Books: The Hunchback
J >>
James Sheridan Knowles >> The Hunchback
This etext was produced by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk,
from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition.
THE HUNCHBACK
by James Sheridan Knowles
INTRODUCTION
James Sheridan Knowles was born at Cork in 1784, and died at Torquay
in December, 1862, at the age of 78. His father was a teacher of
elocution, who compiled a dictionary, and who was related to the
Sheridans. He moved to London when his son was eight years old, and
there became acquainted with William Hazlitt and Charles Lamb. The
son, after his school education, obtained a commission in the army,
but gave up everything for the stage, and made his first appearance
at the Crow Street Theatre, in Dublin. He did not become a great
actor, and when he took to writing plays he did not prove himself a
great poet, but his skill in contriving situations through which a
good actor can make his powers tell upon the public, won the heart
of the great actor of his day, and as Macready's own poet he rose to
fame.
Before Macready had discovered him, Sheridan Knowles lived partly by
teaching elocution at Belfast and Glasgow, partly by practice of
elocution as an actor. In 1815 he produced at the Belfast Theatre
his first play, Caius Gracchus. His next play, Virginius was
produced at Glasgow with great success. Macready, who had, at the
age of seventeen, begun his career as an actor at his father's
theatre in Birmingham, had, on Monday, October 5th, 1819, at the age
of twenty-six, taken the Londoners by storm in the character of
Richard III Covent Garden reopened its closed treasury. It was
promptly followed by a success in Coriolanus, and Macready's place
was made. He was at once offered fifty pounds a night for appearing
on one evening a week at Brighton. It was just after that turn in
Macready's fortunes that a friend at Glasgow recommended to him the
part of Virginius in Sheridan Knowles's play lately produced there.
He agreed unwillingly to look at it, and says that in April, 1820,
the parcel containing the MS. came as he was going out. He
hesitated, then sat down to read it that he might get a wearisome
job over. As he read, he says, "The freshness and simplicity of the
dialogue fixed my attention; I read on and on, and was soon absorbed
in the interest of the story and the passion of its scenes, till at
its close I found myself in such a state of excitement that for a
time I was undecided what step to take. Impulse was in the
ascendant, and snatching up my pen I hurriedly wrote, as my agitated
feelings prompted, a letter to the author, to me then a perfect
stranger." Bryan Procter (Barry Cornwall) read the play next day
with Macready, and confirmed him in his admiration of it.
Macready at once got it accepted at the theatre, where nothing was
spent on scenery, but there was a good cast, and the enthusiasm of
Macready as stage manager for the occasion half affronted some of
his seniors. On the 17th of May, 1820, about a month after it came
into Macready's hands, Virginius was produced at Covent Garden,
where, says the actor in his "Reminiscences," "the curtain fell
amidst the most deafening applause of a highly-excited auditory."
Sheridan Knowles's fame, therefore, was made, like that of his
friend Macready, and the friendship between author and actor
continued. Sheridan Knowles had a kindly simplicity of character,
and the two qualities for which an actor most prizes a dramatist,
skill in providing opportunities for acting that will tell, and
readiness to make any changes that the actor asks for. The
postscript to his first letter to Macready was, "Make any
alterations you like in any part of the play, and I shall be obliged
to you." When he brought to the great actor his play of William
Tell--Caius Gracchus had been produced in November, 1823--there were
passages of writing in it that stopped the course of action, and,
says Macready, "Knowles had less of the tenacity of authorship than
most writers," so that there was no difficulty about alterations,
Macready having in a very high degree the tenacity of actorship.
And so, in 1825, Tell became another of Macready's best successes.
Sheridan Knowles continued to write for the stage until 1845, when
he was drawn wholly from the theatre by a religious enthusiasm that
caused him, in 1851, to essay the breaking of a lance with Cardinal
Wiseman on the subject of Transubstantiation. Sir Robert Peel gave
ease to his latter days by a pension of 200 pounds a year from the
Civil List, which he had honourably earned by a career as dramatist,
in which he sought to appeal only to the higher sense of literature,
and to draw enjoyment from the purest source. Of his plays time two
comedies {1} here given are all that have kept their place upon the
stage. As one of the most earnest dramatic writers of the present
century he is entitled to a little corner in our memory. Worse work
of the past has lasted longer than the plays of Sheridan Knowles are
likely to last through the future.
