THE DUENNA. — PURCHASE OF DRURY LANE THEATRE. — THE TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH. — POETICAL CORRESPONDENCE WITH MRS. SHERIDAN.
Mr. Sheridan had now got into a current of dramatic fancy, of whose prosperous flow he continued to avail himself actively. The summer recess was employed in writing the Duenna; and his father-in-law, Mr. Linley, assisted in selecting and composing the music for it. As every thing connected with the progress of a work, which is destined to be long the delight of English ears, must naturally have a charm for English readers, I feel happy at being enabled to give, from letters written at the time by Mr. Sheridan himself to Mr. Linley, some details relating to their joint adaptation of the music, which, judging from my own feelings, I cannot doubt will be interesting to others.
Mr. Linley was at this time at Bath, and the following letter to him is dated in October, 1775, about a month or five weeks before the opera was brought out: —
“DEAR SIR,
“We received your songs to-day, with which we are exceedingly pleased. I shall profit by your proposed alterations; but I’d have you to know that we are much too chaste in London to admit such strains as your Bath spring inspires. We dare not propose a peep beyond the ankle on any account; for the critics in the pit at a new play are much greater prudes than the ladies in the boxes. Betsey intended to have troubled you with some music for correction, and I with some stanzas, but an interview with Harris to-day has put me from the thoughts of it, and bent me upon a much more important petition. You may easily suppose it is nothing else than what I said I would not ask in my last. But, in short, unless you can give us three days in town, I fear our opera will stand a chance to be ruined. Harris is extravagantly sanguine of its success as to plot and dialogue, which is to be rehearsed next Wednesday at the theatre. They will exert themselves to the utmost in the scenery, &c., but I never saw any one so disconcerted as he was at the idea of there being no one to put them in the right way as to music. They have no one there whom he has any opinion of — as to Fisher (one of the managers), he don’t choose he should meddle with it. He entreated me in the most pressing terms to write instantly to you, and wanted, if he thought it could be any weight, to write himself.
“Is it impossible to contrive this? couldn’t you leave Tom [Footnote: Mrs. Sheridan’s eldest brother] to superintend the concert for a few days? If you can manage it, you will really do me the greatest service in the world. As to the state of the music, I want but three more airs, but there are some glees and quintets in the last act, that will be inevitably ruined, if we have no one to set the performers at least in the right way. Harris has set his heart so much on my succeeding in this application, that he still flatters himself we may have a rehearsal of the music in Orchard Street to-morrow se’nnight. Every hour’s delay is a material injury both to the opera and the theatre, so that if you can come and relieve us from this perplexity, the return of the post must only forerun your arrival; or (what will make us much happier) might it not bring you? I shall say nothing at present about the lady ‘with the soft look and manner,’ because I am full of more than hopes of seeing you. For the same reason I shall delay to speak about G — ; [Footnote: Garrick] only this much I will say, that I am more than ever positive I could make good my part of the matter; but that I still remain an infidel as to G.’s retiring, or parting with his share, though I confess he seems to come closer to the point in naming his price.
“Your ever sincere and affectionate,
“R. B. SHERIDAN.”
On the opposite leaf of this letter is written, in Mrs. S.’s handwriting,— “Dearest Father, I shall have no spirits or hopes of the opera, unless we see you.
“ELIZA ANN SHERIDAN.”
In answer to these pressing demands, Mr. Linley, as appears by the following letter, signified his intention of being in town as soon as the music should be put in rehearsal. In the instructions here given by the poet to the musician, we may perceive that he somewhat apprehended, even in the tasteful hands of Mr. Linley, that predominance of harmony over melody, and of noise over both, which is so fatal to poetry and song, in their perilous alliance with an orchestra. Indeed, those elephants of old, that used to tread down the ranks they were brought to assist, were but a type of the havoc that is sometimes made both of melody and meaning by the overlaying aid of accompaniments.
“DEAR SIR,
“Mr. Harris wishes so much for us to get you to town, that I could not at first convince him that your proposal of not coming till the music was in rehearsal, was certainly the best, as you could stay but so short a time. The truth is, that what you mention of my getting a master to teach the performers is the very point where the matter sticks, there being no such person as a master among them. Harris is sensible there ought to be such a person; however, at present, every body sings there according to their own ideas, or what chance instruction they can come at. We are, however, to follow your plan in the matter; but can at no rate relinquish the hopes of seeing you in eight or ten days from the date of this; when the music (by the specimen of expedition you have given me) will be advanced as far as you mention. The parts are all writ out and doubled, &c. as we go on, as I have assistance from the theatre with me.
“My intention was, to have closed the first act with a song, but I find it is not thought so well. Hence I trust you with one of the inclosed papers; and, at the same time, you must excuse my impertinence in adding an idea of the cast I would wish the music to have; as I think I have heard you say you never heard Leoni, [Footnote: Leoni played Don Carlos.] and I cannot briefly explain to you the character and situation of the persons on the stage with him. The first (a dialogue between Quick and Mrs. Mattocks [Footnote: Isaac and Donna Louisa.]), I would wish to be a pert, sprightly air; for, though some of the words mayn’t seem suited to it, I should mention that they are neither of them in earnest in what they say. Leoni takes it up seriously, and I want him to show himself advantageously in the six lines beginning ‘Gentle maid.’ I should tell you, that he sings nothing well but in a plaintive or pastoral style; and his voice is such as appears to me always to be hurt by much accompaniment. I have observed, too, that he never gets so much applause as when he makes a cadence. Therefore my idea is, that he should make a flourish at ‘Shall I grieve thee?’ and return to ‘Gentle maid,’ and so sing that part of the tune again. [Footnote: It will be perceived, by a reference to the music of the opera, that Mr. Linley followed these instructions implicitly and successfully.] After that, the two last lines, sung by the three, with the persons only varied, may get them off with as much spirit as possible. The second act ends with a slow glee, therefore I should think the two last lines in question had better be brisk, especially as Quick and Mrs. Mattocks are concerned in it.
“The other is a song of Wilson’s in the third act. I have written it to your tune, which you put some words to, beginning, ‘Prithee, prithee, pretty man!’ I think it will do vastly well for the words: Don Jerome sings them when he is in particular spirits; therefore the tune is not too light, though it might seem so by the last stanza — but he does not mean to be grave there, and I like particularly the returning to ‘O the days when I was young!’ We have mislaid the notes, but Tom remembers it. If you don’t like it for words, will you give us one? but it must go back to ‘O the days,’ and be funny. I have not done troubling you yet, but must wait till Monday.”
A subsequent letter contains further particulars of their progress.
