THEATRICAL DELAYS--NEGOTIATIONS WITH COLMAN--LETTER TO GARRICK--CROAKING OF
THE MANAGER--NAMING OF THE PLAY--SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER--FOOTE'S PRIMITIVE
PUPPET-SHOW, PIETY ON PATTENS--FIRST PERFORMANCE OF THE COMEDY--AGITATION
OF THE AUTHOR--SUCCESS--COLMAN SQUIBBED OUT OF TOWN
The gay life depicted in the two last chapters, while it kept Goldsmith in
a state of continual excitement, aggravated the malady which was impairing
his constitution; yet his increasing perplexities in money matters drove
him to the dissipation of society as a relief from solitary care. The
delays of the theater added to those perplexities. He had long since
finished his new comedy, yet the year 1772 passed away without his being
able to get it on the stage. No one, uninitiated in the interior of a
theater, that little world of traps and trickery, can have any idea of the
obstacles and perplexities multiplied in the way of the most eminent and
successful author by the mismanagement of managers, the jealousies and
intrigues of rival authors, and the fantastic and impertinent caprices of
actors. A long and baffling negotiation was carried on between Goldsmith
and Colman, the manager of Covent Garden; who retained the play in his
hands until the middle of January (1773), without coming to a decision. The
theatrical season was rapidly passing away, and Goldsmith's pecuniary
difficulties were augmenting and pressing on him. We may judge of his
anxiety by the following letter:
"_To George Colman, Esq._
"DEAR SIR--I entreat you'll relieve me from that state of suspense in which
I have been kept for a long time. Whatever objections you have made or
shall make to my play, I will endeavor to remove and not argue about them.
To bring in any new judges, either of its merits or faults, I can never
submit to. Upon a former occasion, when my other play was before Mr.
Garrick, he offered to bring me before Mr. Whitehead's tribunal, but I
refused the proposal with indignation: I hope I shall not experience as
harsh treatment from you as from him. I have, as you know, a large sum of
money to make up shortly; by accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my
creditor that way; at any rate, I must look about to some certainty to be
prepared. For God's sake take the play, and let us make the best of it, and
let me have the same measure, at least, which you have given as bad plays
as mine. I am your friend and servant,
"OLIVER GOLDSMITH."
Colman returned the manuscript with the blank sides of the leaves scored
with disparaging comments and suggested alterations, but with the
intimation that the faith of the theater should be kept, and the play acted
notwithstanding. Goldsmith submitted the criticisms to some of his friends,
who pronounced them trivial, unfair, and contemptible, and intimated that
Colman, being a dramatic writer himself, might be actuated by jealousy. The
play was then sent, with Colman's comments written on it, to Garrick; but
he had scarce sent it when Johnson interfered, represented the evil that
might result from an apparent rejection of it by Covent Garden, and
undertook to go forthwith to Colman, and have a talk with him on the
subject. Goldsmith, therefore, penned the following note to Garrick:
"DEAR SIR--I ask many pardons for the trouble I gave you yesterday. Upon
more mature deliberation, and the advice of a sensible friend, I began to
think it indelicate in me to throw upon you the odium of confirming Mr.
Colman's sentence. I therefore request you will send my play back by my
servant; for, having been assured of having it acted at the other house,
though I confess yours in every respect more to my wish, yet it would be
folly in me to forego an advantage which lies in my power of appealing from
Mr. Colman's opinion to the judgment of the town. I entreat, if not too
late, you will keep this affair a secret for some time.
"I am, dear sir, your very humble servant,
"OLIVER GOLDSMITH."
The negotiation of Johnson with the manager of Covent Garden was effective.
"Colman," he says, "was prevailed on at last, by much solicitation, nay, a
kind of force," to bring forward the comedy. Still the manager was
ungenerous; or, at least, indiscreet enough to express his opinion, that it
would not reach a second representation. The plot, he said, was bad, and
the interest not sustained; "it dwindled, and dwindled, and at last went
out like the snuff of a candle." The effect of his croaking was soon
apparent within the walls of the theater. Two of the most popular actors,
Woodward and Gentleman Smith, to whom the parts of Tony Lumpkin and Young
Marlow were assigned, refused to act them; one of them alleging, in excuse,
the evil predictions of the manager. Goldsmith was advised to postpone the
performance of his play until he could get these important parts well
supplied. "No," said he, "I would sooner that my play were damned by bad
players than merely saved by good acting."
Quick was substituted for Woodward in Tony Lumpkin, and Lee Lewis, the
harlequin of the theater, for Gentleman Smith in Young Marlow; and both did
justice to their parts.
Great interest was taken by Goldsmith's friends in the success of his
piece. The rehearsals were attended by Johnson, Cradock, Murphy, Reynolds
and his sister, and the whole Horneck connection, including, of course, the
"Jessamy Bride," whose presence may have contributed to flutter the anxious
heart of the author. The rehearsals went off with great applause, but that
Colman attributed to the partiality of friends. He continued to croak, and
refused to risk any expense in new scenery or dresses on a play which he
was sure would prove a failure.
The time was at hand for the first representation, and as yet the comedy
was without a title. "We are all in labor for a name for Goldy's play,"
said Johnson, who, as usual, took a kind of fatherly protecting interest in
poor Goldsmith's affairs. The Old House a New Inn was thought of for a
time, but still did not please. Sir Joshua Reynolds proposed The Belle's
Stratagem, an elegant title, but not considered applicable, the
perplexities of the comedy being produced by the mistake of the hero, not
the stratagem of the heroine. The name was afterward adopted by Mrs. Cowley
for one of her comedies. The Mistakes of a Night was the title at length
fixed upon, to which Goldsmith prefixed the words She Stoops to Conquer.
