Act 2 — NOTES (continued 3)

"Yours sincerely,

"C. LAMB."

The two persons were undoubtedly Charles Lamb and his sister.]

Before proceeding to the MS. itself, it will be desirable to refer to Lamb's letter to Manning of February 15, 1802, in which he defends himself against Manning's animadversions on the changes found in the printed John Woodvil. This letter is addressed to "Mr. Thomas Manning, Maison Magnan, No. 342 Boulevard Italien, Paris." ….The italics are in the original:—"Apropos, I think you wrong about my play. All the omissions are right. And the supplementary scene, in which Sandford narrates the manner in which his master is affected, is the best in the book. It stands where a hodge-podge of German puerilities used to stand. I insist upon it that you like that scene." …

There is one thing more to add. Its excuse is the best in the world—it is quite new. In that precious letter of February 15, 1801, is a passage [printed in Canon Ainger's édition de luxe] which shows that Lamb (probably) tried George Colman the younger with "Pride's Cure." The potentate of the Haymarket was probably less sublimely courteous in his rejection than Kemble.

"Now to my own affairs. I have not taken that thing to Colman, but I have proceeded one step in the business. I have inquired his address and am promised it in a few days."

[The Manning copy of John Woodvil is thus described by Mr. Dykes Campbell]:—It is composed of foolscap sheets stitched into a limp wrapper of marbled paper. The writing is chiefly Mary Lamb's; her brother's portion seems to have been done at various times, for the ink varies in shade, and the handwriting in style.

On the inside of the first cover, as before noted, is written the letter quoted above. Then comes a page with:—

Begun August, 1798, finished May, 1799. This comes in beginng 2d act. (Letter) of Marg. to John

[this being Margaret's "Letter" (page 160 of the present volume).]

On the reverse, Mary has written out the "Characters in 'Pride's Cure,' a Tragedy." In this list Lovel and Gray are described as "two Court spies."

On the next page the play opens, but on the top margin is written:—

"Turn a leaf back for my Letter to Manning.

"C. LAMB."

The point of the underlining of "my" is to distinguish Lamb's letter from Margaret's, which chance to face one another in the MS.

Then comes:—

Pride's Cure. A Tragedy. Act the First. Scene the First. A Servants' apartment in Wodvil [sic] Hall. Servants drinking. A Song by Daniel. "When the King enjoys his own again." Peter. A delicate song upon my verity. Where didst learn it, fellow?

And so on for some leaves without material difference from print.

After the speech [page 155] "All. Truly a sad consideration" comes this continuation of the dialogue:—

Daniel. You know what he said to you one day in confidence.

Peter. I have reason to remember the words—"'Tis a pity (said he) a traitor should go unpunished."

Francis. Did he say so much? Peter. As true as I sit here. I told Daniel of it the same day. Did I not, Daniel?

Daniel. Well, I do not know but it may be merrier times with us servants if Sir Walter never comes back.

Francis. But then again, who of us can think of betraying him?

Peter. His son, John Woodvil, is the prince of good masters.

Daniel. Here is his health, and the King's. (They all drink.) Well, I cannot see why one of us should not deserve the reward as well as another man.

Martin. Indeed there is something in that.

Sandford enters suddenly.

Sandford. You well-fed and unprofitable grooms.

And so on as printed, until we come to Margaret's reply to Sandford's speech ending [page 156]:—

Since my ["our"] old master quitted all his rights here.

Margaret. Alas! I am sure I find it so. Ah! Mr. Sandford, This is no dwelling now for me, As in Sir Walter's days it was. I can remember when this house hath been A sanctuary to a poor orphan girl From evil tongues and injuries of the world. Now every day I must endure fresh insult from the scorn Of Woodvil's friends, the uncivil jests And free discourses of the dissolute men That haunt this mansion, making me their mirth.

Further on in the same dialogue comes the following, after the line in Margaret's speech [page 158, line 18],

His love, which ["that"] long has been upon the wane.

And therefore 'tis men seeing this Have ta'en their cue and think it now their time To slur me with their coward disrespects, Unworthy usages, who, while John lov'd And while one breath'd That thought not much to take the orphan's part, And durst as soon Hold dalliance with the chafed lion's paw, Or play with fire, or utter blasphemy, As think a disrespectful thought of Margaret.