“DEAR SIR,
“Sunday evening next is fixed for our first musical rehearsal, and I was in great hopes we might have completed the score. The songs you have sent up of ‘Banna’s Banks,’ and ‘Deil take the wars,’ I had made words for before they arrived, which answer excessively well; and this was my reason for wishing for the next in the same manner, as it saved so much time. They are to sing ‘Wind, gentle evergreen,’ just as you sing it (only with other words), and I wanted only such support from the instruments, or such joining in, as you should think would help to set off and assist the effort. I inclose the words I had made for ‘Wind, gentle evergreen,’ which will be sung, as a catch, by Mrs. Mattocks, Dubellamy, [Footnote: Don Antonio.] and Leoni. I don’t mind the words not fitting the notes so well as the original ones. ‘How merrily we live,’ and ‘Let’s drink and let’s sing,’ are to be sung by a company of friars over their wine. [Footnote: For these was afterwards substituted Mr. Linley’s lively glee, “This bottle’s the sun of our table.”] The words will be parodied, and the chief effect I expect from them must arise from their being known; for the joke will be much less for these jolly fathers to sing any thing new, than to give what the audience are used to annex the idea of jollity to. For the other things Betsey mentioned, I only wish to have them with such accompaniment as you would put to their present words, and I shall have got words to my liking for them by the time they reach me.
“My immediate wish at present is to give the performers their parts in the music (which they expect on Sunday night), and for any assistance the orchestra can give to help the effect of the glees, &c., that may be judged of and added at a rehearsal, or, as you say, on inquiring how they have been done; though I don’t think it follows that what Dr. Arne’s method is must be the best. If it were possible for Saturday and Sunday’s post to bring us what we asked for in our last letters, and what I now enclose, we should still go through it on Sunday, and the performers should have their parts complete by Monday night. We have had our rehearsal of the speaking part, and are to have another on Saturday. I want Dr. Harrington’s catch, but, as the sense must be the same, I am at a loss how to put other words. Can’t the under part (‘A smoky house, &c.’) be sung by one person and the other two change? The situation is — Quick and Dubellamy, two lovers, carrying away Father Paul (Reinold) in great raptures, to marry them: — the Friar has before warned them of the ills of a married life, and they break out into this. The catch is particularly calculated for a stage effect; but I don’t like to take another person’s words, and I don’t see how I can put others, keeping the same idea (‘of seven squalling brats, &c.’) in which the whole affair lies. However, I shall be glad of the notes, with Reynold’s part, if it is possible, as I mentioned. [Footnote: This idea was afterwards relinquished.]
“I have literally and really not had time to write the words of any thing more first and then send them to you, and this obliges me to use this apparently awkward way….
* * * * *
“My father was astonishingly well received on Saturday night in Cato: I think it will not be many days before we are reconciled.
“The inclosed are the words for ‘Wind, gentle evergreen;’ a passionate song for Mattocks, [Footnote: The words of this song, in composing which the directions here given were exactly followed, are to be found in scarce any of the editions of the Duenna. They are as follows: —
Sharp is the woe that wounds the jealous mind,
When treachery two fond hearts would rend;
But oh! how keener far the pang to find
That traitor in our bosom friend.]
and another for Miss Brown, [Footnote: “Adieu, thou dreary pile.”] which solicit to be clothed with melody by you, and are all I want. Mattocks’s I could wish to be a broken, passionate affair, and the first two lines may be recitative, or what you please, uncommon. Miss Brown sings hers in a joyful mood: we want her to show in it as much execution as she is capable of, which is pretty well; and, for variety, we want Mr. Simpson’s hautboy to cut a figure, with replying passages, &c., in the way of Fisher’s ‘M’ ami, il bel idol mio,’ to abet which I have lugged in ‘Echo,’ who is always allowed to play her part. I have not a moment more. Yours ever sincerely.”
The next and last extract I shall give at present is from a letter, dated Nov. 2, 1775, about three weeks before the first representation of the opera.
“Our music is now all finished and rehearsing, but we are greatly impatient to see you. We hold your coming to be necessary beyond conception. You say you are at our service after Tuesday next; then ‘I conjure you by that you do possess,’ in which I include all the powers that preside over harmony, to come next Thursday night (this day se’nnight), and we will fix a rehearsal for Friday morning. From what I see of their rehearsing at present, I am become still more anxious to see you.
“We have received all your songs, and are vastly pleased with them. You misunderstood me as to the hautboy song; I had not the least intention to fix on ‘Bel idol mio,’ However, I think it is particularly well adapted, and, I doubt not, will have a great effect….”
An allusion which occurs in these letters to the prospect of a reconciliation with his father gives me an opportunity of mentioning a circumstance, connected with their difference, for the knowledge of which I am indebted to one of the persons most interested in remembering it, and which, as a proof of the natural tendency of Sheridan’s heart to let all its sensibilities flow in the right channel, ought not to be forgotten. During the run of one of his pieces, having received information from an old family servant that his father (who still refused to have any intercourse with him) meant to attend, with his daughters, at the representation of the piece, Sheridan took up his station by one of the side scenes, opposite to the box where they sat, and there continued, unobserved, to look at them during the greater part of the night. On his return home, he was so affected by the various recollections that came upon him, that he burst into tears, and, being questioned as to the cause of his agitation by Mrs. Sheridan, to whom it was new to see him returning thus saddened from the scene of his triumph, he owned how deeply it had gone to his heart “to think that there sat his father and his sisters before him, and yet that he alone was not permitted to go near them or speak to them.”
On the 21st of November, 1775, The Duenna was performed at Covent Garden, and the following is the original cast of the characters, as given in the collection of Mr. Sheridan’s Dramatic Works: —
Don Ferdinand Mr. Mattocks.
Isaac Mendoza Mr. Quick.
Don Jerome Mr. Wilson.
Don Antonio Mr. Dubellamy.
Father Paul Mr. Watson.
Lopez Mr. Wewitzer.
Don Carlos Mr. Leoni.
Francis Mr. Fox.
Lay Brother Mr. Baker.
Donna Louisa Mrs. Mattocks.
Donna Clara Mrs. Cargill. [Footnote: This is incorrect:
it was Miss Brown that played Donna Clara for the first few nights.]
The Duenna Mrs. Green.
The run of this opera has, I believe, no parallel in the annals of the drama. Sixty-three nights was the career of the Beggar’s Opera; but the Duenna was acted no less than seventy-five times during the season, the only intermissions being a few days at Christmas, and the Fridays in every week; — the latter on account of Leoni, who, being a Jew, could not act on those nights.
In order to counteract this great success of the rival house, Garrick found it necessary to bring forward all the weight of his own best characters; and even had recourse to the expedient of playing off the mother against the son, by reviving Mrs. Frances Sheridan’s comedy of The Discovery, and acting the principal part in it himself. In allusion to the increased fatigue which this competition with The Duenna brought upon Garrick, who was then entering on his sixtieth year, it was said, by an actor of the day, that “the old woman would be the death of the old man.”
The Duenna is one of the very few operas in our language, which combine the merits of legitimate comedy with the attractions of poetry and song; — that divorce between sense and sound, to which Dr. Brown and others trace the cessation of the early miracles of music, being no where more remarkable than in the operas of the English stage. The “Sovereign of the willing soul” (as Gray calls Music) always loses by being made exclusive sovereign, — and the division of her empire with poetry and wit, as in the instance of The Duenna, doubles her real power.
