(Davenport, solus.)
DAVENPORT
Thus far have I secured my charming prize. I can appretiate, while I
lament, the delicacy which makes her refuse the protection of my
sister's roof. But who comes here?
(_Enter Pendulous, agitated._) It must be he. That fretful animal
motion--that face working up and down with uneasy sensibility, like new
yeast. Jack--Jack Pendulous!
PENDULOUS
It is your old friend, and very miserable.
DAVENPORT
Vapours, Jack. I have not known you fifteen years to have to guess at
your complaint. Why, they troubled you at school. Do you remember when
you had to speak the speech of Buckingham, where he is going to
execution?
PENDULOUS
Execution!--he has certainly heard it. (_Aside_.)
DAVENPORT
What a pucker you were in overnight!
PENDULOUS
May be so, may be so, Mr. Davenport. That was an imaginary scene. I have
had real troubles since.
DAVENPORT
Pshaw! so you call every common accident.
PENDULOUS
Do you call my case so common, then?
DAVENPORT
What case?
PENDULOUS
You have not heard, then?
DAVENPORT
Positively not a word.
PENDULOUS
You must know I have been--(_whispers_)--tried for a felony since then.
DAVENPORT
Nonsense!
PENDULOUS
No subject for mirth, Mr. Davenport. A confounded short-sighted fellow
swore that I stopt him, and robbed him, on the York race-ground at nine
on a fine moonlight evening, when I was two hundred miles off in
Dorsetshire. These hands have been held up at a common bar.
DAVENPORT
Ridiculous! it could not have gone so far.
PENDULOUS
A great deal farther, I assure you, Mr. Davenport. I am ashamed to say
how far it went. You must know, that in the first shock and surprise of
the accusation, shame--you know I was always susceptible--shame put me
upon disguising my _name_, that, at all events, it might bring no
disgrace upon my family. I called myself _James Thomson_.
DAVENPORT
For heaven's sake, compose yourself.
PENDULOUS
I will. An old family ours, Mr. Davenport--never had a blot upon it till
now--a family famous for the jealousy of its honour for many
generations--think of that, Mr. Davenport--that felt a stain like a
wound--
DAVENPORT
Be calm, my dear friend.
PENDULOUS
This served the purpose of a temporary concealment well enough; but when
it came to the--_alibi_--I think they call it--excuse these technical
terms, they are hardly fit for the mouth of a gentleman, the
_witnesses_--that is another term--that I had sent for up from Melcombe
Regis, and relied upon for clearing up my character, by disclosing my
real name, _John Pendulous_--so discredited the cause which they came to
serve, that it had quite a contrary effect to what was intended. In
short, the usual forms passed, and you behold me here the miserablest of
mankind.
DAVENPORT
(_Aside_). He must be light-headed.
PENDULOUS
Not at all, Mr. Davenport. I hear what you say, though you speak it all
on one side, as they do at the playhouse.
DAVENPORT
The sentence could never have been carried into--pshaw!--you are
joking--the truth must have come out at last.
PENDULOUS
So it did, Mr. Davenport--just two minutes and a second too late by the
Sheriff's stop-watch. Time enough to save my life--my wretched life--but
an age too late for my honour. Pray, change the subject--the detail must
be as offensive to you.
DAVENPORT
With all my heart, to a more pleasing theme. The lovely Maria Flyn--are
you friends in that quarter, still? Have the old folks relented?
PENDULOUS
They are dead, and have left her mistress of her inclinations. But it
requires great strength of mind to--
DAVENPORT
To what?
PENDULOUS
To stand up against the sneers of the world. It is not every young lady
that feels herself confident against the shafts of ridicule, though
aimed by the hand of prejudice. Not but in her heart, I believe, she
prefers me to all mankind. But think what the world would say, if, in
defiance of the opinions of mankind, she should take to her arms
a--reprieved man!
DAVENPORT
Whims! You might turn the laugh of the world upon itself in a fortnight.
These things are but nine days' wonders.
PENDULOUS
Do you think so, Mr. Davenport?
DAVENPORT
Where does she live?
PENDULOUS
She has lodgings in the next street, in a sort of garden-house, that
belongs to one Cutlet. I have not seen her since the affair. I was going
there at her request.
DAVENPORT
Ha, ha, ha!
PENDULOUS
Why do you laugh?
DAVENPORT
The oddest fellow! I will tell you--But here he comes.
_Enter Cutlet._
CUTLET
(_To Davenport._) Sir, the young lady at my house is desirous you should
return immediately. She has heard something from home.
PENDULOUS
What do I hear?
DAVENPORT
'Tis her fears, I daresay. My dear Pendulous, you will excuse me?--I
must not tell him our situation at present, though it cost him a fit of
jealousy. We shall have fifty opportunities for explanation. [_Exit._]
PENDULOUS
Does that gentleman visit the lady at your lodgings?
CUTLET
He is quite familiar there, I assure you. He is all in all with her, as
they say.
PENDULOUS
It is but too plain. Fool that I have been, not to suspect that, while
she pretended scruples, some rival was at the root of her infidelity!
CUTLET
You seem distressed, Sir. Bless me!
PENDULOUS
I am, friend, above the reach of comfort.
CUTLET
Consolation, then, can be to no purpose?
PENDULOUS
None.
CUTLET
I am so happy to have met with him!
PENDULOUS
Wretch, wretch, wretch!
CUTLET
There he goes! How he walks about biting his nails! I would not exchange
this luxury of unavailing pity for worlds.
PENDULOUS
Stigmatized by the world--
CUTLET
My case exactly. Let us compare notes.
PENDULOUS
For an accident which--
CUTLET
For a profession which--
PENDULOUS
In the eye of reason has nothing in it--
CUTLET
Absolutely nothing in it--
PENDULOUS
Brought up at a public bar--
CUTLET
Brought up to an odious trade--
PENDULOUS
With nerves like mine--
CUTLET
With nerves like mine--
PENDULOUS
Arraigned, condemned--
CUTLET
By a foolish world--
PENDULOUS
By a judge and jury--
CUTLET
By an invidious exclusion disqualified for sitting upon a jury at all--
PENDULOUS
Tried, cast, and--
CUTLET
What?
PENDULOUS
HANGED, Sir, HANGED by the neck, till I was--
CUTLET
Bless me!
PENDULOUS
Why should not I publish it to the whole world, since she, whose
prejudice alone I wished to overcome, deserts me?
CUTLET
Lord have mercy upon us! not so bad as that comes to, I hope?
PENDULOUS
When she joins in the judgment of an illiberal world against me--
CUTLET
You said HANGED, Sir--that is, I mean, perhaps I mistook you. How
ghastly he looks!
PENDULOUS
Fear me not, my friend. I am no ghost--though I heartily wish I were
one.
CUTLET
Why, then, ten to one you were--
PENDULOUS
_Cut down._ The odious word shall out, though it choak me.
CUTLET
Your case must have some things in it very curious. I daresay you kept a
journal of your sensations.
PENDULOUS
Sensations!
CUTLET
Aye, while you were being--you know what I mean. They say persons in
your situation have lights dancing before their eyes--blueish. But then
the worst of all is coming to one's self again.
PENDULOUS
Plagues, furies, tormentors! I shall go mad! [_Exit._]
CUTLET
There, he says he shall go mad. Well, my head has not been very right of
late. It goes with a whirl and a buzz somehow. I believe I must not
think so deeply. Common people that don't reason know nothing of these
aberrations.
Great wits go mad, and small ones only dull;
Distracting cares vex not the empty skull:
They seize on heads that think, and hearts that feel,
As flies attack the--better sort of veal.
[_Exit._]
ACT II
SCENE.--At Flint's.
FLINT. WILLIAM.
FLINT
I have overwalked myself, and am quite exhausted. Tell Marian to come
and play to me.
WILLIAM
I shall, Sir. [_Exit._]
FLINT
I have been troubled with an evil spirit of late; I think an evil
spirit. It goes and comes, as my daughter is with or from me. It cannot
stand before her gentle look, when, to please her father, she takes down
her music-book. _Enter William._
WILLIAM
Miss Marian went out soon after you, and is not returned.
FLINT
That is a pity--That is a pity. Where can the foolish girl be gadding?
WILLIAM
The shopmen say she went out with Mr. Davenport.
FLINT
Davenport? Impossible.
WILLIAM
They say they are sure it was he, by the same token that they saw her
slip into his hand, when she was past the door, the casket which you
gave her.
FLINT
Gave her, William! I only intrusted it to her. She has robbed me. Marian
is a thief. You must go to the Justice, William, and get out a warrant
against her immediately. Do you help them in the description. Put in
"Marian Flint," in plain words--no remonstrances, William--"daughter of
Reuben Flint,"--no remonstrances, but do it--
WILLIAM
Nay, sir--
FLINT
I am rock, absolute rock, to all that you can say--A piece of solid
rock.--What is it that makes my legs to fail, and my whole frame to
totter thus? It has been my over walking. I am very faint. Support me
in, William. [_Exeunt_]
SCENE.--_The Apartment of Miss Flyn._
MISS FLYN. BETTY.
MISS FLYN
'Tis past eleven. Every minute I expect Mr. Pendulous here. What a
meeting do I anticipate!
BETTY
Anticipate, truly! what other than a joyful meeting can it be between
two agreed lovers who have been parted these four months?
MISS FLYN
But in that cruel space what accidents have happened!--(_aside_)--As
yet I perceive she is ignorant of this unfortunate affair.
BETTY
Lord, madam, what accidents? He has not had a fall or a tumble, has he?
He is not coming upon crutches?
MISS FLYN
Not exactly a fall--(_aside_)--I wish I had courage to admit her to my
confidence.
BETTY
If his neck is whole, his heart is so too, I warrant it.
MISS FLYN
His neck!--(_aside_)--She certainly mistrusts something. He writes me
word that this must be his last interview.
BETTY
Then I guess the whole business. The wretch is unfaithful. Some creature
or other has got him into a noose.
MISS FLYN
A noose!
BETTY
And I shall never more see him hang----
MISS FLYN
Hang, did you say, Betty?
BETTY
About that dear, fond neck, I was going to add, madam, but you
interrupted me.
MISS FLYN
I can no longer labour with a secret which oppresses me thus. Can you be
trusty?
BETTY
Who, I, madam?--(_aside_)--Lord, I am so glad. Now I shall know all.
MISS FLYN
This letter discloses the reason of his unaccountable long absence from
me. Peruse it, and say if we have not reason to be unhappy.
_(Betty retires to the window to read the letter, Mr. Pendulous
enters.)_
MISS FLYN
My dear Pendulous!
PENDULOUS
Maria!--nay, shun the embraces of a disgraced man, who comes but to tell
you that you must renounce his society for ever.
MISS FLYN
Nay, Pendulous, avoid me not.
