The Busybody E-Book

Susannah Centlivre

• Herausgeber: Renard Press
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 164

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The Busybody is the most popular comedy by the eighteenth-century playwright Susanna Centlivre. The play centres on two couples trying to form a relationship against the wills of their guardians, and in a battle of wits, playing with many conventions from theatre traditions across the continent, a conclusion is eventually reached. Like her predecessor Aphra Behn, Centlivre was immensely successful in her day, drawing huge crowds to extended runs of her numerous plays, but the stabbing male pens of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries decried her work as being louche and dangerous, and her name slowly sunk into obscurity. This edition, published with William Hazlitt's prefatory note and extra material on Centlivre's life and writing, seeks to highlight the dexterity with which she took on the stage.

Leseprobe

The Busybody

A Comedy

susanna centlivre

renard press

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The Busybody first published in 1709

‘Prefatory Remarks’ first published in 1819

This edition first published by Renard Press Ltd in 2022

Edited text, Notes and Biographical Note © Renard Press Ltd, 2022Cover design by Will Dady

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contents

Prefatory Remarks

To The Right Honourable John Lord Somers,

The Busybody

act i

act ii

act iii

act iv

act v

epilogue

Notes

Biographical Note

prefatory remarks

The Busy Body is a comedy that has now held possession of the stage above a hundred years (the best test of excellence), and the merit that has enabled it to do so consists in the ingenuity of the contrivance, the liveliness of the plot and the striking effect of the situations. Mrs Centlivre, in this and her other plays, could do nothing without a stratagem; but she could do everything with one. She delights in putting her dramatis personae continually at their wit’s end, and in helping them off with a new evasion; and the subtlety of her resources is in proportion to the criticalness of the situation and the shortness of the notice for resorting to an expedient. Twenty times in seeing or reading one of her plays your pulse beats quick, and you become restless and apprehensive for the event; but with a fine theatrical sleight of hand, she lets you off, undoes the knot of the difficulty, and you breathe freely again, and have a hearty laugh into the bargain. In short, with her knowledge of chambermaids’ tricks, and insight into the intricate foldings of lovers’ hearts, she plays with the events of comedy, as a juggler shuffles about a pack of cards, to serve his own purposes, and to the surprise of the spectator. This is one of the most delightful employments of the dramatic art. It costs nothing but a voluntary tax on the inventive powers of the author; and it produces, when successfully done, profit and praise to one party and pleasure to all. To show the extent and importance of theatrical amusements (which some grave persons would decry altogether, and which no one can extol too highly), a friend of ours, whose name will be as well known to posterity as it is to his contemporaries, was not long ago mentioning that one of the earliest and most memorable impressions ever made on his mind was the seeing Venice Preserved* acted in a country town when he was only nine years old. But he added that an elderly lady who took him to see it lamented, notwithstanding the wonder and delight he experienced, that instead of Venice Preserved they had not gone to see The Busybody, which had been acted the night before. This was fifty years ago, since which, and for fifty years before that, it has been acted a thousand times in town and country, giving delight to the old, the young and middle-aged, passing the time carelessly, and affording matter for agreeable reflection afterwards, making us think ourselves, and wish to be thought, the men equal to Sir George Airy in grace and spirit, the women to Miranda and Isabinda in love and beauty, and all of us superior to Marplot in wit. Among the scenes that might be mentioned in this comedy as striking instances of happy stage effect are Miranda’s contrivance to escape from Sir George by making him turn his back upon her to hear her confession of love, and the ludicrous attitude in which he is left waiting for the rest of her speech after the lady has vanished; his offer of the hundred pounds to her guardian to make love to her in his presence, and, when she receives him in dumb show, his answering for both; his situation concealed behind the chimney screen, his supposed metamorphosis into a monkey and his deliverance from thence, in that character, by the interference of Marplot; Mrs Patch’s sudden conversion of the mysterious love letter into a charm for the toothache, and the whole of Marplot’s meddling and blunders. The last character is taken from Dryden and the Duchess of Newcastle;* and is indeed the only attempt at character in the play. It is amusing and superficial. We see little of the puzzled perplexity of his brain, but his actions are absurd enough. He whiffles about the stage with considerable volubility, and makes a very lively automaton. Sir George Airy sets out for a scene or two in a spirited manner, but afterwards the character evaporates in the name; and he becomes as commonplace as his friend Charles, who merely laments over his misfortunes or gets out of them by following the suggestions of his valet or his valet’s mistress. Miranda is the heroine of the piece, and has a right to be so, for she is a beauty and an heiress. Her friend has less to recommend her; but who can refuse to fall in love with her name? What volumes of sighs, what a world of love, is breathed in the very sound alone – the letters that form the charming name of Isabinda!