The intrigue of this piece (which is mainly founded upon an incident borrowed from the “Country Wife” of Wycherley) is constructed and managed with considerable adroitness, having just material enough to be wound out into three acts, without being encumbered by too much intricacy, or weakened by too much extension. It does not appear, from the rough copy in my possession, that any material change was made in the plan of the work, as it proceeded. Carlos was originally meant to be a Jew, and is called “Cousin Moses” by Isaac, in the first sketch of the dialogue; but possibly from the consideration that this would apply too personally to Leoni, who was to perform the character, its designation was altered. The scene in the second act, where Carlos is introduced by Isaac to the Duenna, stood, in its original state, as follows: —
“Isaac. Moses, sweet coz, I thrive, I prosper.
“Moses. Where is your mistress?
“Isaac. There, you booby, there she stands.
“Moses. Why she’s damn’d ugly.
“Isaac. Hush! (stops his mouth.)
“Duenna. What is your friend saying, Don?
“Isaac. Oh, Ma’am, he’s expressing his raptures at such charms as he never saw before.
“Moses. Ay, such as I never saw before indeed. (aside.)
“Duenna. You are very obliging, gentlemen; but, I dare say, Sir, your friend is no stranger to the influence of beauty. I doubt not but he is a lover himself.
“Moses. Alas! Madam, there is now but one woman living, whom I have any love for, and truly, Ma’am, you resemble her wonderfully.
“Duenna. Well, Sir, I wish she may give you her hand as speedily as I shall mine to your friend.
“Moses. Me her hand! — O Lord, Ma’am — she is the last woman in the world I could think of marrying.
“Duenna. What then, Sir, are you comparing me to some wanton — some courtezan?
“Isaac. Zounds! he durstn’t.
“Moses. O not I, upon my soul.
“Duenna. Yes, he meant some young harlot — some —
“Moses. Oh, dear Madam, no — it was my mother I meant, as I hope to be saved.
“Isaac. Oh the blundering villain! (aside.)
“Duenna. How, Sir — am I so like your mother?
“Isaac. Stay, dear Madam — my friend meant — that you put him in mind of what his mother was when a girl — didn’t you, Moses?
“Moses. Oh yes, Madam, my mother was formerly a great beauty, a great toast, I assure you; — and when she married my father about thirty years ago, as you may perhaps remember, Ma’am —
“Duenna. I, Sir! I remember thirty years ago!
“Isaac. Oh, to be sure not, Ma’am — thirty years! no, no — it was thirty months he said, Ma’am — wasn’t it, Moses?
“Moses. Yes, yes, Ma’am — thirty months ago, on her marriage with my father, she was, as I was saying, a great beauty; — but catching cold, the year afterwards, in child-bed of your humble servant —
“Duenna. Of you, Sir! — and married within these thirty months!
“Isaac. Oh the devil! he has made himself out but a year old! — Come, Moses, hold your tongue. — You must excuse him, Ma’am — he means to be civil — but he is a poor, simple fellow — an’t you, Moses?
“Moses. ’Tis true, indeed, Ma’am,” &c. &c. &c.
The greater part of the humor of Moses here was afterwards transferred to the character of Isaac, and it will be perceived that a few of the points are still retained by him.
The wit of the dialogue, except in one or two instances, is of that accessible kind which lies near the surface — which may be enjoyed without wonder, and rather plays than shines. He had not yet searched his fancy for those curious fossils of thought which make The School for Scandal such a rich museum of wit. Of this precious kind, however, is the description of Isaac’s neutrality in religion— “like the blank leaf between the Old and New Testament.” As an instance, too, of the occasional abuse of this research, which led him to mistake labored conceits for fancies, may be mentioned the far-fetched comparison of serenaders to Egyptian embalmers, “extracting the brain through the ears.” For this, however, his taste, not his invention, is responsible, as we have already seen that the thought was borrowed from a letter of his friend Halhed.
In the speech of Lopez, the servant, with which the opera opens, there are, in the original copy, some humorous points, which appear to have fallen under the pruning knife, but which are not unworthy of being gathered up here: —
“A plague on these haughty damsels, say I: — when they play their airs on their whining gallants, they ought to consider that we are the chief sufferers, — we have all their ill-humors at second-hand. Donna Louisa’s cruelty to my master usually converts itself into blows, by the time it gets to me: — she can frown me black and blue at any time, and I shall carry the marks of the last box on the ear she gave him to my grave. Nay, if she smiles on any one else, I am the sufferer for it: — if she says a civil word to a rival, I am a rogue and a scoundrel; and, if she sends him a letter, my back is sure to pay the postage.”
In the scene between Ferdinand and Jerome (act ii. scene 3) the following lively speech of the latter was, I know not why, left out: —
“Ferdin. ….but he has never sullied his honor, which, with his title, has outlived his means.
“Jerome. Have they? More shame for them! — What business have honor or titles to survive, when property is extinct? Nobility is but as a helpmate to a good fortune, and, like a Japanese wife, should perish on the funeral pile of the estate!”
In the first act, too, (scene 3) where Jerome abuses the Duenna, there is an equally unaccountable omission of a sentence, in which he compares the old lady’s face to “parchment, on which Time and Deformity have engrossed their titles.”
Though some of the poetry of this opera is not much above that ordinary kind, to which music is so often doomed to be wedded — making up by her own sweetness for the dulness of her help-mate — by far the greater number of the songs are full of beauty, and some of them may rank among the best models of lyric writing. The verses, “Had I a heart for falsehood framed,” notwithstanding the stiffness of this word “framed,” and one or two other slight blemishes, are not unworthy of living in recollection with the matchless air to which they are adapted.
There is another song, less known, from being connected with less popular music, which, for deep, impassioned feeling and natural eloquence, has not, perhaps, its rival, through the whole range of lyric poetry. As these verses, though contained in the common editions of The Duenna, are not to be found in the opera, as printed in the British Theatre, and, still more strangely, are omitted in the late Collection of Mr. Sheridan’s Works, [Footnote: For this Edition of his Works I am no further responsible than in having communicated to it a few prefatory pages, to account and apologize to the public for the delay of the Life.] I should feel myself abundantly authorized in citing them here, even if their beauty were not a sufficient excuse for recalling them, under any circumstances, to the recollection of the reader: —
“Ah, cruel maid, how hast thou changed
The temper of my mind!
My heart, by thee from love estrang’d,
Becomes, like thee, unkind.
“By fortune favor’d, clear in fame,
I once ambitious was;
And friends I had who fann’d the flame,
And gave my youth applause.
“But now my weakness all accuse,
Yet vain their taunts on me;
Friends, fortune, fame itself I’d lose,
To gain one smile from thee.
“And only thou should’st not despise
My weakness or my woe;
If I am mad in others’ eyes,
’Tis thou hast made me so.
“But days, like this, with doubting curst,
I will not long endure —
Am I disdain’d — I know the worst,
And likewise know my cure.