H. M.
THE HUNCHBACK.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
(AS ORIGINALLY PERFORMED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1832.)
Julia Miss F. KEMBLE.
Helen Miss TAYLOR.
Master Walter Mr. J. S. KNOWLES.
Sir Thomas Clifford Mr. C. KEMBLE.
Lord Tinsel Mr. WRENCH.
Master Wilford Mr. J. MASON.
Modus Mr. ABBOTT.
Master Heartwell Mr. EVANS.
Gaylove Mr. HENRY.
Fathom Mr. MEADOWS.
Thomas Mr. BARNES.
Stephen Mr. PAYNE.
Williams Mr. IRWIN.
Simpson Mr. BRADY.
Waiter Mr. HEATH.
Holdwell Mr. BENDER.
{ Mr. J. COOPER.
Servants { Mr. LOLLETT.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--A Tavern.
On one side SIR THOMAS CLIFFORD, at a table, with wine before him;
on the other, MASTER WILFORD, GAYLOVE, HOLDWELL, and SIMPSON,
likewise taking wine.
Wilf. Your wine, sirs! your wine! You do not justice to mine host
of the Three Tuns, nor credit to yourselves; I swear the beverage is
good! It is as palatable poison as you will purchase within a mile
round Ludgate! Drink, gentlemen; make free. You know I am a man of
expectations; and hold my money as light as the purse in which I
carry it.
Gay. We drink, Master Wilford. Not a man of us has been chased as
yet.
Wilf. But you fill not fairly, sirs! Look at my measure!
Wherefore a large glass, if not for a large draught? Fill, I pray
you, else let us drink out of thimbles! This will never do for the
friends of the nearest of kin to the wealthiest peer in Britain.
Gay. We give you joy, Master Wilford, of the prospect of
advancement which has so unexpectedly opened to you.
Wilf. Unexpectedly indeed! But yesterday arrived the news that the
Earl's only son and heir had died; and to-day has the Earl himself
been seized with a mortal illness. His dissolution is looked for
hourly; and I, his cousin in only the third degree, known to him but
to be unnoticed by him--a decayed gentleman's son--glad of the title
and revenues of a scrivener's clerk--am the undoubted successor to
his estates and coronet.
Gay. Have you been sent for?
Wilf. No; but I have certified to his agent, Master Walter, the
Hunchback, my existence, and peculiar propinquity; and momentarily
expect him here.
Gay. Lives there anyone that may dispute your claim--I mean
vexatiously?
Wilf. Not a man, Master Gaylove. I am the sole remaining branch of
the family tree.
Gay. Doubtless you look for much happiness from this change of
fortune?
Wilf. A world! Three things have I an especial passion for. The
finest hound, the finest horse, and the finest wife in the kingdom,
Master Gaylove!
Gay. The finest wife?
Wilf. Yes, sir; I marry. Once the earldom comes into my line, I
shall take measures to perpetuate its remaining there. I marry,
sir! I do not say that I shall love. My heart has changed
mistresses too often to settle down in one servitude now, sir. But
fill, I pray you, friends. This, if I mistake not, is the day
whence I shall date my new fortunes; and, for that reason, hither
have I invited you, that, having been so long my boon companions,
you shall be the first to congratulate me.
[Enter Waiter]
Waiter. You are wanted, Master Wilford.
Wilf. By whom?
Waiter. One Master Walter.
Wilf. His lordship's agent! News, sirs! Show him in!
[Waiter goes out]
My heart's a prophet, sirs--The Earl is dead.
[Enter MASTER WALTER]
Well, Master Walter. How accost you me?
Wal. As your impatience shows me you would have me.
My Lord, the Earl of Rochdale!
Gay. Give you joy!
Hold. All happiness, my lord!
Simp. Long life and health unto your lordship!
Gay. Come!
We'll drink to his lordship's health! 'Tis two o'clock,
We'll e'en carouse till midnight! Health, my lord!
