Part 20
_Mons._ [_Peeping._] A pox! is it you, is it you, Martin?--Nay, uncle, then 'tis in vain; for they won't be kicked down stairs, to my knowledge. They are gentlemen fiddlers, forsooth! A pox on all gentlemen fiddlers and gentlemen dancing-masters! say I.
_Don._ How! ha! [_Pausing._
_Mons._ Well, Flirt, now I am a match for thee: now I may keep you.--And there's little difference betwixt keeping a wench and marriage; only marriage is a little the cheaper; but the other is the more honourable now, _vert_ and _bleu!_ Nay, now I may swear a French oath too. Come, come, I am thine; let us strike up the bargain: thine, according to the honourable institution of keeping.--Come.
_Flirt._ Nay, hold, sir; two words to the bargain; first, I have ne'er a lawyer here to draw articles and settlements.
_Mons._ How! is the world come to that? A man cannot keep a wench without articles and settlements! Nay, then 'tis e'en as bad as marriage, indeed, and there's no difference betwixt a wife and a wench.
_Flirt._ Only in cohabitation; for the first article shall be against cohabitation:--we mistresses suffer no cohabitation.
_Mons._ Nor wives neither now.
_Flirt._ Then separate maintenance, in case you should take a wife, or I a new friend.
_Mons._ How! that too! then you are every whit as bad as a wife.
_Flirt._ Then my house in town and yours in the country, if you will.
_Mons._ A mere wife!
_Flirt._ Then my coach apart, as well as my bed apart.
_Mons._ As bad as a wife still!
_Flirt._ But take notice, I will have no little, dirty, second-hand chariot new furbished, but a large, sociable, well-painted coach; nor will I keep it till it be as well known as myself, and it come to be called Flirt-coach; nor will I have such pitiful horses as cannot carry me every night to the Park; for I will not miss a night in the Park, I'd have you to know.
_Mons._ 'Tis very well: you must have your great, gilt, fine painted coaches. I'm sure they are grown so common already amongst you, that ladies of quality begin to take up with hackneys again, _jarni!_--But what else?
_Flirt._ Then, that you do not think I will be served by a little dirty boy in a bonnet, but a couple of handsome, lusty, cleanly footmen, fit to serve ladies of quality, and do their business as they should do.
_Mons._ What then?
_Flirt._ Then, that you never grow jealous of them.
_Mons._ Why, will you make so much of them?
_Flirt._ I delight to be kind to my servants.
_Mons._ Well, is this all?
_Flirt._ No.--Then, that when you come to my house, you never presume to touch a key, lift up a latch, or thrust a door, without knocking beforehand: and that you ask no questions, if you see a stray piece of plate, cabinet, or looking-glass, in my house.
_Mons._ Just a wife in everything.--But what else?
_Flirt._ Then, that you take no acquaintance with me abroad, nor bring me home any when you are drunk, whom you will not be willing to see there when you are sober.
_Mons._ But what allowance? let's come to the main business; the money.
_Flirt._ Stay, let me think: first for advance-money, five hundred pounds for pins.
_Mons._ A very wife!
_Flirt._ Then you must take the lease of my house, and furnish it as becomes one of my quality; for don't you think we'll take up with your old Queen Elizabeth furniture, as your wives do.
_Mons._ Indeed there she is least like a wife, as she says.
_Flirt._ Then for house-keeping, servants' wages, clothes, and the rest, I'll be contented with a thousand pounds a year present maintenance, and but three hundred pounds a year separate maintenance for my life, when your love grows cold. But I am contented with a thousand pounds a year, because for pendants, neck-laces, and all sorts of jewels, and such trifles, nay, and some plate, I will shift myself as I can; make shifts, which you shall not take any notice of.
