POSTSCRIPT
by John Gay · from Fables of John Gay (Somewhat Altered)
Adapted Version
Once upon a time, there lived a man. His name was John. He lived in a land with a King. John loved to write stories. He wrote stories all day long. It was the best thing to do. He wanted all people to read his stories. John was a good story writer. He wrote in the morning. He wrote in the afternoon. He wrote at night. He had many pencils. He had lots of paper. He sat at a small wood table. He wrote and wrote. The sun came up. He wrote. The moon came up. He wrote.
In the town, some people were not nice. They were greedy. They kept all the toys. They did not share their toys. A boy had a red ball. He did not let others play. A girl had a new doll. She kept the doll in a box. The greedy people kept all the food. They had big cakes. They had sweet apples. They ate it all alone. They did not share with their friends. This made John feel very sad. He did not like to see mean people. He wanted all people to be kind. He wanted all people to share. So John had an idea. It was a good idea.
John wrote new stories. He wrote stories about beasts. The beasts acted like the greedy people. A fox was selfish. He saw a yummy pie. He took the whole pie for himself. He did not share a single bite. A wolf was mean. He pushed the small mice. He took their cheese. The stories were for the people. The stories said, “Be nice! Share with your friends!” John hoped the stories helped. He hoped people would learn to be kind. He read his stories out loud. He read them in the town square. People stopped to listen.
John learned about money. He learned gold is a big worry. You must hide your gold. You hide it under the bed. You hide it in a hole. You have to count it. You count it all day. One gold coin. Two gold coins. Is one missing? It is not fun. It is a big worry. It is much better to have good friends. Friends play with you. You can run and jump. Friends help you. If you fall, they pick you up. Good friends are a great thing. They matter more than gold.
John did not like to do hard work. He only wanted to write his stories. He did not want to clean the floor. He did not want to wash the plates. He did not want to build a fence. He just wanted to write. A Kind Duchess helped him. She lived in a big house. She saw John writing his stories. She liked his stories. She gave him a nice room. The room had a warm bed. It had a good desk. She gave him food to eat. He had bread and soup. John was happy when people liked his stories. It made him smile all day. He felt warm inside.
One day, John made a bad choice. He had some money. A man came to him. The man said, "Give me your money." He said, "I will make you rich." John gave his money to the bad man. The man took the money. Then the man ran away. He ran far, far away. John lost all his money. He had no money for food. He could not buy bread. He could not buy an apple. He had no money for a house. He could not pay for his room. He was very, very sad. He cried for a long time. Tears ran down his face. He felt sick because he was so sad. His head hurt. His tummy hurt.
John wrote a play for a Princess. He walked to the big castle. He went inside. He saw the Princess on her throne. He read his play to the Princess. He used a big voice. But the play had a shock! A person in the play yelled “Boo!” It was a loud sound. The Princess screamed! "Aah!" she cried. She jumped up from her chair. Oh no! She did not like the play. The play was a flop. The guards took John out of the castle. John felt sad again. He went home with a heavy heart. His feet moved so slow.
John wrote his best stories for a Prince. The Prince was just a little boy. He was five years old. The King liked the stories. The King said, "You write good stories." The King gave John a job. John was happy to get a job. But it was a small, silly job. John had to help a little girl. The girl was the Princess's child. He had to read to her. He had to play with her dolls. John felt his job was not a big deal. A writer should not do silly jobs. A writer should write big books. This made him feel sad and angry. He did not want to play with dolls.
But then, John wrote a big show. The show had music. It had songs. People sang the songs. People played music on pipes. It was called The Beggar's Show. All the people in the town came to see it! Rich people came. Poor people came. They filled the big room. They loved it! They clapped their hands. Clap, clap, clap! The sound was so loud. They cheered for John. "Yay, John!" they yelled. John was famous now! All the people knew his name. When he walked in town, they smiled. He was very, very happy. He smiled a big, wide smile.
Then, a Kind Duke came to see John. A Kind Lady was with him. They were married. They had seen his show. They loved his show. They became John's friends. They helped him. John was not good with money. The Kind Duke took care of his money. He made sure John had food. He made sure John had a home. The Kind Lady said he was a good writer. "Your stories are so good," she said. They gave him a warm house. The house had a soft bed. It had a big fire. This made John feel safe. This made John feel very happy. He did not worry anymore.
John lived a happy life with his friends. He wrote more stories. He wrote songs. He wrote plays. He was happy. He was safe. He had good friends. Then, one day, his story ended. He was very old. His best friend wrote on his stone. It said: "Here is a good man." Being good is the best thing to be.
Original Story
POSTSCRIPT.
The moralist, my dear niece, has said that—
"The man of sense will read a work of note
In the like humour as the author wrote."
To which end we must try to identify the reign of King George I. and the manners of that era with these fables; for manners change with every age, and every age has its transitions of political and social manners:
"Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes,
Tenets with books, and principles with times."
