Chapter 16

_Enter_ Celinda, _as before, met by_ Nurse.

_Nur_. Oh, Madam, here’s Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master, who deny’d him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage demands his Wife.

_Cel_. Oh Heav’n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse Added to all the rest?--Does he then love her?

_Enter_ Bellmour _with two Swords_.

_Nur_. Whither do you press, Sir? and what’s your business?

_Bel_. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence; And must I meet with nought but Opposition? [_Pushes her roughly away_.

_Cel_. Let him come in.

_Nur_. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

_Cel_. What Man art thou thus cover’d o’er with Horror?

_Bel_. One sent from Hell to punish Perjury! --Where’s this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid, That has by my Example broke her Vows? A Precedent that Fiends wou’d shame to follow.

_Cel_. Who is’t you mean, Sir?

_Bel_. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad; One who so lately gave her self to me, And now is flown into another’s Arms: One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins Which she her self commits--and thinks to live too. --Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur’d: Till when, she was a Saint--come, lead me to her, Though she be false as I, yet I’ll forgive it. [_Throws by the Swords_.

_Cel_. Heav’ns! he repents his Cruelty to her, And never mentions me! Ah then ‘tis time to die. And that I may be sure of Death-- [_Aside_. Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you. [_Ex_. Cel.

_Bel_. Gods! Happy!--whilst I am wretched. --Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs, Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame! Were I not here to die--here at her Feet, I wou’d not stand the Shock of her Reproaches. --But yet she need not speak, a Look’s sufficient To call up all my Sins to my undoing-- She comes--Oh Heav’n! she comes--

_Enter_ Celinda _and_ Diana.

--Like penitent Criminals thus--with my Eyes declin’d, I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow. [_Stands bow’d_.

_Cel_. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands, I’ve brought the Lady.

_Dia_. How! The perfidious _Bellmour_! The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

_Bel_. Say on, my angry Deity-- [_Kneels_. Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom, Like Sinners, conscious ne’er to be forgiven, I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

_Cel_. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

_Dia_. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought My self more blest, Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

_Enter_ Friendlove.

_Friend_. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at _Diana’s_ Feet! The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice! --Turn, turn, from what thou lov’st, and meet my Justice.

_Cel_. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

[Bellmour _rises, and turns about_.

_Bel_. Nay, now I’m ready for the welcome Sword, Since my _Celinda’s_ false, and cannot pardon.

_Cel_. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion. _Celinda_ false! or cannot pardon thee!

_Dia_. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

_Bel_. Thou! Why, who art thou--_Diana_?

_Dia_. Yes, that _Diana_, Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew’st, Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.

_Bel_. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee! By Heav’n, I never cou’d do one, or other; All that I am is the divine _Celinda’s_.

_Friend_. He’s stark mad! [_Aside_.

_Bel_. But since she cannot pardon, I can die. [_Offers to fall on his Sword_.

_Cel_. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee. Live--and enjoy--_Diana_. [_Turns her Face from him_.

_Bel_. What art thou, who know’st her Heart so well? Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom She has given her Vows?--Live, and enjoy, _Diana_! --Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I’ll kill thee.

_Cel_. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword.

[_Opens her Arms_, Diana _stays him; he lets fall his Sword, and gazes_.

_Bel_, Dull--dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint. Oh, how I have profan’d! To what strange Idol Was that I kneel’d, Mistaking it for a Divinity?

_Cel_. To your fair Wife _Diana_.

_Bel_. Oh cruel Maid! Has Heav’n design’d me any but _Celinda_?

_Dia_. Maid! Bless me!--did I then love a Woman? --I am pleas’d thou should’st renounce me; make it good, And set me free from Fetters which I hate.

_Bel_. If all our Laws can do’t, I will--for here Ends all my Claim. [_To_ Celinda.

_Friend_. Was this the Wife you did demand of me?

_Bel_. Yes, I had no other.

_Dia_. Fair Maid! forgive me all my shameful Passion, And charge my Fault upon your Beauty only.

_Cel_. Excellent Creature! I shou’d sue for that, Which my Deceit will never make me hope.

_Bel_. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows? Whilst I to save my Fortune, (That only which you’d make me merit thee) Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid. --Ah, _Friendlove_, when thou hear’st my Story told, Thou wilt forgive, and pity me.

_Dia_. What was’t you said, Sir? _Friendlove_!