“If, false, her vow she dare renounce,
That instant ends my pain;
For, oh! the heart must break at once,
That cannot hate again.”
It is impossible to believe that such verses as these had no deeper inspiration than the imaginary loves of an opera. They bear, burnt into every line, the marks of personal feeling, and must have been thrown off in one of those passionate moods of the heart, with which the poet’s own youthful love had made him acquainted, and under the impression or vivid recollection of which these lines were written.
In comparing this poem with the original words of the air to which it is adapted, (Parnell’s pretty lines, “My days have been so wondrous free,”) it will be felt, at once, how wide is the difference between the cold and graceful effusions of taste, and the fervid bursts of real genius — between the delicate product of the conservatory, and the rich child of the sunshine.
I am the more confirmed in the idea that this song was written previously to the opera, and from personal feeling, by finding among his earlier pieces the originals of two other songs— “I ne’er could any lustre see,” and “What bard, oh Time, discover.” The thought, upon which the latter turns, is taken from a poem already cited, addressed by him to Mrs. Sheridan in 1773; and the following is the passage that supplied the material: —
“Alas, thou hast no wings, oh Time,
It was some thoughtless lover’s rhyme,
Who, writing in his Chloe’s view,
Paid her the compliment through you.
For, had he, if he truly lov’d,
But once the pangs of absence prov’d,
He’d cropt thy wings, and, in their stead,
Have painted thee with heels of lead.”
It will be seen presently, that this poem was again despoiled of some of its lines, for an epilogue which he began a few years after, upon a very different subject. There is something, it must be owned, not very sentimental in this conversion of the poetry of affection to other and less sacred uses — as if, like the ornaments of a passing pageant, it might be broken up after the show was over, and applied to more useful purposes. That the young poet should be guilty of such sacrilege to love, and thus steal back his golden offerings from the altar, to melt them down into utensils of worldly display, can only be excused by that demand upon the riches of his fancy, which the rapidity of his present career in the service of the dramatic muse occasioned.
There is not the same objection to the approbation of the other song, which, it will be seen, is a selection of the best parts of the following Anacreontic verses: —
“I ne’er could any lustre see
[Footnote: Another mode of beginning this song in the MS. —
“Go tell the maid who seeks to move
My lyre to praise, my heart to love,
No rose upon her cheek can live,
Like those assenting blushes give.”]
In eyes that would not look on me:
When a glance aversion hints,
I always think the lady squints.
I ne’er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
No pearly teeth rejoice my view,
Unless a ‘yes’ displays their hue —
The prudish lip, that noes me back.
Convinces me the teeth are black,
To me the cheek displays no roses,
Like that th’ assenting blush discloses;
But when with proud disdain ’tis spread,
To me ’tis but a scurvy red.
Would she have me praise her hair?
Let her place my garland there.
Is her hand so white and pure?
I must press it to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it grateful press again.
Must I praise her melody?
Let her sing of love and me.
If she choose another theme,
I’d rather hear a peacock scream.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see
That heaving bosom sigh for me.
None but bigots will in vain
Adore a heav’n they cannot gain.
If I must religious prove
To the mighty God of Love,
Sure I am it is but fair
He, at least, should hear my prayer.
But, by each joy of his I’ve known,
And all I yet shall make my own,
Never will I, with humble speech,
Pray to a heav’n I cannot reach.”
In the song, beginning “Friendship is the bond of reason,” the third verse was originally thus: —
“And, should I cheat the world and thee,
One smile from her I love to win,
Such breach of human faith would be
A sacrifice, and not a sin.”
To the song “‘Give Isaac the nymph,” there were at first two more verses, which, merely to show how judicious was the omission of them, I shall here transcribe. Next to the advantage of knowing what to put into our writings, is that of knowing what to leave out: —
“To one thus accomplished I durst speak my mind,
And flattery doubtless would soon make her kind;
For the man that should praise her she needs must adore,
Who ne’er in her life receiv’d praises before.
“But the frowns of a beauty in hopes to remove,
Should I prate of her charms, and tell of my love;
No thanks wait the praise which she knows to be true,
Nor smiles for the homage she takes as her due.”
Among literary piracies or impostures, there are few more audacious than the Dublin edition of the Duenna, — in which, though the songs are given accurately, an entirely new dialogue is substituted for that of Sheridan, and his gold, as in the barter of Glaucus, exchanged for such copper as the following: —
“Duen. Well, Sir, I don’t want to stay in your house; but I must go and lock up my wardrobe.”
“Isaac. Your wardrobe! when you came into my house you could carry your wardrobe in your comb-case, you could, you old dragon.”
Another specimen: —
“Isaac. Her voice, too, you told me, was like a Virginia Nightingale; why, it is like a cracked warming-pan: — and as for dimples! — to be sure, she has the devil’s own dimples. — Yes! and you told me she had a lovely down upon her chin, like the down of a peach; but, damn me if ever I saw such down upon any creature in my life, except once upon an old goat.”
These jokes, I need not add, are all the gratuitous contributions of the editor.
Towards the close of the year 1775, it was understood that Garrick meant to part with his moiety of the patent of Drury Lane Theatre, and retire from the stage. He was then in the sixtieth year of his age, and might possibly have been influenced by the natural feeling, so beautifully expressed for a great actor of our own time, by our greatest living writer:
— — “Higher duties crave
Some space between the theatre and the grave;
That, like the Roman in the Capitol,
I may adjust my mantle, ere I fall.”
[Footnote: Kemble’s Farewell Address on taking leave of the Edinburgh stage, written by Sir Walter Scott.]
The progress of the negotiation between him and Mr. Sheridan, which ended in making the latter patentee and manager, cannot better be traced than in Sheridan’s own letters, addressed at the time to Mr. Linley, and most kindly placed at my disposal by my friend Mr. William Linley.
“Sunday, Dec. 31, 1775.
“DEAR SIR,
“I was always one of the slowest letter-writers in the world, though I have had more excuses than usual for my delay in this instance. The principal matter of business on which I was to have written to you, related to our embryo negotiation with Garrick, of which I will now give you an account.
“Since you left town, Mrs. Ewart has been so ill, as to continue near three weeks at the point of death. This, of course, has prevented Mr. E. from seeing anybody on business, or from accompanying me to Garrick’s. However, about ten days ago, I talked the matter over with him by myself, and the result was, appointing Thursday evening last to meet him, and to bring Ewart, which I did accordingly. On the whole of our conversation that evening, I began (for the first time) to think him really serious in the business. He still, however, kept the reserve of giving the refusal to Colman, though at the same time he did not hesitate to assert his confidence that Colman would decline it. I was determined to push him on this point, (as it was really farcical for us to treat with him under such an evasion,) and at last he promised to put the question to Colman, and to give me a decisive answer by the ensuing Sunday (to-day). Accordingly, within this hour, I have received a note from him, which (as I meant to show it my father) I here transcribe for you.
