Chapter 45

_Enter Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. Now cannot I sleep, but am as restless as a Merchant in stormy Weather, that has ventur’d all his Wealth in one Bottom.--Woman is a leaky Vessel.--if she should like the young Rogue now, and they should come to a right understanding--why, then I am a--Wittal--that’s all, and shall be put in Print at _Snow-hill_, with my Effigies o’th’ top, like the sign of Cuckolds Haven.--Hum--they’re damnable silent--pray Heaven he have not murdered her, and robbed her--hum--hark, what’s that?--a noise!--he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall forfeit the Money--How loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plot’s discovered, what shall I do?--Why, the Devil is not in her sure, to be refractory now, and peevish; if she be, I must pay my Money yet--and that would be a damn’d thing.--sure they’re coming out--I’ll retire and hearken how ’.is with them. [_Retires_.

_Enter Lady_ Fulbank _undrest_, Gayman, _half undrest upon his Knees, following her, holding her Gown_.

L. _Ful_. Oh! You unkind--what have you made me do? Unhand me, false Deceiver--let me loose--

Sir _Cau_. Made her do?--so, so--’tis done--I’m glad of that-- [_Aside peeping_.

_Gay_. Can you be angry, _Julia_? Because I only seiz’d my Right of Love.

L. _Ful_. And must my Honour be the Price of it? Could nothing but my Fame reward your Passion? --What, make me a base Prostitute, a foul Adulteress? Oh--be gone, be gone--dear Robber of my Quiet. [_Weeping_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh, fearful!--

_Gay_. Oh! Calm your rage, and hear me; if you are so, You are an innocent Adulteress. It was the feeble Husband you enjoy’d In cold imagination, and no more; Shily you turn’d away--faintly resign’d.

Sir _Cau_. Hum, did she so?--

_Gay_. Till my Excess of Love betray’d the Cheat.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, that was my Fear.

L. _Ful_. Away, be gone--I’ll never see you more--

_Gay_. You may as well forbid the Sun to shine. Not see you more!--Heavens! I before ador’d you, But now I rave! And with my impatient Love, A thousand mad and wild Desires are burning! I have discover’d now new Worlds of Charms, And can no longer tamely love and suffer.

Sir _Cau_. So--I have brought an old House upon my Head, Intail’d Cuckoldom upon my self.

L. _Ful_. I’ll hear no more--Sir _Cautious_,--where’s my Husband? Why have you left my Honour thus unguarded?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she’s well enough pleas’d, I fear, for all.

_Gay_. Base as he is, ‘twas he expos’d this Treasure; Like silly Indians barter’d thee for Trifles.

Sir _Cau_. O treacherous Villain!--

L. _Ful_. Hah--my Husband do this?

_Gay_. He, by Love, he was the kind Procurer, Contriv’d the means, and brought me to thy Bed.

L. _Ful_. My Husband! My wise Husband! What fondness in my Conduct had he seen, To take so shameful and so base Revenge?

_Gay_. None--’twas filthy Avarice seduc’d him to’t.

L. _Ful_. If he cou’d be so barbarous to expose me, Cou’d you who lov’d me--be so cruel too?

_Gay_. What--to possess thee when the Bliss was offer’d? Possess thee too without a Crime to thee? Charge not my Soul with so remiss a flame, So dull a sense of Virtue to refuse it.

L. _Ful_. I am convinc’d the fault was all my Husband’s-- And here I vow--by all things just and sacred, To separate for ever from his Bed. [_Kneels_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh, I am not able to indure it-- Hold--oh, hold, my Dear-- [_He kneels as she rises_.

L. _Ful_. Stand off--I do abhor thee--

Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--but do not make rash Vows. They break my very Heart--regard my Reputation.

L. _Ful_. Which you have had such care of, Sir, already-- Rise, ‘tis in vain you kneel.

Sir _Cau_. No--I’ll never rise again--Alas! Madam, I was merely drawn in; I only thought to sport a Dye or so: I had only an innocent design to have discover’d whether this Gentleman had stoln my Gold, that so I might have hang’d him--

_Gay_. A very innocent Design indeed!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir, that’s all, as I’m an honest man.--

L. _Ful_. I’ve sworn, nor are the Stars more fix’d than I.

_Enter Servant_.