Sandford. I am too mean a man, Being but a servant in the family, To be the avenger of a Lady's wrongs, And such a Lady! but I verily think That I should cleave the rudesby to the earth With my good oaken staff, and think no harm, That offer'd you an insult, I being by. I warrant you, young Master would forgive, And thank me for the deed, Tho' he I struck were one of his dearest friends.

Margaret. O Mr. Sandford, you must think it, I know, as sad undecency in me To trouble thus your friendly hearing With my complaints. But I have now no female friend In all this house, adviser none, or friend To council with, and when I view your face, I call to mind old times, And how these things were different once When your old friend and master rul'd this house. Nay, never weep; why, man, I trust that yet Sir Walter shall return one day And thank you for these tears, And loving services to his poor orphan. For me, I am determined what to do.

And so on as printed down to Margaret's line [page 158, line 3 from foot]:—

And cowardice grows enamour'd of rare accidents.

The three lines which follow in print [pages 158-9] are not in the MS. Margaret continues thus:—

But we must part now. I see one coming, that will also observe us. Before night comes we will contrive to meet, And then I will tell you further. Till when, farewell. Sandford. My prayers go with you, Lady, and your counsels, And heaven so prosper them, as I wish you well. [They part several ways.]

Here follows:—

Scene the Second. A Library in Woodvil Hall; John Woodvil alone.

John Woodvil (alone). Now universal England getteth drunk.

And so on as printed in Act II. [on page 165]. After the last printed line,

A fishing, hawking, hunting country gentleman,

the MS. has these five lines, but Lamb drew his pen through them:—

Great spirits ask great play-room; I would be The Phaeton, should put the world to a hazard, E'er I'd forego the horses of the sun, And giddy lustre of my travels' glory For tedious common paces. [Exit.]

Next comes:—

Scene the Third. An apartment in Woodvil Hall; Margaret. Sandford.

Margaret. I pray you spare me, Mr. Sandford.

And so on as printed as the continuation of the former scene [page 159] to the end of that and of the first act. But in the middle of Sandford's speech comes in the "Witch" story, thus introduced:—

[Sandford.] I know a suit Of lovely Lincoln-green, that much shall grace you In the wear, being glossy, fresh and worn but seld, Young Stephen Woodvil's they were, Sir Walter's eldest son, Who died long since in early youth. Margaret. I have somewhere heard his story. I remember Sir Walter Rowland would rebuke me, being a girl, When I have asked the manner of his death. But I forget it. Sandford. One summer night, Sir Francis, as it chanc'd, Was pacing to and fro in the avenue That westward fronts our house,— Margaret. Methinks I should learn something of his story Whose garments I am to wear. Sandford. Among those aged oaks, etc.

And so the witch story goes on, not quite as printed as a separate poem in the Works of 1818 [see page 199], but not differing very materially….

Then comes "Act the Second. John Woodvil alone. Reading a letter (which stands at the beginning of the book)." The letter is longer in MS. than in print [see page 160], the words in italics having been withdrawn from the middle of the second sentence:—

"The course I have taken … seemed to [me] best both for the warding off of calumny from myself (which should bring dishonor upon the memory of Sir Rowland my father, if a daughter of his could be thought to prefer doubtful ease before virtuous sufferance, softness before reputation), and for the once-for-all releasing of yourself…."

No notable alteration occurs until we come to the second scene, which in the MS. (owing to the transposition of Woodvil's soliloquy) followed immediately on Lovel's reply to Woodvil's speech—

No, you shall go with me into the gallery—

printed on page 164.

Scene the Second. Sherwood Forest. Sir Walter Woodvil, Simon, drest as Frenchmen.

Sir Walter's opening speech is long in print [page 166]—in MS. it is but this:—

Sir Walter. How fares my boy, Simon, my youngest born, My hope, my pride, young Woodvil, speak to me; Thinkest thy brother plays thy father false? My life upon his faith and noble heart; Son John could never play thy father false.

