Read Ebook: Il secolo che muore vol. IV by Guerrazzi Francesco Domenico

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"Doctor," said a young gentleman to Dean Swift, "I intend to set up for a wit."

"Then," said the Doctor, "I advise you to sit down again."

But, supposing it true,--and the joke is quite bad enough to be authentic,--we must put in our plea that it is not to apply to us. The fact is absolutely undeniable that we originally advertised ourselves or rather our work as, the "Wits' Miscellany,"--thereby indicating, beyond all doubt, that we of the Miscellany were WITS. It is our firm hope that the public, which is in general a most tender-hearted individual, will not give us a rebuff similar to that which the unnamed young gentleman experienced at the hands, or the tongue, of the implacable Dean of St. Patrick.

"Think of that!" said the countess, casting upon us the darkest expression of indignation that her glowing eyes could let loose,--"think of that, indeed! Do you think that I should ever wear such rags as are to be bought for fifty francs?"

There was no arguing the matter: it was useless to say that the fifty-franc article, if the plan had succeeded, would have been precisely and in every thread the same as that set down at five hundred. The crowd of fine things generated by cheapness, in general, was quite enough to dim the finery of any portion of them in particular.

We are much afraid that we run somewhat loose of our original design in these rambling remarks. But it is always easy to come back to the starting-post. Abandoning metaphor and figure of all kinds, we were endeavouring to express our conviction, drawn from experience, that a company of professed wits might be justly suspected to be a dull concern. Every man is on the alert to guard against surprise.

Through all the seven courses laid down, Each jester looks sour on his brother; The wit dreads the punster's renown, The buffoon tries the mimic to smother: He who shines in the sharp repartee Envies him who can yarn a droll story; And the jolly bass voice in a glee Will think your adagio but snory.

This is, we admit at once, and in anticipation of the reader's already expressed opinion, a very poor imitation of the opening song of the Beggar's Opera.

Back recoiled, Scared at the sound ourselves had made.

To this resolution we were also led by the fact, that such a title would altogether exclude from our pages contributions of great merit--which, although exhibiting comic faculty, would also deal with the shadows of human life, and sound the deep wells of the heart.

Here then, ladies and gentlemen, we introduce to your special and particular notice

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

Our path is single and distinct. In the first place, we have nothing to do with politics. We are so far Conservatives as to wish that all things which are good and honourable for our native country should be preserved with jealous hand. We are so far Reformers as to desire that every weed which defaces our conservatory should be unsparingly plucked up and cast away. But is it a matter of absolute necessity that people's political opinions should be perpetually obtruded upon public notice? Is there not something more in the world to be talked about than Whig and Tory? We do not quarrel with those who find or make it their vocation to show us annually, or quarterly, or hebdomadally, or diurnally, how we are incontestably saved or ruined; they have chosen their line of walk, and a pleasant one no doubt it is; but, for our softer feet may it not be permitted to pick out a smoother and a greener promenade,--a path of springy turf and odorous sward, in which no rough pebble will lacerate the ancle, no briery thorn penetrate the wandering sole?

Our Opening Chaunt.

GEORGE COLMAN.

Mr. Colman was the grandson of Francis Colman, Esq. British Resident at the Court of Tuscany at Pisa, who married a sister of the Countess of Bath. George Colman the elder, father of him of whom we write, was born about the year 1733, at Florence, and was placed at an early age at Westminster School, where he very soon distinguished himself by the rapidity of his attainments. In 1748 he went to Christchurch College, Oxford, where he took his Master's degree; and shortly became the friend and associate of Churchill, Bonnell Thornton, Lloyd, and the other principal wits and writers of the day.

Lord Bath was greatly struck by his merit and accomplishments, and induced him to adopt the law as his profession. He accordingly entered at Lincoln's Inn, and was eventually called to the bar. It appears--as it happened afterwards to his son--that the drier pursuits of his vocation were neglected or abandoned in favour of literature and the drama. His first poetical performance was a copy of verses addressed to his cousin, Lord Pulteney. But it was not till 1760 that he produced any dramatic work: in that year he brought out "Polly Honeycombe," which met with considerable success.

It is remarkable that, previous to that season, no new comedy had been produced at either theatre for nine years; and equally remarkable that the year 1761 should have brought before the public "The Jealous Wife," by Colman, "The way to Keep Him," by Murphy, and "The Married Libertine," by Macklin.

In the following year Lord Bath died, and left Mr. Colman a very comfortable annuity, but less in value than he had anticipated. In 1767, General Pulteney, Lord Bath's successor, died, and left him a second annuity, which secured him in independence for life. And here it may be proper to notice a subject which George Colman the younger has touched before in his "Random Records," in which he corrects a hasty and incautious error of the late Margravine of Anspach, committed by her, in her "Memoirs." Speaking of George Colman the elder, she says,

George Colman the elder suffered severely from the effects of a paralytic affection, which, in the year 1790, produced mental derangement; and, after living in seclusion for four years, he died on the 14th of April 1794, having been during his life a joint proprietor of Covent Garden Theatre, and sole proprietor of the little theatre in the Haymarket.