PENDULOUS
_(Aside.)_ That was tender. I may be mistaken. Whilst I stood on
honourable terms, Maria might have met my caresses without a blush.
_(Betty, who has not attended to the entrance of Pendulous, through her
eagerness to read the letter, comes forward.)_
BETTY
Ha! ha! ha! What a funny story, madam; and is this all you make such a
fuss about? I should not care if twenty of my lovers had been----
(_seeing Pendulous_)--Lord, Sir, I ask pardon.
PENDULOUS
Are we not alone, then?
MISS FLYN
'Tis only Betty--my old servant. You remember Betty?
PENDULOUS
What letter is that?
MISS FLYN
O! something from her sweetheart, I suppose.
BETTY
Yes, ma'am, that is all. I shall die of laughing.
PENDULOUS
You have not surely been shewing her----
MISS FLYN
I must be ingenuous. You must know, then, that I was just giving Betty a
hint--as you came in.
PENDULOUS
A hint!
MISS FLYN
Yes, of our unfortunate embarrassment.
PENDULOUS
My letter!
MISS FLYN
I thought it as well that she should know it at first.
PENDULOUS
'Tis mighty well, madam. 'Tis as it should be. I was ordained to be a
wretched laughing-stock to all the world; and it is fit that our drabs
and our servant wenches should have their share of the amusement.
BETTY
Marry come up! Drabs and servant wenches! and this from a person in his
circumstances!
_(Betty flings herself out of the room, muttering.)_
MISS FLYN
I understand not this language. I was prepared to give my Pendulous a
tender meeting. To assure him, that however, in the eyes of the
superficial and the censorious, he may have incurred a partial
degradation, in the esteem of one, at least, he stood as high as ever.
That it was not in the power of a ridiculous _accident,_ involving no
guilt, no shadow of imputation, to separate two hearts, cemented by
holiest vows, as ours have been. This untimely repulse to my affections
may awaken scruples in me, which hitherto, in tenderness to you, I have
suppressed.
PENDULOUS
I very well understand what you call tenderness, madam; but in some
situations, pity--pity--is the greatest insult.
MISS FLYN
I can endure no longer. When you are in a calmer mood, you will be sorry
that you have wrung my heart so. _[Exit.]_
PENDULOUS
Maria! She is gone--in tears. Yet it seems she has had her scruples. She
said she had tried to smother them. Mermaid Betty intimated as much.
_Re-enter Betty._
BETTY
Never mind Retty, sir; depend upon it she will never 'peach.
PENDULOUS
'Peach!
BETTY
Lord, sir, these scruples will blow over. Go to her again, when she is
in a better humour. You know we must stand off a little at first, to
save appearances.
PENDULOUS
Appearances! _we!_
BETTY
It will be decent to let some time elapse.
PENDULOUS
Time elapse!
Lost, wretched Pendulous! to scorn betrayed,
The scoff alike of mistress and of maid!
What now remains for thee, forsaken man,
But to complete thy fate's abortive plan,
And finish what the feeble law began?
[_Exeunt._]
_Re-enter Miss Flyn, with Marian._
MISS FLYN
Now both our lovers are gone, I hope my friend will have less reserve.
You must consider this apartment as yours while you stay here. 'Tis
larger and more commodious than your own.
MARIAN
You are kind, Maria. My sad story I have troubled you with. I have some
jewels here, which I unintentionally brought away. I have only to beg,
that you will take the trouble to restore them to my father; and,
without disclosing my present situation, to tell him, that my next
step--with or without the concurrence of Mr. Davenport--shall be to
throw myself at his feet, and beg to be forgiven. I dare not see him
till you have explored the way for me. I am convinced I was tricked into
this elopement.
MISS FLYN
Your commands shall be obeyed implicitly.
MARIAN
You are good (_agitated_).
MISS FLYN
Moderate your apprehensions, my sweet friend. I too have known my
sorrows--(_smiling_).--You have heard of the ridiculous affair.
MARIAN
Between Mr. Pendulous and you? Davenport informed me of it, and we both
took the liberty of blaming the over-niceness of your scruples.
MISS FLYN
You mistake. The refinement is entirely on the part of my lover. He
thinks me not nice enough. I am obliged to feign a little reluctance,
that he may not take quite a distaste to me. Will you believe it, that
he turns my very constancy into a reproach, and declares, that a woman
must be devoid of all delicacy, that, after a thing of that sort, could
endure the sight of her husband in----
MARIAN
In what?
MISS FLYN
The sight of a man at all in----
MARIAN
I comprehend you not.
MISS FLYN
In--in a--_(whispers)_--night cap, my dear; and now the mischief is out.
MARIAN
Is there no way to cure him?
MISS FLYN
None, unless I were to try the experiment, by placing myself in the
hands of justice for a little while, how far an equality in misfortune
might breed a sympathy in sentiment. Our reputations would be both upon
a level, then, you know. What think you of a little innocent
shop-lifting, in sport?
MARIAN
And by that contrivance to be taken before a magistrate? the project
sounds oddly.
MISS FLYN
And yet I am more than half persuaded it is feasible.
_Enter Betty._
BETTY
Mr. Davenport is below, ma'am, and desires to speak with you.
MARIAN
You will excuse me--_(going--turning back.)_--You will remember the
casket? _[Exit.]_
MISS FLYN
Depend on me.
BETTY
And a strange man desires to see you, ma'am. I do not half like his
looks.
MISS FLYN
Shew him in.
_(Exit Betty, and returns--with a Police Officer. Betty goes out.)_
OFFICER
Your servant, ma'am. Your name is----
MISS FLYN
Flyn, sir. Your business with me?
OFFICER
_(Alternately surveying the lady and his paper of instructions.)_ Marian
Flint.
MISS FLYN
Maria Flyn.
OFFICER
Aye, aye, Flyn or Flint. 'Tis all one. Some write plain Mary, and some
put ann after it. I come about a casket.
MISS FLYN
I guess the whole business. He takes me for my friend. Something may
come out of this. I will humour him.
OFFICER
_(Aside)_--Answers the description to a tittle. "Soft, grey eyes, pale
complexion,"----
MISS FLYN
Yet I have been told by flatterers that my eyes were blue--_(takes out
a pocket-glass)_--I hope I look pretty tolerably to-day.
OFFICER
Blue!--they are a sort of blueish-gray, now I look better; and as for
colour, that comes and goes. Blushing is often a sign of a hardened
offender. Do you know any thing of a casket?
MISS FLYN
Here is one which a friend has just delivered to my keeping.
OFFICER
And which I must beg leave to secure, together with your ladyship's
person. "Garnets, pearls, diamond-bracelet,"--here they are, sure
enough.
MISS FLYN
Indeed, I am innocent.
OFFICER
Every man is presumed so till he is found otherwise.
MISS FLYN
Police wit! Have you a warrant?
OFFICER
Tolerably cool that! Here it is, signed by Justice Golding, at the
requisition of Reuben Flint, who deposes that you have robbed him.
MISS FLYN
How lucky this turns out! _(aside.)_--Can I be indulged with a coach?
OFFICER
To Marlborough Street? certainly--an old offender--_(aside.)_ The thing
shall be conducted with as much delicacy as is consistent with security.
MISS FLYN
Police manners! I will trust myself to your protection then. _[Exeunt.]_
SCENE.--_Police-Office._
JUSTICE, FLINT, OFFICERS, &c.
JUSTICE
Before we proceed to extremities, Mr. Flint, let me entreat you to
consider the consequences. What will the world say to your exposing your
own child?
FLINT
The world is not my friend. I belong to a profession which has long
brought me acquainted with its injustice. I return scorn for scorn, and
desire its censure above its plaudits.
JUSTICE
But in this case delicacy must make you pause.
FLINT
Delicacy--ha! ha!--pawnbroker--how fitly these words suit. Delicate
pawnbroker--delicate devil--let the law take its course.
JUSTICE
Consider, the jewels are found.
FLINT
'Tis not the silly baubles I regard. Are you a man? are you a father?
and think you I could stoop so low, vile as I stand here, as to make
money--filthy money--of the stuff which a daughter's touch has
desecrated? Deep in some pit first I would bury them.
JUSTICE
Yet pause a little. Consider. An only child.
FLINT
Only, only,--there, it is that stings me, makes me mad. She was the only
thing I had to love me--to bear me up against the nipping injuries of
the world. I prate when I should act. Bring in your prisoner.
_(The Justice makes signs to an Officer, who goes out, and returns with
Miss Flyn.)_
FLINT
What mockery of my sight is here? This is no daughter.
OFFICER
Daughter, or no daughter, she has confessed to this casket.
FLINT
_(Handling it.)_ The very same. Was it in the power of these pale
splendours to dazzle the sight of honesty--to put out the regardful eye
of piety and daughter-love? Why, a poor glow-worm shews more brightly.
Bear witness how I valued them--_(tramples on them)_.--Fair lady, know
you aught of my child?
MISS FLYN
I shall here answer no questions.
JUSTICE
You must explain how you came by the jewels, madam.
MISS FLYN
_(Aside.)_ Now confidence assist me!----A gentleman in the
neighbourhood will answer for me----
JUSTICE
His name----
MISS FLYN
Pendulous----
JUSTICE
That lives in the next street?
MISS FLYN
The same----now I have him sure.
JUSTICE
Let him be sent for. I believe the gentleman to be respectable, and will
accept his security.
FLINT
Why do I waste my time, where I have no business? None--I have none any
more in the world--none.
_Enter Pendulous._
PENDULOUS
What is the meaning of this extraordinary summons?--Maria here?
FLINT
Know you any thing of my daughter, Sir?
PENDULOUS
Sir, I neither know her nor yourself, nor why I am brought hither; but
for this lady, if you have any thing against her, I will answer it with
my life and fortunes.
JUSTICE
Make out the bail-bond.
OFFICER
(_Surveying Pendulous_.) Please, your worship, before you take that
gentleman's bond, may I have leave to put in a word?
PENDULOUS
(_Agitated._) I guess what is coming.
OFFICER
I have seen that gentleman hold up his hand at a criminal bar.
JUSTICE
Ha!
MISS FLYN
(_Aside._) Better and better.
OFFICER
My eyes cannot deceive me. His lips quivered about, while he was being
tried, just as they do now. His name is not Pendulous.
MISS FLYN
Excellent!
OFFICER
He pleaded to the name of Thomson at York assizes.
JUSTICE
Can this be true?
MISS FLYN
I could kiss the fellow!
OFFICER
He was had up for a footpad.
MISS FLYN
A dainty fellow!
PENDULOUS
My iniquitous fate pursues me everywhere.
JUSTICE
You confess, then.
PENDULOUS
I am steeped in infamy.
MISS FLYN
I am as deep in the mire as yourself.
