A BELLE OF METTLE
"For let me tell you, gentlemen, courage is the whole mystery of
making love, and of more use than conduct is in war; for the bravest
fellow in Europe may beat his brains out against the stubborn walls of
a town--but
"Women born to be controll'd,
Stoop to the forward and the bold."
These lines, taken hap-hazard from Colley Cibber's "Careless Husband,"
contain the very spirit and essence of that old English comedy wherein
the hero was nothing more than a handsome rake and the heroine--well,
not a straitlaced Puritan or a prude. They breathe of the time when
honesty and virtue went for naught upon the stage, and the greatest
honours were awarded to the theatrical Prince Charming who proved
more unscrupulous than his fellows. Yet, strange as it may seem, the
"Careless Husband" is a vast improvement, in point of decency, on many
of the plays that preceded it, and marks a turning point in the moral
atmosphere of those that came after. "He who now reads it for the
first time," says Doran, "may be surprised to hear that in this comedy
a really serious and eminently successful attempt to reform the
licentiousness of the drama was made by one who had been himself a
great offender. Nevertheless the fact remains. In Lord Morelove we
have the first lover in English comedy, since licentiousness possessed
it, who is at once a gentleman and an honest man. In Lady Easy we have
what was hitherto unknown or laughed at--a virtuous married woman." To
go further, it may be added that the story points an unexceptionable
moral, proving that the best thing for a husband to do in this world
is to be true to the legitimate companion of his joys and sorrows.
With all this in favour of the "Careless Husband," it is a curious
fact that the play, if presented in its original form, would not be
tolerated by the audiences of to-day.[A] The dialogue is often coarse
and suggestive, although for the most part full of sparkle and mother
wit, while the plot smacks of intrigue, lying and adultery. But it is
a fine work for all that; there is a delightful flavour about it, as
of old wine, and we feel in reading each successive scene that we are
uncorking a rare literary bottle of the vintage 1704. How much of the
vintage of 1898 will stand, equally well, the uncorking process if
applied in a century or two from now? How many plays in vogue at
present will be read with pleasure at that distant period? Will they
be the gruesome affairs of Ibsen, still tainted with their putrid air
of unhealthy mentality, or the clever performances of Henry Arthur
Jones; the dramas of Bronson Howard or the farcical skits of Mr. Hoyt?
[Footnote A: Were the "Careless Husband" adapted to suit the exacting
requirements of nineteenth century modesty, its brilliancy would be
gone.]
The "Careless Husband" has not been acted these many, many years, yet
to all who treasure the historical memories of the stage it should
be recalled with interest, for it was in this gay comedy that
the ravishing Nance shone forth in all the silvery light of her
resplendent genius. Read the pages of the old play in unsympathetic
mood and they may look musty and worm-eaten, but imagine Oldfield as
the sprightly Lady Betty Modish, the elegant Wilks as Sir Charles
Easy, and Cibber[A] himself in the empty-headed rôle of Lord
Foppington, and, presto! everything is changed. The yellow leaves are
white and fresh, the words stand out clear and distinct, and it takes
but a slight flight of fancy to hear the dingy auditorium of Drury
Lane echoing and re-echoing with laughter. For 'twas at Drury Lane
that the comedy first saw the light, in December 1704, and this was
the cast:
LORD MORELOVE .... Mr. Powell.
LORD FOPPINGTON .... Mr. Cibber.
SIR CHARLES EASY .... Mr. Wilks.
LADY BETTY MODISE .... Mrs. Oldfield.
LADY EASY .... Mrs. Knight.
LADY GRAVEAIRS .... Mrs. Moore.
MRS. EDGING .... Mrs. Lucas.
[Footnote A: Wilks had a singular talent in representing the graces of
nature; Cibber the deformity in the affectation of them.--STEELE.]
