The class of books, now so common, called "Readers," and "Speakers,"
was then unknown. Young persons were in the habit of committing to memory the popular plays of the day, which were not always pure in their sentiments, or moral in their tendency. "To furnish a substitute," as the youthful moralist tells us in her preface, "for the very improper custom of allowing plays, and those not of the purest kind, to be acted by young ladies in boarding-schools, and to afford them an innocent, and perhaps not altogether unuseful amusement, in the exercise of recitation," she composed a drama, called the "Search after Happiness." Her object was to convey instruction in a pleasing form, and the intention was well executed.
The plot is of the simplest kind, and one not calculated to kindle the fervors of poetry. Four young ladies betake themselves to the retreat of a virtuous lady, who, with her two daughters, has renounced the world and fixed herself in a secluded spot--to receive from her, as from an oracle, instructions which shall guide them in the way which leads to peace and contentment.
Among the pupils of the Misses More were two Misses Turner, who were in the habit of passing the vacations at the house of a bachelor cousin of the same name. They were permitted to bring some of their young friends with them, and took the two youngest of their governesses, Hannah and Patty More. "The consequence was natural.
Hannah was clever and fascinating; Mr. T. was generous and sensible: he became attached, and made his offer, which was accepted. She gave up her interest in the school, and was at much expense in fitting herself out to be the wife of a man of fortune." The day was fixed more than once for the wedding, and Mr. Turner each time postponed it.
Her sisters and friends interfered, and broke off the engagement, and would not suffer her to listen to any of his subsequent proposals. To compensate her, as he said, for the robbery he had committed on her time, and to enable her to devote herself to literary pursuits, Mr.
Turner settled upon her an annuity; and at his death, to show that he still retained his esteem, he left her a legacy. The distress and disturbance which this event occasioned her, led to a resolution, on her part, never again to incur a similar hazard--a resolution the strength of which was tested by actual trial.
Among the favorite sports of Hannah's childhood was the making a carriage of a chair, and playing at riding to London to visit bishops and booksellers--a day-dream which became a reality in 1784. Of the circumstances which led to the journey we have no record. A few days after her arrival in London, she was, by a fortunate accident, brought to the notice of Garrick. A letter written by her to a mutual friend, describing the effect produced upon her mind by his representation of Lear, was shown to him, and excited in him a curiosity to see and converse with her. The desire was gratified; they were reciprocally pleased, and Miss More was soon domesticated with Mr. Garrick and his affectionate wife; and, for the next twenty years, she spent six months of each year under their hospitable roof. Through them she was at once received on terms of cordial kindness into their wide and splendid circle. She was welcomed as a sister spirit by the _coterie_ which she has so elaborately eulogized in the "Bas Bleu." She has often been heard to describe, very humorously, her raptures on her first introduction to a "live author," and her sisters long remembered her strong desire to get a sight, from some hiding-place, of Dr.
Johnson. She was now to meet him face to face. The first interview was at Sir Joshua Reynolds's. She had been prepared by Sir Joshua for finding him in one of his sombre moods, but was surprised and delighted at his coming to meet her, as she entered the room, with good-humor on his countenance, and a macaw of Sir Joshua's on his hand; and still more at his accosting her with a verse from a morning hymn, which she had written at the desire of her early and firm friend, Dr. Stonehouse.
A few extracts from the sprightly letters of a sister who accompanied her, will furnish the best picture of the scenes in which Miss More now bore a part. "Hannah has been introduced to Burke--the Sublime and Beautiful Burke! From a large party of literary persons assembled at Sir Joshua's she received the most encouraging compliments; and the spirit with which she returned them was acknowledged by all present."
"The most amiable and obliging of women--Miss Reynolds--has taken us to Dr. Johnson's _very own_ house! Can you picture to yourselves the palpitation of our hearts as we approached his mansion? Miss Reynolds told the doctor of all our rapturous exclamations on the road. He shook his scientific head at Hannah, and said, 'she was a silly thing.' When our visit was ended, he called for his hat to attend us down a very long entry to our coach, and not Rasselas could have acquitted himself more _en cavalier_. I forgot to mention, that, not finding Johnson in his parlor when we came in, Hannah seated herself in a great chair, hoping to catch a little ray of his genius: when he heard of it, he laughed heartily, and told her it was a chair on which he never sat. He said it reminded him of Boswell and himself, when they stopped a night at the spot--as they imagined--where the weird sisters appeared to Macbeth; the idea so worked upon their enthusiasm that it deprived them of rest; however, they learned, the next morning, to their mortification, that they had been deceived, and were quite in another part of the country."