It was in the era of the two first Georges that Gay wrote and applied these fables, filled with diatribes against ministers, courtiers, and misers, and inveighing against court corruption and bribery.
It was a period of transition, such as had before occurred, from feudal to monarchial, and now from monarchial to ministerial rule. We had entered into another phase—one of civil and religious liberty; but, at the same time, the royal court was a scene devoid of any graces: the kings could not speak our language, and their feminine favourites were the reverse of fair or virtuous; whilst domestic hate ruled in the palace. Power then ran into a new groove of corruption and bribery; and the scene, vile in itself, was made viler by exaggeration and the retaliations of one political party on the other, whilst either side was equally lauded by its own party. Therefore we may reasonably conclude that matters were not so bad as they were painted, and moreover that it was but a change and transition of evils, to play a part and disappear. The advent of the third George to the throne, and the rigid integrity of the first and second Pitt, reversed the story as read in these fables; the court became pure, the king true, the ministers honest, and the nation progressed from the miserable peace of Utrecht, in 1714, to the proud position we held on its centenary at Vienna, in 1814. We may grant, then, that Gay had reason on his side when he inveighed so bitterly against courts and kings; and, granting that, we may recognise the amelioration of the court of the present day, wholly free from corruption and presenting a school to be followed rather than contemned.
In the fable of the 'Degenerate Bees,' Gay takes the part of the Tory ministry,—Oxford, Bolingbroke, Dean Swift, and Mat. Prior; and in the 'Ant in Office' he alludes to a Whig minister of that day. We must not be too hard on ministers. Kings and the nation have been open to bribes and assenting to French diplomacy,—
"When policy regained what arms had lost."
Louis XI. purchased the retreat of Edward IV. in 1475, when he seized on the domains of King Réné—Provence, Anjou, Maine, Touraine, and Lorraine, and Burgundy from the domains of Charles the Bold; when we abandoned our blood allies for bribes. Again, in 1681, Charles II. was the pensioner of Louis XIV., when Louis seized on Strasbourg. William III. reluctantly let it pass at the peace and treaty of Ryswick, which Louis dictated; and it was very basely abandoned by us at the peace of Utrecht, in 1714, when we abandoned our ally the emperor, and the degenerate Bees of the fable suffered exile and the Tower, barely escaping death from the indignant nation. Again, in the treaty of Vienna, 1814, we sacrificed the interests of Austria to France, in ceding to the latter the pillaged counties of the Messin and of Alsace. Finding, therefore, like results from wholly different causes, we must not be extreme to judge, but, with Gay, admit the ministers of 1714 to grace, for they only then did what we sanctioned in 1814, and which 1870 sees righted, and the German towns restored to Germany.
I am now rounding off half a century in which I have wandered in this wilderness of a world, and in all that time I have never known, or heard of, corruption in a minister of state. I have seen and known many fall untimely to ministerial labours and responsibility. Walking through the streets and squares we may behold the noble brows of Pitt, Canning, Lord George Bentinck, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Palmerston—men "on whose brows shame is ashamed to sit"—and, we might add, another Canning, a Follett, Sir George Lewis, and a hecatomb of Colonial rulers, who have died, overtasked by toil and responsibility; but in all that time we have never heard a minister accused of corruption, or building palaces, or making a fortune from public treasure. Corruption, if so it may still be termed, has taken another phase; it has bowed its head and courted democracy, like to the Roman king, Ancus Martius, "nimium gaudens popularibus auris"—cringing to popular suffrage—to ride into place and power, by granting measures momentarily floating uppermost, and suffering the tail to guide the head, as did the snake in Æsop's fable. We attained the height of grandeur of 1814 under the guidance of the head, and we are now upon our trial of democratical government, and whether it be equal to the old. Under such auspices commerce has been the petted minion of the last thirty years. Not the native forest tree of Pitt, Huskisson, and Canning, but the hot-bed plant of the advocates of a predominant trade. No British statesman ever dreamt of restricting commerce,—which ever was the bond of unity of nations; but we have sunk every interest at home to swell the exports and imports, to make Britain what Egypt was in the days of the patriarch—the storehouse of the world. Egypt and England both put their agriculturists to pain, and the rural population to serfdom; but they only exchange the stable basis of well-being for an unstable one, for commerce is proverbially of a fleeting nature.
The age in which Gay wrote was eminently what we now designate as conservative. Excise was hateful then; as customs are denounced now, so home taxation was denounced then. So wonderfully do systems change, that in the monthly table of the revenue of this period (December, 1870), the customs do not raise one-third of the revenue, of which the other two-thirds are raised by home taxation.
