greville was a descendant of the friend of Sir - Philip Sidney, and had large possessions, as well as a magnificent country - seat, and altogether he would make a most desirable listener; so he agreed - to come to the party to be inspected by the Greville family. Burney, - however, wishing, as every responsible proprietor of a menagerie should - wish, to be on the safe side and exhibit his bear under the eye and the - controlling influence of his favourite keeper, invited Mr. and Mrs. Thrale - to the party. - </p> - <p> - These were to be the “principals” in the comedy of this entertainment; and - for the subordinates he selected his married daughter and her husband—both - admirable musicians—Mr. Davenant, Mr. Seward, and a certain Italian - musician, a vocalist as well as a performer on the violin and that new - instrument which was at first called the fortepiano, then the pianoforte, - and later on simply the piano. This person's name was Gabrielli Piozzi. - </p> - <p> - Such were the harmonious elements which Dr. Burney proposed to bring - together for the gratification of Mr. Fulk Greville and his wife. Mr. - Greville was an amateur of some little capacity, and he had certainly at - one time been greatly interested in music. He had paid £300 to Burney's - master, the celebrated Dr. Arne, who composed in the masque of “Alfred” - the rousing anthem known as “Rule Britannia,” for the cancelling of - Burney's indentures as an apprentice to the “art of musick,” and had taken - the young man into his own house in a capacity which may best be described - as that of entertaining secretary. Dr. Burney may therefore have thought - in his wisdom that, should Johnson be in one of his bearish moods and feel - disinclined to exhibit his parts of speech to Mr. Greville, the latter - would be certain of entertainment from the musicians. This showed - forethought and a good working knowledge of Dr. Johnson. But in spite of - the second string to the musician's bow the party was a fiasco—that - is, from the standpoint of a social entertainment; it included one - incident, however, which made it the most notable of the many of the - Burney parties of which a record remains. - </p> - <p> - And what records there are available to any one interested in the - entertainments given by Dr. Burney and his charming family at that modest - house of theirs, just round the corner from Sir Joshua Reynolds' larger - establishment in Leicester Fields! Hundreds of people who contributed to - make the second half of the eighteenth century the most notable of any - period so far as literature and the arts were concerned, since the - spacious days of Elizabeth, were accustomed to meet together informally at - this house, and to have their visits recorded for all ages to muse upon. - To that house came Garrick, not to exhibit his brilliance as a talker - before a crowd of admirers, but to entertain the children of the household - with the buffooning that never flagged, and that never fell short of - genius in any exhibition. He was the delight of the schoolroom. Edmund - Burke and his brother, both fond of conversation when oratory was not - available, were frequently here; Reynolds came with many of his sitters, - and found fresh faces for his canvas among his fellow-guests; and with him - came his maiden sister, feeling herself more at home with the simple - Burney circle than she ever did with the company who assembled almost - daily under her brother's roof. Nollekens, the sculptor; Colman, the - dramatist and theatre manager, who was obliged to run away from London to - escape the gibes which were flung at him from every quarter when - Goldsmith's <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>, which he had done his best to - make a failure, became the greatest success of the year; Cumberland, the - embittered rival of Goldsmith, who was the person who gave the solitary - hiss during the first performance of the same play, causing the timid - author to say to the manager on entering the playhouse, “What is that, sir—pray, - what is that? Is it a hiss?” To which Colman replied, “Psha! sir, what - signifies a squib when we have been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder all - night?” - </p> - <p> - These were among the notabilities; and the “curiosities” were quite as - numerous. The earliest of Arctic voyagers, Sir Constantine Phipps, who - later became Lord Mulgrave, put in an appearance at more than one of the - parties; and so did Omai, the “gentle savage” of the poet Cowper, who was - brought by Captain Cook from the South Seas in the ship on which young - Burney was an officer. The sisters, who, of course, idolised the sailor, - sat open-mouthed with wonder to hear their brother chatting away to Omai - in his native language. Upon another occasion came Bruce, the Abyssinian - traveller, who told the story of how steaks were cut from the live ox when - needed by the inhabitants of one region. He was immensely tall, as were - some of his stories; but though extremely dignified, he did not object to - a practical joke. Another person of great stature who visited the Burneys - was the notorious Count Orloff, the favourite of the Empress Catherine of - Russia; and from the letters of one of the young people of the household - one has no difficulty in perceiving with what interest he was regarded by - the girls, especially since the report reached them that he had personally - strangled his imperial master at the instigation of his imperial mistress. - </p> - <p> - These are but, a few names out of the many on the Burneys' visiting list. - Of course, as regards musical artists, the house was the rendezvous of the - greatest in London. While the opera-house in the Haymarket was open there - was a constant flow of brilliant vocalists to these shores, and the young - people had many opportunities of becoming acquainted with the ignorance, - the capriciousness, the affectations, and the abilities which were to be - found associated with the lyric stage in the eighteenth century, as they - are in the twentieth. Among the prime donne who sang for the Burneys were - the Agujari—a marvellous performer, who got fifty pounds for every - song she sang at the Pantheon—and her great but uncertain rival, - Gabrielli. The former, according to Mozart, who may possibly be allowed to - be something of a judge, had a vocal range which was certainly never - equalled by any singer before or after his time. She won all hearts and a - great deal of money during her visit to London, and she left with the - reputation of being the most marvellous and most rapacious of Italians. - Gabrielli seems to have tried to make up by capriciousness what she lacked - in expression. Her voice was, so far as can be gathered from contemporary - accounts, small and thin. But by judiciously disappointing the public she - became the most widely talked of vocalist in the country. Then among the - men were the simple and gracious Pacchierotti—who undoubtedly became - attached to Fanny Burney—Rauzzini, and Piozzi. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0049.jpg" alt="0049 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0049.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The Burneys' house was for years the centre of the highest intellectual - entertainment to be found in London, and the tact of the head of the - household, and the simple, natural manners of his daughters, usually - succeeded in preventing the intrusion of a single inharmonious note, in - spite of the fact that a Welsh harpist named Jones had once been among the - visitors. - </p> - <p> - But upon the occasion of this “command” party, when Greville was to meet - Johnson, and the latter had dressed himself with that extreme care which - we suspect meant that he tied up his hose, and put on a wig the front of - which had not yet been burnt away by coming in contact with his lighted - candle, Burney's tact overreached itself. Mr. Greville may have felt that - the Thrales had no business to be of the party, or Johnson may have gained - the impression that Burney's old patron was anxious to play the same part, - in an honorary sort of way, in regard to himself. At any rate, he refused - to be drawn out to exhibit his conversational powers to a supercilious - visitor; and after a brief space of time he turned his back upon every one - and his face to the fire, and there he sat, greatly to the discomfiture, - no doubt, of his host. In a very short time a gloom settled down upon the - whole party. Mr. Thrale, stiff and reserved, was not the man to pull - things together. He sat mute on his chair, making no advance toward Mr. - Greville, and Mr. Greville had probably his chin in the air, having come - to the conclusion that Dr. Johnson's powers as a conversationalist had - been greatly overrated by rumour. - </p> - <p> - It was when all hope of sociability had vanished that Dr. Burney, who, - when a church organist, may have had occasion to cover up the shortcomings - of the clergyman by a timely voluntary, begged Signor Piozzi to oblige the - company with a song. But Piozzi was a forlorn hope. He was the last man in - the world to save the situation. Had he been a vocalist of the calibre of - Pacchierotti he could have made no headway against the funereal gloom that - had settled down upon the party. - </p> - <p> - Piozzi had a sweet and highly trained voice, though some years earlier he - had lost its best notes, and he sang with exquisite expression; but when - playing his own accompaniment, with his back turned to his audience, he - was prone to exaggerate the sentiment of the music until sentiment became - lost in an exuberance of sentimentality. - </p> - <p> - This style of singing is not that to which any one would resort in order - to dissipate a sudden social gloom. As the singer went on the gloom - deepened. - </p> - <p> - It was just at this moment that one of those ironic little imps that lurk - in wainscot nooks looking out for an opportunity to influence an - unconscious human being to an act which the little demon, seeing the end - of a scene of which mortals only see the beginning, regards with sardonic - glee, whispered something in the ear of Mrs. Thrale, and in an instant, in - obedience to its prompting, she had left her chair and stolen behind the - singer at the piano. Raising her hands and turning up her eyes in - imitation of Piozzi, she indulged in a piece of mimicry which must have - shocked every one in the room except the singer, who had his back to her, - and Dr. Johnson, who, besides being too short-sighted to be able to see - her, was gazing into the grate. - </p> - <p> - No doubt the flippant little lady felt that a touch of farcical fun was - the very thing needed to make the party go with a snap; but such flagrant - bad taste as was involved in the transaction was more than Dr. Burney - could stand. Keeping his temper marvellously well in hand, considering his - provocation, he went gently behind the gesticulating woman and put a stop - to her fooling. Shaking his head, he whispered in a “half joke whole - earnest” way: - </p> - <p> - “Because, madam, you have no ear yourself for music, will you destroy the - attention of all who, in that one point, are otherwise gifted?” - </p> - <p> - Or words to that effect, it might be safe to add, for the phrases as - recorded in the diary of one of his daughters are a trifle too academic - for even Dr. Burney to have whispered on the spur of the moment. But he - certainly reproved the lady, and she took his remonstrance in good part, - and showed herself to be admirably appreciative of the exact pose to - assume in order to save the situation. She went demurely to her chair and - sat there stiffly, and with the affectation of a schoolgirl who has been - admonished for a fault and commanded to take a seat in silence and apart - from the rest of the class. It must be apparent to every one that this was - the precise attitude for her to strike in the circumstances, and that she - was able to perceive this in a rather embarrassing moment shows that Mrs. - Thrale was quite as clever as her friends made her out to be. - </p> - <p> - But regarding the incident itself, surely the phrase, “the irony of fate,” - was invented to describe it. A better illustration of the sport of - circumstance could not be devised, for in the course of time the lively - little lady, who had gone as far as any one could go in making a mock of - another, had fallen as deep in love with the man whom she mocked as ever - Juliet did with her Romeo. She found that she could not live without him, - and, sacrificing friends, position, and fortune, she threw herself into - his arms, and lived happy ever after. - </p> - <p> - The conclusion of the first scene in this saturnine comedy which was being - enacted in the drawing-room in that house in St. Martin's Street, was in - perfect keeping with the <i>mise-en-scène</i> constructed by Fate, taking - the rôle of Puck. It is admirably described in the diary of Charlotte - Burney. She wrote that Mr. Greville—whom she nicknamed “Mr. Gruel”—assumed - “his most supercilious air of distant superiority” and “planted himself - immovable as a noble statue upon the hearth, as if a stranger to the whole - set.” - </p> - <p> - By this time Dr. Johnson must have had enough of the fire at which he had - been sitting, and we at once see how utterly hopeless were the social - relations at this miserable party when we hear that the men “were so kind - and considerate as to divert themselves by making a fire-screen to the - whole room.” But Dr. Johnson, having thoroughly warmed himself, was now in - a position to administer a rebuke to the less fortunate ones, and, when - nobody would have imagined that he had known the gentlemen were in the - room, he said that “if he was not ashamed he would keep the fire from the - ladies too.” - </p> - <p> - “This reproof (for a reproof it certainly was, although given in a very - comical, dry way) was productive,” Charlotte adds, “of a scene as good as - a comedy, for Mr. Suard tumbled on to a sopha directly, Mr. Thrale on to a - chair, Mr. Davenant sneaked off the premises, seemingly in as great a - fright and as much confounded as if he had done any bad action, and Mr. - Gruel being left solus, was obliged to stalk off.” - </p> - <p> - A more perfect description of the “curtain” to the first act of this, “as - good as a comedy,” could not be imagined. In every scene of this memorable - evening the mocking figure of an impish Fate can be discerned. There was - the tactful and urbane Dr. Burney anxious to gratify his old patron by - presenting to him the great Dr. Johnson, and at the same time to show on - what excellent terms he himself was with the family of the wealthy brewer, - Mr. Thrale. Incidentally he has caused Johnson to put himself to the - inconvenience of a clean shirt and a respectable wig; and, like a - thoughtful general, lest any of his plans should fall short of fulfilment, - he has invited an interesting vocalist to cover up the retreat and make - failure almost impossible! - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney could do wonders by the aid of his tact and urbanity, but he is - no match for Fate playing the part of Puck. Within an hour Johnson has - disappointed him and become grumpy—the old bear has found the buns - to be stale; Mr. Greville, the patron, is in a patronising mood, and - becomes stiff and aloof because Johnson, secure with his pension, resents - it; Mrs. Thrale, anxious to do her best for Burney, and at the same time - to show Mrs. Greville and her fine daughter how thoroughly at home she is - in the house and how delicate is her sense of humour, strikes an - appallingly false note, and only saves herself by a touch of cleverness - from appearing wholly ridiculous. This is pretty well for the opening - scenes, but the closing catastrophe is not long delayed. The men huddle - themselves together in stony silence; and they are reproved for - impoliteness by—whom? Dr. Johnson, the man who has studied - boorishness and advanced it to a place among the arts—the man who - calls those who differ from him dolts and fools and rascals—the man - whose manners at the dinner table are those of the sty and trough—the - man who walks about the streets ungartered and unclean—this is the - man who has the effrontery to rebuke for their rudeness such gentlemen as - Mr. Fulk Greville, Mr. Seward, and Mr. Thrale! Puck can go no further. - Down comes the curtain when one gentleman collapses upon a “sopha,” - another into a chair, a third sneaks off like a culprit, and the fourth - stalks off with an air of offended dignity! - </p> - <p> - It might be thought that the imp of mischief who had assumed the control - of this evening's entertainment would be satisfied at the result of his - pranks so far. Nothing of the sort. He was only satisfied when he had made - a match between the insignificant figure who was playing the musical - accompaniment to his pranks and the lady who thought that his presence in - the room was only justifiable on the ground that he made an excellent butt - for her mockery! - </p> - <p> - And the funniest part of the whole comedy is to be found in the fact that - the pair lived happy ever after! - </p> - <p> - The extraordinary influence which Boswell has had upon almost every - student of the life of the latter half of the eighteenth century is shown - in a marked way by the general acceptance of his view—which it is - scarcely necessary to say was Johnson's view—of the second marriage - of Mrs. Thrale. We are treating Boswell much more fairly than he treated - Mrs. Thrale when we acknowledge at once that his opinion was shared by a - considerable number of the lady's friends, including Dr. Burney and his - family. They were all shocked when they heard that the widow of the - Southwark brewer had married the Italian musician, Signor Gabrielli - Piozzi. Even in the present day, when one might reasonably expect that, - the miserable pettiness of Boswell's character having been made apparent, - his judgment on most points would be received with a smile, he is taken - very seriously by a good many people. It has long ago been made plain that - Boswell was quite unscrupulous in his treatment of every one that crossed - his path or made an attempt to interfere with the aim of his life, which - was to become the biographer of Johnson. The instances of his petty - malevolence which have come to light within recent years are innumerable. - They show that the opinion which his contemporaries formed of him was - absolutely correct. We know that he was regarded as a cur who was ever at - Johnson's heels, and took the insults of the great man with a fawning - complacency that was pathetically canine. He was daily called a cur. “Oh, - no,” said Goldsmith, “he is not a cur, only a burr; Tom Davies flung him - at Johnson one day as a joke, and he stuck to him ever since”—a cur, - and an ape and a spy and a Branghton—the last by Dr. Johnson himself - in the presence of a large company, that included the creator of the - contemptible Mr. Branghton. (The incident was not, however, recorded by - Mr. Boswell himself.) But as the extraordinary interest in his <i>Life of - Johnson</i> began to be acknowledged, the force of contemporary opinion - gradually dwindled away, until Boswell's verdicts and Boswell's inferences - found general acceptance; and even now Goldsmith is regarded as an Irish - <i>omadhaum</i>, because Boswell did his best to make him out to be one, - and Mrs. Thrale is thought to have forfeited her claims to respect because - she married Signor Piozzi. - </p> - <p> - People forget the origin of Boswell's malevolence in both cases. He - detested Goldsmith because Goldsmith was a great writer, who was capable - of writing a great biography of Johnson, with whom he had been on the most - intimate terms long before Tom Davies flung his burr at Johnson; he hated - Baretti and recorded—at the sacrifice of Johnson's reputation for - humanity—Johnson's cynical belittling of him, because he feared that - Baretti would write <i>the</i> biography; he was spiteful in regard to - Mrs. Thrale because she actually did write something biographical about - Johnson. - </p> - <p> - The impudence of such a man as Boswell writing about “honest Dr. - Goldsmith” is only surpassed by his allusions to the second marriage of - Mrs. Thrale. He was a fellow-guest with Johnson at the Thrales' house in - 1775, and he records something of a conversation which he says occurred on - the subject of a woman's marrying some one greatly beneath her socially. - “When I recapitulate the debate,” he says, “and recollect what has since - happened, I cannot but be struck in a manner that delicacy forbids me to - express! While I contended that she ought to be treated with inflexible - steadiness of displeasure, Mrs. Thrale was all for mildness and - forgiveness and, according to the vulgar phrase, making the best of a bad - bargain.” This was published after the second marriage. What would be - thought of a modern biographer who should borrow a little of Boswell's - “delicacy,” and refer to a similar incident in the same style? - </p> - <p> - In his own inimitable small way Boswell was for ever sneering at Mrs. - Thrale. Sometimes he did it with that scrupulous delicacy of which an - example has just been given; but he called her a liar more than once with - considerable indelicacy, and his readers will without much trouble come to - the conclusion that his indelicacy was preferable to his delicacy—it - certainly came more natural to him. He was small and mean in all his ways, - and never smaller or meaner than in his references to Mrs. Thrale's second - marriage. - </p> - <p> - But, it must be repeated, he did not stand alone in regarding her union - with Piozzi as a <i>mésalliance</i>. Dr. Burney was shocked at the thought - that any respectable woman would so far forget herself as to marry a - musician, and his daughter Fanny wept remorseful tears when she reflected - that she had once been the friend of a lady who did not shrink from - marrying a foreigner and a Roman Catholic—more of the irony of Fate, - for Fanny Burney was herself guilty of the same indiscretion later on: she - made a happy marriage with a Roman Catholic foreigner, who lived on her - pension and her earnings. Dr. Johnson was brutal when the conviction was - forced upon him that he would no longer have an opportunity of insulting a - lady who had treated him with incredible kindness, or the guests whom he - met at her table. Upon one of the last occasions of his dining at Mrs. - Thrale's house at Streatham, a gentleman present—an inoffensive - Quaker—ventured to make a remark respecting the accuracy with which - the red-hot cannon-balls were fired at the Siege of Gibraltar. Johnson - listened for some time, and then with a cold sneer said, “I would advise - you, sir, never to relate this story again. You really can scarce imagine - how very poor a figure you make in the telling of it.” Later on he took - credit to himself for not quarrelling with his victim when the latter - chose to talk to his brother rather than to the man who had insulted him. - Yes, it can quite easily be understood that Johnson should look on the - marriage as a sad <i>mésalliance</i>, and possibly it is fair to assume - from the letter which he wrote to the lady that he felt hurt when he heard - that it was to take place. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale wrote to tell him that she meant to marry Piozzi, and received - the following reply: - </p> - <p> - “Madam,—If I interpret your letter right, you are ignominiously - married; if it is yet undone, let us once more talk together. If you have - abandoned your children and your religion, God forgive your wickedness; if - you have forfeited your fame and your country, may your folly do no - further mischief!” - </p> - <p> - Possibly the lady may have gathered from the hint or two conveyed to her, - with Boswellian delicacy, in this letter, that Johnson was displeased with - her. At any rate, she replied, declining to continue the correspondence. - </p> - <p> - In her letter she summed up the situation exactly as a reasonable person, - acquainted with all the facts, and knowing something of the first husband, - would do. - </p> - <p> - “The birth of my second husband is not meaner than that of my first,” she - wrote; “his sentiments are not meaner; his profession is not meaner; and - his superiority in what he professes acknowledged by all mankind. It is - want of fortune, then, that is ignominious; the character of the man I - have chosen has no other claim to such an epithet. The religion to which - he has always been a zealous adherent, will, I hope, teach him to forgive - insults he has not deserved; mine will, I hope, enable [me] to bear them - at once with dignity and patience. To hear that I have forfeited my fame - is indeed the greatest insult I ever yet received. My fame is as unsullied - as snow, or I should think it unworthy of him who must henceforth protect - it.” - </p> - <p> - This brought the surly burly mass of offended dignity to his proper level; - but still he would not offer the lady who had been his benefactress for - twenty years an apology for his brutality. He had the presumption to offer - his advice instead—advice and the story (highly appropriate from his - point of view) of Mary Queen of Scots and the Archbishop of St. Andrews. - He advised her to remain in England—he would not relinquish his room - in her house and his place at her table without a struggle—as her - rank would be higher in England than in Italy, and her fortune would be - under her own eye. The latter suggestion was a delicate insult to Piozzi. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Piozzi, as she then became, showed that she esteemed this piece of - presumption, under the guise of advice, at its true value. Immediately - after her marriage she went abroad with her husband, though eventually she - settled with him in England. - </p> - <p> - Now, most modern readers will, we think, when they have become acquainted - with the whole story of Mrs. Thrale's life, arrive at the conclusion that - it was her first marriage that was the <i>mésalliance</i>, not her second. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0065.jpg" alt="0065 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0065.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Henry Thrale was a man of humble origin—a fact that revealed itself - almost daily in his life—and he was incapable of loving any one - except himself. He certainly never made a pretence of devotion to his - wife, and it is equally certain that, although she did more for him than - any other woman would have done, she never loved him. It might be going - too far, considering the diversity of temperament existing among - womankind, to assert that he was incapable of being loved by any woman; - but beyond a doubt he was not a lovable man. He was a stiff, dignified, - morose, uncongenial man, and he was a Member of Parliament into the - bargain. What could a pretty, lively, brilliant girl of good family see in - such a man as Thrale to make her love him? She never did love him—at - times she must have detested him. But she married him, and it was a lucky - day for him that she did so. Twice she saved him from bankruptcy, and - three times she induced his constituents, who thoroughly hated him, to - return him to Parliament as their representative. He never did anything in - Parliament, and he did little out of it that was worth remembering. It is - customary to make large allowances for a man of business who finds that - his wealth and a charming wife serve as a passport into what is called - society, though latterly such men do not stand in need of such a favour - being shown to them. But if a man betrays his ignorance of certain social - usages—not necessarily refinements—his friends excuse him on - the ground that he is a first-rate business man. Thrale, however, was - unworthy of such a title. He inherited a great scientific business, but he - showed himself so incapable of appreciating the methods by which it had - been built up, that he brought himself within a week or two of absolute - ruin by listening to a clumsy adventurer who advocated the adoption of a - system of adulteration of his beer that even a hundred and fifty years ago - would have brought him within sight of a criminal prosecution. - </p> - <p> - His literary wife, by her clever management, aided by the money of her - mother and of sundry of her own, not her husband's, friends, succeeded in - staving off the threatened disaster. But the pig-headed man did not accept - the lesson which one might imagine he would have learned. Seeing the - success that crowned other enterprises of the same character as his own, - he endeavoured to emulate this success, not by the legitimate way of - increasing his customers, but by the idiotic plan of over-production. He - had an idea that in the multiplying of the article which he had to sell he - was increasing his business. Once again he was helped from the verge of - ruin by his literary wife. - </p> - <p> - He must have been a dreadful trial to her, and to a far-seeing manager - whom he had—a man named Perkins. Of course it was inevitable that - the force of character possessed by this Mr. Perkins must eventually - prevail against the dignified incompetence of the proprietor. The - inevitable happened, and the name of Perkins has for more than a hundred - years been bracketed with Barclay as a going concern, while the name of - Thrale has vanished for ever from “the Borough.” - </p> - <p> - It was this Mr. Perkins who, when the brewery was within five minutes of - absolute disaster, displayed the tactics of a great general in the face of - an implacable enemy, and saved the property. As a reward for his services - his master authorised the presentation to him of the sum of a hundred - pounds. His master's wife, however, being a more generous assessor of the - value of the man's ability, ventured to present double the sum, together - with a silver tea-service for Mrs. Perkins; but she did so in fear and - trembling, failing to summon up sufficient courage to acquaint her husband - with her extravagance until further concealment was impossible. She was so - overjoyed at his sanctioning the increase that she at once wrote to her - friends acquainting them with this evidence of his generosity. - </p> - <p> - This episode was certainly the most stirring in the history of Thrale's - brewery. The Gordon rioters had been terrorising London for several days, - burning houses in every direction, as well as Newgate and another prison, - and looting street after street. They had already overthrown one brewery, - and they found the incident so fascinating that they marched across the - bridge to the Southwark concern, raising the cry that Thrale was a Papist. - The Thrales were at this time sojourning at Bath, and were in an agony of - suspense regarding their property. They had left Dr. Johnson comfortably - ensconced at their Streatham house in order that they might learn in - dignified language how things were going on. - </p> - <p> - This is Johnson's thrilling account of the incident: - </p> - <p> - “What has happened to your house you all know. The harm is only a few - butts of beer, and I think you may be sure that the danger is over. Pray - tell Mr. Thrale that I live here, and have no fruit, and if he does not - interpose am not likely to have much; but I think he might as well give me - a little as give all to the gardener.” - </p> - <p> - There was a double catastrophe threatening, it would appear: the burning - of the brewery and the shortage in the supply of Dr. Johnson's peaches. - </p> - <p> - This is how Mrs. Thrale describes the situation: - </p> - <p> - “Nothing but the astonishing presence of mind shewed by Perkins in amusing - the mob, with meat and drink and huzzas, till Sir Philip Jennings Clerke - could get the troops, and pack up the counting-house, bills, bonds etc. - and carry them, which he did, to Chelsea College for safety, could have - saved us from actual undoing. The villains <i>had</i> broke in, and our - brew-house would have blazed in ten minutes, when a property of £150,000 - would have been utterly lost, and its once flourishing possessors quite - undone.” - </p> - <p> - It seems almost incredible that Johnson, living at Streatham as the - guardian of Mr. Thrale's interests, should require the lady to write to - him, begging him to thank Perkins for his heroism. But so it was. - </p> - <p> - “Perkins has behaved like an Emperor,” she wrote, “and it is my earnest - wish and desire—command, if you please to call it so—that you - will go over to the brew-house and express <i>your</i> sense of his good - behaviour.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale was unreasonable. How could Johnson be expected to take any - action when he was deprived of his peaches? - </p> - <p> - It will strike a good many modern readers of the account of this and other - transactions that if it was Perkins who saved the brewery for Mr. Thrale, - it was Mrs. Thrale who saved Perkins for the brewery. Possibly it was her - prompt gift of the silver plate to Mrs. Perkins that induced this splendid - manager to pocket the insult of the beggarly two hundred guineas given to - him by Mrs. Thrale—though this was double the amount authorised by - the “master.” Thrale never sufficiently valued the services of Perkins. If - he had had any gratitude in his composition he would never have made - Johnson one of his executors. What a trial it must have been to the - competent man of business to see Johnson lumbering about the place with a - pen behind his ear and an ink-pot suspended from a button of his coat, - getting in the way of everybody, and yet feeling himself quite equal to - any business emergency that might crop up. He felt himself equal to - anything—even to improve upon the auctioneer's style in appraising - the value of the whole concern. “Beyond the dreams of avarice” remains as - the sole classic phrase born beneath the shadow of a brew-house. - </p> - <p> - In the matter of the premium to Perkins, Thrale should have felt that he - had a treasure in his wife, to say nothing of all that she had done for - him upon another occasion, involving a terrible sacrifice. A quarrel had - broken out among the clerks at the brewery, which even the generalship of - Perkins was unable to mollify. Had Mrs. Thrale been an ordinary woman she - would not have jeopardised her own life and the life of her child—her - thirteenth—in her husband's interests. As it was, however, she felt - that the duty was imposed on her to settle the difficulties in the - counting-house, and she did so; but only after many sleepless nights and - the sacrifice of her child. “The men were reconciled,” she wrote, “and my - danger accelerated their reconcilement.” - </p> - <p> - If Henry Thrale was deficient in the best characteristics of a business - man, his qualifications to shine socially can scarcely be regarded as - abundant. There were stories of his having been a gay dog in his youth, - but assuredly he and gaiety had long been strangers when he married his - wife, and upon no occasion afterwards could he be so described even by the - most indulgent of his friends; so that one rather inclines to the belief - that the dull dog must have been a dull puppy. We know what his eldest - daughter was, and we are convinced that the nature of that priggish, - dignified, and eminently disagreeable young lady was inherited from her - father. In Miss Thrale as a girl one feels that one is looking at Henry - Thrale as a boy. The only story that survives of those mythical gay days - with which he was accredited is that relating to the arrival of the - Gunnings to take London by storm. It was said that he and Murphy thought - to make these exquisite creatures the laughing-stock of the town by - introducing them to a vulgar hanger-on of Murphy, in the character of a - wealthy man of title and distinction. Possibly the two young men were put - up to play this disgraceful prank upon the Gunnings by some jealous female - associate; but however this may be, it not only failed most ignominiously, - it recoiled upon the jesters themselves, for Mrs. Gunning, herself the - sister of a nobleman, and destined to become the mother-in-law of two - dukes and the grandmother of two more—the parent of a peeress in her - own right, and an uncommonly shrewd Irishwoman into the bargain—“smoaked,” - as the slang of the period had it, the trick, and her footman bundled the - trio into the street. - </p> - <p> - The story may be true; but as both the Gunning girls were married in 1752, - and Thrale did not meet Hester Lynch Salusbury till 1763, it was an old - story then, and it was not remembered against him except by the Duchess of - Hamilton. If it represents the standard of his adolescent wildness, we - cannot but think that his youth was less meteoric than his wife believed - it to be. At any rate, we do not know much about his early life, but we do - know a great deal about his latter years, and it is impossible to believe - that his nature underwent a radical change within a year or two of his - marriage. - </p> - <p> - He became the host of a large number of the most notable people of that - brilliant period at which he lived, and we perceive from the copious - accounts that survive of the Streatham gatherings that he was greatly - respected by all his visitors. He never said anything that was worth - recording, and he never did anything memorable beyond stopping Johnson - when the latter was becoming more than usually offensive to his - fellow-guests. He had no ear for music any more than Johnson had, and it - does not appear that he cared any more for painting, although he became a - splendid patron of Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom he commissioned to paint - several portraits of his distinguished friends for the decoration of the - library at Streatham. To his munificence in this respect the world owes - its finest portraits of Goldsmith, Burke, Garrick, the painter himself, - and Mrs. Thrale. - </p> - <p> - The debt which we feel we owe to Thrale on this account is, however, - somewhat discounted when we learn that this enthusiastic patron of art - never paid the painter for his work. He left the pictures and the - obligation to pay for them as a legacy to his widow—and to pay for - them at more than the current rate for each into the bargain. Sir Joshua - Reynolds was as good a man of business as Thrale was an indifferent one. - At the time of his painting the portraits his price for a - three-quarter-length picture was £35, but in the course of a year or two - he felt it necessary to charge £50 for the same size, and this was the - price which the unfortunate widow had to pay for her husband's pose as the - munificent patron of the Arts. - </p> - <p> - Men of the stamp of Thrale usually have no vices. - </p> - <p> - They are highly respected. If they had a vice or two they would be - beloved. He had a solitary failing, but it did not win for him the - affection of any one: it was gluttony. For years of his life he gave - himself up to the coarsest form of indulgence. He was not a gourmet: he - did not aim at the refinements of the table or at those daintinesses of - cuisine which in the days of intemperate eaters and drinkers proved so - fatally fascinating to men of many virtues; no, his was the vice of the - trough. He ate for the sake of eating, unmindful of the nature of the dish - so long as it was plentiful enough to keep him employed for an hour or - two. - </p> - <p> - The dinner-table of the famous Streatham Park must have been a spectacle - for some of the philosophers who sat round it. We know what was the food - that Johnson's soul loved, and we know how he was accustomed to partake of - it. He rioted in pork, and in veal baked with raisins, and when he sat - down to some such dainty he fed like a wild animal. He used his fingers as - though they were claws, tearing the flesh from the bone in his teeth, and - swallowing it not wholly without sound. It is not surprising to learn that - his exertions caused the veins in his forehead to swell and the beads of - perspiration to drop from his scholarly brow, nor can any one who has - survived this account of his muscular feat at the dinner-table reasonably - be amazed to hear that when so engaged, he devoted himself to the work - before him to the exclusion of every other interest in life. He was - oblivious of anything that was going on around him. He was deaf to any - remark made by a neighbour, and for himself articulation was suspended. - Doubtless the feeble folk on whom he had been trampling in the - drawing-room felt that his peculiarities of feeding, though revolting to - the squeamish, were not without a bright side. They had a chance of making - a remark at such intervals without being gored—“gored,” it will be - remembered, was the word employed by Boswell in playful allusion to the - effect of his argumentative powers. - </p> - <p> - Thanks to the careful habits of some of the guests at this famous house we - know what fare was placed before the Gargantuan geniuses at one of these - dinners. Here is the <i>carte du jour</i>, “sufficient for twelve,” as the - cookery book says: - </p> - <p> - “First course, soups at head and foot, removed by fish and a saddle of - mutton; second course, a fowl they call galena at head and a capon larger - than some of our Irish turkeys at foot; third course, four different sorts - of ices, pine-apple, grape, raspberry and a fourth; in each remove there - were fourteen dishes.” The world is indebted to an Irish clergyman for - these details. It will be seen that they did not include much that could - be sneered at as bordering on the kickshaw. All was good solid English - fare—just the sort to make the veins in a gormandiser's forehead to - swell and to induce the lethargy from which Thrale suffered. He usually - fell asleep after dinner; one day he failed to awake, and he has not - awakened since. - </p> - <p> - Of course Johnson, being invariably in delicate health, was compelled to - put himself on an invalid's diet when at home. He gives us a sample of a - <i>diner maigre</i> at Bolt Court. Feeling extremely ill, he wrote to Mrs. - Thrale that he could only take for dinner “skate, pudding, goose, and - green asparagus, and could have eaten more but was prudent.” He adds, - “Pray for me, dear Madam,”—by no means an unnecessary injunction, - some people will think, when they become aware of the details of the meal - of an invalid within a year or two of seventy. - </p> - <p> - It was after one of the Streatham dinners that Mrs. Thrale ventured to say - a word or two in favour of Garrick's talent for light gay poetry, and as a - specimen repeated his song in <i>Florizel and Perdita</i>, and dwelt with - peculiar pleasure on this line: - </p> - <p> - <i>I'd smile with the simple and dine with the poor.</i> - </p> - <p> - This is Boswell's account of the matter, and he adds that Johnson cried, - “Nay, my dear lady, this will never do. Poor David! Smile with the simple! - What folly is that? And who would feed with the poor that can help it? No, - no; let me smile with the wise and feed with the rich!” - </p> - <p> - Quite so; beyond a doubt Johnson spoke from the bottom of his heart—nay, - from a deeper depth still. - </p> - <p> - Boswell was amazed to find that Garrick's “sensibility” as a writer was - irritated when he related the story to him, and in Mrs. Thrale's copy of - Johnson she made a note—“How odd to go and tell the man!” - </p> - <p> - It was not at all odd that Boswell, being a professional tale-bearer and - mischief-maker, should tell the man; but it is odd that Garrick should be - irritated, the fact being that the sally was directed against a line which - he did not write. What Garrick did write was something very different. The - verse, which was misquoted, runs thus: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That giant Ambition we never can dread; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Our roofs are too low for so lofty a head; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Content and sweet Cheerfulness open our door, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - They smile with the simple and feed with the poor. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Such a muddle as was made of the whole thing can only be attributed to the - solidity of the Streatham fare. - </p> - <p> - It was inevitable that Thrale could not continue over-eating himself with - impunity. He was warned more than once by his doctors that he was killing - himself, and yet when he had his first attack every one was shocked. He - recovered temporarily, and all his friends implored him to cultivate - moderation at the dinner-table. A touch of humour is to be found among the - details of the sordid story, in his wife's begging Johnson—Johnson - of the swollen forehead and the tokens of his submission to the primeval - curse in the eating of his bread—to try to reason the unhappy man - out of his dreadful vice. After wiping from the front of his coat the - remains of the eighth peach which he had eaten before breakfast, or the - dregs of his nineteenth cup of tea from his waistcoat, Johnson may have - felt equal to the duty. He certainly remonstrated with Thrale. It was all - to no purpose, however; he had a second attack of apoplexy in the spring - of 1780, and we hear that he was copiously “blooded.” He recovered and - went to Bath to recruit. It was during this visit to Bath that the brewery - was attacked by the Gordon rioters. On returning to London he failed to - induce his constituents to remain faithful to him, and he continued eating - voraciously for another year. He began a week of gorging on April 1st, - 1781. His wife implored him to be more moderate, and Johnson said very - wisely, “Sir, after the denunciation of your physicians this morning, such - eating is little better than suicide.” It was all to no purpose. He - survived the gorge of Sunday and Monday, but that of Tuesday was too much - for him. He was found by his daughter on the floor in a fit of apoplexy, - and died the next morning. - </p> - <p> - Such was the man whose memory was outraged by the marriage of his widow - with Piozzi, an Italian musician, whose ability was so highly appreciated - that his earnings, even when he had lost his voice, amounted to £1200 a - year, a sum equal to close upon £2500 of our money. And yet Johnson had - the effrontery to suggest in that letter of his to Mrs. Thrale, which we - have quoted, that she would do well to live in England, so that her money - might be under her own eye! - </p> - <p> - The truth is that Mrs. Thrale was in embarrassed circumstances when she - married Signor Piozzi. Her worthy husband left her an annuity of £2000, - which was to be reduced by £800 in the event of her marrying again; and - also £500 for her immediate expenses. Johnson wrote to her, making her - acquainted with this fact, in order, it would seem, to allay any unworthy - suspicion which she might entertain as to the extent of her husband's - generosity. But his last will and testament cannot have wholly dispersed - the doubt into which her experience of Mr. Thrale may have led her. For a - man who had been making from £16,000 to £20,000 a year to leave his wife - only £2000 a year, with a possibility of its being reduced to £1200, would - not strike any one as being generous to a point of recklessness. When, - however, it is remembered that Thrale's wife plucked him and his business - from the verge of bankruptcy more than once, that she bore him fourteen - children, and that she lived with him for eighteen years, all question as - to the generosity of his bequest to her vanishes. But when, in addition, - it is remembered that the lady's fortune at her marriage to Thrale - amounted to £10,000, all of which he pocketed, and that later on she - brought him another £500 a year, that it was her mother's money, added to - the sum which she herself collected personally, which saved the brewery - from collapse—once again at the sacrifice of her infant—all - question even of common fairness disappears, and the meanness of the man - stands revealed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0083.jpg" alt="0083 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0083.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - It was through the exertions and by the business capacity of his widow - that the brewery was sold for £135,000. She was the only one of the - trustees who knew anything definite about the value of the property, and - had she not been on the spot, that astute Mr. Perkins could have so worked - the concern that he might have been able to buy it in a year or two for - the value of the building materials. And yet when she became involved in a - lawsuit that involved the paying of £7000, she had difficulty in - persuading her daughters' trustees to advance her the money, although the - security of the mortgage which she offered for the accommodation would - have satisfied any bankers. A wretch named Crutchley, who was one of this - precious band of incompetents, on the completion of the deed bade her - thank her daughters for keeping her out of gaol. It is not recorded that - the lady replied, though she certainly might have done so, and with truth - on her side, that if her daughters had kept her out of a gaol she had kept - her daughters out of a workhouse. She would have done much better to have - gone to her friends the Barclays, whose bank had a hundred and fifty years - ago as high a reputation for probity combined with liberality as the same - concern enjoys to-day. - </p> - <p> - Enough of the business side of Mrs. Thrale's second marriage has been - revealed to make it plain that Piozzi was not influenced by any mercenary - motives in the transaction. On the contrary, it was he who came to her - assistance when she was in an extremity, and by the prompt loan of £1000 - extricated her from her embarrassment, and left the next day for Italy, - without having any hope of marrying her. - </p> - <p> - Johnson's verdict on Piozzi, communicated to Miss Seward, was that he was - an ugly dog, without particular skill in his profession. Unfortunately for - this musical enthusiast and devotee to beauty, Miss Seward met Piozzi on - his return from Italy with his wife. (His excellent control of her money - had resulted in every penny of the mortgage being paid, and of the - lodgment of £1500 to their credit in the bank). And Miss Seward, writing - from Lichfield—more of the irony of Fate—in 1787, affirmed - that the great Lichfield man “did not tell me the truth when he asserted - that Piozzi was an ugly dog, without particular skill in his profession. - M. Piozzi is a handsome man in middle life, with gentle, pleasing, - unaffected manners, and with very eminent skill in his profession. Though - he has not a powerful or fine-toned voice, he sings with transcending - grace and expression. I was charmed with his perfect expression on his - instrument. Surely the finest sensibilities must vibrate through his - frame, since they breathe so sweetly through his song.” From this verdict - no person who was acquainted with Signor Piozzi differed. Mrs. Thrale's - marriage with Piozzi was as fortunate for her as her first marriage was - for Thrale. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A TRAGEDY IN THE HAYMARKET - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>BOUT half-past - nine o'clock on the night of October 6th, 1769, a tall, middle-aged - gentleman named Joseph Baretti was walking up the Hay-market. The street - was probably as well lighted as any other in London, and this is - equivalent to saying that a foot passenger, by keeping close to the - windows of the shops and taking cross bearings of the economically - distributed oil lamps hung out at the corners of the many lanes, might be - able to avoid the deep channel of filth that slunk along the margin of - cobble stones. But just at this time the Haymarket must have been - especially well illuminated, for the Opera House was in the act of - discharging its audience, and quite a number of these fashionable folk - went home in their chairs, with link boys walking by the side of the burly - Irish chairmen, showing a flaring flame which left behind it a long trail - of suffocating smoke, and spluttered resin and bitumen into the faces and - upon the garments of all who were walking within range of the illuminant. - Then there was the little theatre higher up the street, and its lamps were - not yet extinguished; so that Mr. Baretti may have felt that on the whole - he was fortunate in the hour he had chosen for his stroll to the - coffee-house where he meant to sup. He may have thought that he had a - chance of coming across his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds leaving one of the - playhouses, and of being invited by that hospitable gentleman to his house - in Leicester Fields; or his still more intimate friend Dr. Samuel Johnson, - who would certainly insist on carrying him off to the “Mitre,” unless the - great man were accompanied by that little Scotch person, James Boswell, - who usually wanted him all to himself, after he had given people a chance - of seeing him in the company of his distinguished friend, and envying him - his position of intimacy—the same position of intimacy that exists - between a Duke and his doormat. Mr. Baretti was too short-sighted to have - any chance of recognising Sir Joshua Reynolds unless he chanced to be - standing under the lamp in the portico of the playhouse, but he felt that - he would have no trouble in recognising Dr. Johnson. The latter had - characteristics that appealed to other senses than the sense of seeing, - and made the act of recognition easy enough to his intimates. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Baretti, however, passed along the dispersing crowd, and was soon in - the dim regions of Panton Street, where pedestrians were few. But before - he had turned down this street he found his way barred by a couple of - half-drunken women. His infirmity of sight prevented his being aware of - their presence until he was almost in the arms of one of them, and the - very second that he made his sudden stop she made a change in the details - of the accident that seemed imminent and threw herself into his arms with - a yell. - </p> - <p> - The good man was staggered for a moment, but, recovering himself, he flung - her off with an expressive word or two in the Italian tongue. She went - limply back and, being adroitly avoided by her companion, gave a circular - stagger or two and fell into the gutter with a screech. - </p> - <p> - Baretti was hurrying on when out of the darkness of Panton Street a big - man sprang, followed quickly by two others. The first seized him by the - right arm with the oath of a bully, the others tried to trip him up, - shouting that he had killed a lady. Baretti was a powerful man and - decidedly tough. He struck at the fellow who had closed with him, and used - his feet against the attack of the others with considerable effect. He - managed to free his arm, but before he could draw his sword he was pulled - backward and would have fallen upon his head if he had not clutched the - coat of the man from whom he had freed himself. There was a pause of a few - seconds, filled up by the wild street yell of the women. The most - aggressive of the three men leapt upon the unfortunate Baretti, but before - their bodies met, gave a guttural shriek, then a groan. He staggered past, - his fingers tearing like talons at his ribs; he whirled twice round and, - gasping, fell on his knees, motionless only for a few seconds; his hands - dropped limply from his side, and he pitched forward on his head into the - gutter. - </p> - <p> - Baretti was standing, awaiting a further attack, with a knife in his hand, - when he was seized by some of the crowd. He offered no resistance. He - seemed to be so amazed at finding himself alive as to be incapable of - taking any further action. - </p> - <p> - “He has killed the man—stabbed him with a dagger to the very heart!” - was the cry that came from those of the crowd who were kneeling beside the - wretch in the gutter. - </p> - <p> - “And a woman—he had slain a woman at the outset. Hold him fast. None - of us are safe this night. Have a care for the dagger, friends!” - </p> - <p> - A sufficiency of advice was given by the excited onlookers to the men who - had encircled Baretti—one of them was clinging to him with his arms - clasped around his body—until two of the Haymarket watch hurried up, - striking right and left with their staves after the wholesome manner of - the period, and so making a way for their approach through the crowd. - </p> - <p> - “'Tis more than a street brawl—a man has been slain—some say a - woman also,” a shopkeeper explained to them, having run bareheaded out of - his shop; his apprentice had just put up the last of the shutters. - </p> - <p> - They had Baretti by the collar in a second, cautiously disarming him, - holding the weapon up to the nearest lamp. The blade was still wet with - blood. - </p> - <p> - “A swinging matter this,” one of them remarked. “I can swear to the blood. - No dagger, but a knife. What man walks the streets at night with a naked - knife unless slaughter is his intent?” - </p> - <p> - “Friends, I was attacked by three bullies, and I defended myself—that - is all,” said Baretti. He spoke English perfectly. - </p> - <p> - “You will need to tell that to Sir John in the morning,” said one of the - watchmen. “You are apprehended in the King's name. Where is the poor - victim?” - </p> - <p> - “There must be some of the crowd who saw how I was attacked,” said - Baretti. “They will testify that I acted in self-defence. Sirs, hear me - make an appeal to you. Out of your sense of justice—you will not see - an innocent man apprehended.” - </p> - <p> - “The knife—who carries a bare knife in the streets unless with - intent?” said a man. - </p> - <p> - “'Twas my fruit-knife. I never go abroad without it. I eat my fruit like a - Christian, not like a pig or an Englishman,” was the defence offered by - Baretti, who had now quite lost his temper and was speaking with his - accustomed bitterness. He usually sought to pass as an Englishman, but he - was now being arrested by the minions of the law as it was in England. - </p> - <p> - “Hear him! A pig of an Englishman. Those were his words! A foreign hound. - Frenchie, I'll be bound.” - </p> - <p> - “A spy—most like a Papist. He has the hanging brow of a born - Papist.” - </p> - <p> - “He'll hang like a dog at Tyburn—he may be sure o' that.