Johnson was not always, however, in the humor to swallow the flattery which she lavished upon him; Mrs. Thrale records a surly enough rebuke which the doctor administered to her: "Consider, madam, what your flattery is worth before you choke me with it." As he was complaining, upon another occasion, that he had been obliged to ask Miss Reynolds to give her a hint on the subject, somebody observed that she flattered Garrick also; "Ay," said the doctor, "and she is right there; first, she has the world with her; and, secondly, Garrick rewards her. I can do nothing for her. Let her carry her praise to a better market." But in this flattery there was no want of sincerity and no disingenuousness. At the age of thirty-one she had brought to London the fresh, ecstatic enthusiasm of a country girl of seventeen; when, instead of having Johnson pointed out to her as he rolled along the pavement of Fleet Street, and gazing at Garrick from the side boxes, she found herself at once admitted to the inmost circle of the literary magnets--it is not wonderful that her feelings should overflow in language and gesture rather too warm for the acclimated inhabitants of the temperate zone.
The same hyperbolical style is to be found in the letters intended only for the eyes of her sisters. "Mrs. Montagu is not only the finest genius, but the finest lady, I ever saw; she lives in the highest style of magnificence; her apartments and tables are in the most splendid taste; but what baubles are these when speaking of a Montagu!
Her form--for she has no body--is delicate to fragility; her countenance the most animated in the world; she has the sprightly vivacity of sixteen, with the judgment and experience of a Nestor.
Mrs. Carter has in her person a great deal of what the gentlemen mean when they speak of a 'poetical lady:' independently of her great talents and learning, I like her much: she has affability, kindness, and goodness; and I honor her heart more than her talents; but I do not like one of them better than Mrs. Boscawen; she is at once learned, polite, judicious, and humble." At a party at which all these and other luminaries were collected, Dr. Johnson asked Miss More her opinion of the new tragedy of "Braganza." "I was afraid," says she, "to speak before them all, as I knew there was a diversity of opinion: however, as I thought it a less evil to dissent from a fellow-creature than to tell a falsity, I ventured to give my sentiments, and was satisfied with Johnson's answering, 'You are right, madam.'"
Stimulated by the approbation of such judges, Miss More turned to literature with redoubled energy; and from this period, the important part of her personal history may be read in that of a succession of works, all in their season popular; all commendable for moral tone; considerably above mediocrity in literary execution; and some of them worthy to survive their age.
After her return home, she one day laughingly said to her sisters, "I have been so fed with praise, that I think I will try what is my real value, by writing a slight poem, and offering it to Cadell."
Accordingly she wrote and sent him "Sir Eldred of the Bower," a ballad in the style which Dr. Percy had rendered popular. Cadell offered her a price far exceeding her idea of its worth; adding that, if she would ascertain what Goldsmith received for the "Deserted Village," he would make it up to the same sum. With the public the poem met with a success which its merits by no means justify. At a tea-visit in her own lodgings, where she had Johnson all to herself,--and as she tells us he ought always to be had, for he did not care to speak in mixed companies,--the new poem was discussed. The leviathan of letters, instead of expressing his contempt for compositions of this class, and treating her to a new stanza,--like
"I put my hat upon my head, And walked into the Strand, And there I met another man With his hat in his hand,"--
indited the following, which she proudly engrafted on the original in the second edition, no doubt receiving the compliment as paid to the author, rather than to the heroine:--
"My scorn has oft the dart repelled Which guileful beauty threw; But goodness heard, and grace beheld, Must every heart subdue."
In her early life, Miss More was subject to frequent attacks of illness, which she was wont to say were a great blessing to her, for they induced a habit of industry not natural to her, and taught her to make the most of her _well_ days. She laughingly added, it had taught her to contrive employment for her sick ones; that from habit she had learned to suit her occupations to every gradation of the capacity she possessed. "I never," said she, "afford a moment of a healthy day to cross a _t_ or dot an _i_; so that I find the lowest stage of my understanding may be turned to some account, and save better days for better things. I have learned also to avoid procrastination, and that idleness which often attends unbroken health." These habits of order and industry gave her much time for intellectual pursuits, even amidst the dissipations of the city.
At her first introduction to its brilliant society, Patty More seemed to have some apprehensions that her sister "Hannah's head might not stand proof against all the adulation and kindness of the great folks." But these effected no change in her deportment; her simplicity remained unsullied; home and the society of her sisters had lost for her none of its charms. Her good sense and firmness of character were subjected to a yet more severe trial upon the production of the tragedy of "Percy." Nothing could exceed the zeal which Garrick displayed to insure its success. Miss More thus speaks of it in a letter to her sister: "It is impossible to tell you of all the kindness of the Garricks; he thinks of nothing, talks of nothing, writes of nothing, but 'Percy.' When he had finished his prologue and epilogue, he desired I would pay him. Dryden, he said, used to have five guineas apiece, but, as he was a richer man, he would be content if I would treat him with a handsome supper and a bottle of claret. We haggled sadly about the price; I insisting that I could only afford to give him a beef-steak and a pot of porter; and at about twelve, we sat down to some toast and honey, with which the temperate bard contented himself." She adds in the same letter, "What dreadful news from America!--Burgoyne's surrender.--We are a disgraced, undone nation.