How the performance came about let Cibber explain. The "Apologist" has
been speaking of Oldfield's success in Leonora, and he goes on to say:
"Upon this unexpected sally, then, of the power and disposition of so
unforseen an actress, it was that I again took up the first two acts
of the 'Careless Husband,' which I had written the summer before, and
had thrown aside in despair of having justice done to the character
of Lady Betty Modish by any one woman then among us; Mrs. Verbruggen
being now in a very declining state of health, and Mrs. Bracegirdle
out of my reach and engag'd in another company: But, as I have said,
Mrs. Oldfield having thrown out such new proffers of a genius, I was
no longer at a loss for support; my doubts were dispell'd and I had
now a new call to finish it."
[Illustration: ROBERT WILKS _After the Painting by_ JOHN ELLYS, 1732]
And finish the play Cibber did, casting Nance for the volatile Lady
Betty and producing it under the most brilliant auspices. The whole
assignment of characters was admirable, but the first Lady Betty,
bursting upon the town in sudden glory, threw all her companions into
the shade. Never had such a fine lady of comedy been seen, said the
critics; never had an actress (who was not expected to be over-versed
in the affairs of the "quality") displayed such gentility,
high-breeding and evidence of being--Heaven knew how--quite "to the
manner born." Never was woman so bubbling over with humour, said the
people. As for Colley, he was delighted, of course, but believing that
an honest confession is good for the soul, even for the soul of a
Poet Laureate, he has left us the following graceful tribute to the
important part played by the actress in making the "Careless Husband"
a success:
"Whatever favourable reception this comedy has met with from the
Publick, it would be unjust in me not to place a large share of it to
the account of Mrs. Oldfield; not only from the uncommon excellence of
her action, but even from her personal manner of conversing. There
are many sentiments in the character of Lady Betty Modish that I may
almost say were originally her own, or only dress'd with a little more
care than when they negligently fell from her lively humour."
Here we have a clue to that vivacity and _naïveté_ which distinguished
Anne off the stage as well as on. Can it be that she, rather than
Cibber, suggested this dashing bit of dialogue from the comedy:
* * * * *
"LADY BETTY. [_Meeting_ LADY EASY.] Oh! my dear! I am overjoyed to see
you! I am strangely happy to-day; I have just received my new scarf
from London, and you are most critically come to give me your opinion
of it.
"LADY EASY. O! your servant, madame, I am a very indifferent judge,
you know: what, is it with sleeves?
"LADY BETTY. O! 'tis impossible to tell you what it is! 'Tis all
extravagance both in mode and fancy, my dear; I believe there's six
thousand yards of edging in it--then such an enchanting slope from
the elbow--something so new, so lively, so noble, so _coquet_ and
charming--but you shall see it, my dear.
"LADY EASY. Indeed I won't, my dear; I am resolv'd to mortify you for
being so wrongfully fond of a trifle.
"LADY BETTY. Nay, now, my dear, you are ill-natured.
"LADY EASY. Why truly, I am half angry to see a woman of your sense so
warmly concerned in the care of her outside; for when we have taken
our best pains about it, 'tis the beauty of the mind alone that gives
us lasting value.
"LADY BETTY. Oh! my dear! my dear! you have been a married woman to a
fine purpose indeed, that know so little of the taste of mankind. Take
my word, a new fashion upon a fine woman is often a greater proof of
her value than you are aware of.
"LADY EASY. That I can't comprehend; for you see, among the men,
nothing's more ridiculous than a new fashion. Those of the first sense
are always the last that come into' em.
"LADY BETTY. That is, because the only merit of a man is his sense;
but doubtless the greatest value of a woman is her beauty; an homely
woman at the head of a fashion, would not be allowed in it by the men,
and consequently not followed by the women; so that to be successful
in one's fancy is an evident sign of one's being admir'd, and I always
take admiration for the best proof of beauty, as beauty certainly
is the source of power, as power in all creatures is the height of
happiness.
"LADY EASY. At this rate you would rather be thought beautiful than
good.
"LADY BETTY. As I had rather command than obey. The wisest homely
woman can't make a man of sense of a fool, but the veryest fool of a
beauty shall make an ass of a statesman; so that, in short, I can't
see a woman of spirit has any business in this world but to dress--and
make the men like her.