“‘Mr. Garrick presents his compliments to Mr. Sheridan, and, as he is obliged to go into the country for three days, he should be glad to see him upon his return to town, either on Wednesday about 6 or 7 o’clock, or whenever he pleases. The party has no objection to the whole, but chooses no partner but Mr. G. Not a word of this yet. Mr. G. sent a messenger on purpose, (i.e. to Colman). He would call upon Mr. S., but he is confined at home. Your name is upon our list’.
“This decisive answer may be taken two ways. However, as Mr. G. informed Mr. Ewart and me, that he had no authority or pretensions to treat for the whole, it appears to me that Mr. Garrick’s meaning in this note is, that Mr. Colman declines the purchase of Mr. Garrick’s share, which is the point in debate, and the only part at present to be sold. I shall, therefore, wait on G. at the time mentioned, and, if I understand him right, we shall certainly without delay appoint two men of business and the law to meet on the matter, and come to a conclusion without further delay.
“According to his demand, the whole is valued at 70,000l. He appears very shy of letting his books be looked into, as the test of the profits on this sum, but says it must be, in its nature, a purchase on speculation. However, he has promised me a rough estimate, of his own, of the entire receipts for the last seven years. But, after all, it must certainly be a purchase on speculation, without money’s worth being made out. One point he solemnly avers, which is, that he will never part with it under the price above- mentioned.
“This is all I can say on the subject till Wednesday, though I can’t help adding, that I think we might safely give five thousand pounds more on this purchase than richer people. The whole valued at 70,000l., the annual interest is 3,500l.; while this is cleared, the proprietors are safe, — but I think it must be infernal management indeed that does not double it.
“I suppose Mr. Stanley has written to you relative to your oratorio orchestra. The demand, I reckon, will be diminished one third, and the appearance remain very handsome, which, if the other affair takes place, you will find your account in; and, if you discontinue your partnership with Stanley at Drury Lane, the orchestra may revert to whichever wants it, on the other’s paying his proportion for the use of it this year. This is Mr. Garrick’s idea, and, as he says, might in that case be settled by arbitration.
“You have heard of our losing Miss Brown; however, we have missed her so little in the Duenna, that the managers have not tried to regain her, which I believe they might have done. I have had some books of the music these many days to send you down. I wanted to put Tom’s name in the new music, and begged Mrs. L. to ask you, and let me have a line on her arrival, for which purpose I kept back the index of the songs. If you or he have no objection, pray let me know. I’ll send the music to-morrow.
“I am finishing a two act comedy for Covent-Garden, which will be in rehearsal in a week. We have given the Duenna a respite this Christmas, but nothing else at present brings money. We have every place in the house taken for the three next nights, and shall, at least, play it fifty nights, with only the Friday’s intermission.
“My best love and the compliments of the season to all your fire-side.
“Your grandson is a very magnificent fellow. [Footnote: Sheridan’s first child, Thomas, born in the preceding year.]
“Yours ever sincerely,
“R. B. SHERIDAN.”
“January 4, 1776.
“DEAR SIR,
“I left Garrick last night too late to write to you. He has offered Colman the refusal, and showed me his answer; which was (as in the note) that he was willing to purchase the whole, but would have no partner but Garrick. On this, Mr. Garrick appointed a meeting with his partner, young Leasy, and, in presence of their solicitor, treasurer, &c., declared to him that he was absolutely on the point of settling, and, if he was willing, he might have the same price for his share; but that if he (Leasy) would not sell, Mr. Garrick would, instantly, to another party. The result was, Leasy’s declaring his intention of not parting with his share. Of this Garrick again informed Colman, who immediately gave up the whole matter.
“Garrick was extremely explicit, and, in short, we came to a final resolution. So that, if the necessary matters are made out to all our satisfactions, we may sign and seal a previous agreement within a fortnight.
“I meet him again to-morrow evening, when we are to name a day for a conveyancer on our side, to meet his solicitor, Wallace. I have pitched on a Mr. Phips, at the recommendation and by the advice of Dr. Ford. The three first steps to be taken are these, — our lawyer is to look into the titles, tenures, &c. of the house and adjoining estate, the extent and limitations of the patent, &c. We should then employ a builder (I think, Mr. Collins,) to survey the state and repair in which the whole premises are, to which G. entirely assents. Mr. G. will then give us a fair and attested estimate from his books of what the profits have been, at an average, for these last seven years. [Footnote: These accounts were found among Mr. Sheridan’s papers. Garrick’s income from the theatre for the year 1775-6 is thus stated:— “Author 400l., salary, 800l., manager 500l.”] This he has shown me in rough, and valuing the property at 70,000l, the interest has exceeded ten percent.
“We should, after this, certainly make an interest to get the King’s promise, that, while the theatre is well conducted, &c. he will grant no patent to a third, — though G. seems confident that he never will. If there is any truth in professions and appearances, G. seems likely always to continue our friend, and to give every assistance in his power.
“The method of our sharing the purchase, I should think, may be thus, — Ewart, to take 10,000l., you 10,000l, and I, 10,000l. — Dr. Ford agrees, with the greatest pleasure, to embark the other five; and if you do not choose to venture so much, will, I dare say, share it with you. Ewart is preparing his money, and I have a certainty of my part. We shall have a very useful ally in Dr. Ford; and my father offers his services on our own terms. We cannot unite Garrick to our interests too firmly; and I am convinced his influence will bring Leasy to our terms, if he should be ill-advised enough to desire to interfere in what he is totally unqualified for.
“I’ll write to you to-morrow relative to Leasy’s mortgage (which Garrick has, and advises us to take), and many other particulars. When matters are in a certain train (which I hope will be in a week,) I suppose you will not hesitate to come to town for a day or two. Garrick proposes, when we are satisfied with the bargain, to sign a previous article, with a penalty of ten thousand pounds on the parties who break from fulfilling the purchase. When we are once satisfied and determined in the business (which, I own, is my case), the sooner that is done the better. I must urge it particularly, as my confidential connection with the other house is peculiarly distressing, till I can with prudence reveal my situation, and such a treaty (however prudently managed) cannot long be kept secret, especially as Leasy is now convinced of Garrick’s resolution.
“I am exceedingly hurried at present, so, excuse omissions, and do not flag when we come to the point. I’ll answer for it, we shall see many golden campaigns.
“Yours ever,
“R. B. SHERIDAN.
“You have heard, I suppose, that Foote is likely never to show his face again.”
“January 31st, 1776.
“DEAR SIR,
“I am glad you have found a person who will let you have the money at four per cent. The security will be very clear; but, as there is some degree of risk, as in case of fire, I think four per cent uncommonly reasonable. — It will scarcely be any advantage to pay it off, for your houses and chapel, I suppose, bring in much more. Therefore, while you can raise money at four per cent, on the security of your theatrical share only, you will be right to alter, as little as you can, the present disposition of your property.
