John Gay, descended from an old family that had been long in possession
of the manor of[29] Goldworthy in Devonshire, was born in 1688, at or
near Barnstaple, where he was educated by Mr. Luck, who taught the
school of that town with good reputation, and, a little before he
retired from it, published a volume of Latin and English verses. Under
such a master he was likely to form a taste for poetry. Being born
without prospect of hereditary riches, he was sent to London in his
youth, and placed apprentice to a silkmercer.
How long he continued behind the counter, or with what degree of
softness and dexterity he received and accommodated the ladies, as he
probably took no delight in telling it, is not known. The report is,
that he was soon weary of either the restraint or servility of his
occupation, and easily persuaded his master to discharge him.
The dutchess of Monmouth, remarkable for inflexible perseverance in her
demand to be treated as a princess, in 1712 took Gay into her service as
secretary: by quitting a shop for such service, he might gain leisure,
but he certainly advanced little in the boast of independence. Of his
leisure he made so good use, that he published, next year, a poem on
Rural Sports, and inscribed it to Mr. Pope, who was then rising fast
into reputation. Pope was pleased with the honour; and when he became
acquainted with Gay, found such attractions in his manners and
conversation, that he seems to have received him into his inmost
confidence; and a friendship was formed between them which lasted to
their separation by death, without any known abatement on either part.
Gay was the general favourite of the whole association of wits; but they
regarded him as a playfellow rather than a partner, and treated him
with more fondness than respect.
Next year he published the Shepherd's Week, six English pastorals, in
which the images are drawn from real life, such as it appears among the
rusticks in parts of England remote from London. Steele, in some papers
of the Guardian had praised Ambrose Philips, as the pastoral writer that
yielded only to Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Pope, who had also
published pastorals, not pleased to be overlooked, drew up a comparison
of his own compositions with those of Philips, in which he covertly gave
himself the preference, while he seemed to disown it. Not content with
this, he is supposed to have incited Gay to write the Shepherd's Week,
to show, that if it be necessary to copy nature with minuteness, rural
life must be exhibited such as grossness and ignorance have made it. So
far the plan was reasonable; but the pastorals are introduced by a
Proem, written with such imitation as they could attain of obsolete
language, and, by consequence, in a style that was never spoken nor
written in any age, or in any place.
But the effect of reality and truth became conspicuous, even when the
intention was to show them grovelling and degraded. These pastorals
became popular, and were read with delight, as just representations of
rural manners and occupations, by those who had no interest in the
rivalry of the poets, nor knowledge of the critical dispute.
In 1713 he brought a comedy, called the Wife of Bath, upon the stage,
but it received no applause: he printed it, however, and seventeen years
after, having altered it, and, as he thought, adapted it more to the
publick taste, he offered it again to the town; but, though he was
flushed with the success of the Beggars' Opera, had the mortification to
see it again rejected.
In the last year of queen Anne's life, Gay was made secretary to the
earl of Clarendon, ambassador to the court of Hanover. This was a
station that naturally gave him hopes of kindness from every party; but
the queen's death put an end to her favours, and he had dedicated his
Shepherd's Week to Bolingbroke, which Swift considered as the crime that
obstructed all kindness from the house of Hanover.
He did not, however, omit to improve the right which his office had
given him to the notice of the royal family. On the arrival of the
princess of Wales, he wrote a poem, and obtained so much favour, that
both the prince and princess went to see his What d'ye call it, a kind
of mock tragedy, in which the images were comick, and the action grave;
so that, as Pope relates, Mr. Cromwell, who could not hear what was
said, was at a loss how to reconcile the laughter of the audience with
the solemnity of the scene.
Of this performance the value certainly is but little; but it was one of
the lucky trifles that give pleasure by novelty, and was so much
favoured by the audience, that envy appeared against it in the form of
criticism; and Griffin, a player, in conjunction with Mr. Theobald, a
man afterwards more remarkable, produced a pamphlet, called the Key to
the What d'ye call it; which, says Gay, "calls me a blockhead, and Mr.
Pope a knave."
