Kenrick having played the craven in his presence, avenged himself as soon as he was gone by complaining of his having made a wanton attack upon him, and by making coa.r.s.e comments upon his writings, conversation and person.

The scurrilous satire of Kenrick, however unmerited, may have checked Goldsmith's taste for masquerades. Sir Joshua Reynolds, calling on the poet one morning, found him walking about his room in somewhat of a reverie, kicking a bundle of clothes before him like a football. It proved to be an expensive masquerade dress, which he said he had been fool enough to purchase, and as there was no other way of getting the worth of his money, he was trying to take it out in exercise.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

INVITATION TO CHRISTMAS--THE SPRING VELVET COAT--THE HAYMAKING WIG--THE MISCHANCES OF LOO--THE FAIR CULPRIT--A DANCE WITH THE JESSAMY BRIDE

From the feverish dissipations of town, Goldsmith is summoned away to partake of the genial dissipations of the country. In the month of December, a letter from Mrs. Bunbury invites him down to Barton, to pa.s.s the Christmas holidays. The letter is written in the usual playful vein which marks his intercourse with this charming family. He is to come in his "smart spring-velvet coat," to bring a new wig to dance with the haymakers in, and, above all, to follow the advice of herself and her sister (the Jessamy Bride), in playing loo. This letter, which plays so archly, yet kindly, with some of poor Goldsmith's peculiarities, and bespeaks such real ladylike regard for him, requires a word or two of annotation. The spring-velvet suit alluded to appears to have been a gallant adornment (somewhat in the style of the famous bloom-colored coat) in which Goldsmith had figured in the preceding month of May--the season of blossoms--for, on the 21st of that month we find the following entry in the chronicle of Mr.

William Filby, tailor: _To your blue velvet suit_, 21 10s. 9d. Also, about the same time, a suit of livery and a crimson collar for the serving man. Again we hold the Jessamy Bride responsible for this gorgeous splendor of wardrobe.

The new wig no doubt is a bag-wig and solitaire, still highly the mode, and in which Goldsmith is represented as figuring when in full dress, equipped with his sword.

As to the dancing with the haymakers, we presume it alludes to some gambol of the poet, in the course of his former visit to Barton; when he ranged the fields and lawns a chartered libertine, and tumbled into the fish-ponds.

As to the suggestions about loo, they are in sportive allusion to the doctor's mode of playing that game in their merry evening parties; affecting the desperate gambler and easy dupe; running counter to all rule; making extravagant ventures; reproaching all others with cowardice; dashing at all hazards at the pool, and getting himself completely loo'd, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the company. The drift of the fair sisters' advice was most probably to tempt him on, and then leave him in the lurch.

With these comments we subjoin Goldsmith's reply to Mrs. Bunbury, a fine piece of off-hand, humorous writing, which has but in late years been given to the public, and which throws a familiar light on the social circle at Barton.

"Madam--I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candor could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer. I am not so ignorant, madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of that name--but this is learning you have no taste for!)--I say, madam, there are many sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an ill-natured critic, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows:

"'I hope, my good doctor, you soon will be here, And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear, To open our ball the first day of the year.'

"Pray, madam, where did you ever find the epithet 'good,' applied to the t.i.tle of doctor? Had you called me 'learned doctor,' or 'grave doctor,' or 'n.o.ble doctor,' it might be allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of 'my spring-velvet coat,' and advise me to wear it the first day in the year, that is, in the middle of winter!--a spring-velvet coat in the middle of winter!!! That would be a solecism indeed! and yet to increase the inconsistence, in another part of your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring-velvet in winter; and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines:

"'And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay, To dance with the girls that are makers of hay.'

"The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of: you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous kind of laughter, 'naso contemnere adunco'; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice! and from whom? You shall hear.

"First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, The company set, and the word to be Loo: All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure, And ogling the stake which is fix'd in the center.

Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly d.a.m.n At never once finding a visit from Pam.

I lay down my stake, apparently cool, While the harpies about me all pocket the pool.

I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly, I wish all my friends may be bolder than I: Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aim By losing their money to venture at fame.

'Tis in vain that at n.i.g.g.ardly caution I scold, 'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold: All play their own way, and they think me an a.s.s,...

'What does Mrs. Bunbury?' ... 'I, Sir? I pa.s.s.'

'Pray what does Miss Horneck? take courage, come do,'...

'Who, I? let me see, sir, why I must pa.s.s too.'

Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil, To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil.

Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on, Till, made by my losses as bold as a lion, I venture at all, while my avarice regards The whole pool as my own... 'Come, give me five cards.'

'Well done!' cry the ladies; 'Ah, doctor, that's good!

The pool's very rich,... ah! the doctor is loo'd!'

Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplext, I ask for advice from the lady that's next: 'Pray, ma'am, be so good as to give your advice; Don't you think the best way is to venture for't twice!'