From ministers proceed we to the misers. I doubt whether any domestic changes have wrought so great an amelioration in our well-being as banks and banking. It has saved us from burglars; it has, by cheques, redeemed us from the tyranny of tradesmen's books. It has put personal property on a stronger foundation than it held, and the banker keeps an excellent private account, gratuitously, of your receipts and expenditure. The trouble that the possession of gold gave to its possessor before this wonderful institution was brought to bear, may be told by a few instances of divers epochs. There is a tale of a man who was supposed to have discovered the treasures of Crœsus, in the treasury—such as is shown now at Mycenæ and Orchomenos as the treasuries of old. The hero of the tale having discovered the crypt and its hoard, built another, and spent half of his life in secretly removing the treasures of Crœsus to his new treasury; which was no sooner a deed accomplished than he perceived the original treasury was superior to the new, and he spent an equal amount of years in secretly restoring the treasures to their original crypt, where doubtless they are now, for he died whilst he was the slave to the gold. Herodotus has stories quite as marvellous as this, of the fortunate finder of the treasures of Crœsus. But our friend Mr. Pepys—who, I believe, has given us more amusement than any other Englishman, be he whom he may—is more amusing and instructive. His story is written in 1667, the year after the fire of London, and whilst the invasion of the Dutch was apprehended, and we will see how Mr. Pepys fulfilled the adage of "as much trouble as all my money." On 30th March, 1666, we find him write:—"I to Lombard St., and there received 2200l., and brought it home, and, contrary to expectation, received 35l. for the use of 2000l. of it for a quarter of a year, where it hath produced me this profit, and hath been a conveniency to me as to care and security at my house, and demandable at two days' warning, as this has been."
On 12th November: "This day I received 450 pieces of gold, which cost me 22½d. change. But I am well contented with it, I having now nearly 2800l. in gold, and will not rest till I get full 3000l." But on the 13th June, 1667, on the sad news of the taking of the 'Royal Charles,' and sinking ships at Barking Creek, "put me into such a fear, that I presently resolved of my father's and wife's going into the country; and at two hours' warning they did go by the coach this day with 1300l. in gold in their night-bag. Pray God give them good passage, and good care to hide it when they come home! But my heart is full of fear. They gone, I continued in frights and fear what to do with the rest."
And on the 10th October, when the Dutch were gone, we read:—"Up, and to walk up and down in the garden with my father, to talk of all our concernments: about a husband for my sister, whereof there is at present no appearance; but we must endeavour to find her one now, for she grows old and ugly. My father and I with a dark lantern, it being now light, into the garden with my wife, and there went about our great work to dig up my gold. But, Lord, what a tosse I was for some time in, that they could not justly tell where it was: but by-and-bye, poking with a spit, we found it, and then began with a spudd. But, good God! to see how sillily they did it, not half a foot under ground, and in the sight of the world from a hundred places, and within sight of a neighbour's window. Only my father says that he saw them all gone to church before he began the work when he laid the money. But I was out of my wits almost, and the more from that, upon my lifting the earth with my spudd, I did discern that I had scattered the pieces of gold in the loose earth, and, taking up the iron head-pieces whereon they were put, I perceived the earth had gotten among the gold, and wet, so that the bags were all rotten and notes; so that I could not tell what in the world to say to it, not knowing how to judge what was wanting, or what had been lost by Gibson in his journey down, which, all put together, did make me mad. And at last I was obliged to take up the pieces, dirt and all, by candle-light, and carry them into my brother's chamber, and there lock them up, whilst I eat a little supper; and then, all people going to bed, William Hewer and I did, all alone, with pails of water and besoms, wash the dirt off the pieces, and then began to tell them, by a note which I had of the value of the whole in my pocket, and do find that there was short above a hundred pieces, which did make me mad.... So William Hewer and I out again about midnight, and there by candle-light did make shift to gather forty pieces more; and so to bed, and there lay in some disquiet until daylight. 11th.—And then William Hewer and I, with pails and a sieve, did lock ourselves into the garden, and did gather the earth and then sift those pails in one of the summer-houses (just as they do for diamonds in other parts), and there, to our great content did, by nine o'clock, make the last night's forty-five up to seventy-nine; so that we are come to some twenty or thirty of what I think the true number should be. So do leave my father to make a second examination of the dirt, and my mind at rest on it, being but an accident; and so give me some kind of content to remember how painful it is sometimes to keep money as well as to get it, and how doubtful I was to keep it all night, and how to secure it to London.
"About ten o'clock, took coach, my wife and I, and Willett and W. Hewer, and Mumford and Bowles (whom my lady sent me to go along with me my journey, not telling her the reason, but it was only to secure my gold), and my brother John on horseback; and with these four I thought myself pretty safe. My gold I put into a basket, and set it under one of the seats; and so my work every quarter of an hour was to look to see whether all was well; and I did ride in great fear all the day. 12th.—By five o'clock got home, and did bring my gold to my heart's content very safe, having not this day carried it in a basket, but in our hands; the girl took care of one, and my wife of another bag, and I the rest, I being afraid of the bottom of the coach lest it should break." Such is Mr. Pepys' story.
"Nor light nor darkness brings his pains relief:
One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief."