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis the mercy o' Heaven that the rascal was caught red-handed! Sirs, - this may be the beginning of a dreadful massacring plot against the lives - of honest and peaceful people.” - </p> - <p> - The comments of a crowd of the period upon such an incident as the - stabbing of an Englishman by a foreigner in the streets of London can - easily be imagined. - </p> - <p> - Even when Baretti was put into a hackney coach and driven off to Bow - Street the crowd doubtless remained talking in groups of the menace to - English freedom and true religion by the arrival of pestilent foreigners, - every man of them carrying a knife. It would be a sad day for England when - Jesuitical fruit-knives took the place of good wholesome British bludgeons - in the settlement of the ordinary differences incidental to a Protestant - people. - </p> - <p> - It is certain that this was one of the comments of the disintegrating - crowd, and it is equally certain that Baretti commented pretty freely to - his custodians in the hackney coach upon the place occupied in the comity - of nations of that State, the social conditions of whose metropolis made - possible so gross a scandal as the arrest of a gentleman and a scholar, - solely by reason of his success in snatching his life out of the talons of - a ruffian and a bully. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Baretti was a gentleman and a scholar whose name appears pretty - frequently in the annals of the eighteenth century, but seldom with any - great credit to himself. As a matter of fact, this dramatic episode of the - stabbing of the man in the Haymarket is the happiest with which his name - is associated. He made his most creditable appearance in the chronicles of - the period as the chief actor in this sordid drama. He cuts a very poor - figure indeed upon every other occasion when he appears in the pages of - his contemporaries, though they all meant to be kind to him. - </p> - <p> - He never could bear people to be kind to him, and certainly, so far as he - himself was concerned, it cannot be said that any blame attaches to him - for the persistence of his friends in this direction. He did all that - mortal man could do to discourage them, and if after the lapse of a year - or two he was still treated by some with cordiality or respect, assuredly - it was not owing to his display of any qualities that justified their - maintenance of such an attitude. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Baretti was an eminently detestable scholar of many parts. He was as - detestable as he was learned—perhaps even more so. Learned men are - not invariably horrid, unless they are men of genius as well, and this - rarely happens. - </p> - <p> - Baretti had no such excuse, though it must be acknowledged that his - capacity for being disagreeable almost amounted to genius. Such a - character as his is now and again met with in daily life. A man who feels - himself to be, in point of scholarly attainment, far above the majority of - men, and who sees inferiority occupying a place of distinction while he - remains neglected and, to his thinking, unappreciated, is not an uncommon - figure in learned or artistic circles. Baretti was a disappointed man, and - he showed himself to be such. He had a grievance against the world for - being constituted as it is. He had a grievance against society. He had a - grievance against his friends who got on in the world. But the only people - against whom he was really malevolent were those who were signally and - unaccountably kind to him. He accepted their kindness, and then turned and - rent them. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Johnson met him when they were both working for the booksellers, and - when the great dictionary scheme was floated his co-operation was - welcomed. Johnson's success in life was largely due to his faculty for - discovering people who could be useful to him. It can easily be believed - that, knowing something of the scholarship of Baretti, he should be - delighted to avail himself of his help. Baretti had an intimate knowledge - of several languages and their literature; as a philologist he was - probably far superior to Johnson; and possibly Johnson knew this, though - he was doubtless too wise ever to acknowledge so much openly. We do not - hear that the relations between the two ever became strained while the - great work was in course of progress. Shortly after it was completed - Baretti returned to his native Italy, and began to reproach Johnson for - not writing to him more frequently. We have several examples of the - cheerfulness with which Johnson set about exculpating himself from such - reproaches. The letters which he wrote to him at Italy are among the most - natural that ever came from his pen. They are models of the gossipy style - which Johnson could assume without once deviating from that dignity which - so frequently became ponderous, suggesting the dignity of the elephant - rather than that of the lion. Walpole was a master of the art of being - gossipy without being dignified. But Johnson's style was not flexible. We - have not Baretti's letters to Johnson, but the references made by the - latter to some matters communicated to him by his correspondent let us - know something of how Baretti was getting on in the land of his birth. He - seems to have set his heart upon obtaining some appointment in Italy, and - his aspirations included marriage. He was disappointed in both directions; - and it would be too much to expect that his temper was improved by these - rebuffs. - </p> - <p> - It may well be believed that he quarrelled his way through Italy. “I have - lately seen Mr. Stratico, Professor of Padua, who has told me of your - quarrel with an abbot of the Celestine Order, but had not the particulars - very ready in his memory,” Johnson wrote to him at Milan. Any one who - could quarrel with an abbot of the Celestine Order would, we fancy, be <i>capable - de tout</i>, like the prophet Habakkuk, according to the witty Frenchman. - One is not disposed to be hard upon Professor Stratico for his shortness - of memory in regard to this particular quarrel; the strain of remembering - the details of all the quarrels of Mr. Baretti would be too great for any - man. - </p> - <p> - Of course, Dr. Johnson gave him some excellent advice. It seems that poor - Baretti had been at first so well received on his return to Italy that he - became sanguine of success in all his enterprises, and when they - miscarried he wrote very bitterly to Johnson, who replied as follows: - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry for your disappointment, with which you seem more touched than - I should expect a man of your resolution and experience to have been, did - I not know that general truths are seldom applied to particular occasions; - and that the fallacy of our selflove extends itself as wide as our - interests or affections. Every man believes that mistresses are unfaithful - and patrons capricious; but he excepts his own mistress and his own - patron. We have all learned that greatness is negligent and contemptuous, - and that in Courts life is often languished away in ungratified - expectation; but he that approaches greatness or glitters in a Court, - imagines that destiny has at last exempted him from the common lot.” - </p> - <p> - It is doubtful if this excellent philosophy made the person to whom it was - addressed more amiable to his immediate entourage; nor is it likely that - he was soothed by the assurance that his “patron's weakness or - insensibility will finally do you little hurt, if he is not assisted by - your own passions.” - </p> - <p> - “Of your love,” continued Johnson, “I know not the propriety; we can - estimate the power, but in love, as in every other passion of which hope - is the essence, we ought always to remember the uncertainty of events.” He - then hastens to add that “love and marriage are different states. Those - who are to suffer the evils together, and to suffer often for the sake of - one another, soon lose that tenderness of look, and that benevolence of - mind which arose from the participation of unmingled pleasure and success - in amusement.” - </p> - <p> - The pleasant little cynical bark in the phrase “those that are to suffer - the evils together,” as if it referred to love and marriage, is, Malone - thinks, not Johnson's, but Baretti's. It is suggested that Johnson really - wrote “those that are to suffer the evils <i>of life</i> together,” and - that Baretti in transcribing the letter for Boswell, purposely omitted the - words “<i>of life</i>.” It would be quite like Baretti to do this; for he - would thereby work off part of his spite against Johnson for having given - him the advice, and he would have had his own sneer against “love and - marriage,” the <i>fons et origo</i> of his disappointment. - </p> - <p> - But of Dr. Johnson's esteem for the attainments of Baretti there can be no - doubt. He thought that the book on Italy which he published on his return - to England was very entertaining, adding: “Sir, I know no man who carries - his head higher in conversation than Baretti. There are strong powers in - his mind. He has not, indeed, many hooks; but with what hooks he has he - grapples very forcibly.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0099.jpg" alt="0099 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0099.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - It may seem rather strange after this that Baretti was never admitted to - the membership of the celebrated club. He was intimate with nearly all the - original members, but the truth remained that he was not what Johnson - called a clubbable man: he had too many hooks, not too few. - </p> - <p> - Such was the man who was brought before Sir John Fielding, the magistrate - at Bow Street, on the morning after the tragedy, charged with murder; and - then it was that he found the value of the friendships which he had formed - in England. The first person to hasten to his side in his extremity was - Oliver Goldsmith, the man whom he had so frequently made the object of his - sarcasm, whose peculiarities he had mimicked, not in the playful manner of - Garrick or Foote, but in his own spiteful style, with the grim humour of - the disappointed man. Goldsmith it was who opened his purse for him and - got a coach for him when he was remanded until the next day, riding by his - side to the place of his incarceration. Goldsmith was by his side when the - question of bail was discussed before Lord Mansfield. For some reason - which does not require any particular explanation, it was not thought that - Goldsmith as a bailsman would appeal irresistibly to the authorities, but - the names of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Edmund Burke, Mr. David Garrick, and - Mr. H. Fitzherbert were submitted to Lord Mansfield, and immediately - accepted. An amusing anecdote was current regarding the few days of - Baretti's incarceration. One morning he was visited by a teacher of - languages, who begged a trifling favour of him. This was merely a letter - of recommendation to Baretti's pupils, so that the applicant might have a - chance of taking them over “when you are hanged, sir.” The fact that this - sympathetic visitor was allowed to depart without molestation makes people - doubt whether Baretti was so bad-tempered after all. He did not assault - the man. “You rascal!” he cried. “If I were not in my own room, I would - kick you downstairs directly.” - </p> - <p> - The trial was fixed for October 20th at the Old Bailey, and a few days - before this date a number of the prisoner's friends met together to - consult as to the line which should be taken for his defence. It seems - that they were not all agreed on some points; this was only to be - expected, considering what an array of wisdom was brought together upon - the occasion of these consultations, and considering also the course which - was adopted by Dr. Johnson, who thought that the interests of the prisoner - would be advanced by getting up an academical discussion with Burke. - Johnson and Burke were notorious rivals in conversation in those days when - conversation was regarded as an art, and men and women seemed to have - plenty of leisure to talk together for the sake of talking, and to argue - together for the sake of argument, and to be rude to one another for the - sake of wit. Boswell was for ever extolling Johnson at the expense of - Burke; and indeed, so far as one can gather from his pages, Johnson was - the ruder man. - </p> - <p> - The example that Boswell gives of his own readiness in making Goldsmith - “shut up” when he questioned Johnson's superiority to Burke in discussion - is one of the best instances of the little Scotsman's incapacity to - perceive the drift of an argument. “Is he like Burke who winds into a - subject like a serpent?” asked Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - “But” (said I) “Dr. Johnson is the Hercules that strangled serpents in his - cradle.” - </p> - <p> - This repartee which Boswell gleefully records is about equal to the reply - made by one of the poets who was appealed to in the “Bab Ballads” to say - if he wrote “the lovely cracker mottoes my Elvira pulls at supper.” It - will be remembered that the poet whose name rhymes with “supper” replied: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - “'A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,' - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - Which” (the earnest inquirer said) “I felt was very wise, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - but I didn't understand it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - It was in regard to this consultation as to the best defence to be made - out for Baretti that Johnson admitted to have opposed Burke simply for the - sake of showing the rest of the company that he could get the better of - Burke in an argument. “Burke and I,” he said, “should have been of one - opinion if we had had no audience.” Such a confession! There was the life - of his friend Baretti trembling in the balance, and yet Johnson, solely - for the sake of “showing off,” opposed the wisdom and ingenuity Burke - exercised to save from the gallows a man whom Johnson professed to admire! - </p> - <p> - But if we are to believe Boswell, Johnson cared very little whether his - friend was hanged or not. As for Boswell himself, he always detested - Baretti, and is reported to have expressed the earnest hope that the man - would be hanged. However, the “consultations” went merrily on, and - doubtless contributed in some measure to a satisfactory solution of the - vexed question as to whether Johnson or Burke was the more brilliant - talker. They formed a tolerably valid excuse for the uncorking of several - bottles, and perhaps these friends of Baretti felt that even though he - should die, yet the exchange of wit in the course of these happy evenings - would live for ever in the memory of those present, so that after all, let - the worst come to the worst, Baretti should have little cause for - complaint. - </p> - <p> - It is reported that the prisoner, upon the occasion of his receiving a - visit from Johnson and Burke, cried: “What need a man fear who holds two - such hands?” It may here be mentioned, however, that although it was - asserted that Johnson and Murphy were responsible for the line of defence - adopted at the trial, yet in after years Baretti was most indignant that - it should be suggested that credit should be given to any one but himself - for his defence; and he ridiculed the notion that Johnson or Burke or - Murphy or even Boswell—himself an aspirant to the profession of law - in which he subsequently displayed a conspicuous lack of distinction—had - anything to do with the instruction either of solicitors or barristers on - his behalf. - </p> - <p> - At any rate, the “consultations” came to an end, and the friends of the - accused awaited the trial with exemplary patience. Mr. Boswell seems - suddenly to have become the most sympathetic of the friends; for three - days before the event he took a journey to Tyburn to witness the hanging - of several men at that place, and though it is known that the spectacle of - a hanging never lost its charm for him, yet it is generous to assume that - upon this occasion he went to Tyburn in order to qualify himself more - fully for sympathising with Baretti, should the defence assigned to him - break down. - </p> - <p> - Another ardent sympathiser was Mr. Thomas Davies the bookseller, a - gentleman whose chief distinction in the eyes of his contemporaries - consisted—if we are to believe one of the wittiest of his associates—in - the fact that he had an exceedingly pretty wife; but whose claim to the - gratitude of coming generations lies in the circumstance of his having - introduced Boswell to Johnson. Tom Davies was terribly cut up at the - thought of the possibility of Baretti's being sentenced to be hanged. - Boswell, on the day before the trial, after telling Johnson how he had - witnessed the executions at Tyburn, and expressing his surprise that none - of the wretches seemed to think anything of the matter, mentioned that - Foote, the actor, had shown him a letter which he had received from Tom - Davies, and in which the writer affirmed that he had not had a wink of - sleep owing to his anxiety in respect of “this sad affair of Baretti,” and - begging Foote to suggest some way by which he could be of service to the - accused, adding that should Mr. Foote be in need of anything in the pickle - line, he could strongly recommend him to an industrious young man who had - lately set up in that business. - </p> - <p> - Strange to say, Johnson was not impressed with this marked evidence of Mr. - Davies' kind heart. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, sir, here you have a specimen of human sympathy,” he cried. “A friend - hanged and a cucumber pickled! We know not whether Baretti or the pickle - man has kept Davies from sleep; nor does he know himself.” - </p> - <p> - This was rather sweeping, but his dictum showed that he was rather a poor - analyser of human emotion. In the minds of the people of to-day who read - of Tom Davies' bad nights there is no manner of doubt whatever that the - sequence of his emotions was to be attributed to his intimacy with the - industrious young pickle maker. Tom had indulged rather too freely in some - of the specimens of his art presented to him by the pickler, and the - result was a melancholy night; and, being melancholy, he was led to think - of the most melancholy incident that had recently come under his notice. - When a man is full of mixed pickles he is liable to get a little mixed, - and so in the morning he attributed his miserable night to his thoughts - about Baretti, instead of knowing that his thoughts about Baretti were the - natural result of his miserable night. If he had been acquainted with an - industrious young onion merchant he might have passed the night in tears. - </p> - <p> - “As for his not sleeping,” said Dr. Johnson, “sir, Tom Davies is a very - great man—Tom has been on the stage, and knows how to do those - things.” - </p> - <p> - Boswell: “I have often blamed myself, sir, for not feeling for others as - sensibly as many say they do.” Johnson: “Sir, don't be duped by them any - more. You will find those very feeling people are not very ready to do you - good. They pay you by feeling.” Mr. Boswell thought that he would do well - to turn his friend from the subject under discussion, so he made the - apparently harmless remark that Foote had a great deal of humour and that - he had a singular talent of exhibiting character. But Johnson had on him - the mood not only of “the rugged Russian bear,” but also of “the armed - rhinoceros and the Hyrcan tiger.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, it is not a talent: it is a vice; it is what others abstain from,” - he growled. - </p> - <p> - “Did not he think of exhibiting you, sir?” inquired the tactful Mr. - Boswell, though he knew all about Foote and Johnson long before. - </p> - <p> - “Sir, fear restrained him,” said Johnson. “He knew I would have broken his - bones. I would have saved him the trouble of cutting off a leg: I would - not have left him a leg to cut off.” - </p> - <p> - This brutal reference to the fact that Foote's recent accident had - compelled him to have a leg amputated should surely have suggested to his - inquisitor that he had probably been paying a visit to an industrious - young pickle maker without Tom Davies' recommendation, or that he had - partaken of too generous a helping of his favourite veal, baked with - plums, and so that he would do well to leave him alone for a while. But - no, Mr. Boswell was not to be denied. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, sir, is not Foote an infidel?” he inquired. But as he himself had - been dining with Foote the previous day, and as he possessed no more - delicacy than a polecat, he could easily have put the question to Foote - himself. - </p> - <p> - But Johnson would not even give the man credit for his infidelity. - </p> - <p> - “I do not know, sir, that the fellow is an infidel,” he said; “but if he - is an infidel, he is an infidel as a dog is an infidel, that is to say, he - has never thought on the subject.” - </p> - <p> - In another second he was talking of Buchanan, a poet, whom he praised, and - of Shakespeare, another poet, whom he condemned, winding up by saying that - there were some very fine things in Dr. Young's <i>Night Thoughts</i>. But - the most remarkable of his deliverances on this rather memorable evening - had reference to Baretti's fate. After declaring that if one of his - friends had just been hanged he would eat his dinner every bit as heartily - as if his friend were still alive.—“Why, there's Baretti, who is to - be tried for his life to-morrow,” he added; “friends have risen up for him - on every side; yet if he should be hanged, none of them will eat a slice - of plum pudding the less.” Happily the accuracy of this tender-hearted - scholar's prediction had no chance of being put to the test. Baretti was - tried and acquitted. - </p> - <p> - Boswell gives only a few lines to an account of the trial, and fails to - mention that the prisoner declined the privilege of being tried by a jury - one half of whom should be foreigners. “It took place,” he said, “at the - awful Sessions House, emphatically called Justice Hall,” and he affirms - that “never did such a constellation of genius enlighten the Old Bailey.” - </p> - <p> - He mentions that Mr. Burke, Mr. Garrick, Mr. Beauclerk, and Dr. Johnson - gave evidence, the last-named being especially impressive, speaking in a - slow, deliberate, and distinct tone of voice. It seems strange that - Boswell, who was (nominally) a lawyer, when he wrote his life of Johnson, - should say nothing whatever respecting the line of defence adopted by the - friends of the prisoner upon this interesting occasion. It might have been - expected that he would dwell lovingly, as a lawyer would certainly be - pardoned for doing, upon the technical points involved in the trial, even - though he hated Baretti. For instance, it would be interesting to learn - why it was thought that the result of the trial might mean the hanging of - Baretti, when from the first it was perfectly plain that he had acted in - self-defence: not merely was he protecting his purse, he had actually to - fight for his life against an acknowledged ruffian of the most - contemptible type. In the present day if a short-sighted man of letters—say - Mr. Augustine Birrell—were to be attacked in a dark street by three - notorious scoundrels and to manage to kill one of them by poking the - ferrule end of an umbrella into his eye, no one—not even a - Conservative Attorney-General—would fancy that a grand jury at the - New Old Bailey would return a true bill against him for the act, putting - aside all question of his being found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. - And yet in Baretti's time swords were commonly worn, and they were by no - means toy weapons. Why should poor Tom Davies have a sleepless night, - owing (as he believed) to his apprehension that his friend would be hanged - in a day or two? Why was it necessary to dazzle the “awful Sessions House” - by such “a constellation of genius” as had never before assembled in that - “Hall of Justice”? - </p> - <p> - Mr. Boswell might certainly have told us something of the actual scene in - the court, when he has devoted so much space to the ridiculous dialogues - between himself and Johnson, having more or less bearing upon the case. - The course he adopted is like laying a dinner-table with four knives and - forks and five wineglasses for every guest—in having a constellation - of genii in plush behind every chair, and then serving a dinner of hashed - mutton only. A great number of people believe that whatever Boswell may - have been, he was invariably accurate. But in this case he does not even - give a true account of the constellation of genius to which he refers. He - only says that Burke, Garrick, Beauclerk, and Johnson were called as - witnesses. He omits to say a word about Goldsmith, who was something of a - genius; or Reynolds, who was quite a tolerable painter; or Fitzherbert, - who had a wide reputation as a politician; or Dr. Halifax, whose evidence - carried certainly as much weight as Johnson's. He does not even say a word - respecting the evidence which Johnson and the others were called on to - give on behalf of the prisoner at the bar. What is the good of telling us - that the constellation of genius had never been paralleled within the - precincts of the “emphatically called Justice Hall” if we are not made - aware of some of the flashes of their genius when they were put into the - witness-box? - </p> - <p> - The truth is that Boswell had no sense of proportion any more than a sense - of the sublime and beautiful—or, for that matter, a sense of the - ridiculous. He was the Needy Knife Grinder—with an occasional axe of - his own—of the brilliant circle into which he crawled, holding on to - Johnson's skirts and half concealing himself beneath their capacious - flaps. He had constant stories suggested to him, but he failed to see - their possibilities. He was a knife grinder and nothing more; but at his - own trade he was admirable; he ground away patiently at his trivialities - respecting the man whom he never was within leagues of understanding, and - it is scarcely fair to reproach him for not throwing away his grindstone, - which he knew how to use, and taking to that of a diamond cutter, which he - was incapable of manipulating. But surely he might have told us something - more of the actual trial of Baretti instead of giving us page after page - leading up to the trial. - </p> - <p> - From other sources we learn that what all the geniuses were called on to - testify to was the pacific character of Baretti, and this they were all - able to do in an emphatic manner. It would seem that it was assumed that - the prisoner, a short-sighted, middle-aged man of letters, was possessed - of all the dangerous qualities of a bloodthirsty brigand of his own - country—that he was a fierce and ungovernable desperado, who was in - the habit of prowling about the purlieus of the Haymarket to do to death - with a fruit-knife the peaceful citizens whom he might encounter. He was a - foreigner, and he had killed an Englishman with an outlandish weapon. That - seems to have been the reason there was for the apprehension, which was - very general in respect of the fate of Baretti, for it was upon these - points that his witnesses were most carefully examined. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith, Reynolds, and Garrick were very useful witnesses regarding the - knife. They affirmed that in carrying a fruit-knife the prisoner was in no - way departing from the recognised custom of his fellow-countrymen. He, in - common with them, was in the habit of eating a great deal of fruit, so - that the knife was a necessity with him. - </p> - <p> - Johnson's evidence was as follows: - </p> - <p> - “I have known Mr. Baretti a long time. He is a man of literature—a - very studious man—a man of great intelligence. He gets his living by - study. I have no reason to think he was ever disordered with liquor in his - life. A man that I have never known to be otherwise than peaceable and a - man that I take to be rather timorous. As to his eyesight, he does not see - me now, nor do I see him. I do not believe he would be capable of - assaulting anybody in the street without great provocation.” - </p> - <p> - It cannot be denied that the reference to Baretti's imperfect sight told - upon the jury, and uttered as the words were by Johnson in his dignified - way, they could scarcely fail to produce a profound effect upon the court. - </p> - <p> - Baretti was acquitted, and no one could presume to refer to him for the - rest of his life except as a quiet, inoffensive, frugivorous gentleman, - since these were the qualities with which he was endowed by a - constellation of geniuses on their oath. He was acquitted by the jury; but - the judge thought it well to say a few words to him before allowing him to - leave the dock, and the drift of his discourse amounted to a severe - censure upon his impetuosity, and the expression of a hope that the - inconvenience to which he was put upon this occasion would act as a - warning to him in future. - </p> - <p> - Really one could hardly imagine that in those days, when every week Mr. - Boswell had a chance of going to such an entertainment at Tyburn as he had - attended forty-eight hours before the opening of the Sessions, the taking - of the life of a human being was regarded with such horror. One cannot - help recalling the remark made by Walpole a few years later, that, owing - to the severity of the laws, England had been turned into one vast - shambles; nor can one quite forget the particulars of the case which was - quoted as having an intimate bearing upon this contention—the case - in which a young wife whose husband had been impressed to serve in His - Majesty's Fleet, and who had consequently been left without any means of - support, had stolen a piece of bread to feed her starving children, and - had been hanged at Tyburn for the crime. - </p> - <p> - Reading the judge's censure of Baretti, who had, in preventing a - contemptible ruffian from killing him, decreased by a unit the criminality - of London, the only conclusion that one can come to is that the courts of - law were very jealous of their precious prerogative to kill. Looking at - the matter in this light, the bombastic phrase of Boswell does not seem so - ridiculous after all; the Old Bailey had certainly good reason to be - regarded as the “awful Sessions House.” But we are not so fully convinced - that it had any right to be referred to as emphatically the Hall of - Justice. In the Georgian Pageant the common hangman played too conspicuous - a part. - </p> - <p> - But the unfortunate, if impetuous, Baretti left the court a free man, and - we cannot doubt that in the company of his friends who had stood by him in - his hour of trial he was a good deal harder upon the judge than the judge - had been upon him; and probably he was reproved in a grave and dignified - manner by Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds standing by with his ear - trumpet, fearful lest a single word of Johnson's wisdom should escape him. - Doubtless Mr. Garrick, the moment Johnson's back was turned, gave an - inimitable imitation of both Johnson and Baretti—perhaps of the - judge as well, and most likely the usher of the court. - </p> - <p> - Later on, when the avaricious Reynolds had hastened back to his studio in - Leicester Fields to daub on canvas the figures of some of his sitters at - the extortionate price of thirty-five guineas for a three-quarter length, - he and Johnson put their heads together to devise what could be done for - Baretti. - </p> - <p> - For about a year Baretti resumed his old way of living, working for the - booksellers and completing his volume of travel through Europe, by which - it is said he made £500. It would appear, however, that all his pupils had - transferred themselves to the enterprising gentleman who had appealed to - him at an inopportune moment for his recommendation, or to some of his - other brethren, for by the end of the year he was in needy circumstances. - Meantime he had been made by Sir Joshua Reynolds Honorary Secretary for - Foreign Correspondence to the Royal Academy, and then Johnson recommended - him to the husband of Mrs. Thrale as tutor to her girls at Streatham. This - was very kind to Baretti, but it was rather hard on the Thrales. - Apparently from the first day he went to Streatham his attitude in regard - to the Thrale family was one of spite and malevolence; and there can be no - doubt that Johnson bitterly regretted his patronage of a man who seemed - never to forgive any one who had done him a good turn. - </p> - <p> - The agreement made by him with the Thrales was that he should practically - be his own master, only residing at Streatham as a member of the family - with no fixed salary. He was as artful as an Irish cabman in suggesting - this “leave it to your honour” contract. He had heard on all hands of the - liberality of Mr. Thrale, and he knew that, in addition to being provided - with a luxurious home, he would receive presents from him far in excess of - what he could earn. He was extremely well treated for the next three - years, though he was for ever grumbling when he had a moment's leisure - from insulting the Thrales and their guests. Mrs. Thrale said more in his - favour than any one with whom he came in contact. She wrote: “His lofty - consciousness of his own superiority which made him tenacious of every - position, and drew him into a thousand distresses, did not, I must own, - ever disgust me, till he began to exercise it against myself, and resolve - to reign in our house by fairly defying the mistress of it. Pride, - however, though shocking enough, is never despicable; but vanity, which he - possessed too, in an eminent degree, will sometimes make a man near sixty - ridiculous.” - </p> - <p> - Assuredly Mrs. Thrale “let him down” very gently. Dr. Thomas Campbell, a - clergyman from Ireland, gives us a glimpse of Baretti's bearing at - Streatham. It is clear that Baretti was anxious to impress him with the - nature of his position in the house. “He told me he had several families - both in town and country with whom he could go at any time and spend a - month; he is at this time on these terms at Mr. Thrale's, and he knows how - to keep his ground. Talking, as we were at tea, of the magnitude of the - beer vessels, he said there was one thing at Mr. Thrale's house still more - extraordinary—his wife. She gulped the pill very prettily. So much - for Baretti!” wrote the clergyman in a very illuminating account of his - visit to Streatham. - </p> - <p> - But not only did Mrs. Thrale bear with this detestable person for nearly - two more years, but she and her husband took him with them and Johnson to - Paris, where they lived in a magnificent way, the Thrales paying for - everything. It was in a letter to Frank Levet, his domestic apothecary, - that Johnson, writing from Paris, said: “I ran a race in the rain this - day, and beat Baretti. Baretti is a fine fellow.” This is Johnson on - Baretti. Here is Baretti on Johnson; on a copy of the <i>Piozzi Letters</i> - he wrote: “Johnson was often fond of saying silly things in strong terms, - and the silly madam”—meaning Mrs. Thrale—“never failed to echo - that beastly kind of wit.” - </p> - <p> - It was not, however, until an Italian tour, projected by Mr. Thrale, was - postponed, that Baretti became quite unendurable. He had been presented by - Mr. Thrale with £100 within a few months, and on the abandonment of the - longer tour he received another £100 by way of compensation for the - satisfaction he had been compelled to forgo in showing his countrymen the - position to which he had attained in England. This was another act of - generosity which he could not forgive. He became sullen and more - cantankerous than ever, and neglected his duties in an intolerable way. In - fact, he treated Streatham as if it were an hotel, turning up to give Miss - Thrale a lesson at the most inconvenient hours, and then devoting the most - of his time to poisoning the girl's mind against her mother. Upon one - occasion he expressed the hope to her that if her mother died Mr. Thrale - would marry Miss Whitbred, who would, he said, be a pretty companion for - her, not tyrannical and overbearing as he affirmed her own mother was! - Truly a nice remark for a young lady's tutor to make to her under her - mother's roof. - </p> - <p> - The fact was, however—we have Baretti's own confession for it—that - he had been led to believe that after being with the Thrales for a year or - two, an annuity would be settled on him by the wealthy brewer, and he grew - impatient at his services to the family not obtaining recognition in this - way. It is extremely unlikely that Johnson ever even so much as hinted at - this annuity, though Baretti says his expectations were due to what - Johnson had told him; but it is certain that he had so exalted an opinion - of himself, he believed that after a year or two of desultory teaching he - should receive a handsome pension. And there the old story of the - car-driver who left the nomination of the fare to “his honour's honour” - was repeated. Baretti one morning packed up his bag and left Streatham - without a word of farewell. - </p> - <p> - Johnson's account of his departure and his comments thereupon are worth - notice. He wrote to Boswell: - </p> - <p> - “Baretti went away from Thrales in some whimsical fit of disgust or - ill-nature without taking any leave. It is well if he finds in any other - place as good an habitation and as many conveniences.” - </p> - <p> - On the whole it is likely that a good many of Baretti's friends felt - rather sorry than otherwise that the jury at the Old Bailey had taken so - merciful a view of his accident. If Johnson and Murphy were really - responsible for the line of defence which prevailed at the trial, one can - quite believe that the Thrales and a good many of their associates bore - them a secret grudge for their pains. - </p> - <p> - In the year 1782 he was granted by the Government the pension which he had - failed to extort from the Thrales. It amounted to £80 per annum, and we - may take it for granted that he had nothing but the most copious abuse for - the Prime Minister who had only given him £80 when Sheridan was receiving - £200 and Johnson £300. He drew his pension for seven years. - </p> - <p> - Baretti's portrait, painted by Reynolds for the Streatham gallery, fetched - £31 10s., the smallest price of any in the whole collection, on its - dispersal, years after the principal actors in the scene in the “awful - Sessions House” had gone to another world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE FATAL GIFT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Mr. Boswell - had been snubbed, and very soundly snubbed too, by a Duchess, one might - fancy that his ambition was fully satisfied. But he was possibly the most - persevering of the order of <i>Pachydermata</i> at that time extant; and - in the matter of snubs he had the appetite of a leviathan. He was fired - with the desire to be snubbed once more by Her Grace—and he was. - Without waiting to catch her eye, he raised his glass and, bowing in her - direction, said: - </p> - <p> - “My Lady Duchess, I have the honour to drink Your Grace's good health.” - </p> - <p> - The Duchess did not allow her conversation with Dr. Johnson to be - interrupted by so flagrant a piece of politeness; she continued chatting - quite pleasantly to the great man, ignoring the little one. That was how - she had got on in life; and, indeed, a better epitome of the whole art of - getting on in life could scarcely be compiled even by the cynical nobleman - who wrote letters to his son instructing him in this and other forms of - progress—including the Rake's. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Boswell, who, as usual, is the pitiless narrator of the incident, - records his satisfaction at having attained to the distinction of a snub - from the beautiful creature at whose table he was sitting, and we are, as - usual, deeply indebted to him for giving us an illuminating glimpse of the - Duchess of whom at one time all England and the greater part of Ireland - were talking. He also mentions that Her Grace made use of an idiom by - which her Irish upbringing revealed itself. If we had not Mr. Boswell's - account of his visit to Inveraray to refer to we might be tempted to - believe that Horace Walpole deviated into accuracy when he attributed to - the Duchess of Argyll, as well as her sister, the Countess of Coventry, - the brogue of a bog-trotter. It was only by her employment of an idiom - common to the south and west of Ireland and a few other parts of the - kingdom, that Her Grace made him know that she had not been educated in - England, or for that matter in Scotland, where doubtless Mr. Boswell - fondly believed the purest English in the world was spoken. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0121.jpg" alt="0121 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0121.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Mr. Boswell faithfully records—sometimes with glee and occasionally - with pride—many snubs which he received in the course of a lifetime - of great pertinacity, and some that he omitted to note, his contemporaries - were obliging enough to record; but on none did he reflect with more - satisfaction than that, or those, which he suffered in the presence of the - Duchess of Argyll. - </p> - <p> - It happened during that memorable tour to the Hebrides to which he lured - Johnson in order to show his countrymen how great was his intimacy with - the man who traduced them once in his Dictionary and daily in his life. It - was like Boswell to expect that he would impress the Scottish nation by - leading Johnson to view their fine prospects—he certainly was never - foolish enough to hope to impress Johnson by introducing the Scottish - nation to him. In due time, however, the exploiter and the exploited found - themselves in the neighbourhood of Inveraray, the Duke of Argyll's Castle, - and the stronghold of the Clan Campbell. - </p> - <p> - It chanced that the head of the great family was in residence at this - time, and Mr. Boswell hastened to apprise him of the fact that the great - Dr. Johnson was at hand. He called at the Castle very artfully shortly - after the dinner hour, when he believed the Duchess and her daughter would - have retired to a drawing-room. He was successful in finding the Duke - still at the dinner-table, the ladies having retired. In the course of the - interview the Duke said: “Mr. Boswell, won't you have some tea?” and Mr. - Boswell, feeling sure that the Duchess could not go very far in insulting - him when other people were present, followed his host into the - drawing-room. “The Duke,” he records, “announced my name, but the Duchess, - who was sitting with her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, and some other - ladies, took not the least notice of me. I should,” he continues, “have - been mortified at being thus coldly received by a lady of whom I, with the - rest of the world, have always entertained a very high admiration, had I - not been consoled by the obliging attention of the Duke.” - </p> - <p> - The Duke was, indeed, obliging enough to invite Johnson to dinner the next - day, and Mr. Boswell was included in the invitation. (So it is that the - nursery governess gets invited to the table in the great house to which - she is asked to bring the pretty children in her charge.) Of course, - Boswell belonged to a good family, and his father was a judge. It was to a - Duke of Argyll—not the one who was now so obliging—that the - Laird of Auchinleck brought his son, James Boswell, to be examined in - order to find out whether he should be put into the army or some other - profession. Still, he would never have been invited to Inveraray at this - time or any other unless he had had charge of Johnson. No one was better - aware of this fact than Boswell; but did he therefore decline the - invitation? Not he. Mr. Boswell saw an opportunity ahead of him. He had - more than once heard Johnson give an account of how he had behaved when - the King came upon him in the Royal Library; and probably he had felt - melancholy at the reflection that he himself had had no part or lot in the - incident. It was all Dr. Johnson and the King. But now he was quick to - perceive that when, in after years, people should speak with bated breath - of Dr. Johnson's visit to Inveraray they would be compelled to say: “And - Mr. Boswell, the son of auld Auchinleck, was there too.” - </p> - <p> - He knew very well that there were good reasons why Mr. Boswell could not - hope to be a <i>persona grata</i> to the Duchess of Argyll. In the great - Douglas lawsuit the issue of which was of considerable importance to the - Duke of Hamilton, the son of Her Grace, the Boswells were on the side of - the opposition, and had been very active on this side into the bargain. - James Boswell himself narrowly escaped being committed for contempt of - court for publishing a novel founded on the Douglas cause and anticipating - in an impudent way the finding of the judges. Had the difference been - directly with the Duke of Argyll some years earlier, no doubt every man in - the Clan Campbell would have sharpened his skene when it became known that - a friend of an opponent of the MacCallein More was coming, and have - awaited his approach with complacency; but now the great chief tossed - Boswell his invitation when he was asking Johnson, and Boswell jumped at - it as a terrier jumps for a biscuit, and he accompanied his friend to the - Castle. - </p> - <p> - The picture which he paints of his second snubbing is done in his best - manner. “I was in fine spirits,” he wrote, “and though sensible that I had - the misfortune of not being in favour with the Duchess, I was not in the - least disconcerted, and offered Her Grace some of the dish which was - before me.” Later on he drank Her Grace's health, although, he adds, “I - knew it was the rule of modern high life not to drink to anybody.” Thus he - achieved the snub he sought; but he acknowledges that he thought the - Duchess rather too severe when she said: “I know nothing of Mr. Boswell.” - On reflection, however, he received “that kind of consolation which a man - would feel who is strangled by a silken cord.” - </p> - <p> - It seems strange that no great painter has been inspired by the theme and - the scene. The days of “subject pictures” are, we are frequently told, - gone by. This may be so, generally speaking, but every one knows that a - “subject picture,” if its “subject” lends itself in any measure to the - advertising of an article of commerce, will find a ready purchaser, so - fine a perception of the aspirations of art—practical art—exists - in England, and even in Scotland, in the present day. - </p> - <p> - Now, are not the elements of success apparent to any one of imagination in - this picture of the party sitting round the table in the great hall of - Inveraray—Dr. Johnson chatting to the beautiful Duchess and her - daughter at one side, the Duke looking uncomfortable at the other, when he - sees Mr. Boswell on his feet with his glass in his hand bowing toward Her - Grace? No doubt Her Grace had acquainted His Grace with the attitude she - meant to assume in regard to Mi. Boswell, so that he was not astonished—only - uncomfortable—when Mr. Boswell fished for his snub. Surely - arrangements could be made between the art patron and the artist to paint - a name and a certain brand upon the bottle—a bottle must, of course, - be on the table; but if this is thought too realistic the name could - easily be put on the decanter—from which Mr. Boswell has just - replenished his glass! Why, the figure of Dr. Johnson alone should make - the picture a success—i.e. susceptible of being reproduced as an - effective poster in four printings. “Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “claret for - boys, port for men, but brandy for heroes.” Yes, but whose brandy? There - is a hint for a great modern art patron—a twentieth-century art - patron is a man who loves art for what he can make out of it. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Johnson was unmistakably the honoured guest this day at Inveraray; and - perhaps, while the lovely Duchess hung upon his words of wisdom, his - memory may have gone back to a day when he was not so well known, and yet - by some accident found himself in a room with the then Duchess of Argyll. - Upon that occasion he had thought it due to himself to be rude to the - great lady, in response to some fancied remissness on her part. He had - nothing to complain of now. The Duchess with whom he was conversing on - terms of perfect equality—if Her Grace made any distinction between - them it was, we may rest assured, only in a way that would be flattering - to his learning—was at the head of the peerage for beauty, and there - was no woman in the kingdom more honoured than she had been. He may have - been among the crowds who hung about the Mall in St. James's Park - twenty-two years before, waiting patiently until the two lovely Miss - Gunnings should come forth from their house in Westminster to take the - air. The Duchess of Argyll was the younger of the two sisters. - </p> - <p> - The story of the capture of the town by the pair of young Irish girls has - been frequently told, and never without the word <i>romantic</i> being - applied to it. But really there was very little that can be called - romantic in the story of their success. There is far more of this element - in many of the marriages affecting the peerage in these unromantic days. - There is real romance in the story of a young duke's crossing the Atlantic - with a single introduction, but that to the daughter of a millionaire with - whom he falls madly in love and whom he marries as soon as the lawyers can - make out the settlements. There is real romance in the idyll of the young - marquis who is fortunate enough to win the affection of an ordinary chorus - girl; and every year witnesses such-like alliances—they used to be - called <i>mésalliances</i> long ago. There have also been instances of the - daughters of English tradesmen marrying foreign nobles, whom they - sometimes divorce as satisfactorily as if they were the daughters of - wealthy swindlers on the other side of the Atlantic. In such cases there - are portraits and paragraphs in some of the newspapers, and then people - forget that anything unusual has happened. As a matter of fact, nothing - unusual has happened. - </p> - <p> - In the romantic story of the Gunnings we have no elements of that romance - which takes the form of a <i>mésalliance</i>. Two girls, the - granddaughters of one viscount and the nieces of another, came to London - with their parents one year, and early the next married peers—the - elder an earl, the younger a duke. Like thousands of other girls, they had - no money; but, unlike hundreds of other girls who marry into the peerage, - they were exceptionally good-looking. - </p> - <p> - Where is there an element of romance in all this? The girls wedded men in - their own station in life, and, considering their good looks, they should - have done very much better for themselves. The duke was a wretched <i>roué</i>, - notable for his excesses even in the days when excess was not usually - regarded as noteworthy. He had ruined his constitution before he was - twenty, and he remained enfeebled until, in a year or two, he made her a - widow. The earl was a conceited, ill-mannered prig—a solemn, - contentious, and self-opinionated person who was deservedly disliked in - the town as well as the country. - </p> - <p> - Not a very brilliant marriage either of these. With the modern chorus girl - the earl is on his knees at one side, and the gas man on the other. But - with the Miss Gunnings it was either one peer or another. They were - connected on their mother's side with at least two families of nobility, - and on their father's side with the spiritual aristocracy of some - generations back: they were collateral descendants of the great Peter - Gunning, Chancellor of Oxford and Bishop of Ely, and he was able to trace - his lineage back to the time of Henry VIII. From a brother of this great - man was directly descended the father of the two girls and also Sir Robert - Gunning, Baronet, who held such a high post in the diplomatic service as - Minister Plenipotentiary to Berlin, and afterwards to St. Petersburg. - Members of such families might marry into the highest order of the peerage - without the alliance being criticised as “romantic.” The girls did not do - particularly well for themselves. They were by birth entitled to the best, - and by beauty to the best of the best. As it was, the one only became the - wife of a contemptible duke, the other of a ridiculous earl. It may really - be said that they threw themselves away. - </p> - <p> - Of course, it was Walpole's gossip that is accountable for much of the - false impression which prevailed in respect of the Gunnings. From the - first he did his best to disparage them. He wrote to Mann that they were - penniless, and “scarce gentlewomen.” He could not ignore the fact that - their mother was the Honourable Bridget Gunning; but, without knowing - anything of the matter, he undertook to write about the “inferior tap” on - their father's side. In every letter that he wrote at this time he tried - to throw ridicule upon them, alluding to them as if they were nothing - better than the barefooted colleens of an Irish mountain-side who had come - to London to seek their fortunes. As usual, he made all his letters - interesting to his correspondents by introducing the latest stories - respecting them; he may not have invented all of these, but some - undoubtedly bear the Strawberry Hill mark, and we know that Walpole never - suppressed a good tale simply because it possessed no grain of truth. - </p> - <p> - Now, the true story of the Gunnings can be ascertained without any - reference to Walpole's correspondence. Both girls were born in England—the - elder, Maria, in 1731, the younger in 1732. When they were still young - their father, a member of the English Bar, inherited his brother's Irish - property. It had once been described as a “tidy estate,” but it was now in - a condition of great untidiness. In this respect it did not differ - materially from the great majority of estates in Ireland. Ever since the - last “settlement” the country had been in a most unsettled condition, and - no part of it was worse than the County Roscommon, where Castle Coote, the - residence of the Gunning family, was situated. It might perhaps be going - too far to say that the wilds of Connaught were as bad as the wilds of - Yorkshire at the same date, but from all the information that can be - gathered on the subject there does not seem to have been very much to - choose between Roscommon and the wilder parts of Yorkshire. The peasantry - were little better than savages; the gentry were little worse. Few of the - elements of civilized life were to be found among the inhabitants. The - nominal owners of the land were content to receive tribute from their - tenantry in the form of the necessaries of life, for money as a standard - of exchange was rarely available. Even in the present day in many - districts in the west of Ireland cattle occupy the same place in the - imagination of the inhabitants as they do in Zululand. The Irish bride is - bargained away with so many cows; and for a man to say—as one did in - the very county of Roscommon the other day—that he never could see - the difference of two cows between one girl and another, may be reckoned - somewhat cynical, but it certainly is intelligible. - </p> - <p> - But if rent was owing—and it usually was—and if it was not - paid in the form of geese, or eggs, or pork, or some other products of low - farming and laziness, it remained unpaid; for the landlord had no means of - enforcing his claims by any law except the law of the jungle. He might - muster his followers and plunder his debtors, and no doubt this system of - rent-collecting prevailed for several years after one of the many - “settlements” of the country had taken place, yet by intermarriage with - the natives, and a general assimilation to their condition of life by the - newcomers, these raids for rent became unpopular and impracticable. The - consequence was that the landlords—such as remained on their estates—were - living from hand to mouth. - </p> - <p> - But if the fact that the King's writ failed to run in these parts was of - disadvantage to the landlords in one respect, it was of no inconsiderable - advantage to them in another; for it enabled them with a light heart to - contract debts in Dublin and in the chief towns. They knew that the - rascally process server, should he have the hardihood to make any attempt - to present them with the usual summons, would do so at the risk of his - life; and a knowledge of this fact made the “gentry” at once reckless and - lawless. The consequence was that Ireland was regarded as no place for a - man with any respect for his neighbours or for himself to live in. It - became the country of the agent and the squireen. - </p> - <p> - It was to one of the worst parts of this country that John Gunning brought - his wife and four children—the eldest was eight years and the - youngest three months—and here he tried to support them off the - “estate.” He might possibly have succeeded if his aspirations had been - humble and his property unencumbered. It so happened, however, that his - father had been the parent of sixteen children, and the estate was still - charged with the maintenance of ten of these. Thus hampered, Mr. Gunning - and the Honourable Bridget Gunning were compelled to adopt the mode of - life of the other gentry who were too poor to live out of Ireland, and - they allowed the education of their family to become a minor consideration - to that of feeding them. