GAY

The Fabulist.

Gay the fabulist is only interesting in a certain sense and to a small

extent. The morality of the _Fables_ is commonplace; their workmanship

is only facile and agreeable; as literature--as achievements in a certain

order of art--they have a poor enough kind of existence. In comparison

to the work of La Fontaine they are the merest journalism. The

simplicity, the wit, the wisdom, the humanity, the dramatic imagination,

the capacity of dramatic expression, the exquisite union of sense and

manner, the faultless balance of matter and style, are qualities for

which in the Englishman you look in vain. You read, and you read not

only without enthusiasm but without interest. The verse is merely brisk

and fluent; the invention is common; the wit is not very witty; the

humour is artificial; the wisdom, the morality, the knowledge of life,

the science of character--if they exist at all it is but as anatomical

preparations or plants in a _hortus siccus_. Worse than anything, the

_Fables_ are monotonous. The manner is consistently uniform; the

invention has the level sameness of a Lincolnshire landscape; the

narrative moves with the equal pace of boats on a Dutch canal. The

effect is that of a host of flower-pots, the columns in a ledger, a

tragedy by the Rev. Mr. Home; and it is heightened by the matchless

triteness of the fabulist's reflections and the uncommon tameness of his

drama. It is hard to believe that this is indeed the Gay of _Polly_ and

_The Beggars' Opera_. True, the dialects of his Peachum and his Lockit

are in some sort one; his gentlemen of the road and his ladies of the

kennel rejoice in a common flippancy of expression; there is little to

choose between the speech of Polly and the speech of Lucy. But in

respect of the essentials of drama the dialogue of the _Beggars' Opera_

is on the whole sufficient. The personages are puppets; but they are

individual, and they are fairly consistent in their individuality. Miss

Lockit does not think and feel like Miss Diver; Macheath is

distinguishable from Peachum; none is exactly alive, but of stage life

ail have their share. The reverse of this is the case with the

personages of the _Fables_. They think the thoughts and speak the speech

of Mr. Gay. The elephant has the voice of the sparrow; the monkey is one

with the organ on which he sits; there is but a difference of name

between the eagle and the hog; the talk of Death has exactly the manner

and weight and cadence of the Woodman's; a change of label would enable

the lion to change places with the spaniel, would suffice to cage the

wolf as a bird and set free the parrot as a beast of prey. All are

equally pert, brisk, and dapper in expression; all are equally

sententious and smart in aim; all are absolutely identical in function

and effect. The whole gathering is stuffed with the same straw, prepared

with the same dressing, ticketed in the same handwriting, and painted

with the same colours. Any one who remembers the infinite variety of La

Fontaine will feel that Gay the fabulist is a writer whose work the world

has let die very willingly indeed.

The Moralist.

And Gay is not a whit less inefficient as a moralist. He is a kindly

soul, and in his easygoing way he has learnt something of the tricks of

the world and something of the hearts of men. He writes as an

unsuccessful courtier; and in that capacity he has remarks to offer which

are not always valueless, and in which there is sometimes a certain

shrewdness. But the unsuccessful courtier is on the whole a creature of

the past. Such interest as he has is rather historical than actual; and

neither in the nursery nor in the schoolroom is he likely to create any

excitement or be received with any enthusiasm. To the world he can only

recommend himself as one anxious to make it known on the smallest

provocation and on any occasion or none that Queen Anne is dead. Open

him where you will, and you find him full of this important news and

determined on imparting it. Thus, in _The Scold and the Parrot_:

'One slander must ten thousand get,

The world with int'rest pays the debt';

that is to say, Queen Anne is dead. Thus, too, in _The Persian_, _the

Sun_, _and the Cloud_:

'The gale arose; the vapour tost

(The sport of winds) in air was lost;

The glorious orb the day refines.

Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines';

in _The Goat without a Beard_:

'Coxcombs distinguished from the rest

To all but coxcombs are a jest';

in _The Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf_:

'An open foe may prove a curse,

But a pretended friend is worse';

and so to the end of the chapter. The theme is not absorbing, and the

variations are proper to the theme.

After All.

How long is it that the wise and good have ceased to say (striking their

pensive bosoms), '_Here_ lies Gay'? It is--how long? But for all that

Gay is yet a figure in English letters. As a song-writer he has still a

claim on us, and is still able to touch the heart and charm the ear. The

lyrics in _Acis and Galatea_ are not unworthy their association with

Handel's immortal melodies, the songs in _The Beggars' Opera_ have a part

in the life and fame of the sweet old tunes from which they can never be

divided. I like to believe that in the operas and the _Trivia_ and _The

Shepherd's Week_ is buried the material of a pleasant little book.