What a sad time to bring out a play in! when, if the country had the least spark of virtue remaining, not a creature would think of going to it."
The success of "Percy" was prodigious; greater than that of any tragedy for years. She received for it about six hundred pounds, which, she tells us, "her friend Mr. Garrick invested for her on the best security, and at five per cent., and so it made a decent little addition to her small income." Cadell paid one hundred and fifty pounds for the copy-right, and it proved a very successful speculation. The first edition, of four thousand copies,--a very large one for those days,--was sold off in a fortnight.
Though the patronage of Garrick and the popularity of the author contributed in no small degree to its success, yet the tragedy itself possesses intrinsic merits. The plot is simple. Bertha, the daughter of Lord Raby, is betrothed, in early youth, to Earl Percy.
His family incur the displeasure of Lord Raby, and, during the young earl's absence in the Holy Land, he compels his daughter to marry Earl Douglas, the hereditary enemy of the Percys. The proud spirit of Douglas is chafed to find that his own ardent love is met only with cold and respectful obedience. He suspects the preengagement of her affections, and his jealousy rouses him to fury, when Percy is found in the neighborhood of his castle. In the catastrophe, all the principal personages are involved in a common destruction.
In the development of the plot the author displays considerable imagination, and much dramatic skill. The interest is well sustained; the didactic spirit sometimes breaks forth, as in the conclusion of the following extract, in which Lord Raby laments the sombre and melancholy spirit with which the jealousy of Douglas has infected his whole household:--
"----Am I in Raby castle?
Impossible! That was the seat of smiles; There cheerfulness and joy were household gods.
But now suspicion and distrust preside, And discontent maintains a sullen sway.
Where is the smile unfeigned, the jovial welcome, Which cheered the sad, beguiled the pilgrim's pain, And made dependency forget its bonds?
Where is the ancient, hospitable hall, Whose vaulted roof once rung with harmless mirth; Where every passing stranger was a guest, And every guest a friend? I fear me much, If once our nobles scorn their rural seats, Their rural greatness, and their vassals' love, Freedom and English grandeur are no more."
The following passage, in which Bertha seeks to exculpate herself for the breach of faith with which Percy, whom she meets by accident after his return, charges her, is full of pathos:--
"I could withstand his fury; but his tears-- Ah, they undid me! Percy, dost thou know The cruel tyranny of tenderness?
Hast thou e'er felt a father's warm embrace?
Hast thou e'er seen a father's flowing tears, And known that thou couldst wipe those tears away?
If thou hast felt, and hast resisted these, Then thou may'st curse my weakness; but if not, Thou canst not pity, for thou canst not judge."
Encouraged by the success of "Percy," and urged by Garrick, Miss More composed a second tragedy, called the "Fatal Falsehood." The whole was completed, and four acts had been revised by Garrick, when death deprived her of that warm and disinterested friend. Miss More pays the following tribute to his memory: "I never can cease to remember with affection and gratitude so warm, steady, and disinterested a friend; I can most truly bear this testimony to his memory, that I never witnessed, in any family, more decorum, propriety, and regularity, than in his; where I never saw a card, or ever met--except in one instance--a person of his own profession at his table. All his pursuits and tastes were so decidedly intellectual, that it made the society and the conversation which was always to be found in his circle, interesting and delightful."
The success of the "Fatal Falsehood" was great, but not equal to that of "Percy." We must content ourselves with making one extract, in which she characterizes "Honor," as it is technically called:--
"Honor! O yes, I know him. 'Tis a phantom, A shadowy figure, wanting bulk and life, Who, having nothing solid in himself, Wraps his thin form in Virtue's plundered robe, And steals her title. Honor! 'tis the fiend Who feeds on orphans' tears and widows' groans, And slakes his impious thirst in brothers' blood.
Honor! why, 'tis the primal law of hell!
The grand device to people the dark realms With noble spirits, who, but for this cursed honor, Had been at peace on earth, or blessed in heaven.
With this _false_ honor Christians have no commerce; Religion disavows, and truth disowns it."
One more tragedy, the "Inflexible Captive," completes Miss More's labors in this department of literature. She arrived at the conclusion that, by contributing plays, however pure, to the existing stage, she should be using her powers to heighten its _general_ attraction as a place of amusement; and, considering the English theatre as, on the whole, the most profligate in the world, she resolved to abjure it and all its concerns forever--an instance of self-love sacrificed to principle hardly to be paralleled. When her works were collected, the tragedies were allowed to take their place, in order, as the author tells us in a preface written in her happiest manner, that she might ground on such publication her sentiments upon the general tendency of the drama, and, by including in her view her own compositions, might involve herself in the general object of her own animadversions.