_Serv_. How! my Lady and his Worship up?--Madam, a Gentleman and a Lady below in a Coach knockt me up, and say they must speak with your Ladyship.

L. _Ful_. This is strange!--bring them up-- [_Exit Servant_. Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day?

_Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis.

_Let_. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me trespass on you for my Life’s security, and beg you will protect me, and my Husband-- [_Points at_ Bellmour.

Sir _Cau_. So, here’s another sad Catastrophe!

L. _Ful_. Hah--does _Bellmour_ live? is’t possible? Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes; And shall not fail of my Protection now.

_Bel_. I humbly thank your Ladyship.

_Gay_. I’m glad thou hast her, _Harry_; but doubt thou durst not own her; nay dar’st not own thy self.

_Bel_. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon-- But hark, I think we are pursu’d already-- But now I fear no force.

[_A noise of some body coming in_.

L. _Ful_. However, step into my Bed-chamber.

[_Exeunt_ Leticia, Gayman _and_ Phillis.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble _in an Antick manner_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hell shall not hold thee--nor vast Mountains cover thee, but I will find thee out--and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase. [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau.

Sir _Cau_. How--lash my filthy Carcase?--I defy thee, Satan--

Sir _Feeb_. ‘Twas thus he said.

Sir _Cau_. Let who’s will say it, he lies in’s Throat.

Sir _Feeb_. How, the Ghostly--hush--have a care--for ‘twas the Ghost of _Bellmour_--Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!-- [_Runs to the Lady_ Fulbank.

L. _Ful_. What bleeding Wound?--Heavens, are you frantick, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. No--but for want of rest, I shall e’er Morning. [_Weeps_. --She’s gone--she’s gone--she’s gone-- [_He weeps_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she’s gone, she’s gone indeed. [_Sir_ Cau. _weeps_.

Sir _Feeb_. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision --harkye, Sir--a word in your Ear--have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but I have married one already. [_Weeping_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hast thou? Divorce her--flie her, quick--depart--be gone, she’ll cuckold thee--and still she’ll cuckold thee.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?--Why, are not you married?

Sir _Feeb_. Mum--no words on’t, unless you’ll have the Ghost about your Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

L. _Ful_. Pray go to Bed, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [_Weeps_. Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool--to think she’d love me--’twas by base means I gain’d her--cozen’d an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life--

L. _Ful_. You did so, Sir, but ‘tis not past Redress--you may make that honest Gentleman amends.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, wou’d I could, so I gave half my Estate--

L. _Ful_. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.--Come forth, _Leticia_, and your injur’d Ghost.

_Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah, Ghost--another Sight would make me mad indeed.

_Bel_. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--who’s that, _Francis!_--my Nephew _Francis_?

_Bel_. _Bellmour_, or _Francis_, chuse you which you like, and I am either.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah, _Bellmour!_ and no Ghost?

_Bel. Bellmour_--and not your Nephew, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. But art alive? Ods bobs, I’m glad on’t, Sirrah;--But are you real, _Bellmour_?

_Bel_. As sure as I’m no Ghost.

_Gay_. We all can witness for him, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Where be the Minstrels, we’ll have a Dance--adod, we will --Ah--art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?--a Vengeance on thee--thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb--but I forgive thee--and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you’ll give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us.

_Bel_. You are so generous, Sir, that ‘tis almost with grief I receive the Blessing of _Leticia_.

Sir _Feeb_. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou’d have had her--ods bobs, you wou’d--

_Enter_ Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, _and_ Noisey.

_Bea_. Justice, Sir, Justice--I have been cheated--abused--assassinated and ravisht!

Sir _Cau_. How, my Nephew ravisht!--

_Pert_. No, Sir, I am his Wife.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Heir marry a Chamber-maid!

_Bea_. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. _Dy_, and brought her to _Ned’s_ Chamber here--to marry her.

Sir _Feeb_. My Daughter _Dy_ stoln--

_Bea_. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip--what does he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob’d me off here with my Lady’s cast Petticoat--

_Noi_. Sir, she’s a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir.

_Pert_. Madam, ‘twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted to him before--see, here it is-- [_Gives it ‘em_.

_All_. A plain Case, a plain Case.

Sir _Feeb_. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my Daughter, Sir? [_To_ Bredwel, _who with_ Diana _kneels_.