Mr. Crabbe has portrayed the marvel of an honest inhabitant of Aldborough, when first he learnt, in his graphic phrase, "that money would breed,"—that it could afford to pay yearly interest. Shakespeare has several references to the fact. Shylock, and a clown in 'Twelfth Night' making very quaint allusions. I shall only add one more tale from Mr. S. Trench's late stories of 'Realities of Irish Life.' A neighbour, who had saved two hundred pounds in gold, kept it in the thatch of his roof. One day he appeared before Mr. Trench bearing his gold, and requesting him to be his depositee, expressing the comfort it would afford him. Mr. Trench declined the unprofitable duty, and pointed out to him the bank, which would accept his deposit and give him interest. The eye of Patrick flashed with intelligence and foresight as he warned Mr. Trench from the delusion of banks, which every year wasted the original sum by paying the stipend, and when you wished to reclaim the original, lo, it had disappeared. No, no, he would have no dividend, forsooth, to eat away his capital; which he bore back again (about five pounds' weight) and replaced it in his thatch. It was neither lost nor wasted there; it became the inheritance of his only daughter, a woman of extreme energy, who had from childhood loved—more, methinks, as a mother loves a helpless child—a good-hearted, unvicious piece of indolence and sloth. She followed him to New York and married him, nolens volens; and Providence assigned to him an energetic woman, to make his castle of indolence a bed of roses to the satisfaction of them both,—supplying for each the energy and the repose, both constitutional, both unvicious, which the other lacked.
Highwaymen beset the highways, as burglars invaded the residences; and Macaulay chuckles over the fact that his bête noire—the noble Marlborough—was eased of 5000l. in gold in one of his trips between London and St. Alban's.
From the regions of ministers and misers we may descend to the equally disputed realms of the muses. Horace terms it "the peevish and inhuman muse," which those who drink of Aganippe's fountain woo; whilst others are apt to equal their Castalian spring and Parnassus with the height of the empyreal, regarding with pity the toilers on the land and deep. But herein, as in aught else, it is the mind, and not the outward circumstances, which makes the happiness suited to its strength and position; for it must be confessed it is from the weak in bodily frame, the lame, and the blind, that we draw our poets: and when we find a rare bodily exception to the rule, we find too often a mind insatiate of applause, and pining for more appreciation of their productions. The votaries of the muse cannot be set down as so happy and contented as many a ploughman, nor does the smoothness of the lines gratify the eye more than the smoothness of the furrow. But these rhymes of Gay hardly aspire to the height of poesy, nor do they possess the banter and raciness, such as we find in Butler's 'Hudibras':—
"When oyster-women lock their fish up,
And trudge away to bawl, 'No bishop!'"
Neither has it the deep pathos of the Spenserian stanza, which perhaps strives at the deepest vein of poetry. Take two of Thomson's, for example:—
"O mortal man, who livest here by toil,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate;
That like an emmet thou must ever moil,
Is a hard sentence of an ancient date:
And, certes, there is for it reason great;
For though sometimes it makes thee weep and wail,
And curse thy star, and early drudge and late,
Withouten that would come a heavier bale,—
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale."
And another stanza runs thus:—
"I care not, Fortune, what you me deny:
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her brightening face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns by living stream at eve.
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave;
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave."
Such is the stanza in which are written Spenser's 'Faërie Queen,' Thomson's 'Castle of Indolence,' and Byron's 'Childe Harold,' and it is the highest flight of poetry: after which comes the heroic verse, in which we lap the heavy poems we call epic—their Latin appellation; of these the Iliads of Homer and the Æneids of Virgil are the ever recurring aspirations of poets doomed to fall untimely. The charm of Homer is that it is not only a poem, but it instructs us in the history—all that we know of it—of those prehistoric days. It is full of ballads, which are the ground-work by which we trace the manners and the tenets of the pagan tribes. The truth involved in 'Homer' is the charm of his epic poem, while the falsehood involved in the 'Henriade' of Voltaire is amply sufficient to condemn it utterly. For a specimen let us take Pope's 'Homer,' where Hector answers Andromache's appeal to stay and guard the walls of Troy:—
"The chief replied, 'That post shall be my care;
Nor that alone, but all the works of war;
Still foremost let me stand to guard the throne,
To save my father's honours and my own:
Yet come it will, the day decreed by Fates—
How my heart trembles whilst my tongue relates—
That day when thou, imperial Troy, must bend,
Must see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.
And yet no presage dire so wounds my mind—
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind—
As thine, Andromache, thy griefs I dread.
I see thee weeping, trembling, captive led.
In Argive looms our battles to design,
Woes—of which woes so large a part was thine;
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The waters from the Hypereian spring.
There, whilst you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry "Behold the Trojan Hector's wife!"
Some Argive, who shall live thy griefs to see,
Embitters thy great woe by naming me:
The thoughts of glory past and present shame,
A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name.
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Pressed by a load of monumental clay
Thy Hector, wrapped in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh nor see thee weep.'"
Next in pathos is the mournful elegy; of which none can surpass Gray's elegy:—
"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Alike await the inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Let not ambition mock our useful toil,
Our homely joys and destiny obscure,
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor:
Their names, their years spelt by the untaught Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply,
And many a holy text around she strews,
To teach the rustic moralist to die."