william hazlitt

1819

to the right honourable john lord somers,

Lord-President of Her Majesty’s MostHonourable Privy Council.*

May it please your lordship,

As it’s an established custom in these latter ages for all writers, particularly the poetical, to shelter their productions under the protection of the most distinguished, whose approbation produces a kind of inspiration, much superior to that which the heathenish poets* pretended to derive from their fictitious Apollo:* so it was my ambition to address one of my weak performances to your lordship, who, by universal consent,1 are justly allowed to be the best judge of all kinds of writing.

I was indeed at first deterred from my design by a thought that it might be accounted unpardonable rudeness to obtrude a trifle of this nature to a person whose sublime wisdom moderates that council* which, at this critical juncture, overrules the fate of all Europe. But then I was encouraged by reflecting that Lelius and Scipio,* the two greatest men in their time among the Romans, both for political and military virtues in the height of their important affairs, thought the perusal and improving of Terence’s* comedies the noblest way of unbinding their minds. I own I were guilty of the highest vanity should I presume to put my composures in parallel with those of that celebrated dramatist. But then again, I hope that your lordship’s native goodness and generosity in condescension to the taste of the best and fairest part of the town, who have been pleased to be diverted by the following scenes, will excuse and overlook such faults as your nicer judgement might discern.

And here, my lord, the occasion seems fair for me to engage in a panegyric2 upon those natural and acquired abilities which so brightly adorn your person: but I shall resist that temptation, being conscious of the inequality of a female pen to so masculine an attempt; and having no other ambition than to subscribe myself,

My lord,

Your lordship’s

Most humble and

Most obedient servant,

susanna centlivre

prologue

By the author oftunbridge walks*

Though modern prophets were exposed of late,*

The author could not prophesy his fate;

If with such scenes an audience had been fired,

The poet must have really been inspired.

But these, alas! are melancholy days

For modern prophets, and for modern plays.

Yet since prophetic lies please fools o’ fashion,

And women are so fond of agitation,

To men of sense, I’ll prophesy anew,

And tell you wondrous things that will prove true:

Undaunted colonels will to camps repair,

Assured there’ll be no skirmishes this year.

On our own terms will flow the wished-for peace;

All wars, except ’twixt man and wife, will cease.*

The grand monarch may wish his son a throne,

But hardly will advance to lose his own.*

This season most things bear a smiling face;

But players in summer have a dismal case,*

Since your appearance only is our act of grace.*

Court ladies will to country seats be gone –

My lord can’t all the year live great in town –

Where, wanting operas, basset3 and a play,

They’ll sigh and stitch a gown to pass the time away.

Gay city wives* at Tunbridge* will appear,

Whose husbands long have laboured for an heir;

Where many a courtier may their wants relieve,

But by the waters only they conceive.*

The Fleet Street sempstress,4 toast of Temple sparks,

That runs spruce5 neckcloths for attorneys’ clerks,

At Cupid’s Gardens* will her hours regale,

Sing ‘Fair Dorinda’* and drink bottled ale.

At all assemblies, rakes6 are up and down,

And gamesters, where they think they are not known.

Should I denounce our author’s fate today,

To cry down prophecies, you’d damn the play.

Yet whims like these have sometimes made you laugh;

’Tis tattling all, like Isaac Bickerstaff.*

Since war and places claim the bards that write,*

Be kind, and bear a woman’s treat tonight;

Let your indulgence all her fears allay,

And none but woman-haters damn this play.

1consent: Agreement.

2panegyric: A public speech in praise of someone.