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Gunning and his wife were undoubtedly the originals of the type of - Irish lady and gentleman to be found in so many novels and plays of the - latter part of the eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth - centuries. He was the original “heavy father” who, with the addition of a - ridiculous nondescript brogue, was so effectively dealt with by numerous - writers until Thackeray took him in hand; and Mrs. Gunning was the first - of the tradition of Irish mothers with daughters to dispose of by the aid - of grand manners and a great deal of contriving. True to this tradition, - which originated with them, the lady was certainly the head of the - household—a sorry household it must have been at Castle Coote—during - the ten years that elapsed before the migration to England. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Gunning was a fine figure of a gentleman, a handsome, loquacious - person with a great sense of his own dignity and an everlasting - consciousness of the necessity to maintain it at something approximate to - its proper level, and, like other persons of the same stamp, never - particularly successful in the means employed to effect this object. It is - doubtful if a loud conversational style, with repeated references to the - brilliant past of his family and predictions as to the still more - brilliant future that would have been achieved by its representative but - for the outrageous fortune that flung him into the bogs of Roscommon, - produced a more vivid impression upon his associates in Ireland than it - would be likely to do among a more credulous community. In Ireland he - resembled the young gentleman who went to educate the French, but was - discouraged at the outset when he found that even the children in the - streets spoke better French than he did. Mr. Gunning could teach the Irish - squireens nothing in the way of boasting; and he soon found that they were - capable of giving him some valuable instruction as to the acquiring of - creditors and their subsequent evasion. Whatever their educational - deficiencies may have been, it must be admitted that they had mastered - these arts. Much as he despised his ancestral home, he found, after - repeated visits to Dublin, that his heart was, after all, in Castle Coote, - and that, for avoiding arrest for debt, there was no place like home. - </p> - <p> - The Honourable Mrs. Gunning must have become dreadfully tired of this - florid person and of the constant worry incidental to the control of such - a household as his must have been. Her life must have been spent - contriving how the recurrent crises could be averted, and so long as she - was content to remain in the seclusion of the Irish village her efforts - were successful. We do not hear that the bailiffs ever got so far as the - hall door of their ramshackle mansion; there was a bog very handy, and the - holes which served as a rudimentary system of natural drainage were both - deep and dark. The topography of the district was notoriously puzzling to - the officers from the Dublin courts. - </p> - <p> - But with all her success in this direction one maybe pretty sure that her - life must have been very burthensome to the Honourable Mrs. Gunning. She - had social ambitions, as befitted a daughter of a noble house, and on this - account she never allowed herself to sink to the level of the wives of the - squireens around her, who were quite content with the rude jollity of an - Irish household—with the “lashings and leavings” to eat, and with - the use of tumblers instead of wineglasses at table. She was the daughter - of a peer, and she never forgot this fact; and here it must be mentioned - that, however culpably she may have neglected the education of her - children in some respects, she took care that they avoided the provincial - brogue of their Irish neighbours. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it was because Walpole knew nothing of the tradition of the - English settlers in Ireland that he referred in his letters to various - correspondents to the appalling brogue of both the Gunning girls; or - perhaps he, as usual, aimed only at making his correspondence more amusing - by this device. But every one who knows something of the “settlements” is - aware of the fact that the new-comers had such a contempt for the native - way of pronouncing English that they were most strenuous in their efforts - to hand down to their children the tradition of pronunciation which they - brought into the country. They were not always so successful as they - wished to be; but within our own times the aspiration after a pure - “English accent” is so great that even in the National Schools the - teachers, the larger number of whom bear Celtic names, have been most - industrious both in getting rid of their native brogue and in compelling - their pupils to do the same; and yet it is certain that people have been - much more tolerant in this respect in Ireland during the past half-century - than they were a hundred years earlier. - </p> - <p> - Of course, a scientific analysis of the pronunciation of the English - language by, say, a native of the wilds of Yorkshire and by a native of - the wilds of Connemara would reveal the fact that fewer corruptions of the - speech are habitual to the latter than to the former, the “brogue” being - far less corrupt than the “burr.” It was not enough for the settlers, - however, that their children should speak English in Ireland more - correctly than their forefathers did in England; they insisted on the - maintenance of the English tradition of pronunciation, erroneous though it - might be. So that the suggestion that the daughters of the Gunning family, - who had never heard English spoken with the brogue of the native Irish - until they were eight or nine years of age, spoke the tongue of the stage - Irish peasant would seem quite ridiculous to any one who had given even - the smallest amount of study to the conditions of speech prevailing in - Ireland even in the present tolerant age, when employment is not denied to - any one speaking with the broadest of brogues. Some years ago such an - applicant would have had no chance of a “billet”—unless, in a - literal sense, to hew, with the alternative of the drawing of water. - </p> - <p> - The truth, then, is that the Gunning girls had practically neither more - nor less of that form of education to be acquired from the study of books - or “lessons” than the average young woman of their own day who had been - “neglected.” Between the years 1750 and 1800 there were in England - hundreds of young ladies who were as highly educated as a junior-grade - lady clerk in the Post Office Department is to-day; but there were also - thousands who were as illiterate as the Gunnings without any one thinking - that it mattered much one way or another. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0139.jpg" alt="0139 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0139.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - And it really did not matter much that Maria Gunning spelt as vaguely as - did Shakespere, or Shakspere, or Shakespeare, or Shakspear, or whatever he - chose to write himself at the moment. Correctness of orthography is - absolutely necessary for any young lady who wishes to be a success in the - Postal Department, but Miss Gunning possessed some qualifications of - infinitely greater importance in the estimation of the world. She was of - good family and she was beautiful exceedingly. Moreover, she possessed the - supreme grace of naturalness—the supreme grace and that which - includes all other graces, which, like butterflies, hover over womankind, - but seldom descend in a bevy upon any one of the race. She was as natural - as a lily flower, and for the same reason. To be natural il came to her by - Nature, and that was how she won the admiration of more people than the - beauty of Helen of Troy brought to their death. She was not wise. But had - she been wise she would never have left Ireland. She would have known that - obscurity is the best friend that any young woman so beautiful as she was - could have. She would have remained in Roscommon, and she would have been - one of those women who are happy because they have no story. But, of - course, had she been wise she would not have been natural, and so there - her beauty goes by the board in a moment. - </p> - <p> - The Honourable Mrs. Gunning could not have been startled when the - knowledge came to her that she was the mother of two girls of exceptional - beauty. The same knowledge comes to every mother of two girls in the - world, though this knowledge is sometimes withheld from the rest of the - world; but even then the mother's faith is not shaken—except in - regard to the eyesight of the rest of the world. Doubtless Mrs. Gunning - thought much better of Ireland when she found that her judgment on the - beauty of her daughters was shared by all the people who saw the girls. - From the daily exclamation of wonder—the exaggerated expressions of - appreciation uttered by a fervent peasantry—when the girls were seen - in their own kitchen or on the roadside, the mother's ambition must have - received a fresh stimulus. And given an ambitious mother, whose life has - been one of contriving to do things that seem out of her power to - accomplish, the achievement of her object is only a matter of time—provided - that the father does not become an obstruction. Mrs. Gunning was not - extravagant in her longings. Her Delectable Mountains were those which - surround the City of Dublin. Her social ambitions did not extend beyond - “The Castle.” - </p> - <p> - When the eldest of her three daughters was scarcely nineteen the - aggregation of savings and credit—the latter predominant—seemed - sufficient to justify the expedition. A house was taken in a fashionable - street, close to the most splendid Mall in Europe, and furnished by some - credulous tradesmen, and the social campaign was begun by a parade of the - two girls and their mother. Alas! the young beauties attracted only too - much attention. The inquiries as to their style and title were - unfortunately not limited. In Dublin for generations the tradespeople have - been accustomed to take an intelligent and quite intelligible interest in - the aristocracy and beauty dwelling in their midst; and it took only a few - days for the report to go round that the exquisite young ladies were the - daughters of Mr. John Gunning, of Castle Coote. - </p> - <p> - This information meant much more to some of the least desirable of the - inquirers than it did to the wealthy and well connected of the population; - and among the least desirable of all were some tradesmen who for years had - had decrees waiting to be executed against Mr. Gunning at a more - convenient place for such services than Castle Coote. The result was that - within a week the beauty of his daughters had made such a stir in Dublin - that bailiffs were in the house and Mr. Gunning was out of it. - </p> - <p> - It is at this point in the history that the Troubadour unslings his lute, - feeling the potentialities of Romance in the air; and, given the - potentialities of Romance and the wandering minstrel, one may be sure that - the atmosphere will resound with Romance. We are told on such high - authority as is regarded quite satisfactory (by the Troubadour), that the - weeping of the mother and the beautiful girls under the coarse stare of - the bailiffs attracted the attention of a charming and sympathetic young - actress who was taking the air in the street, and that, as might only be - expected, she hastened to enter the house to offer consolation to those - who were in trouble—this being unquestionably the mission which is - most congenial to the spirit of the <i>soubrette</i>. On being at once - informed of all by the communicative mother—the Troubadour is not - such a fool as to lay down his lute to inquire if it was likely that a - lady who possessed her full share of Irish pride would open her heart to a - stranger and an actress—the young visitor showed her sympathy by - laying herself open to prosecution and imprisonment through helping in a - scheme to make away with all the valuables she could lay her hands on. But - she went still further, and invited the young ladies to stay at her house - so long as it suited them to do so. - </p> - <p> - We are told that this young actress was George Ann Bellamy, but the - information comes from no better source than George Ann Bellamy herself, - and the statements of this young person, made when she was no longer young - or reputable, do not carry conviction to all hearers. Romance, however, - like youth, will not be denied, though the accuracy of an actress may, and - people have always been pleased to believe that Miss Bellamy and Mr. - Thomas Sheridan, the much-harassed lessee of the Smock Alley Theatre in - Dublin, were the means of obtaining for the Honourable Mrs. Gunning and - her daughters the invitation to the ball at the Castle which resulted in - the recognition of the girls' beauty by the great world of fashion. The - suggestion that their aunt, Miss Bourke, or their uncle, Viscount Mayo, - might have been quite as potent a factor in solving the problem of how the - invitation to a ball given by the Viceroy to the people of Dublin came - into the hands of the Miss Gunnings, may, however, be worth a moment's - consideration. - </p> - <p> - At any rate, the success made by the girls upon this occasion was - immediate. Before a day had passed all Dublin and Dublin Castle were - talking of their beauty, and the splendid Mall was crowded with people - anxious to catch a glimpse of the lovely pair when they took their walks - abroad. Lady Caroline Petersham, the charming lady whose name figures - frequently in Walpole's correspondence—it will be remembered that - she was one of that delightful little supper party at Ranelagh which he - describes—was in the entourage of the Viceroy, and quickly perceived - the possibilities of social prestige accruing to the hostess who might be - the means of introducing them to St. James's. There a new face meant a new - sensation lasting sometimes well into a second month, and Lady Caroline - had her ambitions as a hostess. - </p> - <p> - She was the Gunnings' best friend—assuming that social advancement - is an act of friendship—and it may safely be assumed that she was - mainly responsible for the extension of the area of the campaign entered - on by Mrs. Gunning, and that it was her influence which obtained for them - the passage to Chester in the Lord Lieutenant's yacht, and a bonus of £150 - charged, as so many other jobs were, “upon the Irish Establishment.” The - “Irish Establishment” was the convenient Treasury out of which money could - be paid without the chance of unpleasant questions being asked in - Parliament respecting such disbursements. - </p> - <p> - Of course, it is not to be believed that such success as the young girls - encompassed in Dublin was reached without a word or two of detraction - being heard in regard to their behaviour. Mrs. Delany, amiable as a moral - gossip, or perhaps, a gossipy moralist, wrote to her sister respecting - them: “All that you have heard of the Gunnings is true, except their - having a fortune, but I am afraid they have a greater want than that, - which is discretion.” No doubt Mrs. Delany had heard certain whispers of - the girlish fun in which the elder of the sisters delighted; but there has - never been the smallest suggestion that her want of discreetness ever - approached an actual indiscretion. It may be assumed, without doing an - injustice to either of the girls, that their standard of demeanour was not - quite so elevated as that which the wife of Dean Delany was disposed to - regard as essential to be reached by any young woman hoping to be thought - well of by her pastors and masters. But the steelyard measure was never - meant to be applied to a high-spirited young girl who has grown up among - bogs and then finds herself the centre of the most distinguished circle in - the land, every person in which is eagerly striving for the distinction of - a word from her lips. Maria Gunning may not have had much discretion, but - she had enough to serve her turn. She arrived in London with her sister, - and no suggestion was ever made—even by Walpole—that their - mother had not taken enough care of them. - </p> - <p> - In London they at once found their place in the centre of the most - fashionable—the most notorious—set; but while we hear of the - many indiscreet things that were done by certain of their associates, - nothing worse is attributed to either of the girls than an Irish brogue or - an Irish idiom—perhaps a word or two that sounded unmusical to - fastidious ears. Walpole began by ridiculing them, and, as has already - been noted, sneering at their birth; but when he found they were becoming - the greatest social success that his long day had known, he thought it - prudent to trim his sails and refer to them more reasonably: they were - acquiring too many friends for it to be discreet for him to continue - inventing gossip respecting them. - </p> - <p> - But what a triumph they achieved in town! Nothing had ever been known like - it in England, nor has anything approaching to it been known during the - century and a half that has elapsed since the beauty of these two girls - captured London. The opening of Parliament by the King in State never - attracted such crowds as thronged the Park when they walked in the Mall. - Never before had the guards to turn out at the Palace to disperse the - crowds who mobbed two young ladies who did not belong—except in a - distant way—to a Royal House. Upon one occasion the young Lord - Clermont and his friend were compelled to draw their swords to protect - them from the exuberant attentions of the crowd. “'Tis a warm day,” wrote - George Selwyn to Lord Carlisle, “and some one proposes a stroll to Betty's - fruit shop; suddenly the cry is raised, 'The Gunnings are coming,' and we - all tumble out to gaze and to criticise.” - </p> - <p> - “The famous beauties are more talked of than the change in the Ministry,” - wrote Walpole. “They make more noise than any one of their predecessors - since Helen of Troy; a crowd follows them wherever they walk, and at - Vauxhall they were driven away.” - </p> - <p> - This mobbing must have caused the girls much delightful inconvenience, and - one can see their mother acting the part—and overdoing it, after the - manner of her kind—of the distracted parent whose daughters have - just been restored to her arms. One can hear the grandiloquent thanks of - the father to the eligible young man with titles whose bravery has - protected his offspring—that would have been his word—from the - violence of the mob. The parents must have been very trying to the young - men in those days. But the mother showed herself to be rather more than a - match for one young man who hoped to win great fame as a jocular fellow by - playing a trick upon the family. Having heard of the simplicity and - credulousness of the girls, this gentleman, with another of his kind, - asked leave of Mrs. Gunning to bring to her house a certain duke who was - one of the greatest <i>partis</i> of the day. On her complying, he hired a - common man, and, dressing him splendidly, conveyed him in a coach to the - Gunnings' house and presented him to the family as the duke. But the man - knew as little of the matter as did Walpole; he assumed that she was - nothing more than the adventurous wife of an Irish squireen. He soon found - out that he had made a mistake. Mrs. Gunning rang the bell, and ordered - the footman to turn the visitors out of the house. But the family were - soon consoled for this incident of the impostor duke by the arrival of a - real one, to say nothing of another consolation prize in the form of an - earl. In the meantime, however, their popularity-had been increasing - rather than diminishing. As a matter of fact, although beauty may be - reproached for being only skin deep, it is very tenacious of life. A - reputation for beauty is perhaps the most enduring of all forms of - notoriety. The renown that attaches to the man who has painted a great - picture, or to one who has made a great scientific discovery, or to one - who has been an eminent churchman or a distinguished statesman, is, in - point of popularity and longevity, quite insignificant in comparison with - that which is associated with the name of a very beautiful woman. The - crowds still surrounded the Miss Gunnings, and the visit which they paid - by command to King George II gave them a position in the world of fashion - that was consolidated by the report of the charming <i>naivete</i> of the - reply made by Maria when the King inquired if they had seen all the sights - of London and if there was any in particular which they would like to be - shown. “Oh, I should dearly like to see a coronation!” the girl is said to - have cried. And as that was just the sight for which the people of England - were most eager, she was acclaimed as their mouthpiece. - </p> - <p> - So they progressed in the career that had been laid out for them. Duels - were fought about them, and bets were made about them and their future. - For nearly a year there was no topic of the first order save only the - Progress of Beauty. The Duke had come boldly forward. He was a double duke—his - titles were Hamilton and Brandon—and he had sounded such depths of - depravity that he was possibly sincere in his desire to convince the world - that his taste in one direction had not become depraved. Elizabeth Gunning - may have accepted his service from a hope of being the means of reforming - him. But even if she were not to succeed in doing so, her mother would - have reminded her that her failure would not make her the less a duchess. - It is open, however, for one to believe that this girl cared something for - the man and was anxious to amend his life. - </p> - <p> - Then we hear of her being with him at Lord Chesterfield's ball given at - the opening of his new mansion, her fancy dress being that of a Quakeress. - Three days later the world in which they lived awoke to learn the - astounding news that the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon had married - Elizabeth Gunning the previous night. - </p> - <p> - Here was romance beyond a precedent; and Walpole romanced about it as - usual. In his account of the nuptials he succeeds in making more - misstatements than one would believe it possible even for such a worker in - the art to encompass in half a dozen lines. “When her mother and sister - were at Bedford House,” he wrote to Mann, “a sudden ardour, either of wine - or love, seized upon him (the Duke); a parson was promptly sent for, but - on arriving, refused to officiate without the important essentials of - licence or ring. The Duke swore and talked of calling in the Archbishop. - Finally the parson's scruples gave way, the licence was overlooked, and - the lack of the traditional gold ring was supplied by the ring of a bed - curtain!” - </p> - <p> - This is very amusing, but it is not history. It is a clumsy fiction, - unworthy of the resources of the inventor. Sir Horace Mann must have felt - that his friend had a poor opinion of his intelligence if he meant him to - accept the assurance that the household of the Gunnings and the fingers of - His Grace were incapable of yielding to the fastidious parson a better - substitute for the traditional gold ring than the thing he introduced. The - facts of the incident were quite romantic enough without the need for - Walpole's embellishments. It was Valentine's Day, and what more likely - than that the suggestion should be made by the ardent lover that so - appropriate a date for a wedding would not come round for another year! To - suggest difficulties—impossibility—would only be to spur him - on to show that he was a true lover. However this may be, it has long ago - been proved that the midnight marriage took place in due form at the - Curzon Street Chapel in the presence of several witnesses. - </p> - <p> - And then Walpole went on to say that the wedding of Lord Coventry and the - elder sister took place at the same time. It so happened, however, that a - fortnight elapsed between the two ceremonies, and in the case of the - second, the ceremony took place in the full light of day. - </p> - <p> - The subsequent history of the two ladies is not without a note of - melancholy. The elder, pursued to the end by the malevolent slanders of - the man with the leer of the satyr perpetually on his face, died of - consumption after eight years of wedded life. The younger became a widow - two years earlier, and after being wooed by the Duke of Bridgewater, whom - she refused, sending him to his canal for consolation, married Colonel - Campbell, who in 1770 became the Fifth Duke of Argyll. Six years later she - was created a peeress in her own right, her title being Baroness Hamilton - of Hameldon in Leicestershire. In 1778 she was appointed Mistress of the - Robes. She attained to the additional distinction of making the good Queen - jealous, so that Her Majesty upon one occasion overlooked her in favour of - Lady Egremont. The Duchess at once resigned, and only with difficulty was - persuaded to withdraw her resignation. She died in 1790. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE FÊTE-CHAMPÊTRE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>O one knows to-day - with whom the idea of having an English <i>fête-champêtre</i> at The Oaks - upon the occasion of the marriage of the young Lord Stanley to Lady Betty - Hamilton originated. The secret was well kept; and it can be easily - understood that in case of this innovation proving a fiasco, no one would - show any particular desire to accept the responsibility of having started - the idea. But turning out as it did, a great success, it might have been - expected that many notable persons would lay claim to be regarded as its - parents. A considerable number of distinguished people had something to do - with it, and any one of them had certainly sufficient imagination, backed - up by an acquaintance with some of the exquisite pieces of MM. Watteau and - Fragonard, to suggest the possibility of perfecting such an enterprise - even in an English June. It was the most diligent letter-writer of that - age of letter-writing who had referred to the “summer setting in with its - customary severity,” so that the trifling of the month of June with the - assumption of the poets who have rhymed of its sunshine with rapture, was - not an experience that was reserved for the century that followed. But in - spite of this, the idea of a <i>fête-champêtre</i>, after the most - approved French traditions, in an English demesne found favour in the eyes - of Lord Stanley and his advisers, and the latter were determined that, - whatever price might have to be paid for it, they would not run the chance - of being blamed for carrying it out in a niggardly spirit. - </p> - <p> - The young Lord Stanley had as many advisers as any young nobleman with a - large immediate allowance and prospects of a splendid inheritance may hope - to secure. There was his <i>fiancée's</i> mother, now the Duchess of - Argyll, who was never disposed to frown down an undertaking that would - place a member of one of her families in the forefront of the battle of - the beauties for the most desirable <i>parti</i> of the year. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0155.jpg" alt="0155 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0155.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The Duchess had both taste and imagination, so that people called her an - Irishwoman, although she was born in England. Then there was Mr. George - Selwyn, who said witty things occasionally and never missed a hanging. He - was fully qualified to prompt a wealthy companion as to the best means to - become notorious for a day. There was also young Mr. Conway, the gentleman - who originated the diverting spectacle when Mrs. Baddeley and Mrs. - Abington were escorted to the Pantheon. Any one of these, to say nothing - of Lady Betty herself, who had some love for display, might have been - inclined to trust an English June so far as to believe an <i>al fresco</i> - entertainment on a splendid scale quite possible. - </p> - <p> - On the whole, however, one is inclined to believe that it was Colonel - Burgoyne who was responsible for the whole scheme at The Oaks. In addition - to having become Lord Stanley's uncle by running away with his father's - sister, he was a budding dramatist, and as such must have perceived his - opportunity for exploiting himself at the expense of some one else—the - dream of every budding dramatist. There is every likelihood that it was - this highly accomplished and successful “gentleman-adventurer” who brought - Lord Stanley up to the point of embarking upon his design for an - entertainment such as had never been seen in England before—an - entertainment that should include the production of a masque devised by - Colonel Burgoyne and entitled <i>The Maid of The Oaks</i>. The fête came - off, and it was pronounced the most brilliant success of the year 1774. - </p> - <p> - Lord Stanley was a very interesting young man; that is to say, he was a - young man in whom no inconsiderable number of persons—mainly of the - opposite sex—were greatly interested. Of this fact he seems to have - been fully aware. A good many people—mainly of the opposite sex—felt - very strongly on the subject of his marrying: it was quite time that he - married, they said. His grandfather, the Earl of Derby, was eighty-four - years of age, and it would be absurd to believe that he could live much - longer. Lord Stanley being his heir, it was agreed that it was the young - man's duty not to procrastinate in the matter of marriage. It is always - understood that a patriarchal nobleman sings “<i>Nunc dimittis</i>” when - he holds in his arms the second in direct succession to the title, and - this happy consummation could, in the case of the aged Lord Derby, only be - realised by the marriage of Lord Stanley. - </p> - <p> - He was small in stature, and extremely plain of countenance; still this - did not prevent his name from being coupled with that of several notable—but - not too notable—young women of his acquaintance. But as it was well - known that he was greatly interested in the stage, it was thought that, - perhaps, he might not be so complaisant as his best friends hoped to find - him in regard to marrying. An ardent interest in the progress of the - drama, especially in its lighter forms, has been known to turn a young - man's attention from marriage, when it does not do what is far worse—turn - his attention to it with too great zest. Before long, however, it became - apparent that his lordship recognised in what direction his duty lay. - There was a young lady connected with the Ducal House of Bedford—a - niece of that old Duchess who played so conspicuous a part in the social - and political history of the middle of the eighteenth century—and to - her Lord Stanley became devoted. But just when every one assumed that the - matter was settled, no one thinking it possible that the young lady would - be mad enough to refuse such a <i>parti</i>, the news came that she had - done so; and before people had done discussing how very eccentric were the - Bedford connections, the announcement was made that Lord Stanley was to - marry Lady Betty Hamilton, the beautiful daughter of a beautiful mother, - the Duchess of Argyll. - </p> - <p> - There is in existence a letter written by the Duchess to Sir William - Hamilton, in which she hints that Lord Stanley was an old suitor for the - hand of her daughter. “Lady Betty might have taken the name of Stanley - long ago if she had chose it,” she wrote, adding: “A very sincere - attachment on his side has at last produced the same on hers.” This being - so, it would perhaps be unsafe to assume that Lord Stanley proposed to - Lady Betty out of pique at having been rejected by the other lady, though - one might be disposed to take this view of the engagement. - </p> - <p> - The alternative view is that Lady Betty had been advised by her - accomplished mother that if she played her cards well there was no reason - why she should not so attract Lord Stanley as to lead him to be a suitor - for her hand, and that the girl at last came to see that the idea was - worth her consideration. Her portrait, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds in - the year of her marriage, shows her to have been a graceful, girlish young - creature; but her beauty could never have been comparable with that of her - mother at the same age, or with that of her aunt, Lady Coventry, whom it - is certain she closely resembled in character. Her mother, in her letter - to Sir William Hamilton, apologises in a way for her liveliness, assuring - him that such a disposition was not incompatible with serious thought upon - occasions; and this gives us a hint that the reputation for vivacity which - she always enjoyed was closely akin to that which made the life of Lady - Coventry so very serious. - </p> - <p> - This was the young lady in whose honour the first English <i>fête - champêtre</i> was organised. To be more exact, or to get more into touch - with the view of the Derby family, perhaps one should say that the <i>fête</i> - was set on foot in consideration of the honour the young lady was doing - herself in becoming a member of the great house of Stanley. Different - people look at a question of honour from different standpoints. Probably - Colonel Burgoyne, although a member of the Derby family by marriage, left - honour out of the question altogether, and only thought of his masque - being produced at his nephew's expense. - </p> - <p> - And produced the masque was, and on a scale as expensive as the most - ambitious author could desire. It was described, with comments, by all the - great letter-writers of the time. Walpole has his leer and his sneer at - its expense (literally). It was to cost no less than £5000, he said, and - he ventured to suppose that in order to account for this enormous outlay - Lord Stanley had bought up all the orange trees near London—no - particular extravagance one would fancy—and that the hay-cocks would - be of straw-coloured riband. George Selwyn thought it far from diverting. - The Dowager Lady Gower affirmed that “all the world was there,” only she - makes an exception of her relations the Bedfords—she called them - “the Bloomsbury lot”—and said that the Duchess would not let any of - them go because Her Grace thought that Lord Stanley should have taken his - recent rejection by Her Grace's niece more to heart. Lady Betty's - stepfather, the Duke of Argyll, said that the whole day was so long and - fatiguing that only Lady Betty could have stood it all. - </p> - <p> - But did Lady Betty stand it all? It was rumoured in the best-informed - circles that she had broken off the match the next day; and when one - becomes acquainted with the programme of the day's doings one cannot but - acknowledge that the rumour was plausible. She probably made an attempt in - this direction; but on her fiancé's promising never to repeat the offence, - withdrew her resolution. - </p> - <p> - The famous brothers Adam, whose genius was equally ready to build an - Adelphi or to design a fanlight, had been commissioned to plan an - entertainment on the most approved French models and to carry it out on - the noblest scale, taking care, of course, that the central idea should be - the masque of <i>The Maid of The Oaks</i>, and these large-minded artists - accepted the order without demur. The pseudo-classical feeling entered, - largely through the influence of the Adams, into every form of art at this - period, though the famous brothers cannot be accused of originating the - movement. Sir Joshua Reynolds painted his most charming ladies in the - costume of Greeks, and Angelica Kauffmann depicted many of her early - English episodes with the personages clad in togas which seemed greatly - beyond their control. But for that matter every battle piece up to the - date of Benjamin West's “Death of Wolfe” showed the combatants in - classical armour; and Dr. Johnson was more than usually loud in his - protests against the suggestion that a sculptor should put his statues of - modern men into modern clothing. - </p> - <p> - But the Adams were wise enough to refrain from issuing any order as to the - costume to be worn by the shepherds and shepherdesses who were to roam the - mead at The Oaks, Epsom, upon the occasion of this <i>fête champêtre</i>; - and they were also wise enough to distrust the constancy of an English - June. The result was (1) a charming medley of costume, though the - pseudo-pastoral peasants, farmers, gardeners, and shepherds were in the - majority, and (2) the most interesting part of the entertainments took - place indoors, the octagonal hall lending itself nobly—when improved - by Messrs. Adam—to the show. The “transparencies” which constituted - so important a part of the ordinary birthday celebrations of the time, - took the form of painted windows, and, later, of a device showing two of - the conventional torches of Hymen in full blaze, supporting a shield with - the Oak of the Hamiltons' crest and the usual “gules.” - </p> - <p> - This design occupied the place of the “set piece” which winds up a modern - display of fireworks and sets the band playing “God save the King.” It - could not have been brought on until the morning sunlight was flooding the - landscape outside; for supper was not served until half-past eleven, and - the company had to witness the representation of an intolerably long - masque—the second of the day—after supper, with a procession - of Druids, fauns, cupids, and nymphs, all in suitable, but it is to be - hoped not traditional, costume. - </p> - <p> - The entertainment began quite early in the afternoon, when there was a - long procession of shepherds and shepherdesses through the lanes to where - a pastoral play was produced and syllabub drunk under the trees. But this - was only an <i>hors d'ouvre</i>; it was not Colonel Burgoyne's - masterpiece. This was not produced in the open air. Only when further - refreshments had been served and evening was closing in did the guests, - who had been sauntering through the sylvan scenes, repair to the great - hall, which they found superbly decorated and, in fact, remodelled, for - colonnades after the type of those in the pictures of Claude had been - built around the great ballroom, the shafts being festooned with roses, - and the drapery of crimson satin with heavy gold fringes. There were not - enough windows to make excuses for so much drapery, but this was no - insuperable obstacle to the artful designers; they so disposed of the - material as to make it appear that it was the legitimate hanging for six - windows. - </p> - <p> - For the procession through the colonnades the young host changed his - costume and his fiancée changed hers. He had appeared as Rubens and she as - Rubens' wife, from the well-known picture. But now she was dressed as - Iphigenia. They led the first minuet before supper, and it was thought - that they looked very fine. No one who has seen the two pictures of the - scene, for which Zucchi was commissioned, can question this judgment. Lady - Betty's portrait in one of these panels makes her even more beautiful than - she appears on Sir Joshua's canvas. - </p> - <p> - With a display of fireworks of a detonating and discomposing type—the - explosion, it was said, affected the nerves of nearly all the guests—and - the illumination of the “transparency” already alluded to, this memorable - fête came to no premature conclusion. Every one was bored to death by so - much festivity coming all at once. The idea of twelve hours of masques and - minuets is enough to make one's blood run cold. Its realisation may have - had this effect upon the heroine of the day, hence the rumour that she - found she had had enough of the Derby family to last her for the rest of - her life without marrying the young heir. Unfortunately, however, if this - was the case, she failed to justify the accuracy of the report; and she - was married to Lord Stanley on the 23rd of the same month. - </p> - <p> - The union of Maria Gunning with the Earl of Coventry was a miserable one, - but this of her niece and Lord Stanley was infinitely worse. Lady Betty - soon found out that she had made a mistake in marrying a man so incapable - of appreciating her charm of manner as was Lord Stanley. The likelihood is - that if she had married any other man she would have made the same - discovery. The vivacity for which her mother apologised to Sir William - Hamilton was, after her marriage, much more apparent than the - thoughtfulness which the Duchess assured her correspondent was one of her - daughter's traits. She showed herself to be appallingly vivacious upon - more than one occasion. Just at that time there was a vivacious “set” in - Lady Betty's world, and every member of it seemed striving for leadership. - Few of the ladies knew exactly where the border line lay between vivacity - and indiscretion. If Lady Betty was one of the better informed on this - delicate question of delimitation, all that can be said is that she - overstepped the line upon several occasions. It is not to be thought that - her lightness ever bordered into actual vice, but it rarely fell short of - being indiscreet. - </p> - <p> - She was always being talked about—always having curious escapades, - none of them quite compromising, but all calculated to make the judicious - grieve. But it is one thing to be subjected to the censure of the - judicious and quite another to come before a judicial authority, and it is - pretty certain that if Lady Derby—her husband succeeded to the title - two years after his marriage—had incriminated herself, she would - have been forced to defend a divorce suit. - </p> - <p> - It is, however, likewise certain that for some time she kept hovering like - a butterfly about the portals of the Court, and a good deal of the bloom - was blown off her wings by the breath of rumour. She had accepted the - devotion of the Duke of Dorset, and, considering the number of eyes that - were upon her and the devotion of His Grace, this was a very dangerous - thing to do. They were constantly seen together and at all hours. This was - in the second year of her marriage, but even in the first her desire to - achieve notoriety by some means made itself apparent. But her escapade - that was most talked about was really not worthy of the gossip of a Gower. - She was at a ball at the house of Mrs. Onslow in St. James's Square, and - her chair not arriving in good time to take her back to Grosvenor Square, - it was suggested by Lord Lindsay and Mr. Storer that they should borrow - Mrs. Onslow's chair and carry her between them to her home. She agreed to - this gallant proposal, and off they set together. The young men bore her - to her very door in spite of the fact that they had met her own chair soon - after they had left Mrs. Onslow's porch. - </p> - <p> - There was surely not much of an escapade in this transaction. The truth - was probably that the chair did not arrive owing to the condition of the - bearers, and when the young gentlemen met it they refused to jeopardise - the safety of the lady by transferring her from Mrs. Onslow's chair to her - own. - </p> - <p> - Rumour, however, was only too anxious to put the worst construction upon - every act of the merry Countess, and it was doubtless because of this, and - of her own knowledge of her daughter's thoughtlessness, that the Duchess - of Argyll appeared upon the scene and endeavoured by her presence and - advice to avert the catastrophe that seemed imminent. The Duchess insisted - on accompanying her to every entertainment, and succeeded in keeping a - watchful eye on her, though the Duke, who was at Inveraray, and was - doubtless tired of hearing of the vivacity of his stepdaughter, wrote - rather peremptorily for Her Grace to return to Scotland. She did not obey - the summons, the fact being that she was devoted to this daughter of hers, - who must have daily reminded her of her own sister Maria, to whom she had - been so deeply attached. * - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * It was said that she had refused the offer of the Duke of - Bridgewater, because of his suggestion that she should break - off all intercourse with Lady Coventry. -</pre> - <p> - Seeing, however, that she could not continue to look after this lively - young matron, and being well aware of the fact that Lord Derby would never - consent to live with her again, the Duchess could do no more than condone - the separation which was inevitable. The deed was drawn up in 1779, five - years after Lady Betty had been so inauspiciously bored by the <i>fête - champêtre</i>. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0171.jpg" alt="0171 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0171.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - In the meantime there was a good deal of talk about the Earl of Derby - himself. A young nobleman who takes a lively, or even a grave, interest in - the personnel of the theatre is occasionally made the subject of vulgar - gossip. Lord Derby had a reputation as an amateur actor, and he seemed to - think that it would be increased by association with professional - actresses. It is doubtful if he was justified in his views on this - delicate question. At any rate, rightly or wrongly, on his estrangement - from his wife, but two years before the final separation, he showed a - greater devotion than ever to dramatic performances and dramatic - performers. His uncle by marriage, now General Burgoyne, had written a - play that turned out an extraordinary success. This was <i>The Heiress</i>, - and it had received extravagant praise in many influential quarters. It - was while it was still being talked of in society that a company of - distinguished amateurs undertook to produce it at Richmond House, in - Whitehall Place. In order that the representation might be as perfect as - possible, the Duchess of Richmond engaged the actress who had taken the - chief part in the original production, to superintend the rehearsals of - her amateurs. Miss Farren was a young person of considerable beauty, and - more even than an actress's share of discretion. She was in George - Colman's company at the Haymarket, and was rapidly taking the place of - Mrs. Abington in the affections of playgoers. She was the daughter of a - surgeon in a small way—he may have been one of the barber surgeons - of the eighteenth century. Marrying an actress (also in a small way), he - adopted the stage as a profession, and became a strolling actor-manager, - whenever he got the chance, and died before his drinking habits had quite - demoralised his family. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Farren was a wise woman—wise enough to know that she was a bad - actress, but that there were possibilities in her two daughters. It was - after only a brief season of probation that Colman engaged one of the - girls to do small parts, promoting her in an emergency to be a - “principal.” Miss Farren proved herself capable of making the most of her - opportunity, and the result was that within a year she was taking Mrs. - Abington's parts in the best comedies. - </p> - <p> - Her mother was sensible enough to perceive that there was room in the best - society for an actress of ability as well as respectability—up to - that time the two qualities had seldom been found associated—and - Mrs. Farren was right. No whisper had ever been heard against the young - lady, and a judicious introduction or two brought her into many - drawing-rooms of those leaders of society who were also respectable, and - this was of advantage to her not only socially, but professionally. Horace - Walpole was able to write of her: “In distinction of manner and refinement - she excelled Mrs. Abington, who could never go beyond Lady Teazle, which - is a second-rate character.” Again, in a letter to Lady Ossory, he - ascribed the ability of Miss Farren to the fact that she was accustomed to - mingle with the best society. - </p> - <p> - This theory of Walpole's has been frequently controverted since his day, - and now no one will venture to assert that there is really anything in it, - although it sounds plausible enough. Miss Farren had, however, ample - opportunity of studying “the real thing” and of profiting by her study. - She found herself on the most intimate footing with duchesses—not of - the baser sort like her of Ancaster, or of the eccentric sort like her of - Bedford, but of the most exalted. The Duchess of Richmond and the Duchess - of Leinster were among her friends, and thus it was that her appearance at - the rehearsals of <i>The Heiress</i> of Whitehall Place was not wholly - professional. Upon this occasion she met Lord Derby and also Charles James - Fox, the latter having accepted the rather onerous duties of stage - manager. Before any of the performers were letter perfect in their - dialogue, Miss Farren had captured the hearts of both these men. Having - some of the qualities necessary to success as a statesman, including - caution and an instinct as to the right moment to retire from a contest - that must end in some one being made a fool of, Mr. Fox soon withdrew from - a position of rivalry with Lord Derby. It was rumoured by the malicious, - who had at heart the maintenance of the good name of Miss Farren, that Mr. - Fox had been dismissed by the lady with great indignation on his making a - proposition to her that did not quite meet her views in regard to the - ceremony of marriage. Miss Farren they asserted to be a paragon of virtue, - and so she undoubtedly was. Her virtue was of the most ostentatious type. - She would never admit a gentleman to an audience unless some witness of - her virtue was present. She accepted the devotion of Lord Derby, but gave - him to understand quite plainly that so long as his wife was alive she - could only agree to be his <i>fiancée</i>. Truly a very dragon of virtue - was Miss Farren! - </p> - <p> - The Earl, previous to his meeting the actress, had been a dutiful if not a - very devoted husband. But as soon as he fell in love with this paragon of - virtue he became careless, and made no attempt to restrain his wife in her - thoughtless behaviour. He allowed her to go her own way, and he went his - way. His way led him almost every evening to the green room at the - Haymarket and Drury Lane, where Miss Farren was to be found. The - estrangement between himself and his wife that resulted in the final - separation was the result not of his infatuation for the actress, but of - her virtuous acceptance of him as her moral lover. She took care never to - compromise herself with him or any one else, but she did not mind taking - the man away from his wife and home in order that she might be accredited - with occupying an absolutely unique position in the annals of the English - stage. - </p> - <p> - If Miss Farren had been a little less virtuous and a little more human she - would run a better chance of obtaining the sympathy of such people as are - capable of differentiating between a woman's virtue and the virtues of - womankind. She seemed to think that the sole duty of a woman is to be - discreet in regard to herself—to give no one a chance of pointings - finger of scorn at her; and it really seemed as if this was also the creed - of the noble people with whom she associated. Every one seemed to be so - paralysed by her propriety as to be incapable of perceiving how - contemptible a part she was playing. An honest woman, with the instincts - of goodness and with some sense of her duty, would, the moment a married - man offers her his devotion, send him pretty quickly about his business. - The most elementary sense of duty must suggest the adoption of such a - course of treatment in regard to an illicit admirer. But Miss Farren had - no such sense. She met the philandering of her lover with smiles and a - virtuous handshake. She accepted his offer of an adoring friendship for - the present with a reversion of the position of Countess of Derby on the - death of the existing holder of the title and its appurtenances; and - people held her up, and continue to hold her up, as an example of all that - is virtuous and amiable in life! - </p> - <p> - She was also commended for her patience, as Lord Derby was for his - constancy. They had both great need of these qualities, for the unhappy - barrier to their union showed no signs of getting out of their way, either - by death or divorce. She became strangely discreet, taking, in fact, a - leaf out of Miss Farren's book of deportment, and never giving her husband - a chance of freeing himself from the tie that bound him nominally to her. - It must have been very gratifying to the actress to perceive how effective - was the example she set to the Countess in regard to the adherence to the - path of rectitude. - </p> - <p> - What was the exact impression produced upon Lord Derby by all this decorum - it would be difficult to say. He may have been pleased to discover that he - was married to a lady to whom his honour was more precious than he had any - reason or any right to believe it to be. But assuredly a less placid - gentleman would have found himself wishing now and again that—well, - that matters had arranged themselves differently. - </p> - <p> - The years went by without bringing about a more satisfactory <i>modus - vivendi</i> than was in existence when Lord Derby originally offered his - heart and hand (the latter when it should become vacant) to the actress. - Lady Derby was in wretched health, but still showed no more inclination to - die than does a chronic invalid. Miss Farren continued to drive her - splendid chariot, with its coachmen on the hammer-cloth and its footmen - clinging on to the straps behind, down to the stage-door of the theatre, - and to fill the house every night that she played. Her popularity seemed - to grow with years, and she appeared in a wide range of characters, making - her audiences accept as correct her reading of every part, though the best - critics—Walpole was about the worst—of her art had a good deal - to say that was not quite favourable to her style. Only once, however, did - she make a flagrant error on the stage, and this was when she was - misguided enough to put on men's garments in representing the part of - Tracy Lovell in Colman's play, <i>The Suicide</i>. - </p> - <p> - By this unhappy exhibition which she made of herself she disillusioned - those of her admirers who fancied that she was a model of grace from the - sole of her feet to the crown of her head. She never repeated this - performance. Had she done so in Lord Derby's presence, his constancy would - have been put to a severer test than any to which he had been previously - subjected. The best judges of what constitutes grace in a woman were - unanimous in their advice to the lady never to forsake the friendly - habiliments which she was accustomed to wear, and never to allow her - emulation of the perpetually chaste goddess to lead her to adopt even for - an hour the convenient garb in which she went a-hunting. - </p> - <p> - And while his fiancée was moving from triumph to triumph, putting every - other actress in the shade, the Earl of Derby was putting on flesh. But as - his flesh became more visible so did his faith. He was a model of - fidelity. His name was never associated with the name of any other lady—not - even that of his wife—during his long years of probation, and twenty - years form a rather protracted period for a man to wait in order to marry - an actress. It was not to be wondered if the spectacle of the devoted - young peer waiting for the beautiful girl in the green room, which was - allowed to the habitués of that fascinating apartment during the earlier - years of this strange attachment, produced quite a different effect upon - people from that which was the result of witnessing a somewhat obese, - elderly gentleman panting along by the side of a chaste lady of forty. Nor - was it remarkable that, on seeing one day by the side of Miss Farren, a - gallant young man whose walk and bearing suggested to elderly spectators a - rejuvenated Lord Stanley, they should rub their eyes and ask what miracle - was this that time and true love had wrought. - </p> - <p> - The only miracle that time had wrought was to make the son of the Earl of - Derby twenty-one years of age and rather interested in the personnel of - green rooms. He had been introduced to Miss Farren by his father; but to - his honour be it said, he made no attempt to take his father's place in - regard to the lady, except as her escort to her house in Green Street. The - gossip that suggested such a possibility was just what one might expect to - find in one of Walpole's letters. - </p> - <p> - At last the shameful, if virtuous, devotion of twenty years was rewarded - by the announcement of the death of the wretched Countess whose desertion - dated from the day her husband met the actress. Miss Farren, with that - extraordinary bad taste which characterised every period of her intimacy - with Lord Derby, took an ostentatious farewell of the stage, and proved by - the faltering of her voice, her emotion, and her final outburst in tears, - that time had not diminished from the arts of her art. Of course, there - was a scene of intense emotion in the theatre, which was increased when - King led her forward and Wroughton spoke a rhymed and stagey farewell in - her presence. Four of its lines were these: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But ah! this night adieu the joyous mien, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - When Mirth's lov'd fav'rite quits the mimic scene, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Startled Thalia would th'assent refuse, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But Truth and Virtue sued and won the Muse. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Truth and Virtue—these were the patrons of the compact by which Miss - Farren waited for twenty years for the death of the wife of the man whom - she had promised to marry—when she could. - </p> - <p> - The scene in the green room when the actress came off the stage was an - unqualified success. Tears flowed freely, making channels as they - meandered down the paint; sobs came from the actresses who hoped to get a - chance of doing some of her parts now that she had left the stage; and - Miss Farren herself showed that she knew what were the elements of a - proper climax, by fainting with a shriek, in the midst of which she made - an exit supported by all the actors who were not already supporting some - of the hysterical ladies in the background. They all deserved to have - their salaries raised. The whole scene was a triumph—of art. - </p> - <p> - The exact chronology of the crisis is worth noting. Lady Derby died on - March 4th, and was buried on April 2nd. On April 8th Miss Farren took her - farewell of the stage, and on May 1st she was married to the Earl of - Derby. A satisfactory explanation of the indecent delay in the celebration - of the marriage was forthcoming: his lordship had been suffering from an - attack of gout. - </p> - <p> - But if no one ventured to cast an aspersion upon his character or to - accuse him of shilly-shallying in regard to the postponement of his - nuptials until his wife had been nearly a whole month in her grave, there - was a good deal of funny gossip set loose when, after a honeymoon of two - days, the Earl and the Countess returned to London. This also was - satisfactorily explained: the Countess was devoted to her mother! - </p> - <p> - The marriage proved a very happy one, and thirty-two years passed before - the Countess died. Her husband survived her by five years. He died in - 1834, fifty-seven years after his first meeting with the actress, and - forty-seven since he instituted “The Derby” race meeting, winning the - first cup by his horse Sir Peter Teazle. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE PLOT OF A LADY NOVELIST - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the year 1790-1 - there was played in real life a singularly poor adaptation of an unwritten - novel by one of the Minifie sisters—those sentimental ladies who, - during the last quarter of the eighteenth century, provided the - circulating libraries with several volumes of high-flown fiction. The - adaptation of this unwritten novel possessed a good many of the most - prominent features of the original, so that when it was brought to light - there could be very little doubt as to the brain out of which it had been - evolved. The result of the performance was so unsatisfactory as to compel - one to believe that the worst possible way of producing a novel is to - adapt it to suit the requirements of one's relations, forcing them to play - in real life and in all earnest the parts assigned to them by the inventor - of the plot. - </p> - <p> - Miss Minifie, the second of the sentimental sisters, had married in the - year 1769 Colonel John Gunning, the brother of the two beautiful girls one - of whom became Duchess of Hamilton, and later Duchess of Argyll, and the - other Countess of Coventry. The result of the union was a daughter of - considerable plainness, and people said that in this respect she resembled - her mother's rather than her father's family. It seems that while the - Gunning tradition was beauty, the Minifie tradition was a nose, and it - soon became apparent that it was impossible to combine the two with any - satisfactory artistic results. The young lady had made an honest attempt - to do so, but her failure was emphatic. She had eyes that suggested in a - far-off way the long-lashed orbs of her aunts, but that unlucky Minifie - nose was so prominent a feature that it caused the attention of even the - most indulgent critic to be riveted upon it, to the exclusion of the rest - of her face. The charitably-disposed among her friends affirmed that she - would be passably good-looking if it were not for her nose; the others - said that she would be positively plain if it were not for her eyes. - </p> - <p> - Her father was probably that member of his family who had least brains: - they made a soldier of him, and he married a lady novelist, closing an - inglorious career by running off with his tailor's wife and having a writ - issued against him for £5000. He took care to be at Naples, outside the - jurisdiction of the English court, when it was issued, and he died before - it could be served on him, which suggests that he may not have been so - devoid of brains after all. - </p> - <p> - Her mother (<i>née</i> Minifie) seems to have entertained the idea of - making the girl work out a “plot” for her when she arrived at the - regulation age of the sentimental heroine of those days, and this plot she - invented with all her accustomed absence of skill. Her materials were a - “glorious child”—this was how she described her daughter—with - a gifted mother; a young cousin, heir to a dukedom and a large estate; - and, lastly, the Gunning tradition. Could any novelist ask for more? A - short time afterwards she did, however, and this was just where her art - failed her. She did much to discourage the writers of fiction from - endeavouring to work out their plots in real life. - </p> - <p> - Catherine Gunning, the “glorious child,” being the niece of the Duchess of - Argyll, her cousin was, of course, the Marquis of Lome; and as the Duchess - had always kept up an intimate connection with the members of her father's - family, even to the second generation, her son, Lord Lome, and Catherine - Gunning had been a good deal together, not only when they were children, - but also when they had reached the age when the novel-writer's hero and - heroine begin to blossom. The girl's mother, doubtless having an idea that - these very live young people were as plastic as the creatures of her - fancy, thought to hasten on the <i>dénouement</i> of her story by - whispering it to her friends. She whispered into more than one ear that - Lord Lome and her daughter were betrothed, and such friends as received - this information, strictly <i>sub rosa</i>, took care to spread it abroad—strictly - <i>sub rosa</i> also. Now the aggregation of many confidential reports of - this sort is what is termed “news,” so that in the course of a short time - it was common property that Lord Lome was to marry his cousin, Catherine - Gunning. - </p> - <p> - Congratulations reached the young lady, which she neither quite accepted - nor altogether rejected. She seems to have learned from her mother's - novels that in such matters it is wisest for a young woman to be silent - but pensive. And on the whole her behaviour was fairly consistent with - that of the heroine which her mother meant her to be. Indeed, all that was - needed to enable her to take the place of the heroine of a pleasant little - love story was the proposal of the hero; and unhappily this formality had - still to be reckoned with. Lord Lome had so paltry an appreciation of what - was due to the art of the fiction-writer that he declined to play the part - of the young hero of the story, and when people approached him on the - subject he said that he had heard nothing about being accepted by Miss - Gunning, and that he could not possibly be accepted until he had proposed - to her. He seems to have acted with the discretion one would have looked - for from the son of the Duchess of Argyll, and in the course of the year - the reports of the possible union dwindled away, and people began to feel - that their friends were untrustworthy gossips to have circulated a report - solely on the evidence of a young lady's pensiveness. - </p> - <p> - This was, however, as it turned out, but the opening chapter in the - romance which the novelist-mother was working out. Indeed, it scarcely - bears to be considered as a regular chapter, it was rather the prologue to - the comedy which was played two years later with the same heroine, but for - obvious reasons with a different hero. In the prologue there was scarcely - visible any of the art of the novelist; in the comedy itself, however, her - hand is constantly apparent, controlling the movements of at least one of - her puppets; and very jerkily, too, that hand pulled the strings. The - clumsiness in the construction of the plot prevented any one from - sympathising with the authoress and stage-manager of the piece when its - failure became known to the world in general, and to Horace Walpole in - particular. Walpole could pretend a good deal. He pretended, for instance, - that he knew at once that the Rowley poems, sent to him by Chatterton, - were forgeries; and he pretended that he knew nothing of the marriage of - his niece to the Duke of Gloucester until the public were apprised of the - fact. He could not, however, even pretend that he sympathised with the - failure of the Minifie plot. On the contrary, he gloats over the disgrace - which, he declared, on this account fell upon the Gunning family. He hated - the whole Gunning family, and he was plainly in ecstasies of delight when - he believed that ruin had come upon them. “The two beautiful sisters were - exalted almost as high as they could go,” he wrote. “Countessed and double - duchessed, and now the family have dragged themselves down into the very - dirt.” - </p> - <p> - The “family” had of course done nothing of the sort. One member of the - family had allowed herself to be made a fool of at the suggestion of her - very foolish mother; her father had also been indiscreet, but there is a - wide difference between all this and the family of Gunning “dragging - themselves into the very dirt.” The result of the tricks of the lady - novelist to marry her daughter to the heir to a dukedom was only to make - every one roar with laughter, and no doubt the fatuous ladies felt greatly - annoyed. But the Marquis of Lome did not seem to take the matter greatly - to heart, and he was a member of the Gunning family; nor did the Duke of - Hamilton show himself to be greatly perturbed, though he must have been - somewhat jealous of the honour of the family to which his mother belonged. - The position that the Gunning family had taken among the greatest families - in the land rested upon too solid a foundation to be shaken by the - foolishness of a lady novelist, who had married a Gunning. And now people - who read the story of the “dragging in the dirt” only shrug their - shoulders at the ridiculous figure cut by the actors in the shallow and - sordid comedy, and laugh at the spiteful gibe of the prince of gossips, - who played a congenial part in damning the product of the Minifie brain. - </p> - <p> - Two years after the failure of the Lome plot startling whispers were once - again heard in regard to Miss Gunning and the heir to another dukedom. - This time it was the Marquis of Blandford who attracted the Minifie fancy. - He was the Duke of Marlborough's heir, and was twenty-three years of age. - Of course it was Mrs. Gunning (<i>née</i> Minifie) who was the first to - make the announcement that the young people were greatly attached; and - then followed—after the interval of a chapter or two—the lady - novelist's declaration to her niece, a Mrs. Bowen, that Lord Blandford had - proposed, and had been accepted by Miss Gunning. The date of the marriage - had been fixed, and the draft deed of the settlements signed; but, as in - the former “case,” the recipient of the news was told that she must regard - the communication as strictly confidential, the fact being that although - the arrangements for the match were so fully matured, yet General Gunning—he - had recently been made a general—had not been let into the secret. - </p> - <p> - It must have seemed a little queer to Mrs. Bowen to learn that her uncle - had not been made acquainted with the good luck that was in store for his - daughter. The signing of marriage deeds in the absence of the bride's - father must surely have struck her as being a trifle irregular. However - this may be, she seems to have treated the communication as strictly - confidential by at once proceeding to spread abroad the news that it - contained. It reached the ears of several people of distinction before - long. General Conway heard of it, and from a quarter that seemed to him - absolutely trustworthy. He passed it round to Walpole and the Court - circle. The Duke of Argyll, as the uncle of the young lady most interested - in the match, was apprised of it in due course, and on appealing to - headquarters—that is to say, to Mrs. Gunning—for confirmation - or denial of the report, learned that the marriage had indeed been - “arranged,” but the question of settlements remained in abeyance. - </p> - <p> - Shortly afterwards there came rumours that there were obstacles in the way - of the marriage, and Miss Gunning, on being questioned by some of her - friends, confessed that it was the parents of her lover who were unkind: - young Lord Blandford was burning with anxiety to call her his own, but the - Duke and Duchess belonged unfortunately to that type of parent to be found - in so many novels in which the course of true love runs anything but - smooth. - </p> - <p> - Strange to say, it was just at this point that a letter appeared in the <i>Advertiser</i>, - signed by General Gunning, apprising the world of the fact that the - Gunnings were one of the noblest families in existence, the writer - actually being able to trace his ancestry up to Charlemagne. - </p> - <p> - It was while people were so laughing over this letter as to cause him to - declare it to be a forgery, that the General became suspicious of the - genuineness of his daughter's statements in regard to her <i>affaire de - cour</i>. When a blunt old soldier finds a letter bearing his signature in - the papers, well knowing that he never wrote such a letter, he is apt to - question the good faith even of his nearest and dearest. It is certain, at - any rate, that the descendant of Charlemagne had an uneasy feeling that - any woman who wrote novels was not to be implicitly trusted in the affairs - of daily life. His mind running on forged letters, he commanded his - daughter to submit to him her correspondence with her lover. - </p> - <p> - Miss Gunning at once complied, and he sat down to read the lot. The result - was not to allay his suspicions. The letters read remarkably well, and - contained the conventional outpourings of an ardent lover to the object of - his affections. But to the simple soldier's mind they read just too well: - some of them were in the style of a novel-writer with whom he was - acquainted—imperfectly, it would appear, or he would have suspected - something long before. Retaining the precious “pacquet” he awaited - developments. - </p> - <p> - He had not long to wait. Another contribution to the correspondence which - he had in his hand came to his daughter, and was passed on to him. - Noticing in it some doubtful features, he came to the conclusion that it - was necessary to get to the bottom of the affair in the most - straightforward way. He leapt to the bottom of it by sending the whole - “pacquet” to the young Marquis of Blandford, asking him peremptorily if he - had written the letters. - </p> - <p> - He got a reply to the effect that a few of the letters were his—they - were the ordinary ones, courteous, but in no way effusive—but that - the greater number had not come from him. His lordship did not seem to - think that common politeness demanded his expressing his hearty - concurrence with the tone and sentiments contained in these same letters. - Now in the judgment of a novelist of the intellectual calibre of the - Minifie sisters this is exactly what a young gentleman would do when - playing the part of the hero of a romance, so that it would appear that - General Gunning was fully justified in coming to the conclusion that the - whole scheme—the whole piece of scheming—was the design of his - wife—that it represented an attempt on her part to force one of her - “plots” upon some real personages. Dull-minded man though he certainly - was, he must have perceived that his wife's plan was to compel Lord - Blandford to act the part of the hero of her sentimental imagination, and - when confronted with a parcel of forged letters, in every one of which - there was a confession of love for Miss Gunning, to bow his head meekly, - as any gentleman (of her imagination) would, and say, “Those are my - letters, and they express nothing but the most honourable sentiments of my - heart.” - </p> - <p> - But as it so happened the young Lord Blandford was not a young gentleman - of this particular stamp. He seems to have been almost as practical as his - great ancestor, who, out of the proceeds of his first love intrigue, - bought an annuity for himself. Hence the fiasco of the Minifie plot. - </p> - <p> - The Minifie plot, however, was not worked out in one act only, and an - insignificant prologue. The resources of the lady's imagination were by no - means exhausted by the failure of Lord Blandford to act up to the heroic - part assigned to him. He seems to have talked a good deal to his friends - about the forged letters, and the Duke of Argyll, the young lady's uncle, - took the matter up as an important member by marriage of the family. He - applied to his niece for an explanation of the whole affair; and her - father seems to have agreed with him in thinking that if the girl was ever - to hold up her head again it would be necessary for her to bring forward - some evidence to prove what she still asserted, namely, that the letters - had been written to her by Lord Blandford—this “pacquet” of letters - played as important a part in the story of Miss Gunning as the “Casquet - Letters” did in the history of Queen Mary—and that they were written - with the concurrence and approbation of the Duke and Duchess of - Marlborough. The Duke and Duchess had, she affirmed, encouraged her by the - most unmistakable means to believe that they were extremely anxious to see - her married to their son. - </p> - <p> - It was then suggested—Horace Walpole, who gloats over the whole - story in a letter to one of the Berrys, does not say by whom—that - the young woman should draw up a narrative of the progress of the - attachment professed for her by Lord Blandford, and of the particular acts - of encouragement for which she alleged the Duke and Duchess were - responsible, leading her to feel sure that she was a <i>persona grata</i> - with them. It was hoped by the Duke of Argyll and General Gunning that the - girl would be rehabilitated in the eyes of society by the production of - the Duke of Marlborough's formal assent to the statements made by Miss - Gunning in endeavouring to exculpate herself. Miss Gunning assenting—after - a consultation with her mother, we may be sure—a “narrative” was - accordingly prepared by the young lady, and in it there was the ingenuous - confession that although she had been unable to resist so dazzling an - offer as that of Lord Blandford, she had not wavered in her affection for - her cousin, the Marquis of Lome. - </p> - <p> - Here we have the true Minifie touch of sentimentality, and we cannot doubt - that the remaining portion of the plot was due to her clumsy ingenuity. - </p> - <p> - This narrative was sent to the Duke of Marlborough, with the following - letter from General Gunning: - </p> - <p> - “St. James's Place, - </p> - <p> - “<i>3 rd February</i>, 1791. - </p> - <p> - “My Lord,—I have the honour of addressing this letter to your Grace - not with the smallest wish after what has passed of having a marriage - established between Lord Blandford and my daughter, or of claiming any - promise or proposal to that effect, but merely to know whether your Grace - or the Duchess of Marlborough have it in recollection that your Graces or - Lord Blandford ever gave my daughter reason to think a marriage was once - intended. - </p> - <p> - “My motive for giving this trouble arises merely from a desire of removing - any imputation from my daughter's character, as if she had entertained an - idea of such importance without any reasonable foundation. - </p> - <p> - “For my own satisfaction, and that of my particular friends who have been - induced to believe the reports of the intended marriage, I have desired my - daughter to draw up an accurate narrative of every material circumstance - on which that belief was founded. - </p> - <p> - “This narrative I have the honour of transmitting to your Grace for your - own perusal, and that of the Duchess of Marlborough and Lord Blandford, - thinking it highly suitable that you should have an early opportunity of - examining it—and I beg leave to request that your Grace will, after - examination, correct or alter such passages as may appear either to your - Grace, the Duchess of Marlborough, or Lord Blandford, to be erroneously - stated. - </p> - <p> - “I have the honour to be, - </p> - <p> - “With the greatest respect, my Lord, - </p> - <p> - “Your Grace's most humble and - </p> - <p> - “Most obedient servant, - </p> - <p> - “John Gunning.” - </p> - <p> - This letter was dispatched by a groom to its destination at Blenheim, and - within half an hour of his delivering it, His Grace, according to the - groom, had handed him a reply for General Gunning. This document, which - the groom said he had received from the Duke, was forwarded, with a copy - of the letter to which it constituted a most satisfactory reply, to a - small and very select committee that had, it would seem, been appointed to - investigate and report upon the whole story. It must also be quoted in - full, in order that its point may be fully appreciated by any one - interested in this very remarkable story. - </p> - <p> - “Blenheim. - </p> - <p> - “Sir,—I take the earliest opportunity to acknowledge the receipt of - your letter, and to answer it with that explicitness you are so much - entitled to. From the first of the acquaintance of the D———s - of Marlborough and myself had with Miss Gunning, we were charmed with her, - and it was with infinite satisfaction we discovered <i>Blanford's</i> - sentiments similar to our own. It had long been the wish of both to see - him married to some amiable woman. Your daughter was the one we had fixed - on, and we had every reason to suppose the object of his tenderest - affections, and, from the conduct of both himself and his family, yourself - and Miss Gunning had undoubtedly every right to look on a marriage as - certain. Indeed when I left town last summer, I regarded her as my future - daughter, and I must say it is with sorrow I relinquish the idea. The - actions of young men are not always to be accounted for; and it is with - regret that I acknowledge my son has been particularly unaccountable in - his. I beg that you will do me the justice to believe that I shall ever - think myself your debtor for the manner in which you have conducted - yourself in this affair, and that I must always take an interest in the - happiness of Miss Gunning. I beg, if she has not conceived a disgust for - the whole of my family, she will accept the sincerest good wishes of the - Duchess and my daughters. - </p> - <p> - “I have the honour to remain, - </p> - <p> - “Sir, - </p> - <p> - “Your much obliged and - </p> - <p> - “Most obedient, humble servant, - </p> - <p> - “Marlborough.” - </p> - <p> - Now be it remembered that both these letters were forwarded to the - committee with the young lady's narrative, to be considered by them in the - same connection, at Argyll House, where their sittings were to be held. - </p> - <p> - What was to be said in the face of such documentary evidence as this? - Those members of the committee who hoped that the girl's statement of her - case would be in some measure borne out by the Duke of Marlborough could - never have hoped for so triumphant a confirmation of her story as was - contained in His Grace's letter. It seemed as if the investigation of the - committee would be of the simplest character; handing them such a letter, - accompanying her own ingenuous narrative, it was felt that she had - completely vindicated her position. - </p> - <p> - But suddenly one member of the committee—Walpole in the letter to - Miss Berry affirms that he was this one—ventured to point out that - in the Duke's letter the name <i>Blandford</i> was spelt without the - middle letter <i>d</i>. “That was possible in the hurry of doing justice,” - wrote Walpole. But the moment that this pin-puncture of suspicion appeared - in the fabric of the lady's defence it was not thought any sacrilege to - try to pick another hole in it. The wax with which the letter was sealed - was black, and the members of the council asked one another whom the - Marlborough family were in mourning for, that they should seal their - letter in this fashion. No information on this point was forthcoming. (It - is strange if Walpole did not suggest that they were in mourning over the - defunct reputation of the young lady.) If the Duke of Argyll was present, - it can well be believed that, after the members of the council had looked - at each other, there should be silence in that room, on one wall of which - we may believe there was hanging the splendid portrait of Elizabeth, - Duchess of Argyll and Baroness Hamilton of Hameldon, in her own right, - painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The lady was dying at her Scotch home when - this investigation into the conduct of her niece was being conducted. - </p> - <p> - It was probably a relief to every one present when the suggestion was made - that the Duke of Marlborough's second son was in town, and if sent for he - might be able to throw some light upon the subject of the mourning wax or - some other questionable point in the same connection. Although it was now - close upon midnight a messenger was dispatched for the young man—probably - his whereabouts at midnight would be known with greater certainty than at - midday. At any rate he was quickly found, and repaired in all haste to - Argyll House. He was brought before the committee and shown the letter - with the black wax. He burst out laughing, and declared that the writing - bore not the least resemblance to that of his father, the Duke of - Marlborough. - </p> - <p> - There was nothing more to be said. The council adjourned <i>sine die</i> - without drawing up any report, so far as can be ascertained. - </p> - <p> - But the full clumsiness of the Minifie “plot” was revealed the next day, - for General Gunning received a letter from the Captain Bowen whose name - has already entered into this narrative, telling him that his wife, the - General's niece, had a short time before received from Miss Gunning a - letter purporting to be a copy of one which had come to her from the Duke - of Marlborough, and begging her to get her husband to make a fair copy of - it, and return it by the groom. Captain Bowen added that he had complied - with his wife's request to this effect, but he had written “<i>copy</i>” - at the top and “<i>signed M</i>.” at the bottom, as is usual in engrossing - copies of documents, to prevent the possibility of a charge of forgery - being brought against the copyist. - </p> - <p> - The letter which the girl wrote to Mrs. Bowen was made the subject of an - affidavit shortly afterwards, and so became public property. It is so - badly composed that one cannot but believe it was dictated by her mother, - though the marvellous spelling must have been Miss Gunning's own. The fact - that, after making up a story of her love for Lord Lome, and of the - encouragement she received from the Marlborough family in respect of Lord - Blandford, she instructed Mrs. Bowen to keep the matter secret from her - mother, confirms one's impression as to the part the lady must have played - in the transaction. Miss Gunning wrote: “Neither papa or I have courage to - tell mama, for she detests the person dearest to me on earth.” - </p> - <p> - But however deficient in courage her papa was in the matter of acquainting - his wife with so ordinary an incident as was referred to in this letter, - he did not shrink from what he believed to be his duty when it was made - plain to him that his daughter and his wife had been working out a “plot” - in real life that necessitated the forging of a letter. He promptly - bundled both wife and daughter out of his house, doubtless feeling that - although the other personages in the romance which his wife was hoping to - weave, had by no means acted up to the parts she had meant them to play, - there was no reason why he should follow their example. It must be - acknowledged that as a type of the bluff old soldier, simple enough to be - deceived by the inartistic machinations of a foolish wife, but inexorable - when finding his credulity imposed upon, he played his part extremely - well. At the same time such people as called him a ridiculous old fool for - adopting so harsh a measure toward his erring child, whose tricks he had - long winked at, were perhaps not to be greatly blamed. - </p> - <p> - The old Duchess of Bedford at once received the outcasts and provided them - with a home; and then Mrs. Gunning had leisure to concoct a manifesto in - form of an open letter to the Duke of Argyll, in which, after exhorting - His Grace to devote the remainder of his life to unravelling the mystery - which she affirmed (though no one else could have done so) enshrouded the - whole affair of the letter, she went on to denounce the simple-hearted - General for his meanness—and worse—in matters domestic. He had - never been a true husband to her, she declared, and he was even more - unnatural as a father. As for Captain Bowen and his wife, the writer of - the manifesto showed herself to be upon the brink of delirium when she - endeavoured to find words severe enough to describe their treachery. They - were inhuman in their persecution of her “glorious child,” she said, and - then she went on to affirm her belief that the incriminating letters had - been forged by the Bowens, and the rest of the story invented by them with - the aid of the General to ruin her and her “glorious child.” - </p> - <p> - Captain Bowen thought fit to reply to this amazing production. He did so - through the prosaic form of a number of affidavits. The most important of - these was that sworn by one William Pearce, groom to General Gunning. In - this document he deposed that when he was about to start for Blenheim with - the “pacquet” for the Duke of Marlborough, Miss Gunning had caught him and - compelled him to hand over the “pacquet” to her, and that she had then - given him another letter, sealed with black, bearing the Marlborough arms, - instructing him to deliver it to her father, pretending that he had - received it at Blenheim. - </p> - <p> - In spite of all this Miss Gunning continued to affirm her entire - innocence, and even went the length—according to Walpole—of - swearing before a London magistrate that she was innocent. “It is but a - burlesque part of this wonderful tale,” adds Walpole, “that old crazy - Bedford exhibits Miss every morning on the Causeway in Hyde Park and - declares her <i>protégée</i> some time ago refused General Trevelyan.” But - “crazy old Bedford” went much further in her craziness than this, for she - actually wrote to the Marquis of Lome trying to patch up a match between - Miss Gunning and himself. Immediately afterwards the town was startled by - the report that a duel was impending between Lord Lome and Lord Blandford, - the former maintaining that it was his duty to uphold the honour of his - cousin, which had been somewhat shaken by the course adopted by the - Marlborough heir. Of course no duel took place, and the young men simply - laughed when their attention was called to the statement in print. - </p> - <p> - How much further these alarums and excursions (on the Causeway) would have - proceeded it would be impossible to tell, the fact being that Captain - Bowen and his wife gave notice of their intention to institute proceedings - against the Gunnings, mother and daughter, for libel. This brought <i>l'affaire - Gunning</i> to a legitimate conclusion, for the ladies thought it - advisable to fly to France. - </p> - <p> - “The town is very dull without them,” wrote Walpole to one of the Berrys, - enclosing a copy of a really clever skit in verse, after the style of “The - House that Jack Built,” ridiculing the whole affair. When Mrs. Gunning and - her daughter returned, after the lapse of several months, the old Duchess - of Bedford took them up once more; but the town declined to take any - further notice of them. It was not until her father and mother had been - dead for some years that Miss Gunning married Major Plunkett, an Irish - rebel, who fled after the rising in 1798. She lived with him happily - enough for twenty years, endeavouring to atone for the indiscretion of her - girlhood by writing novels. It is doubtful if many of her readers - considered such expiation wholly adequate, considering how foolish she had - been. One act of folly can hardly be atoned for by another. But her - intention was good, and her faults, including her novels, have long ago - been forgiven her by being forgotten. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - TRAGEDY WITH A TWINKLE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the summer of - 1770 there arrived at the town of Lisle a coach containing three ladies - and one man, followed by a travelling chaise with servants and luggage. Of - the ladies, one was approaching middle age, handsome and elegant; the - other two were her daughters, and both were extremely beautiful and - graceful girls, under twenty years of age. The man was a small, - middle-aged person, with a face which one would have called plain if it - had not been that the protruding of his upper lip and the twinkle in his - eyes suggested not plainness, but comedy. The very soul of comedy was in - the gravity of his face; but it was that sort which is not apparent to all - the world. It was the soul of comedy, not the material part; and most - people are disposed to deny the possibility of comedy's existing except in - juxtaposition with the grin through the horse-collar. Solemnity in a face, - with a twinkle in the eye—that is an expression which comedy may - wear without arousing the curiosity—certainly without exciting the - laughter—of the multitude. And this was exactly the form that the - drama of this man's life assumed; only it was tragedy with a twinkle. - Tragedy with a twinkle—that was Oliver Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0203.jpg" alt="0203 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0203.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The vehicles drew up in the courtyard of the hotel in the square, and Dr. - Goldsmith, after dismounting and helping the ladies to dismount, gave - orders in French to the landlord in respect of the luggage, and made - inquiries as to the table d'hôte. Shown to their respective rooms, the - members of the party did not meet again for some time, and then it was in - the private <i>salle</i> which they had engaged, looking out upon the - square. The two girls were seated at a window, and their mother was - writing letters at a table at one side. - </p> - <p> - When Dr. Goldsmith entered we may be pretty sure that he had exchanged his - travelling dress for a more imposing toilet, and we may be equally certain - that these two girls had something merry to say about the cut or the - colour of his garments—we have abundant record of their <i>badinage</i> - bearing upon his flamboyant liking for colour, and of his retorts in the - same spirit. We have seen him strutting to and fro in gay apparel, - obtrusively calling attention to the beauty of his waistcoat and speaking - in solemn exaggeration of its importance. The girls were well aware of - this form of his humour; they appreciated it to the full, and responded to - it in their merriment. - </p> - <p> - Then there came the sound of martial music from the square, and the elder - of the girls, opening the window on its hinges, looked out. A regiment of - soldiers was turning into the square and would pass the hotel, she said. - The two girls stood at one window and Goldsmith at another while the march - past took place. It was not surprising that, glancing up and seeing the - beautiful pair at the window, the mounted officers at the head of the - regiment should feel flattered by the attention, nor was it unlikely that - the others, taking the <i>pas</i> from their superiors, should look up and - exchange expressions in admiration of the beauty of the young ladies. It - is recorded that they did so, and that, when the soldiers had marched off, - the little man at the other window walked up and down the room in anger - “that more attention had been paid to them than to him.” - </p> - <p> - These are the words of Boswell in concluding his account of the episode, - which, by the way, he printed with several other stories in illustration - of the overwhelming vanity and extraordinary envy in Goldsmith's nature. - As if any human being hearing such a story of the most complete curmudgeon - would accept the words as spoken seriously! And yet Boswell printed it in - all solemnity, and hoped that every one who read it would believe that - Goldsmith, the happy-go-lucky Irishman, was eaten up with envy of the - admiration given to the two exquisite girls on whom, by the way, be - conferred immortality; for so long as English literature remains the names - of the Jessamy Bride and Little Comedy will live. Yes, and so long as - discriminating people read the story of Goldsmith's envious outburst they - will not fail to see the true picture of what did actually take place in - that room in the Lisle hotel—they will see the little man stalking - up and down, that solemn face of his more solemn than ever, but the - twinkle in his eyes revealing itself all the more brightly on this - account, while he shakes his fists at the ladies and affirms that the - officers were dolts and idiots to waste their time gazing at them when - they had a chance “of seeing me, madam, me—<i>me!</i>” Surely every - human being with the smallest amount of imagination will see the little - man thumping his waistcoat, while the Miss Hornecks hold up their hands - and go into fits of laughter at that whimsical Dr. Goldsmith, whom they - had chosen to be their companion on that tour of theirs through France - with their mother. - </p> - <p> - And surely every one must see them in precisely the same attitude, when - they read the story in Boswell's <i>Life of Johnson</i>, and notice what - interpretation has been put upon it by the Scotsman—hands uplifted - in amazement and faces “o'er-running with laughter” at the thought of how - Mr. Boswell has, for the thousandth time, been made a fool of by some one - who had picked up the story from themselves and had solemnly narrated it - to Boswell. But in those days following the publication of the first - edition of the <i>Life</i>, people were going about with uplifted hands, - wondering if any man since the world began had ever been so befooled as - Boswell. - </p> - <p> - When the story appeared in <i>Johnson's Life</i> the two girls had been - married for several years; but one of them at least had not forgotten the - incident upon which it was founded; and upon its being repeated in - Northcote's <i>Life of Reynolds</i>, she wrote to the biographer, assuring - him that in this, as well as in other stories of the same nature, the - expression on Goldsmith's face when he professed to be overcome by envy - was such as left no one in doubt that he was jesting. But Croker, in spite - of this, had the impudence to sneer at the explanation, and to attribute - it to the good-nature of the lady. Mr. Croker seems to have had a special - smile of his own for the weaknesses of ladies. This was the way he smiled - when he was searching up old registries of their birth in his endeavour to - prove that they had made themselves out to be six months younger than they - really were. (Quite different, however, must his smile have been when he - read Macaulay's Essay on Croker's edition of Boswell's <i>Life of Johnson</i>). - But, unhappily for poor Goldsmith, Mr. Boswell was able to bring forward - much stronger evidence of the consuming Vanity, the parent of Envy, with - which his “honest Dr. Goldsmith” was afflicted. There was once an - exhibition of puppets in Panton Street, and on some member of the - distinguished company in which he, curiously enough for such a - contemptible lout, constantly found himself, admiring the dexterity with - which the wooden figure tossed a halbert, Goldsmith, we are gravely told, - appeared annoyed and said: “Pshaw! I could do it as well myself!” - Supposing that some one had said to Boswell, “After all, sir, perhaps Dr. - Goldsmith could have done it as well himself,” would the man have tried to - explain that the question was not whether Goldsmith or the puppet was the - more dexterous, but whether it was possible to put any other construction - upon Goldsmith's exclamation than that assumed by Mr. Boswell? - </p> - <p> - Yet another instance is given of Goldsmith's envy, and this time the - object of it is not a wooden figure, but Shakespeare himself. He could not - bear, Dr. Beattie tells us, that so much admiration should be given to - Shakespeare. Hearing this, we feel that we are on quite a different level. - There is no jealousy rankling this time in Goldsmith's heart against a - mere puppet. It is now a frantic passion of chagrin that Shakespeare - should still receive the admiration of a chosen few! - </p> - <p> - But such vanity as that so strikingly illustrated by this last told story, - is, one must confess with feelings of melancholy, not yet wholly extinct - among literary men. It would scarcely be believed—unless by Boswell - or Beattie—that even in America a man with some reputation as a - writer should deliberately ask people to assume that he himself was worthy - of a place in a group that included not merely Shakespeare, but also - Milton and Homer. “Gentlemen,” said this egregious person at a public - dinner, “Gentlemen, think of the great writers who are dead and gone. - There was Shakespeare, he is dead and gone; and Milton, alas! is no longer - in the land of the living; Homer has been deceased for a considerable - time, and I myself, gentlemen, am not feeling very well to-night.” - </p> - <p> - What a pity it is that Beattie has gone the way of so many other great - writers. If he could only have been laid on to Mark Twain we should have - the most comic biography ever written. - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith was, according to the great Boswell and the many lesser Boswells - of his day, the most contemptible wretch that ever wrote the finest poem - of the century, the finest comedy of the century, the finest romance of - the century. He was a silly man, an envious man, an empty-headed man, a - stuttering fool, an idiot (of the inspired variety), an awkward lout, a - shallow pedant, and a generally ridiculous person; and yet here we find - him the chosen companion of two of the most beautiful and charming young - ladies in England on their tour through France, and on terms of such - intimacy with them and their brother, an officer in the Guards and the - son-in-law of a peer, that nicknames are exchanged between them. A - singular position for an Irish lout to find himself in! - </p> - <p> - Even before he is known to fame, and familiar only with famine, he is - visited in his garret by Dr. Percy, a member of the great Northumberland - family at whose town house he lived. So much for the empty-headed fool who - never opened his mouth except to put his foot in it, as a countryman of - his said about quite another person. He was a shallow prig, and yet when - “the Club” was started not one of the original members questioned his - right to a place among the most fastidious of the community, although - Garrick—to the shame of Johnson be it spoken—was not admitted - for nine years. Boswell—to the shame of Johnson be it spoken—was - allowed to crawl in after an exclusion of ten. According to his numerous - detractors, this Goldsmith was one of the most objectionable persons - possible to imagine, and yet we find him the closest friend of the - greatest painter of the day and the greatest actor of the day. He - associates with peers on the friendliest terms, and is the idol of their - daughters. He is accused, on the one hand, of aiming at being accounted a - Macaroni and being extravagant in his dress, and yet he has such a - reputation for slovenliness in this respect that it is recorded that Dr. - Johnson, who certainly never was accused of harbouring unworthy - aspirations to be accounted a beau, made it a point of putting on his best - garments—he may even have taken the extreme step of fastening up his - garters—before visiting Goldsmith, in order, as he explained, that - the latter might have no excuse for his slovenliness. We are also told - that Goldsmith made a fool of himself when he got on his feet to make a - speech, and yet it is known that he travelled through Europe, winning the - hospitality of more than one university by the display of his skill as a - disputant. Again, none of his innumerable traits of awkwardness is so - widely acknowledged as his conversational, and yet the examples which - survive of his impromptu wit are of the most finished type; and (even when - the record is made by Boswell), when he set himself out to take opposite - sides to Johnson, he certainly spoke better sense than his antagonist, - though he was never so loud. It is worth noting that nearly all the hard - things which Johnson is reported to have said respecting Goldsmith were - spoken almost immediately after one of these disputes. Further, we are - assured that Goldsmith's learning was of the shallowest order, and yet - when he was appointed Professor of History to the Royal Academy we do not - hear that any voice was raised in protest. - </p> - <p> - What is a simple reader to think when brought face to face with such - contradictory accounts of the man and his attainments? Well, possibly the - best one can do is to say, as Fanny Burney did, that Goldsmith was an - extraordinary man. - </p> - <p> - Of course, so far as his writings are concerned there is no need for one - to say much. They speak for themselves, and readers can form their own - opinion on every line and every sentence that has come from his pen. There - is no misunderstanding the character of <i>The Traveller</i> or <i>The - Deserted Village</i> or <i>The Vicar of Wakefield</i>. These are - acknowledged by the whole world to be among the most precious legacies of - the eighteenth century to posterity. Who reads nowadays, except out of - curiosity, such classics as <i>Tristram Shandy, Clarissa Harlow, Evelina, - or Rasselas?</i> But who has not read, and who does not still read for - pleasure, <i>The Vicar of Wakefield?</i> Johnson's laborious poem, <i>The - Vanity of Human Wishes</i>, now only exists as an example of the last gasp - of the didactic in verse; but we cannot converse without quoting—sometimes - unconsciously—from <i>The Deserted Village</i> When the - actor-manager of a theatre wishes to show how accomplished a company he - has at his disposal he produces <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>, and he would - do so more frequently only he is never quite able to make up his mind - whether he himself should play the part of old Hardcastle, Tony Lumpkin, - Young Marlow, or Diggory. But what other eighteenth-century comedy of all - produced previous to the death of Goldsmith can any manager revive - nowadays with any hope of success? Colman of the eighteenth century is as - dead as Congreve of the seventeenth; and what about the masterpieces of - Cumberland, and Kelly, and Whitehead, and the rest? What about the Rev. - Mr. Home's <i>Douglas</i>, which, according to Dr. Johnson, was equal to - Shakespeare at his best? They have all gone to the worms, and these not - even bookworms—their very graves are neglected. But <i>She Stoops to - Conquer</i> is never revived without success—never without a modern - audience recognising the fact that its characters are not the puppets of - the playwright, but the creations of Nature. It is worthy of mention, too, - that the play which first showed the capacity of an actress whose name was - ever at the head of the list of actresses of the last generation, was - founded on <i>The Vicar of Wakefield.</i> It was Miss Ellen Terry's - appearance in <i>Olivia</i> in 1878 that brought about her connection with - the ever memorable Lyceum management as an associate of the greatest actor - of our day. - </p> - <p> - These things speak for themselves, and prove incontestably that Goldsmith - was head and shoulders above all those writers with whom he was on - intimate terms. But the mystery of the contradictory accounts which we - have of the man himself and his ways remains as unsolved as ever. - </p> - <p> - Yes, unless we assume one thing, namely—that the majority of the - people about him were incapable of understanding him. Is it going too far - to suggest that, as Daniel Defoe was sent to the pillory because his - ironic jest in <i>The Shortest Way with the Dissenters</i> was taken in - earnest, and as good people shuddered at the horrible proposal of Swift - that Irish babies should be cooked and eaten, so Goldsmith's peculiarities - of humour were too subtle to be in any degree appreciated by most of the - people with whom he came in contact in England? - </p> - <p> - In Ireland there would be no chance of his being misunderstood; for there - no form that his humour assumed would be regarded as peculiar. Irony is a - figure of speech so largely employed by the inhabitants in some parts that - people who have lived there for any length of time have heard whole - conversations carried on by two or three men without the slightest - divergence from this tortuous form of expression into the straight path of - commonplace English. And all this time there was no expression but one of - complete gravity on the faces of the speakers; a stranger had no clue - whatsoever to the game of words that was being played before him. - </p> - <p> - Another fully recognised form of humour which prevails in Ireland is even - more difficult for a stranger to follow; its basis consists in mystifying - another person, not for the sake of getting a laugh from a third who has - been let into the secret, but simply for the satisfaction of the mystifier - himself. The forms that such a scheme of humour may assume are various. - One of the most common is an affectation of extraordinary stupidity. It is - usually provoked by the deliverance of a platitude by a stranger. The - humourist pretends that he never heard such a statement before, and asks - to have it repeated. When this is done, there is usually a pause in which - the profoundest thought is suggested; then the clouds are seen to clear - away, and the perplexity on the man's face gives way to intelligence; he - has grasped the meaning of the phrase at last, and he announces his - victory with sparkling eyes, and forthwith puts quite a wrong construction - upon the simplest words. His chuckling is brought to a sudden stop by the - amazed protest of the victim against the suggested solution of the - obvious. Thus, with consummate art, the man is led on to explain at - length, with ridiculous emphasis, the exact meaning of his platitude; but - it is all to no purpose. The humourist shakes his head; he pretends that - the cleverness of the other is too much for him to grasp all in a moment; - it's a fine thing to have learning, to be sure, but these things may be - best not meddled with by ignorant creatures like himself; and so he goes - off murmuring his admiration for the fine display of wisdom that comes so - easy-like from the man whom he has been fooling. - </p> - <p> - This form of humour is indulged in by some Irishmen simply for the - satisfaction it gives them to indulge in it. They never hurry off to - acquaint a neighbour with what they have done, and they are quite pleased - with the thought that the person on whom they have been imposing will tell - the whole story of their extraordinary obtuseness to some one else; it - never strikes them that that some one else may fail to see through the - trick, and actually be convinced of the existence of their obtuseness. But - if such a possibility did occur to them, they would be all the better - pleased: they would feel that they had fooled two instead of one. - </p> - <p> - But, of course, the most widely recognised form of Irish humour is that - known as the “bull.” This is the delivery of a paradox so obvious as to be - detected—after a brief consideration—by an Englishman or even—after - an additional space for thought—by a Scotsman. But where the fun - comes in is (in the Irishman's eyes) when the others assume that the - humour of the bull is involuntary; and this is just what the Englishman - has been doing, and what the Irishman has been encouraging him to do, for - centuries. The Englishman is so busy trying to make it appear that he is - cleverer than he really is, he cannot see the humour of any man trying to - make out that he is more stupid than he really is. Let no one fancy for a - moment that the humour of an Irish bull is involuntary. It is a form of - expression that may be due to a peculiar twist in the Irishman's mind—indeed, - every form of humour may be said to be due to a peculiar twist of the mind—but - it is as much a figure of speech as irony or satire. “Blarney” and - “palaver” are other forms of speech in which the Irish of some generations - ago indulged with great freedom, and both are essentially Irish and - essentially humorous, though occasionally borrowed and clumsily worn on - the other side of the Channel, just as the bernous of the Moor is worn by - an English missionary when lecturing in the village schoolroom (with a - magic-lantern) on The Progress of Christianity in Morocco. - </p> - <p> - It would be interesting to make a scientific inquiry into the origin and - the maintenance of all these forms of expression among the Irish; but it - is unnecessary to do so in this place. It is enough if we remind English - readers of the existence of such forms even in the present day, when there - is so little need for their display. It can without difficulty be - understood by any one, however superficially acquainted with the history - of Ireland for the past thousand years, that “blarney” and “palaver” were - as necessary to the existence of the natives of the island as suspicion - and vigilance were to the existence of the invaders. But it is not so - apparent why Irishmen should be given to rush into the extremes of - bragging on the one hand, and self-depreciation on the other. Bragging is, - however, as much an endowment of Nature for the protection of a species or - a race as is imitation or mimicry. The Irishman who was able by the - exercise of this gift to intimidate the invaders, escaped a violent death - and transmitted his art to his children. The practice of the art of - self-depreciation was quite as necessary for the existence of the Irish - race up to the time of the passing of the first Land Act. For several - generations an Irishman was not allowed to own a horse of greater value - than five pounds; and every Irish agriculturist who improved the miserable - cabin which he was supposed to share with his pigs and his fowl, might - rest certain that his rent would be raised out of all proportion to his - improvements. In these circumstances it can easily be understood that it - was accounted a successful joke for a man who was doing tolerably well to - put on a poor face when in the presence of an inquiry agent of the absent - landlord—to run down all his own efforts and to depreciate generally - his holding, and thus to save himself from the despicable treatment which - was meted out to the unfortunate people by the conquerors of their - country. - </p> - <p> - It is not necessary to do more than make these suggestions to a scientific - investigator who may be disposed to devote some time to the question of - the origin of certain forms of Irish humour; it is enough for us, in - considering the mystery of that typical Irishman, Oliver Goldsmith, to - know that such forms of humour as we have specified have an actual - existence. Such knowledge is a powerful illuminant to a reader of - Boswell's and Beattie's stories of the stupidity of Goldsmith. A fine - flood of light is thrown upon the apparent mystery of the inspiration of - this idiot—of this man “who wrote like an angel and talked like poor - poll.