About the text
NOTE: Until this notice is removed, this text is a WORKING DRAFT that has not yet been fully proofed. It has been posted as a draft to provide access to those participating in the public reading series "The First 100 Years: The Professional Female Playwright" in New York City curated by Mallory Catlett and Gwynn MacDonald. For information on that series, please visit the Juggernaut Theatre website.
The text of Such Things Are is based on the 1788 edition printed for G. G. J. and J. Robinson [etc.] in London. The play was first performed on 10 Feb 1787 at Covent Garden. The electronic version of the text from a full-text database is curently being compared to a microform facsimile of the 1788 printing and to the text of the play included in The British Theatre (1806-09), a series of plays for which Inchbald wrote prefaces. (The British Theatre version is the facsimile from Roger Manvell (ed.), Selected Comedies of Elizabeth Inchbald.) Two members of the editorial board have proof-read the original. When the BWP1800 edition is completed, it will include notation of significant variants between these two versions of the play.
The original 1788 publication included typical front matter—an advertisement and prologue—that are not included in The British Theatre's edition.
SUCH THINGS
ARE;
A PLAY, IN FIVE
ACTS.
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
by Elizabeth Inchbald
ADVERTISEMENT.
The travels of an Englishman throughout Europe, and even in some parts of Asia, to soften the sorrows of the Prisoner, excited in the mind of the Author the subject of the following pages, which, formed into a dramatic story, have produced from the Theatre a profit far exceeding the usual pecuniary advantages arising from a successful Comedy.
The uncertainty in what part of the East the hero of the present piece was (at the time it was written) dispensing his benevolence, caused the Writer, after many researches and objections, to fix the scene on the island of Sumatra, where the English settlement, the system of government, and every description of the manners of the people, reconcile the incidents of the Play to the strictest degree of probability.
PROLOGUE, Written by THOMAS VAUGHAN, Esq. [By Vaughan, T.]
Spoken by Mr. HOLMAN.
How say you, critic Gods, and you
below;
Are you all friends?—or here—and
there—a foe?
Come to protect your literary
trade,
Which Mrs. Scribble dares again
invade—
But know you not—in all the fair
ones do,
'Tis not to please themselves
alone—but
you.
Then who so churlish, or so cynic
grown,
Would wish to change a simper for
a frown?
Or who so jealous of their own dear
quill,
Would point the paragraph her fame
to kill?
Yet such there are, in this
all-scribbling
town,
And men of letters too—of some
renown,
Who sicken at all merit but their
own.
But sure 'twere more for Wit's—for
Honour's sake,
To make the Drama's race—the give
and take
[Looking round the house.
My hint I see's approv'd—so pray
begin it,
And praise us—roundly for the
good things in it,
Nor let severity our faults
expose,
When godlike Homer's self was known to
doze.
But of the piece—Methinks I hear
you hint,
Some dozen lines or more should
give the tint—
"Tell how Sir John with Lady Betty's
maid
"Is caught intriguing at a
masquerade;
"Which Lady Betty, in a jealous
fit,
"Resents by flirting with Sir Ben—the
cit.
"Whose three-feet spouse, to modish
follies bent,
"Mistakes a six-feet Valet—for
a Gent.
"Whilst Miss, repugnant to her
Guardian's
plan,
"Elopes in Breeches with her fav'rite
man."
Such are the hints we read in Roscius'
days,
By way of Prologue ushered in their
plays.
But we, like Ministers and cautious
spies,
In secret measures think—the merit
lies.
Yet shall the Muse thus far unveil
the plot—
This play was tragi-comically
got,
Those sympathetic sorrows to
impart
Which harmonize the feelings of
the heart;
And may at least this humble merit
boast,
A structure founded on fair Fancy's
coast.
With you it rests that judgement
to proclaim,
Which in the world must raise or
sink it's fame.
Yet ere her judges sign their last
report,
'Tis you [to the boxes] must recommend
her to the Court;
Whose smiles, like Cynthia, in a
winter's night,
Will cheer our wand'rer with a gleam
of light.