“As to your quitting Bath, I cannot see why you should doubt a moment about it. Surely, the undertaking in which you embark such a sum as 10,000l. ought to be the chief object of your attention — and, supposing you did not choose to give up all your time to the theatre, you may certainly employ yourself more profitably in London than in Bath. But, if you are willing (as I suppose you will be) to make the theatre the great object of your attention, rely on it you may lay aside every doubt of not finding your account in it; for the fact is, we shall have nothing but our own equity to consult in making and obtaining any demand for exclusive trouble. Leasy is utterly unequal to any department in the theatre. He has an opinion of me, and is very willing to let the whole burthen and ostensibility be taken off his shoulders. But I certainly should not give up my time and labor (for his superior advantage, having so much greater a share) without some exclusive advantage. Yet, I should by no means make the demand till I had shown myself equal to the task. My father purposes to be with us but one year; and that only to give me what advantage he can from his experience. He certainly must be paid for his trouble, and so certainly must you. You have experience and character equal to the line you would undertake; and it never can enter into any body’s head that you were to give your time or any part of your attention gratis, because you had a share in the theatre. I have spoke on this subject both to Garrick and Leasy, and you will find no demur on any side to your gaining a certain income from the theatre — greater, I think, than you could make out of it — and in this the theatre will be acting only for its own advantage. At the same time you may always make leisure for a few select scholars, whose interest may also serve the greater cause of your patentee-ship.
“I have had a young man with me who wants to appear as a singer in plays or oratorios. I think you’ll find him likely to be serviceable in either. He is not one-and-twenty, and has no conceit. He has a good tenor voice — very good ear and a great deal of execution, of the right kind. He reads notes very quick, and can accompany himself. This is Betsey’s verdict, who sat in judgment on him on Sunday last. I have given him no answer, but engaged him to wait till you come to town.
“You must not regard the reports in the paper about a third theatre — that’s all nonsense.
“Betsey’s and my love to all. Your grandson astonishes every body by his vivacity, his talents for music and poetry, and the most perfect integrity of mind.
“Yours most sincerely,
“R. B. SHERIDAN.”
In the following June the contract with Garrick was perfected; and in a paper drawn up by Mr. Sheridan many years after, I find the shares of the respective purchasers thus stated:-
Mr. Sheridan, two fourteenths of the whole. 10,000l.
Mr. Linley, ditto 10,000l.
Dr. Ford, 3 ditto 15,000l.
Mr. Ewart, it will be perceived, though originally mentioned as one of the parties, had no concern in the final arrangement.
Though the letters, just cited, furnish a more detailed account than has yet been given to the public of this transaction by which Mr. Sheridan became possessed of his theatrical property, they still leave us in the dark with respect to the source from which his own means of completing the purchase were derived. Not even to Mr. Linley, while entering into all other details, does he hint at the fountain head from which this supply is to come: —
“— gentes maluit ortus Mirari, quam nosse tuos.”
There was, indeed, something mysterious and miraculous about all his acquisitions, whether in love, in learning, in wit, or in wealth. How or when his stock of knowledge was laid in, nobody knew — it was as much a matter of marvel to those who never saw him read, as the existence of the chameleon has been to those who fancied it never eat. His advances in the heart of his mistress were, as we have seen, equally trackless and inaudible, and his triumph was the first that even rivals knew of his love. In like manner, the productions of his wit took the world by surprise, — being perfected in secret, till ready for display, and then seeming to break from under the cloud of his indolence in full maturity of splendor. His financial resources had no less an air of magic about them; and the mode by which he conjured up, at this time, the money for his first purchase into the theatre, remains, as far as I can learn, still a mystery. It has been said that Mr. Garrick supplied him with the means — but a perusal of the above letters must set that notion to rest. There was evidently, at this time, no such confidential understanding between them as an act of friendship of so signal a nature would imply; and it appears that Sheridan had the purchase money ready, even before the terms upon which Garrick would sell were ascertained. That Doctor Ford should have advanced the money is not less improbable; for the share of which, contrary to his first intention, he ultimately became proprietor, absorbed, there is every reason to think, the whole of his disposable means. He was afterwards a sufferer by the concern to such an extent, as to be obliged, in consequence of his embarrassments, to absent himself for a considerable time from England; and there are among the papers of Mr. Sheridan, several letters of remonstrance addressed to him by the son of Dr. Ford, in which some allusion to such a friendly service, had it ever occurred, would hardly have been omitted.
About the end of this year some dissensions arose between the new patentees and Mr. Lacy, in consequence of the expressed intention of the latter to introduce two other partners into the establishment, by the disposal of his share to Captain Thomson and a Mr. Langford. By an account of this transaction, which appears in a Periodical Paper published at the time, [Footnote: The Selector] and which, from its correctness in other particulars, I rather think may be depended on, it would seem that Sheridan, in his opposition to Lacy, had proceeded to the extremity of seceding from his own duties at the theatre, and inducing the principal actors to adopt the same line of conduct.
“Does not the rage (asks this writer) of the new managers, all directed against the innocent and justifiable conduct of Mr. Lacy, look as if they meant to rule a theatre, of which they have only a moiety among them, and feared the additional weight and influence which would be given to Mr. Lacy by the assistance of Captain Thomson and Mr. Langford? If their intentions were right, why should they fear to have their power balanced, and their conduct examined? Is there a precedent in the annals of the theatre, where the acting manager deserted the general property, left the house, and seduced the actors from their duties — why? forsooth, because he was angry. Is not such conduct actionable? In any concern of common property, Lord Mansfield would make it so. And, what an insult to the public, from whose indulgence and favor this conceited young man, with his wife and family, are to receive their daily bread! Because Mr. Lacy, in his opinion, had used him ill — his patrons and benefactors might go to the devil! Mr. Lacy acted with great temper and moderation; and, in order that the public might not be wholly disappointed, he brought on old stock-plays — his brother manager having robbed him of the means and instruments to do otherwise, by taking away the performers.”
It is also intimated in the same publication that Mr. Garrick had on this occasion “given Mr. Sheridan credit on his banker for 20,000l. for law expenses or for the purchase of Messrs. Langford and Thomson’s shares.”
The dispute, however, was adjusted amicably. Mr. Lacy was prevailed upon to write an apology to the public, and the design of disposing of his share in the theatre was, for the present, relinquished.
There is an allusion to this reconciliation in the following characteristic letter, addressed by Sheridan to Mr. Linley in the spring of the following year.
“DEAR SIR,
“You write to me though you tell me you have nothing to say — now, I have reversed the case, and have not wrote to you, because I have had so much to say. However, I find I have delayed too long to attempt now to transmit you a long detail of our theatrical manoeuvres; but you must not attribute my not writing to idleness, but on the contrary to my not having been idle.
“You represent your situation of mind between hopes and fears. I am afraid I should argue in vain (as I have often on this point before) were I to tell you, that it is always better to encourage the former than the latter. It may be very prudent to mix a little fear by way of alloy with a good solid mass of hope; but you, on the contrary, always deal in apprehension by the pound, and take confidence by the grain, and spread as thin as leaf gold. In fact, though a metaphor mayn’t explain it, the truth is, that, in all undertakings which depend principally on ourselves, the surest way not to fail is to determine to succeed.