3basset: A high-risk card game played only by the nobility and very wealthy.

4sempstress: Seamstress.

5runs spruce: Spruces up, fixes quickly.

6rakes: Libertines.

the busybody

A COMEDY

As it is acted at the

THEATRE ROYAL

in drury lane

by Her Majesty’s servants

written by

mrs susanna centlivre

Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso gloria curru,Exanimat lentus spectator, sedulus inflat.Sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarumSubruit aut reficit—

horat. epist. lib. ii. ep. 1*

characters

sir george airy, a gentleman of four thousand a year, in love with miranda

sir francis gripe, guardian to mirandaand marplot, father to charles, in love with miranda

charles, friend to sir george, in love with isabinda

sir jealous traffick, a merchant that had lived some time in Spain, a great admirer of the Spanish customs, father to isabinda

marplot, a sort of a silly fellow, cowardly, but very inquisitive to know everybody’s business, generally spoils all he undertakes, yet without design

whisper, servant to charles

miranda, an heiress, worth thirty thousand pounds, really in love with sir george, but pretends to be so with her guardian sir francis

isabinda, daughter to sir jealous, in love with charles, but designed for a Spanish merchant by her father, and kept up from the sight of all men

patch, her woman

scentwell, woman to miranda

servants

butler

drawer*

act i

scene i

The park.*sir george airy meeting charles.

charles: Ha! Sir George Airy! A-birding* thus early? What forbidden game roused you so soon? For no lawful occasion could invite a person of your figure abroad at such unfashionable hours.*

sir george: There are some men, Charles, whom Fortune has left free from inquietudes, who are diligently studious to find out ways and means to make themselves uneasy.

charles: Is it possible that anything in nature can ruffle the temper of a man whom the four seasons of the year compliment with as many thousand pounds? Nay, and a father at rest with his ancestors?

sir george: Why, there ’tis now! A man that wants money thinks none can be unhappy that has it; but my affairs are in such a whimsical posture that it will require a calculation of my nativity* to find if my gold will relieve me or not.

charles: Ha, ha, ha! Never consult the stars about that; gold has a power beyond them; gold unlocks the midnight councils;7 gold outdoes the wind, becalms the ship or fills her sails; gold is omnipotent below;* it makes whole armies fight or fly; it buys even souls, and bribes the wretches to betray their country! Then what can thy business be that gold won’t serve thee in?

sir george: Why, I’m in love.

charles: In love! Ha, ha, ha, ha! In love! Ha, ha, ha! With what, prithee?8 A cherubim?

sir george: No, with a woman.

charles: A woman? Good! Ha, ha, ha! And gold not help thee?

sir george: But suppose I’m in love with two—

charles: Aye, if thou’rt in love with two hundred, gold will fetch ’em, I warrant thee, boy. But who are they? Who are they? Come.

sir george: One is a lady whose face I never saw, but witty as an angel; the other beautiful as Venus—

charles: And a fool—

sir george: For ought I know, for I never spoke to her, but you can inform me. I am charmed by the wit of one, and die for the beauty of the other.

charles: And pray, which are you in quest of now?

sir george: I prefer the sensual pleasure. I’m for her I’ve seen, who is thy father’s ward Miranda.

charles: Nay, then, I pity you; for the Jew my father*will no more part with her, and thirty thousand pound,* than he would with a guinea to keep me from starving.

sir george: Now you see gold can’t do everything, Charles.

charles: Yes, for ’tis her gold that bars my father’s gate against you.

sir george: Why, if he is this avaricious wretch, how camest thou by such a liberal education?

charles: Not a souse9 out of his pocket, I assure you; I had an uncle who defrayed10 that charge, but for some little wildnesses of youth, though he made me his heir, left Dad my guardian till I came to years of discretion, which I presume the old gentleman will never think I am; and now he has got the estate into his clutches, it does me no more good than if it lay in Prester John’s dominions.*

sir george: What, canst thou find no stratagem to redeem it?

charles: I have made many essays11 to no purpose; though want, the mistress of invention, still tempts me on, yet still the old fox is too cunning for me. I am upon my last project, which, if it fails, then for my last refuge: a brown musket.*

sir george: What is’t? Can I assist thee?