'I advise,' cries the lady, 'to try it, I own....

Ah! the doctor is loo'd! Come, doctor, put down.'

Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager, And so bold, and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar.

Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you're skill'd in, Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding: For giving advice that is not worth a straw, May well be call'd picking of pockets in law; And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye, Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy.

What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!

By the G.o.ds, I'll enjoy it, tho' 'tis but in thought!

Both are plac'd at the bar, with all proper decorum, With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before 'em; Both cover their faces with mobs and all that, But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.

When uncover'd, a buzz of inquiry runs round, 'Pray what are their crimes?'... 'They've been pilfering found.'

'But, pray, who have they pilfer'd?'... 'A doctor, I hear.'

_'What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near?'_ 'The same.'... 'What a pity! how does it surprise one, _Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!'_ Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering, To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.

First Sir Charles advances with phrases wellstrung, 'Consider, dear doctor, the girls are but young.'

'The younger the worse,' I return him again, 'It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.'

'But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves.

'What signifies _handsome_, when people are thieves?'

'But where is your justice? their cases are hard.'

'What signifies _justice_? I want the _reward_.

"'There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds; there's the parish of St. Leonard Sh.o.r.editch offers forty pounds; there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-pound to St. Giles' watch-house, offers forty pounds--I shall have all that if I convict them!'--

"'But consider their case,... it may yet be your own!

And see how they kneel! Is your heart made of stone!'

This moves!... so at last I agree to relent, For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.'

"I challenge you all to answer this: I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep.

But now for the rest of the letter: and next--but I want room--so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week. I don't value you all!

"O. G."

We regret that we have no record of this Christmas visit to Barton; that the poet had no Boswell to follow at his heels, and take note of all his sayings and doings. We can only picture him in our minds, casting off all care; enacting the lord of misrule; presiding at the Christmas revels; providing all kinds of merriment; keeping the card-table in an uproar, and finally opening the ball on the first day of the year in his spring-velvet suit, with the Jessamy Bride for a partner.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

THEATRICAL DELAYS--NEGOTIATIONS WITH COLMAN--LETTER TO GARRICK--CROAKING OF THE MANAGER--NAMING OF THE PLAY--SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER--FOOTE'S PRIMITIVE PUPPET-SHOW, PIETY ON PATTENS--FIRST PERFORMANCE OF THE COMEDY--AGITATION OF THE AUTHOR--SUCCESS--COLMAN SQUIBBED OUT OF TOWN

The gay life depicted in the two last chapters, while it kept Goldsmith in a state of continual excitement, aggravated the malady which was impairing his const.i.tution; yet his increasing perplexities in money matters drove him to the dissipation of society as a relief from solitary care. The delays of the theater added to those perplexities. He had long since finished his new comedy, yet the year 1772 pa.s.sed away without his being able to get it on the stage. No one, uninitiated in the interior of a theater, that little world of traps and trickery, can have any idea of the obstacles and perplexities multiplied in the way of the most eminent and successful author by the mismanagement of managers, the jealousies and intrigues of rival authors, and the fantastic and impertinent caprices of actors. A long and baffling negotiation was carried on between Goldsmith and Colman, the manager of Covent Garden; who retained the play in his hands until the middle of January (1773), without coming to a decision. The theatrical season was rapidly pa.s.sing away, and Goldsmith's pecuniary difficulties were augmenting and pressing on him. We may judge of his anxiety by the following letter:

"_To George Colman, Esq._

"DEAR SIR--I entreat you'll relieve 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 endeavor 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 harsh treatment from you as from him. I have, as you know, a large sum of money to make up shortly; by accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my creditor that way; at any rate, I must look about to some certainty to be prepared. For G.o.d'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. I am your friend and servant,

"OLIVER GOLDSMITH."

Colman returned the ma.n.u.script with the blank sides of the leaves scored with disparaging comments and suggested alterations, but with the intimation that the faith of the theater should be kept, and the play acted notwithstanding. Goldsmith submitted the criticisms to some of his friends, who p.r.o.nounced them trivial, unfair, and contemptible, and intimated that Colman, being a dramatic writer himself, might be actuated by jealousy. The play was then sent, with Colman's comments written on it, to Garrick; but he had scarce sent it when Johnson interfered, represented the evil that might result from an apparent rejection of it by Covent Garden, and undertook to go forthwith to Colman, and have a talk with him on the subject. Goldsmith, therefore, penned the following note to Garrick:

"DEAR SIR--I ask many pardons for the trouble I gave you yesterday. Upon more mature deliberation, and the advice of a sensible friend, I began to think it indelicate in me to throw upon you the odium of confirming Mr.

Colman's sentence. I therefore request you will send my play back by my servant; for, having been a.s.sured 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 forego an advantage which lies in my power of appealing from Mr. Colman's opinion to the judgment of the town. I entreat, if not too late, you will keep this affair a secret for some time.