But fortune has always been inconstant. Not long afterwards, 1717, he
endeavoured to entertain the town with Three Hours after Marriage; a
comedy written, as there is sufficient reason for believing, by the
joint assistance of Pope and Arbuthnot. One purpose of it was to bring
into contempt Dr. Woodward, the fossilist, a man not really or justly
contemptible. It had the fate which such outrages deserve: the scene in
which Woodward was directly and apparently ridiculed, by the
introduction of a mummy and a crocodile, disgusted the audience, and the
performance was driven off the stage with general condemnation.
Gay is represented as a man easily incited to hope, and deeply depressed
when his hopes were disappointed. This is not the character of a hero;
but it may naturally imply something more generally welcome, a soft and
civil companion. Whoever is apt to hope good from others is diligent to
please them: but he that believes his powers strong enough to force
their own way, commonly tries only to please himself.
He had been simple enough to imagine that those who laughed at the What
d'ye call it, would raise the fortune of its author; and, finding
nothing done, sunk into dejection. His friends endeavoured to divert
him. The earl of Burlington sent him, 1716, into Devonshire; the year
after, Mr. Pulteney took him to Aix; and, in the following year, lord
Harcourt invited him to his seat, where, during his visit, the two rural
lovers were killed with lightning, as is particularly told in Pope's
letters.
Being now generally known, he published, 1720, his poems, by
subscription, with such success, that he raised a thousand pounds; and
called his friends to a consultation, what use might be best made of it.
Lewis, the steward of lord Oxford, advised him to intrust it to the
funds, and live upon the interest; Arbuthnot bade him intrust it to
providence, and live upon the principal; Pope directed him, and was
seconded by Swift, to purchase an annuity.
Gay, in that disastrous year[30], had a present from young Craggs of
some south-sea stock, and once supposed himself to be master of twenty
thousand pounds. His friends persuaded him to sell his share; but he
dreamed of dignity and splendour, and could not bear to obstruct his own
fortune. He was then importuned to sell as much as would purchase a
hundred a year for life, "which," says Fenton, "will make you sure of a
clean shirt and a shoulder of mutton every day." This counsel was
rejected: the profit and principal were lost, and Gay sunk under the
calamity so low that his life became in danger.
By the care of his friends, among whom Pope appears to have shown
particular tenderness, his health was restored; and, returning to his
studies, he wrote a tragedy, called the Captives, which he was invited
to read before the princess of Wales. When the hour came, he saw the
princess and her ladies all in expectation, and advancing with
reverence, too great for any other attention, stumbled at a stool, and
falling forward threw down a weighty japan screen. The princess started,
the ladies screamed, and poor Gay, after all the disturbance, was still
to read his play[31].
The fate of the Captives, which was acted at Drury-lane in 1723-4, I know
not[32]; but he now thought himself in favour, and undertook, 1726, to
write a volume of fables for the improvement of the young duke of
Cumberland. For this he is said to have been promised a reward, which he
had, doubtless, magnified with all the wild expectations of indigence
and vanity.
Next year the prince and princess became king and queen, and Gay was to
be great and happy; but, upon the settlement of the household, he found
himself appointed gentleman usher to the princess Louisa. By this offer
he thought himself insulted, and sent a message to the queen, that he
was too old for the place. There seem to have been many machinations
employed afterwards in his favour; and diligent court was paid to Mrs.
Howard, afterwards countess of Suffolk, who was much beloved by the king
and queen, to engage her interest for his promotion; but solicitations,
verses, and flatteries, were thrown away; the lady heard them, and did
nothing.
All the pain which he suffered from the neglect, or, as he, perhaps,
termed it, the ingratitude of the court, may be supposed to have been
driven away by the unexampled success of the Beggars' Opera. This play,
written in ridicule of the musical Italian drama, was first offered to
Cibber and his brethren at Drury-lane, and rejected; it being then
carried to Rich, had the effect, as was ludicrously said, of making Gay
_rich_, and Rich _gay_.
Of this lucky piece, as the reader cannot but wish to know the original
and progress, I have inserted the relation which Spence has given in
Pope's words.