PENDULOUS
My reproach can never be washed out.
MISS FLYN
Nor mine.
PENDULOUS
I am doomed to everlasting shame.
MISS FLYN
We are both in a predicament.
JUSTICE
I am in a maze where all this will end.
MISS FLYN
But here comes one who, if I mistake not, will guide us out of all our
difficulties.
_Enter Marian and Davenport._
MARIAN
_(Kneeling.)_ My dear father!
FLINT
Do I dream?
MARIAN
I am your Marian.
JUSTICE
Wonders thicken!
FLINT
The casket--
MISS FLYN
Let me clear up the rest.
FLINT
The casket--
MISS FLYN
Was inadvertently in your daughter's hand, when, by an artifice of her
maid Lucy,--set on, as she confesses, by this gentleman here,--
DAVENPORT
I plead guilty.
MISS FLYN
She was persuaded, that you were in a hurry going to marry her to an
object of her dislike; nay, that he was actually in the house for the
purpose. The speed of her flight admitted not of her depositing the
jewels; but to me, who have been her inseparable companion since she
quitted your roof, she intrusted the return of them; which the
precipitate measures of this gentleman _(pointing to the Officer)_ alone
prevented. Mr. Cutlet, whom I see coming, can witness this to be true.
_Enter Cutlet, in haste._
CUTLET
Aye, poor lamb! poor lamb! I can witness. I have run in such a haste,
hearing how affairs stood, that I have left my shambles without a
protector. If your worship had seen how she cried _(pointing to
Marian),_ and trembled, and insisted upon being brought to her father.
Mr. Davenport here could not stay her.
FLINT
I can forbear no longer. Marian, will you play once again, to please
your old father?
MARIAN
I have a good mind to make you buy me a new grand piano for your naughty
suspicions of me.
DAVENPORT
What is to become of me?
FLINT
I will do more than that. The poor lady shall have her jewels again.
MARIAN
Shall she?
FLINT
Upon reasonable terms _(smiling)._ And now, I suppose, the court may
adjourn.
DAVENPORT
Marian!
FLINT
I guess what is passing in your mind, Mr. Davenport; but you have
behaved upon the whole so like a man of honour, that it will give me
pleasure, if you will visit at my house for the future; but _(smiling)_
not clandestinely, Marian.
MARIAN
Hush, father.
FLINT
I own I had prejudices against gentry. But I have met with so much
candour and kindness among my betters this day--from this gentleman in
particular--_(turning to the Justice)_--that I begin to think of
leaving off business, and setting up for a gentleman myself.
JUSTICE
You have the feelings of one.
FLINT
Marian will not object to it.
JUSTICE
But _(turning to Miss Flyn)_ what motive could induce this lady to take
so much disgrace upon herself, when a word's explanation might have
relieved her?
MISS FLYN
This gentleman _(turning to Pendulous)_ can explain.
PENDULOUS
The devil!
MISS FLYN
This gentleman, I repeat it, whose backwardness in concluding a long and
honourable suit from a mistaken delicacy--
PENDULOUS
How!
MISS FLYN
Drove me upon the expedient of involving myself in the same disagreeable
embarrassments with himself, in the hope that a more perfect sympathy
might subsist between us for the future.
PENDULOUS
I see it--I see it all.
JUSTICE
(_To Pendulous._) You were then tried at York?
PENDULOUS
I was--CAST--
JUSTICE
Condemned--
PENDULOUS
EXECUTED.
JUSTICE
How?
PENDULOUS
CUT DOWN and CAME TO LIFE AGAIN. False delicacy, adieu! The true sort,
which this lady has manifested--by an expedient which at first sight
might seem a little unpromising, has cured me of the other. We are now
on even terms.
MISS FLYN
And may--
PENDULOUS
Marry,--I know it was your word.
MISS FLYN
And make a very quiet--
PENDULOUS
Exemplary--
MISS FLYN
Agreeing pair of--
PENDULOUS
ACQUITTED FELONS.
FLINT
And let the prejudiced against our profession acknowledge, that a
money-lender may have the heart of a father; and that in the casket,
whose loss grieved him so sorely, he valued nothing so dear as _(turning
to Marian)_ one poor domestic jewel.
* * * * *
THE WIFE'S TRIAL; OR, THE INTRUDING WIDOW
A DRAMATIC POEM
_Founded on Mr. Crabbe's Tale of "The Confidant."_
(1827)
* * * * *
CHARACTERS
MR. SELBY,--a Wiltshire Gentleman_.
KATHERINE, _Wife to Selby_.
LUCY, _Sister to Selby_.
MRS. FRAMPTON, _a Widow_.
SERVANTS.
SCENE.--_At Mr. Selby's house, or in the grounds adjacent_.
* * * * *
SCENE--_A Library_.
MR. SELBY, KATHERINE.
SELBY
Do not too far mistake me, gentlest wife;
I meant to chide your virtues, not yourself,
And those too with allowance. I have not
Been blest by thy fair side with five white years
Of smooth and even wedlock, now to touch
With any strain of harshness on a string
Hath yielded me such music. 'Twas the quality
Of a too grateful nature in my Katherine,
That to the lame performance of some vows,
And common courtesies of man to wife,
Attributing too much, hath sometimes seem'd
To esteem in favours, what in that blest union
Are but reciprocal and trivial dues,
As fairly yours as mine: 'twas this I thought
Gently to reprehend.
KATHERINE
In friendship's barter
The riches we exchange should hold some level,
And corresponding worth. Jewels for toys
Demand some thanks thrown in. You took me, sir,
To that blest haven of my peace, your bosom,
An orphan founder'd in the world's black storm.
Poor, you have made me rich; from lonely maiden,
Your cherish'd and your full-accompanied wife.
SELBY
But to divert the subject: Kate too fond,
I would not wrest your meanings; else that word
Accompanied, and full-accompanied too,
Might raise a doubt in some men, that their wives
Haply did think their company too long;
And over-company, we know by proof,
Is worse than no attendance.
KATHERINE
I must guess,
You speak this of the Widow--
SELBY
'Twas a bolt
At random shot; but if it hit, believe me,
I am most sorry to have wounded you
Through a friend's side. I know not how we have swerved
From our first talk. I was to caution you
Against this fault of a too grateful nature:
Which, for some girlish obligations past,
In that relenting season of the heart,
When slightest favours pass for benefits
Of endless binding, would entail upon you
An iron slavery of obsequious duty
To the proud will of an imperious woman.
KATHERINE
The favours are not slight to her I owe.
SELBY
Slight or not slight, the tribute she exacts
Cancels all dues--_[A voice within.]_
even now I hear her call you
In such a tone, as lordliest mistresses
Expect a slave's attendance. Prithee, Kate,
Let her expect a brace of minutes or so.
Say, you are busy. Use her by degrees
To some less hard exactions.
KATHERINE
I conjure you,
Detain me not. I will return--
SELBY
Sweet wife
Use thy own pleasure--_[Exit Katherine.]_
but it troubles me.
A visit of three days, as was pretended,
Spun to ten tedious weeks, and no hint given
When she will go! I would this buxom Widow
Were a thought handsomer! I'd fairly try
My Katherine's constancy; make desperate love
In seeming earnest; and raise up such broils,
That she, not I, should be the first to warn
The insidious guest depart.
_Re-enter Katherine._
So soon return'd!
What was our Widow's will?
KATHERINE
A trifle, Sir.
SELBY
Some toilet service-to adjust her head,
Or help to stick a pin in the right place--
KATHERINE
Indeed 'twas none of these.
SELBY
or new vamp up
The tarnish'd cloak she came in. I have seen her
Demand such service from thee, as her maid,
Twice told to do it, would blush angry-red,
And pack her few clothes up. Poor fool! fond slave!
And yet my dearest Kate!--This day at least
(It is our wedding-day) we spend in freedom,
And will forget our Widow.--Philip, our coach--
Why weeps my wife? You know, I promised you
An airing o'er the pleasant Hampshire downs
To the blest cottage on the green hill side,
Where first I told my love. I wonder much,
If the crimson parlour hath exchanged its hue
For colours not so welcome. Faded though it be,
It will not shew less lovely than the tinge
Of this faint red, contending with the pale,
Where once the full-flush'd health gave to this cheek
An apt resemblance to the fruit's warm side,
That bears my Katherine's name.--
Our carriage, Philip.
_Enter a Servant_.
Now, Robin, what make you here?
SERVANT
May it please you,
The coachman has driven out with Mrs. Frampton.
SELBY
He had no orders--
SERVANT
None, Sir, that I know of,
But from the lady, who expects some letter
At the next Post Town.
SELBY
Go, Robin.
[_Exit Servant_.]
How is this?
KATHERINE
I came to tell you so, but fear'd your anger--
SELBY
It was ill done though of this Mistress Frampton,
This forward Widow. But a ride's poor loss
Imports not much. In to your chamber, love,
Where you with music may beguile the hour,
While I am tossing over dusty tomes,
Till our most reasonable friend returns.
KATHERINE
I am all obedience. [_Exit Katherine_]
SELBY
Too obedient, Kate,
And to too many masters. I can hardly
On such a day as this refrain to speak
My sense of this injurious friend, this pest,
This household evil, this close-clinging fiend,
In rough terms to my wife. 'Death! my own servants
Controll'd above me! orders countermanded!'
What next? _[Servant enters and announces the Sister]
_Enter Lucy._
Sister! I know you are come to welcome
This day's return. 'Twas well done.
LUCY
You seem ruffled.
In years gone by this day was used to be
The smoothest of the year. Your honey turn'd
So soon to gall?
SELBY
Gall'd am I, and with cause,
And rid to death, yet cannot get a riddance,
Nay, scarce a ride, by this proud Widow's leave.
LUCY
Something you wrote me of a Mistress Frampton.
SELBY
She came at first a meek admitted guest,
Pretending a short stay; her whole deportment
Seem'd as of one obliged. A slender trunk,
The wardrobe of her scant and ancient clothing,
Bespoke no more. But in a few days her dress,
Her looks, were proudly changed. And now she flaunts it
In jewels stolen or borrow'd from my wife;
Who owes her some strange service, of what nature
I must be kept in ignorance. Katherine's meek
And gentle spirit cowers beneath her eye,
As spell-bound by some witch.
LUCY
Some mystery hangs on it.
How bears she in her carriage towards yourself?
SELBY
As one who fears, and yet not greatly cares
For my displeasure. Sometimes I have thought,
A secret glance would tell me she could love,
If I but gave encouragement. Before me
She keeps some moderation; but is never
Closeted with my wife, but in the end
I find my Katherine in briny tears.
From the small chamber, where she first was lodged,
The gradual fiend by specious wriggling arts
Has now ensconced herself in the best part
Of this large mansion; calls the left wing her own;
Commands my servants, equipage.--I hear
Her hated tread. What makes she back so soon?
_Enter Mrs. Frampton._
MRS. FRAMPTON
O, I am jolter'd, bruised, and shook to death,
With your vile Wiltshire roads. The villain Philip
Chose, on my conscience, the perversest tracks,
And stoniest hard lanes in all the county,
Till I was fain get out, and so walk back,
My errand unperform'd at Andover.
LUCY
And I shall love the knave for ever after.
[_Aside_.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
A friend with you!
SELBY
My eldest sister, Lucy,
Come to congratulate this returning morn.--
Sister, my wife's friend, Mistress Frampton.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Pray
Be seated. For your brother's sake, you are welcome.
I had thought this day to have spent in homely fashion
With the good couple, to whose hospitality
I stand so far indebted. But your coming
Makes it a feast.
LUCY
She does the honours naturally--[_Aside_.]
SELBY
As if she were the mistress of the house--[_Aside_.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
I love to be at home with loving friends.
To stand on ceremony with obligations,
Is to restrain the obliger. That old coach, though,
Of yours jumbles one strangely.
SELBY
I shall order
An equipage soon, more easy to you, madam--
LUCY
To drive her and her pride to Lucifer,
I hope he means. [_Aside_.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
I must go trim myself; this humbled garb
Would shame a wedding feast. I have your leave
For a short absence?--and your Katherine--
SELBY
You'll find her in her closet--
MRS. FRAMPTON
Fare you well, then. [_Exit_.]
SELBY
How like you her assurance?
LUCY
Even so well,
That if this Widow were my guest, not yours,
She should have coach enough, and scope to ride.
My merry groom should in a trice convey her
To Sarum Plain, and set her down at Stonehenge,
To pick her path through those antiques at leisure;
She should take sample of our Wiltshire flints.
O, be not lightly jealous! nor surmise,
That to a wanton bold-faced thing like this
Your modest shrinking Katherine could impart
Secrets of any worth, especially
Secrets that touch'd your peace. If there be aught,
My life upon't, 'tis but some girlish story
Of a First Love; which even the boldest wife
Might modestly deny to a husband's ear,
Much more your timid and too sensitive Katherine.
SELBY
I think it is no more; and will dismiss
My further fears, if ever I have had such.
LUCY
Shall we go walk? I'd see your gardens, brother;
And how the new trees thrive, I recommended.
Your Katherine is engaged now--
SELBY
I'll attend you. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE.--Servants' Hall.
HOUSEKEEPER, PHILIP, _and_ OTHERS, _laughing_.
HOUSEKEEPER
Our Lady's guest, since her short ride, seems ruffled,
And somewhat in disorder. Philip, Philip,
I do suspect some roguery. Your mad tricks
Will some day cost you a good place, I warrant.
PHILIP
Good Mistress Jane, our serious housekeeper,
And sage Duenna to the maids and scullions,
We must have leave to laugh; our brains are younger,
And undisturb'd with care of keys and pantries.
We are wild things.
BUTLER
Good Philip, tell us all.
ALL
Ay, as you live, tell, tell--
PHILIP
Mad fellows, you shall have it.
The Widow's bell rang lustily and loud--
BUTLER
I think that no one can mistake her ringing.
WAITING-MAID
Our Lady's ring is soft sweet music to it,
More of entreaty hath it than command.
PHILIP
I lose my story, if you interrupt me thus.
The bell, I say, rang fiercely; and a voice,
More shrill than bell, call'd out for "Coachman Philip."
I straight obey'd, as 'tis my name and office.
"Drive me," quoth she, "to the next market town,
Where I have hope of letters." I made haste.
Put to the horses, saw her safely coach'd,
And drove her--
WAITING-MAID
--By the straight high-road to Andover,
I guess--
PHILIP
Pray, warrant things within your knowledge,
Good Mistress Abigail; look to your dressings,
And leave the skill in horses to the coachman.
BUTLER
He'll have his humour; best not interrupt him.
PHILIP
'Tis market-day, thought I; and the poor beasts,
Meeting such droves of cattle and of people,
May take a fright; so down the lane I trundled,
Where Goodman Dobson's crazy mare was founder'd,
And where the flints were biggest, and ruts widest,
By ups and downs, and such bone-cracking motions,
We flounder'd on a furlong, till my madam,
In policy, to save the few joints left her,
Betook her to her feet, and there we parted.
ALL
Ha! ha! ha!
BUTLER
Hang her! 'tis pity such as she should ride.
WAITING-MAID
I think she is a witch; I have tired myself out
With sticking pins in her pillow; still she 'scapes them--
BUTLER
And I with helping her to mum for claret,
But never yet could cheat her dainty palate.
HOUSEKEEPER
Well, well, she is the guest of our good Mistress,
And so should be respected. Though I think
Our Master cares not for her company,
He would ill brook we should express so much,
By rude discourtesies, and short attendance,
Being but servants. (_A bell rings furiously._) 'Tis her bell
speaks now;
Good, good, bestir yourselves: who knows who's wanted?
BUTLER
But 'twas a merry trick of Philip coachman. [_Exeunt._]
SCENE.--_Mrs. Selby's Chamber._
MRS. FRAMPTON, KATHERINE, working.
MRS. FRAMPTON
I am thinking, child, how contrary our fates
Have traced our lots through life. Another needle,
This works untowardly. An heiress born
To splendid prospects, at our common school
I was as one above you all, not of you;
Had my distinct prerogatives; my freedoms,
Denied to you. Pray, listen--
KATHERINE
I must hear
What you are pleased to speak!--How my heart sinks here!
[_Aside._]
MRS. FRAMPTON
My chamber to myself, my separate maid,
My coach, and so forth.--Not that needle, simple one,
With the great staring eye fit for a Cyclops!
Mine own are not so blinded with their griefs
But I could make a shift to thread a smaller.
A cable or a camel might go through this,
And never strain for the passage.
KATHERINE
I will fit you.--
Intolerable tyranny! [_Aside._]
MRS. FRAMPTON
Quick, quick;
You were not once so slack.--As I was saying,
Not a young thing among ye, but observed me
Above the mistress. Who but I was sought to
In all your dangers, all your little difficulties,
Your girlish scrapes? I was the scape-goat still,
To fetch you off; kept all your secrets, some,
Perhaps, since then--
KATHERINE
No more of that, for mercy,
If you'd not have me, sinking at your feet,
Cleave the cold earth for comfort. [_Kneels._]
MRS. FRAMPTON
This to me?
This posture to your friend had better suited
The orphan Katherine in her humble school-days
To the _then_ rich heiress, than the wife of Selby,
Of wealthy Mr. Selby,
To the poor widow Frampton, sunk as she is.
Come, come,
'Twas something, or 'twas nothing, that I said;
I did not mean to fright you, sweetest bed-fellow!
You once were so, but Selby now engrosses you.
I'll make him give you up a night or so;
In faith I will: that we may lie, and talk
Old tricks of school-days over.
KATHERINE
Hear me, madam--
MRS. FRAMPTON
Not by that name. Your friend--
KATHERINE
My truest friend,
And saviour of my honour!
MRS. FRAMPTON
This sounds better;
You still shall find me such.
KATHERINE
That you have graced
Our poor house with your presence hitherto,
Has been my greatest comfort, the sole solace
Of my forlorn and hardly guess'd estate.
You have been pleased
To accept some trivial hospitalities,
In part of payment of a long arrear
I owe to you, no less than for my life.
MRS. FRAMPTON
You speak my services too large.
KATHERINE
Nay, less;
For what an abject thing were life to me
Without your silence on my dreadful secret!
And I would wish the league we have renew'd
Might be perpetual--
MRS. FRAMPTON
Have a care, fine madam! [_Aside._]
KATHERINE
That one house still might hold us. But my husband
Has shown himself of late--
MRS. FRAMPTON
How Mistress Selby?
KATHERINE
Not, not impatient. You misconstrue him.
He honours, and he loves, nay, he must love
The friend of his wife's youth. But there are moods
In which--
MRS. FRAMPTON
I understand you;--in which husbands,
And wives that love, may wish to be alone,
To nurse the tender fits of new-born dalliance,
After a five years' wedlock.
KATHERINE
Was that well
Or charitably put? do these pale cheeks
Proclaim a wanton blood? this wasting form
Seem a fit theatre for Levity
To play his love-tricks on; and act such follies,
As even in Affection's first bland Moon
Have less of grace than pardon in best wedlocks?
I was about to say, that there are times,
When the most frank and sociable man
May surfeit on most loved society,
Preferring loneness rather--
MRS. FRAMPTON
To my company--
KATHERINE
Ay, your's, or mine, or any one's. Nay, take
Not this unto yourself. Even in the newness
Of our first married loves 'twas sometimes so.
For solitude, I have heard my Selby say,
Is to the mind as rest to the corporal functions;
And he would call it oft, the _day's soft sleep._
MRS. FRAMPTON
What is your drift? and whereto tends this speech,
Rhetorically labour'd?
KATHERINE
That you would
Abstain but from our house a month, a week;
I make request but for a single day.
MRS. FRAMPTON
A month, a week, a day! A single hour
In every week, and month, and the long year,
And all the years to come! My footing here,
Slipt once, recovers never. From the state
Of gilded roofs, attendance, luxuries,
Parks, gardens, sauntering walks, or wholesome rides,
To the bare cottage on the withering moor,
Where I myself am servant to myself,
Or only waited on by blackest thoughts--
I sink, if this be so. No; here I sit.
KATHERINE
Then I am lost for ever!
[_Sinks at her feet--curtain drops._]
SCENE.--_An Apartment, contiguous to the last_.
SELBY, _as if listening_.
SELBY
The sounds have died away. What am I changed to?
What do I here, list'ning like to an abject,
Or heartless wittol, that must hear no good,
If he hear aught? "This shall to the ear of your husband."
It was the Widow's word. I guess'd some mystery,
And the solution with a vengeance comes.
What can my wife have left untold to me,
That must be told by proxy? I begin
To call in doubt the course of her life past
Under my very eyes. She hath not been good,
Not virtuous, not discreet; she hath not outrun
My wishes still with prompt and meek observance.
Perhaps she is not fair, sweet-voiced; her eyes
Not like the dove's; all this as well may be,
As that she should entreasure up a secret
In the peculiar closet of her breast,
And grudge it to my ear. It is my right
To claim the halves in any truth she owns,
As much as in the babe I have by her;
Upon whose face henceforth I fear to look,
Lest I should fancy in its innocent brow
Some strange shame written.
_Enter Lucy_.
Sister, an anxious word with you.
