The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland Volume IV Part 1

The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753).

by Theophilus Cibber.

VOL. IV.

PETER MOTTEAUX.

A French gentleman, born and educated at Rohan, in Normandy. He came over into England, was a considerable trader, and resided here many years. He is said to have possessed no inconsiderable share of wit, and humour; and, besides a translation of Don Quixote, several Songs, Prologues and Epilogues, together with a Poem on Tea, dedicated to the Spectator, (see Vol. VII. Numb. 552) he is author of the following dramatic pieces.

1. Love's a Jest, a Comedy; acted at the new Theatre, in little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1696. In the two scenes, where love is made a jest, some pa.s.sages are taken from Italian writers.

2. The Loves of Mars and Venus; a Masque set to Music, performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1696; dedicated to colonel Codrington. The story from Ovid.

3. The Novelty, or every Act a Play; consisting of Pastoral, Comedy, Masque, Tragedy, and Farce, after the Italian manner; acted at the Theatre in little Lincoln's-Inn Fields 1697.

The model of this play is formed upon Sir William Davenant's Play-House to be let: But neither of them met with much success.

4. Europe's Revels for the Peace, and his Majesty's Happy Return, a Musical Interlude, performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1697.

5. Beauty in Distress, a Tragedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1698. There is some poetry in this play; and in the multiplicity of its incidents, he has followed the example of the British Poets. Before this piece, there is prefixed a discourse on the lawfulness or unlawfulness of plays; written originally in French, by the learned father Ca.s.saro, divinity professor at Paris; sent by a friend to Mr. Motteaux.

6. The Island Princess, or the Generous Portugueze; made into an Opera, and performed at the Theatre-Royal 1701. The music by Mr. Daniel Purcell, Mr. Clark, and Mr. Leveridge. The greatest part of the play is taken from Fletcher's Island Princess. Scene the Spice Island.

7. The Four Seasons, or Love in every Age; a musical Interlude, set to Music by Mr. Jeremiah Clark; printed with the musical Entertainments of the above Opera. 8. Britain's Happiness, a musical Interlude; performed at both the Theatres, being part of the entertainment, subscribed for by the n.o.bility. Scene a prospect of Dover castle and the sea. This Interlude was long before designed, only as an introduction to an Opera; which if ever finished was to have been called the Loves of Europe, every act shewing the manner of the different nations in their addresses to the fair-s.e.x; of which he has informed us in his prefatory epistle.

9. Thomyris Queen of Scythia, an Opera; translated from the Italian; performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

10. The Temple of Love, a Pastoral Opera, from the Italian; performed at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-market, by her majesty's servants, 1706. Scene Arcadia. Time of action, the same with that of the representation.

11. Love Dragoon'd, a Farce.

This gentleman, who seems to have led a very comfortable life, his circ.u.mstances being easy, was unfortunate in his death; for he lost his life in a disorderly house, in the parish of St. Clement Danes, not without suspicion of having been murthered; which accident happened to him, on his birth day in the 58th year of his age, 1718. His body was interred in his own parish church, being that of St. Mary Ax, in the city of London.

Mrs. MANLEY,

The celebrated auth.o.r.ess of the Atalantis, was born in Hampshire, in one of those islands which formerly belonged to France, of which her father Sir Roger Manley was governor; who afterwards enjoyed the same post in other places in England. He was the second son of an ancient family; the better part of his estate was ruined in the civil war by his firm adherence to Charles I. He had not the satisfaction of ever being taken notice of, nor was his loyalty acknowledged at the restoration. The governor was a brave gallant man, of great honour and integrity.

He became a scholar in the midst of the camp, having left the university at the age of sixteen, to follow the fortunes of Charles I. His temper had too much of the Stoic in it to attend much to the interest of his family. After a life spent in the civil and foreign wars, he began to love ease and retirement, devoting himself to his study, and the charge of his little post, without following the court; his great virtue and modesty, debaring him from solliciting favours from such persons as were then at the helm of affairs, his deserts were buried, and forgotten. In this solitude he wrote several tracts for his own amus.e.m.e.nt, particularly his Latin Commentaries of the Civil Wars of England. He was likewise author of the first volume of that admired work, the Turkish Spy. One Dr. Midgley, an ingenious physician, related to the family by marriage, had the charge of looking over his papers. Amongst them he found that ma.n.u.script, which he reserved to his proper use, and by his own pen, and the a.s.sistance of some others, continued the work till the eighth volume was finished, without having the honesty to acknowledge the author of the first.

