THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Amid much miscellaneous work, mostly of the compilation order, the
play of the _Good-natured Man_ began to assume concrete form; insomuch
that Johnson, always the friend of this erratic Irishman, had promised
to write a Prologue for it. It is with regard to this Prologue that
Boswell tells a foolish and untrustworthy story about Goldsmith. Dr.
Johnson had recently been honoured by an interview with his Sovereign;
and the members of the Club were in the habit of flattering him by
begging for a repetition of his account of that famous event. On one
occasion, during this recital, Boswell relates, Goldsmith "remained
unmoved upon a sofa at some distance, affecting not to join in the
least in the eager curiosity of the company. He assigned as a reason
for his gloom and seeming inattention that he apprehended Johnson had
relinquished his purpose of furnishing him with a Prologue to his
play, with the hopes of which he had been flattered; but it was
strongly suspected that he was fretting with chagrin and envy at the
singular honour Doctor Johnson had lately enjoyed. At length the
frankness and simplicity of his natural character prevailed. He
sprang from the sofa, advanced to Johnson, and, in a kind of flutter,
from imagining himself in the situation which he had just been hearing
described, exclaimed, 'Well, you acquitted yourself in this
conversation better than I should have done; for I should have bowed
and stammered through the whole of it.'" It is obvious enough that the
only part of this anecdote which is quite worthy of credence is the
actual phrase used by Goldsmith, which is full of his customary
generosity and self-depreciation. All those "suspicions" of his envy
of his friend may safely be discarded, for they are mere guesswork;
even though it might have been natural enough for a man like
Goldsmith, conscious of his singular and original genius, to measure
himself against Johnson, who was merely a man of keen perception and
shrewd reasoning, and to compare the deference paid to Johnson with
the scant courtesy shown to himself.
As a matter of fact, the Prologue was written by Dr. Johnson; and the
now complete comedy was, after some little arrangement of personal
differences between Goldsmith and Garrick, very kindly undertaken by
Reynolds, submitted for Garrick's approval. But nothing came of
Reynolds's intervention. Perhaps Goldsmith resented Garrick's airs of
patronage towards a poor devil of an author; perhaps Garrick was
surprised by the manner in which well-intentioned criticisms were
taken; at all events, after a good deal of shilly-shallying, the play
was taken out of Garrick's hands. Fortunately, a project was just at
this moment on foot for starting the rival theatre in Covent Garden,
under the management of George Colman; and to Colman Goldsmith's play
was forthwith consigned. The play was accepted; but it was a long time
before it was produced; and in that interval it may fairly be presumed
the _res angusta domi_ of Goldsmith did not become any more free and
generous than before. It was in this interval that the elder Newbery
died; Goldsmith had one patron the less. Another patron who offered
himself was civilly bowed to the door. This is an incident in
Goldsmith's career which, like his interview with the Earl of
Northumberland, should ever be remembered in his honour. The
Government of the day were desirous of enlisting on their behalf the
services of writers of somewhat better position than the mere
libellers whose pens were the slaves of anybody's purse; and a Mr.
Scott, a chaplain of Lord Sandwich, appears to have imagined that it
would be worth while to buy Goldsmith. He applied to Goldsmith in due
course; and this is an account of the interview. "I found him in a
miserable set of chambers in the Temple. I told him my authority; I
told him I was empowered to pay most liberally for his exertions; and,
would you believe it! he was so absurd as to say, 'I can earn as much
as will supply my wants without writing for any party; the assistance
you offer is therefore unnecessary to me.' And I left him in his
garret." Needy as he was, Goldsmith had too much self-respect to
become a paid libeller and cutthroat of public reputations.
On the evening of Friday, the 29th of January, 1768, when Goldsmith
had now reached the age of forty, the comedy of _The Good-natured Man_
was produced at Covent Garden Theatre. The Prologue had, according to
promise, been written by Johnson; and a very singular prologue it was.