"Dr. Swift had been observing once to Mr. Gay, what an odd pretty sort
of a thing a Newgate pastoral might make. Gay was inclined to try at
such a thing, for some time; but afterwards thought it would be better
to write a comedy on the same plan. This was what gave rise to the
Beggars' Opera. He began on it; and when first he mentioned it to Swift,
the doctor did not much like the project. As he carried it on, he showed
what he wrote to both of us, and we now and then gave a correction, or a
word or two of advice; but it was wholly of his own writing. When it was
done, neither of us thought it would succeed. We showed it to Congreve;
who, after reading it over, said, it would either take greatly, or be
damned confoundedly. We were all, at the first night of it, in great
uncertainty of the event; till we were very much encouraged by
overhearing the duke of Argyle, who sat in the next box to us, say, 'It
will do--it must do! I see it in the eyes of them.' This was a good
while before the first act was over, and so gave us ease soon; for that
duke, besides his own good taste, has a particular knack, as any one now
living, in discovering the taste of the publick. He was quite right in
this, as usual; the good-nature of the audience appeared stronger and
stronger every act, and ended in a clamour of applause."
Its reception is thus recorded in the notes to the Dunciad.
"This piece was received with greater applause than was ever known.
Besides being acted in London sixty-three days, without interruption,
and renewed the next season with equal applause, it spread into all the
great towns of England; was played in many places to the thirtieth and
fortieth time; at Bath and Bristol fifty, &c. It made its progress into
Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, where it was performed twenty-four days
successively. The ladies carried about with them the favourite songs of
it in fans, and houses were furnished with it in screens. The fame of
it was not confined to the author only. The person who acted Polly, till
then obscure, became, all at once, the favourite of the town; her
pictures were engraved, and sold in great numbers; her life written,
books of letters and verses to her published, and pamphlets made even of
her sayings and jests. Furthermore, it drove out of England, for that
season, the Italian opera, which had carried all before it for ten
years."
Of this performance, when it was printed, the reception was different,
according to the different opinion of its readers. Swift commended it
for the excellence of its morality, as a piece that "placed all kinds of
vice in the strongest and most odious light;" but others, and among them
Dr. Herring, afterwards archbishop of Canterbury, censured it, as giving
encouragement not only to vice, but to crimes, by making a highwayman
the hero, and dismissing him, at last, unpunished. It has been even
said, that, after the exhibition of the Beggars' Opera, the gangs of
robbers were evidently multiplied.
Both these decisions are surely exaggerated. The play, like many others,
was plainly written only to divert, without any moral purpose, and is,
therefore, not likely to do good; nor can it be conceived, without more
speculation than life requires or admits, to be productive of much evil.
Highwaymen and housebreakers seldom frequent the playhouse, or mingle in
any elegant diversion; nor is it possible for any one to imagine that he
may rob with safety, because he sees Macheath reprieved upon the stage.
This objection, however, or some other, rather political than moral,
obtained such prevalence, that when Gay produced a second part, under
the name of Polly, it was prohibited by the lord chamberlain; and he was
forced to recompense his repulse by a subscription, which is said to
have been so liberally bestowed, that what he called oppression ended in
profit. The publication was so much favoured, that though the first
part gained him four hundred pounds, near thrice as much was the profit
of the second[33].
He received yet another recompense for this supposed hardship in the
affectionate attention of the duke and dutchess of Queensberry, into
whose house he was taken, and with whom he passed the remaining part of
his life. The duke, considering his want of economy, undertook the
management of his money, and gave it to him as he wanted it[34]. But it
is supposed that the discountenance of the court sunk deep into his
heart, and gave him more discontent than the applauses or tenderness of
his friends could overpower. He soon fell into his old distemper, an
habitual colick, and languished, though with many intervals of ease and
cheerfulness, till a violent fit, at last, seized him, and hurried him
to the grave, as Arbuthnot reported, with more precipitance than he had
ever known. He died on the fourth of December, 1732, and was buried in
Westminster Abbey. The letter, which brought an account of his death to
Swift, was laid by, for some days, unopened, because, when he received
it, he was impressed with the preconception of some misfortune.
After his death, was published a second volume of fables, more political
than the former. His opera of Achilles was acted, and the profits were
given to two widow sisters, who inherited what he left, as his lawful
heirs; for he died without a will, though he had gathered three thousand
pounds[35]. There have appeared, likewise, under his name, a comedy,
called the Distrest Wife, and the Rehearsal at Gotham, a piece of
humour.