There is no further material change to note until we come to the point in the conversation between Sir Walter, Simon and Margaret [page 172], where Simon calls John "a scurvy brother," to whom Margaret responds:—

Margaret. I speak no slander, Simon, of your brother, He is still the first of men.

Simon. I would fain learn that, if you please.

Margaret. Had'st rather hear his praises in the mass Or parcel'd out in each particular?

Simon. So please you, in the detail: general praise We'll leave to his Epitaph-maker.

Margaret. I will begin then— His face is Fancy's tablet, where the witch Paints, in her fine caprice, ever new forms, Making it apt all workings of the soul, All passions and their changes to display; His eye, attention's magnet, draws all hearts.

Simon. Is this all about your son, Sir?

Margaret. Pray let me proceed. His tongue….

Simon. Well skill'd in lying, no doubt—

Sir Walter. Ungracious boy! will you not hear her out?

Margaret. His tongue well skill'd in sweetness to discuss— (False tongue that seem'd for love-vows only fram'd)—

Simon. Did I not say so?

Margaret. All knowledge and all topics of converse, Ev'n all the infinite stuff of men's debate From matter of fact, to the heights of metaphysick, How could she think that noble mind So furnish'd, so innate in all perfections, The manners and the worth That go to the making up of a complete Gentleman, Could from his proper nature so decline And from that starry height of place he mov'd in To link his fortune to a lowly Lady Who nothing with her brought but her plain heart, And truth of love that never swerv'd from Woodvil.

Simon. Wilt please you hear some vices of this brother, This all-accomplish'd John?

Margaret. There is no need—I grant him all you say and more, Vain, ambitious, large of purpose, Fantastic, fiery, swift and confident, A wayward child of vanity and spleen, A hair-brain'd mad-cap, dreamer of gold dreams, A daily feaster on high self-conceit, With many glorious faults beside, Weak minds mistake for virtues.

Simon. Add to these, That having gain'd a virtuous maiden's love, One fairly priz'd at twenty times his worth, He let her wander houseless from his door To seek new friends and find elsewhere a home.

Sir Walter. Fie upon't— All men are false, I think, etc.

And here we arrive at the "Dying Lover," which was printed anonymously in the London Magazine for January, 1822. But before passing from the long passage transcribed above I am bound to say that Lamb drew his pen through it all, marking some bits "bad" and others "very bad." I venture to think that in this he did himself some injustice.

To Sir Walter's sweeping indictment Margaret replies as follows. I keep to the text of the MS., noting some trifling changes made for the London Magazine [see page 85]:—

Margaret. All are not false. I knew a youth who died For grief, because his Love proved so, And married to[32] another. I saw him on the wedding day, For he was present in the church that day, And in his best apparel too[33], As one that came to grace the ceremony. I mark'd him when the ring was given, His countenance never changed; And when the priest pronounced the marriage blessing, He put a silent prayer up for the bride, [For they stood near who saw his lips move.][34] He came invited to the marriage-feast With the bride's friends, And was the merriest of them all that day; But they, who knew him best, call'd it feign'd mirth; And others said, He wore a smile like death's[35] upon his face. His presence dash'd all the beholders' mirth, And he went away in tears.

Simon. What followed then?

Margaret. Oh! then He did not as neglected suitors use Affect a life of solitude in shades, But lived, In free discourse and sweet society, Among his friends who knew his gentle nature best. Yet ever when he smiled, There was a mystery legible in his face, That whoso saw him said he was a man Not long for this world.—— And true it was, for even then The silent love was feeding at his heart Of which he died: Nor ever spake word of reproach, Only he wish'd in death that his remains[36] Might find a poor grave in some spot, not far From his mistress' family vault, "being the place Where one day Anna should herself be laid."

(So far in the Magazine.)

[Footnote 32: "With" (London Magazine).]

[Footnote 33: "In festive bravery deck'd" (London Magazine).]

[Footnote 34: This line erased in MS. and nothing substituted. In the London Magazine this took its place:—"For so his moving lip interpreted."]

[Footnote 35: "Death" (London Magazine).]

[Footnote 36: Lamb drew his pen through the four concluding lines, and wrote in the margin "very bad."]