The governor likewise wrote the History of the Rebellion in England, Scotland and Ireland; wherein the most material pa.s.sages, battles, sieges, policies, and stratagems of war, are impartially related on both sides, from the year 1640, to the beheading of the duke of Monmouth 1688, in three parts, printed in octavo, in the year 1691.

His daughter, our auth.o.r.ess, received an education suitable to her birth, and gave very early discoveries of a genius, not only above her years, but much superior to what is usually to be found amongst her own s.e.x. She had the misfortune to lose her mother, while she was yet an infant, a circ.u.mstance, which laid the foundation of many calamities, which afterwards befell her.

The brother of Sir Roger Manley, who was of principles very opposite to his, joined with the Parliamentarian party; and after Charles I. had suffered, he engaged with great zeal in the cause of those who were for settling a new form of government, in which, however, they were disappointed by the address of Cromwell, who found means to transfer the government into his own hands, and in place of inst.i.tuting a republic, restored monarchy under another name, and erected a tyranny as dangerous, perhaps, in its consequences, as that which he had contributed to overthrow. During these heats and divisions, Mr. Manley, who adhered to the most powerful party, was fortunate enough to ama.s.s an estate, and purchased a t.i.tle; but these, upon the restoration, reverted back to the former possessor; so that he was left with several small children unprovided for. The eldest of these orphans, Sir Roger Manley took under his protection, bestowed a very liberal education on him, and endeavoured to inspire his mind with other principles, than those he had received from his father. This young gentleman had very promising parts, but under the appearance of an open simplicity, he concealed the most treacherous hypocrisy. Sir Roger, who had a high opinion of his nephew's honour, as well as of his great abilities, on his death-bed bequeathed to him the care of our auth.o.r.ess, and her youngest sister.

This man had from nature a very happy address, formed to win much upon the hearts of unexperienced girls; and his two cousins respected him greatly. He placed them at the house of an old, out-of-fashion aunt, who had been a keen partizan of the royal cause during the civil wars; she was full of the heroic stiffness of her own times, and would read books of Chivalry, and Romances with her spectacles.

This sort of conversation, much infected the mind of our poetess, and fill'd her imagination with lovers, heroes, and princes; made her think herself in an inchanted region, and that all the men who approached her were knights errant. In a few years the old aunt died, and left the two young ladies without any controul; which as soon as their cousin Mr. Manley heard, he hasted into the country, to visit them; appeared in deep mourning, as he said for the death of his wife; upon which the young ladies congratulated him, as they knew his wife was a woman of a most turbulent temper, and ill fitted to render the conjugal life tolerable.

This gentleman, who had seen a great deal of the world, and was acquainted with all the artifices of seducing, lost no time in making love to his cousin, who was no otherwise pleased with it, than as it answered something to the character she had found in those books, which had poisoned and deluded her dawning reason. Soon after these protestations of love were made, the young lady fell into a fever, which was like to prove fatal to her life.

The lover and her sister never quitted the chamber for sixteen nights, nor took any other repose than throwing themselves alternately upon a little pallet in the same room. Having in her nature a great deal of grat.i.tude, and a very tender sense of benefits; she promised upon her recovery to marry her guardian, which as soon as her health was sufficiently restored, she performed in the presence of a maid servant, her sister, and a gentleman who had married a relation. In a word, she was married, possessed, and ruin'd.

The husband of our poetess brought her to London, fixed her in a remote quarter of it, forbad her to stir out of doors, or to receive the visits of her sister, or any other relations, friends, or acquaintance. This usage, she thought exceeding barbarous, and it grieved her the more excessively, since she married him only because she imagined he loved and doated on her to distraction; for as his person was but ordinary, and his age disproportioned, being twenty-years older than she, it could not be imagined that she was in love with him.-She was very uneasy at being kept a prisoner; but her husband's fondness and jealousy was made the pretence. She always loved reading, to which she was now more than ever obliged, as so much time lay upon her hands: Soon after she proved with child, and so perpetually ill, that she implored her husband to let her enjoy the company of her sister and friends. When he could have no relief from her importunity (being a.s.sured that in seeing her relations, she must discover his barbarous deceit) he thought it was best to be himself the relator of his villany; he fell upon his knees before her, with so much seeming confusion, distress and anguish, that she was at a loss to know what could mould his stubborn heart to such contrition. At last, with a thousand well counterfeited tears, and sighs, he stabb'd her with the wounding relation of his wife's being still alive; and with a hypocrite's pangs conjured her to have some mercy on a lost man as he was, in an obstinate, inveterate pa.s.sion, that had no alternative but death, or possession.