Nursery rhymes, old ballads, odes, sonnets, epigrams, travesties, fables, satires, and eclogues, and, most of all, songs, provide daily pleasure for us from our cradle to the grave. Every language has its nursery rhymes, which are a sort of Delphian lot, sung in enigma from 'King Pittacus of Mytilene' and 'Le bon Roi Dagobert,' to the lullaby of 'Four-and-twenty Blackbirds.' There is as much sarcasm in nursery rhymes as there is of pride and boast in the songs of bards at the feast of heroes, and as there is of humble confession in the funeral psalm. Song tends alike to evaporate exuberant spirits, and to soothe the soul in an affliction—as Desdemona informs us so sweetly in her misery:—
"My mother had a maid called Barbara;
She was in love: and he she loved proved mad,
And did forsake her. She had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas; but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it. That song to-night
Will not go from my mind: I have much to do,
But to go hang my head all of one side,
And sing it like poor Barbara."
Ophelia chanted as she floated down the brook, Arion tamed the flood, and Orpheus the trees and rocks. It is a marvellous power which soothes alike the babe in the arms and the hero at the feast, the lover and the forsaken maiden, which leads to battle and returns from conquest; therefore let us see the ode, in 'Eton Revisited':—
"Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields beloved in vain!
Where once my careless boyhood strayed
A stranger yet to pain.
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.
Whilst some on earnest labour bent
Their business, murmuring, ply
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty;
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of the little reign
And unknown regions dare descry;
Still as they run they look behind,
And hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.
To each his sufferings, all are men
Condemned alike to groan;
The tender, for another's pain—
The unfeeling, for his own.
Yet, ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late;
And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more: 'where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.'"
Let me add four lines from Denham's poem, 'On Cooper's Hill,' addressing the River Thames:—
"O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull,
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full."
Our old ballads are very fine: the opening of 'Chevy Chase' is equal to 'Wrath, Goddess sing the Wrath of Achilles,' or 'Arms and the Man:'—
"The Persé owt of Northumberland,
And a vowe to Godde made he,
That he would hunt in the mountains
Of Cheviot within days three.
In maugre of doughty Douglas
And all that ever with him be,
The fattest hartes in all Cheviot,
He said, to kill and bear away.
'By my faith!' quoth the doughty Douglas then,
'I will lette that hunting, gif I may.'
Worde is commen to Eddenburrowe
To James, the Scottish King,
That doughty Douglas, Lyfftenant of Marches,
Lay slain Chevyot hills within.
His handdes did James weal and wryng,
Sighing, 'Alas! and woe is me—
Such another captain Scotland within
I trow there will never be!'
Worde is commen to lovely Londone
Till the fourth Harry, our King,
That Lord Persé, Lyfftenant of Marches,
Lay slain Cheviot hills within.
'God have mercy on his soul!' said Kyng Harry,
'Good Lord, if thy will it be.
I have a hondrith Captains in Englonde
As good as ever was he;
But Persé, and I brook my lyffe
Thy death well quit shall be.'
This was the honting off the Cheviot
'That tear beganne this spurn:'
Old men that known the ground well enough
Call it the battle of Otterburn.
At Otterburn began this spurn
Upon a Monnynday;
There was the doughtie Douglas slain,
The Persé went captive away."
But of every species of poetry none are so rife with life and beauty as the song. It conjoins music with words, and brevity with sweetness. There is no position in which man does not sing,—in joy to express it, and in woe to relieve it: in company in chorus, and alone for companionship. Sir Walter Scott has imagined the minstrel to sing:—
"I have song of war for knight,
Lay of love for ladye bright,
Fairie tale to lull the heir,
Goblin grim the maid to scare.
If you pity kith or kin,
Take the wandering harper in."
But songs are like the flowers of the field: each age hath its own, which fade and perish and make way for another crop, and every age claims its own. For melody, terseness, and beauty of words, the song excels more than any other form of poetry; and they are wise who have a private collection of the songs which, like swallows, come and disappear.
It may appear strange to print the Fables of Gay, and say no word of our author; but the truth is that it is unkind to withdraw the veil of privacy from any man's life. Doctor Johnson did an unkind deed when he wrote the 'Lives of the Poets;' for which he was fully repaid when Boswell flayed him bare as ever Apollo flayed Marsyas, and exposed all the quivering nerves to the light of day. Of all classes of men, the class of poets most need the concealing veil: the greatest have been blind; the next greatest halt, and the remainder weak or deformed of frame. Debarred the healthier paths of life, man rushes for employment to the refuging muse; and rightly so, for he finds an employment ornamental and useful still. But solitude does not nurture the virtues of the soul more than physical defect does that of the body, and the withdrawal of the curtain divulges a very sad sight of discontent and envy. Homer himself is recorded to have ejaculated his aspiration to be the favourite of the Greek girls and boys. A poet seer loves no brother near his throne, and is but too apt to complain of non-appreciation of his muse on the part of the world. The fault rather is in their own too sensitive souls; and it is a fact that there is scarcely a name in the roll of poets, whose fame is not harmed by divulging his exotic life. The rural labourer's fate—
"Where to be born and die,
Of rich and poor, make all the history"—
is far better than to be paraded from the disobedience of youth, the rebellion of manhood, and the disappointment of age, divulged in the storied lives of the few hundred names admitted to be British poets; and the reading of whose works is, as a rule, a task of weariness. The career of Gay is a very fair one as an average of the poetic. He mainly avoided the enumerated ills—enumerated by Dr. Johnson—
"Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail."