_Friend_. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference; Or hate that still, so you but love the Man.

_Dia_. Though I’m again defeated, yet this last Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word Alter my fix’d Resolves, to love you still.

_Friend_. Then I am blest!

_Bel_. But yet the Office of the Priest has past: What Remedy for that?

_Dia_. My Uncle’s Pow’r, the Nearness of our Blood, The Contradiction of our Circumstances.

_Bel_. And above all that, my Contract with _Celinda_. --Methinks I feel a Joy spread o’er my Heart, The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness.

_Cel_. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy, Mine takes new Fire and Hope.

_Dia_. I have already writ to my Uncle, and the Messenger assur’d me, he would gratify my Desires; that done, I will be yours. [_To_ Friendlove.

_Bel_. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage, Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee.

_Cel_. Sir, when the Letter came of your being married, I will not tell you all the Effects it had Upon my desperate Soul; But this I know, I had resolv’d to die, But first to see you. Your Page inform’d the Nurse All that had past, and of the last Night’s Ball; And much concern’d, she got this Habit for me, And inform’d me how ‘twas I was to act, And that my Brother (describing of his Dress) was gone before. This made me haste, lest e’er I came His Rage had done the Business which it went for.

_Friend_. And so it had, hadst thou not hinder’d me; For I, Sir, was the Man who drew on you.

_Bel_. And was it thou that didst defend my Heart, That I might live to pay thy Goodness back?

_Cel_. It was to save your Life, and to expose my own.

_Dia_. Come, let’s in, and consult what’s best for us to do.

_Bel_. Come, my _Celinda_. Let us no longer doubt, the Pow’rs above Will be propitious to united Love.

[_Ex_. Cel.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Serv_. Sir, my Lord Plotwell is at the Door in his Coach.

_Dia_. My Uncle come! Sir, we will not doubt our Fortune. But how came he to know of my being here?

_Serv_. Madam, I fear he follow’d me after I had given him the Letter.

_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty.

_Lord_. _Bellmour_ and _Diana_ kneeling! [Bel. _and_ Diana _kneel_. --Rise; the Joy I have to see you thus, makes me Resolve to grant you any thing, and pardon All that’s past.

_Bel_. Be not so hasty in your Goodness, Sir, Lest you repent as fast.

_Dia_. Sir, we have an humble Suit to you.

_Lord_. What is it ye can jointly ask, I will not grant?

_Dia_. By all that Love you ever had for me, By all those Infant Charms which us’d to please you, When on your Lap you taught my Tongue that Art Which made those dear Impressions on your Heart, Which ever since to my Advantage grew, I do conjure you hear me now I sue, And grant the mighty Grace I beg of you.

_Lord_. What is it you wou’d ask?

_Bel_. Oh, dress your Face and Eyes in gentler Looks, If you wou’d have us hope for any Mercy.

_Lord_. Rise, and whate’er you ask, I’ll freely grant.

_Dia_. That you’ll undo that Knot, that ties us two.

_Lord_. How! this Request from thee! who lov’d him once, And wish’d no good beyond possessing him.

_Dia_. Heav’n has not, Sir, decreed us for each other: Something of Fate or Chance Has otherwise dispos’d those first Resolves.

_Lord_. Too virtuous Maid, I know thou dost but feign, His Wickedness has forc’d thee to this change.

_Dia_. No, Sir, were he the only Man Of kind and good, I never wou’d be his. --And if you shou’d compel me, I shou’d live The infamous Reproach of my whole Sex.

_Lord_. Well, and you, Sir, that are the cause of this, What canst thou say to move me for thy Pardon?

_Bel_. I am so guilty in your Opinion, My Prayers wou’d but make you merciless; I only say _Celinda_ is my Wife, And I shou’d injure this too generous Maid, Not to adore her equal to her Merit.

_Lord_. I see, Sir, you have found your Wits again. --Well, I see there’s no opposing Destiny; And I have still such tenderness for thee, [_To_ Dia. That hadst thou pleaded his Cause to me before, I shou’d have been less cruel to him. --Where is that Lady which you so admire, Whose Beauty does eclipse that of _Diana_?

[Bellmour _goes out, and brings in_ Celinda.

_Dia_. This, Sir, is she who merits more than I.

_Lord_. She’s fair indeed; here, _Frank_, I give thee thy _Celinda_, whose Beauty Excuses all thy Faults of Disobedience.

_Bel_. Thus low, I thank you for this Goodness, Sir. [_Kneels_.

_Lord_. There only wants the Ceremony of the Law to undo what’s between you and _Diana_, if she remain a Virgin.

_Bel_. For me, by Heav’n she is; And for the rest, I do not doubt her Virtue.

_Dia_. You may believe him, Sir; and this alone’s the Man, in whom I will, or never will be happy.

_Lord_. Mr. _Friendlove_! I give Consent to’t, he has a noble Character; and what he wants in Fortune, has in Virtue--take her, young Man.

_Friend_. ‘Tis such an Honour, Sir, that my Gratitude, without the mighty Passion I have for her, would make me ever thankful.

_Lord_. This Term, we shall make the former Marriage void; till then love on, and fear no Frowns from Fortune--but Nephew--now I hope your Brother shall have his Portion.

_Bel_. My dearest _Charles_, forgive me all that’s past, And share the Fortune Heaven has given thy Brother.

_Char_. The Joy I have, Sir, to be undeceived, Is much the greatest Blessing Heav’n can send me.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy, _follow’d by_ Phillis, Sham, Sharp, _and_ Betty Flauntit.

Sir _Tim_. I am pursu’d by two impertinent Women; prithee, _Friendlove_, tell ‘em I am gone out at the Backdoor, and send ‘em away.

_Lord_. What’s the News here?

Sir _Tim_. How, _Celinda_ here, and _Bellmour_ too! Nay, now wou’d I compound for my Life, at any rate, by Fortune.

_Phil_. Sir, this Villain here has abus’d me, and with a false Marriage has rob’d me of my Honour.

_Bel_. How!

Sir _Tim_. My Lord, I say this young Jilt would have rob’d me of my self; and courting her, and enjoying her only for a Miss, would persuade me I am married to her.

_Flaunt_. Sir, I say, I am doubly wrong’d; first by this false Knight, who has belong’d to me this three Years, which gives me a right to him, as good as if I were married to him; who has now unlawfully left my Bed, for that of this Gilflurt, who, on the other side, takes away my Knight, and consequently eats the Bread out of my Mouth.

_Bel_. What means all this? Speak some of ye that know.

_Flaunt_. Oh Lord! Who’s here? The fine Squire? [_Aside_.

_Trust_. Sir _Timothy Tawdry_, Sir, is married to Mrs. _Phillis_.

Sir _Tim_. How can that be a Marriage, when he who join’d us, was but a hired Fellow, dress’d like a Parson?

_Trust_. Sir, ‘twas Parson _Tickletext_ that marry’d ‘em.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, what a damn’d lying Pimp is this!--_Sham_, didst thou not hire a Fellow, (because I was damnably in Love, and in haste) to marry us, that was no Parson?

_Sham_. Why, truly, Sir--I did go to hire such a one--

Sir _Tim_. Look ye there now.

_Sham_. But you’d meet with none; and because you said you shou’d die if you enjoy’d her not presently, and that she would not yield on any other Terms, but those of Marriage, I e’en brought the Parson that _Trusty_ had provided for you.

Sir _Tim_. Oh Villain, to betray me! and for no Reward!

_Trust_. Yes, indeed, Sir, the four hundred Guineas you left behind my young Mistress’s Looking-glass fell to his share.

Sir _Tim_. What’s my Money gone! and I am marry’d too! This ‘tis not to use to go to Church; for then I might have chanc’d to know the Parson.

_Bel_. Death, you Dog! you deserve to die, for your base Designs upon a Maid of her Quality--How durst you, Sister, without my leave, marry that Rascal?

_Phil_. Sir, you deny’d me my Portion, and my Uncle design’d to turn me out of doors, and in my Despair I accepted of him.

_Flaunt_. Married! and to a Wife of no Fortune! that’s the worst part on’t--what shall I do?

_Bel_. Renounce this leud Fool, and I’ll make thee a Fortune suitable to thy Quality.

Sir _Tim_. Say you so?--Renounce me, Sir! I’d have you to know I merit her: And as for Leudness, I name no body, _Bellmour_--but only some have the Art of hiding it better than I--but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing, and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come short of you: And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with your Sister, inspite of you.