_Mons._ A thousand pounds a year! what will wenching come to? Time was a man might have fared as well at a much cheaper rate, and a lady of one's affections, instead of a house, would have been contented with a little chamber, three pair of stairs backward, with a little closet or ladder to't; and instead of variety of new gowns and rich petticoats, with her _deshabillé_, or flame-colour gown called Indian, and slippers of the same, would have been contented for a twelvemonth; and instead of visits and gadding to plays, would have entertained herself at home with "St. George for England," "The Knight of the Sun," or "The Practice of Piety;" and instead of sending her wine and meat from the French-houses, would have been contented, if you had given her, poor wretch, but credit at the next chandler's and chequered cellar;[67] and then, instead of a coach, would have been well satisfied to have gone out and taken the air for three or four hours in the evening in the balcony, poor soul. Well, Flirt, however, we'll agree:--'tis but three hundred pounds a year separate maintenance, you say, when I am weary of thee and the charge.
_Don._ [_Aside._]--Robbed of my honour, my daughter, and my revenge too! O my dear honour! Nothing vexes me, but that the world should say I had not Spanish policy enough to keep my daughter from being debauched from me. But methinks my Spanish policy might help me yet. I have it--so--I will cheat 'em all; for I will declare I understood the whole plot and contrivance, and connived at it, finding my cousin a fool, and not answering my expectation. Well, but then if I approve of the match, I must give this mock-dancing-master my estate, especially since half he would have in right of my daughter, and in spite of me. Well, I am resolved to turn the cheat upon themselves, and give them my consent and estate.
_Mons._ Come, come, ne'er be troubled, uncle: 'twas a combination, you see, of all these heads and your daughter's, you know what I mean, uncle, not to be thwarted or governed by all the Spanish policy in Christendom. I'm sure my French policy would not have governed her; so since I have 'scaped her, I am glad I have 'scaped her, _jarni!_
_Mrs. Caut._ Come, brother, you are wiser than I, you see: ay, ay.
_Don._ No, you think you are wiser than I now, in earnest: but know, while I was thought a gull, I gulled you all, and made them and you think I knew nothing of the contrivance. Confess, did not you think verily that I knew nothing of it, and that I was a gull?
_Mrs. Caut._ Yes indeed, brother, I did think verily you were a gull.
_Hip._ How's this? [_Listening._
_Don._ Alas, alas! all the sputter I made was but to make this young man, my cousin, believe, when the thing should be effected, that it was not with my connivance or consent; but since he is so well satisfied, I own it. For do you think I would ever have suffered her to marry a monsieur, a monsieur? _guarda!_--besides, it had been but a beastly incestuous kind of a match, _voto!_--
_Mrs. Caut._ Nay, then I see, brother, you are wiser than I indeed.
_Ger._ So, so.
_Mrs. Caut._ Nay, young man, you have danced a fair dance for yourself, royally; and now you may go jig it together till you are both weary. And though you were so eager to have him, Mrs. Minx, you'll soon have your bellyful of him, let me tell you, mistress.
_Prue._ Ha! ha!
_Mons._ How, uncle! what was't you said? Nay, if I had your Spanish policy against me, it was no wonder I missed of my aim, _ma foi!_
_Don._ I was resolved too my daughter should not marry a coward, therefore made the more the more ado to try you, sir. But I find you are a brisk man of honour, firm stiff Spanish honour; and that you may see I deceived you all along, and you not me, ay, and am able to deceive you still, for I know now you think that I will give you little or nothing with my daughter, like other fathers, since you have married her without my consent--but, I say, I'll deceive you now; for you shall have the most part of my estate in present, and the rest at my death.--There's for you: I think I have deceived you now, look you.
_Ger._ No, indeed, sir, you have not deceived me; for I never suspected your love to your daughter, nor your generosity.
_Don._ How, sir! have a care of saying I have not deceived you, lest I deceive you another way, _guarda!_--Pray, gentlemen, do not think any man could deceive me, look you; that any man could steal my daughter, look you, without my connivance:--
The less we speak, the more we think; And he sees most, that seems to wink.
_Hip._ So, so, now I could give you my blessing, father; now you are a good complaisant father, indeed:--
When children marry, parents should obey, Since love claims more obedience far than they.
[_Exeunt._
EPILOGUE
SPOKEN BY FLIRT.