Even Boswell was struck by the odd contrast between this sonorous
piece of melancholy and the fun that was to follow. "The first lines
of this Prologue," he conscientiously remarks, "are strongly
characteristical of the dismal gloom of his mind; which, in his case,
as in the case of all who are distressed with the same malady of
imagination, transfers to others its own feelings. Who could suppose
it was to introduce a comedy, when Mr. Bensley solemnly began--
"'Pressed with the load of life, the weary mind
Surveys the general toil of humankind'?
But this dark ground might make Goldsmith's humour shine the more."
When we come to the comedy itself, we find but little bright humour in
the opening passages. The author is obviously timid, anxious, and
constrained. There is nothing of the brisk, confident vivacity with
which _She Stoops to Conquer_ opens. The novice does not yet
understand the art of making his characters explain themselves; and
accordingly the benevolent uncle and honest Jarvis indulge in a
conversation which, laboriously descriptive of the character of young
Honeywood, is spoken "at" the audience. With the entrance of young
Honeywood himself, Goldsmith endeavours to become a little more
sprightly; but there is still anxiety hanging over him, and the
epigrams are little more than merely formal antitheses.
"_Jarvis._ This bill from your tailor; this from your
mercer; and this from the little broker in Crooked Lane. He
says he has been at a great deal of trouble to get back the
money you borrowed.
_Hon._ That I don't know; but I'm sure we were at a great
deal of trouble in getting him to lend it.
_Jar._ He has lost all patience.
_Hon._ Then he has lost a very good thing.
_Jar._ There's that ten guineas you were sending to the poor
gentleman and his children in the Fleet. I believe that
would stop his mouth for a while at least.
_Hon._ Ay, Jarvis, but what will fill their mouths in the
mean time?"
This young Honeywood, the hero of the play, is, and remains
throughout, a somewhat ghostly personage. He has attributes; but no
flesh or blood. There is much more substance in the next character
introduced--the inimitable Croaker, who revels in evil forebodings and
drinks deep of the luxury of woe. These are the two chief characters;
but then a play must have a plot. And perhaps it would not be fair, so
far as the plot is concerned, to judge of _The Good-natured Man_
merely as a literary production. Intricacies that seem tedious and
puzzling on paper appear to be clear enough on the stage: it is much
more easy to remember the history and circumstances of a person whom
we see before us, than to attach these to a mere name--especially as
the name is sure to be clipped down from _Honeywood_ to _Hon._ and
from _Leontine_ to _Leon._ However, it is in the midst of all the
cross-purposes of the lovers that we once more come upon our old
friend Beau Tibbs--though Mr. Tibbs is now in much better
circumstances, and has been re-named by his creator Jack Lofty.
Garrick had objected to the introduction of Jack, on the ground that
he was only a distraction. But Goldsmith, whether in writing a novel
or a play, was more anxious to represent human nature than to prune a
plot, and paid but little respect to the unities, if only he could
arouse our interest. And who is not delighted with this Jack Lofty and
his "duchessy" talk--his airs of patronage, his mysterious hints, his
gay familiarity with the great, his audacious lying?
"_Lofty._ Waller? Waller? Is he of the house?
_Mrs. Croaker._ The modern poet of that name, sir.
_Lof._ Oh, a modern! We men of business despise the moderns;
and as for the ancients, we have no time to read them.
Poetry is a pretty thing enough for our wives and daughters;
but not for us. Why now, here I stand that know nothing of
books. I say, madam, I know nothing of books; and yet, I
believe, upon a land-carriage fishery, a stamp act, or a
jag-hire, I can talk my two hours without feeling the want
of them.
_Mrs. Cro._ The world is no stranger to Mr. Lofty's eminence
in every capacity.
_Lof._ I vow to gad, madam, you make me blush. I'm nothing,
nothing, nothing in the world; a mere obscure gentleman. To
be sure, indeed, one or two of the present ministers are
pleased to represent me as a formidable man. I know they are
pleased to bespatter me at all their little dirty levees.
Yet, upon my soul, I wonder what they see in me to treat me
so! Measures, not men, have always been my mark; and I vow,
by all that's honourable, my resentment has never done the
men, as mere men, any manner of harm--that is, as mere men.
_Mrs. Cro._ What importance, and yet what modesty!