From out the chamber, where my wife but now
Held talk with her encroaching friend, I heard
(Not of set purpose heark'ning, but by chance)
A voice of chiding, answer'd by a tone
Of replication, such as the meek dove
Makes, when the kite has clutch'd her. The high Widow
Was loud and stormy. I distinctly heard
One threat pronounced--"Your husband shall know all."
I am no listener, sister; and I hold
A secret, got by such unmanly shift,
The pitiful'st of thefts; but what mine ear,
I not intending it, receives perforce,
I count my lawful prize. Some subtle meaning
Lurks in this fiend's behaviour; which, by force,
Or fraud, I must make mine.
LUCY
The gentlest means
Are still the wisest. What, if you should press
Your wife to a disclosure?
SELBY
I have tried
All gentler means; thrown out low hints, which, though
Merely suggestions still, have never fail'd
To blanch her cheek with fears. Roughlier to insist,
Would be to kill, where I but meant to heal.
LUCY
Your own description gave that Widow out
As one not much precise, nor over coy,
And nice to listen to a suit of love.
What if you feign'd a courtship, putting on,
(To work the secret from her easy faith,)
For honest ends, a most dishonest seeming?
SELBY
I see your drift, and partly meet your counsel.
But must it not in me appear prodigious,
To say the least, unnatural, and suspicious,
To move hot love, where I have shewn cool scorn,
And undissembled looks of blank aversion?
LUCY
Vain woman is the dupe of her own charms,
And easily credits the resistless power,
That in besieging Beauty lies, to cast down
The slight-built fortress of a casual hate.
SELBY
I am resolved--
LUCY
Success attend your wooing!
SELBY
And I'll about it roundly, my wise sister. [_Exeunt_.]
SCENE.--_The Library_.
MR. SELBY. MRS. FRAMPTON.
SELBY
A fortunate encounter, Mistress Frampton.
My purpose was, if you could spare so much
From your sweet leisure, a few words in private.
MRS. FRAMPTON
What mean his alter'd tones? These looks to me,
Whose glances yet he has repell'd with coolness?
Is the wind changed? I'll veer about with it,
And meet him in all fashions. [_Aside._]
All my leisure,
Feebly bestow'd upon my kind friends here,
Would not express a tithe of the obligements
I every hour incur.
SELBY
No more of that.--
I know not why, my wife hath lost of late
Much of her cheerful spirits.
MRS. FRAMPTON
It was my topic
To-day; and every day, and all day long,
I still am chiding with her. "Child," I said,
And said it pretty roundly--it may be
I was too peremptory--we elder school-fellows,
Presuming on the advantage of a year
Or two, which, in that tender time, seem'd much,
In after years, much like to elder sisters,
Are prone to keep the authoritative style,
When time has made the difference most ridiculous--
SELBY
The observation's shrewd.
MRS. FRAMPTON
"Child," I was saying,
"If some wives had obtained a lot like yours,"
And then perhaps I sigh'd, "they would not sit
In corners moping, like to sullen moppets
That want their will, but dry their eyes, and look
Their cheerful husbands in the face," perhaps
I said, their Selby's, "with proportion'd looks
Of honest joy."
SELBY
You do suspect no jealousy?
MRS. FRAMPTON
What is his import? Whereto tends his speech? [_Aside._]
Of whom, of what, should she be jealous, sir?
SELBY
I do not know, but women have their fancies;
And underneath a cold indifference,
Or show of some distaste, husbands have mask'd
A growing fondness for a female friend,
Which the wife's eye was sharp enough to see
Before the friend had wit to find it out.
You do not quit us soon?
MRS. FRAMPTON
'Tis as I find
Your Katherine profits by my lessons, sir.--
Means this man honest? Is there no deceit? [_Aside_.]
SELBY
She cannot chuse.--Well, well, I have been thinking,
And if the matter were to do again--
MRS. FRAMPTON
What matter, sir?
SELBY
This idle bond of wedlock;
These sour-sweet briars, fetters of harsh silk;
I might have made, I do not say a better,
But a more fit choice in a wife.
MRS. FRAMPTON
The parch'd ground,
In hottest Julys, drinks not in the showers
More greedily than I his words! [_Aside_.]
SELBY
My humour
Is to be frank and jovial; and that man
Affects me best, who most reflects me in
My most free temper.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Were you free to chuse,
As jestingly I'll put the supposition,
Without a thought reflecting on your Katherine,
What sort of woman would you make your choice?
SELBY
I like your humour, and will meet your jest.
She should be one about my Katherine's age;
But not so old, by some ten years, in gravity.
One that would meet my mirth, sometimes outrun it;
No puling, pining moppet, as you said,
Nor moping maid, that I must still be teaching
The freedoms of a wife all her life after:
But one, that, having worn the chain before,
(And worn it lightly, as report gave out,)
Enfranchised from it by her poor fool's death,
Took it not so to heart that I need dread
To die myself, for fear a second time
To wet a widow's eye.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Some widows, sir,
Hearing you talk so wildly, would be apt
To put strange misconstruction on your words,
As aiming at a Turkish liberty,
Where the free husband hath his several mates,
His Penseroso, his Allegro wife,
To suit his sober, or his frolic fit.
SELBY
How judge you of that latitude?
MRS. FRAMPTON
As one,
In European customs bred, must judge. Had I
Been born a native of the liberal East,
I might have thought as they do. Yet I knew
A married man that took a second wife,
And (the man's circumstances duly weigh'd,
With all their bearings) the considerate world
Nor much approved, nor much condemn'd the deed.
SELBY
You move my wonder strangely. Pray, proceed.
MRS. FRAMPTON
An eye of wanton liking he had placed
Upon a Widow, who liked him again,
But stood on terms of honourable love,
And scrupled wronging his most virtuous wife---
When to their ears a lucky rumour ran,
That this demure and saintly-seeming wife
Had a first husband living; with the which
Being question'd, she but faintly could deny.
"A priest indeed there was; some words had passed,
But scarce amounting to a marriage rite.
Her friend was absent; she supposed him dead;
And, seven years parted, both were free to chuse."
SELBY
What did the indignant husband? Did he not
With violent handlings stigmatize the cheek
Of the deceiving wife, who had entail'd
Shame on their innocent babe?
MRS. FRAMPTON
He neither tore
His wife's locks nor his own; but wisely weighing
His own offence with her's in equal poise,
And woman's weakness 'gainst the strength of man,
Came to a calm and witty compromise.
He coolly took his gay-faced widow home,
Made her his second wife; and still the first
Lost few or none of her prerogatives.
The servants call'd her mistress still; she kept
The keys, and had the total ordering
Of the house affairs; and, some slight toys excepted,
Was all a moderate wife would wish to be.
SELBY
A tale full of dramatic incident!--
And if a man should put it in a play,
How should he name the parties?
MRS. FRAMPTON
The man's name
Through time I have forgot--the widow's too;--
But his first wife's first name, her maiden one,
Was--not unlike to that your Katherine bore,
Before she took the honour'd style of Selby.
SELBY
A dangerous meaning in your riddle lurks.
One knot is yet unsolved; that told, this strange
And most mysterious drama ends. The name
Of that first husband---
_Enter Lucy._
MRS. FRAMPTON
Sir, your pardon--
The allegory fits your private ear.
Some half hour hence, in the garden's secret walk,
We shall have leisure. [_Exit._]
SELBY
Sister, whence come you?
LUCY
From your poor Katherine's chamber, where she droops
In sad presageful thoughts, and sighs, and weeps,
And seems to pray by turns. At times she looks
As she would pour her secret in my bosom---
Then starts, as I have seen her, at the mention
Of some immodest act. At her request
I left her on her knees.
SELBY
The fittest posture;
For great has been her fault to Heaven and me.
She married me, with a first husband living,
Or not known not to be so, which, in the judgment
Of any but indifferent honesty,
Must be esteem'd the same. The shallow Widow,
Caught by my art, under a riddling veil
Too thin to hide her meaning, hath confess'd all.
Your coming in broke off the conference,
When she was ripe to tell the fatal _name_,
That seals my wedded doom.
LUCY
Was she so forward
To pour her hateful meanings in your ear
At the first hint?
SELBY
Her newly flatter'd hopes
Array'd themselves at first in forms of doubt;
And with a female caution she stood off
Awhile, to read the meaning of my suit,
Which with such honest seeming I enforced,
That her cold scruples soon gave way; and now
She rests prepared, as mistress, or as wife,
To seize the place of her betrayed friend--
My much offending, but more suffering, Katherine.
LUCY
Into what labyrinth of fearful shapes
My simple project has conducted you--
Were but my wit as skilful to invent
A clue to lead you forth!--I call to mind
A letter, which your wife received from the Cape,
Soon after you were married, with some circumstances
Of mystery too.
SELBY
I well remember it.
That letter did confirm the truth (she said)
Of a friend's death, which she had long fear'd true,
But knew not for a fact. A youth of promise
She gave him out--a hot adventurous spirit--
That had set sail in quest of golden dreams,
And cities in the heart of Central Afric;
But named no names, nor did I care to press
My question further, in the passionate grief
She shew'd at the receipt. Might this be he?
LUCY
Tears were not all. When that first shower was past,
With clasped hands she raised her eyes to Heav'n,
As if in thankfulness for some escape,
Or strange deliverance, in the news implied,
Which sweeten'd that sad news.
SELBY
Something of that
I noted also--
LUCY
In her closet once,
Seeking some other trifle, I espied
A ring, in mournful characters deciphering
The death of "Robert Halford, aged two
And twenty." Brother, I am not given
To the confident use of wagers, which I hold
Unseemly in a woman's argument;
But I am strangely tempted now to risk
A thousand pounds out of my patrimony,
(And let my future husband look to it
If it be lost,) that this immodest Widow
Shall name the name that tallies with that ring.
SELBY
That wager lost, I should be rich indeed--
Rich in my rescued Kate--rich in my honour,
Which now was bankrupt. Sister, I accept
Your merry wager, with an aching heart
For very fear of winning. 'Tis the hour
That I should meet my Widow in the walk,
The south side of the garden. On some pretence
Lure forth my Wife that way, that she may witness
Our seeming courtship. Keep us still in sight,
Yourselves unseen; and by some sign I'll give,
(A finger held up, or a kerchief waved,)
You'll know your wager won--then break upon us,
As if by chance.
LUCY
I apprehend your meaning--
SELBY
And may you prove a true Cassandra here,
Though my poor acres smart for't, wagering sister.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE.-_Mrs. Selby's Chamber._
MRS. FRAMPTON. KATHERINE.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Did I express myself in terms so strong?
KATHERINE
As nothing could have more affrighted me.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Think it a hurt friend's jest, in retribution
Of a suspected cooling hospitality.
And, for my staying here, or going hence,
(Now I remember something of our argument,)
Selby and I can settle that between us.
You look amazed. What if your husband, child,
Himself has courted me to stay?