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith was just too successful in maintaining that gravity which is the - very essence of those forms of humour in which he was constantly indulging - for his own satisfaction; the mask of gravity was such a good fit that the - short-sighted people who were around him never penetrated it. He was - making fools of the people about him, never giving a thought to the - possibility that they would transmit to posterity the impression which his - attitude conveyed to them, which was that he was a shallow fool. - </p> - <p> - Of course, it would be as absurd to contend that Goldsmith never made a - fool of himself as it would be to assume that Johnson never made a fool of - himself, or that Boswell ever failed to do so. The occasions upon which he - made himself ridiculous must have been numerous, but out of the many - incidents which Boswell and Beattie and Cooke and the others bring forward - as proofs of his stupidity there are few that will not bear to be - interpreted as instances of his practice of a form of humour well known in - Ireland. If his affectation of chagrin at the admiration given to the - Panton Street puppets, followed by the boast, “I could do it as well - myself,” was not humorous, then indeed there is nothing humorous under the - sun. If his object of setting the room roaring with laughter was not - achieved the night when at the club he protested that the oratory of Burke - was nothing—that all oratory, as a matter of fact, was only a knack—and - forthwith stood upon a chair and began to stutter, all that can be said is - that the famous club at Gerrard Street was more stolid than could be - believed. If his strutting about the room where he and his friends were - awaiting a late-comer to dinner, entreating Johnson and the rest to pay - particular attention to the cut of his new peach-bloom coat, and declaring - that Filby, his tailor, had told him that when any one asked him who had - made the garment he was not to forget Filby's address, did not help - materially to enliven the tedium of that annoying wait, all that can be - said is that Thrale, as well as Boswell, must have been of the party. - </p> - <p> - If a novelist, anxious to depict a typical humorous Irishman, were to show - his hero acting as Boswell says Goldsmith acted, would not every reader - acknowledge that he was true to the character of a comical Irishman? If a - playwriter were to put the scene on the stage, would any one in the - audience fail to see that the Goldsmith of the piece was fooling? Every - one in the club—Boswell best of all—was aware of the fact that - Goldsmith had the keenest admiration for Burke, and that he would be the - last man in the world to decry his powers. As for the peach-bloom coat, it - had been the butt of much jesting on the part of his friends; the elder of - the Miss Hornecks had written him a letter of pretty “chaff” about it, all - of which he took in good part. He may have bought the coat originally - because he liked the tint of the velvet; but assuredly when he found that - it could be made the subject of a jest he did not hesitate to jest upon it - himself. How many times have we not seen in Ireland a man behave in - exactly the same way under similar conditions—a boisterous young - huntsman who had put on pink for the first time, and was strutting with - much pride before an admiring group of servants, every one of whom had - some enthusiastic remark to make about the fit of the coat, until at last - the youth, pointing out the perfection of the gilt buttons, murmured: “Oh, - but isn't this a great day for Ireland!” - </p> - <p> - What a pity it was that Mr. Boswell had not been present at such a scene! - Can we not hear his comments upon the character of the young man who had - actually been so carried away by his vanity that he was heard to express - the opinion that the fortunes of his country would be materially affected - by the fact of the buttons of his new coat being gilt? (It was this same - Mr. Boswell, the critic of Goldsmith's all too attractive costume, who, - when going to see Pitt for the first time, put on Corsican native dress, - pretending that he did so in order to interest Pitt in General Paoli.) - </p> - <p> - In reading these accounts of Goldsmith's ways and the remarks of his - associates it must be noticed that some of these gentlemen had now and - again an uneasy impression that there was more in the poet's stupidity - than met the eye. Sir Joshua Reynolds was his closest friend, and it was - the business of the painter to endeavour to get below the surface of his - sitters. The general idea that prevails in the world is that he was rather - successful in his attempts to reproduce, not merely their features, but - their characters as well; and Sir Joshua saw enough beneath the rude - exterior of the man to cause him to feel toward Goldsmith as he felt for - none of his other friends. When the news of his death was brought to the - painter, he laid down his brushes and spent the day in seclusion. When it - is remembered that he spent every day of the week, not even excepting - Sunday, in his studio, the depth of his grief for the loss of his friend - will be understood. Upon more than one occasion Reynolds asserted that - Goldsmith was diverting himself by trying to make himself out to be more - stupid than he really was. Malone, whose judgment was rarely at fault, - whether it was exercised in the detection of fraud or in the discovery of - genius, was in perfect agreement with Reynolds on this point, and was - always ready to affirm that Boswell was unjust in his remarks upon - Goldsmith and the conclusions to which he came in respect of his - character. It is not necessary for one to have an especially vivid - imagination to enable one to see what was the expression on Malone's face - when he came upon the patronising passage in the <i>Life of Johnson</i> in - which Boswell stated that for his part he was always glad to hear “honest - Dr. Goldsmith” converse. “Puppy!” cried Johnson upon one occasion when a - certain commentator had patronised a text out of all recognition. What - would he have said had he heard Goldsmith patronised by Boswell? - </p> - <p> - So far as Goldsmith's actual vanity is concerned, all that can be said at - this time is that had it existed in the offensive form which it assumes in - some of Boswell's stories, Goldsmith would never have won the friendship - of those men and women who were his friends before he had made a - reputation for himself by the publication of <i>The 'Traveller</i>. If he - had had an extravagant opinion of his own capacity as a poet, he would - certainly never have suffered Johnson to make an attempt to improve upon - one of his poems; but Goldsmith not only allowed him to do so, but - actually included the lines written by Johnson when he published the poem. - Had he been eaten up by vanity, he would not have gone wandering down the - Mall in St. James's Park while his comedy was being played for the first - time before a delighted house. The really vain man was the author of The - Vanity of Human Wishes, who bought the showiest set of garments he could - find and sat in all their glory in the front row of the boxes on the night - when Garrick produced his tragedy of <i>Irene</i>—Garrick whom he - kept out of the Club for nine years simply because the actor had expressed - a wish to become one of the original members. The really vain man was the - one who made his stock story his account of his conversation with the King - in the Royal Library. Every one sees this now, and every one saw it, - except Boswell, when the <i>Life</i> was flung in the face of a convulsed - public, for the public of the year 1791 were as little aware of the real - value of the book as the author was of the true character of his hero and - his hero's friend Goldsmith. - </p> - <p> - After all, there would be no better way of arriving at a just conclusion - on the subject of Goldsmith's stupidity than by submitting the whole of - the case to an ordinary man accustomed to the many peculiarities of - Irishmen, especially in the exercise of their doubtful gift of humour. - “Here is a man,” we must say, “who became the most intimate friend of - people of title and the dearest friend of many men of brains. When the - most exclusive Club of the day was started his place as a member was not - disputed, even by the man who invented the word 'clubbable,' and knew what - it meant into the bargain; when the Royal Academy of Arts was started he - was invited to become one of its professors. Some of the wittiest things - recorded by the most diligent recorder of witty things that the world has - ever known, were uttered by him. Upon one occasion when walking among the - busts of the poets in Westminster Abbey with a friend, the latter pointing - around said: - </p> - <p> - “'<i>Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis</i>.' - </p> - <p> - “Leaving the Abbey and walking down the Strand to Temple Bar they saw the - heads of the men who had been captured and decapitated for taking part in - the Rebellion of the year 1745, bleaching in the winds in accordance with - the terms of the sentence for high treason. - </p> - <p> - “'<i>Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis</i>,' murmured the man of - whom we speak. Upon another occasion this same friend of his, who had a - unique reputation for speaking in the most ponderous language, even when - dealing with the simplest matters, asserted that the writing of the - dialogue in some recently published fables where fish were represented as - conversing, was very simple. 'Not so simple at all,' said the other, 'for - were you to write them, you would make every minnow talk like a whale.' - </p> - <p> - “In the course of a few years, in addition to compiling histories, which - remained standard educational works for more than a century, and several - other books, he wrote a novel which received the highest praise from the - greatest intellects in Europe, and which is still read with delight by - thousands of people of all nationalities; a poem of which almost every - line is quoted daily in conversation—a poem which contains metaphors - that have been repeated for generations in the Senate, in the Court of - Law, and in the Church; and a play which has been pronounced the truest - comedy in the English language. He died at an early age, and a memorial of - his genius was given a place in Westminster Abbey. The inscription was - written by the most distinguished man of letters in England, and although - highly eulogistic, was considered by the greatest painter in the world and - the greatest orator in the world to fall short of doing justice to the - subject. - </p> - <p> - “But, on the other hand, the man of whom we speak was said by a Scotchman, - who himself was occasionally referred to as a cur and sometimes as an ape, - and more than once as a coxcomb, to have been roused to a frenzy of envy, - because some officers, passing through a square in a French town, looked - admiringly at two lovely girls who were at a window, ignoring him at - another window; and again because his friends spoke with favour of the - dexterity of a wooden figure dressed as a soldier, and yet again (on - another authority) because one of his friends read a passage from - Shakespeare, and affirmed that it was magnificent. Now, would you say,” we - should ask the authority to whom we are supposed to be stating a case—“would - you say that this man was in earnest when, in the first of the instances - quoted, he walked up and down the room in the French hotel asserting 'that - although the young ladies, of whom he was extremely fond, might have their - admirers, there were places where he, too, was given admiration'? Would - you say that he showed ill-temper or wit when, in the second instance, he - declared with warmth that he could toss a halbert quite as well as any - wooden figure? Would you say that——” - </p> - <p> - But we should not get any further than this in stating our case to a man - acquainted with the Irish and their humour: he would think that we were - taking a leaf out of the book of Irish humour, and endeavouring to fool - him by asking him to pronounce a grave opinion upon the obvious; he would - not stay to give us a chance of asking him whether he thought that the - temptation of making “Noll” rhyme with “Poll,” was not too great to be - resisted by the greatest farceur of his time, in the presence of a - humorous colleague called Oliver; and whether an impecunious but witty - Irishman begged his greatest friend not to give him the nickname of Goldy, - because his dignity was hurt thereby, or simply because it was tantalising - for one to be called “Goldy,” whose connection with gold was usually so - transitory. - </p> - <p> - If people will only read the stories told of poor Goldsmith's vanity, and - envy, and coxcombry, with a handbook of Irish humour beside them, the - conclusion to which they will come must, we think, be that Goldsmith was - an Irishman, and that, on the whole, he made very good fun of Boswell, who - was a Scotsman, but that in the long run Boswell got very much the better - of him. Scotsmen usually laugh last. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BEST COMEDY OF THE CENTURY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E occupied one - room in the farmhouse—the guest-chamber it had probably been called - when the farm was young. It was a pretty spacious apartment up one pair of - stairs and to the right of the landing, and from its window there was a - pleasing prospect of a paddock with wheat-fields beyond; there was a drop - in the landscape in the direction of Hendon, and here was a little wood. - The farmer's name was Selby, a married man with a son of sixteen, and - younger children, and the farmhouse was the nearest building to the sixth - milestone on the Edgware Road in the year 1771. - </p> - <p> - He was invariably alluded to as “The Gentleman,” and the name did very - well for him, situated as he was in the country; in the town and among his - acquaintances it would serve badly as a means of identification. He was - never referred to as “The Gentleman” of his circle. In his room in the - farmhouse there was his bed and table—a large table littered with - books; it took two chaises to carry his books hither from his rooms in the - Temple. Here he sat and wrote the greater part of the day, and when he was - very busy he would scarcely be able to touch the meals which were sent up - to him from the kitchen. But he was by no means that dignified type of the - man of letters who would shrink from fellowship with the farmer or his - family. He would frequently come down his stairs into the kitchen and - stand with his back to the fire, conversing with the housewife, and - offering her his sympathy when she had made him aware of the fact that the - privilege of being the wife of a substantial farmer, though undoubtedly - fully recognised by the world, carried many troubles in its train, not - only in connection with the vicissitudes of churning, but in regard to the - feeding of the calves, which no man could attend to properly, and the - making of the damson and cowslip wine. He told her that the best maker of - cowslip wine whom he had ever met was a Mrs. Primrose; her husband had at - one time occupied the Vicarage of Wakefield—he wondered if Mrs. - Selby had ever heard of her. Mrs. Selby's knowledge did not go so far, but - she thought that Mrs. Primrose's recipe must be a good one indeed if it - brought forth better results than her own; and the gentleman said that - although he had never tasted Mrs. Selby's he would still have no - hesitation in backing it for flavour, body, headiness, and all other - qualities associated with the distillation of the cowslip, against the - Primrose brand. - </p> - <p> - And then he would stare at the gammon in the rafter and mutter some words, - burst into a roar of laughter, and stumble upstairs to his writing, - leaving the good woman to thank Heaven that she was the wife of a - substantial farmer and not of an unsubstantial gentleman of letters, who - could not carry on a simple conversation without having some queer thought - fly across his brain for all the world like one of the swallows on the - water at Hendon, only maybe a deal harder to catch. She knew that the - gentleman had hurried to his paper and ink to complete the capture of that - fleet-flitting thought which had come to him when he had cast his eyes - toward the gammon, though how an idea worth putting on paper—after a - few muttered words and a laugh—could lurk about a common piece of - hog's-flesh was a mystery to her. - </p> - <p> - And then upon occasions the gentleman would take a walk abroad; the - farmer's son had more than once come upon him strolling about the fields - with his hands in his pockets and his head bent toward the ground, still - muttering fitfully and occasionally giving a laugh that made the grey pad - in the paddock look up slowly, still munching the grass. Now and again he - paid a visit to his friend Mr. Hugh Boyd at the village of Kenton, and - once he returned late at night from such a visit, without his shoes. He - had left them in a quagmire, he said, and it was only with a struggle that - he saved himself from being engulfed as well. That was the story of his - shoes which young Selby remembered when he was no longer young. And there - was another story which he remembered, but it related to his slippers. The - fact was that the gentleman had acquired the bad habit of reading in bed, - and the table on which his candlestick stood being several feet away from - his pillow, he saved himself the trouble of rising to extinguish it by - flinging a slipper at it. In the morning the overturned candle was usually - found side by side on the floor with an unaccountably greasy slipper. This - method of discharging an important domestic duty differed considerably - from Johnson's way of compassing the same end. Johnson, being extremely - short-sighted, was compelled to hold the candle close to the book when - reading in bed, so that he had no need to use his slipper as an - extinguisher. No, but he found his pillow very handy for this purpose. - When he had finished his reading he threw away the book and went asleep - with his candle under his pillow. - </p> - <p> - The gentleman at the farm went about a good deal in his slippers, and with - his shirt loose at the collar—the latter must have been but one of - his very customary negligences, or Sir Joshua Reynolds would not have - painted him thus. Doubtless the painter had for long recognised the - interpretative value of this loosened collar above that of the velvet and - silk raiment in which the man sometimes appeared before the wondering eyes - of his friends. - </p> - <p> - But if the painter had never had an opportunity of studying the - picturesqueness of his negligence, he had more than one chance of doing so - within the farmhouse. - </p> - <p> - Young Selby recollected that upon at least one occasion Sir Joshua, his - friend Sir William Chambers, and Dr. Johnson had paid a visit to the - gentleman who lodged at the farm. He remembered that for that reception of - so distinguished a company the farmhouse parlour had been opened and tea - provided. There must have been a good deal of pleasant talk between the - gentleman and his friends at this time, and probably young Selby heard an - astonishingly loud laugh coming from the enormous visitor with the brown - coat and the worsted stockings, as the gentleman endeavoured to tell his - guests something of the strange scenes which he was introducing in the - comedy he was writing in that room upstairs. It was then a comedy without - a name, but young Selby heard that it was produced the following year in - London and that it was called <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>. - </p> - <p> - This was the second year that the gentleman had spent at the farm. The - previous summer he had been engaged on another work which was certainly as - comical as the comedy. It was called <i>Animated Nature</i>, and it - comprised some of the most charmingly narrated errors in Natural History - ever offered to the public, and the public have always been delighted to - read pages of fiction if it is only called “Natural History.” This is one - of the best-established facts in the history of the race. After all, <i>Animated - Nature</i> was true to half its title: every page was animated. - </p> - <p> - It was while he was so engaged, with one eye on Buffon and another on his - MS., that he found Farmer Selby very useful to him. Farmer Selby knew a - great deal about animals—the treatment of horses under various - conditions, and the way to make pigs pay; he had probably his theories - respecting the profit to be derived from keeping sheep, and how to feed - oxen that are kept for the plough. All such knowledge he must have placed - at the disposal of the author, though the farmer was possibly too careless - an observer of the simple incidents of the fields to be able to verify - Buffon's statement, reproduced in Animated Nature, to the effect that cows - shed their horns every two years; he was probably also too deficient in - the spirit in which a poet sets about the work of compilation to be able - to assent to the belief that a great future was in store for the zebra - when it should become tame and perform the ordinary duties of a horse. But - if the author was somewhat discouraged in his speculations now and again - by Farmer Selby, he did not allow his fancy as a naturalist to be wholly - repressed. He had heard a story of an ostrich being ridden horsewise in - some regions, and of long journeys being accomplished in this way in - incredibly short spaces of time, and forthwith his imagination enabled him - to see the day when this bird would become as amenable to discipline as - the barn-door fowl, though discharging the tasks of a horse, carrying its - rider across England with the speed of a racer! - </p> - <p> - It was while he was engaged on this pleasant work of fancy and imagination - that Mr. Boswell paid him a visit, bringing with him as a witness Mr. - Mickle, the translator of the Lusiad. “The Gentleman” had gone away for - the day, Mrs. Selby explained; but she did not know Mr. Boswell. She could - not prevent him from satisfying his curiosity in respect of Dr. Goldsmith. - He went upstairs to his room, and he was fully satisfied. He found the - walls all scrawled over with outline drawings of quite a number of - animals. Having thus satisfied himself that the author of <i>Animated - Nature</i> was working in a thoroughly conscientious manner he came away. - He records the incident himself, but he does not say whether or not he was - able to recognise any of the animals from their pictures. - </p> - <p> - But now it was a professed and not an unconscious comedy that occupied Dr. - Goldsmith. Whatever disappointment he may have felt at the indifferent - success of the first performance of <i>The Good-Natured Man</i>—and - he undoubtedly felt some—had been amply redeemed by the money which - accrued to him from the “author's rights” and the sale of the play; and he - had only awaited a little encouragement from the managers to enable him to - begin another comedy. But the managers were not encouraging, and he was - found by his friends one day to be full of a scheme for the building of a - new theatre for the production of new plays, in order that the existing - managers might not be able to carry on their tyranny any longer. Such a - scheme has been revived every decade since Goldsmith's time, but never - with the least success. Johnson, whose sound sense was rarely at fault, - laughed at the poet's project for bringing down the mighty from their - seats, upon which Goldsmith cried: “Ay, sir, this matter may be nothing to - you who can now shelter yourself behind the corner of your pension,” and - he doubtless went on to describe the condition of the victims of the - tyranny of which he complained; but it is questionable if his doing so - effected more than to turn Johnson's laughter into another and a wider - channel. - </p> - <p> - But Goldsmith spoke feelingly. He was certainly one of the ablest writers - of the day, but no pension was ever offered to him, though on every hand - bounties were freely bestowed on the most indifferent and least deserving - of authors—men whose names were forgotten before the end of the - century, and during the lifetime of the men themselves remembered only by - the pay clerk to the almoner. - </p> - <p> - Of course, the scheme for bringing the managers to their senses never - reached a point of serious consideration; and forthwith Goldsmith began to - illustrate, for the benefit of posterity, the depths to which the - stupidity of the manager of a play-house can occasionally fall. The public - have always had abundant proofs of the managers' stupidity afforded them - in the form of the plays which they produce; but the history of the - production of the most brilliant comedy of the eighteenth century is - practically unique; for it is the history of the stupidity of a manager - doing his best to bring about the failure of a play which he was producing - at his own theatre. He had predicted the failure of the piece, and it must - strike most people that the manager of a theatre who produces for a - failure will be as successful in compassing his end as a jockey who rides - for a fall. Colman believed that he was in the fortunate position of those - prophets who had the realisation of their predictions in their own hands. - He was mistaken in this particular case. Although he was justified on - general principles in assuming his possession of this power, yet he had - made no allowance for the freaks of genius. He was frustrated in his - amiable designs by this incalculable force—this power which he had - treated as a <i>quantité négligeable</i>. A man who has been accustomed - all his life to count only on simple ability in the people about him, is, - on suddenly being brought face to face with genius, like an astronomer who - makes out his tables of a new object on the assumption that it is a fixed - star, when all the time it is a comet, upsetting by its erratic course all - his calculations, and demanding to be reckoned with from a standpoint that - applies to itself alone. - </p> - <p> - The stars of Colman's theatrical firmament were such as might safely be - counted on; but Goldsmith's genius was not of this order. The manager's - stupidity lay in his blunt refusal to recognise a work of genius when it - was brought to him by a man of genius. - </p> - <p> - It has been said that the central idea of the plot of <i>She Stoops to - Conquer</i> was suggested by an incident that came under Goldsmith's - notice before he left Ireland. However this may be, it cannot be denied - that the playing of the practical joke of Tony Lumpkin upon the two - travellers is “very Irish.” It would take a respectable place in the list - of practical jokes of the eighteenth century played in Ireland. In that - island a collector of incidents for a comedy during the past two centuries - would require to travel with a fat notebook—so would the collector - of incidents for a tragedy. Goldsmith's task may not have been to invent - the central idea, but to accomplish the much more difficult duty of making - that incident seem plausible, surrounding it with convincing scenery and - working it out by the aid of the only characters by which it could be - worked out with a semblance of being natural. This was a task which genius - only could fulfil. The room whose walls bore ample testimony to its - occupant's sense of the comedy of a writer's life, witnessed the supreme - achievement in the “animated nature” of <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i>. It - contains the two chief essentials to a true comedy—animation and - nature. - </p> - <p> - It is certain that the play was constructed and written by Goldsmith - without an adviser. He was possibly shrewd enough to know that if he were - to take counsel with any of his friends—Garrick, Johnson, Reynolds, - or Colman—he would not be able to write the play which he had a mind - to write. The artificial comedy had a vogue that year, and though it may - have been laughed at in private by people of judgment, yet few of those - within the literary circle of which Johnson was the acknowledged centre, - would have had the courage to advise a poet writing a piece in hopes of - making some money, to start upon a plot as farcical as Nature herself. At - that period of elegance in art everything that was natural was pronounced - vulgar. Shakespeare himself had to be made artificial before he could be - played by Garrick. Goldsmith must have known that his play would be called - vulgar, and that its chances of being accepted and produced by either of - the managers in London would be doubtful; but, all the same, he wrote the - piece in accordance with his own personal views, and many a time during - the next two years he must have felt that he was a fool for doing so. - </p> - <p> - However this may be, the play was finished some time in the summer of - 1771; and on September 7th the author was back at his rooms in the Temple - and writing to his friend Bennet Langton, whom he had promised to visit at - his place in Lincolnshire. “I have been almost wholly in the country at a - farmer's house, quite alone, trying to write a comedy. It is now finished, - but when or how it will be acted, or whether it will be acted at all, are - questions I cannot resolve,” he told Langton. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0241.jpg" alt="0241 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0241.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The misgivings which he had at this time were well founded. He considered - that the fact of his having obtained from Colman a promise to read any - play that he might write constituted an obligation on his part to submit - this piece to Colman rather than to Garrick. He accordingly placed it in - Colman's hands; but it is impossible to say if the work of elaborate - revision which Goldsmith began in the spring of 1772 was due to the - comments made by this manager on the first draft or to the author's - reconsideration of his work as a whole. But the amended version was - certainly in Colman's hands in the summer of this year (1772). The - likelihood is that Colman would have refused point-blank to have anything - to do with the comedy after he had read the first draft had it not been - that just at this time Goldsmith's reputation was increased to a - remarkable extent by the publication of his Histories. It would be - difficult to believe how this could be, but, as usual, we are indebted to - Mr. Boswell for what information we have on this point. Boswell had been - for some time out of London, and on returning he expressed his amazement - at the celebrity which Goldsmith had attained. “Sir,” he cried to Johnson, - “Goldsmith has acquired more fame than all the officers last war who were - not generals!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir,” said Johnson, “you will find ten thousand fit to do what they - did before you find one who does what Goldsmith has done”—a bit of - dialogue that reminds one of the reply of the avaricious <i>prima donna</i> - when the Emperor refused to accede to her terms on the plea that were he - to pay her her price she would be receiving more than any of his marshals. - “Eh bien, mon sire. Let your marshals sing to you.” - </p> - <p> - At any rate, Colman got the play—and kept it. He would give the - author no straightforward opinion as to its prospects in his hands. He - refused to say when he would produce it—nay, he declined to promise - that he would produce it at all. Goldsmith was thus left in torment for - month after month, and the effect of the treatment that he received was to - bring on an illness, and the effect of his illness was to sink him to a - depth of despondency that even Goldsmith had never before sounded. The - story told by Cooke of his coming upon the unhappy man in a coffeehouse, - and of the latter's attempt to give him some of the details of the plot of - the comedy, speaks for itself. “I shook my head,” wrote Cooke, “and said - that I was afraid the audience, under their then sentimental impressions, - would think it too broad and farcical for comedy.” This was poor comfort - for the author; but after a pause he shook the man by the hand, saying - piteously: “I am much obliged to you, my dear friend, for the candour of - your opinion, but it is all I can do; for alas! I find that my genius, if - ever I had any, has of late totally deserted me.” - </p> - <p> - This exclamation is the most piteous that ever came from a man of genius; - and there can be no doubt of the sincerity of its utterance, for it was - during these miserable months that he began a new novel, but found himself - unable to get further than a few chapters. And all this time, when, in - order to recover his health, he should have had no worries of a lesser - nature, he was being harassed by the trivial cares of a poor, generous - man's life—those mosquito vexations which, accumulating, become more - intolerable than a great calamity. - </p> - <p> - He had once had great hopes of good resulting from Colman's taking up the - management of Covent Garden, and had written congratulations to him within - the first week of his entering into possession of the theatre. A very - different letter he had now to write to the same man. Colman had - endeavoured to evade the responsibility of giving him a direct answer - about the play. He clearly meant that the onus of refusing it should lie - at the door of some one else. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Sir,” wrote the author in January, 1773, “I entreat you'll release - me from that state of suspense in which I have been kept for a long time. - Whatever objections you have made or shall make to my play I will - endeavour to remove and not argue about them. To bring in any new judges - either of its merits or faults I can never submit to. Upon a former - occasion when my other play was before Mr. Garrick he offered to bring me - before Mr. Whitehead's tribunal, but I refused the proposal with - indignation. I hope I shall not experience as hard treatment from you as - from him.... For God's sake take the play and let us make the best of it, - and let me have the same measure at least which you have given as bad - plays as mine.” - </p> - <p> - Upon receiving this letter, Colman at once returned to him the manuscript - of the play, and on the author's unfolding it he found that on the back of - almost every page, on the blank space reserved for the prompter's - hieroglyphs, some sneering criticism was scrawled. To emphasise this - insult Colman had enclosed a letter to the effect that if the author was - still unconvinced that the piece would be a failure, he, Colman, would - produce it. - </p> - <p> - Immediately on receipt of this contemptible effort at contempt Goldsmith - packed up the play and sent it to Garrick at Drury Lane. That same - evening, however, he met Johnson and told him what he had done; and - Johnson, whose judgment on the practical side of authorship was rarely at - fault, assured him that he had done wrong and that he must get the - manuscript back without delay, and submit to Colman's sneers for the sake - of having the comedy produced. Upon Johnson's promising to visit Colman, - and to urge upon him the claims of Goldsmith to his consideration, the - distracted author wrote to Drury Lane: - </p> - <p> - “Upon more mature deliberation and the advice of a sensible friend, I - begin to think it indelicate in me to throw upon you the odium of - confirming Mr. Colman's sentence. I therefore request that you will send - my play by my servant back; for having been assured of having it acted at - the other house, though I confess yours in every respect more to my wish, - yet it would be folly in me to forgo an advantage which lies in my power - of appealing from Mr. Colman's opinion to the judgment of the town.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith got back the play, and Johnson explained to him, as he did some - years later to Reynolds, that the solicitations which he had made to - Colman to put it in rehearsal without delay amounted almost to force. At - any rate, the play was announced and the parts distributed to the - excellent company which Colman controlled. It was soon proved that he - controlled some members of this company only too well. The spirit in, - which he set about the discharge of his duties as a manager was apparent - to every one during the earliest rehearsals. Johnson, writing to an - American correspondent, mentioned that Colman made no secret of his belief - that the play would be a failure. Far from it. He seems to have taken the - most extraordinary trouble to spread his belief far and wide; and when a - manager adopts such a course, what chance, one may ask, has the play? What - chance, the players could not but ask, have the players? - </p> - <p> - This was possibly the only occasion in the history of the English drama on - which such questions could be asked. If managers have a fault at all—a - question which is not yet ripe for discussion—it has never been in - the direction of depreciating a play which they are about to produce—that - is, of course, outside the author's immediate circle. It is only when the - play has failed that they sometimes allow that it was a bad one, and - incapable of being saved even by the fine acting of the company and the - sumptuous mounting. - </p> - <p> - But Colman controlled his company all too well, and after a day or two it - was announced that the leading lady, the accomplished Mrs. Abington, had - retired from the part of Miss Hardcastle; that Smith, known as Gentleman - Smith, had refused to play Young Marlow; and that Woodward, the most - popular comedian in the company, had thrown up the part of Tony Lumpkin. - </p> - <p> - Here, in one day, it seemed that Colman had achieved his aims, and the - piece would have to be withdrawn by the author. This was undoubtedly the - managerial view of the situation which had been precipitated by the - manager, and it was shared by those of the author's friends who understood - his character as indifferently as did Colman. They must all have been - somewhat amazed when the author quietly accepted the situation and - affirmed that he would rather that his play were damned by bad players - than merely saved by good acting. One of the company who had the sense to - perceive the merits of the piece, Shuter, the comedian, who was cast for - the part of old Hardcastle, advised Goldsmith to give Lewes, the - harlequin, the part of Young Marlow; Quick, a great favourite with the - public, was to act Tony Lumpkin; and, after a considerable amount of - wrangling, Mrs. Bulkley, lately Miss Wilford, who had been the Miss - Richland of <i>The Good-Natured Man</i>, accepted the part which the - capricious Mrs. Abington resigned. - </p> - <p> - Another start was made with the rehearsals of the piece, and further - efforts were made by Colman to bring about the catastrophe which he had - predicted. He refused to let a single scene be painted for the production, - or to supply a single new dress; his ground being that the money spent in - this way would be thrown away, for the audience would never allow the - piece to proceed beyond the second act. - </p> - <p> - But happily Dr. Johnson had his reputation as a prophet at stake as well - as Colman, and he was singularly well equipped by Nature for enforcing his - views on any subject. He could not see anything of what was going on upon - the stage; but his laugh at the succession of humorous things spoken by - the company must have had an inspiring effect upon every one, except - Colman. Johnson's laugh was the strongest expression of appreciation of - humour of which the century has a record. It was epic. To say that - Johnson's laugh at the rehearsals of <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> saved - the piece would perhaps be going too far. But can any one question its - value as a counteracting agent to Colman's depressing influence on the - stage? Johnson was the only man in England who could make Colman (and - every one else) tremble, and his laugh had the same effect upon the - building in which it was delivered. It was the Sirocco against a wet - blanket. When one thinks of the feeling of awe which was inspired by the - name of Dr. Johnson, not only during the last forty years of the - eighteenth century, but well into the nineteenth, one begins to appreciate - the value of his vehement expression of satisfaction upon the people on - the stage. Goldsmith dedicated his play to Johnson, and assuredly the - compliment was well earned. Johnson it was who compelled Colman to produce - the piece, and Johnson it was who encouraged the company to do their best - for it, in spite of the fact that they were all aware that their doing - their best for it would be resented by their manager. - </p> - <p> - Reynolds also, another valuable friend to the author, sacrificed several - of his busiest hours in order to attend the rehearsals. His sister's - sacrifices to the same end were perhaps not quite so impressive, nor were - those made by that ingenious “country gentleman,” Mr. Cradock, referred to - by Walpole. Miss Horneck, his beautiful “Jessamy Bride,” and her sister, - lately married to Mr. Bunbury, bore testimony to the strength of their - friendship for the poet, by accompanying him daily to the theatre. - </p> - <p> - But, after all, these good friends had not many opportunities of showing - their regard for him in the same way; for the play must have had - singularly few rehearsals. Scarcely a month elapsed between the date of - Colman's receiving the manuscript on its being returned by Garrick and the - production of the piece. It is doubtful if more than ten rehearsals took - place after the parts were recast. If the manager kept the author in - suspense for eighteen months respecting the fate of his play, he - endeavoured to make up for his dilatoriness now. It was announced for - Monday, March 15th, and, according to Northcote, it was only on the - morning of that day that the vexed question of what the title should be - was settled. For some time the author and his friends had been talking the - matter over. “We are all in labour for a name to Goldy's play,” wrote - Johnson. <i>The Mistakes of a Night, The Old House a New Inn, and The - Belle's Stratagem</i> were suggested in turn. It was Goldsmith himself who - gave it the title under which it was produced. - </p> - <p> - On the afternoon of this day, March 15th, the author was the guest at a - dinner-party organised in his honour. It is easy to picture this - particular function. The truth was that Colman's behaviour had broken the - spirit not only of the author, but of the majority of his friends as well. - They would all make an effort to cheer up poor Goldsmith; but every one - knows how cheerless a function is one that is organised with such - charitable intentions. It is not necessary that one should have been in a - court of law watching the face of the prisoner in the dock when the jury - have retired to consider their verdict in order to appreciate the feelings - of Goldsmith when his friends made their attempt to cheer him up. The last - straw added on to the cheerlessness of the banquet was surely to be found - in the accident that every one wore black! The King of Sardinia had died a - short time before, and the Court had ordered mourning to be worn for some - weeks for this potentate. Johnson was very nearly outraging propriety by - appearing in coloured raiment, but George Steevens, who called for him to - go to the dinner, was fortunately in time to prevent such a breach of - etiquette. “I would not for ten pounds have seemed so retrograde to any - general observance,” cried Johnson in offering his thanks to his - benefactor. Happily the proprieties were saved; but what must have been - the effect of the appearance of these gentlemen in black upon the person - whom they meant to cheer up! - </p> - <p> - Reynolds told his pupil, Northcote, what effect these resources of gaiety - had upon Goldsmith. His mouth became so parched that he could neither eat - nor drink, nor could he so much as speak in acknowledgment of the - well-meant act of his friends. When the party after this entertainment set - out for the theatre they must have suggested, all being in black, a more - sombre procession than one is accustomed to imagine when conjuring up a - picture of an eighteenth-century theatre party. - </p> - <p> - And Goldsmith was missing! - </p> - <p> - Unfortunately Boswell was not present, or we should not be left in doubt - as to how it happened that no one thought of taking charge of Goldsmith. - But no one seemed to think of him, and so his disappearance was never - noticed. His friends arrived at the theatre and found their places, - Johnson in the front row of the boxes; and the curtain was rung up, and - Goldsmith was forgotten under the influence of that comedy which - constitutes his greatest claim to be remembered by theatre-goers of - to-day. - </p> - <p> - He was found by an acquaintance a couple of hours later wandering in the - Mall of St. James's Park, and was only persuaded to go to the theatre by - its being represented to him that his services might be required should it - be found necessary to alter something at the last moment. - </p> - <p> - Now, among the members of that distinguished audience there was a man - named Cumberland. He was the author of <i>The West Indian</i> and several - other plays, and he was regarded as one of the leaders of the sentimental - school, the demise of which was satirised in the prologue to this very - play which was being performed. Cumberland was a man who could never see a - particle of good in anything that was written by another. It was a - standing entertainment with Garrick to “draw him on” by suggesting that - some one had written a good scene in a play, or was about to produce an - interesting book. In a moment Cumberland was up, protesting against the - assumption that the play or the book could be worth anything. So wide a - reputation had he for decrying every other author that when Sheridan - produced <i>The Critic; or, the Tragedy Rehearsed</i>, his portrait was - immediately recognised in Sir Fretful Plagiary. - </p> - <p> - What must have been the feelings of this man when, from the first, the - play, which he had come to wreck, was received by the whole house with - uproarious applause? Well, we don't know what he felt like, but we know - what he looked like. One of the newspapers described him as “looking - glum,” and another contained a rhymed epigram describing him as weeping. - Goldsmith entered the theatre by the stage door at the beginning of the - fifth act, where Tony Lumpkin and his mother appear close to their own - house, and the former pretends that the chaise has broken down on - Crackscull Common. He had no sooner got into the “wings” than he heard a - hiss. “What's that, sir?” he whispered to Colman, who was beside him. - “Psha, sir! what signifies a squib when we have been sitting on a barrel - of gunpowder all night?” was the reply. The story is well known; and its - accuracy has never been im peached. And the next day it was well known - that that solitary hiss came from Cumberland, the opinion that it was due - to the malevolence of Macpherson, whose pretensions to the discovery of <i>Ossian</i> - were exposed by Johnson, being discredited. - </p> - <p> - But the effect of Colman's brutality and falsehood into the bargain had - not a chance of lasting long. The hiss was received with cries of “Turn - him out!” and, with an addition to the tumultuous applause of all the - house, Goldsmith must have been made aware in another instant of the fact - that he had written the best comedy of the day and that Colman had lied to - him. From the first there had been no question of sitting on a barrel of - gunpowder. Such applause could never greet the last act of a play the - first four acts of which had been doubtful. He must have felt that at last - he had conquered—that he had by one more achievement proved to his - own satisfaction—and he was hard to satisfy—that those friends - of his who had attributed genius to him had not been mistaken; that those - who, like Johnson and Percy and Reynolds, had believed in him before he - had written the work that made him famous, had not been misled. - </p> - <p> - The next day all London was talking of <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> and of - Colman. Horace Walpole, who detested Goldsmith, and who found when he went - to see the play that it was deplorably vulgar, mentioned in a letter which - he wrote to Lady Ossory on the morning after the production that it had - “succeeded prodigiously,” and the newspapers were full of epigrams at the - expense of the manager. If Colman had had the sense to keep to himself his - forebodings of the failure of the piece, he would not have left himself - open to these attacks; but, as has been said, he took as much pains to - decry the coming production as he usually did to “puff” other pieces. It - would seem that every one had for several days been talking about nothing - else save the coming failure of Dr. Goldsmith's comedy. Only on this - assumption can one now understand the poignancy of the “squibs”—some - of them partook largely of the character of his own barrel of gunpowder—levelled - against Colman. He must have been quite amazed at the clamour that arose - against him; it became too much for his delicate skin, and he fled to Bath - to get out of the way of the scurrilous humourists who were making him a - target for their pop-guns. But even at Bath he failed to find a refuge. - Writing to Mrs. Thrale, Johnson said: “Colman is so distressed with abuse - that he has solicited Goldsmith to take him off the rack of the - newspapers.” - </p> - <p> - It was characteristic of Goldsmith that he should do all that was asked of - him and that he should make no attempt, either in public or in private, to - exult in his triumph over the manager. The only reference which he made to - his sufferings while Colman was keeping him on the rack was in a letter - which he wrote to his friend Cradock, who had written an epilogue for the - play, to explain how it was that this epilogue was not used at the first - representation. After saying simply, “The play has met with a success - beyond your expectation or mine,” he makes his explanation, and concludes - thus: “Such is the history of my stage adventure, and which I have at last - done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage, and - though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall on the - whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and comfort I - certainly lost while it was in agitation.” - </p> - <p> - Goldsmith showed that he bore no grudge against Colman; but the English - stage should bear him a grudge for his treatment of one of the few authors - of real genius who have contributed to it for the benefit of posterity. If - <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> had been produced when it first came into the - manager's hands, Goldsmith would certainly not have written the words just - quoted. What would have been the result of his accepting the encouragement - of its production it is, of course, impossible to tell; but it is not - going too far to assume that the genius which gave the world <i>The - Good-Natured Man</i> and <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> would have been - equal to the task of writing a third comedy equal in merit to either of - these. Yes, posterity owes Colman a grudge. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE JESSAMY BRIDE - </h2> - <h3> - A PERSONAL NOTE - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>OR some time after - the publication of my novel <i>The Jessamy Bride</i> my time was fully - occupied by replying to correspondents—strangers to me—who - were good enough to take an interest in Mary Horneck, the younger of the - two charming sisters with whom Goldsmith associated for several years of - his life on terms of the warmest affection. The majority of these - communications were of a very interesting character. Only one - correspondent told me I should not have allowed Oliver Goldsmith to die so - young, though two expressed the opinion that I should have made Goldsmith - marry Mary Horneck; nearly all the remaining communications which were - addressed to me contained inquiries as to the origin of the sobriquet - applied to Mary Horneck in Goldsmith's epistle. To each and to all such - inquiries I have, alas! been compelled to return the humiliating reply - that I have not yet succeeded in finding out what was the origin of the - family joke which made Goldsmith's allusions to “The Jessamy Bride” and - “Little Comedy” intelligible to the “Devonshire Crew” of Hornecks and - Reynoldses. I have searched volume after volume in the hope of having even - the smallest ray of light thrown upon this matter, but I have met with no - success. I began to feel, as every post brought me a sympathetic inquiry - as to the origin of the pet name, that I should take the bold step of - confessing my ignorance to the one gentleman who, I was confident, could - enlighten it. “If Dr. Brewer does not know why Mary Horneck was called - 'The Jessamy Bride,' no one alive can know it,” was what I said to myself. - Before I could write to Dr. Brewer the melancholy new's came of his death; - and very shortly afterwards I got a letter from his daughter, Mrs. Brewer - Hayman, in which she mentioned that her lamented father had been greatly - interested in my story, and asked if I could tell her what was the meaning - of the phrase. - </p> - <p> - It does certainly seem extraordinary that no biographer of Goldsmith, of - Reynolds, or of Burke, should have thought it worth while writing a letter - to the “Jessamy Bride” herself to ask her why she was so called by - Goldsmith. The biographers of Goldsmith and the editors of Boswell seem to - have had no hesitation in stating that Mary Horneck was the “Jessamy - Bride,” and that her elder sister was “Little Comedy”; but they do not - appear to have taken a wider view of their duties than was comprised in - this bare statement. The gossipy Northcote was surely in the secret, and - he might have revealed the truth without detracting from the interest of - the many inaccuracies in his volume. Northcote had an opportunity of - seeing daily the portrait of Mary which Sir Joshua painted, and which hung - in his studio until the day of his death, when it passed into the - possession of the original, who had become Mrs. Gwyn, having married - Colonel, afterwards General, Gwyn. - </p> - <p> - But although up to the present I have not obtained even as much evidence - as would be termed a clue by the sanguine officers of Scotland Yard, as to - the origin of the sobriquet, I am not without hope that some day one of my - sympathetic correspondents will be able to clear up the matter for me. I - am strengthened in this hope by the fact that among those who were kind - enough to write to me, was a lady who can claim relationship to Mary - Horneck, and who did not hesitate to send to me a bundle of letters, - written in the early part of the century by the “Jessamy Bride” herself, - with permission to copy and print any portion of the correspondence that I - might consider of interest. Of this privilege I gladly avail myself, - feeling sure that the interest which undoubtedly attaches to many portions - of the letters will exculpate me for the intrusion of a personal note into - these papers. - </p> - <p> - The grandfather of my correspondent (Mrs. Cor-ballis, of Ratrath, co. - Meath, Ireland) was first cousin to the Hornecks. He was the Rev. George - Mangles, chaplain to George III when Mrs. Gwyn (Mary Horneck) was Woman of - the Bedchamber to the Queen. As General Gwyn was Equerry to the King it - can easily be understood that the two families should be on terms of the - most intimate friendship. My correspondent mentions that her mother, who - only died thirteen years ago, was almost every year a visitor at the house - of Mrs. Gwyn, at Kew, and said that she retained her beauty up to the very - last. Confirmation of this statement is to be found in a passage in the - “Jerningham Letters.” Lady Bedingfeld's Journal contains the following - entry opposite the date “September 19th, 1833”: - </p> - <p> - “When the Queen returned to the drawing-room we found several ladies - there. I observed a very old lady with striking remains of beauty, and - whose features seemed very familiar to me. I felt to know her features by - heart, and at last I heard her name, Mrs. Gwyn, the widow of a General, - and near ninety! I had never seen her before, but when I was a girl my - uncle the Poet, gave me a portrait of her, copied from Sir Jos. Reynolds, - small size in a Turkish costume and attitude. This picture is still at - Cossey, and of course must be very like her since it led me to find her - out.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0261.jpg" alt="0261 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0261.