"LADY EASY. Do you suppose this is a principle the men of sense will
admire you for?
"LADY BETTY. I do suppose that when I suffer any man to like my
person, he shan't dare to find fault with my principle.
"LADY EASY. But men of sense are not so easilly humbled.
"LADY BETTY. The easiest of any. One has ten thousand times the
trouble with a coxcomb....The men of sense, my dear, make the best
fools in the world: their sincerity and good breeding throws them so
entirely into one's power, and gives one such an agreeable thirst of
using them ill, to show that power--'tis impossible not to quench it."
* * * * *
Compare this bristling dialogue with the inane stuff that too often
passes for comedy nowadays, and one finds all the difference between
real humour and flippancy. We stand at the threshold of the twentieth
century, boastfully proclaiming that we do everything better than ever
could our ancestors, yet where are the new comedies that might hold a
candle to the "Careless Husband," the "Inconstant," or the "School for
Scandal?" We may be presumptuous enough, nevertheless, to hold up that
much-quoted candle, but the light from it will burn pale and dim when
placed near the golden glow of the past. Would that we could purify
some of the old-time pieces and thus preserve them for future
generations of theatre-goers. Alas! that is impossible, for to cleanse
them with a sort of moral soap and water would destroy nearly all
their delightful glitter.
The lines of Lady Betty must have fairly sizzled with the fire of
comedy as they fell from the pretty lips of Oldfield. No wonder that
Londoners thought the character bewitching; no wonder that Cibber
wrote so enthusiastically of the actress in that wonderful Apology.
"Had her birth plac'd her in a higher rank of life," he notes, perhaps
forgetting that her very descent entitled the poor sewing-girl to a
position which poverty denied her, "she had certainly appear'd in
reality what in this play she only excellently acted, an agreeably gay
woman of quality a little too conscious of her natural attractions. I
have often seen her in private societies where women of the best
rank might have borr'd some part of her behaviour without the least
diminution of their sense or dignity. And this very morning, when I am
now writing at the Bath, November 11, 1738, the same words were said
of her by a lady of condition, whose better judgment of her personal
merit in that light has embolden'd me to repeat them."
The best of us have a wee bit of snobbishness buried deep in the
inmost recesses of our souls, and Colley, who was neither the best nor
the worst of humanity, had this quality well developed. To see that
one has but to read the above quotation between the lines. He loved a
lord as ardently as did the next man, and he attached to rank the same
exaggerated importance which pervades, with all the unwelcome odour of
sickening incense, the literature of his age. As Macklin so well said
of him, Nature formed Cibber for a coxcomb, and it is quite probable
that he took greater delight in being thought a leader of fashion than
a writer of charming plays. Indeed, he was careful to cultivate the
society of young noblemen, and this he was able to do by virtue of
his theatrical successes, and, more helpful still, by a levity of
character which stuck to him despite his great earnestness in many
directions. Perhaps his frivolity and his love of pleasure, including
the delights of the gaming table, may have been half assumed; perhaps
he was only playing one of his many parts. He certainly succeeded in
the rôle; he enlivened the dissipations of many a beau by his quaint
conceits and flashes of humour, and went on his way rejoicing that he
could be the boon companion of twenty idle lords.[A]
[Footnote A: Colley Cibber, one of the earliest of the dramatic
autobiographers, is also one of the most amusing. He flourished in wig
and embroidery, player, poet, and manager, during the Augustan age of
Queen Anne, somewhat earlier and somewhat later. A most egregious
fop, according to all accounts, he was, but a very pleasant one
notwithstanding, as your fop of parts is apt to be. Pope gained but
little in the warfare he waged with him, for this plain reason--that
the great poet accuses his adversary of dullness, which was not by
any means one of his sins, instead of selecting one of the numerous
faults, such as pertness, petulance, and presumption, of which he was
really guilty.--M.R. Mitford.]