She makes no apology for the republication of her "Sacred Dramas,"
though they may, perhaps, be regarded as falling within the range of some of her criticisms on the old Mysteries and Moralities--pieces "in which events too solemn for exhibition, and subjects too awful for detail, are brought before the audience with a formal gravity more offensive than levity itself."
As a general poet, Miss More was, at this period, the very height of the fashion. Horace Walpole thought himself honored in being permitted to print some of her pieces in the most lavish style of expense, at the press of Strawberry Hill. But fashions in literature are scarcely more lasting than those in dress. Her poems are now immersed in Lethe, except a few terse couplets, which have floated down to the present generation on the stream of oral citation, and are now often in the mouths of people who fancy that they belong to Swift or Gay. Many of her poems are, however, worthy of a better fate. They are distinguished by purity and elevation of sentiment, ease and strength of diction, and harmony of versification. In the last particular she received great praise from Johnson, who pronounced her to be "the best versificatrix in the English language."
We will give a few extracts. The first is from "Sensibility," a poem in which she claims for that quality the place which Mrs. Grenville, in a then well-known ode, arrogated for "Indifference."
"Sweet sensibility! thou keen delight!
Unprompted moral! sudden sense of right!
Perception exquisite! fair virtue's seed!
Thou quick precursor of the liberal deed!
Thou hasty conscience! reason's blushing morn!
Instinctive kindness e'er reflection's born!
Prompt sense of equity! to thee belongs The swift redress of unexamined wrongs; Eager to serve, the cause perhaps untried, But always apt to choose the suffering side; To those who know thee not no words can paint, And those who know thee know all words are faint.
She does not feel thy power who boasts thy flame, And rounds her every period with thy name.
As words are but th' external marks to tell The fair ideas in the mind that dwell, And only are of things the outward sign, And not the things themselves they but define, So exclamations, tender tones, fond tears, And all the graceful drapery feeling wears,-- These are her garb, not her; they but express Her form, her semblance, her appropriate dress; And these fair marks,--reluctant I relate,-- These lovely symbols, may be counterfeit.
There are who fill with brilliant plaints the page, If a poor linnet meet the gunner's rage; There are who for a dying fawn deplore, As if friend, parent, country, were no more; Who boast, quick rapture trembling in their eye, If from a spider's snare they snatch a fly; There are whose well-sung plaints each breast inflame, And break all hearts--but his from whence they came."
The "Bas Bleu" is a sprightly portraiture of what she considered to be the right constitution and character of social conversation. It is a vivacious image of that circle of gay and graceful conversers from whose appellation it takes its name. It was first circulated in manuscript, and we find Miss More apologizing to her sister for the shortness of a letter, on the ground that she had not a moment to spare, as she was copying the "Bas Bleu," for the king, at his request. Dr. Johnson pronounced it to be "a very great performance."
To the author herself he expressed himself in yet stronger terms.
She writes to her sister, "As to the 'Bas Bleu,' all the flattery I ever received from every body together would not make up his sum.
He said--but I seriously insist you do not tell any body, for I am ashamed of writing it even to you--he said, 'there was no name in poetry that might not be glad to own it.' You cannot imagine how I stared; all this from Johnson, that parsimonious praiser! I told him I was delighted at his approbation; he answered quite characteristically, 'And so you may, for I give you the opinion of a man who does not rate his judgment in these things very low, I can tell you.'" The following extract will give some idea of its merits:--
"What lively pleasure to divine The thought implied, the printed line!
To feel allusion's artful force, And trace the image to its source!
Quick Memory blends her scattered rays, Till Fancy kindles at the blaze; The works of ages start to view, And ancient wit elicits new.
But wit and parts if thus we praise, What nobler altars shall we raise?
Those sacrifices could we see Which wit, O virtue! makes to thee, At once the rising thought to dash, To quench at once the bursting flash!
The shining mischief to subdue, And lose the praise and pleasure too!
Though Venus' self could you detect her Imbuing with her richest nectar The thought unchaste, to check that thought, To spurn a fame so dearly bought,-- This is high principle's control, This is true continence of soul.
Blush, heroes, at your cheap renown, A vanquished realm, a plundered town Your conquests were to gain a name-- This conquest triumphs over fame."
"Florio" is a metrical tale of a young man of good principles and right feelings, who, from deference to fashion, has indulged in vanities and follies bordering on depravity, which he lays aside in disgust when virtue and good sense, in alliance with female loveliness, have made apparent to him the absurdity and danger of his aberrations. In the following extract the reader will recognize some of the oft-quoted couplets of which we have spoken:--