The poetic element in Britain was very strong in the days of Gay. Pope, Swift, Prior, Addison were the petted servants of the Ministers. They were all far more successful in their careers than was Gay, who from his boyhood refused to labour for his bread. Very early he found a patroness in the Duchess of Monmouth, who had
"Wept over Monmouth's bloody tomb,"
with whom he enjoyed a sort of honorary post—secretary to the shadow of a princess; next he became a real secretary to the Earl of Clarendon, Ambassador at Hanover, as Prior had been to the Ambassador at Paris. We easily trace in Gay's career the unsatisfied overweening poetic soul, like a Charybdis, insatiable of adulation. In 1716, the Earl of Burlington cheered him at his seat in Devon; in 1717, he accompanied Mr. Pulteney to Aix; in 1718, Lord Harcourt soothed his spirits. Then he made money, which burnt holes in his pockets. He called his friends together, to ask how he should invest. His poetic friends Pope and Swift advised him to sink it in an annuity. But fate or fortune cast him in with Secretary Craggs and the South Sea scheme, and, from the possessor of 20,000l., his capital collapsed to nil. In vain he had been bidden to sell and to realize. He had visions of wealth, and held on to be accidentally an honester man than if he had enriched himself by that delusive scheme; but he nearly sunk beneath his disappointment, and his health was endangered. Hope and the Muse restored him to more life and to more disappointment. He then wrote 'The Captive,' obtained an appointment to read it to the Princess of Wales, stumbled, like Cæsar, over a stool; the princess screamed, the omen was a true one—'The Captive' pined and died.
In 1726 he wrote these Fables, dedicating them to the Duke of Cumberland, and in 1727 his royal patron succeeded to the crown; when he was offered the post of Gentleman Usher to the Princess Louisa. Gay was hurt and indignant, and made court to Mrs. Howard (afterwards Countess of Suffolk), one of the anomalous favourites alluded to in page 131, but in vain.
Then came the great success of his 'Beggars' Opera,' which was followed by 'Polly,' its sequel. 'Polly' was forbidden by the Lord Chamberlain, and a private subscription raised 1200l. to recompense Gay for not being suffered to please the mob with his immorality. And, lastly, the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry took this child of nature by the hand—the duke to manage his worldly substance, and the duchess to soothe his insatiable vanity—and so he died at the early age of 45, and has a very pretty tomb, with "Queensberry weeping o'er his urn," in Poets' Corner. Pope's epitaph runs thus:—
"Blest be the gods for those they took away,
And those they left me, for they left me Gay.
Left me to see deserted genius bloom,
Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb;
Of all his blameless life the sole return
My verse and Queensberry weeping o'er his urn."
Peace with his dust! Another couplet of Pope's, methinks, has more of moral truth and justice:—
"A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod;
An honest man's the noblest work of God."
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STANFORD STREET, AND CHARING CROSS.
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistencies in the use of hyphens and accents, as well as in the title of fables in the table of contents and in the body of the text, have been retained as in the original book.
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Story DNA
Plot Summary
This postscript, written in 1870, serves as a literary and historical analysis of John Gay's fables, arguing that understanding them requires grasping the political and social context of early 18th-century Britain. The author details the corruption of the era of the first two Georges, contrasting it with later periods, and links Gay's fables to specific political figures and events. The essay then broadens to discuss the evolution of corruption, the impact of banking on society, and the nature of poetry, particularly the often-unhappy lives of poets. It culminates in a biographical sketch of John Gay, highlighting his financial ruin, artistic disappointments, eventual success with 'The Beggars' Opera,' and his early death, concluding with a reflection on his legacy.
Themes
Emotional Arc
analytical to reflective
Writing Style
Narrative Elements
Cultural Context
The essay is written in 1870, looking back at John Gay's era (early 18th century) and comparing it to the author's present. It discusses specific historical events like the South Sea Bubble, the reigns of the Georges, and various treaties, providing a socio-political commentary on British history and culture.
Plot Beats (15)
- The author establishes the need to understand historical context to appreciate literature, specifically Gay's fables and the era of King George I.
- The political landscape of the early 18th century is described as corrupt, with ministers and courtiers being targets of Gay's satire.
- The author contrasts this era with the later, purer court of George III and the Pitts, suggesting that the earlier corruption was a transitional phase.