If he was surprised, therefore, that Oldfield could act the high-born
woman of fashion, the "lady of condition," who shall blame him? A
tavern does not seem the proper school for deportment, and, though one
has the bluest blood in Christendom, humble surroundings may keep it
from flowing very freely. Still, Anne was naturally a thoroughbred;
the girl had a personal distinction which was hers by right of
inheritance, and what she lacked in elegance she was quick to acquire
as she grew into womanhood.
It is a strange coincidence that the actress who in after years
rejuvenated Lady Betty[A], and made her again a living, breathing
creature, had at one period of her career been a tavern girl. Abington
it was who seemed the very incarnation of aristocracy, and made the
audience forget that, high as she stood upon the stage, she had once
been almost in the gutter.
[Footnote A: Mrs. Abington, one of the most graceful and spirited
actresses of the eighteenth century, was born in 1731, shortly after
the death of Oldfield. She had the honour of being the original Lady
Teazle, a part which she rehearsed under the direction of Sheridan,
and she enjoyed the further distinction of being detested by Garrick.
The latter said of her: "She is below the thought of any honest man or
woman."]
The same welcome anomaly is noticed now, when the actresses who play
the women of the "hupper circles" with the greatest delicacy and
keenness of touch are frequently the products of the lower or middle
class. On the other hand, the _dame de société_ who trips lightly from
the drawing-room to the stage, amid the blare of trumpets and the
excitement of her friends, usually fails to make a mark. To be sure,
several of them have made marks--very black ones.
Now let us turn the pages of the "Careless Husband," as we scan them
in Lowndes's "British Theatre," and see if we cannot extract some
amusement therefrom. The scene opens in the lodgings of Sir Charles
Easy, who, like many other dramatic personages of the eighteenth
century, has a name that signifies his character. Easy, Sir Charles is
in every sense of the word, particularly easy as to morals, for the
possession of a lovely wife does not prevent him from prosecuting an
amour with a woman of quality, Lady Graveairs, or having a vulgar
intrigue with the maid of his own spouse. In fine, he is a right
amiable gentleman, according to the curious standards of long ago; a
very prince of good fellows, who in these days would pass for a cad.
We are hardly begun with the comedy before we are introduced to this
paragon, who enters just after Lady Easy and the maid, Edging, have
discovered fresh proofs of his flirtation with Lady Graveairs. Charles
is inclined to be philosophical in a blasé, tired way, and he says:
"How like children do we judge of happiness! When I was stinted in my
fortune almost everything was a pleasure to me, because most things
then being out of my reach, I had always the pleasure of hoping for
'em; now fortune's in my hand she's as insipid as an old acquaintance.
It's mighty silly, faith, just the same thing by my wife, too; I am
told she's extremely handsome [as though the sad devil didn't know
it], nay, and have heard a great many people say she is certainly the
best woman in the world--why, I don't know but she may, yet I could
never find that her person or good qualities gave me any concern. In
my eye, the woman has no more charms than my mother"--and we may
be sure that Sir Charles had never bothered himself much about the
attractions of the last named lady.
Then the fair Edging comes to centre of stage and the following
innocent dialogue ensues:
* * * * *
"EDGING. Hum--he takes no notice of me yet--I'll let him see I can
take as little notice of him. [_She walks by him gravely, he turns her
about and holds her; she struggles_.] Pray, sir!
"SIR CHARLES. A pretty pert air that--I'll humour it--what's the
matter, child--are you not well? Kiss me, hussy.
"EDGING. No, the deuce fetch me if I do. [Here was a model servant, of
course.]
"SIR CHARLES. Has anything put thee out of humour, love?