The evil bodings of Colman still continued; they were even communicated in
the box office to the servant of the Duke of Gloucester, who was sent to
engage a box. Never did the play of a popular writer struggle into
existence through more difficulties.
In the meantime Foote's Primitive Puppet-show, entitled the Handsome
Housemaid, or Piety on Pattens, had been brought out at the Haymarket on
the 15th of February. All the world, fashionable and unfashionable, had
crowded to the theater. The street was thronged with equipages--the doors
were stormed by the mob. The burlesque was completely successful, and
sentimental comedy received its quietus. Even Garrick, who had recently
befriended it, now gave it a kick, as he saw it going down hill, and sent
Goldsmith a humorous prologue to help his comedy of the opposite school.
Garrick and Goldsmith, however, were now on very cordial terms, to which
the social meetings in the circle of the Hornecks and Bunburys may have
contributed.
On the 15th of March the new comedy was to be performed. Those who had
stood up for its merits, and been irritated and disgusted by the treatment
it had received from the manager, determined to muster their forces, and
aid in giving it a good launch upon the town. The particulars of this
confederation, and of its triumphant success, are amusingly told by
Cumberland in his memoirs.
"We were not over-sanguine of success, but perfectly determined to struggle
hard for our author. We accordingly assembled our strength at the
Shakespeare Tavern, in a considerable body, for an early dinner, where
Samuel Johnson took the chair at the head of a long table, and was the life
and soul of the corps: the poet took post silently by his side, with the
Burkes, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord, and a phalanx
of North British, predetermined applauders, under the banner of Major
Mills, all good men and true. Our illustrious president was in inimitable
glee; and poor Goldsmith that day took all his raillery as patiently and
complacently as my friend Boswell would have done any day or every day of
his life. In the meantime, we did not forget our duty; and though we had a
better comedy going, in which Johnson was chief actor, we betook ourselves
in good time to our separate and allotted posts, and waited the awful
drawing up of the curtain. As our stations were preconcerted, so were our
signals for plaudits arranged and determined upon in a manner that gave
every one his cue where to look for them, and how to follow them up.
"We had among us a very worthy and efficient member, long since lost to his
friends and the world at large, Adam Drummond, of amiable memory, who was
gifted by nature with the most sonorous, and, at the same time, the most
contagious laugh that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the
horse of the son of Hystaspes was a whisper to it; the whole thunder of the
theater could not drown it. This kind and ingenious friend fairly
forewarned us that he knew no more when to give his fire than the cannon
did that was planted on a battery. He desired, therefore, to have a flapper
at his elbow, and I had the honor to be deputed to that office. I planted
him in an upper box, pretty nearly over the stage, in full view of the pit
and galleries, and perfectly well situated to give the echo all its play
through the hollows and recesses of the theater. The success of our
maneuver was complete. All eyes were upon Johnson, who sat in a front row
of a side box; and when he laughed, everybody thought themselves warranted
to roar. In the meantime, my friend followed signals with a rattle so
irresistibly comic that, when he had repeated it several times, the
attention of the spectators was so engrossed by his person and performances
that the progress of the play seemed likely to become a secondary object,
and I found it prudent to insinuate to him that he might halt his music
without any prejudice to the author; but alas! it was now too late to rein
him in; he had laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, and now,
unluckily, he fancied that he found a joke in almost everything that was
said; so that nothing in nature could be more malapropos than some of his
bursts every now and then were. These were dangerous moments, for the pit
began to take umbrage; but we carried our point through, and triumphed not
only over Colman's judgment, but our own."
Much of this statement has been condemned as exaggerated or discolored.
Cumberland's memoirs have generally been characterized as partaking of
romance, and in the present instance he had particular motives for
tampering with the truth. He was a dramatic writer himself, jealous of the
success of a rival, and anxious to have it attributed to the private
management of friends. According to various accounts, public and private,
such management was unnecessary, for the piece was "received throughout
with the greatest acclamations."
Goldsmith, in the present instance, had not dared, as on a former occasion,
to be present at the first performance. He had been so overcome by his
apprehensions that, at the preparatory dinner he could hardly utter a word,
and was so choked that he could not swallow a mouthful. When his friends
trooped to the theater, he stole away to St. James' Park: there he was
found by a friend between seven and eight o'clock, wandering up and down
the Mall like a troubled spirit. With difficulty he was persuaded to go to
the theater, where his presence might be important should any alteration be
necessary. He arrived at the opening of the fifth act, and made his way
behind the scenes. Just as he entered there was a slight hiss at the
improbability of Tony Lumpkin's trick on his mother, in persuading her she
was forty miles off, on Crackskull Common, though she had been trundled
about on her own grounds. "What's that? what's that!" cried Goldsmith to
the manager, in great agitation. "Pshaw! doctor," replied Colman,
sarcastically, "don't be frightened at a squib, when we've been sitting
these two hours on a barrel of gunpowder!" Though of a most forgiving
nature Goldsmith did not easily forget this ungracious and ill-timed sally.
If Colman was indeed actuated by the paltry motives ascribed to him in his
treatment of this play, he was most amply punished by its success, and by
the taunts, epigrams, and censures leveled at him through the press, in
which his false prophecies were jeered at; his critical judgment called in
question; and he was openly taxed with literary jealousy. So galling and
unremitting was the fire, that he at length wrote to Goldsmith, entreating
him "to take him off the rack of the newspapers"; in the meantime, to
escape the laugh that was raised about him in the theatrical world of
London, he took refuge in Bath during the triumphant career of the comedy.
The following is one of the many squibs which assailed the ears of the
manager: