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Gay turned to Pepusch and the two conversed for some little time, the upshot of the talk being that Pepusch promised, when the proper time came, to say to John Rich all he could in favour of Lavinia, always supposing she had acquired sufficient stage experience. This settled, the poet drew near Lavinia who all this time was waiting and wondering what this new adventure of hers would end in.
Could she fix her attention on the music and think of nothing else? There was no time for reflection. Dr. Pepusch had gone into the house and the thin but sweet tones of a harpsichord were floating through the open window. He was striking a few preliminary chords and indulging in an extemporised prelude. A pause, and then he commenced Purcell's song.
"You must come to my lodgings in the village and I'll play them over to you on the flute. My friend, Dr. Arbuthnot, will be pleased to hear you sing 'em. It will do him good perhaps charm away his gout. The doctor knows you." "Does he, sir? I don't remember him." "He was at Mr. Pope's villa the day you sang to us. I must have a harpsichord and we must have Dr. Pepusch to tell us what he thinks."
The plaintive melody with its well balanced phrasing took Lavinia's fancy, and absorbed in the music she forgot her audience. She saw how the words were wedded to the notes and watched where the trills and graces came in. Pepusch played the air right through; waited a minute or so and recommenced. Lavinia began. She sang like one inspired. Her pure and limpid tones gave fresh charm to the melody.
Pepusch, is ready whenever I hand him the verses and the tunes to set them to. Why, I've not decided the names of the characters, and that let me tell you, doctor, is no easy matter. I call the first wench Peggy Peachum, but it doesn't please me. At that moment Pope caught sight of his man fidgetting first on one foot and then on the other. "What d'ye want sirrah?" demanded the poet irritably.
Pepusch was chiefly notable for his skill in arranging the popular songs of the day, and probably did more than any other composer to give the English ballad its artistic form. The name of Dr. Greene is best known in connection with choral compositions. His relations with Handel and Bononcini are hardly creditable to him. He seems to have flattered each in turn.
Perhaps Gay saw her trepidation, for, said he laughingly: "You needn't fear Mr. Pope. He hasn't the least idea what a tune is and won't know whether you sing well or ill. Dr. Arbuthnot sitting next him is the kindliest soul in the world, and will make excuses for you if you squawl as vilely as a cat on the tiles. As for Dr. Pepusch ah, that's a different matter.
Veil, mein friendts, andt how vags the vorldt wid you, mein tdears? Bray, bray, do let me sit town a momend. "Pepusch took the great man's hat, Colley Cibber took his stick, and my great-uncle wheeled round his reading-chair, which was somewhat about the dimensions of that in which our kings and queens are crowned; and then the great man sat him down.
The most celebrated of these operas was entitled "Otto." It was a work composed of one long string of exquisite gems, like Mozart's "Don Giovanni" and Gounod's "Faust." Dr. Pepusch, who had never quite forgiven Handel for superseding him as the best organist in England, remarked, of one of the airs, "That great bear must have been inspired when he wrote that air."
Pepusch, whom I am fortunate in numbering among my friends." "Aye, aye. Well, she can sing, eh? What d'ye think?" "Admirable, sir, admirable. She has been gifted both by nature and art." "And those gifts should put money in her pocket and yours too, Mr. Palmer. I hope you'll reward her on a liberal scale." "Why, certainly, sir. I shall be happy to oblige you."
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