"EDGING. No, sir, 'tis not worthy my being out of humour at ... don't
you suffer my lady to huff me every day as if I were her dog, or had
no more concern with you--I declare I won't bear it and she shan't
think to huff me. For aught I know I am as agreeable as she; and
though she dares not take any notice of your baseness to her, you
shan't think to use me so--"
* * * * *
But enough of this delectable conversation. The picture which it gives
us is unpleasant and coarse; there is about it none of the glitter
that can make vice so alluring. We will also skip an interview between
Sir Charles and Lady Easy (who thinks it the part of diplomacy to
hide her knowledge of her master's peccadilloes), and hurry on to the
entrance of Lord Morelove, our hero. Morelove, who must have been
admirably played by the fiery, impetuous Powell, is neither a
libertine, nor, on the other hand, a prig; he is simply a gentlemanly
and essentially human fellow who is consumed with an honest passion
for Lady Betty Modish. Nay, he would be glad to marry the fine
creature, but she has quarrelled with him and he is now telling Sir
Charles all about it:
* * * * *
"So, disputing with her about the conduct of women, I took the liberty
to tell her how far I thought she err'd in hers; she told me I was
rude and that she would never believe any man could love a woman
that thought her in the wrong in anything she had a mind to [Rather
exacting, are you not, Lady Betty?], at least if he dared to tell her
so. This provok'd me into her whole character, with as much spite and
civil malice, as I have seen her bestow upon a woman of true beauty,
when the men first toasted her:[A] so in the middle of my wisdom, she
told me she desir'd to be alone, that I would take my odious proud
heart along with me and trouble her no more. I bow'd very low, and as
I left the room I vow'd I never wou'd, and that my proud heart should
never be humbled by the outside of a fine woman. About an hour after,
I whipp'd into my chaise for London, and have never seen her since."
[Footnote A: Many of the wits of the last age will assert that the
word (toast), in its present sense, was known among them in their
youth, and had its rise from an accident at the town of Bath, in the
reign of Charles II. It happened that, on a public day, a celebrated
beauty of those times was in the Cross Bath, and one of the crowd of
her admirers took a glass of the water in which the fair one stood,
and drank her health to the company. There was in the place a gay
fellow half fuddled, who offered to jump in, and swore, though he
liked not the liquor, he would have the toast. He was opposed in his
resolution; yet this whim gave foundation to the present honour which
is done to the lady we mention in our liquors, who has ever since been
called a Toast.--The _Tatler_.]
* * * * *
What a quaint, circumspect and very ceremonious affair must that
lovers' row have been. No swearing, no slang or loud talking, but
everything deliberate and in the best of form. Lady Betty telling
Morelove to go about his business, and that quickly, but doing so with
a stately elegance worthy of the great Mrs. Barry; the suitor bowing
low, with his white hand pressed against that "odious proud heart"
which is gently breaking at the thought of departing. What a nice
painting it would make for a Watteau fan.
Thus nearly all our characters have their entrances, Lady Betty is
revealed to us through the medium of the lively dialogue quoted a few
pages back, and then there is another stir. In comes Lord Foppington,
otherwise Colley Cibber, in all the vapid glory of fine clothes, and
a great periwig. A very prince of coxcombs, with his soft smile and
conscious air of superiority--a mere bag of vanity, whose emptiness is
partly hidden by gorgeous raiment, gold embroidery, rings, snuff-box,
muff and what-not. With what genteel condescension does he greet Sir
Charles; how gracefully nonchalant is he to my Lord Morelove. "My dear
agreeable! _Que je t'embrasse! Pardi! Il y a cent ans que je ne t'ai
veu_. My lord, I am your lordship's most obedient humble servant."
So Foppington takes his place in the comedy, and begins to play his
brainless but important part. He, the disconsolate Morelove, and the
brilliant Lady Betty all meet at dinner with Sir Charles and Lady
Easy. Of course the hero makes an unsuccessful attempt to regain the
good graces of his inamorata, and, of course, the coxcomb carries on a
violent flirtation with her in the angry face of his rival. With the
meal over, and everybody on the _qui vive_, this scene ensues:
* * * * *
Enter Foppington (who has been chatting to the ladies and who now
seeks the post-dinner conversation of his host and Lord Morelove).
"FOPPINGTON. Nay, pr'ythee, Sir Charles, let's have a little of thee.