_Lord_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, since my Niece has done amiss, ‘tis too late to mend it--and that you may not repent, I’ll take care her Fortune shall be suitable to the Jointure you’ll make her.

_Bel_. With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir _Timothy_--I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you quite out of Fop-road.

_Lord_. This Day we’ll set apart for Mirth, And all must make my House their happy home.

_Bel_. To thee, _Celinda_! all my Good I owe, My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too, Since all had perish’d by a broken Vow.

_Flaunt_. What, am I like to lose my _Timmy_? Canst thou have the Heart to leave me for ever? I who have been true and constant to you?

Sir _Tim_. Alas! now I must melt again, by Fortune--thou art a Fool, dost think I wou’d have had her, but for her Fortune? which shall only serve to make thee out-flaunt all the Cracks in Town--go--go home and expect me, thou’lt have me all to thy self within this Day or two:

Since Marriage but a larger Licence is For every Fop of Mode to keep a Miss.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.

_Sir_ Timothy, _Gallants, at last is come To know his Sentence, and receive his Doom, But pray before you are resolv’d to be Severe, look on your selves, and then on me; Observe me well, I am a Man of Show, Of Noise, and Nonsense, as are most of you. Though all of you don’t share with me in Title, In Character you differ very little. Tell me in what you find a Difference? It may be you will say, you’re Men of Sense; But Faith-- Were one of you o’th’ Stage, and I i’th’ Pit, He might be thought the Fop, and I the Wit. On equal Grounds you’ll scarce know one from t’other; We are as like, as Brother is to Brother. To judge against me then wou’d be Ill-Nature, For Men are kind to those they’re like in Feature. For Judges therefore I accept you all; By you, Sir_ Timothy _will stand or fall. He’s too faint-hearted that his Sentence fears, Who has the Honour to be try’d by’s Peers_.

Written by Mr. _E.R_.

THE FALSE COUNT.

ARGUMENT.

Don Carlos, Governor of Cadiz, who has been contracted to Julia, now married to a rich old churl, Francisco, in order to gain her, mans a galley, which has been captured from the Turks, with some forty or fifty attendants disguised as ferocious Ottomans; and whilst she, her husband and a party of friends are taking a pleasure trip in a yacht, they are suddenly boarded and all made prisoners by the supposed corsairs, who carry them off to a country villa a few miles from the town belonging to Carlos’ friend, Antonio, which, however, they are firmly convinc’d is a palace inhabited by the Great Turk himself. Here Carlos appears, dressed as the Sultan, with much pomp, and Francisco, overwhelmed with terror, speedily relinquishes Julia to his captor. In order to punish her for her intolerable arrogance, Isabella, Francisco’s daughter by his former wife, who is designed to wed Antonio, is introduced to a chimney-sweep, Guiliom, masquerading as a noble of high degree. She forthwith strikes up a match with the False Count, leaving Antonio free to marry Clara, Julia’s sister, whom he loves. No sooner, however, has the knot been securely tied than Guiliom, appearing in his sooty rags and with smutched face, publicly demands and humiliates his haughty bride. The trick of the feigned Turks is discovered by the arrival at the villa of Baltazer, Julia’s father. Don Carlos, however, claims his mistress by reason of his former contract, which is perforce allowed.

SOURCE.

Guiliom, masquerading as a Count, is of course directly derived from _Les Précieuses Ridicules_, first performed 18 November, 1659, and Isabella is a close copy of Cathos and Magdelon. Flecknoe had already adapted Molière in _The Damoiselles à la Mode_, unacted (4to 1667); and seven years later than Mrs. Behn, Shadwell, in his fine comedy, _Bury Fair_ (1689), drew largely from the same source. His mock noble is a French peruke-maker, La Roch, who marries Lady Fantast’s affected daughter. Miller, in his _The Man of Taste; or, The Guardian_ (1735), blended the same plot with _L’Ecole des Maris_. The stratagem of the feigned Turkish ship capturing the yacht is a happy extension of a hint from the famous galley scene (Que diable allait-il faire à cette galère?), Act ii, 7, _Les Fourberies de Scapin_. This, however, is not original with Molière, being entirely borrowed from _Le Pédant Joué_, Act ii, 4, of Cyrano de Bergerac (1654). What is practically a translation of _Les Fourberies de Scapin_ by Otway, was produced at the Duke’s Theatre in 1677, and in the same year Ravenscroft included a great part of it in his _Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a Schoolboy, Bravo, Merchant, and Magician_.