The ladies first I am to compliment, Whom (if he could) the poet would content, But to their pleasure then they must consent; Most spoil their sport still by their modesty, And when they should be pleased, cry out, "O fy!" And the least smutty jest will ne'er pass by. But city damsel ne'er had confidence At smutty play to take the least offence, But mercy shows, to show her innocence, Yet lest the merchants' daughters should to-day Be scandalised, not at our harmless play, But our Hippolita, since she's like one Of us bold flirts of t'other end o' th' town; Our poet sending to you (though unknown) His best respects by me, does frankly own The character to be unnatural; Hippolita is not like you at all: You, while your lovers court you, still look grum, And far from wooing, when they woo, cry mum; And if some of you e'er were stol'n away, Your portion's fault 'twas only, I dare say. Thus much for him the poet bid me speak; Now to the men I my own mind will break. You good men o' th' Exchange, on whom alone We must depend, when sparks to sea are gone; Into the pit already you are come, 'Tis but a step more to our tiring-room; Where none of us but will be wondrous sweet Upon an able love of Lombard-street. You we had rather see between our scenes, Than spendthrift fops with better clothes and miens; Instead of laced coats, belts, and pantaloons, Your velvet jumps,[68] gold chains, and grave fur gowns, Instead of periwigs, and broad cocked hats, Your satin caps, small cuffs, and vast cravats. For you are fair and square in all your dealings, You never cheat your doxies with gilt shillings; You ne'er will break our windows; then you are Fit to make love, while our huzzas make war; And since all gentlemen must pack to sea, Our gallants and our judges you must be! We, therefore, and our poet, do submit, To all the camlet cloaks now i' the pit.
_THE COUNTRY WIFE._
Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia crasse Compositum illepideve putetur, sed quia nuper: Nec veniam antiquis, sed honorem et præmia posci.[69] HORAT.
_The Country Wife_ was written, according to its author's own statement, about the year 1671 or 1672. Its production upon the stage was subsequent to that of _The Gentleman Dancing-Master_, to which allusion is made in the prologue, and antecedent to that of the earlier-written _Plain Dealer_, in the second act of which the author inserted some critical observations upon _The Country Wife_. The first performance of _The Plain Dealer_, as will afterwards appear, admits not of a later date than that of March, or the very beginning of April, 1674; it follows then that _The Country Wife_ was brought forward some time between the early spring of 1672 and that of 1674. It was acted by the King's Company, established during these two years at the theatre in Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and was published in the year 1675.
If we can overlook the immorality which, in this play, is more offensive and pronounced than in any of Wycherley's other dramas, we shall find in _The Country Wife_ a brilliantly written and skilfully constructed comedy, superior to either of the preceding dramas from the same pen, and surpassed, among comedies of the Restoration, only by its author's own masterpiece, _The Plain Dealer_. The plot of _The Country Wife_ is partly based upon two comedies by Molière--_L'Ecole des Femmes_ and _L'Ecole des Maris_. From the former of these Wycherley derived his conception of the jealous man who keeps under close restraint a young and ignorant woman, with the vain hope of thereby securing her fidelity to him. Agnes's innocent confessions to Arnolphe of her lover's stratagems and her own esteem for him find a counterpart in the Country Wife's frankness on a similar occasion, but beyond these points of coincidence there is little resemblance between the two plays. From _L'Ecole des Maris_, again, Wycherley has borrowed one or two incidents: the imprisoned girl's device of making her would-be husband (in the English play, her actual husband) the bearer of a letter to her gallant, and the trick by which Isabella causes her tyrant, under the impression that she is another woman, to consign her with his own hands to his rival.
Steele has published, in the _Tatler_ of April 16, 1709, a very just criticism upon this play, which, as it cannot fail to interest the reader, I venture to subjoin.
"Will's Coffee-house, April 14.