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The picture referred to must certainly have been “very like” the original, - for it was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1772, sixty-one years before. - The engraving of it cannot but make one feel how exquisite must have been - the charm of Goldsmith's young friend, who survived him by sixty-six - years; for Mrs. Gywn did not die until 1840. - </p> - <p> - Very pathetic indeed it is to look at the sweet girlish face, which - appears in this portrait and also in that of the two sisters done in chalk - by the same master-hand, and then to read some of the passages in the - letters in which the writer refers to her old age and feebleness. Happily, - with Lady Bedingfeld's diary before us, our imagination is not largely - drawn on for a picture of the “Jessamy Bride” broken down by age and - infirmity. The woman who can be easily recognised by a stranger at - seventy-nine by her likeness to a portrait painted at the age of eighteen, - would make Ninon de l'Enclos envious. - </p> - <p> - The letters are written to Mrs. Mangles, the widow of the Chaplain to - George III, and the majority touch upon private matters with - sprightliness, and occasionally a delicate humour, such as Goldsmith would - certainly have appreciated. We seem to hear, while reading these passages, - faint echoes of the girlish laughter which must have rung through that - room in the inn at Calais, when Goldsmith paced up and down in a mock fury - because two officers passing the window looked more eagerly at the girls - than at him. - </p> - <p> - It is obvious, however, that the Queen's Woman of the Bedchamber would - write occasionally to her friend on some topic of public interest; - consequently we find, in the course of the correspondence, many passages - which throw a flood of light upon the incidents of the day. In a letter - dated April 10th, 1818, - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Gwyn describes with great sprightliness the wedding of the Princess - Elizabeth, the third daughter of George III, with Prince Hesse-Hombourgh, - which took place three days before: - </p> - <p> - “I delayed to write till after the marriage to tell you about it, as you - seemed to wish it. We were all appointed at seven o'clock in the evening, - when I went as smart as I could make myself. I wore the lavender sattin - robe, the same you saw me wear at Court, as the shape was the same, and it - <i>saved buying</i>, trimmed with silver, a new white sattin petticoat, - with a white net and silver over it, no hoop, but a Court head dress, and - lappets down. The Company consisting of the great officers of state, and - ambassadors and their wives, and the different households were the - Company. - </p> - <p> - “At 8 all were assembled when the Royal family in procession according to - their rank, went into the great drawing-room in the Queen's house. The - Duke of York led the Queen, the Prince Regent not being quite recovered of - his gout, and it is said the remembrance of his poor daughter's marriage - was too painful to him to undertake it. Before the state canopy was set a - fine communion table, red velvet and gold, all the gold plate belonging to - that service arranged behind it, and 3 Bishops and other clergymen - standing behind the table, it looked very magnificent. Then came the <i>Hero</i>, - the Prince Hesse Hombourgh, he went up to the table and stood there, I - believe 10 minutes alone, he looked well a manly unembarassed figure, then - walked in the Bride glittering with silver and diamonds, and really looked - very handsome, and her behaviour and manner was as well as possible, grace - and quiet, when she knelt she wept, and then he approached nearer her in - case her emotion would require his care, which happily was not the case. - The Duke of York gave her away, and behaved very bad. The Prince Hombourgh - thought when he had said I will very loud and distinct, all was done, but - the Arch Bishop desired him to repeat after him, which he was therefore - obliged to do. He cannot speak English and made such works of it, it was - then the Duke of York laughed so, he was obliged to stuff his handkerchief - in his mouth to conceal it. He promised to love her. When all was over he - saluted his bride on each side the face, and then her hand, with a - good-natured frank manner, then led her to the Queen, whose hand only he - kissed, the rest of the Royal family he embraced after his own fashion, - and he led her off with a very good air, and did not seem to trouble his - head about his <i>English performance</i>.” The Princess Elizabeth—the - shy young bride who was so overcome with emotion—had scarcely more - than passed her forty-ninth year when she was borne to the altar, and the - hero of the hour was, we learn from other sources than Mrs. Gwyn's - letters, most unheroically sick when driving away in a close carriage with - his bride. - </p> - <p> - The Prince Regent's daughter, the Princess Charlotte, had died the - previous year, hence the marrying panic which seized all the other members - of the Royal Family, lest the dynasty should become extinct. It is - pleasing to reflect that such gloomy apprehensions have since been amply - averted. - </p> - <p> - Regarding the death of the Princess Charlotte Mrs. Gwyn writes: - </p> - <p> - “... While I was at Oatlands the Prince Leopold came to see the Duchess - and staid there 3 hours, no one but the Duchess saw him—she told me - he is more composed in his manners now when seen by people in general but - with her alone his grief seems the same and he is gratified by being - allowed to vent it to one who feels for him and knows how to soothe his - mind. I can not doubt the Princess's life and his child's were thrown - away, by mismanagement—she was so bled and starved she had no - strength left—her own fortitude and energy supported her till nature - could no more. I could tell you much on the subject but it would take up - too much in a letter and besides <i>it is over</i>. Dr. Crofts thought he - was doing for the best no doubt—It comes to what <i>I</i> always say - of them—they can't do much and are very often wrong in their - opinions as you can vouch....” - </p> - <p> - In another letter Mrs. Gywn's adopted daughter was her amanuensis. It - contains many paragraphs of interest, especially to present-day readers. - The girl writes: - </p> - <p> - “Mamma was of course summoned to attend the Duke of Cambridge's Wedding, - but she was not in the room when the Ceremony was performed as before, on - account of the Queen having been ill. Mamma admires the Duchess of - Cambridge very much: though she is not exactly handsome, she is very - pleasing, and a pretty figure, but I understand she must have a new stay - maker to set her up etc. The Duke of Kent and his bride are now expected. - The Duke of Clarence it is expected will be married shortly afterwards. We - hear the Duchess of Kent is a little woman with a handsome face, and the - Duchess of Clarence uncommonly ugly. We went to Windsor about a month ago - to see Princess Sophia as the Queen was not there, and Princess Sophia has - a small party every night. We were there three days, and Mamma went to the - party every evening, and indeed it was very very dull for her as they play - one pool of Commerce, and then they go to a game called Snip, Snap, - Snorum, and which Mamma could not play at well without a great deal of - trouble to herself, therefore she was obliged to look on for perhaps an - hour and half which you may imagine was terrible for her not hearing a - word. I was much pleased in one respect while I was there by seeing Dear - Prince Leopold whom I had never seen before, and who must be to every body - an object of so much interest. He looked to me the picture of grief and - melancholy, but those who have seen him repeatedly since his misfortune - say he improves every time they see him. Mrs. C.... went one day to see - Claremont and was very much pleased. All remains as Princess Charlotte - left it, but nobody sees her room in which she died but himself, even her - combs and brushes are untouched, and her hat and cloak are where she laid - them the day before she died. There are models of her hand and arm one in - particular as it is his hand clasped in hers. I suppose you have often - heard she had a very beautiful hand and arm, but I will not go on, on so - melancholy a subject; yet I am sure it must interest you.” - </p> - <p> - The Princess Sophia, who instituted the fascinating game referred to in - this letter, was, of course, the fifth daughter of George III. - </p> - <p> - In another letter reference is made to a certain scandal, which Mrs. Gwyn - contradicts most vehemently. Even nowadays this particular bit of gossip - is remembered by some persons; but at the risk of depriving these pages of - the piquancy which attaches to a Court scandal, I will not quote it, but - conclude this Personal Note with what seems to me a most pathetic account - of the dying king: - </p> - <p> - “We continue in a state of great anxiety about our dear King, whose state - is distressing. Certainly no hope of recovery, and the chances of his - continuance very doubtful. His death may be any day, any hour, or he may - continue some <i>little</i> time longer, it depends on nature holding out - against sore disease, which afflicts him universally, and occasions great - suffering, this is heartbreaking to hear! and his patience and courage and - sweet and kind behaviour to all about him is most touching, so - affectionate to his friends and attendants, and thankful for their - attention and feeling for him. He will hold the hand of the Duchess of - Gloster or S. H. Halford for an hour at a time out of tenderness, till - excessive suffering ends it. He wishes to die in peace and charity with - all the world, and has reconciled himself to the Duke of Sussex. He hopes - his people have found him a merciful King. He says he never hurt anyone, - and that, he may truly say as his first wish to <i>all</i> was good and - benevolent, and ever ready to forgive.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE AMAZING ELOPEMENT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>N a certain - evening in March, 1772, the fashionable folk of Bath were as earnestly on - pleasure bent as they were wont to be at this season—and every - other. The Assembly Rooms were open, a performance was going on at the - theatre, the Cave of Harmony was as musical as Pyrrha's Grotto, a - high-class concert was taking place under the conductorship of the - well-known Mr. Linley, and the Countess of Huntingdon was holding a prayer - meeting. For people who took their diversions <i>à la carte</i>, there was - a varied and an abundant menu. Chairs containing precious structures of - feathers, lace, and jewels towering over long faces powdered and patched - and painted <i>à la mode</i>, were swinging along the streets in every - direction, some with a brace of gold-braided lackeys by each of the - windows, but others in charge only of the burly chairmen. - </p> - <p> - Unobtrusive among the latter class of conveyance was one that a young - gentleman, a tall and handsome lad, called from its rank between - Pierrepont Street and the South Parade. He gave the bearers instructions - to hasten to the house of Mr. Linley in the Crescent, and to inquire if - Miss Linley were ready. - </p> - <p> - If she were not, he told them that they were to wait for her and carry out - her directions. The fellows touched their hats and swung off with their - empty chair. - </p> - <p> - The young man then went to a livery stable, and putting a few confidential - inquiries to the proprietor, received a few confidential replies, - accentuated by a wink or two, and a certain quick uplifting of a knuckly - forefinger that had an expression of secretiveness of its own. - </p> - <p> - “Mum's the word, sir, and mum it shall be,” whispered the man. “I stowed - away the trunk, leaving plenty of room for the genuine luggage—lady's - luggage, Mr. Sheridan. You know as well as I can tell you, sir, being - young but with as shrewd knowingness of affairs in general as might be - looked for in the son of Tom Sheridan, to say nought of a lady like your - mother, meaning to take no liberty in the world, Mr. Dick, as they call - you.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm obliged to you, Denham, and I'll not forget you when this little - affair is happily over. The turn by the 'Bear' on the London Road, we - agreed.” - </p> - <p> - “And there you'll find the chaise, sir, and as good a pair as ever left my - stable, and good luck to you, sir!” said the man. - </p> - <p> - Young Mr. Sheridan then hastened to his father's house in King's Mead - Street, and was met by an anxious sister in the hall. - </p> - <p> - “Good news, I hope, Dick?” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “I have been waiting for you all the evening. She has not changed her - mind, I hope.” - </p> - <p> - “She is as steadfast as I am,” said he. “If I could not swear that she - would be steadfast, I would not undertake this business on her behalf. - When I think of our father——” - </p> - <p> - “Don't think of him except as applauding your action,” said the girl. - “Surely every one with the least spark of generosity will applaud your - action, Dick.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't like to say so much,” said Dick, shaking his head. “Mathews - has his friends. No man could know so much about whist as he does without - having many friends, even though he be a contemptible scoundrel when he is - not employed over a rubber.” - </p> - <p> - “Who will dare to take the part of Mr. Mathews against you, Dick?” cried - his sister, looking at him proudly as the parlour candles shone upon him. - “I would that I could go with you as far as London, dear, but that would - be impossible.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite impossible; and where would be the merit in the end?” said Dick, - pacing the room as he believed a man of adventure and enterprise would in - the circumstances. “You may trust to me to place her in safety without the - help of any one.” - </p> - <p> - “I know it, Dick, I know it, dear, and I am proud of you,” said she, - putting her arms about his neck and kissing him. “And look you here, - Dick,” she added, in a more practical tone. “Look you here—I find - that I can spare another five pounds out of the last bill that came from - Ireland. We shall live modestly in this house until you return to us.” - </p> - <p> - He took the coins which she offered to him wrapped up in a twist of - newspaper; but he showed some hesitation—she had to go through a - form of forcing it upon him. - </p> - <p> - “I hope to bring it back to you unbroken,” he murmured; “but in affairs of - this sort it is safest to have a pound or two over, rather than under, - what is barely needful. That is why I take your coins,—a loan—a - sacred loan. Good-bye, I returned only to say good-bye to you, my dearest - sister.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew your good heart, Dick, that was why I was waiting for you. - Good-bye, Dick, and God bless you.” - </p> - <p> - He was putting on his cloak in the hall. He saw that the pistols were in - its pockets, and then he suffered his sister to give him another kiss - before he passed into the dark street. - </p> - <p> - He felt for his pistols, and with a hand on each he felt that he was - indeed fairly launched upon a great adventure. - </p> - <p> - He made his way to the London road, and all the time he was wondering if - the girl would really come to him in the Sedan chair which he had sent for - her. To be sure she had promised to come upon this evening, but he knew - enough of the great affairs of this world to be well aware of the fact - that the sincerest promise of a maid may be rendered worthless by the - merest freak of Fate. Therefore, he knew that he did well to be doubtful - respecting the realisation of her promise. She was the beautiful Miss - Linley—every one in Bath knew her, and this being so, was it not - likely that some one—some prying person—some impudent fellow - like that Mathews who had been making love to her, although he had a wife - of his own in Wales—might catch a glimpse of her face through the - glass of the chair when passing a lamp or a link, and be sufficiently - curious to follow her chair to see whither she was going? - </p> - <p> - That was a likely enough thing to happen, and if it did happen and the - alarm of his flight with her were given, what chance would he have of - carrying out his purpose? Why, the chaise would be followed, and even if - it was not overtaken before London was reached, the resting-place of the - fugitives would certainly be discovered in London, and they should be - ignominiously brought back to Bath. Yes, unless Mathews were the pursuer, - in which case—— - </p> - <p> - Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan grasped more firmly the butt of the pistol - in the right-hand pocket of his cloak. He felt at that moment that should - Mathews overtake them, the going back to Bath would be on the part only of - Mathews. - </p> - <p> - But how would it be if Mr. Linley had become apprised of his daughter's - intention to fly from Bath? He knew very well that Mr. Linley had the best - of reasons for objecting to his daughter's leaving Bath. Mr. Linley's - income was increased by several hundred pounds by reason of the payments - made to him on account of his daughter's singing in public, and he was—very - properly, considering his large family—fond of money. Before he had - to provide for his family, he took good care that his family—his - eldest daughter particularly—helped to provide for him. - </p> - <p> - Doubtless these eventualities were suggested to him—for young Mr. - Sheridan was not without imagination—while on his way through the - dark outskirts of the beautiful city to the London Road. The Bear Inn was - just beyond the last of the houses. It stood at the junction of the London - Road and a narrower one leading past a couple of farms. It was here that - he had given instructions for the chaise to wait for him, and here he - meant to wait for the young lady who had promised to accompany him to - London—and further. - </p> - <p> - He found the chaise without trouble. It was under the trees not more than - a hundred yards down the lane, but the chair, with Miss Linley, had not - yet arrived, so he returned to the road and began to retrace his steps, - hoping to meet it, yet with some doubts in his mind. Of course, he was - impatient. Young gentlemen under twenty-one are usually impatient when - awaiting the arrival of the ladies who have promised to run away with - them. He was not, however, kept in suspense for an unconscionably long - time. He met the chair which he was expecting just when he had reached the - last of the lamps of Bath, and out of it stepped the muffled form of Miss - Linley. The chairmen were paid with a lavish hand, and Dick Sheridan and - Betsy Linley walked on to the chaise without exchanging any but a friendly - greeting—there was nothing lover-like in their meeting or their - greeting. The elopement was not that of a young woman with her lover; it - was, we are assured, that of a young woman anxious to escape from the - intolerable position of being the most popular person in the most - fashionable city in England, to the peaceful retreat of a convent; and the - young man who was to take charge of her was one whom she had chosen for - her guardian, not for her lover. Dick Sheridan seems to have been the only - young man in Bath who had never made love to Elizabeth Linley. His elder - brother, Charles by name, had discharged this duty on behalf of the - Sheridan family, and he was now trying to live down his disappointment at - being refused, at a farmhouse a mile or two away. The burden was greater - than he could bear when surrounded by his sisters in their father's house - in King's Mead Street. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0277.jpg" alt="0277 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0277.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Elizabeth Linley was certainly the most popular young woman in Bath; she - certainly was the most beautiful. The greatest painters of her day made - masterpieces of her portrait, and for once, posterity acknowledges that - the fame of her beauty was well founded. So spiritual a face as hers is to - be seen in no eighteenth-century picture except that of Miss Linley; one - has need to go back to the early Italian painters to find such - spirituality in a human face, and then one finds it combined with absolute - inanity, and the face is called Divine. Reynolds painted her as Saint - Cecilia drawing down angels, and blessedly unconscious of her own powers, - thinking only of raising herself among angels on the wings of song. His - genius was never better employed and surely never more apparent than in - the achievement of this picture. Gainsborough painted her by the side of - her younger brother, and one feels that if Reynolds painted a saint, - Gainsborough painted a girl. It was Bishop O'Beirne, an old friend of her - family and acquainted with her since her childhood, who said: “She is a - link between an angel and a woman.” - </p> - <p> - And this exquisite creature had a voice of so sympathetic a quality that - no one could hear it unmoved. Her father had made her technique perfect. - He was a musician who was something more than painstaking. He had taste of - the highest order, and it is possible to believe that in the training of - his eldest daughter he was wise enough to limit his instruction to the - technicalities of his art, leaving her to the inspiration of her own - genius in regard to the treatment of any theme which he brought before - her. - </p> - <p> - At any rate her success in the sublimest of all oratorios was far beyond - anything that could be achieved by an exhibition of the finest technical - qualities; and Mr. Linley soon became aware of the fact that he was the - father of the most beautiful and the most highly gifted creature that ever - made a father miserable. - </p> - <p> - Incidentally she made a great many other men miserable, but that was only - because each of them wanted her to make him happy at the expense of the - others, and this she was too kind-hearted to do. But the cause of her - father's grief was something different. It was due to the fact that the - girl was so sensitive that she shrank from every exhibition of herself and - her ability on a public platform. It was an agony to her to hear the - tumultuous applause that greeted her singing at a concert or in an - oratorio. She seemed to feel—let any one look at the face which is - to be seen in her portrait, and one will understand how this could be—that - music was something too spiritual to be made the medium only for the - entertainment of the multitude. Taking the highest imaginable view of the - scope and value and meaning of music, it can be understood that this girl - should shrink from such an ordeal as the concert platform offered to her - every time she was announced to sing. No more frivolous and fashionable a - population than that of Bath in the second half of the eighteenth century - was to be found in any city in the world; and Elizabeth Linley felt that - she was regarded by the concert-goers as no more than one of the numerous - agents they employed to lessen the ennui of an empty day. The music which - she worshipped—the spirit with which her soul communed in secret—was, - she felt, degraded by being sold to the crowd and subjected to the - patronage of their applause. - </p> - <p> - Of course when she spoke to her father in this strain he sympathised with - her, and bemoaned the fate that made it necessary for him to have her - assistance to save her mother and brothers and sisters from starvation. - And so for several years she was an obedient child, but very weary of the - rôle. She sang and enchanted thousands. She did not, however, think of - them; her mind dwelt daily upon the tens of thousands who regarded her - (she thought) as fulfilling no nobler purpose than to divert them for half - an hour between taking the waters and sitting down to faro or quadrille. - </p> - <p> - But it was not alone her distaste for the publicity of the platform that - made her miserable. The fact was that she was distracted by suitors. She - had, it was said, accepted the offer of an elderly gentleman named Long, - the wealthy head of a county family in the neighbourhood; and Foote, with - his usual vulgarity, which took the form of personality, wrote a play—a - wretched thing even for Foote—in which he dealt with an imaginarily - comic and a certainly sordid situation, with Miss Linley on the one side - and Mr. Long on the other. Serious biographers have not hesitated to - accept this situation invented by the notorious <i>farceur</i>, who was no - greater a respecter of persons than he was of truth, as a valuable - contribution to the history of the Linley family, especially in regard to - the love affair of the lovely girl by whose help they were made famous. - They have never thought of the possibility of her having accepted Mr. Long - in order to escape from her horror of the concert platform. They have - never suggested the possibility of Mr. Long's settling a sum of money on - her out of his generosity when he found out that Miss Linley did not love - him. - </p> - <p> - It was not Mr. Long, however, but a man named Mathews—sometimes - referred to as Captain, occasionally as Major—who was the immediate - cause of her running away with young Sheridan. This man Mathews was known - to be married, and to be in love with Elizabeth Linley, and yet he was - allowed to be constantly in her company, pestering her with his - attentions, and there was no one handy to horsewhip him. Sheridan's - sister, who afterwards married Mr. Lefanu, wrote an account of this - curious matter for the guidance of Thomas Moore, who was preparing his - biography of her brother. She stated that Miss Linley was afraid to tell - her father of Major Mathews and his impossible suit, and so she was “at - length induced to consult Richard Sheridan, whose intimacy with Major - Mathews, at the time, she thought might warrant his interference.” And - then we are told that “R. B. Sheridan sounded Mathews on the subject and - at length prevailed on him to give up the pursuit.” - </p> - <p> - That is how the adoring sister of “R. B. Sheridan,” who had been talking - to Elizabeth Linley of him as of a knight-errant, eager to redress the - wrongs of maidens in distress, wrote of her brother! He “sounded Mathews - on the subject.” On what subject? The subject was the pursuit of an - innocent girl by a contemptible scoundrel. How does the knight-errant - “sound” such a person when he sets out to redress the maiden's - ill-treatment? One R. B. Sheridan, a dramatist, gives us a suggestion as - to what were his ideas on this point: “Do you think that Achilles or my - little Alexander the Great ever enquired where the right lay? No, sir, - they drew their broadswords and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the - rights of the matter.” Now young Sheridan, who is reported by his sister - as “sounding” Mathews, was no coward. He proved himself to be anything but - afraid of Mathews, so that one must, out of justice to him, assume that - the only attempt he would have made to “sound” the scoundrel at this time - would be through the medium of a sound hiding. - </p> - <p> - It is at such a point as this in the biography of an interesting man that - one blesses the memory—and the notebook—of the faithful - Boswell. Thomas Moore was quite intimate with Richard Brinsley Sheridan, - but he never thought of asking him for some information on this particular - incident in his life, the fact being that he had no definite intention of - becoming his biographer. We know perfectly well how Boswell would have - plied Johnson with questions on the subject, had it ever come to his ears - that Johnson had undertaken to play the rôle of a knight-errant. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, sir, what did you say to Mathews when you sounded him?” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think, sir, that in any circumstances a married gentleman who is - showing marked attentions to a virtuous young lady should be sounded by a - young gentleman who has been entrusted with the duty of protecting the - lady?” - </p> - <p> - Alas! instead of the unblushing indelicacy of Boswell, who hunted for - trifles as a pig hunts for truffles, we are obliged to be content with the - vagueness of a sister, whose memory, we have an uneasy feeling, was not - quite so good as she thought it was. - </p> - <p> - And from the memory of this sister we have an account of the amazing - elopement of Richard Sheridan with Elizabeth Linley. - </p> - <p> - When the young gentleman put her into the chaise that was waiting for them - on the London road, Miss Linley had never thought of him except as a kind - friend. She had accepted his services upon this occasion as she would - those of a courier to conduct her to London, and thence to France, where - she intended to enter a convent. The Miss Sheridans had lived in France, - and had some friends at St. - </p> - <p> - Quentin, who knew of a very nice clean convent—an establishment - which they could strongly recommend, and where she could find that - complete seclusion which Miss Linley longed for, and their brother Dick - was thought to be a very suitable companion for her on her way thither. - Mrs. Lefanu (<i>née</i> Sheridan), who wrote out the whole story in after - years, mentioned that her chivalrous brother was to provide a woman to act - as her maid in the chaise; but as not the least reference to this chaperon - is to be found in the rest of the story, we fear that it must be assumed - either that her brother forgot this unimportant detail, or that the detail - was unavoidably detained in Bath. What is most likely of all is that the - solitary reference to this mysterious female was dovetailed, somewhat - clumsily, into the narrative, at the suggestion of some Mrs. Grundy, who - shook her head at the narrative of so much chivalry unsupported by a - responsible chaperon. However this may be, the shadowy chaperon is never - alluded to again; she may have faded away into the mists of morning and - London, or she may have vanished at the first turnpike. Nothing was seen - or heard of her subsequently. - </p> - <p> - The boy and the girl reached London in safety, and drove to the house of a - Mr. Ewart, a relation of the Sheridans, to whom Dick offered the - explanation of his unconventional visit on the very plausible grounds of - his being engaged to the young lady, a great heiress, whom he was - hastening to France to marry. Of course the Ewart family were perfectly - satisfied with this explanation; and another friend, who had indisputable - claims to consideration, being, we are told, “the son of a respectable - brandy merchant in the City,” suggested that they should sail from London - to Dunkirk, “in order to make pursuit more difficult.” How such an end - could be compassed by such means is left to the imagination of a reader. - The young pair, however, jumped at the suggestion, and reached Dunkirk - after an uneventful crossing. - </p> - <p> - It is at this point in the sister's account of the itinerary of this - interesting enterprise that she mentions that Richard suddenly threw away - the disguise of the chivalrous and disinterested protector of the young - lady, and declared that he would not consent to conduct her to the convent - unless she agreed to marry him immediately. Mrs. Lefanu's exact words are - as follows: “After quitting Dunkirk Mr. Sheridan was more explicit with - Miss Linley as to his views on accompanying her to France.” - </p> - <p> - This is certainly a very lawyer-like way of condoning the conduct of a - mean scoundrel; but, happily for the credit of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, - it is the easiest thing in the world to discredit his sister's narrative, - although she adds that he urged on the girl what would seem to a casual - observer of society in general to be perfectly true—“she must be - aware that after the step she had taken, she could not appear in England - but as his wife.” As the sequel proved this alleged statement was quite - untrue! She did appear in England, and not as his wife, and no one seemed - to think anything the worse of her on account of her escapade. But to - suggest that Sheridan took advantage of the trust which the innocent girl - had reposed in him to compel her to marry him, a penniless minor with no - profession and very little education, is scarcely consistent with an - account of his high-mindedness and his sense of what was chivalrous. - </p> - <p> - And then the sister pleasantly remarks that “Miss Linley, who really - preferred him greatly to any person, was not difficult to persuade, and at - a village not far from Calais the marriage ceremony was performed by a - priest who was known to be often employed upon such occasions.” Whoever - this clergyman may have been, it is impossible for any one to believe that - in the discharge of his office he was kept in constant employment; for - “such occasions” as answered to the account given by the Sheridan sister - of the nuptials of the young couple, must have been extremely rare. - </p> - <p> - And yet Moore, on whom the responsibilities of a biographer rested very - lightly, was quite content to accept as strictly accurate the narrative of - Mrs. Lefanu, contradicted though it was by subsequent events in which both - her brother and Miss Linley were concerned. Moore does not seem to have - troubled himself over any attempt to obtain confirmation of one of the - most important incidents in the life of the man of whom he was writing. - </p> - <p> - He made no attempt to discover if the accommodating priest at the village - near Calais was still alive when he was compiling his biography of - Sheridan, and it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that he was - still alive; nor did this easy-going Irish master of melodies consider - that it devolved on him to try to find some record of the marriage in - question. - </p> - <p> - Now what happened after this remarkable union? The narrative of the sister - is quite as circumstantial as one could wish it to be, and even more - imaginative. But whatever qualities of excellence it possesses, it - certainly does not carry to a reader any conviction of accuracy. It states - that the interesting young couple went to Lille instead of carrying out - their original intention of going to St. Quentin, and that Miss Linley—now - Mrs. Sheridan, of course—“immediately secured an apartment in a - convent, where it was settled she was to remain either till Sheridan came - of age or till he was in a situation to support a wife. He remained a few - days at Lille to be satisfied that she was settled to her satisfaction; - but, whether from agitation of mind or fatigue, she was taken ill, and an - English physician, Dr. Dolman, of York, was called in to attend her. From - what he perceived of her case he wished to have her more immediately under - his care than he could in the convent, and he and Mrs. Dolman most kindly - invited her to their house.” - </p> - <p> - This would seem to have been very kind indeed on the part of the doctor - and his wife, but it so happened that a letter turned up some years ago - which the late Mr. Fraser Rae was able to print in the first volume of his - admirable <i>Life of Sheridan</i>, and this letter makes it plain that - wherever Mrs. Sheridan (<i>née</i> Linley) may have been, she was not - sojourning with the Dolmans. It is from Dr. Dolman himself, and it was - addressed to “Monsieur Sherridan, Gentilhomme Anglois, à l'Hôtel de - Bourbon, Sur la Grande Place.” It recommends the administering of certain - powders in a glass of white wine twice daily, and sends “compliments and - wishes of health to your lady.” - </p> - <p> - The question then remains: Was the lady at this time an inmate of the - convent, and did the doctor expect “Monsieur Sherridan” to go to this - institution twice a day in order to administer the powders to his lady? - Would not the doctor think it somewhat peculiar that the husband should be - at the Hôtel de Bourbon and his lady an inmate of the convent? - </p> - <p> - These questions must be left to be answered according to the experience of - life of any one interested in the matter. But it is worth noticing that, - on the very day that he received the missive from Dr. Dolman, Sheridan - wrote to his brother at Bath and mentioned that Miss Linley—he - continued to call her Miss Linley—was now “fixing in a convent, - where she has been entered some time.” Does the first phrase mean that she - was already in the convent, or only about to take up her residence there? - However this question may be answered, it is clear that Sheridan expected - to leave her behind him at Lille, for he adds, “Everything is now so - happily settled here I will delay no longer giving you that information, - though probably I shall set out for England without knowing a syllable of - what has happened with you.” - </p> - <p> - So far, then, as his emprise in regard to the lady was concerned, he - considered the incident to be closed. “Though you may have been ignorant - for some time of our proceedings, you could never have been uneasy,” he - continues hopefully, “lest anything should tempt me to depart, even in a - thought, from the honour and consistency which engaged me at first.” - </p> - <p> - Some people have suggested that Sheridan, when he drew the character of - Charles Surface, meant it to be something of an excuse for his own casual - way of life. But it must strike a good many persons who believe that he - induced the innocent girl, whom he set forth to protect on her way to a - refuge from the infamous designs of Mathews, to marry him, that Sheridan - approached much more closely to the character of Joseph in this - correspondence with his brother. A more hypocritical passage than that - just quoted could hardly have been uttered by Joseph Surface. As a matter - of fact, one of Joseph's sentiments is only a paraphrase of this unctuous - assumption of honour and consistency. - </p> - <p> - But this criticism is only true if one can believe his sister's story of - the marriage. If it is true that Sheridan set out from England with Miss - Linley with the intention of so compromising her that she should be - compelled to marry him, at the same time pretending to her and to his - brother to be actuated by the highest motives in respect of the ill-used - girl, it is impossible to think of him except with contempt. - </p> - <p> - Happily the weight of evidence is overpoweringly in Sheridan's favour. We - may think of him as a rash, an inconsiderate, and a culpably careless boy - to take it upon him to be the girl's companion to the French convent, but - we refuse to believe that he was ever capable of acting the grossly - disingenuous part attributed to him by his sister, and accepted without - question by his melodious biographer. There are many people, however, who - believe that when a man marries a woman, no matter in what circumstances, - he has “acted the part of a gentleman” in regard to her, and must be held - to be beyond reproach on any account whatsoever so far as the woman is - concerned. In the eyes of such censors of morality, as in the eyes of the - law, the act of marriage renders null and void all ante-nuptial deeds; and - it was probably some impression of this type which was acquired by - Sheridan's sister, inducing her to feel sure (after a time) that her - brother's memory would suffer if his biographer were to tell the story of - his inconsiderate conduct in running away with Elizabeth Linley, unless it - was made clear that he married her the first moment he had to spare. She - tried to save her brother's memory by persuading her own to accommodate - itself to what she believed to be her brother's emergency. She was a good - sister, and she kept her memory well under control. - </p> - <p> - But what did the father of the young lady think of the matter? What did - the people of Bath, who were well acquainted with all the actors engaged - in this little comedy, think of the matter? Happily these questions can be - answered by appealing to facts rather than to the well-considered - recollections of a discreet lady. - </p> - <p> - We know for certain that Mr. Linley, who was, as one might suppose, fully - equipped to play the part of the enraged father of the runaway girl, - turned up at the place of her retreat—he had no trouble in learning - in what direction to look for her—and having found her and the young - gentleman who had run away with her, did he, under the impulse of his - anger, fanned by his worldly knowledge, insist with an uplifted horsewhip - upon his marrying her without a moment's delay? Mr. Linley knew Bath, and - to know Bath was to know the world. Was he, then, of the same opinion as - that expressed (according to his sister's narrative) by young Sheridan to - persuade Miss Linley to be his bride—namely, that it would be - impossible for her to show her face in Bath unless as the wife of Richard - Brinsley Sheridan? - </p> - <p> - Nothing of the sort. Whatever reproaches he may have flung at his - daughter, however strong may have been his denunciation of the conduct of - the man who had run away with her, they had not the effect either of - inducing his daughter or her companion to reveal to him the fact that they - had been married for several days, or of interrupting the friendly - relations that had existed for nearly two years between himself and young - Sheridan. The dutiful memory of Miss Sheridan records that Mr. Linley, - “after some private conversation with Mr. Sheridan, appeared quite - reconciled to his daughter, but insisted on her returning to England with - him (Mr. Linley) to fulfil several engagements he had entered into on her - account. The whole party set out together the next day, Mr. Linley having - previously promised to allow his daughter to return to Lille when her - engagements were over.” - </p> - <p> - The comedy of the elopement had become a farce of the “whimsical” type. - Nothing more amusing or amazing has ever been seen on the vaudeville - stage. The boy and the girl run off together and get married. The - infuriated father follows them, ruthlessly invades their place of refuge, - and then, “after some private conversation” with his daughter's husband, - who does not tell him that he is her husband, says to the young woman, “My - dear, you must come home with me to sing at a concert.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, papa,” replies the girl. “Wait a minute, and I'll go too,” - cries the unconfused husband of the daughter. “All right, come along,” - says the father, and they all take hands and sing the ridiculous trio - which winds up the vaudeville after it has run on inconsequentially for a - merry forty minutes—there is a <i>pas de trois</i>, and the curtain - falls! - </p> - <p> - Alas, for the difference between Boswell the bald and Moore the melodious! - The bald prose of Boswell's diaries may have made many of the personages - with whom he dealt seem silly, but that was because he himself was silly, - and, being aware of this fact, the more discriminating of his readers have - no great difficulty in arriving at the truth of any matter with which he - deals. He would never have accepted unreservedly such a narrative as that - which Moore received from Mrs. Lefanu (<i>née</i> Sheridan), and put into - his own language, or as nearly into his own language as he could. But - Moore found it “so hard to narrate familiar events eloquently,” he - complained. He actually thought that Mrs. Lefanu's narrative erred on the - side of plausibility! The mysterious elopement, the still more mysterious - marriage, and the superlatively mysterious return of the fugitives and the - irate father hand-in-hand, he regarded as events so commonplace as not to - be susceptible of lyrical treatment. But the most farcical of the doings - of his own <i>Fudge Family</i> were rational in comparison with the - familiar events associated with the flight to France of his hero and - heroine. The <i>Trip to Scarborough</i> of Sheridan the farce-writer was - founded on much more “familiar events” than this extraordinary trip to - Lille, as narrated for the benefit of the biographer by Mrs. Lefanu. - </p> - <p> - What seems to be the truth of the whole matter is simply that Sheridan - undertook to be a brother to Elizabeth Linley, and carried out his compact - faithfully, without allowing anything to tempt him to depart, as he wrote - to Charles, “even in thought from the honour and consistency which engaged - [him] at first.” It must be remembered that he was a romantic boy of - twenty, and this is just the age at which nearly every boy—especially - a boy in love—is a Sir Galahad. As for Miss Linley, one has only to - look at her portrait to know what she was. She was not merely innocent, - she was innocence itself. - </p> - <p> - When Mr. Linley appeared at Lille he accepted without reserve the - explanation offered to him by his daughter and by Sheridan; and, moreover, - he knew that although there was a school for scandal located at Bath, yet - so highly was his daughter thought of in all circles, and so greatly was - young Sheridan liked, that no voice of calumny would be raised against - either of them when they returned with him. And even if it were possible - that some whisper, with its illuminating smile above the arch of a painted - fan, might be heard in the Assembly Rooms when some one mentioned the name - of Miss Linley in connection with that of young Sheridan and with the trip - to Lille, he felt convinced that such a whisper would be robbed of its - sting when every one knew that the girl and the boy and the father all - returned together and on the best terms to Bath. - </p> - <p> - As the events proved, he had every right to take even so sanguine a view - of the limitations of the range of the Pump Room gossips. On the return of - the three from Lille no one suggested that Sheridan and Miss Linley should - get married. No one except the scoundrel Mathews suggested that Sheridan - had acted badly or even unwisely, though undoubtedly he had given grounds - for such implications. The little party returned to Bath, and Miss Linley - fulfilled her concert and oratorio engagements, went into society as - before, and had at her feet more eligible suitors than had ever knelt - there. We have it on the authority of Charles Sheridan, the elder brother, - that in Bath the feeling was that Richard had acted as a man of honour in - taking the girl to the convent at Lille. Writing to their uncle, Mr. - Chamberlaine, he expressed surprise that “in this age when the world does - not abound in Josephs, most people are (notwithstanding the general - tendency of mankind to judge unfavourably) inclined to think that he - (Richard) acted with the strictest honour in his late expedition with Miss - L., when the circumstances might allow of their being very dubious on this - head without incurring the imputation of being censorious.” - </p> - <p> - This testimony as to what was the opinion in Bath regarding the expedition - is extremely valuable, coming as it does from one who was never greatly - disposed to take a brotherly or even a friendly view of Richard's conduct - at any time—coming as it does also from a man who had been in love - with Miss Linley. - </p> - <p> - At any rate this escapade of young Mr. Sheridan was the most fortunate for - him of any in which he ever engaged, and he was a man of many escapades, - for it caused Elizabeth Linley to fall in love with him, and never was a - man beloved by a sweeter or more faithful woman. To know how beautiful was - her nature one has only to look at her face in either of the great - portraits of her which are before us to-day. No characteristic of all that - is held to be good and gracious and sympathetic—in one word, that is - held to be womanly, is absent from her face. No man that ever lived was - worthy of such a woman; but if only men who are worthy of such women were - beloved by them, mankind would be the losers. She loved Sheridan with the - truest devotion—such devotion as might be expected from such a - nature as hers—and she died in the act of writing to him the - love-letter of a wife to her dearly loved husband. - </p> - <p> - They did not get married until a year after the date of their flight to - the Continent, and then they were described as bachelor and spinster. - Neither of them ever gave a hint, even in any of the numerous letters - which they exchanged during this period, that they had gone through the - ceremony of marriage at that village near Calais. More than once a - strained situation would have been relieved had it been possible to make - such a suggestion, for now and again each of the lovers grew jealous of - the other for a day or two. But neither said, “Pray remember that you are - not free to think of marrying any one. We are husband and wife, although - we were married in secret.” Neither of them could make such an assertion. - It would not have been true. What seems to us to be the truth is that it - was Sir Galahad who acted as protector to his sister when Richard Brinsley - Sheridan went with Elizabeth Linley to France. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE AMAZING DUELS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN young Mr. - Sheridan returned to Bath after his happy little journey to France with - Miss Linley and back with Mr. Linley, he may have believed that the - incident was closed. He had done all that—and perhaps a little more - than—the most chivalrous man of experience and means could be - expected to do for the young woman toward whom he had stood in the - position of a protecting brother. He had conducted her to the convent at - Lille, on which she had set her heart, and he had been able to explain - satisfactorily to her father on his arrival at the hotel where he and Miss - Linley were sojourning in the meantime, what his intentions had been when - he had eloped with her from Bath. No doubt he had also acted as Miss - Linley's adviser in respect of those negotiations with her father which - resulted in the happy return of the whole family party to London. - </p> - <p> - In London he heard that Mathews, the scoundrel who had been pursuing Miss - Linley in the most disreputable fashion, was in town also, and that, - previous to leaving Bath, he had inserted in the Chronicle a defamatory - advertisement regarding him (Sheridan); and on this information coming to - his ears he put his pistols into his pocket and went in search of Mathews - at the lodgings of the latter. - </p> - <p> - Miss Sheridan tells us about the pistols in the course of her lucid - narrative, and states on her own responsibility that when he came upon - Mathews the latter was dreadfully frightened at the sight of one of the - pistols protruding from Sheridan's pocket. Mr. Fraser Rae, the competent - biographer of Sheridan, smiles at the lady's statement. “The sight of the - pistols would have alarmed Sheridan's sisters,” he says, “but it is in - accordance with probability that he (Mathews) expected a hostile meeting - to follow as a matter of course. He must have been prepared for it, and he - would have been strangely ignorant of the world in which he lived if he - had deemed it unusual.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0301.jpg" alt="0301 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0301.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - But Mr. Fraser Rae was not so strangely ignorant of the world in which - Sheridan and Mathews lived as to fancy that there was nothing unusual in a - gentleman's going to ask another gentleman whom he believed to have - affronted him, for an explanation, with a pair of pistols in his pocket. - In the circumstances a duel would have been nothing unusual; but surely - Mr. Fraser Rae could not have fancied that Sheridan set out with the - pistols in his pocket in order to fight a duel with Mathews in the man's - lodgings, without preliminaries and without seconds. If Mathews caught - sight of the butt of a pistol sticking out of Sheridan's pocket he had - every reason to be as frightened as Miss Sheridan declared he was, for he - must have believed that his visitor had come to murder him. - </p> - <p> - At any rate, frightened or not frightened, pistols or no pistols, Mathews, - on being interrogated by Sheridan as to the advertisement in the <i>Bath - Chronicle</i>, assured him that he had been grossly misinformed as to the - character of the advertisement. It was, he affirmed, nothing more than an - inquiry after Sheridan, which the family of the latter had sanctioned. He - then, according to Miss Sheridan, expressed the greatest friendship for - his visitor, and said that he would be made extremely unhappy if any - difference should arise between them. - </p> - <p> - So young Mr. Sheridan, balked of his murderous intentions, returned with - unsullied pistols to his hotel, and set out for Bath with Miss Linley and - her father. - </p> - <p> - But if he fancied that Mathews had passed out of his life he was quickly - undeceived. Before he had time to take his seat at the family table he had - got a copy of the newspaper containing the advertisement, of the tenor of - which Mathews had told him in London he had been misinformed; and now his - sisters made him fully aware of the action taken by the same man on - learning of the flight of Sheridan and Elizabeth Linley. The result was - that he now perceived what every one should have known long before—namely, - that Mathews was a scoundrel, who should never have been allowed to obtain - the footing to which he had been admitted in the Sheridan and Linley - families. - </p> - <p> - It appears that the moment Mathews heard that Miss Linley had been carried - beyond his reach, he rushed to the Sheridans' house, and there found the - girls and their elder brother, who had been wisely communicated with by - the landlord, and had left his retirement in the farmhouse in the country - to take charge of the sisters in the absence of their brother Richard. - Mathews behaved like a madman—no unusual <i>rôle</i> for him—heaping - reproaches upon the absent member of the family, and demanding to be told - of his whereabouts. He seems to have been encouraged by Charles Sheridan, - who had unwisely said something in disparagement of his brother. Mathews - had the effrontery to avow his passion for Elizabeth Linley, and in the - bitterest terms to accuse Richard Sheridan of having acted basely in - taking her beyond his reach. - </p> - <p> - Then he hastened to Richard Sheridan's friend and confidant, a young man - named Brereton, and to him he sent messages of friendship and, possibly, - condolence to Mr. Linley, though his object in paying this visit was - undoubtedly not to endeavour to exculpate himself as regards Mr. Linley, - but to find out where the fugitives were to be found. He may have had - visions of pursuing them, of fighting a duel with Richard Sheridan, and if - he succeeded in killing him, of getting the girl at last into his power. - </p> - <p> - But Mr. Brereton not only did not reveal the whereabouts of his friend—he - knew that Sheridan meant to go to Lille, for he wrote to him there—but - he also refused to give his interrogator any sympathy for having failed to - accomplish the destruction of the girl. Brereton, indeed, seems to have - convinced him that the best thing he could do was to leave Bath as quickly - as possible. Mathews had probably by this time discovered, as Brereton - certainly had, that the feeling against him in Bath was profound. There - can be little doubt that in the course of the day Charles Sheridan became - aware of this fact also; he had only a few months before confessed himself - to be deeply in love with Elizabeth Linley, and when he heard that his - brother had run away with her he could not but have been somewhat incensed - against him, for Richard had not taken him into his confidence. By the - time his brother returned, however, any ill-feeling that Charles may have - felt had disappeared, and as Charles always showed himself to be a cool - and calculating gentleman—one who always kept an eye on the jumping - cat—it is not going too far to assume that his change of tone in - respect of his rather impetuous brother was due to his perception of the - trend of public opinion on the subject of the elopement. - </p> - <p> - Brereton had persuaded Mathews that there was nothing left for him but to - quit Bath; but before taking this step the latter had inserted in the <i>Bath - Chronicle</i> the advertisement of which Richard had heard, but which he - had not read when in London, thus leaving himself in no position to - contradict Mathews' assertion as to its amicable wording. - </p> - <p> - But now the newspaper was put into his hands by Charles, and he had an - opportunity of pronouncing an opinion on this point. It was dated - Wednesday, April the 8th, 1772, and it ran as follows: - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Richard S———— having attempted in a letter - left behind him for that purpose, to account for his scandalous method of - running away from this place by insinuations derogating from my character - and that of a young lady, innocent as far as relates to me, or my - knowledge, since which he has neither taken any notice of letters or even - informed his own family of the place where he has hid himself; I cannot - longer think he deserves the treatment of a gentleman, and in this public - method, to post him as a L———, and a treacherous S————. - </p> - <p> - “And as I am convinced there have been many malevolent incendiaries - concerned in the propagation of this infamous lie, if any of them, - unprotected by age, <i>infirmities</i>, or profession, they are to - acknowledge the part they have acted, and affirm <i>to</i> what they have - said <i>of</i> me, they may depend on receiving the proper reward of their - villainy, in the most public manner. The world will be candid enough to - judge properly (I make no doubt) of any private abuse on this subject for - the future, as nobody can defend himself from an accusation he is ignorant - of Thomas Mathews.” Such a piece of maundering imbecility as this had - probably never before appeared in a newspaper. It must have been read in - Bath with roars of laughter. But we do not hear that any of the ready - writers of the time and the town yielded to the temptation of commenting - upon the “malevolent incendiarism” of the composition. A man of the world, - had it been written about himself, would possibly have thought that its - illiteracy spoke for itself, and so would have refrained from making any - move in regard to it or its author. But one can imagine what effect - reading it would have upon a boy of Sheridan's spirit. For a youth of - twenty to find himself posted as a Liar and a Scoundrel, to say nothing of - a “malevolent incendiary,” and remain indifferent would be impossible. - Sheridan did not take long to make up his mind what he should do in the - circumstances. - </p> - <p> - The dramatic touch which his sister introduces in writing of Richard's - perusal of the paragraph is intensely true to nature. He simply put a word - or two to Charles relative to what Mathews had told him in London about - his, Sheridan's, family sanctioning the insertion of the advertisement. - Charles had no difficulty in vindicating his integrity on this point. - Richard knew perfectly well that it is one thing to say that a man has - acted too hastily, but quite another to suggest that that man is “a L——— - and a S————.” - </p> - <p> - So apparently the matter ended, and Richard continued chatting with his - sisters, giving no sign of what was in his mind. The girls went to their - beds, suspecting nothing. The next morning their two brothers were - missing! - </p> - <p> - Of course the girls were dreadfully alarmed. Some people in the house told - them that they had heard high words being exchanged between the brothers - after the girls had retired, and shortly afterwards the two former had - gone out together. The sister, in her narrative, mentions that she - received a hint or two of a duel between Richard and Charles, but she at - once put these suggestions aside. The poor girls must have been nearly - distracted. Certainly the house of Sheridan was passing through a period - of great excitement. The estimable head of the family was himself - expecting a crisis in his affairs as manager of the theatre in Dublin—Mr. - Thomas Sheridan was never far removed from a crisis—and in his - absence his young people were doing pretty much as they pleased. He had no - power of controlling them; all that he had to do with them was to pay - their bills. Neither of the sons was earning anything, and while one of - them was living as a man of fashion, the other had thought it well to cut - himself off from his sisters, taking lodgings at a farm some way out of - Bath It is the girls of the house for whom one feels most. Alicia, the - elder, was seventeen, Elizabeth was but twelve. They must have been - distracted. So would their father have been if he had had a chance of - learning all that was going on at Bath. - </p> - <p> - But, of course, when young gentlemen of spirit are falling in love with - beauteous maidens, and retiring to cure themselves by mingling with - pastoral scenes reminiscent of the gentle melancholy of Mr. Alexander - Pope's shepherds and shepherdesses (done in Dresden), every one of whom - murmurs mournfully and melodiously of a rejected suit—when young - gentlemen are running away with afflicted damsels and returning to fight - their enemies, they cannot be expected to think of the incidental expenses - of the business, which are to be defrayed by their father, any more than - of the distraction which takes possession of their sisters. - </p> - <p> - The two young gentlemen were missing, and had left for their sisters no - explanation of their absence—no hint as to the direction of their - flight. And there were other people in the house talking about the high - words that had been exchanged between the brothers at midnight. It is not - surprising that the poor girls should be distressed and distracted. - </p> - <p> - Considering that Miss Linley was the first cause of the excitement in the - midst of which the family had been living for some weeks, it was only - natural that the elder of the girls should send for her with a view to - have some light thrown on this new development of the heroic incident in - which Miss Linley had assisted. But Miss Linley, on being applied to, - affirmed that she knew nothing of the disappearance of the brothers, that - she had heard of nothing that should cause them to leave Bath at a - moment's notice. She was, unfortunately, a young woman of imagination. In - a crisis such a one is either very helpful, or very helpless. Poor Miss - Linley was the latter. She had just come through a great crisis in her own - life, and she had not emerged from it without suffering. It was too much - to ask her to face another in the family of her friends. She went off in a - fainting fit on hearing the news of the disappearance of the young men, - and her father left her in the hands of a medical man, and turned his - attention to the condition of Miss Sheridan, who was unable to walk back - to her home, and had to be put into a chair, Mr. Linley walking beside her - with her young sister. It is more than possible that Mr. Linley was - beginning to feel that he had had quite enough of the Sheridan family to - last him for the remainder of his life. - </p> - <p> - For two days nothing whatever was heard of the missing brothers. We have - no means of knowing if Miss Sheridan communicated to their father in - Dublin the mysterious story she had to tell; the chances are that she was - advised by Mr. Linley to refrain from doing so until she might have - something definite to tell him. Mr. Linley never had any particular regard - for the elder Sheridan, and he had no wish to have him summoned from his - theatre at Dublin to make his remarks about the dangerous attractiveness - of Elizabeth Linley, and the culpable carelessness of her father in - allowing her to be carried off to France by a young man without a penny - except what he got from his own father. - </p> - <p> - At any rate, Tom Sheridan did not leave his theatre or his pupils in - elocution, and there was no need for him to do so, for on Tuesday evening—they - had been missing on the Sunday morning—Dick and his brother - returned. They were both greatly fatigued, and said that they had not been - in bed since they had left Bath. This meant that Dick had actually not - slept in Bath since he had originally left the city in the company of Miss - Linley. Between the Friday and the Tuesday he had posted from London to - Bath with the Linleys, and had forthwith returned to London with his - brother and then back once more to Bath without a pause. He, at least, had - very good reason for feeling fatigued. - </p> - <p> - His first act was to hand his sister an apology which had been made to him - by Mathews. This document is worthy of being reprinted. It ran thus: - </p> - <p> - “Being convinced that the expressions I made use of to Mr. Sheridan's - disadvantage, were the effects of passion and misrepresentation, I intreat - what I have said to that gentleman's disadvantage, and particularly beg - his pardon for my advertisement in the <i>Bath Chronicle</i>. Th. - Mathews.” - </p> - <p> - He handed this document to his sister, and then it may be supposed that he - went to bed. He had certainly good need of a sleep. - </p> - <p> - Such is the drift of the story up to this point, as told by Mrs. Lefanu - (Elizabeth Sheridan), and it differs in some particulars from that told by - her brother Charles in a letter to their uncle, and, in a lesser degree, - from the account given of the whole transaction by Richard Sheridan - himself, who was surely in the best position to know exactly what happened - upon the occasion of his first visit to Mathews in London, as well as upon - the occasion of his second, made so hurriedly in the company of his - brother. - </p> - <p> - His second visit was, as might have been expected, the more exciting. It - included the fighting of a duel with Mathews. The humours of duelling have - been frequently dealt with in prose and comedy, and, assuredly the most - amusing of all is to be found in Richard Brinsley Sheridan's <i>The Rivals</i>. - One must confess, however, that the serious account given by the same - writer of his hostile meeting with Mathews, on his return from Bath, - suggests a much more ludicrous series of situations than are to be found - in his play. - </p> - <p> - In Sheridan's account he mentions that while still in France he received - “several abusive threats” from Mathews, and these had such an effect upon - him that he wrote to Mathews, swearing that he would not close his eyes in - sleep in England till he had treated Mathews as he deserved. In order to - carry out this vow he had actually sat up all night at Canterbury, where - his party halted on their way from Dover to London. He called upon Mathews - on arriving in London, at the latter's lodging in Crutched Friars; this - was at midnight, and the key of the door being mislaid, he had to wait two - hours before he was admitted. He found Mathews in bed, but he induced him - to rise and dress, though, in spite of his compliance as regards his - raiment, he complained bitterly of the cold. There does not seem to have - been any great suffering on Sheridan's part through a lack of heat. Then, - as his sister's narrative put it, the man declared that his visitor had - been grossly misinformed in regard to the libel in the Chronicle; and so - he left for Bath, as has already been stated. - </p> - <p> - And now comes the account given by Sheridan of the return visit, and, told - in his own laconic style, it suggests such comic situations as border on - farce. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. S.,” he wrote, “staid but three hours in Bath. He returned to London. - He sent to Mr. M. from Hyde Parck. He came with Captain Knight his second. - He objected frequently to the ground. They adjourned to the Hercules - Pillars. They returned to Hyde Parck. Mr. M. objected to the observation - of an officer. They returned to Hercules Pillars. They adjourned to the - Bedford Coffee house by agreement. Mr. M. was gone to the Castel Tavern. - Mr. S. followed with Mr. E. Mr. M. made many declarations in favour of Mr. - S. They engaged. Mr. M. was disarmed, Captain Knight ran in. Mr. M. begged - his life and afterwards denied the advantage. Mr. S. was provoked by the - (really well-meant) interposition of Captain Knight and the illusion of - Mr. M. He insisted since Mr. M. denied the advantage, that he should give - up his sword. Mr. M. denied, but sooner than return to his ground he gave - it up. It was broke, and Mr. M. offered another. He was then called on to - retract his abuse and beg Mr. S.'s pardon. With much altercation and much - ill grace he complied.” - </p> - <p> - The remainder of this remarkably succinct composition is devoted to the - subsequent misrepresentations of the transaction by Mathews, and by the - writer's appeal to the seconds to say if his version of the encounter was - not correct. - </p> - <p> - But whatever Mathews' account may have been it could scarcely be more - ludicrous than Sheridan's. The marching and countermarching of the four - gentlemen—it appears that brother Charles, although accompanying - Richard to London, thought it more prudent to remain under cover during - the actual engagement; he waited at Brereton's lodgings—the excuses - made by Mathews in order to get away without fighting, and then at the - last moment, the carrying out (by agreement) of a manouvre which landed - Mathews in one tavern and the rest of the party in another—the - set-to of the principals immediately after the “declarations” of one of - them in favour of the other, and the final catastrophe could hardly be - surpassed by the actions of a pair of burlesque duellists in what is - technically known as a “knockabout” entertainment. - </p> - <p> - And after all this scrupulousness of detail one is left in doubt as to the - exact <i>locale</i> of the encounter. Did it take place in the coffee-room - of the Castell Inn, or did the eager combatants retrace their steps to the - “parck”? The document written by Sheridan, though dealing very fully with - the forced marches of the army in the field, throws no light upon this - question of the scene of the battle. In respect of the signing of the - treaty of peace, and the payment of the indemnity, it is, however, - moderately lucid. Sheridan must have told his sister that Mathews signed - the apology immediately after the encounter; she states this in her - narrative. But Mathews did not merely sign the apology, he wrote every - word of it, as one may see by referring to the facsimile, thoughtfully - given in Mr. Fraser Rae's <i>Life of Sheridan</i>, and it would be - impossible to say that the caligraphy of the apology shows the least sign - of that perturbation from which one must believe the writer was suffering - at the moment. Its characteristic is neatness. It is in the fine - old-fashioned Italian hand. Even an expert, who sees possibilities—when - paid for it—in handwriting which would never occur to less - imaginative observers, would scarcely venture to say that this neat little - document was written by a man with another's sword at his throat. - </p> - <p> - This is another element in the mystery of the duel, and it cannot be said - that when we read the letter which the elder of the brothers wrote to his - uncle, giving his account of the whole business, we feel ourselves in a - clearer atmosphere. It really seems a pity that Mr. Browning did not make - another <i>Ring and the Book</i> series of studies out of this amazing - duel. Charles Sheridan told his uncle that an apology was given to Richard - by Mathews as a result of Richard's first visit to him in London, but when - Richard read the advertisement in the Chronicle, which was the original - casus belli, he considered this apology so inadequate that he set off for - London to demand another. Charles also mentions, what neither his brother - nor his sister had stated, that he himself, on reaching London on the - Sunday evening, went to Mathews to endeavour to get a suitable apology—according - to Richard's narrative Charles had good grounds for sending a challenge to - Mathews on his own account—but “after two hours' altercation” he - found that he had made no impression upon the man, so that his brother had - no alternative but to call him out. - </p> - <p> - But however the accounts of the lesser details of this affair of honour - may differ, there can be no question that public opinion in Bath was all - in favour of young Mr. Sheridan. It was acknowledged on every hand that he - had acted from the first—that is, from the moment he assumed the - duties of the protector of Miss Linley—with admirable courage, and - with a full sense of what honour demanded of him. In short he came back - from London, after so many sleepless nights, covered with glory. He was a - tall, handsome fellow of twenty, with brilliant eyes; he had run away with - the most beautiful girl in the world to save her from the clutches of a - scoundrel; he had had four nights without sleep, and then he had fought a - duel with the scoundrel and had obtained from him an apology for insertion - in the newspapers. Few young gentlemen starting life wholly without means - attain to so proud a position of achievement before they reach their - majority. - </p> - <p> - But of course all these feats of errantry and arms run up a bill. Young - Mr. Sheridan's posting account must have been by itself pretty formidable, - and, knowing that his father had never looked on him with the favour which - he gave to his brother, Richard may now and again have felt a trifle - uneasy at the prospect of meeting Mr. Sheridan. If his sister's memory is - to be trusted, however, this meeting took place within a week or two of - his duel, and no bones were broken. Mr. Sheridan had a few chiding words - to say respecting the debts which his son had incurred, but these he paid, - after obtaining from the boy the usual promise made under similar - conditions before a like tribunal. The prodigal invariably acts up to his - character for prodigality in the matter of promises of reform. - </p> - <p> - Richard Sheridan, being something of a wit, though we do not get many - examples of his faculty in the accounts extant of his early life, and - assuredly not a single example in any of his letters that came into the - hands of his biographers, may have sworn to his father never to run away - with a girl who might be anxious to enter upon a conventual life. At any - rate, his father did not show any great displeasure when he was made aware - of the boy's conduct, though it is worth noting that Mr. Sheridan took - exception to the general conviction that his son's act had been prompted - by the most chivalrous aspirations. - </p> - <p> - Mathews, however, had not yet been shaken off. He was back in Bath almost - as soon as the Sheridans, and “malevolent incendiarism” was in the air. No - slander was too base for him to use against Richard Sheridan, no - insinuation too vile. But the popularity of the object of his calumny was - now too firmly established in Bath to be shaken by the vaporous - malevolence of his enemy. Mathews, finding himself thoroughly discredited - in every quarter, did the only sensible thing recorded in his squalid - history—he ran away to his home in Wales. - </p> - <p> - He was here unfortunate enough to meet with a man named Barnard, or - Barnett, who acted upon him pretty much as Sir Lucius O'Trigger did upon - Squire Acres, explaining to him that it was quite impossible that the - affair between him and Sheridan should remain as it was. It was absolutely - necessary, he said, that another duel should take place. All the - “incendiarism” in Mathews' nature was aroused by the fiery words of this - man, and the precious pair hurried to Bath, where a challenge was sent to - Sheridan through the hands of his eldest sister, under the guise of an - invitation to some festivity. - </p> - <p> - Sheridan was foolish enough to accept the challenge apparently without - consulting with any one competent to advise him. According to his father - the challenge had been preceded by several letters of the most scurrilous - abuse. His wiser brother, who had just received an appointment as - Secretary to the British Legation in Sweden, had gone to London with their - father to make preparations for his departure for Stockholm, and - immediately on hearing of the duel he wrote to Richard a typical elder - brother's letter. It is dated July 3rd, 1772, so that, as the duel had - only taken place the previous day, it cannot be said that he lost much - time in expressing his deep sense of his brother's foolishness in meeting - so great a scoundrel for the second time. “All your friends have condemned - you,” he wrote. “You risked everything, where you had nothing to gain, to - give your antagonist the thing he wished, a chance for recovering his - reputation; he wanted to get rid of the contemptible opinion he was held - in, and you were good-natured enough to let him do it at your expense. It - is not a time to scold, but all your friends were of opinion you could, - with the greatest propriety, have refused to meet him.” - </p> - <p> - Without going into the question as to whether this sort of letter was the - ideal one for one brother to write to another who was lying on his bed - with several wounds in his throat, it is impossible to question the - soundness of the opinion expressed by Charles Sheridan in respect of - Richard's acceptance of Mathews' challenge. The challenge was, however, - accepted, and the duel took place on King's Down, at three o'clock in the - morning. Mathews' friend was Barnett, and Sheridan's a young gentleman - named Paumier, who, it was said, was quite unacquainted with the rules of - the game, and had never even seen a duel being fought. The accounts which - survive of this second meeting of Sheridan and Mathews make it apparent - that, if the first was a scene of comedy, this one was a tragic burlesque. - It is said that Sheridan, on the signal being given, at once rushed in on - his antagonist, endeavouring to disarm him as he had done upon the former - occasion of their meeting, but, tripping over something, he literally, and - not figuratively, fell upon the other, knocking him down with such - violence that he was not only disarmed, but his sword was broken as well. - Sheridan's own sword was also broken, so that one might fancy that the - meeting would have terminated here. It did nothing of the sort. The - encounter was only beginning, and anything more savagely burlesque than - the sequel could not be imagined. - </p> - <p> - The combatants must have rolled over, after the manner of the negro - duellists on the variety stage, and when they had settled themselves each - made a grab for the most serviceable fragment of his sword. Mathews being - the heavier man contrived to keep uppermost in the scuffle, and, what gave - him a decided advantage over his opponent, he managed to get his fingers - on the hilt of his broken weapon. An appeal at this stage was made by the - lad who was acting as Sheridan's second to put a stop to the fight; but - the second ruffian, or the ruffian's second—either description - applies to Barnett—declared that as both the antagonists were on the - ground one could not be said to have any advantage over the other. This - delicate question being settled, Mathews held the jagged, saw-like end—point - it had none—of the broken sword at the other's throat and told him - to beg for his life. Sheridan replied that he should refuse to beg his - life from such a scoundrel, and forthwith the scoundrel began jabbing at - his throat and face with the fragment of his weapon, a method of attack - which was not robbed of its butchery by the appeal that it makes to a - reader's sense of its comical aspect. - </p> - <p> - It is doubtful, however, if the comic side of the transaction appealed - very forcibly to the unfortunate boy who was being lacerated to death. He - just managed to put aside a thrust or two before the end of the blade - penetrated the flesh of his throat and pinned him to the ground. With a - chuckle and, according to Tom Sheridan's account, an oath, Mathews got - upon his feet, and, entering the coach which was waiting for him, drove - away from the scene of his butchery. Sheridan was thereupon raised from - the ground, and driven in his chaise with his second to the White Hart - Inn. Two surgeons were immediately in attendance, and it was found that - his wounds, though numerous, were not such as placed his life in jeopardy. - They were, however, sufficiently serious to prevent his removal to his - home that day. - </p> - <p> - It does not appear that young Paumier told the sisters of the occurrence; - but an account of the duel having appeared in the <i>Bath Chronicle</i> - the same afternoon, every one in the town must have been talking of it, - though Mrs. Lefanu says neither she nor her sister heard a word of the - matter until the next day. Then they hastened to the White Hart, and - prevailed upon the surgeons to allow them to take their brother home. In a - surprisingly short time he had quite recovered. Indeed, although there was - a report that Sheridan's life was despaired of, there was no excuse for - any one taking so gloomy a view of his hurts, for the exact truth was - known to Charles Sheridan and his father in London early on the day - following that of the fight. - </p> - <p> - The pathetic part of the story of this ludicrous encounter is to be found - in the story of the reception of the news by Elizabeth Linley. Her father - had read in some of the papers that Sheridan was at the point of death, - but, like the worldly-wise man that Mr. Linley was, he kept the news from - his daughter. They were at Oxford together, and she was announced to sing - at a concert, and he knew that had she learned all that the newspapers - published, she might possibly not be able to do herself—and her - father—justice. But, as one of the audience told his sister - afterwards, the fact that every one who had come to hear Miss Linley sing - was aware of the serious condition (as the papers alleged) of young - Sheridan, and of her attachment to him, a feeling of sympathy for the - lovely young creature added immeasurably to the interest of her - performance. - </p> - <p> - At the conclusion of the concert her father set out with her for Bath; and - it was not until they had almost reached their home that their chaise was - met by a clergyman named Pauton, and he summoned all his tact to enable - him to prepare Elizabeth Linley for the news which he was entrusted to - communicate to her. It is said that under the stress of her emotion the - girl declared that Richard Sheridan was her husband, and that her place - was by his side. - </p> - <p> - Whatever truth there may be in this story it is certain that if she - believed at that moment that Sheridan was her husband, she gave no sign of - continuing in that belief, for though her numerous letters to him show - that she was devoted to him, there is no suggestion in any of them that - she believed herself to be his wife. On the contrary, there are many - passages which prove that no idea of the sort was entertained by her. - </p> - <p> - The exertions of the heads of the two families were for long directed - against the union of the lovers. Mr. Linley felt more forcibly than ever - that he had had quite enough of the Sheridans, and Tom Sheridan doubtless - wished never to hear again the name of Linley. The one made his daughter - promise on her knees to give up Richard Sheridan, and Mr. Sheridan - compelled his son to forswear any association with Elizabeth Linley. Jove - must have been convulsed with laughter. Richard Brinsley Sheridan and - Elizabeth Ann Linley were married on the 13th of April, 1773. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A MELODRAMA AT COVENT GARDEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>N an evening in - April, 1779, the play, “<i>Love in a Village</i>” was being performed at - Covent Garden Theatre before a large audience. In the front row of the - boxes sat two ladies, one of them young and handsome, the other not so - young and not so beautiful—a dark-faced, dark-eyed woman whom no one - could mistake for any nationality except Italian. Three gentlemen who sat - behind them were plainly of their party—elegant gentlemen of - fashion, one of them an Irish peer. Every person of quality in the theatre - and a good many others without such a claim to distinction, were aware of - the fact that the most attractive member of the group was Miss Reay, a - lady whose name had been for several years closely associated—very - closely indeed—with that of Lord Sandwich, the First Lord of the - Admiralty, and one of the most unpopular men in England. She had driven to - the theatre in his lordship's carriage, and two of the gentlemen with whom - she conversed freely in the box were high officials of the department over - which his lordship presided. - </p> - <p> - Almost from the moment of her arrival, Miss Reay and her friends were - watched eagerly by a hollow-eyed, morose gentleman in black. He looked as - if he had not slept for many nights; and no one observing him could have - failed to perceive that he had come to the theatre not for the sake of the - play which was being performed, but to watch the lady. He kept his fierce - eyes fixed upon her, and he frowned every time that she turned to make a - remark to one of her friends; his eyes blazed every time that one of her - friends smiled over her shoulder, and his hands clenched if she smiled in - return. Several times it seemed as if he found it impossible to remain in - his place in the upper side box, where his seat was, for he started up and - hurried out to the great lobby, walking to and fro in great agitation. - More than once he strode away from the lobby into the Bedford Coffee House - just outside the theatre, and there partook of brandy and water, returning - after brief intervals to stare at Miss Reay and her companions in the - front row of the boxes. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0327.jpg" alt="0327 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0327.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - At the conclusion of the play, he went hastily into the vestibule, - standing to one side, not far from the exit from the boxes; but if he - intended to be close to Miss Reay while she walked to the main exit, his - object was defeated by reason of the crush of people congregating in the - vestibule, the people of quality waiting for their carriages to be - announced, the others waiting for the satisfaction of being in such close - proximity to people of quality. - </p> - <p> - Among the crowd there was a lady who had recently become the wife of a - curious gentleman named Lewis, who some years later wrote a grisly book - entitled <i>The Monk</i>, bringing him such great fame as cancelled for - posterity the names of Matthew Gregory, given to him by his parents, and - caused him to be identified by the name of his book only. This lady made a - remark to her neighbour in respect of a lovely rose which Miss Reay was - wearing when she left the box exit and stood in the vestibule—a - beautiful rose early in the month of April might have excited remark in - those days; at any rate, Mrs. Lewis has left the record that at the very - moment of her speaking, the rose fell to the floor, and Miss Reay appeared - to be profoundly affected by this trifling incident, and said in a - faltering voice, “I trust that I am not to consider this as an evil omen!” - So Mrs. Lewis stated. - </p> - <p> - A few moments later Lord Sandwich's carriage was announced, and Miss Reay - and her companion made a move in the direction of the door. The gentlemen - of the party seem to have left earlier, for on the ladies being impeded by - the crush in the vestibule, a stranger, named Mr. Macnamara, of Lincoln's - Inn, proffered his services to help them to get to the carriage. Miss Reay - thanked him, took his arm, and the crowd opened for them in some measure. - It quickly opened wider under a more acute persuasion a few seconds later, - when the morose gentleman in black pushed his way among the people until - he was within a few feet of the lady and her escort. Only for a second did - he pause—certainly he spoke no word to Miss Reay or any one else—before - he pulled a pistol from his pocket and fired almost point-blank at her - before any one could knock up his hand. Immediately afterwards he turned a - second pistol against his own forehead and pulled the trigger, and fell to - the ground. - </p> - <p> - The scene that followed can easily be imagined. Every woman present - shrieked, except Miss Reay, who was supported by Mr. Macnamara. The - ghastly effects of the bullet were apparent not only upon the forehead of - the lady where it lodged, but upon the bespattered garments of every one - about the door, and upon the columns of the hall. Above the shrieks of the - terror-stricken people were heard the yells of the murderer, who lay on - the ground, hammering at his head with the butt end of his weapon, and - crying, “Kill me! Kill me!” - </p> - <p> - A Mr. Mahon, of Russell Street, who was said to be an apothecary, was the - first to lay a hand upon the wretched man. He wrested the pistol from his - grasp and prevented him from doing further mischief to himself. He was - quickly handed over to the police, and, with his unfortunate victim, was - removed to the Shakespeare Tavern, a surgeon named Bond being in prompt - attendance. It did not take long to find that Miss Reay had never breathed - after the shot had been fired at her; the bullet had smashed the skull and - passed through the brain. The man remained for some time unconscious, but - even before he recovered he was identified as James Hackman, a gentleman - who had been an officer in the army, and on retiring had taken Orders, - being admitted a priest of the Church of England scarcely a month before - his crime. There were rumours respecting his infatuation for Miss Reay, - and in a surprisingly short space of time, owing most likely to the - exertions of Signora Galli, the Italian whom Lord Sandwich had hired to be - her companion, the greater part of the romantic story of the wretched - man's life, as far as it related to Miss Reay, was revealed. - </p> - <p> - It formed a nine days' wonder during the spring of the same year (1779). - The grief displayed by Lord Sandwich on being made acquainted with the - circumstances of the murder was freely commented on, and the sympathy - which was felt for him may have diminished in some measure from his - unpopularity. The story told by Croker of the reception of the news by - Lord Sandwich is certainly not deficient in detail. “He stood as it were - petrified,” we are told, “till suddenly, seizing a candle, he ran upstairs - and threw himself on the bed, and in agony exclaimed, 'Leave me for a - while to myself, I could have borne anything but this!' The attendants - remained for a considerable time at the top of the staircase, till his - lordship rang the bell and ordered that they should all go to bed.” - </p> - <p> - Before his lordship left the scene of his grief in the morning Sir John - Fielding, the Bow Street magistrate, had arrived at the Shakespeare Tavern - from his house at Brompton, and, after a brief inquiry, ordered Hackman to - be taken to Tothill Fields Prison. In due course he was committed to - Newgate, and on April 16th his trial took place before Blackstone, the - Recorder. The facts of the tragedy were deposed to by several witnesses, - and the cause of the lady's death was certified by Mr. Bond, the surgeon. - The prisoner was then called on for his defence. He made a brief speech, - explaining that he would have pleaded guilty at once had he not felt that - doing so “would give an indication of contemning death, not suitable to my - present condition, and would in some measure make me accessory to a second - peril of my life. And I likewise thought,” he added, “that the justice of - my country ought to be satisfied by suffering my offence to be proved, and - the fact to be established by evidence.” - </p> - <p> - This curious affectation of a finer perception of the balance of justice - than is possessed by most men was quite characteristic of this man, as was - also his subsequent expression of his willingness to submit to the - sentence of the court. His counsel endeavoured to show that he had been - insane from the moment of his purchasing his pistols until he had - committed the deed for which he was being tried—he did not say - anything about “a wave of insanity,” however, though that picturesque - phrase would have aptly described the nature of his plea. He argued that a - letter which was found in the prisoner's pocket, and in which suicide only - was threatened, should be accepted as proof that he had no intention of - killing Miss Reay when he went to the theatre. - </p> - <p> - The Recorder, of course, made short work of such a plea. He explained to - the jury that “for a plea of insanity to be successful it must be shown - not merely that it was a matter of fits and starts, but that it was a - definite thing—a total loss of reason and incapability of reason.” - Referring to the letter, he said that it seemed to him to argue a coolness - and premeditation incompatible with such insanity as he described. - </p> - <p> - The result was, as might have been anticipated, the jury, without leaving - the box, found Hackman guilty, and he was sentenced to be hanged. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Boswell, who was nearly as fond of hearing death-sentences pronounced - as he was of seeing them carried out, was present in the court during the - trial, and to him Mr. Booth, the brother-in-law of the prisoner, applied—he - himself had been too greatly agitated to be able to remain in the court—for - information as to how Hackman had deported himself, and Boswell was able - to assure him that he had behaved “as well, sir, as you or any of his - friends could wish; with decency, propriety, and in such a manner as to - interest every one present. He might have pleaded that he shot Miss Reay - by accident, but he fairly told the truth that in a moment of frenzy he - did intend it.” - </p> - <p> - While he was in the condemned cell at Newgate he received a message from - Lord Sandwich to the effect that if he wished for his life, he (Lord - Sandwich) had influence with the King, and might succeed in obtaining a - commutation of his sentence. Hackman replied that he had no wish to live, - but he implored his lordship to give him such assurance that those whom - Miss Reay had left behind her would be carefully looked after, as would, - on meeting her in another world, enable him to make this pleasing - communication to her. - </p> - <p> - He spent the few days that remained to him in writing fervid letters to - his friends and in penning moralisings, in a style which was just the - smallest degree more pronounced than that which was fashionable at his - period—the style of the sentimental hero of Richardson and his - inferior followers. - </p> - <p> - His execution at Tyburn attracted the most enormous crowds ever seen upon - such an occasion. The carriage in which the wretched man was conveyed to - the gibbet could only proceed at a walking pace; but still, the vehicle - which followed it, containing the Earl of Carlisle and James Boswell, - arrived in good time for the final scene of this singular tragedy, which - for weeks, as the Countess of Ossory wrote to George Selwyn, was the sole - topic of conversation. - </p> - <p> - And, as a matter of course, Horace Walpole had something to communicate to - one of his carefully-selected correspondents. Oddly enough it was to a - parson he wrote to express the opinion that he was still uncertain - “whether our clergy are growing Mahometans or not”; adding sagely, “they - certainly are not what they profess themselves; but as you and I should - not agree, perhaps, in assigning the same defects to them, I will not - enter on a subject which I have promised you to drop, all I allude to now - is the shocking murder of Miss Reay by a divine. In my own opinion we are - growing more fit for Bedlam than for Mahomet's paradise. The poor - criminal, I am persuaded, is mad, and the misfortune is the law does not - know how to define the shades of madness; and thus there are twenty - out-pensioners of Bedlam for one that is confined.” - </p> - <p> - Most persons will come to the conclusion that the judge who tried Hackman - made a most successful attempt to expound to the jury exactly where the - law drew a line in differentiating between the man who should be sent to - Bedlam and the man who should be sent to Tyburn, and will agree with the - justice of the law that condemned to the gallows this divine of three - weeks' standing for committing an atrocious crime, even though the chances - are that Hackman spoke the truth when he affirmed that he had brought his - pistols down to the theatre with no more felonious intent than to blow out - his own brains in the presence of the lady and to fall dead at her feet. - At the same time one is not precluded from agreeing with Walpole's opinion - that the people of his period were growing more fit for Bedlam than for - Eblis. - </p> - <p> - The truth is that an extraordinary wave of what was called “sensibility” - was passing over England at that time. It was a wave of sentimentality—that - maudlin sentimentality which was the exquisite characteristic of the hero - and heroine of almost every novel that attained to any degree of success. - To people who have formed their ideas of the latter half of the eighteenth - century from studying Boswell's <i>Life of Johnson</i>, every page of - which shows a healthy common sense; or from the plates of Hogarth—robust - even to a point of vulgarity—it would seem incredible that there - should exist in England at practically the same time a cult of the maudlin - and the lachrymose. Such a cult had, however, obtained so great a hold on - a large section of society that all the satire of Smollett, Sterne, and - Goldsmith, was unable to ridicule it out of existence. - </p> - <p> - And the worst of the matter was that the types of these weeping - sentimentalists were not unreal. They began by being unreal, but in the - course of a short time they became real, the fact being that people in all - directions began to frame their conduct and their conversation upon these - flaccid creatures of the unhealthy fancy of third-rate novelists and - fourth-rate poetasters. More than once, it may be remarked, even in our - own time “movements” have had their origin in the fancy of a painter—in - one case of a subtle caricaturist. An artist possessed of a distorted - sense of what is beautiful in woman has been able to set a certain fashion - in the unreal, until people were well-nigh persuaded that it was the - painter who had taken the figures in his pictures from the persons who had - simply sought a cheap notoriety by adopting the pose and the dress of the - scraggy posturantes for whose anatomy he was responsible. - </p> - <p> - So it was that, when certain novel-writers in the eighteenth century, - having no experience of the life which they attempted to depict, brought - forth creatures out of their own unhealthy imaginations, and placed them - before their readers as types of heroes and heroines, the public never - failed to include quite a number of readers who were ready to live up to - all those essentials that constituted the personages of the fiction. - </p> - <p> - And not alone over England had the sighs of a perpetually sighing hero and - heroine sent a lachrymose flood; France and Germany, if not actually - inundated, were at least rendered humid by its influence. <i>The Sorrows - of Werther</i> was only one of the many books which helped on the cult of - the sentimental, and it was as widely read in England as in Germany. - Gessner's <i>Death of Abel</i> had an enormous vogue in its English - translation. The boarding-school version of the tale of Abelard and - Heloise was also much wept over both in France and Germany; and the true - story of James Hackman and Martha Reay, as recorded by the correspondence - of the pair, published shortly after the last scene in the tragedy had - been enacted, and reissued with connecting notes some twelve years ago, - might pass only as a somewhat crude attempt to surpass these masterpieces - of fancy-woven woes. James and Martha might have been as happy as - thousands of other Jameses and Marthas have been, but they chose to - believe that the Fates were bothering themselves with this particular case - of James and Martha—they chose to feel that they were doomed to a - life of sorrowful love—at any rate, this was Martha's notion—and - they kept on exchanging emotional sentiments until James's poor head gave - way, and he sought to end up their romance in accordance with the mode of - the best models, stretching himself a pallid corpse at the feet of his - Martha; but then it was that Fate put out a meddlesome finger, and so - caused the scene of the last chapter to take place at Tyburn. - </p> - <p> - The romance of Mr. Hackman and Miss Reay would never have taken place, if - Lord Sandwich had been as exemplary a husband as George III or Dr. Johnson - or Edmund Burke—the only exemplary husbands of the eighteenth - century that one can recall at a moment's notice. Unhappily his lordship - was one of the many examples of the unexemplary husband of that period. If - the Earl of Chesterfield advanced the ill-treatment of a wife to one of - the fine arts, it may be said that the Earl of Sandwich made it one of the - coarse. He was brutal in his treatment of the Countess, and never more so - than when he purchased the pretty child that Miss Reay must have been at - the age of thirteen, and had her educated to suit his tastes. He went - about the transaction with the same deliberation as a gourmand might - display in ordering his dinner. He was extremely fond of music, so he had - the child's education in this direction carefully attended to. His place - at Hinchinbrook had been the scene of the performance of several - oratorios, his lordship taking his place in the orchestra at the - kettledrums; and he hoped that by the time he should have his purchase - sent home, her voice would be equal to the demands put upon it by the most - exacting of the sacred soprano music of Handel or Gluck. - </p> - <p> - As it turned out he was not disappointed. Martha Reay, when she went to - live at Hinchinbrook at the age of eighteen, showed herself to be a most - accomplished young lady, as she certainly was a very charming one. She was - found to possess a lovely voice, and was quite fitted to take her place, - not merely in his lordship's music-room, but also in his drawing-room to - which he advanced her. To say that she was treated as one of his - lordship's family would be to convey a wrong impression, considering how - he treated the principal member of his family, but certainly he introduced - her to his guests, and she took her place at his table at dinner parties. - He even put her next to the wife of a bishop upon one occasion, feeling - sure that she would captivate that lady, and as it turned out, his - anticipations were fully realised; only the bishop's lady, on making - inquiries later on, protested that she was scandalised by being placed in - such a position as permitted of her yielding to the fascinations of a - young person occupying a somewhat equivocal position in the household. - </p> - <p> - It was when she was at Hinchinbrook, in October, 1775, that Miss Reay met - the man who was to play so important a part in her life—and death. - Cradock, the “country gentleman,” tells in his <i>Memoirs</i> the story of - the first meeting of the two. Lord Sandwich was anxious that a friend of - his own should be elected to a professorship at Cambridge, and Cradock, - having a vote, was invited to use it on behalf of his lordship's - candidate, and to stay for a night at Hinchinbrook on his way back to - London. He travelled in Lord Sandwich's coach, and when in the act of - driving through the gateway at Hinchinbrook, it overtook a certain Major - Reynolds and another officer who was stationed on recruiting duty in the - neighbourhood. Lord Sandwich, being acquainted with Reynolds, dismounted - and invited him and his friend to a family dinner at his lordship's place - that evening. Major Reynolds expressed his appreciation of this act of - courtesy, and introduced his friend as Captain Hackman. The party was a - simple affair. - </p> - <p> - It consisted of Lord Sandwich, Miss Reay, another lady, the two officers, - and Mr. Cradock. After coffee had been served two rubbers of whist were - played, and the party broke up. - </p> - <p> - This was the first meeting of Hackman and Miss Reay. They seem to have - fallen in love immediately, each with the other, for the first letter in - the correspondence, written in December, 1775, contains a good deal that - suggests the adolescence of a passion. Hackman was a man of education and - some culture, and he showed few signs of developing into that maudlin - sentimentalist who corresponded with the lady a year or two later. He was - but twenty-three years of age, the son of a retired officer in the navy, - who had sent him to St. John's College, Cambridge, and afterwards bought - him a commission in the 68th Foot. He was probably only an ensign when he - was stationed at Huntingdon, but being in charge of the recruiting party, - enjoyed the temporary rank of captain. - </p> - <p> - He must have had a pretty fair conceit of his own ability as a - correspondent, for he kept a copy of his love letters. Of course, there is - no means of ascertaining if he kept copies of all that he ever wrote; he - may have sent off some in the hot passion of the moment, but those which - passed into the hands of his brother-in-law and were afterwards published, - were copies which he had retained. Miss Reay was doubtless discreet enough - to destroy the originals before they had a chance of falling into the - hands of Lord Sandwich. It is difficult for us who live in this age of - scrawls and “correspondence cards” to imagine the existence of that - enormous army of letter-writers who flourished their quills in the - eighteenth century, for the entertainment of their descendants in the - nineteenth and twentieth; but still more difficult is it to understand - how, before the invention of any mechanical means of reproducing - manuscript, these voluminous correspondents first made a rough draft of - every letter, then corrected and afterwards copied it, before sending it—securing - a frank from a friendly Member of Parliament—to its destination. - </p> - <p> - Superlatively difficult is it to imagine an ardent lover sitting down to - transcribe into the pages of a notebook the outpourings of his passion. - But this is what Ensign Hackman did, although so far as the consequences - of his love-making were concerned, he is deserving of a far higher place - among great lovers than Charlotte's Werther, or Mr. Swinburne's Dolores. - Charlotte we know “went on cutting bread and butter” after the death of - her honourable lover; but poor little Miss Reay was the victim of the - passion which she undoubtedly fanned into a flame of madness. Ensign - Hackman made copies of his love-letters, and we are grateful to him, for - by their aid we can perceive the progress of his disease. They are like - the successive pictures in a biograph series lately exhibited at a - conversazione of the Royal Society, showing the development of a blossom - into a perfect flower. We see by the aid of these letters how he gave way - under the attack of what we should now call the bacillus of that maudlin - sentimentality which was in the air in his day. - </p> - <p> - He began his love-letters like a gallant officer, but ended them in the - strain of the distracted curate who had been jilted just when he has laid - down the cork lino in the new study and got rid of the plumbers. He wrote - merrily of his “Corporal Trim,” who was the bearer of a “billet” from her. - “He will be as good a soldier to Cupid as to Mars, I dare say. And Mars - and Cupid are not now to begin their acquaintance, you know.” Then he goes - on to talk in a fine soldierly strain of the drum “beating for volunteers - to Bacchus. In plain English, the drum tells me dinner is ready, for a - drum gives us bloody-minded heroes an appetite for eating as well as for - fighting.... Adieu—whatever hard service I may have after dinner, no - quantity of wine shall make me let drop or forget my appointment with you - tomorrow. We certainly were not seen yesterday, for reasons I will give - you.” - </p> - <p> - This letter was written on December 7th, and it was followed by another - the next day, and a still longer one the day following. In fact, Corporal - Trim must have been kept as busy as his original in the service of Uncle - Toby, during the month of December, his duty being to receive the lady's - letters, as well as to deliver the gentleman's, and he seems to have been - equally a pattern of fidelity. - </p> - <p> - Hackman's letters at this time were models of good taste, with only the - smallest amount of swagger in them. His intentions were strictly - honourable, and they were not concealed within any cocoon of sentimental - phraseology. One gathers from his first letters that he was a simple and - straightforward gentleman, who, having fallen pretty deeply in love with a - young woman, seeks to make her his wife at the earliest possible moment. - Unfortunately however, the lady had fallen under the influence of the - prevailing affectation, and her scheme of life did not include a - commonplace marriage with a subaltern in a marching regiment. One might be - disposed to say that she knew when she was well off. The aspiration to be - made “a respectable woman” by marriage in a church was not sufficiently - strong in her to compel her to sacrifice the many good things with which - she was surrounded, in order to realise it. But, of course, she was ready - to pose as a miserable woman, linked to a man whom she did not love, but - too honourable to leave him, and far too thoughtful for the career of the - man whom she did love with all her soul ever to become a burden to him. - She had read the ballad of “Auld Robin Gray”—she quoted it in full - in one of her letters—and she was greatly interested to find how - closely her case resembled that of the wife in the poem. She had brought - herself to think of the man who had bought her just as he would buy a - peach tree, or a new tulip, as her “benefactor.” Did she not owe to him - the blessing of a good education, and the culture of her voice, her - knowledge of painting—nay, her “keep” for several years, and her - introduction to the people of quality who visited at Hinchinbrook and at - the Admiralty? She seemed to think it impossible for any one to doubt that - Lord Sandwich had acted toward her with extraordinary generosity, and that - she would be showing the most contemptible ingratitude were she to forsake - so noble a benefactor. But all the same she found Hinchinbrook intolerably - dull at times, and she was so pleased at the prospect of having a lover, - that she came to fancy that she loved the first one who turned up. - </p> - <p> - She was undoubtedly greatly impressed by the ballad of “Auld Robin Gray,” - and she at once accepted the rôle of the unhappy wife, only she found it - convenient to modify one rather important line— - </p> - <p> - “I fain would think o' Jamie, but that would be a sin.” - </p> - <p> - She was fain to think on her Jamie whether it was a sin or not, but she - did so without having the smallest intention of leaving her Auld Robin - Gray. So whimsical an interpretation of the poem could scarcely occur to - any one not under the influence of the sentimental malady of the day; but - it served both for Miss Reay and her Jamie. They accepted it, and became - deeply sensible of its pathos as applied to themselves. Ensign Hackman - assured her that he was too high-minded to dream of making love to her - under the roof of Lord Sandwich, her “benefactor.” - </p> - <p> - “Our love, the inexorable tyrant of our hearts,” he wrote, “claims his - sacrifices, but does not bid us insult his lordship's walls with it. How - civilly did he invite me to Hinchinbrook in October last, though an - unknown recruiting officer. How politely himself first introduced me to - himself! Often has the recollection made me struggle with my passion. - Still it shall restrain it on this side honour.” - </p> - <p> - This was in reply to her remonstrance, and probably she regretted that she - had been so strenuous in pointing out to him how dreadful it would be were - she to show herself wanting in gratitude to Lord Sandwich. She wanted to - play the part of Jenny, the lawful wife of Robin Gray, with as few - sacrifices as possible, and she had no idea of sacrificing young Jamie, - the lover, any more than she had of relinquishing the many privileges she - enjoyed at Hinchinbrook by making Jamie the lover into Jamie the husband. - </p> - <p> - It is very curious to find Hackman protesting to her all this time that - his passions are “wild as the torrent's roar,” apologising for making his - simile water when the element most congenial to his nature was fire. - “Swift had water in his brain. I have a burning coal of fire; your hand - can light it up to rapture, rage, or madness. Men, real men, have never - been wild enough for my admiration, it has wandered into the ideal world - of fancy. Othello (but he should have put himself to death in his wife's - sight, not his wife), Zanga are my heroes. Milk-and-water passions are - like sentimental comedy.” - </p> - <p> - Read in the light of future events this letter has a peculiar - significance. Although he became more sentimental than the hero of any of - the comedies at which he was sneering, he was still able to make an honest - attempt to act up to his ideal of Othello. “<i>He should have put himself - to death in his wife's sight</i>.” It will be remembered that he pleaded - at his trial that he had no design upon the life of Miss Reay, but only - aimed at throwing himself dead at her feet. - </p> - <p> - Equally significant are some of the passages in the next letters which he - wrote to her. They show that even within the first month of his - acquaintance with his Martha his mind had a peculiar bent. He was giving - his attention to Hervey's <i>Meditations</i>, and takes pains to point out - to her two passages which he affirms to be as fine as they are natural. - Did ever love-letter contain anything so grisly? “A beam or two finds its - way through the grates (of the vault), and reflects a feeble glimness from - the nails of the coffins.” This is one passage—ghastly enough in all - conscience. But it is surpassed by the others which he quotes: “Should the - haggard skeleton lift a clattering hand.” Respecting the latter he - remarks, “I know not whether the epithet 'haggard' might not be spared.” - It is possible that the lady on receiving this curious love-letter was - under the impression that the whole passage might have been spared her. - </p> - <p> - But he seems to have been supping off horrors at this time, for he goes on - to tell a revolting story about the black hole of Calcutta; and then he - returns with zest to his former theme of murder and suicide. He had been - reading the poem of “Faldoni and Teresa,” by Jerningham, and he criticises - it quite admirably. “The melancholy tale will not take up three words, - though Mr. J. has bestowed upon it 335 melancholy lines,” he tells the - young lady. “Two lovers, meeting with an invincible object to their union, - determined to put an end to their existence with pistols. The place they - chose for the execution of their terrible project was a chapel that stood - at a little distance from the house. They even decorated the altar for the - occasion, they paid a particular attention to their own dress. Teresa was - dressed in white with rose-coloured ribbands. The same coloured ribbands - were tied to the pistols. Each held the ribband that was fastened to the - other's trigger, which they drew at a certain signal.” His criticism of - the poem includes the remark that Faldoni and Teresa might be prevented - from making proselytes by working up their affecting story so as to take - off the edge of the dangerous example they offer. This, he says, the - author has failed to do, and he certainly proves his point later by - affirming that “while I talk of taking off the dangerous edge of their - example, they have almost listed me under their bloody banners.” - </p> - <p> - This shows the morbid tendency of the man's mind, though it must be - confessed that nearly all the remarks which he makes on ordinary topics - are eminently sane and well considered. - </p> - <p> - A few days later we find him entering with enthusiasm into a scheme, - suggested by her, of meeting while she was on her way to London, and it is - plain from the rapturous letter which he wrote to her that their plot was - successful; but when she reached town she had a great deal to occupy her, - so that it is not strange she should neglect him for a time. The fact was, - as Cradock states in his <i>Memoirs</i>, that the unpopularity of Lord - Sandwich and Miss Reay had increased during the winter to such a point - that it became dangerous for them to show themselves together in public. - Ribald ballads were sung under the windows of the Admiralty, and Cradock - more than once heard some strange insults shouted out by people in the - park. It was at this time that she spoke to Cradock about appearing in - opera, and he states that it reached his ears that she had been offered - three thousand pounds and a free benefit (a possible extra five hundred) - for one season's performances. - </p> - <p> - Now if she had really been in love with Hackman this was surely the moment - when she should have gone to him, suffered him to marry her, and thus made - up by a few years on the lyric stage for any deficiency in his fortune or - for the forfeiture of any settlement her “benefactor” might have been - disposed to make in her favour. But she seems to have shown a remarkable - amount of prudence throughout the whole of her intrigue, and she certainly - had a premonition of the danger to which she was exposed by her connection - with him. “Fate stands between us,” she wrote in reply to one of his - impetuous upbraiding letters. “We are doomed to be wretched. And I, every - now and then, think some terrible catastrophe will be the result of our - connection. 