the gentleman whose memoirs we are now about to relate. He was amongst
the first who refined our poetry, and did more for the interest of the
drama, than any who ever wrote for the stage. He lived in times of
general confusion, and was no unactive member of the state, when its
necessities demanded his assistance; and when, with the restoration,
politeness and genius began to revive, he applied himself to the
promotion of these rational pleasures, which are fit to entertain a
cultivated people. This great man was son of one Mr. John Davenant, a
citizen of Oxford, and was born in the month of February, 1605; all
the biographers of our poet have observed, that his father was a man
of a grave disposition, and a gloomy turn of mind, which his son did
not inherit from him, for he was as remarkably volatile, as his father
was saturnine. The same biographers have celebrated our author's
mother as very handsome, whose charms had the power of attracting the
admiration of Shakespear, the highest compliment which ever was paid
to beauty. As Mr. Davenant, our poet's father, kept a tavern,
Shakespear, in his journies to Warwickshire, spent some time there,
influenced, as many believe, by the engaging qualities of the handsome
landlady. This circumstance has given rise to a conjecture, that
Davenant was really the son of Shakespear, as well naturally as
poetically, by an unlawful intrigue, between his mother and that great
man; that this allegation is founded upon probability, no reader can
believe, for we have such accounts of the amiable temper, and moral
qualities of Shakespear, that we cannot suppose him to have been
guilty of such an act of treachery, as violating the marriage honours;
and however he might have been delighted with the conversation, or
charmed with the person of Mrs. Davenant, yet as adultery was not then
the fashionable vice, it would be injurious to his memory, so much as
to suppose him guilty.
Our author received the first rudiments of polite learning from Mr.
Edward Sylvester, who kept a grammar school in the parish of All
Saints in Oxford. In the year 1624, the same in which his father was
Mayor of the city, he was entered a member of the university of
Oxford, in Lincoln's-Inn College, under the tuition of Mr. Daniel
Hough, but the Oxford antiquary is of opinion, he did not long remain
there, as his mind was too much addicted to gaiety, to bear the
austerities of an academical life, and being encouraged by some
gentlemen, who admired the vivacity of his genius, he repaired to
court, in hopes of making his fortune in that pleasing, but dangerous
element. He became first page to Frances, duchess of Richmond, a lady
much celebrated in those days, as well for her beauty, as the
influence she had at court, and her extraordinary taste for grandeur,
which excited her to keep a kind of private court of her own, which,
in our more fashionable æra, is known by the name of Drums, Routs, and
Hurricanes. Sir William afterwards removed into the family of Sir Fulk
Greville, lord Brooke, who being himself a man of taste and erudition,
gave the most encouraging marks of esteem to our rising bard. This
worthy nobleman being brought to an immature fate, by the cruel hands
of an assassin, 1628, Davenant was left without a patron, though not
in very indigent circumstances, his reputation having increased,
during the time he was in his lordship's service: the year ensuing the
death of his patron, he produced his first play to the world, called
Albovino, King of the Lombards, which met with a very general, and
warm reception, and to which some very honourable recommendations were
prefixed, when it was printed, in several copies of verses, by men of
eminence, amongst whom, were, Sir Henry Blount, Edward Hyde,
afterwards earl of Clarendon, and the honourable Henry Howard. Our
author spent the next eight years of his life in a constant attendance
upon court, where he was highly caressed by the most shining
characters of the times, particularly by the earl of Dorset, Edward
Hyde, and Lord Treasurer Weston: during these gay moments, spent in
the court amusements, an unlucky accident happened to our author,
which not a little deformed his face, which, from nature, was very
handsome. Wood has affirmed, that this accident arose from libidinous
dalliance with a handsome black girl in Axe-yard, Westminster. The
plain fact is this, Davenant was of an amorous complexion, and was so
unlucky as to carry the marks of his regular gallantries in the
depression of his nose; this exposed him to the pleasant raillery of
cotemporary wits, which very little affected him, and to shew that he
was undisturbed by their merriment, he wrote a burlesque copy of
verses upon himself. This accident happened pretty early in his life,
since it gave occasion to the following stanzas in Sir John Suckling's
Sessions of the Poets, which we have transcribed from a correct copy
of Suckling's works.