CHARACTERS.
Sultan - Mr. Farren,
Lord Flint - Mr. Davies,
Sir Luke Tremor - Mr. Quick,
Mr. Twineall - Mr. Lewis,
Mr. Haswell - Mr. Pope,
Elvirus - Mr. Holman,
Mr. Meanright - Mr. Macready,
Zedan - Mr. Fearon,
First Keeper - Mr. Thompson,
Second Keeper - Mr. Cubitt,
First Prisoner - Mr. Helme,
Second Prisoner - Mr. Gardener.
Guard - Mr. Blurton,
Messenger - Mr. Ledger.
Lady Tremor - Mrs. Mattocks,
Aurelia - Miss Wilkinson,
Female Prisoner - Mrs. Pope.
Time of Representation, Twelve Hours.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
[The Island of Sumatra, in the East Indies. A Parlour at Sir Luke Tremor's. Enter Sir Luke, followed by Lady Tremor.]
Sir Luke.
I tell you, Madam, you are two and
thirty.
Lady Tremor.
I tell you, Sir, you are mistaken.
Sir Luke.
Why, did not you come over from England
exactly sixteen years ago?
Lady.
Not so long.
Sir Luke.
Have not we been married the tenth
of next April sixteen years?
Lady.
Not so long.—
Sir Luke.
Did you not come over the year of
the great Eclipse? answer me that.
Lady.
I don't remember it.
Sir Luke.
But I do—and shall remember it
as long as I live—the first time I saw you, was in the garden of the
Dutch Envoy; you were looking through a glass at the sun—I immediately
began to make love to you, and the whole affair was settled while the eclipse
lasted—just one hour eleven minutes, and three seconds.
Lady.
But what is all this to my age?
Sir Luke.
Because I know you were at that time
near seventeen—and without one qualification except your youth—and
not being a Mullatto.
Lady.
Sir Luke, Sir Luke, this is not to
be borne—
Sir Luke.
Oh! yes—I forgot—you had two letters of recommendation, from two great families in England.
Lady.
Letters of recommendation!
Sir Luke.
Yes; your character—that, you know,
is all the fortune we poor Englishmen, situated in India, expect with a
wife who crosses the sea at the hazard of her life, to make us happy.
Lady.
And what but our characters would
you have us bring? Do you suppose any lady ever came to India, who brought
along with her, friends, or fortune?
Sir Luke.
No, my dear—and what is worse—
she seldom leaves them behind, either.
Lady.
No matter, Sir Luke—but if I delivered
to you a good character—
Sir Luke.
Yes, my dear you did—and if you
were to ask me for it again, I can't say I could give it you.
Lady.
How uncivil! how unlike are your
manners to the manners of my Lord Flint.
Sir Luke.
Ay—you are never so happy as when
you have an opportunity of expressing your admiration of him—a disagreeable,
nay, a very dangerous man—one is never sure of one's self in his
presence—he
carries every thing he hears to the ministers of our suspicious Sultan—and
I feel my head shake whenever I am in his company.
Lady.
How different does his Lordship appear
to me—to me he is all politesse.
Sir Luke.
Politesse! how shou'd you underderstand
what is real politesse? You know your education was very much
confined.—
Lady.
And if it was confined—I beg, Sir
Luke, you will one time or other cease these reflections—you know they
are what I can't bear! [walks about in a passion.] pray, does not his Lordship
continually assure me, I might be taken for a Countess, were it not for
a certain little groveling toss I have caught with my head—and a certain
little confined hitch in my walk? both which I learnt of you—learnt by
looking so much at you.—
Sir Luke.
And now if you don't take care, by
looking so much at his Lordship, you may catch some of his defects.
Lady.
I know of very few he has.
Sir Luke.
I know of many—besides those he
assumes.—
Lady.
Assumes! !—
Sir Luke.
Yes; do you suppose he is as forgetful
as he pretends to be? no, no—but because he is a favourite with the Sultan,
and all our great men at court, he thinks it genteel or convenient to have
no memory—and yet I'll answer for it, he has one of the best in the
universe.