KATHERINE
You move
My wonder and my pleasure equally.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Yes, courted me to stay, waiv'd all objections.
Made it a favour to yourselves; not me,
His troublesome guest, as you surmised. Child, child!
When I recall his flattering welcome, I
Begin to think the burden of my presence
Was--
KATHERINE
What, for Heaven--
MRS. FRAMPTON
A little, little spice
Of jealousy--that's all--an honest pretext,
No wife need blush for. Say that you should see
(As oftentimes we widows take such freedoms,
Yet still on this side virtue,) in a jest
Your husband pat me on the cheek, or steal
A kiss, while you were by,--not else, for virtue's sake.
KATHERINE
I could endure all this, thinking my husband
Meant it in sport--
MRS. FRAMPTON
But if in downright earnest
(Putting myself out of the question here)
Your Selby, as I partly do suspect,
Own'd a divided heart--
KATHERINE
My own would break--
MRS. FRAMPTON
Why, what a blind and witless fool it is,
That will not see its gains, its infinite gains--
KATHERINE
Gain in a loss,
Or mirth in utter desolation!
MRS. FRAMPTON
He doting on a face--suppose it mine,
Or any other's tolerably fair--
What need you care about a senseless secret?
KATHERINE
Perplex'd and fearful woman! I in part
Fathom your dangerous meaning. You have broke
The worse than iron band, fretting the soul,
By which you held me captive. Whether my husband
_Is_ what you gave him out, or your fool'd fancy
But dreams he is so, either way I am free.
MRS. FRAMPTON
It talks it bravely, blazons out its shame;
A very heroine while on its knees;
Rowe's Penitent, an absolute Calista!
KATHERINE
Not to thy wretched self these tears are falling;
But to my husband, and offended heaven,
Some drops are due--and then I sleep in peace,
Reliev'd from frightful dreams, my dreams though sad.
[_Exit_.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
I have gone too far. Who knows but in this mood
She may forestall my story, win on Selby
By a frank confession?--and the time draws on
For our appointed meeting. The game's desperate,
For which I play. A moment's difference
May make it hers or mine. I fly to meet him.
[_Exit._]
SCENE.--_A Garden_.
MR. SELBY. MRS. FRAMPTON.
SELBY
I am not so ill a guesser, Mrs. Frampton,
Not to conjecture, that some passages
In your unfinished story, rightly interpreted,
Glanced at my bosom's peace;
You knew my wife?
MRS. FRAMPTON
Even from her earliest school-days.--What of that?
Or how is she concerned in my fine riddles,
Framed for the hour's amusement?
SELBY
By my _hopes_
Of my new interest conceived in you,
And by the honest passion of my heart,
Which not obliquely I to you did hint;
Come from the clouds of misty allegory,
And in plain language let me hear the worst.
Stand I disgraced or no?
MRS. FRAMPTON
Then, by _my_ hopes
Of my new interest conceiv'd in you,
And by the kindling passion in _my_ breast,
Which through my riddles you had almost read,
Adjured so strongly, I will tell you all.
In her school years, then bordering on fifteen,
Or haply not much past, she loved a youth--
SELBY
My most ingenuous Widow--
MRS. FRAMPTON
Met him oft
By stealth, where I still of the party was--
SELBY
Prime confidant to all the school, I warrant,
And general go-between--
[_Aside_.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
One morn he came
In breathless haste. "The ship was under sail,
Or in few hours would be, that must convey
Him and his destinies to barbarous shores,
Where, should he perish by inglorious hands,
It would be consolation in his death
To have call'd his Katherine _his_."
SELBY
Thus far the story
Tallies with what I hoped.
[_Aside_.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
Wavering between
The doubt of doing wrong, and losing him;
And my dissuasions not o'er hotly urged,
Whom he had flatter'd with the bride-maid's part;--
SELBY
I owe my subtle Widow, then, for this.
[_Aside_.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
Briefly, we went to church. The ceremony
Scarcely was huddled over, and the ring
Yet cold upon her finger, when they parted--
He to his ship; and we to school got back,
Scarce miss'd, before the dinner-bell could ring.
SELBY
And from that hour--
MRS. FRAMPTON
Nor sight, nor news of him,
For aught that I could hear, she e'er obtain'd.
SELBY
Like to a man that hovers in suspense
Over a letter just receiv'd, on which
The black seal hath impress'd its ominous token,
Whether to open it or no, so I
Suspended stand, whether to press my fate
Further, or check ill curiosity
That tempts me to more loss.--The name, the name
Of this fine youth?
MRS. FRAMPTON
What boots it, if 'twere told?
SELBY
Now, by our loves,
And by my hopes of happier wedlocks, some day
To be accomplish'd, give me his name!
MRS. FRAMPTON
'Tis no such serious matter. It was--Huntingdon.
SELBY
How have three little syllables pluck'd from me
A world of countless hopes!--
[_Aside_.]
Evasive Widow.
MRS. FRAMPTON
How, Sir! I like not this.
[_Aside_.]
SELBY
No, no, I meant
Nothing but good to thee. That other woman,
How shall I call her but evasive, false,
And treacherous?--by the trust I place in thee,
Tell me, and tell me truly, was the name
As you pronounced it?
MRS. FRAMPTON
Huntingdon--the name,
Which his paternal grandfather assumed,
Together with the estates, of a remote
Kinsman; but our high-spirited youth--
SELBY
Yes--
MRS. FRAMPTON
Disdaining
For sordid pelf to truck the family honours,
At risk of the lost estates, resumed the old style,
And answer'd only to the name of--
SELBY
What?
MRS. FRAMPTON
Of Halford--
SELBY
A Huntingdon to Halford changed so soon!
Why, then I see, a witch hath her good spells,
As well as bad, and can by a backward charm
Unruffle the foul storm she has just been raising.
[_Aside_.]
[_He makes the signal._]
My frank, fair spoken Widow! let this kiss,
Which yet aspires no higher, speak my thanks,
Till I can think on greater.
_Enter_ LUCY _and_ KATHERINE.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Interrupted!
SELBY
My sister here! and see, where with her comes
My serpent gliding in an angel's form,
To taint the new-born Eden of our joys.
Why should we fear them? We'll not stir a foot,
Nor coy it for their pleasures.
[_He courts the Widow_.]
LUCY (_to Katherine_.)
This your free,
And sweet ingenuous confession, binds me
For ever to you; and it shall go hard,
But it shall fetch you back your husband's heart,
That now seems blindly straying; or at worst,
In me you have still a sister.--Some wives, brother,
Would think it strange to catch their husbands thus
Alone with a trim widow; but your Katherine
Is arm'd, I think, with patience.
KATHERINE
I am fortified
With knowledge of self-faults to endure worse wrongs,
If they be wrongs, than he can lay upon me;
Even to look on, and see him sue in earnest,
As now I think he does it but in seeming,
To that ill woman.
SELBY
Good words, gentle Kate,
And not a thought irreverent of our Widow.
Why, 'twere unmannerly at any time,
But most uncourteous on our wedding day,
When we should shew most hospitable.--Some wine.
[_Wine is brought_.]
I am for sports. And now I do remember,
The old Egyptians at their banquets placed
A charnel sight of dead men's skulls before them,
With images of cold mortality,
To temper their fierce joys when they grew rampant.
I like the custom well: and ere we crown
With freer mirth the day, I shall propose,
In calmest recollection of our spirits,
We drink the solemn "Memory of the dead."
MRS. FRAMPTON
Or the supposed dead.
[_Aside to him_.]
SELBY
Pledge me, good wife.
[_She fills_.]
Nay, higher yet, till the brimm'd cup swell o'er.
KATHERINE
I catch the awful import of your words;
And, though I could accuse you of unkindness,
Yet as your lawful and obedient wife,
While that name lasts (as I perceive it fading,
Nor I much longer may have leave to use it)
I calmly take the office you impose;
And on my knees, imploring their forgiveness,
Whom I in heav'n or earth may have offended,
Exempt from starting tears, and woman's weakness,
I pledge you, Sir--the Memory of the Dead!
[_She drinks kneeling_.]
SELBY
'Tis gently and discreetly said, and like
My former loving Kate.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Does he relent?
[_Aside_.]
SELBY
That ceremony past, we give the day
To unabated sport. And, in requital
Of certain stories, and quaint allegories,
Which my rare Widow hath been telling to me
To raise my morning mirth, if she will lend
Her patient hearing, I will here recite
A Parable; and, the more to suit her taste,
The scene is laid in the East.
MRS. FRAMPTON
I long to hear it.
Some tale, to fit his wife.
[_Aside_.]
KATHERINE
Now, comes my TRIAL.
LUCY
The hour of your deliverance is at hand,
If I presage right. Bear up, gentlest sister.
SELBY
"The Sultan Haroun"--Stay--O now I have it--
"The Caliph Haroun in his orchards had
A fruit-tree, bearing such delicious fruits,
That he reserved them for his proper gust;
And through the Palace it was Death proclaim'd
To any one that should purloin the same."
MRS. FRAMPTON
A heavy penance for so light a fault--
SELBY
Pray you, be silent, else you put me out.
"A crafty page, that for advantage watch'd,
Detected in the act a brother page,
Of his own years, that was his bosom friend;
And thenceforth he became that other's lord,
And like a tyrant he demean'd himself,
Laid forced exactions on his fellow's purse;
And when that poor means fail'd, held o'er his head
Threats of impending death in hideous forms;
Till the small culprit on his nightly couch
Dream'd of strange pains, and felt his body writhe
In tortuous pangs around the impaling stake."
MRS. FRAMPTON
I like not this beginning--
SELBY
Pray you, attend.
"The Secret, like a night-hag, rid his sleeps,
And took the youthful pleasures from his days,
And chased the youthful smoothness from his brow,
That from a rose-cheek'd boy he waned and waned
To a pale skeleton of what he was;
And would have died, but for one lucky chance."
KATHERINE
Oh!
MRS. FRAMPTON
Your wife--she faints--some cordial--smell to this.
SELBY
Stand off. My sister best will do that office.
MRS. FRAMPTON
Are all his tempting speeches come to this?
[_Aside_.]
SELBY
What ail'd my wife?
KATHERINE
A warning faintness, sir,
Seized on my spirits, when you came to where
You said "a lucky chance." I am better now,
Please you go on.
SELBY
The sequel shall be brief.
KATHERINE
But brief or long, I feel my fate hangs on it.
[_Aside_.]
SELBY
"One morn the Caliph, in a covert hid,
Close by an arbour where the two boys talk'd
(As oft, we read, that Eastern sovereigns
Would play the eaves-dropper, to learn the truth,
Imperfectly received from mouths of slaves,)
O'erheard their dialogue; and heard enough
To judge aright the cause, and know his cue.