Will Davenant ashamed of a foolish mischance,
That he had got lately travelling in France,
Modestly hop'd the handsomness of his muse,
Might any deformity about him excuse.
Surely the company had been content,
If they cou'd have found any precedent,
But in all their records in verse, or prose,
There was none of a laureat, who wanted a nose.
Suckling here differs from the Oxford historian, in saying that Sir
William's disorder was contracted in France, but as Wood is the
highest authority, it is more reasonable to embrace his observation,
and probably, Suckling only mentioned France, in order that it might
rhime with mischance.
Some time after this, Davenant was rallied by another hand, on account
of this accident, as if it had been a jest that could never die; but
what is more extraordinary, is, that Sir William himself could not
forget the authoress of this misfortune, but has introduced her in his
Gondibert, and, in the opinion of some critics, very improperly. He
brings two friends, Ulfinore the elder, and Goltho the younger, on a
journey to the court of Gondibert, but in this passage to shew, as he
would insinuate the extream frailty of youth, they were arrested by a
very unexpected accident, notwithstanding the wife councils, which
Ulfinore had just received from his father[1]. The lines which have an
immediate reference to this fair enchantress, are too curious to be
here omitted.
I.
The black-ey'd beauty did her pride display,
Thro' a large window, and in jewels shone,
As if to please the world, weeping for day,
Night had put all her starry jewels on.
II.
This, beauty gaz'd on both, and Ulfinore
Hung down his head, but yet did lift his eyes
As if he fain would see a little more,
For much, tho' bashful, he did beauty prize.
III [sic].
Goltho did like a blushless statue stare,
Boldly her practis'd boldness did outlook;
And even for fear she would mistrust her snare,
Was ready to cry out, that he was took.
IV.
She, with a wicked woman's prosp'rous art,
A seeming modesty, the window clos'd;
Wisely delay'd his eyes, since of his heart
She thought she had sufficiently dispos'd.
V.
Nicely as bridegroom's was her chamber drest,
Her bed as brides, and richer than a throne;
And sweeter seem'd than the Circania's nest.
Though built in Eastern groves of Cinnamon.
VI.
The price of princes pleasure, who her love,
(Tho'! but false were) at rates so costly bought,
The wealth of many, but many hourly prove
Spoils to some one, by whom herself is caught.
VII.
She sway'd by sinful beauty's destiny,
Finds her tyrannic power must now expire,
Who meant to kindle Goltho in her eye,
But to her breast has brought the raging fire.
IX [sic].
Yet even in simple love she uses art,
Tho' weepings are from looser eyes, but leaks;
Yet eldest lovers scarce would doubt her heart,
So well she weeps, as she to Goltho speaks.
During our author's attendance at court, he wrote several plays, and
employed his time in framing masques, which were acted by the
principal nobility of both sexes; the Queen herself condescended to
take a share in one of them, which gave very great offence to the
scrupulous moralists, which sprung up in those days; the particular
account of this dramatic piece we shall give in the conclusion of his
life, and now proceed in enumerating the incidents of it.
Upon the death of Ben Johnson, which happened in the year 1637, our
poet succeeded to his laurel, notwithstanding the violent opposition
of his competitor Thomas May, who was so extremely affected with his
disappointment, though he had been a zealous courtier, yet from
resentment to the Queen, by whose interest Davenant was preferred, he
commenced an enemy to the King's party, and became both an advocate
and historian for the Parliament.
As soon as the civil war broke out, Mr. Davenant had an early share in
them and demonstrated his loyalty by speaking and acting for the King.
He was accused by the Parliament for being embarked in a design in May
1641, of seducing the army from their adherence to the parliamentary
authority, and bringing it again under the subjection of the King, and
defence of his person. In this scheme many of Sir William's friends
were engaged, viz. Mr. Henry Piercy, afterwards lord Piercy, Mr.