"This evening the Comedy, called _The Country Wife_, was acted in Drury Lane, for the benefit of Mrs. Bignell. The part which gives name to the Play was performed by herself. Through the whole action she made a very pretty figure, and exactly entered into the nature of the part. Her husband, in the Drama, is represented to be one of those debauchees who run through the vices of the town, and believe, when they think fit, they can marry and settle at their ease. His own knowledge of the iniquity of the age makes him choose a wife wholly ignorant of it, and place his security in her want of skill to abuse him. The Poet, on many occasions, where the propriety of the character will admit of it, insinuates that there is no defence against vice but the contempt of it: and has, in the natural ideas of an untainted innocent, shown the gradual steps to ruin and destruction which persons of condition run into, without the help of a good education to form their conduct. The torment of a jealous coxcomb, which arises from his own false maxims, and the aggravation of his pain by the very words in which he sees her innocence, makes a very pleasant and instructive satire. The character of Horner, and the design of it, is a good representation of the age in which that Comedy was written: at which time love and wenching were the business of life, and the gallant manner of pursuing women was the best recommendation at Court. To this only it is to be imputed that a Gentleman of Mr. Wycherley's character and sense condescends to represent the insults done to the honour of the bed without just reproof; but to have drawn a man of probity with regard to such considerations had been a monster, and a Poet had at that time discovered his want of knowing the manners of the Court he lived in, by a virtuous character in his fine gentleman, as he would show his ignorance by drawing a vicious one to please the present audience."
PROLOGUE
SPOKEN BY MR. HART.[70]
Poets, like cudgelled bullies, never do At first or second blow submit to you; But will provoke you still, and ne'er have done, Till you are weary first with laying on. The late so baffled scribbler of this day, Though he stands trembling, bids me boldly say, What we before most plays are used to do, For poets out of fear first draw on you; In a fierce prologue the still pit defy, And, ere you speak, like Castril[71] give the lie. But though our Bayes's battles oft I've fought, And with bruised knuckles their dear conquests bought; Nay, never yet feared odds upon the stage, In prologue dare not hector with the age; But would take quarter from your saving hands, Though Bayes within all yielding countermands, Says, you confederate wits no quarter give, Therefore his play shan't ask your leave to live. Well, let the vain rash fop, by huffing so, Think to obtain the better terms of you; But we, the actors, humbly will submit, Now, and at any time, to a full pit; Nay, often we anticipate your rage, And murder poets for you on our stage: We set no guards upon our tiring-room, But when with dying colours there you come, We patiently, you see, give up to you Our poets, virgins, nay, our matrons too.
_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._
Mr. HORNER.
Mr. HARCOURT.
Mr. DORILANT.
Mr. PINCHWIFE.
Mr. SPARKISH.
Sir JASPER FIDGET.
A Boy.
A Quack.
Waiters, Servants, and Attendants.
Mrs. MARGERY PINCHWIFE.
ALITHEA, Sister of PINCHWIFE.
Lady FIDGET.
Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET, Sister of Sir JASPER.
Mrs. SQUEAMISH.
Old Lady SQUEAMISH.
LUCY, ALITHEA'S Maid.
SCENE--LONDON.
_THE COUNTRY WIFE._
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.--HORNER'S _Lodging._
_Enter_ HORNER, _and_ Quack _following him at a distance._
_Horn._ [_Aside._] A quack is as fit for a pimp, as a midwife for a bawd; they are still but in their way, both helpers of nature.--[_Aloud._] Well, my dear doctor, hast thou done what I desired?
_Quack._ I have undone you for ever with the women, and reported you throughout the whole town as bad as an eunuch, with as much trouble as if I had made you one in earnest.
_Horn._ But have you told all the midwives you know, the orange wenches at the playhouses, the city husbands, and old fumbling keepers of this end of the town? for they'll be the readiest to report it.
_Quack._ I have told all the chambermaids, waiting-women, tire-women, and old women of my acquaintance; nay, and whispered it as a secret to 'em, and to the whisperers of Whitehall; so that you need not doubt 'twill spread, and you will be as odious to the handsome young women, as--
_Horn._ As the small-pox. Well--
_Quack._ And to the married women of this end of the town, as--
_Horn._ As the great one; nay, as their own husbands.
_Quack._ And to the city dames, as aniseed Robin, of filthy and contemptible memory; and they will frighten their children with your name, especially their females.
_Horn._ And cry, Horner's coming to carry you away. I am only afraid 'twill not be believed. You told 'em it was by an English-French disaster, and an English-French chirurgeon, who has given me at once not only a cure, but an antidote for the future against that damned malady, and that worse distemper, love, and all other women's evils?
_Quack._ Your late journey into France has made it the more credible, and your being here a fortnight before you appeared in public, looks as if you apprehended the shame, which I wonder you do not. Well, I have been hired by young gallants to belie 'em t'other way; but you are the first would be thought a man unfit for women.