The following day a Cadi was dispatched
To summon both before the judgment-seat:
The lickerish culprit, almost dead with fear,
And the informing friend, who readily,
Fired with fair promises of large reward,
And Caliph's love, the hateful truth disclosed."
MRS. FRAMPTON
What did the Caliph to the offending boy,
That had so grossly err'd?
SELBY
His sceptred hand
He forth in token of forgiveness stretch'd,
And clapp'd his cheeks, and courted him with gifts,
And he became once more his favourite page.
MRS. FRAMPTON
But for that other--
SELBY
He dismiss'd him straight,
From dreams of grandeur and of Caliph's love,
To the bare cottage on the withering moor,
Where friends, turn'd fiends, and hollow confidants,
And widows, hide, who, in a husband's ear,
Pour baneful truths, but tell not all the truth;
And told him not that Robert Halford died
Some moons before _his_ marriage-bells were rung.
Too near dishonour hast thou trod, dear wife,
And on a dangerous cast our fates were set;
But Heav'n, that will'd our wedlock to be blest,
Hath interposed to save it gracious too.
Your penance is--to dress your cheek in smiles,
And to be once again my merry Kate.--
Sister, your hand.
Your wager won makes me a happy man,
Though poorer, Heav'n knows, by a thousand pounds.
The sky clears up after a dubious day.
Widow, your hand. I read a penitence
In this dejected brow; and in this shame
Your fault is buried. You shall in with us,
And, if it please you, taste our nuptial fare:
For, till this moment, I can joyful say,
Was never truly Selby's Wedding Day.
FINIS.
NOTES
Page 1. DEDICATION TO S.T. COLERIDGE, ESQ.
In 1818, when Lamb wrote these words, he was forty-three and Coleridge
forty-six. The _Works_, in the first volume of which this dedication
appeared, were divided into two volumes, the second, containing prose,
being dedicated to Martin Burney, in the sonnet which I have placed on
page 45. The publishers of the _Works_ were Charles and James Ollier,
who, starting business about 1816, had already published for Leigh Hunt,
Keats, and Shelley.
For the allusion to the threefold cord, in the second paragraph, see the
note on page 313.
The ****** Inn was the Salutation and Cat, in Newgate
Street, since rebuilt, where Coleridge used to stay on his London
visits when he was at Cambridge, and where the landlord is said
to have asked him to continue as a free guest--if only he would
talk and talk. Writing to Coleridge in 1796 Lamb recalls "the
little smoky room at the Salutation and Cat, where we have sat
together through the winter nights, beguiling the cares of life with
Poesy;" and again, "I have been drinking egg-hot and smoking
Oronooko (associated circumstances, which ever forcibly recall to
my mind our evenings and nights at the Salutation)." Later he
added to these concomitants of a Salutation evening, "Egg-hot,
Welsh-rabbit, and metaphysics," and gave as his highest idea of
heaven, listening to Coleridge "repeating one of Bowles's sweetest
sonnets, in your sweet manner, while we two were indulging
sympathy, a solitary luxury, by the fire side at the Salutation."
The line--
Of summer days and of delightful years
is from Bowles--"Sonnet written at Ostend."
* * * * *
Page 3. Lamb's Earliest Poem. _Mille Vice Mortis._
In a MS. book that had belonged to James Boyer of Christ's Hospital, in
which his best scholars inscribed compositions, are these lines signed
Charles Lamb, 1789. All Lamb's Grecians are there too. The book was
described by the late Dykes Campbell, Lamb's most accomplished and
enthusiastic student, in the _Illustrated London News_, December 26,
1891.
* * * * *
Page 4. POEMS IN COLERIDGE'S _POEMS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS_, 1796.
This book was published by Cottle, of Bristol, in 1796. Lamb contributed
four poems, which were thus referred to by Coleridge in the Preface:
"The Effusions signed C.L. were written by Mr. CHARLES LAMB, of the
India House--independently of the signature their superior merit would
have sufficiently distinguished them." Lamb reprinted the first only
once, in 1797, in the second edition of Coleridge's _Poems_, the
remaining three again in his _Works_ in 1818. I have followed in the
body of this volume the text of these later appearances, the original
form of the sonnets being relegated to the notes.
Page 4. _As when a child on some long winter's night._
Some mystery attaches to the authorship of this sonnet. On December 1,
1794, Coleridge wrote to the editor of the _Morning Chronicle_ saying
that he proposed to send a series of sonnets ("as it is the fashion to
call them") addressed to eminent contemporaries; and he enclosed one to
Mr. Erskine. The editor, with almost Chinese politeness, inserted
beneath the sonnet this note: "Our elegant Correspondent will highly
gratify every reader of taste by the continuance of his exquisitely
beautiful productions." The series continued with Burke, Priestley,
Lafayette, Kosciusko, Chatham, Bowles, and, on December 29, 1794, Mrs.
Siddons--the sonnet here printed--all signed S.T.C.
But the next appearance of the sonnet was as an effusion by Lamb in
Coleridge's _Poems on Various Subjects_, 1796, signed C.L.; and its next
in the _Poems_, 1797, among Lamb's contributions. In 1803, however, we
find it in Coleridge's _Poems_, third edition, with no reference to Lamb
whatever. This probably means that Lamb and Coleridge had written it
together, that Coleridge's original share had been the greater, and that
Lamb and he had come to an arrangement by which Coleridge was to be
considered the sole author; for Lamb did not reprint it in 1818 with his
other early verse. Writing in 1796 to Coleridge concerning his treatment
of other of Lamb's sonnets, Lamb says: "That to Mrs. Siddons, now, you
were welcome to improve, if it had been worth it; but I say unto you
again, Coleridge, spare my ewe lambs." Such a distinction drawn between
the sonnet to Mrs. Siddons and the others supports the belief that Lamb
had not for it a deeply parental feeling.
This was not the only occasion on which Lamb and Coleridge wrote a
sonnet in partnership. Writing to Southey in December, 1794, Coleridge
says: "Of the following sonnet, the four _last_ lines were written by
Lamb, a man of uncommon genius...."
SONNET
O gentle look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious smile!
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam;
What time in sickly mood, at parting day
I lay me down and think of happier years;
Of joys, that glimmered in Hope's twilight ray,
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.
O pleasant days of Hope--for ever flown!
Could I recall one!--But that thought is vain,
Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-winged travellers back again:
Anon, they haste to everlasting night,
Nor can a giant's arm arrest them in their flight.
Subsequently Coleridge rewrote the final couplet.
The same letter to Southey informs us that the sonnet to Mrs. Siddons
was not Lamb's earliest poem, although it stands first in his poetical
works; for Coleridge remarks: "Have you seen his [Lamb's] divine sonnet,
'O! I could laugh to hear the winter wind'?" (see page 5).
Lamb printed the sonnet to Mrs. Siddons twice--in 1796 and 1797.
Page 4. _Was it some sweet device of Faery._
This sonnet passed through various vicissitudes. Lamb had sent it to
Coleridge for his _Poems on Various Subjects_ in 1796, and Coleridge
proceeded to re-model it more in accordance with his own views. The
following version, representing his modifications, was the one that
found its way into print as Lamb's:--
Was it some sweet device of faery land
That mock'd my steps with many a lonely glade,
And fancied wand'rings with a fair-hair'd maid?
Have these things been? Or did the wizard wand
Of Merlin wave, impregning vacant air,
And kindle up the vision of a smile
In those blue eyes, that seem'd to speak the while
Such tender things, as might enforce Despair
To drop the murth'ring knife, and let go by
His fell resolve? Ah me! the lonely glade
Still courts the footsteps of the fair-hair'd maid,
Among whose locks the west-winds love to sigh;
But I forlorn do wander, reckless where,
And mid my wand'rings find no ANNA there!
C.L.
Lamb naturally protested when the result came under his eyes. "I love my
own feelings: they are dear to memory," he says in a letter in 1796,
"though they now and then wake a sigh or a tear. 'Thinking on divers
things foredone,' I charge you, Coleridge, spare my ewe lambs." Later,
when Coleridge's second edition was in preparation, Lamb wrote again
(January 10, 1797): "I need not repeat my wishes to have my little
sonnets printed _verbatim_ my last way. In particular, I fear lest you
should prefer printing my first sonnet [this one] as you have done more
than once, 'Did the wand of Merlin wave?' It looks so like _Mr_. Merlin,
the ingenious successor of the immortal Merlin, now living in good
health and spirits, and flourishing in magical reputation in Oxford
Street." The phrase "more than once" in the foregoing passage needs
explanation. It refers to the little pamphlet of sonnets, entitled
_Sonnets from Various Authors_, which Coleridge issued privately in
1796, and of which only one copy is now known to exist--that preserved
in the Dyce and Forster collection at South Kensington. The little
pamphlet contains twenty-eight sonnets in all, of which three are by
Bowles, four by Southey, four by Charles Lloyd, four by Coleridge, four
by Lamb, and others by various writers: all of which were chosen for
their suitability to be bound up with the sonnets of Bowles. Lamb's
sonnets were: "We were two pretty babes" (see page 9), "Was it some
sweet device" (printed with Coleridge's alterations), "When last I
roved" (see page 8), and "O! I could laugh" (see page 5).
The present sonnet belongs to the series of four love sonnets which is
completed by the one that follows, "Methinks, how dainty sweet it were,"
and those on page 8 beginning, "When last I roved" and "A timid grace."
Anna is believed to have been Ann Simmons, who lived at Blenheims, a
group of cottages near Blakesware, the house where Mrs. Field, Lamb's
grandmother, was housekeeper. Mrs. Field died in 1792, after which time
Lamb's long visits to that part of the country probably ceased. He was
then seventeen. Nothing is known of Lamb's attachment beyond these
sonnets, the fact that when he lost his reason for a short time in
1795-1796 he attributed the cause to some person unmentioned who is
conjectured to have been Anna, and the occasional references in the Ella
essays to "Alice W----" and to his old passion for her (see "Dream
Children" in particular, in Vol. II). The death of Mrs. Lamb in
September, 1796, and the duty of caring for and nursing his sister Mary,
which then devolved upon Charles, put an end to any dreams of private
happiness that he may have been indulging; and his little romance was
over. How deep his passion was we are not likely ever to know; but Lamb
thenceforward made very light of it, except in the pensive recollections
in the essays twenty-five years later. In November, 1796, when sending
Coleridge poems for his second edition, he says: "Do not entitle any of
my _things_ Love Sonnets, as I told you to call 'em; 'twill only make me
look little in my own eyes; for it is a passion of which I retain
nothing.... Thank God, the folly has left me for ever. Not even a review
of my love verses renews one wayward wish in me...." Again, in November,
1796, in another letter to Coleridge, about his poems in the 1797
edition, Lamb says: "Oh, my friend! I think sometimes, could I recall
the days that are past, which among them should I choose? not those
'merrier days,' not the 'pleasant days of hope,' not 'those wanderings
with a fair-hair'd maid,' which I have so often and so feelingly
regretted, but the days, Coleridge, of a _mother's_ fondness for her
_school-boy_." Lamb printed this sonnet three times--in 1796, 1797 and
1818.