Goring, Mr. Jermyn, Mr. Ashburnham, Sir John Suckling, and others:
most of these persons, upon their design being discovered, placed
their security in flight, and Mr. Davenant amongst the rest; but a
proclamation being published for apprehending him, he was stopped at
Feversham, sent up to town, and put into the custody of a sergeant at
arms[2]. In the month of July following, our author was bailed, and
not long after finding it necessary, on account of the violence of the
times, to withdraw to France, he had the misfortune to be seized again
in Kent by the Mayor of Canterbury; how he escaped the present danger,
none of his biographers have related, but it appears that he did not,
upon this occasion, suffer long confinement; he at last retired beyond
sea, where he continued for some time, but the Queen sending over a
considerable quantity of military stores, for the use of the earl of
Newcastle's army, Mr. Davenant returned again to England, offered his
service to that noble peer, who was his old friend and patron, and by
him made lieutenant-general of his ordnance: this promotion gave
offence to many, who were his rivals in his lordship's esteem: they
remonstrated, that Sir William Davenant, being a poet, was, for that
very reason, unqualified for a place of so much trust, and which
demanded one of a solid, and less volatile turn of mind, than the sons
of Parnassus generally are. In this complaint they paid but an
indifferent compliment to the General himself, who was a poet, and had
written, and published several plays. That Davenant behaved well in
his military capacity is very probable, since, in the month of
September, 1643, he received the honour of knighthood from the King,
at the siege of Gloucester, an acknowledgment of his bravery, and
signal services, which bestowed at a time when a strict scrutiny was
made concerning the merit of officers, puts it beyond doubt, that
Davenant, in his martial character, was as deserving as in his
poetical. During these severe contentions, and notwithstanding his
public character, our author's muse sometimes raised her voice, in the
composition of several plays, of which we shall give some account when
we enumerate his dramatic performances. History is silent as to the
means which induced Davenant to quit the Northern army, but as soon as
the King's affairs so far declined, as to afford no hopes of a
revival, he judged it necessary to retire into France, where he was
extremely well received by the Queen, into whose confidence he had the
honour to be taken, and was intrusted with the negotiation of matters
of the highest importance, in the summer of the year 1646. Before this
time Sir William had embraced the popish religion, which circumstance
might so far ingratiate him with the queen, as to trust him with the
most important concerns. Lord Clarendon, who had a particular esteem
for him, has given a full account of this affair, though not much to
his advantage, but yet with all the tenderness due to Sir William's
good intentions, and of that long and intimate acquaintance that had
subsisted between them; which is the more worthy the reader's notice,
as it has entirely escaped the observation of all those, who have
undertaken to write this gentleman's Memoirs, though the most
remarkable passage in his whole life.
The King, in retiring to the Scots, had followed the advice of the
French ambassador, who had promised on their behalf, if not more than
he had authority to do, at least, more than they were inclined to
perform; to justify, however, his conduct at home, he was inclined to
throw the weight, in some measure, upon the King, and with this view,
he, by an express, informed cardinal Mazarine, that his Majesty was
too reserved in giving the Parliament satisfaction, and therefore
desired that some person might be sent over, who had a sufficient
degree of credit with the English Monarch, to persuade him to such
compliances, as were necessary for his interest. 'The Queen, says the
noble historian, who was never advised by those, who either
understood, or valued her Husband's interest, consulted those about
her, and sent Sir William Davenant, an honest man, and a witty, but in
all respects unequal to such a trust, with a letter of credit to the
King, who knew the person well enough under another character than was
likely to give him much credit upon the argument, with which he was
entrusted, although the Queen had likewise otherwise declared her
opinion to his Majesty, that he should part with the church for his
peace and security.' Sir William had, by the countenance of the French
ambassador, easy admission to the King, who heard patiently all he had
to say, and answered him in a manner, which demonstrated that he was
not pleased with the advice. When he found his Majesty unsatisfied,
and not disposed to consent to what was earnestly desired by those by
whom he had been sent, who undervalued all those scruples of
conscience, with which his Majesty was so strongly possessed, he took
upon himself the liberty of offering some reasons to the king, to
induce him to yield to what was proposed, and among other things said,
it was the opinion and advice of all his friends; his Majesty asked,
what friends? to which Davenant replied, lord Jermyn, and lord
Colepepper; the King upon this observed, that lord Jermyn did not
understand any thing of the church, and that Colepepper was of no
religion; but, says his Majesty, what is the opinion of the Chancellor
of the Exchequer? to which Davenant answered, he did not know, that he
was not there, and had deserted the Prince, and thereupon mentioned
the Queen's displeasure against the Chancellor; to which the King
said, 'The Chancellor was an honest man, and would never desert him
nor the Prince, nor the Church; and that he was sorry he was not with
his son, but that his wife was mistaken.'