_Bred_. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing--

Sir _Feeb_. You will ha’t, whether I will or not--rise, you are still too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew--

Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir, I will--but all this while you little think the Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she.

Sir _Cau_. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you’re a wise man. Come, dry your Eyes--and rest your self contented, we are a couple of old Coxcombs; d’ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs.

Sir _Cau_. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to you--with my whole Estate--my Nephew has too much already for a Fool. [_To_ Gayman.

_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--do you consent, my _Julia_?

L. _Ful_. No, Sir--you do not like me--a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.

_Gay_. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger!

L. _Ful_. Come hither, _Bredwel_--witness for my Honour--that I had no design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy.

_Bred_. Believe me, Sir, ‘tis true--I feigned a danger near--just as you got to bed--and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

_Bea_. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain here, Sir?

_Gay_. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired--to beat you for abusing me to day.

_Noi_. To make you ‘mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the death of Sir _Thomas Gayman_, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand pounds a year--

_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--I heard the news before.

Sir _Cau_. How’s this; Mr. _Gayman_, my Lady’s first Lover? I find, Sir _Feeble_, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to cozen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; ‘tis no wonder that both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us; we are not fit Matches for either, that’s the truth on’t.

_The Warrior needs must to his Rival yield, Who comes with blunted Weapons to the Field_.

EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality, Spoken by Mr. _Betterton_.

_Long have we turn’d the point of our just Rage On the half Wits, and Criticks of the Age. Oft has the soft, insipid Sonneteer In_ Nice _and_ Flutter, _seen his Fop-face here. Well was the ignorant lampooning Pack Of shatterhead Rhymers whip’d on_ Craffey’s _back; But such a trouble Weed is Poetaster, The lower ‘tis cut down, it grows the faster. Though Satir then had such a plenteous crop, An After Math of Coxcombs is come up; Who not content false Poetry to renew, By sottish Censures wou’d condemn the true. Let writing like a Gentleman--fine appear, But must you needs judge too_ en Cavalier? _These whiffling Criticks, ‘tis our Auth’ress fears, And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers: Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce, There’s no great harm in a good quiet Dunce. But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know. On downright Dulness let her rather split, Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit.

Hear me, ye Scribling Beaus,-- Why will you in sheer Rhyme, without one stroke | Of Poetry, Ladies just Disdain provoke, | And address Songs to whom you never spoke? | In doleful Hymns for dying Felons fit, Why do you tax their Eyes, and blame their Wit? Unjustly of the Innocent you complain, ’.is Bulkers give, and Tubs must cure your pain. Why in Lampoons will you your selves revile? ’.is true, none else will think it worth their while: But thus you’re hid! oh, ‘tis a politick Fetch; So some have hang’d themselves to ease_ Jack Ketch. _Justly your Friends and Mistresses you blame, | For being so they well deserve the shame, | ’.is the worst scandal to have borne that name. | [See the late Satir on Poetry] At Poetry of late, and such whose Skill | Excels your own, you dart a feeble Quill; | Well may you rail at what you ape so ill. | With virtuous Women, and all Men of Worth, You’re in a state of mortal War by Birth. Nature in all her Atom-Fights ne’er knew Two things so opposite as Them and You. On such your Muse her utmost fury spends, They’re slander’d worse than any but your Friends. More years may teach you better; the mean while, If you can’t mend your Morals, mend your Style_.

THE FORC’D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM.

ARGUMENT.