Lady.
I don't believe your charge.
Sir Luke.
Why, though he forgets his appointments
with his tradesmen, did you ever hear of his forgetting to go to court
when a place was to be disposed of? Did he ever make a blunder, and send
a bribe to a man out of power? Did he ever forget to kneel before the Prince
of this Island— or to look in his highness's presence like the statue
of Patient-resignation in humble expectation?—
Lady.
Dear, Sir Luke—
Sir Luke.
Sent from his own country in his
very infancy, and brought up in the different courts of petty, arbitrary
Princes here in Asia; he is the slave of every great man, and the tyrant
of every poor one.—
Lady.
"Petty Princes!"—'tis well his
highness our Sultan does not hear you.
Sir Luke.
'Tis well he does not—don't you repeat
what I say—but you know how all this fine country is harrassed and laid
waste by a set of Princes, Sultans, as they style themselves, and I know not
what—who are for ever calling out to each other "that's mine," and "that's
mine;"— and "you have no business here"—and "you have no business
there"—and "I have business every where;" [Strutting]
then "give me this,"—and "give me that;" and "take this, and take that."
[makes signs of fighting.]
Lady.
A very elegant description truly.
Sir Luke.
Why, you know 'tis all matter of
fact—and Lord Flint, brought up from his youth amongst these people,
has not one trait of an Englishman about him—he has imbibed all this
country's cruelty, and I dare say wou'd mind no more seeing me hung up
by my thumbs—or made to dance upon a red-hot gridiron—
Lady.
That is one of the tortures I never
heard of!—O! I shou'd like to see that of all things!
Sir Luke.
Yes—by keeping this man's company,
you'll soon be as cruel as he is—he will teach you every vice—a
consequential—grave—
dull—and yet with that degree of levity, that dares to pay his addresses
to a woman, even before her husband's face.
Lady.
Did not you say, this minute, his
Lordship had not a trait of his own country about him?—
Sir Luke.
Well, well—as you say, that last
is a trait of his own country. Enter Servant and Lord Flint.
Serv.
Lord Flint.—
[Exit Servant.
Lady.
My Lord, I am extremely glad to see
you—we were just mentioning your name.—
Lord.
Were you, indeed, Madam? You do me
great honour.
Sir Luke.
No, my Lord—no great honour.
Lord.
Pardon me, Sir Luke.
Sir Luke.
But, I assure you, my Lord, what
I said, did myself a great deal of honour.
Lady.
Yes, my Lord, and I'll acquaint your
Lordship what it was. [going up to him.
Sir Luke. [Pulling her
aside]
Why, you wou'd not inform against
me sure! Do you know what would be the consequence? My head must answer
it. [frightened.]
Lord.
Nay, Sir Luke, I insist upon
knowing.
Sir Luke. [To her]
Hush—hush—no, my Lord, pray excuse
me—your Lordship perhaps may think what I said did not come from my heart;
and I assure you, upon my honour, it did.
Lady.
O, yes—that I am sure it did.
Lord.
I am extremely obliged to you.
[bowing.
Sir Luke.
O, no, my Lord, not at all—not
at all.—[aside to her.] I'll be extremely obliged to you, if you
will hold your tongue—Pray, my Lord, are you engaged out to dinner to-day?
for her Ladyship and I dine out.
Lady.
Yes, my Lord, and we should be happy
to find your Lordship of the party.
Lord.
"Engaged out to dinner"?—egad very
likely—very likely—but if I am—I have positively forgotten where.
Lady.
We are going to—
Lord.
No—I think (now you put me in mind
of it) I think I have company to dine with me— I am either going out
to dinner, or have company to dine with me; but I really can't tell which—
however, my people know—but I can't call to mind.—
Sir Luke.
Perhaps your Lordship has dined;
can you recollect that?
Lord.
No, no—I have not dined—what's
o'clock?
Lady.