- Specific fables ('Degenerate Bees', 'Ant in Office') are linked to contemporary political figures and events, such as the Treaty of Utrecht and instances of French diplomacy and bribery.
- The author reflects on the changing nature of corruption, from overt bribery in the past to 'courting democracy' in his own time (1870s).
- The discussion moves to misers and the societal amelioration brought by banks, illustrated by historical examples of guarding gold (Crœsus, Pepys).
- The author then considers the nature of poetry, particularly songs, and the importance of brevity and melody.
- A critique of revealing poets' private lives is presented, arguing that such revelations often diminish their fame and expose personal flaws.
- John Gay's personal life is detailed, including his refusal to work, his early patronage, and his insatiable desire for adulation.
- Gay's financial ruin due to the South Sea scheme and his subsequent disappointment and health issues are recounted.
- His play 'The Captive' fails, adding to his misfortunes.
- Gay writes his Fables, dedicates them to the Duke of Cumberland, and is later insulted by a low court appointment.
- His 'Beggars' Opera' achieves great success, followed by the forbidden 'Polly,' which still earns him significant money through subscription.
- Gay finds patronage with the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, who manage his affairs and soothe his vanity.
- Gay dies at 45, and Pope's epitaph is quoted, reflecting on Gay's life and the author's own concluding thought on the 'noblest work of God'.
Characters
John Gay ★ protagonist
A man of average height and build for the early 18th century, likely with a somewhat soft or rounded physique due to a life not involving manual labor. His health was noted to be endangered by disappointment, suggesting a delicate constitution.
Attire: Typical early 18th-century English gentleman's attire: a knee-length coat (possibly in wool or silk, in muted colors like brown, grey, or blue), a waistcoat, breeches, silk stockings, and buckled shoes. He would have worn a cravat or jabot at the neck.
Wants: To achieve fame and adulation through his poetic and dramatic works, and to secure a comfortable life without manual labor.
Flaw: Overweening poetic soul, insatiable vanity, poor financial judgment, extreme sensitivity to criticism and disappointment.
He begins as a hopeful poet seeking patronage and fame, experiences significant financial and professional setbacks, but ultimately achieves great success with 'The Beggars' Opera' before dying relatively young, still seeking adulation.
Sensitive, easily disappointed, vain, insatiable for adulation, somewhat impractical with money, and prone to indignation.
Image Prompt & Upload
An English gentleman in his late 30s, standing upright and facing forward, full body visible from head to toe. He has a somewhat rounded face with soft features, fair skin, and dark eyes. His hair is styled in a powdered bob wig, typical of the early 18th century. He wears a knee-length dark blue wool coat with large cuffs, a cream silk waistcoat with subtle embroidery, white breeches, and dark buckled shoes. A white cravat is tied neatly at his neck. He holds a rolled manuscript in his left hand and a quill pen in his right. His expression is thoughtful and slightly wistful. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Duchess of Monmouth ◆ supporting
A noblewoman of the late 17th/early 18th century, likely of mature age given her history. Her appearance would reflect her high status and the fashion of the time.
Attire: Elaborate court dress of the early 18th century, possibly a silk gown with a wide skirt (mantua or sack-back gown), intricate lace trimmings, and rich embroidery. Colors would be vibrant and luxurious.
Wants: To support artistic talent and maintain her social standing through patronage.
Flaw: Not explicitly stated, but perhaps a degree of sentimentality given her past.
Remains a consistent figure of patronage and support for Gay.
Compassionate (wept over Monmouth's tomb), generous (patronized Gay), likely refined and cultured.
Image Prompt & Upload
An elderly English noblewoman, standing upright and facing forward, full body visible from head to toe. She has a dignified, slightly sorrowful expression, with fine lines around her eyes. Her hair is styled in an elaborate powdered coiffure, possibly with a lace cap. She wears a rich dark velvet gown with wide sleeves and intricate lace cuffs, a pearl necklace, and a small, delicate lace fan in her hand. Her posture is elegant and composed. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Princess of Wales ◆ supporting
A royal figure, likely of a robust build common among German royalty of the era. Her appearance would be formal and imposing.
Attire: Formal court dress of the early 18th century, likely a heavy silk or brocade gown with a wide skirt, rich embroidery, and possibly a stomacher. Colors would be regal and opulent.
Wants: To maintain her royal image and engage with cultural figures.
Flaw: Easily startled or prone to dramatic reactions.
A brief but impactful interaction with Gay, leading to the failure of 'The Captive'.
Prone to screaming when startled, suggesting a certain nervousness or dramatic flair, but also a patron of the arts.
Image Prompt & Upload
A middle-aged royal woman, standing upright and facing forward, full body visible from head to toe. She has a somewhat stern but refined face, fair skin, and dark eyes. Her powdered hair is styled high and adorned with a small jeweled diadem. She wears a voluminous gown of rich gold brocade with wide lace cuffs and a deep décolletage, typical of early 18th-century court fashion. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and her expression is one of slight alarm or surprise. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Duke of Queensberry ◆ supporting
A Scottish nobleman, likely of a distinguished appearance befitting his title and role as a patron.