Davenant then offering some reasons of his own, in which he treated
the church with indignity, his Majesty was so transported with anger,
that he gave him a sharper rebuke than he usually gave to any other
man, and forbad him again, ever to presume to come into his presence;
upon which poor Davenant was deeply affected, and returned into France
to give an account of his ill success to those who sent him.
Upon Davenant's return to Paris, he associated with a set of people,
who endeavoured to alleviate the distresses of exile by some kind of
amusement. The diversion, which Sir William chose was of the literary
sort, and having long indulged an inclination of writing an heroic
poem, and having there much leisure, and some encouragement, he was
induced to undertake one of a new kind; the two first books of which
he finished at the Louvre, where he lived with his old friend Lord
Jermyn; and these with a preface, addressed to Mr. Hobbs, his answer,
and some commendatory poems, were published in England; of which we
shall give some further account in our animadversions upon Gondibert.
While he employed himself in the service of the muses, Henrietta
Maria, the queen dowager of England whose particular favourite he was
found out business for him of another nature. She had heard that vast
improvements might be made in the loyal colony of Virginia, in case
proper artificers were sent there; and there being many of these in
France who were destitute of employment, she encouraged Sir William to
collect these artificers together, who accordingly embarked with his
little colony at one of the ports in Normandy; but in this expedition
he was likewise unfortunate; for before the vessel was clear of the
French coast, she was met by one of the Parliament ships of war, and
carried into the Isle of Wight, where our disappointed projector was
sent close prisoner to Cowes Castle, and there had leisure enough, and
what is more extraordinary, wanted not inclination to resume his
heroic poem, and having written about half the third book, in a very
gloomy prison, he thought proper to stop short again, finding himself,
as he imagined under the very shadow of death. Upon this occasion it
is reported of Davenant, that he wrote a letter to Hobbes, in which he
gives some account of the progress he made in the third book of
Gondibert, and offers some criticisms upon the nature of that kind of
poetry; but why, says he, should I trouble you or myself, with these
thoughts, when I am pretty certain I shall be hanged next week. This
gaiety of temper in Davenant, while he was in the most deplorable
circumstances of distress, carries something in it very singular, and
perhaps could proceed from no other cause but conscious innocence; for
he appears to have been an inoffensive good natured man. He was
conveyed from the Isle of Wight to the Tower of London, and for some
time his life was in the utmost hazard; nor is it quite certain by
what means he was preserved from falling a sacrifice to the prevailing
fury. Some conjecture that two aldermen of York, to whom he had been
kind when they were prisoners, interposed their influence for him;
others more reasonably conjecture that Milton was his friend, and
prevented the utmost effects of party rage from descending on the head
of this son of the muses. But by whatever means his life was saved, we
find him two years after a prisoner of the Tower, where he obtained
some indulgence by the favour of the Lord Keeper Whitlocke; upon
receiving which he wrote him a letter of thanks, which as it serves to
illustrate how easily and politely he wrote in prose, we shall here
insert. It is far removed either from meanness or bombast, and has as
much elegance in it as any letters in our language.
My Lord,
"I am in suspense whether I should present my thankfulness to your
lordship for my liberty of the Tower, because when I consider how much
of your time belongs to the public, I conceive that to make a request
to you, and to thank you afterwards for the success of it, is to give
you no more than a succession of trouble; unless you are resolved to
be continually patient, and courteous to afflicted men, and agree in
your judgment with the late wise Cardinal, who was wont to say, If he
had not spent as much time in civilities, as in business, he had
undone his master. But whilst I endeavour to excuse this present
thankfulness, I should rather ask your pardon, for going about to make
a present to you of myself; for it may argue me to be incorrigible,
that, after so many afflictions, I have yet so much ambition, as to
desire to be at liberty, that I may have more opportunity to obey your
lordship's commands, and shew the world how much
"I am,
"My Lord,
"Your lordship's most
"Obliged, most humble,
"And obedient servant,
"Wm. Davenant."