He urged, that could he have supported the pain of living without her, he never would have made himself so great a villain; but when the absolute question was, whether he should destroy himself, or betray her, self-love had turned the ballance, though not without that anguish to his soul, which had poisoned all his delights, and planted daggers to stab his peace. That he had a thousand times started in his sleep with guilty apprehensions; the form of her honoured father perpetually haunting his troubled dreams, reproaching him as a traitor to that trust which in his departing moments he had reposed in him; representing to his tortured imagination the care he took of his education, more like a father than an uncle, with which he had rewarded him by effecting the perdition of his favourite daughter, who was the lovely image of his benefactor.

With this artful contrition he endeavoured to sooth his injured wife: But what soothing could heal the wounds she had received? Horror! amazement! sense of honour lost! the world's opinion! ten thousand distresses crowded her distracted imagination, and she cast looks upon the conscious traitor with horrible dismay! Her fortune was in his hands, the greatest part of which was already lavished away in the excesses of drinking and gaming. She was young, unacquainted with the world; had never experienced necessity, and knew no arts of redressing it; so that thus forlorn and distressed, to whom could she run for refuge, even from want, and misery, but to the very traitor that had undone her. She was acquainted with none that could or would espouse her cause, a helpless, useless load of grief and melancholy! with child! disgraced! her own relations either unable, or unwilling to relieve her.

Thus was she detained by unhappy circ.u.mstances, and his prevailing arts to wear away three wretched years with him, in the same house, though she most solemnly protests, and she has a right to be believed, that no persuasion could ever again reconcile her to his impious arms. Whenever she cast her eyes upon her son, it gave a mortal wound to her peace: The circ.u.mstances of his birth glared full on her imagination; she saw him, in future, upbraided with his father's treachery, and his mother's misfortunes. Thus forsaken of all the world, in the very morning of her life, when all things should have been gay, and promising, she wore away three wretched years. Mean time her betrayer had procured for himself a considerable employment; the duties of which obliged him to go into the country where his first wife lived. He took leave of his injured innocent, with much seeming tenderness; and made the most sacred protestations, that he would not suffer her, nor her child ever to want.

He endeavoured to persuade her to accompany him into the country, and to seduce, and quiet her conscience, shewed her a celebrated piece written in defence of Polygamy, and Concubinage: When he was gone, he soon relapsed into his former extravagances, forgot his promise of providing for his child, and its mother; and inhumanly left them a prey to indigence and oppression. The lady was only happy in being released from the killing anguish, of every day having before her eyes the object of her undoing.

When she again came abroad into the world, she was looked upon with cold indifference; that which had been her greatest misfortune, was imputed to her as the most enormous guilt; and she was every where sneered at, avoided, and despised. What pity is it, that an unfortunate, as well as a false step, should d.a.m.n a woman's fame! In what respect was Mrs. Manley to blame? In what particular was she guilty? to marry her cousin, who pa.s.sionately professed love to her, and who solemnly vowed himself a widower, could not be guilt; on the other hand, it had prudence and grat.i.tude for its basis. Her continuing in the house with him after he had made the discovery, cannot be guilt, for by doing so, she was prevented from being exposed to such necessities as perhaps would have produced greater ruin. When want and beggary stare a woman in the face, especially one accustomed to the delicacies of life, then indeed is virtue in danger; and they who escape must have more than human a.s.sistance.

Our poetess now perceived, that together with her reputation, she had lost all the esteem, that her conversation and abilities might have else procured her; and she was reduced to the deplorable necessity of a.s.sociating with those whose fame was blasted by their indiscretion, because the more sober and virtuous part of the s.e.x did not care to risk their own characters, by being in company with one so much suspected, and against whom the appearance of guilt was too strong.

Under this dilemma, it is difficult to point out any method of behaviour, by which she would not be exposed to censure: If she had still persisted in solitude, the ill-natured world would have imputed to it a cause, which is not founded on virtue; besides, as the means of support were now removed, by the perfidy of Mr. Manley, she must have perished by this resolution.

