“Thomas Augustine Arne.”

There is another letter from Arne to Garrick, without date; it reads as follows:

“Dear Sir,—Mr. Johnston informing me of your desire to receive my demand for the composition of the music in ‘The Little Gipsy,’ I beg leave to expatiate a little thereon. I think a musician, with regard to theatrical employment, under an unfortunate predicament, if comparatively considered with the author of any little piece, for the following reason. They should both have learning, invention, and a perfect knowledge of effects; but an author of a petite pièce can instantaneously write down his thoughts as they arise, whereas, the poor musician, when he has conceived an air, in every respect suitable to the sense, and emphatically expressed in every part, has done but half his business; for he has all the instrumental accompaniments to study and write down; insomuch as, that in a composition of ten, twelve, or more different parts, when he has written a whole side of music paper, he has the mortification to have composed but one line; all, except the voice part, being requisite to that one line. And yet an author of a farce will frequently make upwards of £100 by his sixth night, besides £50 by the sale of his copy to the printer; while the poor devil of a crotchet monger is thought well paid with £50 for six times the study and labour. This last observation, though strictly just, is not, in me, productive of a single complaint or grumble; but convictive that I have taken infinite pains to be master of a scurvy profession. As to my bill, it amounts, at my constant and reasonable rule of charging, but to £45 13 6: If you should think I have employed extraordinary time and care to make the composition proper and perfect in its kind, you will not overpay me with £50. But do as you please; I shall be satisfied, and am, with true respects, Dear Sir, your most obedient servant,

“Thomas Augustine Arne.”

This letter is endorsed by Garrick, “Dr. Arne, about bill for ‘May Day.’ I gave him the £50 desired.”

“May Day, or the Little Gipsy,” a musical farce in one act, by David Garrick, was produced at Drury Lane Theatre on the 28th of August, 1775.

There is much to be learned from the correspondence which passed between Arne and Garrick; the following letter, undated, is full of interest:

“Dear Sir,—I was never so conceited of any abilities, as non cedere majoribus; but then I ever was above servility, and could not pay a compliment to the opinion of Socrates or Seneca, at the expense of my reason. Humanum est errare, therefore the main study of every wise man is to arrive at rectitude, which cannot possibly be accomplished by giving an implicit concession to our first determinations. But shall Arne, a musician, have the hardiesse to dispute with Garrick, in his own way?—Yes, if Garrick, not giving himself time to debate on the natural effects arising from their causes, peremptorily gives his ego dixi to what does not (to Arne) appear natural. But where Garrick is pleased to exercise his judgment, as in his own parts, by a fair trial of his opinion pro and con? No, Arne would as soon dispute with Sir Isaac Newton (if living) on his doctrine of colours, sed ad propositum.

“When Miss Weller rehearsed part of Polly’s character in the green-room, I knew it would be in vain to attempt a justification of her manner, at that juncture, and therefore reserved my sentiments for this occasion. I shall only particularize the soliloquy, ‘Now I’m a wretch indeed,’ which, in all the Polly’s I ever saw, had no effect on the audience, except when Mrs. Cibber played the character, who spoke and acted in the same manner as Miss Weller does; and Mr. Barry had the same idea of it. In you this position is glaringly illustrated. Now, in regard to Polly’s situation, it is this. She has been soliciting her husband’s life with her parents, which, instead of moving their obdurate hearts, has had no other effect, than her father’s leaving her mother with a determination to prepare matters at the Old Bailey for his death. Polly, overhearing this, comes on in an agony of grief, says, ‘Now I’m a wretch indeed!’—thinks she sees him already in the cast—that she hears vollies of sighs from the windows in Holborn—then abruptly breaks out—‘I see him at the tree—the whole circle are in tears—even butchers weep.’ Can it be natural that the sight of a beloved husband at the gallows should excite fainter emotions in a doting wife, than arise in butchers exercised in offices of cruelty? Would not an apple-woman, who should see so fine a youth, merely in the cast, naturally clap her hands together, through depth of concern, and exclaim ‘Ah, poor soul! God bless him and take him to his mercy!’—perhaps shed tears? Certainly; then Polly’s emotion on figuring him at the fatal tree, where the whole circle, through mere humanity, are in tears, can be nothing short of distraction, and any action, short of the force she gave it, must appear trifling, faint, and unfeeling. You are far from having seen the best of her in that character, which appears in her scenes of love, fondness, fears, and strokes of tenderness with Mackheath. But I was not willing to give you too much trouble, and besides, I plainly saw that you could not divest yourself of prepossession; else, how was it possible that a fine voice both for speaking and singing; action open, easy, and graceful; an unexceptionable person and figure, with a countenance free from the least distortion, could be productive of such faint approbation? You have often said you regarded me—but, as in the case of Miss Brent, were I to produce an angel, her being ushered by me would create coolness and indifference. This observation, which I could more forcibly illustrate, I plainly see has put you out of humour. Give me leave to say, so it has me, who am not without my feeling on so mortifying an occasion. You are possessed both of fortune and merit; the one considerable, the other supreme. I pay you no particular respect, on account of the former; but the highest imaginable on account of the latter. Providence, by placing you in this beneficial situation, meant you as the sun and rain, to cheer and water plants of genius. Your own talents, and the just encouragement they have met with, demand, as a debt, those beneficent offices from you. The pay given to three nothings would be a suitable reward to a rising, promising genius, whose industry and advancement could never fail of repaying you ten fold in return. Having faithfully kept my promise to take no material step, without first acquainting you with my design, and therefore given you a fair offer of Miss Weller, I will trouble you with no more letters, or applications on her account; so shall only add, that if you are inclined to encourage and cherish her, as you have done by many others, with much lesser talents and requisites, I am desirous, and immediately ready to give you the preference; but if otherwise, as I have only my small merit and hard labour to subsist on, let it never be a matter of the least difference between us, that I have acted like a man of honour, and you——overlooked a jewel. I am, Sir, as I ever was, your sincere friend, and most obedient servant,

“ThoS. AugNE. Arne.”