Madame Flirt
She sang the pathetic old air--much better fitted to the words than the
so-called Irish melody of a later date--with delightful artlessness.
"What think you, doctor?" whispered Gay to Pepusch. "Can you see her as
Polly--not Peggy mind ye--I'm fixed on Polly Peachum."
"De girl ver goot voice has. But dat one song--it tell me noting. Can
she Haendel sing?"
"That I know not, but I'll warrant she'll not be a dunce with Purcell.
And you must admit, doctor, that your George Frederick Handel is much
beholden to our Henry Purcell."
"Vat?" cried Pepusch a little angrily. "Nein--nein. Haendel the greatest
composer of music in de vorld is."
"I grant you his genius but he comes after Purcell. Have you heard
Purcell's setting of 'Arise, ye subterranean winds?' If not, I'll get
Leveridge to sing it. Has not your Handel helped himself to that? Not
note for note, but in style, in dignity, in expression? Ah, I have you
there. But we mustn't quarrel. You must hear the girl again. Look 'ee
here. Have we not agreed that 'Virgins are like the Fair Flower' in the
first act shall be set to Purcell's 'What shall I do to show how much I
love her?' I would have you play the air and Polly shall sing it."
"Sing dat air? But it most difficult is. It haf de trills--de
appogiaturas. Has she dem been taught?"
"You will soon see. For myself I hold not with the Italian style and its
eternal ornament and repetitions."
"Aha--ha Mistare Gay, I haf _you_ now," chuckled Pepusch. "Your Purcell
Engleesh is. He copy de Italian den."
"Oh, may be--may be in his own style," rejoined Gay hastily. "But here
is my verse. Oblige me with the music."
During the discussion Gay had been turning over a pile of manuscript on
the table. This manuscript was a rough draft of the "Beggar's Opera."
Pepusch had before him the music of a number of tunes, most of them
well known, selected by Gay and himself as suitable for the songs in the
opera. Poet and musician had had repeated differences as to the choice
of melodies but things had now fairly settled down.
Lavinia meanwhile was watching the proceedings with no little interest
and with not less nervousness. She had heard the talk and saw quite well
that she was about to be put to a severe test. She was to sing something
she had never sung before and possibly written in a style with which she
was unfamiliar. Gay approached her with a sheet of manuscript which he
put into her hand.
"You did very well, child," said he encouragingly. "But I want you to do
better. Dr. Pepusch will play the music for these verses on the
harpsichord. You must listen closely to the melody and take particular
note of the way he plays it. Then you will sing it. Here are the words
and the music. Study them while the doctor plays."
Lavinia looked at both in something like dismay. The music being
engraved was plainer than Gay's cramped handwriting. She knew she had
imitative gifts and that most tunes she heard for the first time she
could reproduce exactly. But that was for her own pleasure. She at such
times abandoned herself to the power of music. But for the pleasure of
others and to know that she was being criticised was a different matter.
Already she felt distracted. Could she fix her attention on the music
and think of nothing else?
There was no time for reflection. Dr. Pepusch had gone into the house
and the thin but sweet tones of a harpsichord were floating through the
open window. He was striking a few preliminary chords and indulging in
an extemporised prelude. A pause, and then he commenced Purcell's song.
The plaintive melody with its well balanced phrasing took Lavinia's
fancy, and absorbed in the music she forgot her audience. She saw how
the words were wedded to the notes and watched where the trills and
graces came in. Pepusch played the air right through; waited a minute or
so and recommenced.
Lavinia began. She sang like one inspired. Her pure and limpid tones
gave fresh charm to the melody. She never had had any difficulty with
the trill, so flexible was her voice naturally, and the graces which
Purcell had introduced after the fashion of the day were given with
perfect ease. As the final cadence died away the little audience loudly
applauded. Pepusch came out of the house and wagged his head as he
crossed the lawn. His somewhat sour look had vanished. He went up to
Lavinia and patted her shoulder.
"Dat vas goot, young laty--ver goot," he growled.
"What did I tell you doctor?" cried Gay exultantly. "Why, she can sing
everything set down for Polly--I pray you don't forget it is to be
Polly--Peachum. She _is_ Polly Peachum. What do you think, Mr. Pope?"
"Polly Peachum by all means since you will have it so. If an author has
a right to anything it is surely the right to name his offspring as he
will. He need not even consult his wife--if he have one. But though you
call your work an opera Mr. Gay, it is also a play. The songs are not
everything--indeed, Mr. Rich would say they're nothing. Can the girl
act?"
"She can be taught and I'll swear she'll prove an apt pupil. 'Twill, I
fear, be many months before it is staged. Rich has not made up his mind.
I hear Mr. Huddy who was dispossessed of the Duke's Theatre contemplates
the New Theatre in the Haymarket. I must talk to him. He hasn't yet
found his new company. An indifferent lot of strolling players I'm told
was his old one. Polly probably won't have a singing part but that's of
no great matter just now."
"You're bound to build castles in the air Mr. Gay," said Dr. Arbuthnot,
taking his churchwarden from his lips. "Suppose you come down to _terra
firma_ for a brief space. The girl is a singer--that cannot be gainsaid.