In this case, the reader will not be much surprized to find our auth.o.r.ess, under the patronage of the d.u.c.h.ess of Cleveland, a mistress of king Charles the IId's, who was justly reckoned one of the most celebrated beauties of that age. Mrs. Manley was paying a visit to a lady of her grace's acquaintance, when she was introduced into the favour of this royal courtezan; and as the d.u.c.h.ess of Cleveland was a woman of parts and genius, she could not but be charmed with the sprightliness of her conversation. She was fond of new faces, and immediately contracted the greatest intimacy with our poetess, and gave her a general invitation to her table. The lady at whose house the d.u.c.h.ess became acquainted with Mrs. Manley, soon perceived her indiscretion in bringing them together; for the love of novelty so far prevailed on the d.u.c.h.ess, that herself was immediately discarded, and the affection formerly bestowed upon her, was lavished on Mrs. Manley.

This procured our poetess an inveterate enemy; and the greatest blow that was ever struck at her reputation, was by that woman, who had been before her friend. She was not content to inform persons who began to know and esteem Mrs. Manley, that her marriage was a cheat; but even endeavoured to make the d.u.c.h.ess jealous of her new favourite's charms, in respect of Mr. Goodman the player, who at that time had the honour of approaching her grace's person, with the freedom of a gallant.

As the d.u.c.h.ess of Cleveland was a woman of a very fickle temper, in six months time she began to be tired of Mrs. Manley. She was quarrelsome, loquacious, fierce, excessively fond, or downright rude; when she was disgusted with any person, she never failed to reproach them, with all the bitterness of wit she was mistress of, with such malice, and ill-nature, that she was hated, not only by all the world, but by her own children and servants: The extremes of prodigality, and covetousness, of love, and hatred, of dotage, and fondness, met in her. A woman of this temper will be at no loss for the means of effecting any one's ruin, and having now conceived an aversion to our poetess, she was resolved to drive her from her house, with as much reproach as possible; and accordingly gave out, that she had detected Mrs. Manley in an intrigue with her own son, and as she did not care to give encouragement to such amours, she thought proper to discharge her. Whether or not there was any truth in this charge, it is impossible for us to determine: But if Mrs. Manley's own word may be taken, in such a case, she was perfectly innocent thereof.

When our auth.o.r.ess was dismissed by the d.u.c.h.ess, she was sollicited by lieutenant-general Tidcomb, to pa.s.s some time with him at his country seat; but she excused herself by telling him, she must be in love with a man, before she could think of residing with him, which she could not, without a violation of truth, profess for him. She told him her love of solitude was improved, by her disgust of the world, and since it was impossible for her to be public with reputation, she was resolved to remain in it concealed.

It was in this solitude she composed her first tragedy, which was much more famous for the language, fire, and tenderness, than the conduct. Mrs. Barry distinguished herself in it, and the author was often heard to express great surprize, that a man of Mr. Betterton's grave sense, and judgment, should think well enough of the productions of a young woman, to bring it upon the stage, since she herself in a more mature age could hardly bear to read it. But as the play succeeded, she received such unbounded incense from admirers, that her apartment was crowded with men of wit, and gaiety. There is a copy of verses prefixed to her play, said to be written by a very great hand which deserve notice.

What! all our s.e.x in one sad hour undone?

Lost are our arts, our learning, our renown Since nature's tide of wit came rolling down.

Keen were your eyes we knew, and sure their darts; Fire to our soul they send, and pa.s.sion to our heart!

Needless was an addition to such arms, When all mankind were va.s.sals to your charms: That hand but seen, gives wonder and desire, Snow to the fight, but with its touches fire!

Who sees thy yielding Queen, and would not be On any terms, the best, the happy he; Entranc'd we fancy all is extasy.

Quote Ovid, now no more ye am'rous swains, Delia, than Ovid has more moving strains.

Nature in her alone exceeds all art, And nature sure does nearest touch the heart.

Oh! might I call the bright discoverer mine, The whole fair s.e.x unenvied I'd resign; Give all my happy hours to Delia's charms, She who by writing thus our wishes warms, What worlds of love must circle in her arms?

They who had a regard for Mrs. Manley could not but observe with concern, that her conduct was such, as would soon issue in her ruin. No language but flattery approached her ear; the Beaux told her, that a woman of her wit, was not to be confined to the dull formalities of her own s.e.x, but had a right to a.s.sume the unreserved freedom of the male, since all things were pardonable to a lady, who knew to give laws to others, yet was not obliged to keep them herself. General Tidcomb, who seems to have been her sincerest friend, took the privilege of an old acquaintance to correct her ill taste, and the wrong turn she gave her judgment, in admitting adulation from such wretches, whose praise could reflect but little honour, and who would be ready to boast of favours they never received, nor indeed ever endeavoured to obtain.