Hold. My lord, much joy to you!
Simp. All good to your lordship!
Wal. Give something to the dead!
Gay. Give what?
Wal. Respect!
He has made the living! First to him that's gone,
Say "Peace!"--and then with decency to revels!
Gay. What means the knave by revels?
Wal. Knave?
Gay. Ay, knave!
Wal. Go to! Thou'rt flushed with wine!
Gay. Thou sayest false!
Though didst thou need a proof thou speakest true,
I'd give thee one. Thou seest but one lord here,
And I see two!
Wal. Reflect'st thou on my shape?
Thou art a villain!
Gay. [Starting up.] Ha!
Wal. A coward, too!
Draw!
[Drawing his sword.]
Gay. Only mark him! how he struts about!
How laughs his straight sword at his noble back.
Wal. Does it? It cuffs thee for a liar then!
[Strikes GAYLOVE with his sword.]
Gay. A blow!
Wal. Another, lest you doubt the first!
Gay. His blood on his own head! I'm for you, sir!
[Draws.]
Clif. Hold, sir! This quarrel's mine!
[Coming forward and drawing.]
Wal. No man shall fight for me, sir!
Clif. By your leave,
Your patience, pray! My lord, for so I learn
Behoves me to accost you--for your own sake
Draw off your friend!
Wal. Not till we have a bout, sir!
Clif. My lord, your happy fortune ill you greet!
Ill greet it those who love you--greeting thus
The herald of it!
Wal. Sir, what's that to you?
Let go my sleeve!
Clif. My lord, if blood be shed
On the fair dawn of your prosperity,
Look not to see the brightness of its day.
'Twill be o'ercast throughout!
Gay. My lord, I'm struck!
Clif. You gave the first blow, and the hardest one!
Look, sir; if swords you needs must measure, I'm
Your mate, not he!
Wal. I'm mate for any man!
Clif. Draw off your friend, my lord, for your own sake!
Wilf. Come, Gaylove! let's have another room.
Gay. With all my heart, since 'tis your lordship's will.
Wilf. That's right! Put up! Come, friends!
[WILFORD and Friends go out.]
Wal. I'll follow him!
Why do you hold me? 'Tis not courteous of you!
Think'st thou I fear them? Fear! I rate them but
As dust! dross! offals! Let me at them!--Nay,
Call you this kind? then kindness know I not;
Nor do I thank you for't! Let go, I say!
Clif. Nay, Master Walter, they're not worth your wrath.
Wal. How know you me for Master Walter? By
My hunchback, eh!--my stilts of legs and arms,
The fashion more of ape's than man's? Aha!
So you have heard them, too--their savage gibes
As I pass on,--"There goes my lord!" aha!
God made me, sir, as well as them and you.
'Sdeath! I demand of you, unhand me, sir!
Clif. There, sir, you're free to follow them! Go forth,
And I'll go too: so on your wilfulness
Shall fall whate'er of evil may ensue.
Is't fit you waste your choler on a burr?
The nothings of the town; whose sport it is
To break their villain jests on worthy men,
The graver still the fitter! Fie for shame!
Regard what such would say? So would not I,
No more than heed a cur.
Wal. You're right, sir; right,
For twenty crowns! So there's my rapier up!
You've done me a good turn against my will;
Which, like a wayward child, whose pet is off,
That made him restive under wholesome check,
I now right humbly own, and thank you for.
Clif. No thanks, good Master Walter, owe you me!
I'm glad to know you, sir.
Wal. I pray you, now,
How did you learn my name? Guessed I not right?
Was't not my comely hunch that taught it you?
Clif. I own it.
Wal. Right, I know it; you tell truth. I like you for't.
Clif. But when I heard it said
That Master Walter was a worthy man,
Whose word would pass on 'change soon as his bond;
A liberal man--for schemes of public good
That sets down tens, where others units write;
A charitable man--the good he does,
That's told of, not the half; I never more
Could see the hunch on Master Walter's back!
Wal. You would not flatter a poor citizen?
Clif. Indeed, I flatter not!
Wal. I like your face -
A frank and honest one! Your frame's well knit,
Proportioned, shaped!