The King of France to reward his favourite Alcippus, at the motion of prince Philander, gladly assents to his being created general in place of old Orgulius, who seeks to resign his office, and further on his royal word pledges the new-made commander, Erminia, Orgulius’ daughter, in marriage. The lady, however, loves the dauphin, whilst the princess Galatea is enamoured of Alcippus. All three are plunged into despair, and the brother and sister knowing each other’s passion bemoan their hapless fate. The prince, indeed, threatens to kill Alcippus, upon which Galatea declares she will poniard Erminia. On the wedding night the bride confesses her love for Philander and refuses to admit Alcippus to her love. The dauphin at the same time serenades Erminia at her chamber door, but Pisaro, a friend to Alcippus, meeting him, there is a scuffle during which Alcander, the prince’s companion, wounds the intruder. The noise rouses Erminia who issues from her room and encounters Philander. Alcippus, seeing them together, mad with jealousy, attacks the prince. He is, however, beaten back and even wounded, and later his fury is inflamed by Pisaro’s tale, who also informs the favourite that Galatea, for whom the narrator cherishes a hopeless love, dotes fondly upon him. Erminia, now that she has been joined in wedlock with Alcippus, guards herself carefully from the dauphin’s passion, but when the general is obliged by his duties to leave for the camp Philander hopes to persuade her to yield to him. Alcippus, however, whose departure is a feint, returns secretly, leaving Pisaro to continue the journey alone. Isillia, Erminia’s woman, has already admitted Philander to her mistress’ chamber, when the lovers are surprised by the arrival of Alcippus on the scene. The prince is concealed, although the meeting had been purely innocent, but he is betrayed owing to the fact of his inadvertently leaving his hat and sword upon a table. He departs unmolested, but once he is gone Alcippus, beside himself with blind fury, strangles Erminia with an embroidered garter--Pisaro, coming in a few moments after, reproaches him with the murder but hurries him away to concealment. The deed, however, is discovered and noised abroad by Falatius, a busy coxcomb courtier. Orgulius demands Alcippus’ life from the King, but Galatea, heart-broken, pleads for the man she loves. Philander is distraught with grief, and the King decides that if he harms himself Alcippus shall straightway pay the forfeit. The prince is about to wreak his vengeance on the cruel husband when he is met by Erminia herself, who, owing to her maid’s attentions, has recovered from the swoon Alcippus took for death. It is resolved that Alcippus, who is now torn with agony and remorse, must be fittingly punished, and accordingly as he lies sick at heart in his chamber Erminia enters as a spirit, and so looking over his shoulder into a mirror wherein he is gazing tells him plainly of Galatea’s love. The princess then passes by as it were a phantom, and after a masque, which he takes for a dream, he is conducted to a room draped in black wherein is placed a catafalque. Here he encounters Philander and as they are at hot words the King, who has been privy to the whole design, enters and the two are reconciled. Erminia next appears, and the happy accident explained, Erminia is bestowed upon the dauphin, whilst the princess is united to the favourite.

There is a slight underplot which deals with the amours of Aminta, sister to Pisaro, and Alcander. She is also courted by the cowardly fop, Falatius.

SOURCE.

_The Forc’d Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_ is the earliest, and most certainly one of the weakest of Mrs. Behn’s plays. This is, however, far from saying that it is not a very good example of the Davenant, Howard, Porter, Stapylton school of romantic tragi-comedy. But Aphara had not yet hit upon her brilliant vein of intrigue. In _The Forced Marriage_ she seems to have remembered _The Maid’s Tragedy_. The situation between Alcippus and Erminia, Act ii, III, has some vague resemblance to that of Amintor and Evadne, Act ii, I. Aminta also faintly recalls Dula, whilst the song ‘Hang love, for I will never pine’ has a far-off echo of ‘I could never have the power.’ But Mrs. Behn has not approached within measuring distance of that supreme masterpiece.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The stage history of _The Forc’d Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom_ is best told in the quaint phrase of old Downes. Produced in December, 1670 at the Duke’s Theatre, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, _The Jealous Bridegroom_, says the veteran prompter, ‘wrote by Mrs. Behn, a good play and lasted six days’. This, it must be remembered, was by no means a poor run at that time. ‘Note,’ continues the record, ‘In this play, Mr. Otway the poet having an inclination to turn actor; Mrs. Behn gave him the King in this play for a probation part, but he being not us’d to the stage, the full house put him to such a sweat and tremendous agony, being dash’d, spoilt him for an actor.’

To quote Mr. Gosse’s excellent and classic essay on Otway:--’The choice of the part showed the kindly tact of the shrewd Mrs. Behn. The king had to speak the few first words, to which the audience never listens, to make some brief replies in the first scene, and then not to speak again until the end of the fourth act. In the fifth act he had to make rather a long speech to Smith [Mr. Gosse by a slip writes ‘Betterton’. The King (v, III) is talking to Philander, acted by Smith. Betterton played the favourite Alcippus.], explaining that he was “old and feeble, and could not long survive,” and this is nearly all he had to say till the very end, where he was in great force as the kind old man who unites the couples and speaks the last words. It was quite a crucial test, and Otway proved his entire inability to face the public. He trembled, was inaudible, melted in agony, and had to leave the stage. The part was given to Westwood, a professional actor, and Otway never essayed to tread the boards again.’