“It would be endless to say more at present about theatrical matters, only, that every thing is going on very well. Lacy promised me to write to you, which I suppose, however, he has not done. At our first meeting after you left town, he cleared away all my doubts about his sincerity; and I dare swear we shall never have the least misunderstanding again, nor do I believe he will ever take any distinct counsel in future. Relative to your affair he has not the shade of an objection remaining, and is only anxious that you may not take amiss his boggling at first. We have, by and with the advice of the privy council, concluded to have Noverre over, and there is a species of pantomime to be shortly put on foot, which is to draw all the human kind to Drury. [Footnote: I find that the pantomime at Drury Lane this year was a revival of “Harlequin’s Invasion,” and that at Covent Garden, “Harlequin’s Frolics.”] This is become absolutely necessary on account of a marvellous preparation of the kind which is making at Covent Garden.
“Touching the tragedies you mention, if you speak of them merely as certain tragedies that may be had, I should think it impossible we could find the least room, as you know Garrick saddles us with one which we must bring out. But, if you have any particular desire that one of them should be done, it is another affair, and I should be glad to see them. Otherwise, I would much rather you would save the disagreeableness of giving my opinion to a fresh tragic bard, being already in disgrace with about nine of that irascible fraternity.
“Betsey has been alarmed about Tom, but without reason. He is in my opinion better than when you left him, at least to appearance, and the cold he caught is gone. We sent to see him at Battersea, and would have persuaded him to remove to Orchard Street; but he thinks the air does him good, and he seems with people where he is at home, and may divert himself, which, perhaps, will do him more good than the air, — but he is to be with us soon.
“Ormsby has sent me a silver branch on the score of the Duenna. This will cost me, what of all things I am least free of, a letter: and it should have been a poetical one, too, if the present had been any piece of plate but a candlestick! — I believe I must melt it into a bowl to make verses on it, for there is no possibility of bringing candle, candlestick, or snuffers, into metre. However, as the gift was owing to the muse, and the manner of it very friendly, I believe I shall try to jingle a little on the occasion; at least, a few such stanzas as might gain a cup of tea from the urn at Bath-Easton.
“Betsey is very well, and on the point of giving Tom up to feed like a Christian and a gentleman, or, in other words, of weaning, waining, or weening him. As for the young gentleman himself, his progress is so rapid, that one may plainly see the astonishment the sun is in of a morning, at the improvement of the night. Our loves to all.
“Yours ever, and truly,
“R. B. SHERIDAN.”
The first contribution which the dramatic talent of the new manager furnished to the stock of the theatre, was an alteration of Vanbrugh’s comedy, The Relapse, which was brought out on the 24th of February, 1777, under the title of “A Trip to Scarborough.”
In reading the original play, we are struck with surprise, that Sheridan should ever have hoped to be able to defecate such dialogue, and yet leave any of the wit, whose whole spirit is in the lees, behind. The very life of such characters as Berinthia is their licentiousness, and it is with them, as with objects that are luminous from putrescence, — to remove their taint is to extinguish their light. If Sheridan, indeed, had substituted some of his own wit for that which he took away, the inanition that followed the operation would have been much less sensibly felt. But to be so liberal of a treasure so precious, and for the enrichment of the work of another, could hardly have been expected from him. Besides, it may be doubted whether the subject had not already yielded its utmost to Vanbrugh, and whether even in the hands of Sheridan, it could have been brought to bear a second crop of wit. Here and there through the dialogue, there are some touches from his pen — more, however, in the style of his farce than his comedy. For instance, that speech of Lord Foppington, where, directing the hosier not “to thicken the calves of his stockings so much,” he says, “You should always remember, Mr. Hosier, that if you make a nobleman’s spring legs as robust as his autumnal calves, you commit a monstrous impropriety, and make no allowance for the fatigues of the winter.” Again, the following dialogue: —
“Jeweller. I hope, my lord, those buckles have had the unspeakable satisfaction of being honored with your lordship’s approbation?
“Lord F. Why, they are of a pretty fancy; but don’t you think them rather of the smallest?
“Jeweller. My lord, they could not well be larger, to keep on your lordship’s shoe.
“Lord F. My good sir, you forget that these matters are not as they used to be: formerly, indeed, the buckle was a sort of machine, intended to keep on the shoe; but the case is now quite reversed, and the shoe is of no earthly use but to keep on the buckle.”
About this time Mrs. Sheridan went to pass a few weeks with her father and mother at Bath, while Sheridan himself remained in town, to superintend the concerns of the theatre. During this interval he addressed to her the following verses, which I quote, less from their own peculiar merit, than as a proof how little his heart had yet lost of those first feelings of love and gallantry which too often expire in matrimony, as Faith and Hope do in heaven, and from the same causes —
“One lost in certainty, and one in joy.”
TO LAURA.
“Near Avon’s ridgy bank there grows
A willow of no vulgar size,
That tree first heard poor Silvio’s woes,
And heard how bright were Laura’s eyes.
Its boughs were shade from heat or show’r,
Its roots a moss-grown seat became;
Its leaves would strew the maiden’s bow’r,
Its bark was shatter’d with her name!
Once on a blossom-crowned day
Of mirth-inspiring May,
Silvio, beneath this willow’s sober shade,
In sullen contemplation laid,
Did mock the meadow’s flowery pride, —
Rail’d at the dance and sportive ring; —
The tabor’s call he did deride,
And said, it was not Spring.
He scorn’d the sky of azure blue,
He scorn’d whate’er could mirth bespeak;
He chid the beam that drank the dew,
And chid the gale that fann’d his glowing cheek.
Unpaid the season’s wanton lay,
For still he sigh’d, and said, it was not May.
“Ah, why should the glittering stream
Reflect thus delusive the scene?
Ah, why does a rosy-ting’d beam
Thus vainly enamel the green?
To me nor joy nor light they bring:
I tell thee, Phoebus, ’tis not Spring.
“Sweet tut’ress of music and love,
Sweet bird, if ’tis thee that I hear,
Why left you so early the grove,
To lavish your melody here?
Cease, then, mistaken thus to sing,
Sweet nightingale! it is not Spring.
“The gale courts my locks but to tease,
And, Zephyr, I call not on thee:
Thy fragrance no longer can please,
Then rob not the blossoms for me:
But hence unload thy balmy wing,
Believe me, Zephyr, ’tis not Spring.
“Yet the lily has drank of the show’r,
And the rose ‘gins to peep on the day;
And yon bee seems to search for a flow’r,
As busy as if it were May: —
In vain, thou senseless flutt’ring thing,
My heart informs me, ’tis not Spring.”
May pois’d her roseate wings, for she had heard
The mourner, as she pass’d the vales along;
And, silencing her own indignant bird,
She thus reprov’d poor Silvio’s song.
“How false is the sight of a lover;
How ready his spleen to discover
What reason would never allow!
Why, — Silvio, my sunshine and showers,
My blossoms, my birds, and my flow’rs,
Were never more perfect than now.