George Colman the younger became, at Westminster, the schoolfellow and associate of the present Archbishop of York, the Marquess of Anglesea, the late Earl of Buckinghamshire, Doctor Robert Willis, Mr. Reynolds, his brother dramatist, the present Earl Somers, and many other persons, who have since, like himself, become distinguished members of society.

The account which Mr. Colman gives of his introduction by his father to Johnson, Goldsmith, and Foote, when a child, is so highly graphic, and so strongly characteristic of the man, that we give an abridgement of it here:

"On the day of my introduction," says Colman, "Dr. Johnson was asked to dinner at my father's house in Soho-square, and the erudite savage came a full hour before his time. My father, having dressed himself hastily, took me with him into the drawing-room.

"After this rude rebuff from the doctor, I had the additional felicity to be placed next to him at dinner: he was silent over his meal; but I observed that he was, as Shylock says of Lancelot Gobbo, 'a huge feeder;' and during the display of his voracity, the perspiration fell in copious drops from his visage upon the table-cloth."

"Oliver Goldsmith, several years before my luckless presentation to Johnson, proved how 'doctors differ.' I was only five years old when Goldsmith took me on his knee, while he was drinking coffee, one evening, with my father, and began to play with me; which amiable act I returned with the ingratitude of a peevish brat, by giving him a very smart slap in the face; it must have been a tingler, for it left the marks of my little spiteful paw upon his cheek. This infantile outrage was followed by summary justice; and I was locked up by my indignant father in an adjoining room, to undergo solitary imprisonment in the dark. Here I began to howl and scream most abominably; which was no bad step towards liberation, since those who were not inclined to pity me might be likely to set me free, for the purpose of abating a nuisance.

"At length a generous friend appeared to extricate me from jeopardy, and that generous friend was no other than the man I had so wantonly molested by assault and battery; it was the tender-hearted doctor himself, with a lighted candle in his hand, and a smile upon his countenance, which was still partially red from the effects of my petulance. I sulked and sobbed, and he fondled and soothed; till I began to brighten. Goldsmith, who, in regard to children, was like the village preacher he has so beautifully described,--for

'Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed,'--

seized the propitious moment of returning good-humour; so he put down the candle, and began to conjure. He placed three hats, which happened to be in the room, upon the carpet, and a shilling under each: the shillings he told me, were England, France, and Spain. 'Hey, presto, cockolorum!' cried the doctor,--and, lo! on uncovering the shillings which had been dispersed, each beneath a separate hat, they were all found congregated under one. I was no politician at five years old, and, therefore, might not have wondered at the sudden revolution which brought England, France, and Spain all under one crown; but, as I was also no conjuror, it amazed me beyond measure. Astonishment might have amounted to awe for one who appeared to me gifted with the power of performing miracles, if the good-nature of the man had not obviated my dread of the magician; but, from that time, whenever the doctor came to visit my father,

'I pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile;

a game at romps constantly ensued, and we were always cordial friends, and merry play-fellows.

"Foote's earliest notices of me were far from flattering; but, though they had none of Goldsmith's tenderness, they had none of Johnson's ferocity; and when he accosted me with his usual salutation of 'Blow your nose, child!' there was a whimsical manner, and a broad grin upon his features, which always made me laugh.

The reader, if he have not seen these passages before, will, we are sure, sympathise with us in our regrets that the work from which we extract them, carries us only in its two volumes to the year 1785,--a period at which Colman's fame and reputation had yet to be made.

In 1819, Mr. Colman finally retired from the proprietorship and management of the Haymarket Theatre. Upon the escape and flight from England of Captain Davis, the lieutenant of the Yeoman Guard, his Majesty George the Fourth appointed Mr. Colman to succeed him; and on the death of Mr. Larpent he also received the appointment of Examiner of Plays. The former office he relinquished in favour of Sir John Gete, some three or four years since; and in the latter he has, as our readers know, been succeeded by Mr. Charles Kemble.

It would be unjust and unfair to the memory of Mr. Colman were we to let slip this opportunity of saying a few words upon the subject of his conduct in the execution of the duties of this situation; because it has been made the object of attack even by men of the highest talent and reputation, as well as the low ribald abuse of their literary inferiors,--which, however, considering the source whence it came, is not worth noticing.

A RECKONING WITH TIME.

It is a curious coincidence--although considering the proximity of their ages there may be nothing really strange in it--that Mr. Colman and his intimate friend Bannister should have quitted this mortal world so nearly at the same time. The circumstance, however, gives us an opportunity of bringing their names together in a manner honourable to both. We derive the anecdote from the "Random Records;" and we think it will be at this juncture favourably received by those who admire dramatic authors and actors, and who rejoice to see traits of private worth the concomitants of public excellence.

