Part 22 (1/2)
”Oh, I confess some are comic enough in all conscience. But that was not in my mind. It was that any sane man should waste time in writing a tragedy. The worst thing about a tragedy is that the playwright's friends are pestered to read it and audiences tired by sitting it out.
Aren't there tragedies enough in real life without men inventing 'em?”
”Indeed, I can't say, sir.”
”I suppose not. You're not old enough. Tragedy doesn't come to the young and when it does they don't understand and perhaps 'tis as well. But I'll have to humour you or I shall never hear the last of it. Put the parcel up again and I'll look at the contents at my leisure. Now to a much more entertaining matter--yourself. Have you practised your singing? Have you attended to the instructions of your music master? I doubt it. I'll vow you've often driven the poor man half frantic with your airs and graces and teasing and that he hasn't had the heart to chide you.”
”Oh, indeed he has,” cried Lavinia, pouting, ”though really I haven't given him cause and yet he was tiresome enough.”
”I dare say. But you must let me hear. I want to be sure the good d.u.c.h.ess hasn't thrown her money away. My friends, too, are curious to have a taste of your quality. I've told them much about thee. You mustn't put discredit upon me.”
”No sir, I wouldn't be so ungrateful. What would you have me do?”
”I want to hear one of your old ballads such as showered pennies and s.h.i.+llings in your pocket when I've heard you sing in Clare Market and St. Giles High Street. But first let us go back to Mr. Pope and the others.”
Lavinia looked a little frightened at the idea of singing before musical judges who doubtless were accustomed to listen to the great singers at the King's Theatre--Signor Senesino, Signor Farinalli, Signora Cuzzoni, Signora Faustina, and may be the accomplished English singer Anastasia Robinson, albeit she rarely sang in the theatre but mainly in the houses of her father's n.o.ble friends among whom was the Earl of Peterborough, her future husband.
Perhaps Gay saw her trepidation, for, said he laughingly:
”You needn't fear Mr. Pope. He hasn't the least idea what a tune is and won't know whether you sing well or ill. Dr. Arbuthnot sitting next him is the kindliest soul in the world, and will make excuses for you if you squawl as vilely as a cat on the tiles. As for Dr. Pepusch--ah, that's a different matter. Pepusch is an ugly man and you must do your best to lessen his ugliness. He's all in all to Mr. Rich when Rich condescends to let the fiddles and the flutes give the audience a little music. If you capture Pepusch you may help me.”
”Oh, I'd do that gladly Mr. Gay. Tell me how,” cried Lavinia eagerly.
”Softly--softly, 'tis all in the clouds at present. Pepusch must hear you sing. Then--but I dare not say more.”
Lavinia surveyed the hard face and the double chin of the musical director disapprovingly.
”I don't take to him,” said she. ”Is he an Englishman?”
”No--he comes from Germany. Like King George and Queen Caroline.”
Lavinia frowned.
”Some of the people in St. Giles I've heard call the Royal Family Hanoverian rats,” she exclaimed indignantly, ”and those German women who pocketted everything they could lay their hands upon--the 'Maypole' and the 'Elephant,' the one because she's so lean and the other because she's so fat--they're rats too. Fancy the King making them into an English d.u.c.h.ess and countess. 'Tis monstrous. Why----”
”Hush--hush,” interrupted Gay with mock solemnity and placing his finger on her lips. ”You're talking treason within earshot of the 'Maypole,'
otherwise her Grace the d.u.c.h.ess of Kendal. Don't you know that she is a neighbour of Mr. Pope? Kendal House on the road to Isleworth is but an easy walk from here.”
”Then I'm sorry for Mr. Pope. I hate the Germans.”
”Oh, then you're a Jacobite and a rebel. If you would retain your pretty head on your shoulders keep your treason to yourself,” laughed Gay. ”But I confess I like the Germans no more than you do. Yet there are exceptions. Pepusch has made his home here--his country turned him out--and there's clever Mr. Handel. The English know more about his music than do his countrymen. I would love to see you, Polly, applauded in the Duke's Theatre as heartily as was Mr. Handel's opera 'Rinaldo' at the King's.”
Something significant in Gay's voice and face sent the blood rus.h.i.+ng to Lavinia's cheeks.
”I applauded!--I at the Duke's! Oh, that will never be.”
”May be not--may be not. But one never knows. A pretty face--a pretty voice--an air--faith, such gifts may work wonders. But let us keep Mr.
Pope waiting no longer.”
They approached the table beneath the cedar tree.
”Sir,” said Gay with a bow to Pope, ”I've prevailed upon my young madam here to give us a taste of her quality. I trust your twittering birds won't be provoked to rivalry. Happily their season of song is past.”