We have been so chagrin without thee, that, stop my breath [what a
bloodcurdling oath, so suggestive of the awful curses of our own
_jeunesse d'orée_], the ladies are gone, half asleep, to church for
want of thy company.
"SIR CHARLES. That's hard indeed, while your lordship was among 'em.
Is Lady Betty gone too?
"FOP. She was just upon the wing. But I caught her by the snuff-box,
and she pretends to stay to see if I'll give it her again or no.
"MORE. Death! 'tis that I gave her, and the only present she ever
would receive from me. [_Aside to_ SIR CHARLES.] Ask him how he came
by it?
"SIR CHARLES. Pr'ythee don't be uneasy. Did she give it to you, my
lord?
"FOP. Faith, Charles, I can't say she did or she did not, but we were
playing the fool, and I took it--_à la_--pshah--I can't tell thee in
French, neither, but Horace touches it to a nicety--'twas _Pignas
direptum male pertinaci_. [_Nota Bene_: Our modern comedians seldom
quote Horace; their humour is not of the classic kind.]
"MORE. So! But I must bear it. If your lordship has a mind to the box,
I'll stand by you in the keeping of it.
"FOP. My lord, I'm passionately oblig'd to you, but I am afraid I
cannot answer your hazarding so much of the lady's favour.
"MORE. Not at all, my lord; 'tis possible I may not have the same
regard to her frown that your lordship has. [Here's a bit of human
nature. Morelove stands in awe of that frown, but he doth valiantly
protest, and that too much, that the displeasure of Lady Betty is no
more to him than a dozen of ciphers.]
"FOP. That's a bite, I am sure--he'd give a joint of his little
finger to be as well with her as I am. [_Aside_.] But here she comes!
Charles, stand by me. Must not a man be a vain coxcomb now, to think
this creature follow'd one?
"SIR CHARLES. Nothing so plain, my lord.
"FOP. Flattering devil."
_Enter_ LADY BETTY.
"LADY BETTY. Pshah, my Lord Foppington! Pr'ythee don't play the fool
now, but give me my snuff-box. Sir Charles, help me to take it from
him.
"SIR CHARLES. You know I hate trouble, madame.
"LADY BETTY. Pooh! you'll make me stay still; prayers are half over
now.
"FOP. If you'll promise me not to go to church, I'll give it you.
"LADY BETTY. I'll promise nothing at all, for positively I will have
it. [_Struggling with him_.
"FOP. Then comparatively I won't part with it, ha! ha!
[_Struggles with her_.
"LADY BETTY. O you devil, you have kill'd my arm! Oh! Well--if you'll
let me have it, I'll give you a better.
"MORE. [_Aside to_ SIR CHARLES.] O Charles! that has a view of distant
kindness in it.
"FOP. Nay, now I keep it superlatively. I find there's a secret value
in it.
"LADY BETTY. O dismal! upon my word, I am only ashamed to give it you.
Do you think I wou'd offer such an odious fancy'd thing to anybody I
had the least value for?
"SIR CHARLES. [_Aside to_ LORD MORELOVE.] Now it comes a little
nearer, methinks it does not seem to be any kindness at all.
"FOP. Why, really, madame, upon second view, it has not extremely the
mode of a lady's utensil: are you sure it never held anything but
snuff?
"LADY BETTY. O! you monster!
"FOP. Nay, I only ask because it seems to me to have very much the air
and fancy of Monsieur Smoakandfot's tobacco-box.
"MORE. I can bear no more.
"SIR CHARLES. Why don't then; I'll step into the company and return to
your relief immediately.
[_Exit_.
"MORE. [_To_ LADY BETTY.] Come, madame, will your ladyship give me
leave to end the difference? Since the slightness of the thing may
let you bestow it without any mark of favour, shall I beg it of your
ladyship?
"LADY BETTY. O my lord, no body sooner. I beg you give it my lord.
[_Looking earnestly on_ LORD FOPPINGTON, _who, smiling, gives it to_
LORD MORELOVE _and then bows gravely to her_].