“The water’s reflection is true,
The green is enamell’d to view,
And Philomel sings on the spray;
The gale is the breathing of spring,
’Tis fragrance it bears on its wing,
And the bee is assur’d it is May.”
“Pardon (said Silvio with a gushing tear),
’Tis spring, sweet nymph, but Laura is not here.”
In sending these verses to Mrs. Sheridan, he had also written her a description of some splendid party, at which he had lately been present, where all the finest women of the world of fashion were assembled. His praises of their beauty, as well as his account of their flattering attentions to himself, awakened a feeling of at least poetical jealousy in Mrs. Sheridan, which she expressed in the following answer to his verses — taking occasion, at the same time, to pay some generous compliments to the most brilliant among his new fashionable friends. Though her verses are of that kind which we read more with interest than admiration, they have quite enough of talent for the gentle themes to which she aspired; and there is, besides, a charm about them, as coming from Mrs. Sheridan, to which far better poetry could not pretend.
TO SILVIO.
“Soft flow’d the lay by Avon’s sedgy side,
While o’er its streams the drooping willow hung
Beneath whose shadow Silvio fondly tried
To check the opening roses as they sprung.
In vain he bade them cease to court the gale,
That wanton’d balmy on the zephyr’s wing;
In vain, when Philomel renew’d her tale,
He chid her song, and said ‘It was not Spring.’
For still they bloom’d, tho’ Silvio’s heart was sad,
Nor did sweet Philomel neglect to sing;
The zephyrs scorned them not, tho’ Silvio had,
For love and nature told them it was Spring.
[Footnote: As the poem altogether would be too long, I have here omitted
five or six stanzas]
* * * * *
To other scenes doth Silvio now repair,
To nobler themes his daring Muse aspires;
Around him throng the gay, the young, the fair,
His lively wit the listening crowd admires.
And see, where radiant Beauty smiling stands,
With gentle voice and soft beseeching eyes,
To gain the laurel from his willing hands,
Her every art the fond enchantress tries.
What various charms the admiring youth surround,
How shall he sing, or how attempt to praise?
So lovely all — where shall the bard be found,
Who can to one alone attune his lays?
Behold with graceful step and smile serene,
Majestic Stella moves to claim the prize:
[Footnote: According to the Key which has been given me, the name of
Stella was meant to designate the Duchess of Rutland]
“’Tis thine,” he cries, “for thou art beauty’s queen.”
Mistaken youth! and sees’t thou Myra’s eyes?
[Footnote: The Duchess of Devonshire]
With beaming lustre see they dart at thee:
Ah I dread their vengeance — yet withhold thy hand, —
That deepening blush upbraids thy rash decree;
Hers is the wreath — obey the just demand.
“Pardon, bright nymph,”(the wond’ring Silvio cries)
“And oh, receive the wreath thy beauty’s due” —
His voice awards what still his hand denies,
For beauteous Amoret now his eyes pursue.
[Footnote: Mrs. (afterward Lady) Crewe]
With gentle step and hesitating grace,
Unconscious of her pow’r the fair one came;
If, while he view’d the glories of that face,
Poor Silvio doubted, — who shall dare to blame?
A rosy blush his ardent gaze reprov’d,
The offer’d wreath she modestly declined; —
“If sprightly wit and dimpled smiles are lov’d,
My brow,” said Flavia, “shall that garland bind.”
[Footnote: Lady Craven, afterwards Margravine of Anspach.]
With wanton gaiety the prize she seized —
Silvio in vain her snowy hand repell’d;
The fickle youth unwillingly was pleas’d,
Reluctantly the wreath he yet withheld.
But Jessie’s all-seducing form appears,
[Footnote: The late Countess of Jersey.]
Nor more the playful Flavia could delight;
Lovely in smiles, more lovely still in tears,
Her every glance shone eloquently bright.
Those radiant eyes in safety none could view,
Did not those fringed lids their brightness shade —
Mistaken youths! their beams, too late ye knew,
Are by that soft defence more fatal made.
“O God of Love!” with transport Silvio cries,
“Assist me thou, this contest to decide;
And since to one I cannot yield the prize,
Permit thy slave the garland to divide.
“On Myra’s breast the opening rose shall blow,
Reflecting from her cheek a livelier bloom;
For Stella shall the bright carnation glow —
Beneath her eyes’ bright radiance meet its doom.
“Smart pinks and daffodils shall Flavia grace,
The modest eglantine and violet blue
On gentle Amoret’s placid brow I’ll place —
Of elegance and love an emblem true.”
In gardens oft a beauteous flow’r there grows,
By vulgar eyes unnoticed and unseen;
In sweet security it humbly blows,
And rears its purple head to deck the green.
This flower, as nature’s poet sweetly sings,
Was once milk-white, and hearts-ease was its name;
Till wanton Cupid pois’d his roseate wings,
A vestal’s sacred bosom to inflame;
With treacherous aim the god his arrow drew,
Which she with icy coldness did repel;
Rebounding thence with feathery speed it flew,
Till on this lonely flow’r at last it fell.
Heart’s-ease no more the wandering shepherds found,
No more the nymphs its snowy form possess;
Its white now chang’d to purple by Love’s wound,
Heart’s-ease no more, ’tis “Love in Idleness.”
“This flow’r with sweet-brier join’d shall thee adorn,
Sweet Jessie, fairest ‘mid ten thousand fair!
But guard thy gentle bosom from the thorn,
Which, tho’ conceal’d, the sweet-brier still must bear.
“And place not Love, tho’ idle, in thy breast,
Tho’ bright its hues, it boasts no other charm —
So may thy future days be ever blest,
And friendship’s calmer joys thy bosom warm !”
But where does Laura pass her lonely hours?
Does she still haunt the grot and willow-tree?
Shall Silvio from his wreath of various flowr’s
Neglect to cull one simple sweet for thee?
“Ah, Laura, no,” the constant Silvio cries,
“For thee a never-fading wreath I’ll twine;
Though bright the rose, its bloom too swiftly flies,
No emblem meet for love so true as mine.
“For thee, my love, the myrtle, ever-green,
Shall every year its blossom sweet disclose,
Which, when our spring of youth no more is seen,
Shall still appear more lovely than the rose.”
“Forgive, dear youth,” the happy Laura said,
“Forgive each doubt, each fondly anxious fear,
Which from my heart for ever now is fled —
Thy love and truth, thus tried, are doubly dear.
“With pain I mark’d the various passions rise,
When beauty so divine before thee mov’d;
With trembling doubt beheld thy wandering eyes,
For still I fear’d; — alas! because I lov’d.
“Each anxious doubt shall Laura now forego,
No more regret those joys so lately known,
Conscious, that tho’ thy breast to all may glow,
Thy faithful heart shall beat for her alone.
“Then, Silvio, seize again thy tuneful lyre,
Nor yet sweet Beauty’s power forbear to praise;
Again let charms divine thy strains inspire,
And Laura’s voice shall aid the poet’s lays.”