charles: Not yet – when you can, I have confidence enough in you to ask it.

sir george: I am always ready; but what does he intend to do with Miranda? Is she to be sold in private? Or will he put her up by way of auction, at who bids most? If so, egad,12 I’m for him: my gold, as you say, shall be subservient to my pleasure.

charles: To deal ingenuously13 with you, Sir George, I know very little of her, or home; for since my uncle’s death, and my return from travel, I have never been well with my father: he thinks my expenses too great, and I his allowance too little; he never sees me, but he quarrels; and to avoid that, I shun his house as much as possible. The report is, he intends to marry her himself.

sir george: Can she consent to it?

charles: Yes, faith, so they say; but I tell you, I am wholly ignorant of the matter. Miranda and I are like two violent members of a contrary party: I can scarce allow her beauty, though all the world does; nor she me civility, for that contempt.* I fancy she plays the mother-in-law already, and sets the old gentleman on to do mischief.

sir george: Then I’ve your free consent to get her?

charles: Aye, and my helping hand, if occasion be.

sir george: Pugh, yonder’s a fool coming this way; let’s avoid him.

charles: What, Marplot? No, no, he’s my instrument; there’s a thousand conveniences in him. He’ll lend me his money when he has any, run of my errands and be proud on’t; in short, he’ll pimp for me, lie for me, drink for me, do anything but fight for me, and that I trust to my own arm for.

sir george: Nay, then he’s to be endured; I never knew his qualifications before.

(Enter marplot with a patch across his face.)

marplot: Dear Charles, yours. (Aside:) Ha! Sir George Airy, the man in the world I have an ambition to be known to! (To charles:) Give me thy hand, dear boy—

charles: A good assurance!* But hark ye, how came your beautiful countenance clouded in the wrong place?

marplot: I must confess ’tis a little malapropos, but no matter for that; a word with you, Charles. (Aside, to charles:) Prithee, introduce me to Sir George – he is a man of wit, and I’d give ten guineas to—

charles: When you have ’em, you mean.

marplot: Aye, when I have ’em. Pugh, pox, you cut the thread of my discourse! I would give ten guineas, I say, to be ranked in his acquaintance. Well, ’tis a vast addition to a man’s fortune, according to the rout of the world,14 to be seen in the company of leading men; for then we are all thought to be politicians, or Whigs, or Jacks, or High-Flyers, or Low-Flyers, or Levellers* and so forth; for you must know, we all herd in parties now.

charles: Then a fool for diversion is out of fashion, I find.

marplot: Yes, without15 it be a mimicking fool, and they are darlings everywhere; but prithee introduce me.

charles: Well, on condition you’ll give us a true account how you came by that mourning16 nose, I will.

marplot: I’ll do it.

charles: Sir George, here’s a gentleman has a passionate desire to kiss your hand.

sir george: Oh, I honour men of the sword; and I presume this gentleman is lately come from Spain or Portugal, by his scars?*

marplot: No really, Sir George, mine sprung from civil fury. Happening last night into the Groom Porters,* I had a strong inclination to go ten guineas with a sort of a… sort of a… kind of a milksop, as I thought. A pox of the dice he flung out! And my pockets being empty, as Charles knows they sometimes are, he proved a surly North Briton,* and broke my face for my deficiency.

sir george: Ha, ha! And did not you draw?

marplot: Draw, sir? Why, I did but lay my hand upon my sword to make a swift retreat, and he roared out, ‘Now the Deel a ma sol, sir, gin ye touch yer steel, Ise whip mine through yer wem!’*

sir george: Ha, ha, ha!

charles: Ha, ha, ha, ha! Safe was the word – so you walked off, I suppose.

marplot: Yes, for I avoid fighting, purely to be serviceable to my friends, you know—

sir george: Your friends are much obliged to you, sir. I hope you’ll rank me in that number.

marplot: Sir George, a bow from the side box,* or to be seen in your chariot, binds me ever yours.

sir george: Trifles! You may command ’em when you please.

charles: Provided he may command you—

marplot