"MORE. Only to have the honour of restoring it to your lordship; and
if there be any other trifle of mine your lordship has a fancy to,
tho' it were a mistress, I don't know any person in the world who has
so good a claim to my resignation."
* * * * *
In the hands of Powell, Cibber, and Oldfield this scene must have had
all the sparkle of champagne; but let us hope, speaking of wine, that
the prince of paragons, Morelove, was perfectly sober. Or shall we
say comparatively sober?--for when bibulous George had just a dash of
spirits within him (and that was nearly always) there came a roseate
hue to his acting which rather added to its romantic colour. Sometimes
this colour was laid on too garishly, as the supply of fire-water
happened to be larger,[A] and Sir John Vanbrugh has himself left it on
record that Powell, as Worthy, came well nigh spoiling the original
production of the "Relapse." "I own," writes Sir John, "the first
night this thing was acted, some indecencies had like to have
happened; but it was not my fault. The fine gentleman of the play,
drinking his mistress's health in Nantes brandy, from six in the
morning to the time he waddled up upon the stage in the evening, had
toasted himself up to such a pitch of vigour, I confess I once gave up
Amanda for gone; and am since, with all due respect to Mrs. Rogers,
very sorry she escaped; for I am confident a certain lady (let no one
take it to herself that is handsome) who highly blames the play, for
the barrenness of the conclusion, would then have allowed it a very
natural close." It should be added that the Mrs. Rogers herein
mentioned as playing Amanda was a capable tragic actress whose
ambition it was to enact none but virtuous women. Her own virtue--but
we are dipping into scandal.[B]
[Footnote A: To the folly of intoxication he added the horrors of
debt, and was so hunted by the sheriffs' officers that he usually
walked the streets with a sword (sheathed) in his hand; and if he saw
any of them at a distance, he would roar out, "Get on the other side
of the way, you dog!" The bailiff, who knew his old customer, would
obligingly answer, "We do not want you _now_, Master Powell." EDMUND
BELLCHAMBERS.]
[Footnote B: Her fondness for virtue on the stage she began to think
might persuade the world that it had made an impression on her private
life; and the appearance of it actually went so far that, in an
epilogue to an obscure play, the profits of which were given to her,
and wherein she acted a part of impregnable chastity, she bespoke
the favour of the ladies by a protestation that in honour of their
goodness and virtue she would dedicate her unblemished life to their
example. Part of this vestal vow, I remember, was contained in the
following verse:--
"Study to live the character I play."
But alas! how weak are the strongest works of art when Nature besieges
it.--CIBBER.]
As for the "Careless Husband," the more one reads from it the more
cause is there to regret the utter hopelessness of reviving a play so
honeycombed by inuendo. How delightfully, for instance, would some of
the badinage between Morelove and the spirited Lady Betty have been
treated in the earlier days of the Daly Company, with John Drew and
Miss Rehan as the lovers. We can picture the two, as they would have
given the following lines, the one gentlemanly and effective, the
other imperious, liquid-voiced, and radiant of humour:
* * * * *
"MORELOVE. Do you know, madame, I have just found out, that upon your
account I have made myself one of the most ridiculous puppies upon the
face of the earth--I have upon my faith! Nay, and so extravagantly
such--ha! ha! ha!--that it's at last become a jest even to myself; and
I can't help laughing at it for the soul of me; ha! ha! ha!
"LADY BETTY. [_Aside_.] I want to cure him of that laugh now. My lord,
since you are so generous, I'll tell you another secret. Do you
know, too, that I still find (spite of all your great wisdom, and my
contemptible qualities, as you are pleased now and then to call them),
do you know, I say, that I see under all this, you still love me with
the same helpless passion; and can your vast foresight imagine I won't
use you accordingly, for these extraordinary airs you are pleased to
give yourself.' [Talk of the independence of the 'New Woman.' Who
could have been more self-assertive than this eighteenth century
belle?]
"MORE. O by all means, madame, 'tis as you should, and I expect it
whenever it is in your power. [_Aside_] Confusion!