This salutary council was rejected; she told him, that she did not think fit to reform a conduct, which she reckoned very innocent; and still continued to receive the whispers of flatterers, 'till experience taught her the folly of her behaviour, and she lived to repent her indiscretion.

Her virtue was now nodding, and she was ready to fall into the arms of any gallant, like mellow fruit, without much trouble in the gathering. Sir Thomas Skipwith, a character of gaiety of those times, and, who it seems had theatrical connections, was recommended to her, as being very able to promote her design in writing for the stage. This knight was in the 50th year of his age, and in the 60th of his const.i.tution, when he was first introduced to her, and as he had been a long practised gallant, he soon made addresses to her, and whether or no this knight, who was more dangerous to a woman's reputation, than her virtue, was favoured by her, the world was so much convinced of it, that her character was now absolutely lost. Sir Thomas was a weak, vain, conceited c.o.xcomb, who delighted in boasting of his conquests over women, and what was often owing to his fortune, and station in life, he imputed to his address, and the elegance of his manner, of both which he was totally dest.i.tute. He even published Mrs. Manley's dishonour, and from that time our sprightly poetess was considered, by the sober part of the s.e.x, quite abandoned to all shame.

When her affair with this superannuated knight was over, she soon engaged in another intrigue, still more prejudicial to her character; for it was with a married man, one Mr. Tilly, a gentleman of the Law; with whom she lived a considerable time: while he underwent at home many of those severe lectures, which the just provocation, and jealousy of his wife taught her to read him. Mrs. Tilly at last died, and our gallant was left at his freedom to marry the object of his pa.s.sion; but unluckily his finances were in such a situation, that he was obliged to repair them by marrying a woman of fortune. This was a cruel circ.u.mstance; for he really loved, and doated upon Mrs. Manley, and had the felicity of a reciprocal pa.s.sion. She agreed however, in order to repair his fortune, that he should marry a rich young widow, whom he soon won by the elegance of his address, while our auth.o.r.ess retired into the country to spend her days in solitude and sorrow, and bid an everlasting farewel to the pleasures of love and gallantry. Mr. Tilly did not many years survive this reparation: his life was rendered miserable at home by the jealousy of his young wife, who had heard of his affair with Mrs. Manley; he lost his senses, and died in a deplorable situation.

During her retirement, our auth.o.r.ess, who had a most confirmed aversion to the Whig ministry, wrote her Atalantis, which was meant as a representation of the characters of some of those, who had effected the Revolution. A warrant was granted from the secretary of state's office, to seize the Printer and Publisher of these volumes. This circ.u.mstance reduced the writer to a very troublesome dilemma; she could not bear the thoughts that innocent people should suffer on her account, and she judged it cruel to remain concealed, while they who were only inferior instruments, were suffering for her. She consulted, on this occasion, her best friend, general Tidcomb, who, after rallying her for exposing people, who had never in particular injured her, he advised her to go into France, and made her an offer of his purse for that purpose. This advice she rejected, and came to a determined resolution, that no person should ever suffer on her account. The general asked her, how she should like to be confined in Newgate? to which she answered, that she would rather lye in a prison, after having discharged her conference, than riot in a palace under its reproaches. The general upon this replied, that these things sounded very heroic, but there was a great difference between real and imaginary sufferings, 'that she had chosen to declare herself for the Tories, a party, who never could keep their own, nor other people's secrets, and were ever forgetful of such as served them; that the most severe critics upon the Tory writings, were the Tories themselves, who never considering the design, or honest intention of the author, would examine the performance only, and that too with as much severity, as they would an enemy's, and at the same time value themselves upon being impartial against their friends. Then as to grat.i.tude, or generosity, the Tories did not approach to the Whigs, who never suffered any man to go unrewarded, however dull, or insignificant, provided he declared himself to be for them; whereas the Tories had no general interest, and consequently no particular, each person refusing to contribute towards the benefit of the whole; and if it should happen, that she should perish, through want, in a Jail, they would sooner condemn her folly, than pity her sufferings.'

This did not deter our poetess from voluntarily preferring herself before the Court of King's Bench, as the author of the Atalantis.