Simon. A melancholy catastrophe. For my part I shall never die for love, being as I am, too general-contemplative for the narrow passion. I am in some sort a general lover.

Margaret. In the name of the Boy-god who plays at blind man's buff with the Muses, and cares not whom he catches; what is it you love?

And so on until the end of Simon's famous description of the delights of forest life [page 173]. To this

Margaret (smiling). And afterwards them paint in simile.

(To Sir Walter.) I had some foolish questions to put concerning your son, Sir.—Was John so early valiant as hath been reported? I have heard some legends of him.

Sir Walter. You shall not call them so. Report, in most things superfluous, in many things altogether an inventress, hath been but too modest in the delivery of John's true stories.

Margaret. Proceed, Sir.

Sir Walter. I saw him on the day of Naseby Fight— To which he came at twice seven years, Under the discipline of the Lord Ashley, His uncle by the mother's side, Who gave his early principles a bent Quite from the politics of his father's house.

Margaret. I have heard so much.

Sir Walter. There did I see this valiant Lamb of Mars, This sprig of honour, this unbearded John, This veteran in green years, this sprout, this Woodvil, With dreadless ease, guiding a fire-hot steed Which seem'd to scorn the manage of a boy, Prick forth with such an ease into the field To mingle rivalship and deeds of wrath Even with the sinewy masters of the art[37]! The rough fanatic and blood-practis'd soldiery Seeing such hope and virtue in the boy, Disclosed their ranks to let him pass unhurt, Checking their swords' uncivil injuries As both to mar that curious workmanship Of valour's beauty in his youthful face.

Simon. Mistress Margaret will have need of some refreshment, etc.

Lamb has drawn his pen through this passage, and marked it "bad or dubious."

[Footnote 37: Some lines intervene here in the letter to Southey of January 21, 1799, which are not in the MS.]

At the beginning of the fourth act John Woodvil's soliloquy is broken in upon by Sandford. He has just told himself [page 186] that

Some, the most resolved fools of all, Have told their dearest secrets in their cups,

when

Enter Sandford in haste.

Sandford. O Sir, you have not told them anything?

John. Told whom, Sandford?

Sandford. Mr. Lovel or Mr. Gray, anything concerning your father?

John. Are they not my friends, Sandford?

Sandford. Your friends! Lord help you, they your friends! They were no better than two Court spies set on to get the secret out of you. I have just discovered in time all their practices.

John. But I have told one of them.

Sandford. God forbid, God forbid!

John. How do you know them to be what you said they were?

Sandford. Good God!

John. Tell me, Sandford, my good Sandford, your master begs it of you.

Sandford. I cannot speak to you. [Goes out, John following him.]

Scene the Second. The forest.

This forest scene has been greatly altered. When Gray has said [page 188], "'Tis a brave youth," etc., there follows:—

Sir Walter. Why should I live any longer? There is my sword (surrendering). Son John, 'tis thou hast brought this disgrace upon us all.

Simon. Father, why do you cover your face with your hands? Why do you draw your breath so hard? See, villains, his heart is burst! O villains, he cannot speak! One of you run for some water; quick, ye musty rogues: will ye have your throats cut? [They both slink off.] How is it with you, father? Look up, Sir Walter, the villains are gone.

"He hears" [page 188], down to "Bears in the body" [page 188], of the print is not in the MS., which goes on thus:—

Sir Walter. Barely a minute's breath is left me now, Which must be spent in charity by me, And, Simon, as you prize my dying words, I charge you with your brother live in peace And be my messenger, To bear my message to the unhappy boy, For certain his intent was short of my death.

Simon. I hope as much, father.

Sir Walter. Tell him I send it with my parting prayer, And you must fall upon his neck and weep, And teach him pray, and love your brother John, For you two now are left in the wide world The sole survivors of the Woodvil name. Bless you, my sons— [Dies.]

Simon. My father's soul is fled. And now, my trusty servant, my sword, One labour yet, my sword, then sleep for ever. Drink up the poor dregs left of Woodvil's name And fill the measure of our house's crimes. How nature sickens, To view her customary bands so snapt When Love's sweet fires go out in blood of kin, And natural regards have left the earth.