"LADY BETTY. My lord, you have talked to me this half-hour without
confessing pain. [_Pauses and affects to gape_.] Only remember it.
"MORE. Hell and tortures!
"LADY BETTY. What did you say, my lord?
"MORE. Fire and furies!
"LADY BETTY. Ha! ha! he's disorder'd. Now I am easy. My Lord
Foppington, have you a mind to your revenge at piquet?
"FOP. I have always a mind to an opportunity of entertaining your
ladyship, madame.
[LADY BETTY _coquets with_ LORD FOPPINGTON.
"MORE. O Charles, the insolence of this woman might furnish out a
thousand devils.
"SIR CHARLES. And your temper is enough to furnish a thousand such
women. Come away--I have business for you upon the terrace.
"MORE. Let me but speak one word to her.
"SIR CHARLES. Not a syllable; the tongue's a weapon you always have
the worst at. For I see you have no guard, and she carries a devilish
edge.
"LADY BETTY. My lord, don't let anything I've said frighten you away;
for if you have the least inclination to stay and rail, you know the
old conditions; 'tis but your asking me pardon next day, and you may
give your passion any liberty you think fit.
"MORE. Daggers and death! [What a picturesque, old-fashioned oath, is
it not? "Daggers and death!" Writers of English melodramas, please
take notice.]
"SIR CHARLES. Is the man distracted?
"MORE. Let me speak to her now, or I shall burst.[A]
"SIR CHARLES. Upon condition you'll speak no more of her to me, my
lord, do as you please.
"MORE. Pr'ythee pardon me--I know not what to do.
"SIR CHARLES. Come along, I'll set you to work, I warrant you. Nay,
nay, none of your parting ogles--will you go?
"MORE. Yes, and I hope for ever.
[_Exit_ SIR CHARLES _pulling away_ LORD MORELOVE."
[Footnote A: Here is the way in which several of our refined farcical
writers would have given it:
MORELOVE. Let me speak to her now, or I shall burst.
SIR CHARLES. Upon condition that you'll not burst here, in the
parlour, do as you please.]
* * * * *
There is about this and many other scenes the fragrance of an old
perfume, as of lavender. We take up the book after years of neglect,
and the odour, which is not that of sanctity, is still perceptible--a
potent reminder of the past. And Lady Betty Modish? She must
be--well-nigh on to two hundred years old (a thousand florid pardons,
sweet madame, for bringing in your age), but she is as blooming,
saucy, and interesting as ever.
What becomes of Betty in the comedy, the reader may ask. She goes on
her triumphant way, the same cruel enchantress, until the last act,
when she is quite ready to fall into the arms of Lord Morelove. Sir
Charles Easy, touched by the constancy and devotion of his wife,
announces that he will mend his wilful habits, and Lord Foppington,
who flattered himself that Lady Betty was madly in love with him,
accepts his dismissal with great good humour. Then we have a song
setting forth how:
"Sabina with an angel's face
By Love ordain'd for joy,
Seems of the Siren's cruel race,
To charm and then destroy.
"With all the arts of look and dress,
She fans the fatal fire;
Through pride, mistaken oft for grace,
She bids the swains expire.
"The god of Love, enraged to see
The nymph defy his flame,
Pronounced his merciless decree
Against the haughty dame:
"'Let age with double speed o'ertake her,
Let love the room of pride supply;
And when the lovers all forsake her,
A spotless virgin let her die.'"
Next, with the sound of this horrible warning ringing in our ears, Sir
Charles steps forward to give the tag: "If then [turning to Lady Easy]
the unkindly thought of what I have been hereafter shou'd intrude upon
thy growing quiet, let this reflection teach thee to be easy:
"Thy wrong, when greatest, most thy virtue prov'd;
And from that virtue found, I blus'd and truly lov'd."
So ends the comedy in a blaze of morality. We almost see Sir Charles
fitting on a pair of newly-made wings, as he prepares to float away to
some better planet; but let him go, by all means. We shall remain here
and watch that fair sinner, Oldfield.