Attire: Formal gentleman's attire of the early 18th century, possibly a dark wool or velvet coat, waistcoat, breeches, and silk stockings. He might wear a Scottish tartan sash or subtle nod to his heritage.
Wants: To support and manage the affairs of a talented but impractical artist.
Flaw: Not explicitly stated, but perhaps a degree of paternalism towards Gay.
Becomes a guardian and manager for Gay in his later years.
Practical, responsible, supportive, and protective (managed Gay's worldly substance).
Image Prompt & Upload
A distinguished Scottish nobleman in his 50s, standing upright and facing forward, full body visible from head to toe. He has a strong, somewhat stern face, fair skin, and grey eyes. His powdered wig is neatly styled. He wears a dark grey velvet coat with silver buttons, a cream waistcoat, dark breeches, and white silk stockings with buckled shoes. A subtle tartan sash is draped across his chest. He holds a closed leather-bound ledger in one hand. His expression is serious and responsible. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Duchess of Queensberry ◆ supporting
A Scottish noblewoman, known for her charm and ability to soothe. Her appearance would be elegant and graceful.
Attire: Elegant court dress of the early 18th century, possibly a silk gown in a softer color like pale blue or rose, with delicate lace and embroidery. Her attire would reflect her refined taste.
Wants: To provide emotional support and comfort to a sensitive artist.
Flaw: Not explicitly stated, but perhaps a tendency to indulge others' vanity.
Becomes a source of emotional support and comfort for Gay in his later years.
Soothing, empathetic, patient, and supportive (soothed Gay's insatiable vanity).
Image Prompt & Upload
An elegant Scottish noblewoman in her 40s, standing upright and facing forward, full body visible from head to toe. She has a kind, gentle face with soft eyes and a compassionate expression. Her powdered hair is styled in soft curls and adorned with a delicate ribbon. She wears a flowing gown of pale blue silk with lace trim on the sleeves and neckline, typical of early 18th-century fashion. She holds a delicate lace handkerchief in her hands. Her posture is graceful and serene. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Locations
Royal Court / Palace (Georgian Era)
A scene of domestic hate and political intrigue, devoid of grace, where kings could not speak the local language and their favorites were neither fair nor virtuous. Power was rife with corruption and bribery, though perhaps exaggerated by political rivalries.
Mood: Corrupt, tense, ungracious, politically charged, scandalous.
The setting for the political and social commentary of Gay's fables, highlighting the corruption of the early Georgian era.
Image Prompt & Upload
An opulent yet slightly disheveled state room within a Georgian-era British palace, with heavy velvet drapes, gilded cornices, and large oil paintings depicting stern-faced monarchs. Afternoon light streams through tall windows, illuminating dust motes in the air. A group of richly dressed, powdered-wig figures are in hushed, conspiratorial conversation near a fireplace, their faces etched with cunning. The overall mood is one of faded grandeur and underlying tension. no border, no frame, no watermark, no text, no signature, edge-to-edge illustration.
Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey
A hallowed section within Westminster Abbey where notable poets, writers, and playwrights are buried or commemorated. John Gay has a 'very pretty tomb' here, with an epitaph by Pope and the Duchess of Queensberry depicted 'weeping o'er his urn'.
Mood: Reverent, solemn, historical, commemorative, peaceful.
The final resting place of John Gay, symbolizing his legacy and the enduring nature of his work, despite his life's disappointments.
Image Prompt & Upload
A quiet, hallowed corner within the Gothic grandeur of Westminster Abbey, specifically Poets' Corner. Intricate stone carvings adorn the walls and arches, with soft, diffused light filtering through stained-glass windows, casting muted colors onto the polished stone floor. Numerous marble busts and elaborate tombs are visible, one featuring a finely sculpted urn with a sorrowful figure draped over it. The air is still and ancient, filled with a sense of history and reverence. no border, no frame, no watermark, no text, no signature, edge-to-edge illustration.
London Streets and Squares (18th/19th Century)
The public thoroughfares of London where one might behold monuments to great statesmen like Pitt, Canning, Peel, and Palmerston. These spaces represent the public face of political integrity and national progress.
Mood: Civic, historical, reflective, bustling (implied by 'walking through the streets'), proud.
The physical representation of Britain's political evolution and the public's perception of its leaders, contrasting the earlier era of corruption with later integrity.
Image Prompt & Upload
A wide, bustling London square in the early 19th century, paved with worn cobblestones. Tall, elegant Georgian townhouses with symmetrical windows and wrought-iron railings line the perimeter. In the center stands a prominent bronze statue of a statesman, weathered by time, surrounded by a low stone wall. The sky is a soft, diffused grey, characteristic of London, and a few horse-drawn carriages and pedestrians are visible in the middle distance. The scene conveys a sense of civic pride and historical weight. no border, no frame, no watermark, no text, no signature, edge-to-edge illustration.