Perhaps, my Lord, you have not
breakfasted.
Lord.
O, yes, I've breakfasted—I think
so— but upon my word these things are very hard to remember.
Sir Luke.
They are indeed, my Lord—and I
wish all my family wou'd entirely forget them.
Lord.
What did your Ladyship say was
o'clock?
Lady.
Exactly twelve, my Lord.
Lord.
Bless me! I ought to have been some
where else then—an absolute engagement.—I have broke my word—a positive
appointment.
Lady.
Shall I send a servant?
Lord.
No, no, no, no—by no means—it
can't be helped now—and they know my unfortunate failing—besides, I'll
beg their pardon, and I trust that will be ample satisfaction.
Lady.
You are very good, my Lord, not to
leave us.
Lord.
I cou'd not think of leaving you
so soon, Madam—the happiness I enjoy here is such—
Sir Luke.
And very likely were your Lordship
to go away now, you might never recollect to come again. Enter Servant.
Serv.
A Gentleman, Sir, just come from
on board an English vessel, says, he has letters to present to you.
Sir Luke.
Shew him in—[Exit Servant.]
He has brought his character too, I suppose—and left it behind, too,
I suppose.
Enter Mr. Twineall, in a fashionable undress.
Twi.
Sir Luke, I have the honour of presenting
to you, [Gives letters] one from my Lord Cleland—one from Sir
Thomas Shoestring—one from Colonel Fril.
Sir Luke. [Aside]
Who in the name of wonder have my
friends recommended?—[reads while Lord Flint and the Lady talk apart]
No—as I live, he is a gentleman, and the son of a Lord—[going to
Lady Tremor.] My dear, that is a gentleman, notwithstanding his
appearance—don't
laugh— but let me introduce you to him.
Lady.
A gentleman! certainly—I did not
look at him before—but now I can perceive it.
Sir Luke.
Mr. Twineall, give me leave to introduce
Lady Tremor to you, and my Lord Flint— this, my Lord, is the Honourable
Mr. Twineall from England, who will do me the favour to remain in my house,
till he is settled to his mind in some post here. [They bow.] I
beg your pardon, Sir, for the somewhat cool reception Lady Tremor and I
gave you at first—but I dare say her Ladyship was under the same mistake
as myself—and I must own I took you at first sight for something very
different from the person you prove to be—for really no English ships
have arrived in this harbour for these five years past, and the dress of
us English gentlemen is so much altered since that time—
Twi.
But, I hope, Sir Luke, if it is,
the alteration meets with your approbation.
Lady.
O! to be sure—it is extremely elegant
and becoming.
Sir Luke.
Yes, my dear, I don't doubt but you
think so; for I remember you used to make your favourite monkey wear just
such a jacket, when he went out a visiting.
Twin.
Was he your favourite, Madam?—Sir,
you are very obliging. [Bowing to Sir Luke.]
Sir Luke.
My Lord, if it were possible for
your Lordship to call to your remembrance such a trifle—
Lady.
Dear Sir Luke— [Pulling
him.
Lord.
Egad, I believe I do call to my
remembrance
—[Gravely considering.]—Not, I assure you, Sir, that I perceive
any great resemblance—or, if it was so—I dare say it is merely in the
dress— which I must own strikes me as most ridiculous— very ridiculous
indeed.—
Twi.
My Lord!
Lord.
I beg pardon, if I have said any
thing that—Lady Tremor, what did I say?— make my apology, if I have
said any thing improper—you know my unhappy failing. [Goes up the
stage.
Lady. [to Twineall.]
Sir, his Lordship has made a mistake
in the word "ridiculous," which I am sure he did not mean to say—but
he is apt to make use of one word for another—his Lordship has been so
long out of England, that he may be said in some measure to have forgotten
his native language. [His Lordship all this time appears consequentially
absent.
Twi.
And you have perfectly explained,
Madam—indeed I ought to have been convinced, without your explanation,
that if his Lordship made use of the word ridiculous (even intentionally)
that the word had now changed its former sense, and was become a mode to
express satisfaction—or his Lordship wou'd not have made use of it in
the very forcible manner he did, to a perfect stranger.