She may become an actress--good. But now--who is she? Her father--her
mother----"
"They can hardly be said to exist," broke in Gay. "I will tell you the
story later on. 'Twould but embarrass her to relate it now. The duchess
has been good enough to charge herself with the cost of her keeping--her
schooling and the rest."
"Oh, that alters the case. If she is a protegee of her grace I need not
say more. Her future is provided for."
"Why, yes," but Gay spoke in anything but a confident tone. Inwardly he
was troubled at what view Mat Prior's "Kitty" might take of Polly's
escapade. The Duchess might be as wayward as she pleased, but it did not
follow that she would excuse waywardness in another woman.
Gay turned to Pepusch and the two conversed for some little time, the
upshot of the talk being that Pepusch promised, when the proper time
came, to say to John Rich all he could in favour of Lavinia, always
supposing she had acquired sufficient stage experience.
This settled, the poet drew near Lavinia who all this time was waiting
and wondering what this new adventure of hers would end in.
"Now Polly, my dear," said Gay, "if you behave yourself and don't have
any more love affairs----"
"But did I not tell you, sir, I'd had none," interrupted Lavinia.
"Yes--yes, I remember quite well. We won't go into the subject again or
we shall never finish. The varieties and nice distinctions of love are
endless. A much more pressing question is nearer to hand--where are you
going to live?"
"Hannah, my mother's servant--a dear good kind creature--it was through
her I was able to come here--will find me a lodging. I can trust her
but--but----"
She stopped and much embarrassed, twisted her fingers nervously.
"I understand. You've but little money."
"I have none, sir, unfortunately."
"Well--well--never mind. Here's a guinea."
"Oh, you're too generous, sir. But I shall pay you back."
"Don't worry about that. Now go into the house. I will ask Mr. Pope to
tell his housekeeper to give you a dish of tea or a cup of cocoa.
Good-bye. You must let me know where you are living. I may have good
news for you within a few days."
Lavinia between smiles and tears hurried off after curtseying to the
gentlemen under the cedar tree and on her way across the lawn was met by
the man-servant who took her to the housekeeper's room. The woman had
heard the singing and was full of admiration. She wanted to hear more,
she said, so while the tea was being got ready Lavinia sent her into
thrills of delight by warbling the universal favourite "Cold and Raw."
After a time came the question of returning to London and how. Lavinia
could have crossed the ferry and so to Richmond and Mortlake, but that
would not help her on the journey unless Giles was going to market,
which was hardly likely. Besides she did not wish to burden him. And
then--there was Lancelot Vane.
Lancelot, she thought, must be anxious to know the result of her
mission. That result was not so encouraging as she had hoped. True, Mr.
Gay had the precious tragedy in his pocket and had promised to read it,
but his opinion of dramatists generally and his hints concerning
Lancelot Vane's weakness had considerably damped her ardour. In spite of
this, she determined to get to London as quickly as possible and to
hasten to Grub Street that same night.
"You can catch the Bath coach at Hounslow," said the housekeeper. "It's
but just gone five and the coach be timed to stop at the 'George' at
six, but it's late more often than not."
"And how far is it to Hounslow?"
"May be a couple o' miles or so, but it's a bit of a cross road--say two
mile an' a half. Stephen'll put you in the right way."
"Oh thank you--thank you kindly," cried Lavinia. "But it will be giving
Stephen a deal of trouble. I dare say I can find my way by myself."
"Oh, you may do that. I should think you were sharp enough, but there
are no end of beggars and rapscallions of all sorts on the Bath road and
some of 'em are bound to wander into the by-ways on the look out for
what they can steal. No, Stephen must see you through the lonely parts."
CHAPTER XIV
"I WISH YOU GOOD NIGHT AND MORE SENSE"
Lavinia and her protector set out. Stephen was inclined to be garrulous
and Lavinia had not much occasion to put in a word. He entertained her
with choice bits of information, such as how he remembered when the
coach ran between Bath and London only three times a week.
"But that was nigh twenty years ago. It were Mr. Baldwin as keeps a inn
at Salthill as started to run 'em daily. The coach stops at the Belle
Savage, Ludgate. Be that near where you want to go, miss?"
"Ludgate Hill? Oh, yes."
Hounslow in Stephen's opinion was getting to be quite a big place.
"When I was a boy it hadn't more'n a hundred houses--it's double or
treble that now, but they're pretty well all inns an' ale houses an'
mighty queer ones, some of em are. Hand in glove with highway robbers
an' footpads. Not much good a-tryin' to catch a highwayman if he once
gets to Hounslow. He's only got to run in one of the houses where's he
known an' you might as well try to foller a fox as has darted into a
drain. Some o' them ale houses an' boozin' kens has got passages
a-runnin' one into the other."
"That's very terrible Mr. Stephen. You quite alarm me," cried Lavinia.
But she was not so alarmed as she would have been had she been brought
up a fine lady. She had had highwaymen pointed out to her in Drury Lane
and Dyott Street and knew that the majority were boasting, bragging
fellows and cowards at heart. But there were others of a different
quality who did their robberies with quite a gentlemanly air.
They took the way through Whitton Park. As the housekeeper said, the
journey was cross-country so far as roads were concerned, but Stephen
knew the short cuts and they reached the long, straggling, mean-looking
Hounslow High Street--the future town was at that time little more than
a street--at about a quarter to six.
They entered the "George"--a house of greater pretensions than the