Clif. Good sir!
Wal. Your name is Clifford -
Sir Thomas Clifford. Humph! You're not the heir
Direct to the fair baronetcy? He
That was, was drowned abroad. Am I not right?
Your cousin, was't not?--so succeeded you
To rank and wealth, your birth ne'er promised you.
Clif. I see you know my history.
Wal. I do.
You're lucky who conjoin the benefits
Of penury and abundance; for I know
Your father was a man of slender means.
You do not blush, I see. That's right! Why should you?
What merit to be dropped on fortune's hill?
The honour is to mount it. You'd have done it;
For you were trained to knowledge, industry,
Frugality, and honesty,--the sinews
That surest help the climber to the top,
And keep him there. I have a clerk, Sir Thomas,
Once served your father; there's the riddle for you.
Humph! I may thank you for my life to-day.
Clif. I pray you say not so.
Wal. But I will say so!
Because I think so, know so, feel so, sir!
Your fortune, I have heard, I think, is ample!
And doubtless you live up to't?
Clif. 'Twas my rule,
And is so still, to keep my outlay, sir,
A span within my means.
Wal. A prudent rule!
The turf is a seductive pastime!
Clif. Yes.
Wal. You keep a racing stud? You bet?
Clif. No, neither.
'Twas still my father's precept--"Better owe
A yard of land to labour, than to chance
Be debtor for a rood!"
Wal. 'Twas a wise precept.
You've a fair house--you'll get a mistress for it?
Clif. In time!
Wal. In time! 'Tis time thy choice were made.
Is't not so yet? Or is thy lady love
The newest still thou seest?
Clif. Nay, not so.
I'd marry, Master Walter, but old use -
For since the age of thirteen I have lived
In the world--has made me jealous of the thing
That flattered me with hope of profit. Bargains
Another would snap up, might be for me:
Till I had turned and turned them! Speculations,
That promised, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty,
Ay, cent-per-cent. returns, I would not launch in,
When others were afloat, and out at sea;
Whereby I made small gains, but missed great losses.
As ever, then, I looked before I leaped,
So do I now.
Wal. Thou'rt all the better for it!
Let's see! Hand free--heart whole--well-favoured--so!
Rich, titled! Let that pass!--kind, valiant, prudent -
Sir Thomas, I can help thee to a wife,
Hast thou the luck to win her!
Clif. Master Walter!
You jest!
Wal. I do not jest. I like you! mark -
I like you, and I like not everyone!
I say a wife, sir, can I help you to,
The pearly texture of whose dainty skin
Alone were worth thy baronetcy! Form
And feature has she, wherein move and glow
The charms, that in the marble, cold and still,
Culled by the sculptor's jealous skill and joined there,
Inspire us! Sir, a maid, before whose feet,
A duke--a duke might lay his coronet,
To lift her to his state, and partner her!
A fresh heart too!--a young fresh heart, sir; one
That Cupid has not toyed with, and a warm one -
Fresh, young, and warm! mark that! a mind to boot;
Wit, sir; sense, taste;--a garden strictly tended -
Where nought but what is costly flourishes!
A consort for a king, sir! Thou shalt see her!
Clif. I thank you, Master Walter! As you speak,
Methinks I see me at the altar-foot!
Her hand fast locked in mine!--the ring put on!
My wedding-bell rings merry in my ear;
And round me throng glad tongues that give me joy
To be the bridegroom of so fair a bride!
Wal. What! sparks so thick? We'll have a blaze anon!
Servant. [Entering.] The chariot's at the door.
Wal. It waits in time!
Sir Thomas, it shall bear thee to the bower
Where dwells this fair--for she's no city belle,
But e'en a sylvan goddess!
Clif. Have with you!
Wal. You'll bless the day you served the Hunchback, sir!
[They go out.]
SCENE II.--A Garden before a Country House.
[Enter JULIA and HELEN.]
Helen. I like not, Julia, this your country life.
I'm weary on't!
Julia. Indeed? So am not I!
I know no other; would no other know!
Helen. You would no other know! Would you not know
Another relative?--another friend -
Another house--another anything,
Because the ones you have already please you?