In the Epilogue Mrs. Behn asserts that she wrote _The False Count_ with ease in something less than a week. This may be a pardonable exaggeration; but there are certainly distinct marks of haste in the composition of the play. In Act iii, I, she evidently intended Francisco and his party to be seized as they were returning home by sea, at the end of the act she arranges their sea trip as an excursion on a yacht.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The False Count; or, A New Way to Play an Old Game_ was produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden, in the autumn of 1682, not later than the end of October. An excellent rattling farce, it seems to have kept the stage at intervals for some twenty years. On 11 August, 1715, there was a revival at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It is billed as ‘not acted ten years’. Spiller played Guiliom, Mrs. Moor Isabella, and Mrs. Thurmond Julia. There is no further record of its performance.

THE FALSE COUNT: or, A New Way to play an old Game.

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. _Smith_.

_Know all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit, (Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit, Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One So furiously maintain the Quarrel on) Our Author, as you’ll find it writ in Story, Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory; But now, to th’joy o’th’ Brethren be it spoken, Our Sister’s vain mistaken Eyes are open; And wisely valuing her dear Interest now, All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you. ’.was long she did maintain the Royal Cause, Argu’d, disputed, rail’d with great Applause; Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times, And charg’d you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes; Nay, confidently swore no Plot was true, But that so slily carried on by you: Raised horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories, In Conventicles how you eat young Tories; As_ Jew _did heretofore eat_ Christian _Suckling; And brought an _Odium_ on your pious Gutling: When this is all Malice it self can say, You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray. Though this one Text were able to convert ye, Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party; Yet there are more advantages than these, For write, invent, and make what Plots you please, The wicked Party keep your Witnesses; Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget Brats that secur’d by others fires shall sit. Your Conventicling Miracles out-do All that the Whore of_ Babylon _e’er knew: By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men, And when you please transform ‘em Rogues again. To day a Saint, if he but hang a Papist, Peach a true Protestant, your Saint’s turn’d Atheist: And dying Sacraments do less prevail, Than living ones, though took in Lamb’s-Wool-Ale. Who wou’d not then be for a Common-weal, To have the Villain covered with his Zeal? A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense With Plays provided there’s no Wit nor Sense. For Wit’s profane, and Jesuitical, And Plotting’s Popery, and the Devil and all. We then have fitted you with one to day, ’.is writ as ‘twere a Recantation Play; Renouncing all that has pretence to witty, T’oblige the Reverend_ Brumighams _o’th’ City: No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter, Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters. But shou’d the Torys now,--who will desert me, Because they find no dry bobs on your Party, Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew, | By Yea and Nay, she’ll throw her self on you, | The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she’s true. | Then let ‘em rail and hiss, and damn their fill, Your Verdict will be_ Ignoramus _still_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Don _Carlos_, Governour of _Cadiz_, young and rich, in love with _Julia_, Mr. _Smith_ _Antonio_, a Merchant, young and rich. Friend to _Carlos_, in love with _Clara_, but promis’d to _Isabella_, Mr. _Wiltshire_ _Francisco_, old and rich, Husband to _Julia_, and Father to _Isabella_, Mr. _Nokes_. _Baltazer_, Father to _Julia_ and _Clara_, Mr. _Bright_. _Sebastian_, Father to _Antonio_, Mr. _Freeman_. _Guzman_, Gentlemen to _Carlos_, Mr. _Underhill_. _Guiliom_, a Chimney-Sweeper; the False Count, Mr. _Lee_. Two overgrown Pages to the False Count, A little Page to the False Count. _Petro_, Cashier to _Antonio_. Page to Don _Carlos_. Captain of a Gally. Two Seamen. _Lopez_, Servant to _Baltazer_. Several disguis’d like _Turks_.

WOMEN.

_Julia_, Wife to _Francisco_, young and handsom, in love with _Carlos_, Mrs. _Davis_. _Clara_, Sister to _Julia_, in love with _Antonio_, Mrs. _Petty_. _Isabella_, Daughter to _Francisco_; proud, vain and foolish, despising all Men under the degree of Quality, and falls in love with _Guiliom_, Mrs. _Corror_. _Jacinta_, Woman to _Julia_, Mrs. _Osborne_. Wife to _Petro_.

Dancers, Singers, &c.