_Lof._ Oh, if you talk of modesty, madam, there, I own, I'm
accessible to praise: modesty is my foible: it was so the
Duke of Brentford used to say of me. 'I love Jack Lofty,' he
used to say: 'no man has a finer knowledge of things; quite
a man of information; and when he speaks upon his legs, by
the Lord he's prodigious, he scouts them; and yet all men
have their faults; too much modesty is his,' says his grace.
_Mrs. Cro._ And yet, I dare say, you don't want assurance
when you come to solicit for your friends.
_Lof._ Oh, there indeed I'm in bronze. Apropos! I have just
been mentioning Miss Richland's case to a certain personage;
we must name no names. When I ask, I am not to be put off,
madam. No, no, I take my friend by the button. A fine girl,
sir; great justice in her case. A friend of mine--borough
interest--business must be done, Mr. Secretary.--I say, Mr.
Secretary, her business must be done, sir. That's my way,
madam.
_Mrs. Cro._ Bless me! you said all this to the Secretary of
State, did you?
_Lof._ I did not say the Secretary, did I? Well, curse it,
since you have found me out, I will not deny it. It was to
the Secretary."
Strangely enough, what may now seem to some of us the very best scene
in the _Good-natured Man_--the scene, that is, in which young
Honeywood, suddenly finding Miss Richland without, is compelled to
dress up the two bailiffs in possession of his house and introduce
them to her as gentlemen friends--was very nearly damning the play on
the first night of its production. The pit was of opinion that it was
"low;" and subsequently the critics took up the cry, and professed
themselves to be so deeply shocked by the vulgar humours of the
bailiffs that Goldsmith had to cut them out. But on the opening night
the anxious author, who had been rendered nearly distracted by the
cries and hisses produced by this scene, was somewhat reassured when
the audience began to laugh again over the tribulations of Mr.
Croaker. To the actor who played the part he expressed his warm
gratitude when the piece was over; assuring him that he had exceeded
his own conception of the character, and that "the fine comic richness
of his colouring made it almost appear as new to him as to any other
person in the house."
The new play had been on the whole favourably received; and, when
Goldsmith went along afterwards to the Club, his companions were
doubtless not at all surprised to find him in good spirits. He was
even merrier than usual; and consented to sing his favourite ballad
about the Old Woman tossed in a Blanket. But those hisses and cries
were still rankling in his memory; and he himself subsequently
confessed that he was "suffering horrid tortures." Nay, when the other
members of the Club had gone, leaving him and Johnson together, he
"burst out a-crying, and even swore by ---- that he would never write
again." When Goldsmith told this story in after-days, Johnson was
naturally astonished; perhaps--himself not suffering much from an
excessive sensitiveness--he may have attributed that little burst of
hysterical emotion to the excitement of the evening increased by a
glass or two of punch, and determined therefore never to mention it.
"All which, Doctor," he said, "I thought had been a secret between you
and me; and I am sure I would not have said anything about it for the
world." Indeed there was little to cry over, either in the first
reception of the piece or in its subsequent fate. With the offending
bailiffs cut out, the comedy would seem to have been very fairly
successful. The proceeds of three of the evenings were Goldsmith's
payment; and in this manner he received £400. Then Griffin published
the play; and from this source Goldsmith received an additional £100;
so that altogether he was very well paid for his work. Moreover he had
appealed against the judgment of the pit and the dramatic critics, by
printing in the published edition the bailiff scene which had been
removed from the stage; and the _Monthly Review_ was so extremely kind
as to say that "the bailiff and his blackguard follower appeared
intolerable on the stage, yet we are not disgusted with them in the
perusal." Perhaps we have grown less scrupulous since then; but at all
events it would be difficult for anybody nowadays to find anything but
good-natured fun in that famous scene. There is an occasional "damn,"
it is true; but then English officers have always been permitted that
little playfulness, and these two gentlemen were supposed to "serve in
the Fleet;" while if they had been particularly refined in their
speech and manner, how could the author have aroused Miss Richland's
suspicions? It is possible that the two actors who played the bailiff
and his follower may have introduced some vulgar "gag" into their
parts; but there is no warranty for anything of the kind in the play
as we now read it.