That's poor content! Would you not be more rich,
More wise, more fair? The song that last you learned
You fancy well; and therefore shall you learn
No other song? Your virginal, 'tis true,
Hath a sweet tone; but does it follow thence,
You shall not have another virginal?
You may, love, and a sweeter one; and so
A sweeter life may find than this you lead!
Julia. I seek it not. Helen, I'm constancy!
Helen. So is a cat, a dog, a silly hen,
An owl, a bat,--where they are wont to lodge
That still sojourn, nor care to shift their quarters.
Thou'rt constancy? I am glad I know thy name!
The spider comes of the same family,
That in his meshy fortress spends his life,
Unless you pull it down and scare him from it.
And so thou'rt constancy? Ar't proud of that?
I'll warrant thee I'll match thee with a snail
From year to year that never leaves his house!
Such constancy forsooth!--a constant grub
That houses ever in the self-same nut
Where he was born, till hunger drives him out,
Or plunder breaketh through his castle wall!
And so, in very deed, thou'rt constancy!
Julia. Helen, you know the adage of the tree; -
I've ta'en the bend. This rural life of mine,
Enjoined me by an unknown father's will,
I've led from infancy. Debarred from hope
Of change, I ne'er have sighed for change. The town
To me was like the moon, for any thought
I e'er should visit it--nor was I schooled
To think it half so fair!
Helen. Not half so fair!
The town's the sun, and thou hast dwelt in night
E'er since thy birth, not to have seen the town!
Their women there are queens, and kings their men;
Their houses palaces!
Julia. And what of that?
Have your town-palaces a hall like this?
Couches so fragrant? walls so high-adorned?
Casements with such festoons, such prospects, Helen,
As these fair vistas have? Your kings and queens!
See me a May-day queen, and talk of them!
Helen. Extremes are ever neighbours. 'Tis a step
From one to the other! Were thy constancy
A reasonable thing--a little less
Of constancy--a woman's constancy -
I should not wonder wert thou ten years hence
The maid I know thee now; but, as it is,
The odds are ten to one, that this day year
Will see our May-day queen a city one!
Julia. Never! I'm wedded to a country life:
O, did you hear what Master Walter says!
Nine times in ten the town's a hollow thing,
Where what things are is nought to what they show;
Where merit's name laughs merit's self to scorn!
Where friendship and esteem that ought to be
The tenants of men's hearts, lodge in their looks
And tongues alone. Where little virtue, with
A costly keeper, passes for a heap;
A heap for none that has a homely one!
Where fashion makes the law--your umpire which
You bow to, whether it has brains or not!
Where Folly taketh off his cap and bells,
To clap on Wisdom, which must bear the jest!
Where to pass current you must seem the thing,
The passive thing, that others think; and not
Your simple, honest, independent self!
Helen. Ay: so says Master Walter. See I not
What can you find in Master Walter, Julia,
To be so fond of him!
Julia. He's fond of me!
I've known him since I was a child. E'en then,
The week I thought a weary, heavy one,
That brought not Master Walter. I had those
About me then that made a fool of me,
As children oft are fooled; but more I loved
Good Master Walter's lesson than the play
With which they'd surfeit me. As I grew up,
More frequent Master Walter came, and more
I loved to see him! I had tutors then,
Men of great skill and learning--but not one
That taught like Master Walter. What they'd show me,
And I, dull as I was, but doubtful saw, -
A word from Master Walter made as clear
As daylight! When my schooling days were o'er -
That's now good three years past--three years--I vow
I'm twenty, Helen!--well, as I was saying,
When I had done with school, and all were gone,
Still Master Walter came! and still he comes,
Summer or winter--frost or rain! I've seen
The snow upon a level with the hedge,
Yet there was Master Walter!
Helen. Who comes here?
A carriage, and a gay one--who alights?
Pshaw! Only Master Walter! What see you,
Which thus repairs the arch of the fair brow,
A frown was like to spoil?--A gentleman!
One of our town kings! Mark!--How say you now?
Wouldst be a town queen, Julia? Which of us,
I wonder, comes he for?