Sir Luke.
What, Mr. Twineall, have you new
modes, new fashions for words too in England, as well as for dresses?—and
are you equally extravagant in their adoption?
Lady.
I never heard, Sir Luke, but that
the fashion of words varied, as well as the fashion of every thing else.
Twi.
But what is most extraordinary—we
have now a fashion in England, of speaking without any words at all.
Lady.
Pray, Sir, how is that?
Sir Luke.
Ay, do, Mr. Twineall, teach my wife,
and I shall be very much obliged to you— it will be a great accomplishment.
Even you, my Lord, ought to be attentive to this fashion.
Twi.
Why, Madam, for instance, when a
gentleman is asked a question which is either troublesome or improper to
answer, you don't say you won't answer it, even though you speak to an
inferior—but you say—"really it appears to me e-e-e-e-e—[mutters
and shrugs]—that is—mo-mo-mo-mo-mo—[mutters]—if you
see the thing—for my part—te-te-te-te—and that's all I can tell about
it at present.
Sir Luke.
And you have told nothing!
Twi.
Nothing upon earth.
Lady.
But mayn't one guess what you
mean?
Twi.
O, yes—perfectly at liberty to
guess.
Sir Luke.
Well, I'll be shot if I could
guess.
Twi.
And again—when an impertinent pedant
asks you a question that you know nothing about, and it may not be convenient
to say so—you answer boldly, "why really, Sir, my opinion is, that the
Greek poet—he-he-he-he—[mutters]—we-we-we-we—you see—if
his idea was—and if the Latin
translator—mis-mis-mis-mis—[shrugs]—that
I shou'd think—in my humble opinion—but the Doctor may know better
than I."—
Sir Luke.
The Doctor must know very little
else.
Twi.
Or in case of a duel, where one does
not care to say who was right, or who was wrong— you answer—"This,
Sir, is the state of the matter—Mr. F— came first—te-te-te-te—on
that— be-be-be-be—if the other—in short—[whispers]
—whis-whis-whis-whis"—
Sir Luke.
What?
Twi.
"There, now you have it—there 'tis—
but don't say a word about it—or, if you do— don't say it come from
me."—
Lady.
Why, you have not told a word of
the story!
Twi.
But that your auditor must not say
to you—that's not the fashion—he never tells you that——he may
say—"You have not made yourself perfectly clear;"—or he may say—"He
must have the matter more particularly pointed out somewhere else;"—but
that is all the auditor can say with good breeding.
Lady.
A very pretty method indeed to satisfy
one's curiosity!
Enter Servant.
Serv.
Mr. Haswell.
Sir Luke.
This is a countryman of ours, Mr.
Twineall, and a very good man I assure you.
Enter Mr. Haswell.
Sir Luke.
Mr. Haswell, how do you do?
[Warmly.
Has.
Sir Luke, I am glad to see you.—Lady
Tremor, how do you do?
[He bows to the rest.
Lady.
O, Mr. Haswell, I am extremely glad you
are come—here is a young adventurer just arrived from England, who has
been giving us such a strange account of all that's going on there.
À
[Introducing Twineall.
Has.
Sir, you are welcome to India.
[Sir Luke whispers Haswell.
Indeed!—his son.
Lady.
Do, Mr. Haswell, talk to him—he
can give you great information.
Has.
I am glad of it—I shall then hear
many things I am impatient to become acquainted with. [Goes up to
Twineall.]
Mr. Twineall, I have the honour of knowing his Lordship, your father, extremely
well—he holds his seat in Parliament still, I presume?
Twi.
He does, Sir.
Has.
And your uncle, Sir Charles?
Twi.
Both, Sir—both in Parliament
still.
Has.
Pray, Sir, has any act in behalf
of the poor clergy taken place yet?
Twi.