_The Forced Marriage_ seems never to have been revived since its production. On the title page of the second quarto (1690), _The Forc’d Marriage_ is said to have been played at the Queen’s Theatre. This is because the Duke’s House temporarily changed its name thus. It does not refer to a second run of the play.

THE FORC’D MARRIAGE;

or, the Jealous Bridegroom.

_Va mon enfant! prends ta fortune_.

PROLOGUE.

_Gallants, our Poets have of late so us’d ye, In Play and Prologue too so much abus’d ye, That should we beg your aids, I justly fear, Ye’re so incens’d you’d hardly lend it here. But when against a common Foe we arm, Each will assist to guard his own concern. Women those charming Victors, in whose Eyes Lie all their Arts, and their Artilleries, Not being contented with the Wounds they made, Would by new Stratagems our Lives invade. Beauty alone goes now at too cheap rates; And therefore they, like Wise and Politick States, Court a new Power that may the old supply, To keep as well as gain the Victory. They’ll join the force of Wit to Beauty now, And so maintain the Right they have in you. If the vain Sex this privilege should boast, Past cure of a declining Face we’re lost. You’ll never know the bliss of Change; this Art Retrieves (when Beauty fades) the wandring Heart; And though the Airy Spirits move no more, Wit still invites, as Beauty did before. To day one of their Party ventures out, Not with design to conquer, but to scout. Discourage but this first attempt, and then They’ll hardly dare to sally out again. The Poetess too, they say, has Spies abroad, Which have dispersed themselves in every road, I’th’ Upper Box, Pit, Galleries; every Face You find disguis’d in a Black Velvet Case. My life on’t; is her Spy on purpose sent, To hold you in a wanton Compliment; That so you may not censure what she ‘as writ, Which done, they face you down ‘twas full of Wit. Thus, while some common Prize you hope to win, You let the Tyrant Victor enter in. I beg to day you’d lay that humour by, Till your Rencounter at the Nursery; Where they, like Centinels from duty free, May meet and wanton with the Enemy_.

Enter an Actress.

_How hast thou labour’d to subvert in vain, What one poor Smile of ours calls home again? Can any see that glorious Sight and say_

[Woman pointing to the ladies.

_A Woman shall not Victor prove to day? Who is’t that to their Beauty would submit, And yet refuse the Fetters of their Wit? He tells you tales of Stratagems and Spies; Can they need Art that have such powerful Eyes? Believe me, Gallants, he’as abus’d you all; There’s not a Vizard in our whole Cabal: Those are but Pickeroons that scour for prey And catch up all they meet with in their way; Who can no Captives take, for all they do Is pillage ye, then gladly let you go. Ours scorns the petty Spoils, and do prefer The Glory not the Interest of the War: But yet our Forces shall obliging prove, Imposing nought but Constancy in Love: That’s all our Aim, and when we have, it too, We’ll sacrifice it all to pleasure you_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

King, Mr. _Westwood_. _Philander_, his Son, betrothed to _Erminia_, Mr. _Smith_. _Alcippus_, Favourite, in love with _Erminia_, Mr. _Betterton_. _Orgulius_, late General, Father to _Erminia_, Mr. _Norris_. _Alcander_, Friend to the Prince, in love with _Aminta_, Mr. _Young_. _Pisaro_, Friend to the young General _Alcippus_, Mr. _Cademan_. _Falatius_, a fantastick Courtier, Mr. _Angel_. _Labree_, his Man. _Cleontius_, Servant to the Prince, and Brother Mr. _Crosby_. to _Isillia_, Page to _Pisaro_.

WOMEN.

_Galatea_, Daughter to the King, Mrs. _Jennings_. _Erminia_, Daughter to _Orgulius_, espous’d to the Mrs. _Betterton_. Prince, _Aminta_, Sister to _Pisaro_, in love with _Alcander_, Mrs. _Wright_. _Olinda_, Sister to _Alcander_, Maid of Honour to Mrs. _Lee_. the Princess, _Isillia_, Sister to _Cleontius_, Woman to _Erminia_, Mrs. _Clough_. _Lysette_, Woman to _Aminta_. Clergy, Officers, Pages and Attendants.

_Scene within the Court of_ FRANCE.