Our author was so far happy as to obtain by this letter the favour of
Whitlocke, who was, perhaps, a man of more humanity and gentleness of
disposition, than some other of the covenanters. He at last obtained
his liberty entirely, and was delivered from every thing but the
narrowness of his circumstances, and to redress these, encouraged by
the interest of his friends, he likewise made a bold effort. He was
conscious that a play-house was entirely inconsistent with the
gloominess, and severity of these times; and yet he was certain that
there were people of taste enough in town, to fill one, if such a
scheme could be managed; which he conducted with great address, and at
last brought to bear, as he had the countenance of lord Whitlocke, Sir
John Maynard, and other persons of rank, who really were ashamed of
the cant and hypocrisy which then prevailed. In consequence of this,
our poet opened a kind of theatre at Rutland House, where several
pieces were acted, and if they did not gain him reputation, they
procured him what is more solid, and what he then more wanted, money.
Some of the people in power, it seems, were lovers of music, and tho'
they did not care to own it, they were wise enough to know that there
was nothing scandalous or immoral in the diversions of the theatre.
Sir William therefore, when he applied for a permission called what he
intended to represent an opera; but when he brought it on the stage,
it appeared quite another thing, which when printed had the following
title:
First day's entertainment at Rutland House by declamation and music,
after the manner of the ancients.
This being an introductory piece, it demanded all the author's wit to
make it answer different intentions; for first it was to be so
pleasing as to gain applause; and next it was to be be so remote from
the very appearance of a play, as not to give any offence to that
pretended sanctity that was then in fashion. It began with music, then
followed a prologue, in which the author rallies the oddity of his own
performance. The curtain being drawn up to the sound of slow and
solemn music, there followed a grave declamation by one in a guilded
rostrum, who personated Diogenes, and shewed the use and excellency of
dramatic entertainments. The second part of the entertainment
consisted of two lighter declamations; the first by a citizen of
Paris, who wittily rallies the follies of London; the other by a
citizen of London, who takes the same liberty with Paris and its
inhabitants. To this was tacked a song, and after that came a short
epilogue. The music was composed by Dr. Coleman, Capt. Cook, Mr. Henry
Laws, and Mr. George Hudson.
There were several other pieces which Sir William introduced upon this
stage of the same kind, which met with as much success, as could be
expected from the nature of the performances themselves, and the
temper and disposition of the audience. Being thus introduced, he at
last grew a little bolder, and not only ventured to write, but to act
several new plays, which were also somewhat in a new taste; that is,
they were more regular in their structure, and the language generally
speaking, smoother, and more correct than the old tragedies. These
improvements were in a great measure owing to Sir William's long
residence in France, which gave him an opportunity of reading their
best writers, and hearing the sentiments of their ablest critics upon
dramatic entertainments, where they were as much admired and
encouraged, as at that time despised in England. That these were
really improvements, and that the public stood greatly indebted to Sir
William Davenant as a poet, and master of a theatre, we can produce no
less an authority than that of Dryden, who, beyond any of his
predecessors, contemporaries, or those who have succeeded him,
understood poetry as an art. In his essay on heroic plays, he thus
speaks, "The first light we had of them, on the English theatre (says
he) was from Sir William Davenant. It being forbidden him in the
religious times to act tragedies or comedies, because they contained
some matter of scandal to those good people, who could more easily
dispossess their lawful sovereign, than endure a wanton jest, he was
forced to turn his thoughts another way, and to introduce the examples
of moral virtue written in verse, and performed in recitative music.
The original of this music, and of the scenes which adorned his works,
he had from the Italian opera's; but he heightened his characters, as
I may probably imagine, from the examples of Corneille, and some
French poets. In this condition did this part of poetry remain at his
Majelty's return, when grown bolder as now owned by public authority,
Davenant revived the Siege of Rhodes, and caused it to be acted as a
just drama. But as few men have the happiness to begin and finish any
new project, so neither did he live to make his design perfect. There
wanted the fulness of a plot, and the variety of characters to form it
as it ought; and perhaps somewhat might have been added to the beauty
of the stile: all which he would have performed with more exactness,
had he pleased to have given us another work of the fame nature. For
myself and others who came after him, we are bound with all veneration
to his memory, to acknowledge what advantage we received from that
excellent ground work, which is laid, and since it is an easy thing to
add to what is already invented, we ought all of us, without envy to
him, or partiality to ourselves, to yield him the precedence in it."