In behalf of the poor clergy, Sir?—I'll
tell you—I'll tell you, Sir.—As to that act— concerning—[shrugs
and mutters]—em-em-em-em—the Committee—em-em—ways
and means— hee-hee—I assure you, Sir—te-te-te—
[Sir Luke, Lady, and Lord Flint laugh.
My father and my uncle both think so, I assure you.
Has.
Think how, Sir?
Sir Luke.
Nay, that's not good breeding—you
must ask no more questions.
Has.
Why not?
Sir Luke.
Because—we-we-we-we—[mimicks]—
he knows nothing about it.
Has.
What, Sir—not know?
Twi.
Yes, Sir, perfectly acquainted with every
thing that passes in the house—but I assure you, that when they come
to be reported—but, Sir Luke, now permit me, in my turn, to make a few
inquiries concerning the state of this country.
[Sir Luke starts, and fixes his eyes suspiciously on Lord
Flint.
Sir Luke.
Why, one does not like to speak much
about the country one lives in—but, Mr. Haswell, you have been visiting
our encampments; you may tell us what is going on there.
Lady.
Pray, Mr. Haswell, is it true that
the Sultan cut off the head of one of his wives the other day because she
said "I won't?"
Sir Luke.
Do, my dear, be silent.
Lady.
I won't.
Sir Luke.
O, that the Sultan had you instead
of me!
Lady.
And with my head off, I suppose?
Sir Luke.
No, my dear; in that state, I shou'd
have no objection to you myself.
Lady. [Aside to Sir Luke.]
Now, I'll frighten you ten times
more.—But, Mr. Haswell, I am told there are many persons suspected of
disaffection to the present Sultan, who have been lately, by his orders,
arrested, and sold to slavery, notwithstanding there was no proof against
them produced.
Has.
Proof!—in a State such as this,
the charge is quite sufficient.
Sir Luke. [In apparent agonies,
wishing to turn the discourse.]
Well, my Lord, and how does your
Lordship find yourself this afternoon?—this morning, I mean—Bless my
soul! why I begin to be as forgetful as your Lordship. [Smiling and
fawning.
Lady.
How I pity the poor creatures!
Sir Luke. [Aside to Lady.]
Take care what you say before that
tool of state—look at him, and tremble for your head.
Lady.
Look at him, and tremble for yours—
and so, Mr. Haswell, all this is true?—and some people, of consequence
too, I am told, dragged from their homes, and sent to slavery merely on
suspicion?
Has.
Yet, less do I pity those, than some,
whom prisons and dungeons crammed before, are yet prepared to receive.
Lord.
Mr. Haswell, such is the Sultan's
pleasure.
Sir Luke.
Will your Lordship take a turn in
the garden? it looks from this door very pleasant;—does not it?
Lady.
But pray, Mr. Haswell, has not the
Sultan sent for you to attend at his palace this morning?
Has.
He has, Madam.
Lady.
There! I heard he had, but Sir Luke
said not.—I am told he thinks himself under the greatest obligations
to you.
Has.
The report has flattered me—but
if his highness shou'd think himself under obligations, I can readily point
a way, by which he may acquit himself of them.
Lady.
In the mean time, I am sure, you
feel for those poor sufferers.
Has. [With stifled
emotion.]
Sir Luke, good morning to you—I
call'd upon some trifling business, but I have out-staid my time, and therefore
I'll call again in a couple of hours—Lady Tremor, good morning—my
Lord—Mr.
Twineall—[Bows, and exit.
Twi.
'Sir Luke, your garden does look
so divinely beautiful—
Sir Luke.
Come, my Lord, will you take a turn in
it? Come Mr. Twineall—come my dear— [taking her hand.] I
can't think what business Mr. Haswell has to speak to me upon—for my
part, I am quite a plain man—and busy myself about no one's affairs,
except my own—but I dare say your Lordship has forgot all we have been
talking about.
Lord.
If you permit me, Sir Luke, I'll
hand the Lady.
Sir Luke.
Certainly, my Lord, if you please—
come, Mr. Twineall, and I'll conduct you. [Exeunt.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