_Horn._ Dear Mr. Doctor, let vain rogues be contented only to be thought abler men than they are, generally 'tis all the pleasure they have; but mine lies another way.
_Quack._ You take, methinks, a very preposterous way to it, and as ridiculous as if we operators in physic should put forth bills to disparage our medicaments, with hopes to gain customers.
_Horn._ Doctor, there are quacks in love as well as physic, who get but the fewer and worse patients for their boasting; a good name is seldom got by giving it one's self; and women, no more than honour, are compassed by bragging. Come, come, Doctor, the wisest lawyer never discovers the merits of his cause till the trial; the wealthiest man conceals his riches, and the cunning gamester his play. Shy husbands and keepers, like old rooks, are not to be cheated but by a new unpractised trick: false friendship will pass now no more than false dice upon 'em; no, not in the city.
_Enter_ Boy.
_Boy._ There are two ladies and a gentleman coming up. [_Exit._
_Horn._ A pox! some unbelieving sisters of my former acquaintance, who, I am afraid, expect their sense should be satisfied of the falsity of the report. No--this formal fool and women!
_Enter_ Sir JASPER FIDGET, Lady FIDGET, _and_ Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET.
_Quack._ His wife and sister.
_Sir Jasp._ My coach breaking just now before your door, sir, I look upon as an occasional reprimand to me, sir, for not kissing your hands, sir, since your coming out of France, sir; and so my disaster, sir, has been my good fortune, sir; and this is my wife and sister, sir.
_Horn._ What then, sir?
_Sir Jasp._ My lady, and sister, sir.--Wife, this is Master Horner.
_Lady Fid._ Master Horner, husband!
_Sir Jasp._ My lady, my Lady Fidget, sir.
_Horn._ So, sir.
_Sir Jasp._ Won't you be acquainted with her, sir?--[_Aside._] So, the report is true, I find, by his coldness or aversion to the sex; but I'll play the wag with him.--[_Aloud._] Pray salute my wife, my lady, sir.
_Horn._ I will kiss no man's wife, sir, for him, sir; I have taken my eternal leave, sir, of the sex already, sir.
_Sir Jasp._ [_Aside._] Ha! ha! ha! I'll plague him yet.--[_Aloud._] Not know my wife, sir?
_Horn._ I do know your wife, sir; she's a woman, sir, and consequently a monster, sir, a greater monster than a husband, sir.
_Sir Jasp._ A husband! how, sir?
_Horn._ So, sir; but I make no more cuckolds, sir. [_Makes horns._
_Sir Jasp._ Ha! ha! ha! Mercury! Mercury!
_Lady Fid._ Pray, Sir Jasper, let us be gone from this rude fellow.
_Mrs. Dain._ Who, by his breeding, would think he had ever been in France?
_Lady Fid._ Foh! he's but too much a French fellow, such as hate women of quality and virtue for their love to their husbands. Sir Jasper, a woman is hated by 'em as much for loving her husband as for loving their money. But pray let's be gone.
_Horn._ You do well, madam; for I have nothing that you came for. I have brought over not so much as a bawdy picture, no new postures, nor the second part of the _Ecole des Filles_; nor--
_Quack._ Hold, for shame, sir! what d'ye mean? you'll ruin yourself for ever with the sex--[_Apart to_ HORNER.
_Sir Jasp._ Ha! ha! ha! he hates women perfectly, I find.
_Mrs. Dain._ What pity 'tis he should!
_Lady Fid._ Ay, he's a base fellow for't. But affectation makes not a woman more odious to them than virtue.
_Horn._ Because your virtue is your greatest affectation, madam.
_Lady Fid._ How, you saucy fellow! would you wrong my honour?
_Horn._ If I could.
_Lady Fid._ How d'ye mean, sir?
_Sir Jasp._ Ha! ha! ha! no, he can't wrong your ladyship's honour, upon my honour. He, poor man--hark you in your ear--a mere eunuch. [_Whispers._
_Lady Fid._ O filthy French beast! foh! foh! why do we stay? let's be gone: I can't endure the sight of him.