* * * * *
Page 5. _Methinks how dainty sweet it were, reclin'd._
When this sonnet was printed by Coleridge in 1796 the sestet
was made to run thus:--
But ah! sweet scenes of fancied bliss, adieu!
On rose-leaf beds amid your faery bowers
I all too long have lost the dreamy hours!
Beseems it now the sterner Muse to woo,
If haply she her golden meed impart,
To realise the vision of the heart.
Lamb remonstrated: "I had rather have seen what I wrote myself, though
they bear no comparison with your exquisite lines--
"On rose-leaf'd beds, amid your faery bowers, etc.
I love my sonnets because they are the reflected images of my Own
feelings at different times." This sonnet was printed by Lamb three
times--in 1796, 1797 and 1798.
Page 5. _O! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind,_
This sonnet, written probably at Margate, was entitled, in 1796,
"Written at Midnight, by the Seaside, after a Voyage." The last
lines then ran:--
And almost wish'd it were no crime to die!
How Reason reel'd! What gloomy transports rose!
Till the rude dashings rock'd them to repose.
The couplet was Coleridge's, and Lamb protested (June 10, 1796),
describing them as good lines, but adding that they "must spoil
the whole with me who know it is only a fiction of yours and that
the rude dashings did in fact not rock me to repose."
When reprinted in 1797, the final couplet was omitted, asterisks
standing instead. The present sonnet was probably the earliest of Lamb's
printed poems. In the Elia essay "The Old Margate Hoy," Lamb states that
the first time he saw the sea was on a visit to Margate as a boy, by
water--probably the voyage that suggested this sonnet. Lamb printed the
sonnet three times--in 1796, 1797 and 1818.
* * * * *
Page 6. LLOYD'S _POEMS ON THE DEATH OF PRISCILLA FARMER_, 1796.
Charles Lloyd (1775-1839), the son of Charles Lloyd, of Birmingham (a
cultured and philanthropical Quaker banker), joined Coleridge at Bristol
late in 1796 as his private pupil, and moved with the family to Nether
Stowey. Priscilla Farmer was Lloyd's maternal grandmother, to whom he
was much attached, and on her death he composed the sonnets that form
this costly quarto, published for Lloyd by Coleridge's friend, Joseph
Cottle, of Bristol, in the winter of 1796.
Page 6. _The Grandame._
Lamb sent these lines in their first state to Coleridge in June, 1796,
at, which time they were, I conjecture, part of a long blank-verse poem
which he was then meditating, and of which "Childhood," "Fancy Employed
on Divine Subjects," and "The Sabbath Bells" (see pages 9 and 10) were
probably other portions. The poem was never finished. On June 13, 1796,
he writes to Coleridge:--
"Of the blank verses I spoke of, the following lines are the only
tolerably complete ones I have writ out of not more than one hundred and
fifty. That I get on slowly you may fairly impute to want of practice in
composition, when I declare to you that (the few verses which you have
seen excepted) I have not writ fifty lines since I left school. It may
not be amiss to remark that my grandmother (on whom the verses are
written) lived housekeeper in a family the fifty or sixty last years of
her life--that she was a woman of exemplary piety and goodness--and for
many years before her death was terribly afflicted with a cancer in her
breast, which she bore with true Christian patience. You may think that
I have not kept enough apart the ideas of her heavenly and her earthly
master; but recollect I have designedly given into her own way of
feeling; and if she had a failing 'twas that she respected her master's
family too much, not reverenced her Maker too little. The lines begin
imperfectly, as I may probably connect 'em if I finish at all: and if I
do, Biggs shall print 'em (in a more economical way than you yours),
for, Sonnets and all, they won't make a thousand lines as I propose
completing 'em, and the substance must be wire-drawn."
When Charles Lloyd joined Coleridge later in the year, and was preparing
his _Poems in Memory of Priscilla Farmer_, Coleridge obtained Lamb's
permission for "The Grandame" to be included with them. The lines were
introduced by Lloyd in these words: "The following beautiful fragment
was written by CHARLES LAMB, of the India-House.--Its subject being the
same with that of my Poems, I was solicitous to have it printed with
them: and I am indebted to a Friend of the Author's for the permission."
The poem differed then very slightly from its present form. When the
book was sent to Lamb he remarked (in December, 1796) on "the odd
coincidence of two young men, in one age, carolling their
grandmothers.... I cannot but smile to see my Granny so gayly deck'd
forth [the book was expensively produced by Lloyd], tho', I think,
whoever altered 'thy' praises to 'her' praises--'thy' honoured memory to
'her' honoured memory [lines 27 and 28], did wrong--they best exprest my
feelings. There is a pensive state of recollection, in which the mind is
disposed to apostrophise the departed objects of its attachment; and,
breaking loose from grammatical precision, changes from the 1st to the
3rd, and from the 3rd to the 1st person, just as the random fancy or
feeling directs."
Mrs. Mary Field, _née_ Bruton, Lamb's maternal grandmother, was
housekeeper at Blakesware house, near Widford, the seat of the Plumer
family for very many years, during the latter part of her life being
left in sole charge, for William Plumer had moved to his other seat,
Gilston, a few miles distant (see "Blakesmoor in H---- shire," and
notes, Vol. II). Lamb and his brother and sister visited their
grandmother at Blakesware as though in her own house. Mrs. Field died of
cancer in the breast, July 31, 1792, aged seventy-nine, and was buried
in Widford churchyard.
Approached from the east the churchyard seems to be anything but on the
hilltop, for one descends to it; but it stands on a ridge, and seen from
the north, or, as at the old Blakesware house, from the west, it appears
to crown an eminence. The present spire, though slender and tapering, is
not that which Lamb used to see. Mrs. Field's plain stone, whose
legibility was not long since threatened by overhanging branches, has
now been saved from danger and may still be read. It merely records the
name "Mary Feild" (a mistake of the stone-cutter) and the bare dates.
This poem was printed by Lamb three times--in 1796 (in Lloyd's book), in
1797 (with Coleridge) and in 1818.
* * * * *
Page 8. COLERIDGE'S _POEMS_, 1797.
Coleridge's _Poems on Various Subjects_, 1796, went into a second
edition in 1797 under the title, _Poems by S.T. Coleridge, Second
Edition, to which are now added Poems by Charles Lamb and Charles
Lloyd_. Coleridge invented a motto from Groscollius for the title-page,
bearing upon this poetical partnership: "Duplex nobis vinculum, et
amicitiae et similium junctarumque Camoenarum; quod utinam neque mors
solvat, neque temporis longinquitas!" "Double is the bond which binds
us--friendship, and a kindred taste in poetry. Would that neither death
nor lapse of time could dissolve it!"
Lamb's contributions were thus referred to by Coleridge in the Preface:
"There were inserted in my former Edition, a few Sonnets of my Friend
and old School-fellow, CHARLES LAMB. He has now communicated to me a
complete Collection of all his Poems; quae qui non prorsus amet, illum
omnes et Virtutes et Veneres odore." (Which things, whoever is not
unreservedly in love with, is detested by all the Virtues and the
Graces.) Lamb's poems came last in the book, an arrangement insisted
upon in a letter from him to Coleridge in November, 1796:--"Do you
publish with Lloyd, or without him? In either case my little portion may
come last; and after the fashion of orders to a country correspondent, I
will give directions how I should like to have 'em done. The title-page
to stand thus:--
POEMS
BY
CHARLES LAMB, OF THE INDIA HOUSE
Under this leaf the following motto, which, for want of room, I put over
leaf, I desire you to insert, whether you like it or no. May not a
gentleman choose what arms, mottoes, or armorial bearings the Herald
will give him leave, without consulting his republican friend, who might
advise none? May not a publican put up the sign of the _Saracen's Head_,
even though his undiscerning neighbour should prefer, as more genteel,
the _Cat and Gridiron_?
"[MOTTO]
"This Beauty, in the blossom of my Youth,
When my first fire knew no adulterate incense,
Nor I no way to flatter but my fondness,
In the best language my true tongue could tell me,
And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,
I sued and served. Long did I love this Lady.
"Massinger."
"THE DEDICATION
_THE FEW FOLLOWING POEMS_,
CREATURES OF THE FANCY AND THE FEELING
IN LIFE'S MORE _VACANT_ HOURS,
PRODUCED, FOR THE MOST PART, BY
LOVE IN IDLENESS;
ARE,
WITH ALL A BROTHER'S FONDNESS,
INSCRIBED TO
MARY ANN LAMB,
THE AUTHOR'S BEST FRIEND AND SISTER"
The dedication was printed as Lamb wished, in the form I have followed
above, and the book appeared.
Page 8. _When last I roved these winding wood-walks green,_
This was sent to Coleridge on June 1, 1796, in a letter containing also
the sonnets, "The Lord of Life," page 16; "A timid grace," page 8; and
"We were two pretty babes," page 9. It was written, said Lamb, "on
revisiting a spot, where the scene was laid of my 1st sonnet"--"Was it
some sweet device," page 4. Lamb printed this sonnet twice--in 1797 and
1818. Page 8. _A timid grace sits trembling in her eye._
This, the last of the four love sonnets (see note on page 310), seems to
be a survival of a discarded effort, for Lamb tells Coleridge, in the
letter referred to in the preceding note, that it "retains a few lines
from a sonnet of mine, which you once remarked had no 'body of thought'
in it." Lamb printed this sonnet twice--in 1797 and 1818.
Page 9. _If from my lips some angry accents fell,_
Lamb sent this sonnet, which is addressed to his sister, to Coleridge in
May, 1796. "The Sonnet I send you has small merit as poetry, but you
will be curious to read it when I tell you it was written in my
prison-house [an asylum] in one of my lucid Intervals." It is dated 1795
in Coleridge's _Poems_. Lamb printed the sonnet twice--in 1797 and 1818.
Page 9. _We were two pretty babes, the youngest she._
First printed in the _Monthly Magazine_, July, 1796. "The next and last
[wrote Lamb in the letter to Coleridge referred to in the notes on page
310] I value most of all. 'Twas composed close upon the heels of the
last ['A timid grace,' page 8], in that very wood I had in mind when I
wrote 'Methinks how dainty sweet' [page 5]." It is dated 1795 in
Coleridge's _Poems_. In the same letter Lamb adds:--"Since writing it, I
have found in a poem by Hamilton of Bangour [William Hamilton,
1704-1754, the Scotch poet, of Bangour, Linlithgowshire] these 2 lines
to happiness:--