'Some dire event,' as Storge prophetically says in <i>Jephtha</i>, - 'hangs over our heads.' Oh, that it were no crime to quit this world like - Faldoni and Teresa... by your hand I could even die with pleasure. I know - I could.” - </p> - <p> - An extraordinary premonition, beyond doubt, to write thus, and one is - tempted to believe that she had ceased for a moment merely to play the - part of the afflicted heroine. But her allusion to Jephtha and, later in - the same letter, to a vow which she said she had made never to marry him - so long as she was encumbered with debts, alleging that this was the - “insuperable reason” at which she had hinted on a previous occasion, makes - one suspicious. One feels that if she had not been practising the music of - <i>Jephtha</i> she would not have thought about her vow not to marry him - until she could go to him free from debt. Why, she had only to sing three - times to release herself from that burden. - </p> - <p> - Some time afterwards she seems to have suggested such a way of getting - over her difficulties, but it is pretty certain she knew that he would - never listen to her. Her position at this time was undoubtedly one of - great difficulty. Hackman was writing to her almost every day, and - becoming more high-minded and imperious in every communication, and she - was in terror lest some of his letters should fall into the hands of Lord - Sandwich. She was ready to testify to his lordship's generosity in - educating her to suit his own tastes, but she suspected its strength to - withstand such a strain as would be put on it if he came upon one of Mr. - Hackman's impetuous letters. - </p> - <p> - She thought that when she had induced her lover to join his regiment in - Ireland she had extricated herself from one of the difficulties that - surrounded her; and had she been strong enough to refrain from writing to - the man, she might have been saved from the result of her indiscretion. - Unhappily for herself, however, she felt it incumbent on her to resume her - correspondence with him. Upon one occasion she sent him a bank-note for - fifty pounds, but this he promptly returned with a very proper letter. - Indeed, all his letters from Ireland are interesting, being far less - impassioned than those which she wrote to him. Again she mentioned having - read <i>Werther</i>, and he promptly begged of her to send the book to - him. “If you do not,” he adds, “I positively never will forgive you. - Nonsense, to say it will make me unhappy, or that I shall not be able to - read it! Must I pistol myself because a thick-blooded German has been fool - enough to set the example, or because a German novelist has feigned such a - story?” - </p> - <p> - But it would appear that she knew the man's nature better than he himself - did, for she quickly replied: “The book you mention is just the only book - you should never read. On my knees I beg that you will never, never read - it!” But if he never read <i>Werther</i> he was never without some story - of the same type to console him for its absence, and he seems to have - gloated over the telling of all to her. One day he is giving her the - particulars of a woman who committed suicide in Enniskillen because she - married one man while she was in love with another. His comment is, “She, - too, was <i>Jenny</i> and had her <i>Robin Gray</i>.” His last letter from - Ireland was equally morbid. In it he avowed his intention, if he were not - granted leave of absence for the purpose of visiting her, of selling out - of his regiment. He kept his promise but too faithfully. He sold out and - crossed to England without delay, arriving in London only to find Miss - Reay extremely ill. - </p> - <p> - His attempts to cheer her convalescence cannot possibly be thought very - happy. He describes his attendance upon the occasion of the hanging of Dr. - Dodd, the clergyman who had committed forgery; and this reminds him that - he was unfortunately out of England when one Peter Tolosa was hanged for - killing his sweetheart, so that he had no chance of taking part in this - ceremony as well, although, he says, unlike George S.—meaning Selwyn—he - does not make a profession of attending executions; adding that “the - friend and historian of Paoli hired a window by the year, looking out on - the Grass Market in Edinburgh, where malefactors were hanged.” This - reference to Boswell is somewhat sinister. All this letter is devoted to a - minute account of the execution of Dodd, and another deals with the - revolting story of the butchery of Monmouth, which he suggests to her as - an appropriate subject for a picture. - </p> - <p> - At this time he was preparing for ordination, and, incidentally, for the - culmination of the tragedy of his life. He had undoubtedly become a - monomaniac, his “subject” being murder and suicide. His last lurid story - was of a footman who, “having in vain courted for some time a servant - belonging to Lord Spencer, at last caused the banns to be put up at church - without her consent, which she forbad. Being thus disappointed he - meditated revenge, and, having got a person to write a letter to her - appointing a meeting, he contrived to waylay her, and surprise her in Lord - Spencer's park. On her screaming he discharged a pistol at her and made - his escape.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh love, love, canst thou not be content to make fools of thy slaves,” he - wrote, “to make them miserable, to make them what thou pleasest? Must thou - also goad them on to crimes?” - </p> - <p> - Only two more letters did he write to his victim. He took Orders and - received the living of Wiveton, in Norfolk, seeming to take it for granted - that, in spite of her repeated refusals to marry him, she would relent - when she heard of the snug parsonage. This was acting on precisely the - same lines as the butler of whom he wrote. When he found that Miss Reay - was determined to play the part taken by the servant in the same story, - the wretched man hurried up to London and bought his pistols. - </p> - <p> - The whole story is a pitiful one. That the man was mad no one except a - judge and jury could doubt. That his victim was amply punished for her - indiscretion in leading him on even the strictest censor of conduct must - allow. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE COMEDY AT DOWNING STREET - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was possibly - because she was still conscious of having occupied the commanding position - of one of the royal bridesmaids, in spite of the two years that had - elapsed since King George III married his homely Mecklenburg princess, - that Lady Susan Fox-Strangways, the daughter of the first Earl of - Ilchester, became so autocratic during the rehearsal of the Downing Street - Comedy. A pretty fair amount of comedy as well as tragedy—with a - preponderance of farce—has been played in the same street from time - to time, but the special piece in which Lady Susan was interesting herself - was to be played at the house of Sir Francis Délavai, and its name was <i>The - School for Lovers</i>. It had been originally produced by Mr. David - Garrick at Drury Lane Theatre, an occasion upon which a young Irish - gentleman called O'Brien, who had disgraced himself by becoming an actor, - had attained great distinction. The piece had drawn the town during its - protracted run of eight nights, and Sir Francis Delaval's company of - amateurs perceived that it was just the play for them. It was said by the - critics that, for the first time for many years, an actor had been found - capable of playing the part of a gentleman of fashion as if to the manner - born. They referred to the acting of Mr. O'Brien, about whose gentlemanly - qualities there could be no doubt. Even his own brother actors affirmed - that no such perfect gentleman as that of O'Brien's creating had ever been - seen on the stage. So said Lee Lewes. Another excellent judge, named - Oliver Goldsmith, declared that William O'Brien was an elegant and - accomplished actor. - </p> - <p> - Of course this was the character, every aspiring amateur affirmed, to - which a gentleman-born would do ample justice. When O'Brien, who was an - actor, had represented the part with distinction, how much better would it - not be played by the real thing—the real gentleman who might - undertake it? - </p> - <p> - That was the very plausible reasoning of the “real gentleman” who hoped to - win applause by appearing in O'Brien's part in the comedy at Downing - Street. But when the piece was rehearsed with the young Viscount B———— - in the character, Lady Susan threw up her hands, and threatened to throw - up her part as well. - </p> - <p> - “Lud!” she cried to her associates in the temporary green-room, “Lud! you - would fancy that he had never seen a gentleman of fashion in his life! Why - cannot he act himself instead of somebody else? When he comes from - rehearsal he is the very character itself, but the moment he begins to - speak his part he is no more the part than the link-boy.” - </p> - <p> - Every one present agreed with her—the young gentlemen who were - anxious to have the reversion of the part were especially hearty in their - acquiescence. - </p> - <p> - But there could be no doubt about the matter, Lord B——— - was deplorably incompetent. He was not even consistently incompetent, for - in one scene in the second act, where there was an element of boisterous - humour, he was tame and spiritless; but in the love-making scene, which - brought the third act to a close, he was awkward, and so anxious to show - his spirit that he became as vulgar as any country clown making advances - to his Meg or Polly. - </p> - <p> - And of course he felt all the time that he was doing amazingly well. - </p> - <p> - Lady Susan was angry at first, and then she became witty. Her sallies, - directed against him in every scene, were, however, lost upon him, no - matter how calculated they were to sting him; he was too self-satisfied to - be affected by any criticism that might be offered to him by man or woman. - </p> - <p> - And then Lady Susan was compelled to abandon her wit and to become - natural. She flounced off the stage when her lover (in the play) was more - than commonly loutish, and burst into tears of vexation in the arms of her - dear friend Lady Sarah Lennox. - </p> - <p> - “I never had such a chance until now,” she cried. “Never, oh, never! The - part might have been written for me; and I implore of you, Sarah, to tell - me candidly if Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Clive could act it with more - sprightliness than I have shown in that last scene?” - </p> - <p> - “Impossible, my sweet Sue!” cried her friend. “I vow that I have never - seen anything more arch than your mock rejection of your lover, only to - draw him on.” - </p> - <p> - “You dear creature!” cried Lady Sue. “You are a true friend and a - competent critic, Sarah. But what signifies my acting, perfect though it - be, when that—that idiot fails to respond in any way to the spirit - which I display? The whole play will be damned, and people who know - nothing of the matter will spread the report that 'twas my lack of power - that brought about the disaster.” - </p> - <p> - “They cannot be so vile,” said Lady Sarah soothingly. - </p> - <p> - “But they will. I know how vile some of our friends can be when it suits - them, and when they are jealous of the acquirements of another. They will - sneer at my best scenes—oh, the certainty that they will do so will - be enough to make my best scenes fail. But no! they shall not have the - chance of maligning me. I will go to Sir Francis and resign my part. Yes, - I will! I tell you I shall!” - </p> - <p> - The indignant young lady, with something of the stage atmosphere still - clinging to her, flung herself with the gesture of a tortured heroine, - proud and passionate, toward the door of the room to which the two ladies - had retired. But before she had her fingers on the handle the door opened - and Sir Francis Délavai entered. - </p> - <p> - “A thousand pardons, my dear ladies,” he cried, bowing to the carpet. “I - had forgot for the moment that when a man turns his house into a theatre - he can call no room in it his own. But I should be a churl to suggest that - any room in my poor house would not be made beautiful by the presence of - your ladyships. After all, this is only my library, and a library is only - a polite name for a dormitory, and a—but what is this? I said not a - lacrymatory.” - </p> - <p> - He was looking curiously into Lady Susan's face, which retained the marks - of her recent tears. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Sir Francis, you have come in good time,” said Lady Sarah boldly. - “Here is this poor child weeping her heart out because she is condemned to - play the part of—of what's her name?—the lady in the play who - had to make love to an ass?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, mine is a far worse plight,” said Lady Susan, pouting. “It were - bad enough for one to have to make love to an ass, but how much worse is't - not for one to be made love to by—by—my Lord B———?” - </p> - <p> - “That were a calculation far above my powers,” said Sir Francis. “My lord - has never made love to me, but if rumour and the gossip at White's speak - even a soupçon of truth, his lordship is well practised in the art—if - love-making is an art.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, 'tis a combination of all the arts,” said Lady Susan; “and yet my - lord cannot simulate the least of them, which is that of being a - gentleman, when he makes love to me on the stage, through the character of - Captain Bellaire in our play.” - </p> - <p> - “To be plain, Sir Francis,” said Lady Sarah, as though the other had not - been plain enough in her explanation, “To be plain, Lady Susan, rather - than be associated in any measure with such a failure as your theatricals - are bound to be if my Lord B——— remains in the part of - her lover, has made up her mind to relinquish her part. But believe me, - sir, she does so with deep regret.” - </p> - <p> - “Hence these tears,” said Sir Francis. “My poor child, you are indeed in a - pitiable state if you are so deeply chagrined at a clumsy love-making - merely on the stage.” - </p> - <p> - “Merely on the stage?” cried Lady Susan. “Lud, Sir Francis, have you not - the wit to see that to be made love to indifferently on the stage is far - more unendurable than it would be in private, since in the one case you - have the eyes of all the people upon you, whereas in the other case you - are as a rule alone?” - </p> - <p> - “As a rule,” said Sir Francis. “Yes, I perceive the difference, and I - mingle mine own turgid tears with your limpid drops. But we cannot spare - you from our play.” - </p> - <p> - “No, you cannot, Sir Francis, but you can spare Lord B———, - and so can the play,” suggested Lady Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “What, you would have me turn him out of the part?” said Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - “Even so—but with politeness,” said Lady Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps your ladyship has solved the problem how to kick a man out of - your house politely. If so, I would willingly pay you for the recipe; I - have been in search of it all my life,” said Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - “Surely, sir, if you kick a man hard enough with your slippers on he will - leave your house as surely as if you wear the boots of a Life Guardsman,” - said Lady Susan timidly. - </p> - <p> - “I doubt it not, madam; but before trying such an experiment it would be - well to make sure that the fellow does not wear boots himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! Sir Francis. If a man were to beg leave to measure the thickness of - his enemy's soles before offering to kick him there would be very few - cases of assault and battery,” cried Lady Susan. - </p> - <p> - “That is good philosophy—see what we have come to—philosophy, - when we started talking of lovemaking,” said Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - “However we have digressed in conversation, sir, our minds remain - steadfast on the point round which we have been circling,” said Lady - Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “And that is———” - </p> - <p> - “That Lord B———must go.” - </p> - <p> - The door was thrown open and Lord B——— entered. - </p> - <p> - “A good preliminary—one must come before one goes,” whispered Sir - Francis to the ladies. - </p> - <p> - His lordship was evidently perturbed. He scarcely bowed either to Sir - Francis or the ladies. - </p> - <p> - “I was told that you had come hither, Sir Francis,” he said, “so I - followed you.” - </p> - <p> - “You do me honour, my lord,” said Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - “I took a liberty, sir; but this is not a time for punctilio. I have come - to resign my part in your play, sir,” said his lordship. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, surely not, my lord,” cried Sir Francis. “What would the <i>School - for Lovers</i> be without Bellaire, my lord? Why only now Lady Susan was - saying—what is it that your ladyship said?” - </p> - <p> - “It had something to do with philosophy and the sole of a grenadier,” said - Lady Sarah interposing. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, was it not that his lordship's impersonation made you think of a - scene from <i>Midsummer Night's Dream?</i>” said Sir Francis. “One of the - most beautiful of Shakespeare's plays, is't not, my lord?—fantasy - mingled with irony, an oasis of fairyland in the midst of a desert of - daily life.” - </p> - <p> - “I know nothing about your fairyland, sir, but I have been told within the - hour that her ladyship”—he bowed in the direction of Lady Susan—“has, - during the three rehearsals which we have had of the play, been sneering - in a covert way at my acting of the part of Bellaire, although to my face - she seemed delighted, and thus——” - </p> - <p> - “Are you sure that your informant was right in his interpretation of her - ladyship's words? Surely your lordship—a man of the world—would - have been sensible of every shade of her ladyship's meaning?” - </p> - <p> - “I have been told by one on whose judgment I can rely that Lady Susan was - speaking in sarcasm when she complimented me before the rest of the - company. I did not take her as doing so for myself, I must confess. I have - always believed—on insufficient evidence, I begin to fear—that - her ladyship was a discriminating critic—even now if she were to - assure me that she was not speaking in sarcasm——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, lud! he is relenting,” whispered Lady Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “Did you speak, madam?” said his lordship. - </p> - <p> - “I was protesting against a too early exercise of your lordship's - well-known spirit of forgiveness,” said her ladyship. - </p> - <p> - “I thank you, Lady Sarah; I am, I know, too greatly inclined to take a - charitable view of—of—Why, sink me if she, too, is not trying - to make me look ridiculous!” cried his lordship. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, my lord, I cannot believe that Lady Sarah would be at the pains to - do for you what you can so well do for yourself,” remarked Lady Susan. - </p> - <p> - His lordship looked at her—his mouth was slightly open—then he - gazed at the smiling features of the beautiful Lady Sarah, lastly at the - perfectly expressionless features of Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - “A plot—a plot!” he murmured. Then he struck a commonplace - theatrical attitude, the “exit attitude” of the man who tells you that his - time will come, though appearances are against him for the moment. He - pointed a firm forefinger at Lady Susan, saying: “I wash my hands clear of - you all. I have done with you and your plays. Get another man to fill my - place if you can.” - </p> - <p> - Then he rushed out through the open door. He seemed to have a shrewd - suspicion that if he were to wait another moment one at least of the girls - would have an effective answer to his challenge, and it is quite likely - that his suspicion was well founded. As it was, however, owing to his wise - precipitancy he heard no more than the pleasant laughter—it really - was pleasant laughter, though it did not sound so to him—of the two - girls. - </p> - <p> - But when the sound of the slamming of the hall-door reached the library - the laughter in that apartment suddenly ceased. Sir Francis Délavai looked - at each of the ladies, and both of them looked at him. For some moments no - word was exchanged between them. At last one of them spoke—it was, - strange to say, the man. - </p> - <p> - “This is vastly fine, ladies,” he remarked. “You have got rid of your <i>bête-noire</i>, - Lady Susan; that, I say, is vastly fine, but where are you to find a <i>bête-blanche</i> - to take his place?” - </p> - <p> - “Surely we can find some gentleman willing to act the part of Bellaire?” - said Lady Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, there is not like to be a lack of young gentlemen willing to take the - part, but we want not merely willingness, but competence as well; and the - piece must be played on Wednesday, even though the part of Bellaire be - left out,” said Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - Lady Susan looked blankly at the floor. She seemed ready to renew the - tears which she had wept on the shoulder of her friend a short time - before. - </p> - <p> - “Have I been too hasty?” she said. “Alas! I fear that I have been selfish. - I thought only of the poor figure that I should cut with such a lover—and - with all the world looking on, too! I should have given more thought to - your distress, Sir Francis.” - </p> - <p> - “Say no more, I pray of you; better have no play at all than one that all - our kind friends will damn with the utmost cordiality and good breeding,” - said Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - “True, sir, but think of the ladies' dresses!” said Lady Sarah. “What the - ladies say is, 'Better produce a play that will be cordially damned rather - than deprive us of our chance of displaying our new dresses.'” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens!” cried Sir Francis, “I had not thought of the new dresses. Lady - Susan, you will e'en have to face the anger of your sisters—'tis not - I that will tarry for such an event. I mean to fly to Bath or - Brighthelmstone, or perchance to Timbuctoo, until the storm be overpast.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay, 'tis not a time for jesting, sir; let us not look at the matter - from the standpoint of men, who do not stand but run away, let us be women - for once, and scheme,” said Lady Susan. - </p> - <p> - “That is woman's special province,” said Sir Francis. “Pray begin, my lady—'twill - be strange if your ladyship and Lady Sarah do not succeed in——” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! there is but one man in England who could play the part of Bellaire - on Wednesday,” cried Lady Sarah. “Ay, sir, and he is the only one in - England capable of playing it.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we shall have him on our stage if I should have to pay a thousand - pounds for his services,” said Sir Francis. “But where is he to be found?” - </p> - <p> - “Cannot you guess, sir?” asked Lady Sarah, smiling. - </p> - <p> - Sir Francis looked puzzled, but Lady Sue started and caught her friend by - the wrist. - </p> - <p> - “You do not mean——” she began. - </p> - <p> - “Lud! these girls! Here's a scheme if you will!” muttered Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, if you will, Sir Francis. You know that I mean Mr. O'Brien himself - and none other,” cried Lady Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “Impossible!” cried Lady Susan. “My father would never consent to my - acting in a play with a real actor—no, not even if he were Mr. - Garrick himself. How could you suggest such a thing, Sarah?” - </p> - <p> - “What, do you mean to tell me that you would refuse to act with Mr. - O'Brien?” asked Lady Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hear the child!” cried Lady Susan. “She asks me a question to which - she knows only one answer is possible, and looks all the time as though - she expected just the opposite answer!” - </p> - <p> - “I know well that there are a good many ladies who would give all that - they possess for the chance of acting with Mr. O'Brien, and you are among - the number, my dear,” laughed Lady Sarah. - </p> - <p> - “I dare not—I dare not. And yet——” murmured the other - girl. - </p> - <p> - Sir Francis had been lost in thought while the two had been bickering over - the body of O'Brien. He had walked across the room and seated himself for - some moments. Now he rose and held up a finger. - </p> - <p> - “Ladies, this is a serious matter for all of us,” he said. And he spoke - the truth to a greater depth than he was aware of. “'Tis a very serious - matter. If we get Mr. O'Brien to play the part, the piece will be the - greatest success of the day. If we fail to get him, our theatricals will - be damned to a certainty. Lady Susan, will you consent to play with him if - his name does not appear upon the bill?” - </p> - <p> - “But every one would know Mr. O'Brien,” she faltered, after a pause that - was overcharged with excitement. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, in fact; but no one will have official cognizance of him, and, as - you must know, in these matters of etiquette everything depends upon - official cognizance.” - </p> - <p> - “My father—” - </p> - <p> - “His lordship will have no <i>locus standi</i> in the case. He cannot take - notice of an act that is not officially recognisable,” suggested Sir - Francis, the sophist. - </p> - <p> - “If you assure me—— But is't true that Mr. O'Brien only ceased - to become a gentleman when he became an actor?” said Lady Susan. - </p> - <p> - “I have not heard that he relinquished the one part when he took up the - other,” said Sir Francis. “I wonder that you have not met him at the - houses of some of our friends—he is more popular even than Mr. - Garrick. The family of O'Brien——” - </p> - <p> - “All kings, I doubt not,” said Lady Susan. “There were a good many kings - in Ireland in the old days, I believe. I read somewhere that ninety-seven - kings were killed in one battle, and still there were quite enough left to - carry on the quarrels of the country. Oh, yes, there were plenty of kings, - and their descendants have—well, descended. Mr. O'Brien descended - pretty far when he became a play-actor.” - </p> - <p> - “If he condescends to take up the part of Bellaire at the eleventh hour to - pluck our theatricals out of the fire we shall have every reason to be - grateful to him,” said Sir Francis with a severe air of reproof. He was - beginning to be tired—as others in his place have been from time to - time—of the capriciousness of his company of amateurs. - </p> - <p> - “You are right, sir,” said Lady Sarah. “Come, my dear Sue, cease to give - yourself the airs of those ladies who, Mr. Garrick affirms, have been the - plague of his life. If Mr. O'Brien agrees to come to our rescue you should - have no feeling but of gratitude to him. Surely 'twere churlish on the - part of a damsel when a gallant knight rides up to her rescue to look at - his horse in the mouth.” - </p> - <p> - “I am thinking of my father,” said the other. “But I am disposed to accept - the risk of the situation. You will promise that his name will not appear - in the bills, Sir Francis?” - </p> - <p> - “I will promise to do my best to save you from the contamination of having - your name made as immortal as Mr. O'Brien's,” said Sir Francis. - </p> - <p> - Lady Sarah laughed, and so did her friend—after a pause sufficient - to allow the colour that had come to her face at the stinging reproof to - die away. - </p> - <p> - “I hope that you may catch your bird, sir—your eagle—your - Irish eagle.” - </p> - <p> - “If I could tell him that Lady Sarah Lennox was to be in the cast of the - play I should need no further lure for him,” said Sir Francis, making his - most exquisite bow to her. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, you overwhelm me,” said Lady Sarah, sinking in her most - ravishing courtesy. - </p> - <p> - Lady Susan coloured once more, and her foot played a noiseless tattoo on - the floor, for she perceived all that Sir Francis's compliment implied. - Lady Sarah was the most beautiful girl in England, while Lady Susan was - not even second to her, a fact of which she was as well aware as her - friends. - </p> - <p> - This was how Lady Susan Fox-Strangways first met Mr. O'Brien, the actor - whom Garrick had brought from Ireland in the year 1762. He good-naturedly - agreed to help Sir Francis Délavai in his extremity, and his ready Irish - tact enabled him to be the first to stipulate that his name should not - appear in the bills—a condition with which Sir Francis complied, - drawing a long breath. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. O'Brien,” he said, “should the stage ever fail you, a fortune awaits - you if you undertake the duty of teaching gentlemen the art of being a - gentleman.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, the moment that art enters the door the gentleman flies out by - the window,” said the actor. “It is Nature, not art, that makes a - gentleman.” - </p> - <p> - One can well believe that Lady Susan Fox-Strangways, with all the pride of - her connection with a peerage nearly ten years old, treated Mr. O'Brien's - accession to a place in the company of amateurs with some hauteur, though - it was said that she fell in love with him at once. On consideration, her - bearing of hauteur which we have ventured to assign to her, so far from - being incompatible with her having fallen in love with him, would really - be a natural consequence of such an accident, and the deeper she felt - herself falling the more she would feel it necessary to assert her - position, if only for the sake of convincing herself that it was - impossible for her to forget herself so far as to think of an Irish - play-actor as occupying any other position in regard to her than that of a - diversion for the moment. - </p> - <p> - It was equally a matter of course that Lady Sarah should have an instinct - of what was taking place. She had attended several of the rehearsals - previously in the capacity of adviser to her friend, for Lady Susan had a - high opinion of her critical capacity; but not until two rehearsals had - taken place with O'Brien as Bellaire was she able to resume her attendance - at Downing Street. Before half an hour had passed this astute lady had - seen, first, that O'Brien made every other man in the cast seem a lout; - and, secondly, that Lady Susan felt that every man in the world was a lout - by the side of O'Brien. - </p> - <p> - She hoped to discover what were the impressions of O'Brien, but she found - herself foiled: the man was too good an actor to betray himself. The - fervour which he threw into the character when making love to Lady Susan - had certainly the semblance of a real passion, but what did this mean more - than that Mr. O'Brien was a convincing actor? - </p> - <p> - When she arrived at this point in her consideration of the situation Lady - Sarah lost herself, and began to long with all her heart that the actor - were making love to her—taking her hand with that incomparable - devotion to—was it his art?—which he showed when Lady Susan's - hand was raised, with a passionate glance into her eyes, to his lips; - putting his arm about her waist, while his lips, trembling under the force - of the protestations of undying devotion which they were uttering, were - almost touching Lady Susan's ear. Before the love scene was over Lady - Sarah was in love with the actor, if not with the man, O'Brien. - </p> - <p> - So was every lady in the cast. O'Brien was the handsomest actor of the - day. He had been careful of his figure at a time when men of fashion lived - in such a way as made the preservation of a figure well-nigh impossible. - Every movement was grace itself with him, and the period was one in which - the costume of a man gave him every chance of at least imitating a - graceful man. All the others in the cast of the play seemed imitating the - gracefulness of O'Brien, and every man of them seemed a clown beside him. - They gave themselves countless graces, but he was grace itself. - </p> - <p> - Lady Sarah saw everything that was to be seen and said nothing. She was - wise. She knew that in due time her friend would tell her all there was to - be told. - </p> - <p> - She was not disappointed. The play was produced, and of course every one - recognised O'Brien in the part, although the bill—printed in gold - letters on a satin ground, with a charming allegorical design by Lady - Diana Spencer, showing a dozen dainty cupids going to school with satchels—stated - that Bellaire would be represented by “a gentleman.” - </p> - <p> - Equally as a matter of course a good many of the spectators affirmed that - it was intolerable that a play-actor should be smuggled into a company of - amateurs, some of them belonging to the best families. And then to attempt - a deception of the audience by suggesting that O'Brien was a gentleman—oh, - the thing was unheard of! So said some of the ladies, adding that they - thought it rather sad that Lady Susan was not better-looking. - </p> - <p> - But of the success of the entertainment there could not be a doubt. It was - the talk of the town for a month, and every one noticed—even her own - father—that Lady Susan was looking extremely thin and very pale. - </p> - <p> - Lady Sarah said that she had taken the diversion of the theatricals too - seriously. - </p> - <p> - “I saw it from the first, my dear Sue,” she said. - </p> - <p> - Sue sprang from her chair, and it would be impossible for any one to say - now that she was over pale. - </p> - <p> - “You saw it—you—what was it that you saw from the first?” she - cried. - </p> - <p> - Lady Sarah looked at her and laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that is it—what was it that I saw from the first?” she said. - “What I was going to say that I saw was simply that you were throwing - yourself too violently into the production of the play. That was why you - insisted on poor Lord B———'s getting his <i>congé</i>. - It was a mistake—I saw that also.” - </p> - <p> - “When did you see that?” - </p> - <p> - “When I saw you taking part in that love scene with Mr. O'Brien.” - </p> - <p> - “What mean you by that, Lady Sarah?” - </p> - <p> - “Exactly what you fancy I mean, Lady Susan.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Susan gazed at her blankly at first, then very pitifully. In another - moment she had flung herself on her knees at the feet of her friend and - was weeping in her lap. - </p> - <p> - The friend was full of sympathy. - </p> - <p> - “You poor child!” she murmured, “how could you help it? I vow that I - myself—yes, for some minutes—I was as deep in love with the - fellow as you yourself were. But, of course, you were with him longer—every - day. Lud! what a handsome rascal he is, to be sure. His lordship must take - you to the country without delay. Has the fellow tried to transfer the - character in the play beyond the footlights?” - </p> - <p> - “Never—never!” cried Susan. “Sir Francis was right—he is a - gentleman. That is the worst of it!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, lud! the worst of it? Are you mad, girl?” - </p> - <p> - “I am not mad now, but I know that I shall be if he remains a gentleman—if - he refrains from telling me that he loves me—or at least of giving - me a chance of telling him that I love him. That would be better than - nothing—'twould be such a relief. I really do not think that I want - anything more than to be able to confess to him that I love him—that - 'tis impossible that I should love another.” - </p> - <p> - “The sooner you go to the country the better 'twill be for yourself and - all of us—his lordship especially. Good heavens, child, you must be - mad! Do you fancy that his lordship would give his consent to your - marriage with a strolling player, let him be as handsome as Beelzebub?” - </p> - <p> - “He is not a strolling player. Mr. O'Brien is in Mr. Garrick's company, - and every one knows that he is of good family. I have been searching it - out for the past week—all about the O'Briens—there were a - great many of them, all of them distinguished. If it had not been that - King James was defeated by William, in Ireland, Mr. O'Brien's grandfather - would have been made a duke. They were all heroes, the O'Briens. And they - were just too sincere in their devotion to the losing side—that was - it—the losing side was always the one they took up. And yet you call - him a strolling player!” - </p> - <p> - “I take back the insinuation and offer him my apologies; he is not a - strolling player because he doesn't stroll—would to Heaven he did! - Oh, my poor Sue, take a stroll into the country yourself as soon as - possible and try to forget this dreadfully handsome wretch. You would not, - I am sure, force me to tell his lordship what a goose his daughter is like - to make of herself.” - </p> - <p> - At this point there was a dramatic scene, one that was far more deeply - charged with comedy of a sort than any to be found in Mr. Whitehead's - play. Lady Susan accused her dear friend of being a spy, of extorting a - confession from her under the guise of friendship, which in other - circumstances—the rack, the wheel, the thumbscrew, in fact the - entire mechanism of persuasion employed by the Spanish Inquisition—would - have been powerless to obtain. Lady Sarah on her side entreated her friend - not to show herself to be even a greater goose than her confession would - make her out to be. For several minutes there was reproach and - counter-reproach, many home truths followed home thrusts; then some tears, - self-accusation, expressions of sympathy and tenderness, followed by - promises of friendship beyond the dreams of Damon and Pythias; lastly, a - promise on the part of Sue that she would take the advice of her devoted - Sarah and fly to the country without delay. - </p> - <p> - Strange to say, she fled to the country, and, stranger still, the result - was not to cure her of her infatuation for the handsome actor. For close - upon a year she did not see him, but she was as devoted to him as she had - been at first, and no day passed on which she failed to think of him, or - to spend some hours writing romantic verses, sometimes in the style of - Waller in his lyrics, sometimes in the style (distant) of Mr. Dryden in - his pastorals: she was Lesbia, and Mr. O'Brien was Strephon. - </p> - <p> - But in the meantime she had improved so much in her acting that when Lady - Sarah, who had within the year married Sir Thomas Bunbury, ventured to - rally her upon her infatuation of the previous spring, she was able to - disarm her suspicions by a flush and a shrug, and a little contemptuous - exclamation or two. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my dear one, did not I give you good advice?” cried Lady Sarah. “I - was well assured that my beloved Sue would never persevere in a passion - that could only end in unhappiness. But indeed, child, I never had the - heart to blame you greatly, the fellow is handsome as Apollo and as proud - as Apolyon. He has broken many hearts not accounted particularly fragile, - during the year.” - </p> - <p> - “Is't possible? For example?—I vow that I shall keep their names - secret.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Sarah shook her head at first, but on being importuned whispered a - name or two of ladies of their acquaintance, all of whom—according - to Lady Sarah—had fallen as deep as was possible in love with - O'Brien. Her ladyship was so intent on her narration of the scandals that - she quite failed to see the strange light that gleamed in her friend's - eyes at the mention of every name—a rather fierce gleam, with a - flash of green in it. She did not notice this phenomenon, nor did she - detect the false note in the tribute of laughter which her friend paid to - her powers of narration. - </p> - <p> - But Lady Sue, when the other had left her, rushed to her room and flung - herself on her bed in a paroxysm of jealousy. She beat her innocent pillow - wildly, crying in the whisper that the clenching of her teeth made - imperative—“The hussies! Shameless creatures! Do they hope that he - will be attracted to them? Fools!—they are fools! They do not know - him as I know him. They think that he is nothing but a vain actor—Garrick, - or Barry, or Lewes. Oh, they do not know him!” - </p> - <p> - She lay there in her passion for an hour, and if it was her maid who - discovered her at the end of that time, it is safe to assume that the - young woman's flesh was black and blue in places for several days - afterwards. The pinch and the slipper were among the most highly approved - forms of torture inflicted upon their maids at that robust period of - English history. The French Revolution was still some way off. - </p> - <p> - A few weeks later Lady Susan was sitting to Sir Joshua Reynolds for a - group, in which he painted her with her friend Lady Sarah Bunbury and Mr. - Henry Fox; and it was the carrying out of this scheme that put quite - another scheme into the quick brain of the first-named lady. Painting was - in the air. She possessed a poor print of Mr. O'Brien, and she had found - an immense consolation in gazing upon it—frequently at midnight, - under the light of her bedroom candle. The sight of the life-like - portraits in Sir Joshua's studio induced her to ask herself if she might - not possess a picture of her lover that would show him as he really was in - life, without demanding so many allowances as were necessary to be made - for the shortcomings of the engraver of a print. Why should she not get - Sir Joshua Reynolds to paint for her the portrait of Mr. O'Brien? - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0379.jpg" alt="0379 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0379.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The thought was a stimulating one, and it took possession of her for a - week. At the end of that time, however, she came to the conclusion that it - would be unwise for her to employ Sir Joshua on a commission that might - possibly excite some comment on the part of her friends should they come - to learn—and the work of this particular painter was rather inclined - to be assertive—that it had been executed to her order. But she was - determined not to live any longer without a portrait of the man; and, - hearing some one mention at Sir Joshua's house the name of Miss Catherine - Read, who was described as an excellent portrait painter, she made further - inquiry, and the result was that she begged her father, the Earl of - Ilchester, who was devoted to her, to allow her to have her portrait done - by Miss Read, to present to Lady Sarah on her birthday. - </p> - <p> - Of course Miss Read was delighted to have the patronage of so great a - family—she had not yet done her famous pastel of the Duchess of - Argyll—and Susan, accompanied by her footman, lost no time in - beginning her series of sittings to the artist to whom Horace Walpole - referred as “the painteress.” - </p> - <p> - She was both patient and discreet, for three whole days elapsed before she - produced a mezzotint of Mr. O'Brien. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you would condescend to draw a miniature portrait of his - lordship's favourite actor from so poor a copy as this, Miss Read?” she - said. “Have you ever seen this Mr. O'Brien—an Irishman, I believe he - is?” - </p> - <p> - Miss Read assured her that Mr. O'Brien was her favourite actor also. The - print produced was indeed a poor one; it quite failed to do justice to the - striking features of the original, she said. - </p> - <p> - “I felt certain that it could bear but a meagre resemblance to Mr. O'Brien - if all that I hear of the man be true,” said Lady Susan. “His lordship - swears that there has never been so great an actor in England, and I - should like to give him a surprise by presenting to him a miniature - portrait of his favourite, done by the cunning pencil of Miss Read, on his - birthday. I protest that 'tis a vast kindness you are doing me in - undertaking such a thing. But mind, I would urge of you to keep the affair - a profound secret. I wish it as a surprise to my father, and its effect - would be spoilt were it to become known to any of his friends that I had - this intention.” - </p> - <p> - “Your ladyship may rest assured that no living creature will hear of the - affair through me,” said the painteress. “But I heartily wish that your - ladyship could procure for me a better copy than this print from which to - work,” she added. - </p> - <p> - “I fear that I cannot promise you that; I found two other prints of the - same person, but they are worse even than this,” said Lady Susan. “You - must do your best with the material at your disposal.” - </p> - <p> - “Your ladyship may depend on my doing my best,” replied Miss Read. “When - does his lordship's birthday take place?” - </p> - <p> - Her ladyship was somewhat taken aback by the sudden question. It took her - some time to recollect that her father's birthday was to be within a - month. She felt that she could not live for longer than another month - without a portrait of the man whom she loved. - </p> - <p> - While she was going home in her chair she could not but feel that she had - hitherto been an undutiful daughter, never having taken any interest in - her father's birthday, and being quite unacquainted with its date. She - hoped fervently that Miss Read would not put herself to the trouble to - find out exactly on what day of what month it took place. The result of - such an investigation might be a little awkward. - </p> - <p> - It so happened that Miss Read took no trouble in this direction. All her - attention was turned upon the task of making a presentable miniature out - of the indifferent material with which she had been supplied for this - purpose. She began wondering if it might not be possible to get O'Brien to - sit to her half a dozen times in order to give her a chance of doing - credit to herself and to the gentleman's fine features. - </p> - <p> - She was still pondering over this question when her attendant entered with - a card, saying that a gentleman had come to wait on her. - </p> - <p> - She read the name on the card, and uttered an exclamation of surprise, for - the name was that of the man of whom she was thinking—Mr. O'Brien, - of Drury Lane Theatre. - </p> - <p> - She had wholly failed to recover herself before he entered the studio, and - advanced to her, making his most respectful bow. He politely ignored her - flutter-ings—he was used to see her sex overwhelmed when he - appeared. - </p> - <p> - “Madam, I beg that you will pardon this intrusion,” he said. “I have taken - the liberty of waiting upon you, knowing of your great capacity as an - artist.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir!” cried the fluttered little lady, making her courtesy. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, madam, I have no intention of flattering one to whom compliments - must be as customary as they are well deserved,” said the actor. “I come - not to confer a favour, madam, but to entreat one. In short, Miss Read, I - am desirous of presenting a valued friend of mine with the portrait of a - lady for whom he entertains a sincere devotion. For certain reasons, which - I need not specify, the lady cannot sit to you; but I have here a picture - of her poorly done in chalks, from which I hope it may be in your power to - make a good—a good—— Good heavens! what do I behold? 'Tis - she—she—Lady Susan herself!” - </p> - <p> - He had glanced round the studio in the course of his speech, and his eyes - had alighted upon the newly-begun portrait of Lady Susan. It represented - only a few days' work, but the likeness to the original had been ably - caught, and no one could fail to recognise the features. - </p> - <p> - He took a hurried step to the easel, and the air made by his motion - dislodged a print which the artist had laid on the little ledge that - supported the stretcher of the canvas. The print fluttered to the floor; - he picked it up, and gave another exclamation on recognising his own - portrait in the mezzotint. - </p> - <p> - Looking from the print to the picture and then at Miss Read, he said in a - low voice, after a pause—“Madam, I am bewildered. Unless you come to - my assistance I protest I shall feel that I am dreaming and asleep. Pray, - madam, enlighten me—for Heaven's sake tell me how this”—he - held up the print—“came into such close juxtaposition with that”—he - pointed to the portrait on the easel. - </p> - <p> - “'Tis easily told, sir,” said Miss Read, smiling archly. “But I must leave - it to your sense of honour to keep the matter a profound secret.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said Mr. O'Brien with dignity, “Madam, I am an Irishman.” - </p> - <p> - “That is enough, sir; I know that I can trust you. The truth is, Mr. - O'Brien, that Lady Susan is sitting to me for her portrait—that - portrait. 'Twas marvellous that you should recognise it so soon. I have - not worked at it for many hours.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam, your art is beyond that of the magician. 'Tis well known that - every form depicted by Miss Read not only breathes but speaks.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, I vow that you are a flatterer; still, you did recognise the - portrait—'tis to be presented to Lady Sarah Bunbury.” - </p> - <p> - “Her ladyship will be the most fortunate of womankind.” - </p> - <p> - “Which ladyship, sir—Lady Susan or Lady Sarah?” - </p> - <p> - “Both, madam.” The Irishman was bowing with his hand on his heart. “But - the print—my poor likeness?” - </p> - <p> - “That is the secret, sir; but you will not betray it when I tell you that - Lady Susan entrusted that print to me in order that I might make a copy in - miniature for her to present to her father, Lord Ilchester. You are his - favourite actor, Mr. O'Brien, as no doubt you are aware.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis the first I heard of it, madam.” There was a suggestion of - mortification in the actor's tone. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, 'twould be impossible for Mr. O'Brien to keep an account of all his - conquests. But now you can understand how it is that her ladyship wishes - her intention to be kept a secret: she means to add to the acceptability - of her gift by presenting it as a surprise. But her secret is safe in your - keeping, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I swear to it, madam.” Mr. O'Brien spoke mechanically. His hand was on - his chin: he was clearly musing upon some question that perplexed him. He - took a turn up and down the studio, and then said: - </p> - <p> - “Madam, it has just occurred to me that you, as a great artist——” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir,” interposed the blushing painteress. - </p> - <p> - “I will not take back a word, madam,” said the actor, holding up one - inexorable hand. “I say that surely so great an artist as you should - disdain to do the work of a mere copyist. Why should not you confer upon - me the honour of sitting to you for the miniature portrait?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, that is the one favour which I meant to ask of you, if my - courage had not failed me.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam, you will confer immortality upon a simple man through that magic - wand which you wield.” He swept his hand with inimitable grace over the - mahl-stick which lay against the easel. “I am all impatient to begin my - sitting, Miss Read. Pray let me come to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Her ladyship comes to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall precede her ladyship. Name the hour, madam.” - </p> - <p> - Without the least demur Miss Read named an hour which could enable him to - be far away from the studio before Lady Susan's arrival. - </p> - <p> - And yet the next day Lady Susan entered the studio quite half an hour - before Mr. O'Brien had left it. Of course she was surprised. Had not Miss - Read received a letter, making her aware of the fact that she, Lady Susan, - would be forced, owing to circumstances over which she had no control, to - sit for her portrait an hour earlier than that of her appointment? - </p> - <p> - When Miss Read said she had received no such letter, Lady Susan said some - very severe things about her maid. Miss Read was greatly fluttered, but - she explained in as few words as possible how it was that Mr. O'Brien had - come forward in the cause of art, and was sitting for the miniature. Lady - Susan quickly got over her surprise. (Had Miss Read seen the letter which - her ladyship had received the previous evening from Mr. O'Brien she would - not have marvelled as she did at the rapidity with which her ladyship - recovered her self-possession.) Her ladyship was quite friendly with the - actor, and thanked him for his courtesy in offering to give up so much of - his time solely for the sake of increasing the value of her gift to her - father. - </p> - <p> - A few minutes later, while they were discussing some point in the design - of the picture, Miss Read was called out of the studio, and in a second - Lady Susan was in his arms. - </p> - <p> - “Fate is on our side, darling girl!” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - “I could not live without you, my charmer. But I was bold! I took my fate - in both hands when I wrote you that letter.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear one, 'twas the instinct of true love that made you guess the truth—that - I wanted the portrait because I loved the original. Oh, dear one, what - have I not suffered during the year that has parted us!” said Lady Susan, - with her head upon his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - The Irishman found it necessary to fall back upon the seductive tongue of - his country for words of endearment to bestow upon her. He called her - “Sheila,” “a cushla machree,” “mavourneen,” and also “aroon.” But when - Miss Read returned to the studio they were still discussing a purely - artistic point in connection with the portrait. - </p> - <p> - Of course now that O'Brien knew the secret of the miniature there was no - reason that Miss Read could see why he and Lady Susan should not meet at - her studio. To do her justice, neither could her ladyship perceive why - they should not come together at this place. They came every day, and - every day Lady Susan begged that Miss Read would allow her to rest in her - ante-room after the fatigue of the sitting. She rested in that room, and - in the company of O'Brien, until at last Miss Read became frightened; and - one day told her friend Lord Cathcart something of her fears. Lord - Cathcart, in his turn, told Lord Ilchester. His lordship was furious, but - cautious. - </p> - <p> - He wanted evidence of his daughter's infatuation. He got it the next - morning, for he insisted on seeing a letter which arrived for Lady Susan, - addressed in the handwriting of Lady Sarah. This letter turned out to be - from O'Brien, and Susan confessed that her father's surmise was correct—all - the letters which she had recently received in Lady Sarah's hand had come - from O'Brien. - </p> - <p> - Her father was foolish enough to grant her permission to say farewell to - her lover, and thus the two were allowed to come together once more. They - had a long talk, in the course of which O'Brien communicated to her a - secret of the theatre, which was that Mr. Garrick and Mr. Colman were - engaged in the construction of a comedy to be called <i>The Clandestine - Marriage</i>, and that Mr. Garrick told him that he, O'Brien, was to play - the part of the lover—the gentleman who had married the lady in - secret. - </p> - <p> - Lady Susan parted from her lover, not in tears, but in laughter. - </p> - <p> - The conclusion of the story is told by Horace Walpole, writing to Lord - Hertford. - </p> - <p> - “You will have heard of the sad misfortune that has happened to Lord - Ilchester by his daughter's marriage with O'Brien, the actor,” wrote - Walpole; and then went on to tell how Lady Susan had made her confession - to her father, vowing to have nothing more to do with her lover if she - were but permitted to bid him good-bye. “You will be amazed,” continued - Walpole, “even this was granted. The parting scene happened the beginning - of the week. On Friday she came of age, and on Saturday morning—instead - of being under lock and key in the country—walked downstairs, took - her footman, said she was going to breakfast with Lady Sarah, but would - call at Miss Read's; in the street pretended to recollect a particular cap - in which she was to be drawn, sent the footman back for it, whipped into a - hackney chair, was married at Covent Garden Church, and set out for Mr. - O'Brien's villa at Dunstable.” - </p> - <p> - Unlike many other alliances of a similar type, this marriage turned out a - happy one. O'Brien was induced to leave the stage and to depart with his - wife for America. He obtained a grant of some forty thousand acres in the - province of New York, and had he retained this property and taken the - right side during the Revolution his descendants would to-day be the - richest people in the world. A few years later he was given a good - appointment in Bermuda; and finally, in 1770, he was made Receiver-General - of the County of Dorset, and became popular as a country squire. He died - in 1815, and Lady Susan survived him by twelve years. - </p> - <p> - It was Lady Sarah who had made the imprudent marriage. She submitted to - the cruelties of her husband for fourteen years, and on her leaving his - roof he obtained a divorce. - </p> - <p> - In 1781, nineteen years after her first marriage, she wedded the Hon. - George Napier, and became the mother of three of the greatest Englishmen - of the nineteenth century. She lived until she was eighty. Her friend Lady - Susan followed her to the grave a year later, at the age of eighty-four. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Georgian Pageant, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GEORGIAN PAGEANT *** - -***** This file should be named 51964-h.htm or 51964-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/6/51964/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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