The character given him by Pope is this, that "he was a natural man,
without design, who spoke what he thought, and just as he thought it;"
and that "he was of a timid temper, and fearful of giving offence to the
great;" "which caution, however," says Pope, "was of no avail[36]."
* * * * *
As a poet, he cannot be rated very high. He was, as I once heard a
female critick remark, "of a lower order." He had not in any great
degree the "mens divinior," the dignity of genius. Much, however, must
be allowed to the author of a new species of composition, though it be
not of the highest kind. We owe to Gay the ballad opera; a mode of
comedy which, at first, was supposed to delight only by its novelty, but
has now, by the experience of half a century, been found so well
accommodated to the disposition of a popular audience, that it is likely
to keep long possession of the stage. Whether this new drama was the
product of judgment or of luck, the praise of it must be given to the
inventor; and there are many writers read with more reverence, to whom
such merit of originality cannot be attributed.
His first performance, the Rural Sports, is such as was easily planned
and executed; it is never contemptible, nor ever excellent. The Fan is
one of those mythological fictions which antiquity delivers ready to the
hand, but which, like other things that lie open to every one's use, are
of little value. The attention naturally retires from a new tale of
Venus, Diana, and Minerva.
His fables seem to have been a favourite work; for, having published one
volume, he left another behind him. Of this kind of fables, the authors
do not appear to have formed any distinct or settled notion. Phædrus
evidently confounds them with tales; and Gay, both with tales and
allegorical prosopopoeias. A fable, or apologue, such as is now under
consideration, seems to be, in its genuine state, a narrative in which
beings irrational, and, sometimes, inanimate, "arbores loquuntur, non
tantum feræ," are, for the purpose of moral instruction, feigned to act
and speak with human interests and passions. To this description the
compositions of Gay do not always conform. For a fable, he gives, now
and then, a tale, or an abstracted allegory; and, from some, by whatever
name they may be called, it will be difficult to extract any moral
principle. They are, however, told with liveliness; the versification is
smooth; and the diction, though, now and then, a little constrained by
the measure or the rhyme, is generally happy.
To Trivia may be allowed all that it claims; it is sprightly, various,
and pleasant. The subject is of that kind which Gay was, by nature,
qualified to adorn; yet some of his decorations may be justly wished
away. An honest blacksmith might have done for Patty what is performed
by Vulcan. The appearance of Cloacina is nauseous and superfluous; a
shoe boy could have been produced by the casual cohabitation of mere
mortals. Horace's rule is broken in both cases; there is no "dignus
vindice nodus," no difficulty that required any supernatural
interposition. A patten may be made by the hammer of a mortal; and a
bastard may be dropped by a human strumpet. On great occasions, and on
small, the mind is repelled by useless and apparent falsehood.
Of his little poems the publick judgment seems to be right; they are
neither much esteemed, nor totally despised. The story of the Apparition
is borrowed from one of the tales of Poggio. Those that please least are
the pieces to which Gulliver gave occasion; for who can much delight in
the echo of an unnatural fiction?
Dione is a counterpart to Aminta, and Pastor Fido, and other trifles of
the same kind, easily imitated, and unworthy of imitation. What the
Italians call comedies, from a happy conclusion, Gay calls a tragedy,
from a mournful event; but the style of the Italians and of Gay is
equally tragical. There is something in the poetical Arcadia so remote
from known reality and speculative possibility, that we can never
support its representation through a long work. A pastoral of a hundred
lines may be endured; but who will hear of sheep and goats, and myrtle
bowers, and purling rivulets, through five acts? Such scenes please
barbarians in the dawn of literature, and children in the dawn of life;
but will be, for the most part, thrown away, as men grow wise, and
nations grow learned.
-----
[Footnote 29: Goldworthy does not appear in the Villare. Dr.
J.--Holdsworthy is probably meant.]
[Footnote 30: Spence.]
[Footnote 31: This mishap of Gay's is said to have suggested the story
of the scholar's bashfulness in the 157th Rambler; and to similar
stories in the Adventurer and Repton's Variety. Ed.]
[Footnote 32: It was acted seven nights. The author's third night was by
command of their royal highnesses. R.]
[Footnote 33: Spence.]
[Footnote 34: Ibid.]
[Footnote 35: Ibid.]
[Footnote 36: Ibid.]