Julia. For neither of us;
He's Master Walter's clerk, most like.
Helen. Most like!
Mark him as he comes up the avenue;
So looks a clerk! A clerk has such a gait!
So does a clerk dress, Julia!--mind his hose -
They're very like a clerk's! a diamond loop
And button, note you, for his clerkship's hat, -
O, certainly a clerk! A velvet cloak,
Jerkin of silk, and doublet of the same, -
For all the world a clerk! See, Julia, see,
How Master Walter bows, and yields him place,
That he may first go in--a very clerk!
I'll learn of thee, love, when I'd know a clerk!
Julia. I wonder who he is!
Helen. Wouldst like to know?
Wouldst for a fancy ride to town with him?
I prophesy he comes to take thee thither!
Julia. He ne'er takes me to town! No, Helen, no!
To town who will, a country life for me!
Helen. We'll see!
[Enter FATHOM.]
Fath. You're wanted, madam.
Julia. [Embarrassed.] Which of us?
Fath. You, madam.
Helen. Julia! what's the matter? Nay,
Mount not the rose so soon! He must not see it
A month hence. 'Tis loves flower, which once she wears,
The maid is all his own.
Julia. Go to!
Helen. Be sure
He comes to woo thee! He will bear thee hence;
He'll make thee change the country for the town.
Julia. I'm constancy. Name he the town to me,
I'll tell what I think on't!
Helen. Then you guess
He comes a wooing?
Julia. I guess nought.
Helen. You do!
At your grave words, your lips, more honest, smile,
And show them to be traitors. Hie to him.
Julia. Hie thee to soberness.
[Goes out.]
Helen. Ay, will I, when,
Thy bridemaid, I shall hie to church with thee.
Well, Fathom, who is come?
Fath. I know not.
Helen. What! Didst thou not hear his name?
Fath. I did.
Helen. What is't?
Fath. I noted not.
Helen. What hast thou ears for, then?
Fath. What good were it for me to mind his name?
I do but what I must do. To do that
Is labour quite enough!
Wal. [Without.] What, Fathom!
Fath. Here.
Wal. [Entering.] Here, sirrah! Wherefore didst not come to me?
Fath. You did not bid me come.
Wal. I called thee.
Fath. Yes.
And I said "Here;" and waited then to know
Your worship's will with me.
Wal. We go to town.
Thy mistress, thou, and all the house.
Fath. Well, sir?
Wal. Mak'st thou not ready then to go to town?
Hence, knave, despatch!
[FATHOM goes out.]
Helen. Go we to town?
Wal. We do;
'Tis now her father's will she sees the town.
Helen. I'm glad on't. Goes she to her father?
Wal. No:
At the desire of thine she for a term shares roof with thee.
Helen. I'm very glad on't.
Wal. What!
You like her, then? I thought you would. 'Tis time
She sees the town.
Helen. It has been time for that
These six years.
Wal. By thy wisdom's count. No doubt
You've told her what a precious place it is.
Helen. I have.
Wal. I even guessed as much. For that
I told thee of her; brought thee here to see her;
And prayed thee to sojourn a space with her;
That its fair space, from thy too fair report,
Might strike a novice less--so less deceive her.
I did not put thee under check.
Helen. 'Twas right, -
Else had I broken loose, and run the wilder!
So knows she not her father yet: that's strange.
I prithee how does mine?
Wal. Well--very well.
News for thee.
Helen. What?
Wal. Thy cousin is in town.
Helen. My cousin Modus?
Wal. Much do I suspect
That cousin's nearer to thy heart than blood.
Helen. Pshaw! Wed me to a musty library!
Love him who nothing loves but Greek and Latin!
But, Master Walter, you forget the main
Surpassing point of all! Who's come with you?
Wal. Ay, that's the question!
Helen. Is he soldier or
Civilian? lord or gentleman? He's rich,
If that's his chariot! Where is his estate?
What brings it in? Six thousand pounds a year?
Twelve thousand, may be! Is he bachelor,
Or husband? Bachelor I'm sure he is
Comes he not hither wooing, Master Walter?
Nay, prithee, answer me!