After recounting the circumstances of his first acquaintance with Bannister, Mr. Colman says,

"In the year of my return from Aberdeen, 1784, unconscious of fear through ignorance of danger, I rushed into early publicity as an avowed dramatist. My father's illness in 1789 obliged me to undertake the management of his theatre; which, having purchased at his demise, I continued to manage as my own. During such progression, up to the year 1796 inclusive, I scribbled many dramas for the Haymarket, and one for Drury-lane; in almost all of which the younger Bannister performed a prominent character; so that, for most of the thirteen years I have enumerated, he was of the greatest importance to my theatrical prosperity in my double capacity of author and manager; while I was of some service to him by supplying him with new characters. These reciprocal interests made us, of course, such close colleagues, that our almost daily consultations promoted amity, while they forwarded business.

"From this last-mentioned period, we were led by our speculations, one after the other, into different tracks. He had arrived at that height of London popularity when his visits to various provincial theatres in the summer were productive of much more money than my scale of expense in the Haymarket could afford to give him. As he wintered it, however, in Drury-lane, I profited for two years more by his acting in the pieces which I produced there. I then began to write for the rival house in Covent Garden, and this parted us as author and actor: but separating, as we did, through accident, and with the kindest sentiments for each other, it was not likely that we should forget or neglect further to cultivate our mutual regard: that regard is now so mellowed by time that it will never cease till Time himself,--who, in ripening our friendship, has been all the while whetting his scythe for the friends,--shall have mowed down the men, and gathered in his harvest.

"One trait of Bannister, in our worldly dealings with each other, will nearly bring me to the close of this chapter.

"In the year 1807, after having slaved at some dramatic composition,--I forget what,--I had resolved to pass one entire week in luxurious sloth.

"To concoct the crudities he had brought me, by polishing, expunging, adding,--in short, almost re-writing them,--was, it must be confessed, labouring under the "horrors of digestion;" but the toil was completed at the week's end, and away went Jack Bannister into the country with his BUDGET.

"Several months afterwards he returned to town; and I inquired, of course, what success?--So great, he answered, that in consequence of the gain which had accrued to him through my means, and which he was certain would still accrue, he must insist upon cancelling a bond which I had given him, for money he had lent to me. I was astounded; for I had never dreamt of fee or reward.

"To prove that he was in earnest, I extract a paragraph from a latter which he wrote to me from Shrewsbury.

Of Mr. Colman's delightful manners and conversational powers no words can give any adequate idea: with all the advantages of extensive reading, a general knowledge of mankind, and an inexhaustible fund of wit and humour, he blended a joyousness of expression, a kindness of feeling, and a warmth of manner, which rendered him the much-sought companion of every circle of society in which he chose to mix. Of his literary talents all the world can judge; but it is only those who have known him in private life who can appreciate the qualities which we despair of being able justly to describe.

IMPROMPTU BY THE LATE GEORGE COLMAN.

About a year since, a young lady begged this celebrated wit to write some verses in her album: he shook his head; but, good-naturedly promising to try, at once extemporised the following,--most probably his last written and poetical jest.

THE "MONSTRE" BALLOON.

Oh! the balloon, the great balloon! It left Vauxhall one Monday at noon, And every one said we should hear of it soon With news from Aleppo or Scanderoon. But very soon after, folks changed their tune: "The netting had burst--the silk--the shalloon; It had met with a trade-wind--a deuced monsoon-- It was blown out to sea--it was blown to the moon-- They ought to have put off their journey till June; Sure none but a donkey, a goose, or baboon, Would go up, in November, in any balloon!"

Then they talk'd about Green--"Oh! where's Mister Green? And where's Mister Hollond who hired the machine? And where is Monk Mason, the man that has been Up so often before--twelve times or thirteen-- And who writes such nice letters describing the scene? And where's the cold fowl, and the ham, and poteen? The press'd beef with the fat cut off,--nothing but lean? And the portable soup in the patent tureen? Have they got to Grand Cairo? or reached Aberdeen? Or Jerusalem--Hamburgh--or Ballyporeen?-- No! they have not been seen! Oh! they haven't been seen!"

Stay! here's Mister Gye--Mr. Frederick Gye. "At Paris," says he, "I've been up very high, A couple of hundred of toises, or nigh, A cockstride the Tuilleries' pantiles, to spy, With Dollond's best telescope stuck at my eye, And my umbrella under my arm like Paul Pry, But I could see nothing at all but the sky; So I thought with myself 'twas of no use to try Any longer; and feeling remarkably dry From sitting all day stuck up there, like a Guy, I came down again and--you see--here am I!"

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