The lady of fashion, moreover, was a great drinker in those days. Pepys has told us how the court ladies rivalled the other sex in this particular; but Mrs. Behn, in one of her plays (The False Count'), gives us something like a rule in this matter. "Guil. Come, ladies, sit. Come, Isabella, you are melancholy---Page, fill my lady a beer-glass. Isab. Ah, heavens, a beer-glass! Guil. O, your viscountess never drinks under your beer-glass; your citizens' wives simper and sip, and will be drunk without doing credit to the treater; but in their closets they swinge it away, whole slashes i'faith, and egad, when a woman drinks by herself, glasses come thick about. Your gentlewoman or your little lady drinks halfway, and thinks in point of good manners she must leave some at the bottom; but your true-bred woman of honour drinks all, supernaculum, by Jove! Isab. What a misfortune it was that I should not know this before, but should discover my want of so necessary a piece of grandeur. Jac. And nothing but being fuddled will redeem her credit." In a piece, entitled "The Emperor of the Moon," which is called a farce, but which is really a sort of extravaganza, partaking in some degree of the character of a modern pantomime, Mrs. Behn has treated us with a still more minute satire on the prevailing sins of contemporary society. Harlequin is supposed to come from the empire of the moon, on an embassy to Dr. Baliardo, whose daughter the emperor demands in marriage. The Doctor wishes to know something of the manners of the emperor's subjects. "Doct. Do the women of your world drink hard, sir? Har. According to their quality, sir, more or less; the greater the quality the more profuse the quantity. Doct. Why, that's just as 'tis here; but your men of quality, your statesmen, sir, I presume they are sober, learned and wise. Har. Faith, no, sir; but they are, for the most part, what's as good, very proud and promising, sir; most liberal of their word to every fawning suitor, to purchase the state of long attendance, and cringing as they pass; but the devil of a performance, without you get the knack of bribing in the right place and time; but yet they all defy it, sir. Doct. Just, just, as 'tis here. But pray, sir, how do these great men live with their wives? Har. Most nobly, sir; my lord keeps his coach, my lady hers; my lord his bed, my lady hers; and very rarely see one another, unless they chance to meet in a visit, in the park, the mall, the tour, or at the basset-table, where they civilly salute and part, he to his mistress, she to play. Doct. Good lack! just as 'tis here. Har. —Where, if she chance to lose her money, rather than give out, she borrows of the next amorous coxcomb, who, from that minute, hopes, and is sure to be paid again one way or other, the next kind opportunity. Doet. Just as 'tis here. Har. As for the young fellows that have money, they have no mercy upon their own persons, but wearing nature off as fast as they can, swear, and whore, and drink, and borrow as long as any rooking citizen will lend, till having dearly purchased the heroic title of a bully or a sharper, they live pitied of their friends, and despised of their whores, and depart this transitory world, diverse and sundry ways. Doct. Just, just as 'tis here! Har. As for the citizen, sir, the courtier lies with his wife; he in revenge, cheats him of his estate, till rich enough to marry his daughter to a courtier, again gives him all—unless his wife's over-gallantry breaks him: and thus the world runs round. Doct. The very same 'tis here.-Is there no preferment, sir, for men of parts and merit ? Har. Parts and merit! what's that? a livery, or the handsome tieing a cravat? for the great men prefer none but their footmen and valets. Doct. By my troth, just as 'tis here." Mrs. Behn's plots are simple enough in the groundwork, but they are always so contrived as to give room for an infinite complication of intrigues and cross-purposes. There is always some matrimonial arrangement (sometimes more than one) which is disagreeable to the parties most concerned in it; and a succession of love intrigues which are counter to it. All the ladies have gallants, who are generally "wild young fellows, of a small fortune;" the lady who is without one is an exception to the rule. Country knights and country gentlemen are mere stupid boobies. A rich city alderman is one of her favourite characters,-his lady is young and pretty, and invariably faithless. The Londoners, indeed, are a mere set of republicans and puritans, whose wives and daughters, and purses, were only made to be the prey of every man of fashion who chose to attempt them. The Lucky Chance, or the Alderman's Bargain,' and 'The City Heiress, or Sir Timothy Treatall,' are examples of comedy which turns on the peculiarities of the citizens. The latter is an excellent example of the style of our authoress, as well as of her prejudices, or rather, perhaps, of the prejudices of her age. Sir Timothy Treatall is "an old seditious knight, that keeps open-house for commonwealthsmen, and true-blue protestants." He has discarded his nephew, Tom Wilding, for being a tory. Wilding is the object of three passions, of different descriptions: he is loved by Lady Galliard, a rich city widow; by Charlotte, the city heiress; and by Diana, who is his kept mistress. Then we have an old tory knight of Devonshire, named Sir Anthony Meriwill, whose nephew, Sir Charles, is a friend of Wilding, and is in love with Lady Galliard. The political prejudices of the writer are manifested in the circumstance that another of the characters in the piece, a Mrs. Clacket, is described as "a city bawd and puritan." Sir Timothy has threatened to disinherit his nephew, Wilding, unless he marries a fortune, and changes his politics; and the leading intrigue of the piece is to outwit the uncle, and to obtain possession of the papers by which Wilding is made his uncle's heir. Charlotte, as might be expected, is jealous of Lady Galliard, and of Diana, and is shocked at her lover's vices; yet she cannot help loving him. Lady Galliard, while coquetting with Wilding, is embarrassed with the pursuits of the Meriwills. Wilding's marriage with Charlotte depends on his obtaining the title-deeds which make him his uncle's heir; and afraid to make the city heiress herself known to his uncle too soon, he determines to pass Diana upon him in disguise. Sir Timothy gives a great feast, and the following characteristic dialogue will explain the cause of Wilding's cautions. "Enter Sir Timothy Treatall and Jervice. Sir Tim. Here, take my sword, Jervice. What have you inquired, as I directed you, concerning the rich heiress, Sir Nicholas Gettall's daughter? Jer. Alas, sir, inquired! why, 'tis all the city news that she's run away with one of the maddest tories about town. Sir Tim. Good Lord! Ay, ay, 'tis so the plaguy rogue, my nephew, has got her. That heaven should drop such blessings in the mouths of the wicked! Well, Jervice, what company have we in the house, Jervice? Jer. Why truly, sir, a fine deal, considering there's no parliament. Sir Tim. What lords have we, Jervice? Jer. Lords, sir, truly none. Sir Tim. None! What ne'er a lord! Some mishap will befall me, some dire mischance! Ne'er a lord! Ominous, ominous! our party dwindles daily. What, nor earl, nor marquess, nor duke, nor ne'er a lord! Hum, my wine will lie most villanously upon my hands to-night. Jervice, what, have we store of knights and gentlemen ? Jer. I know not what gentlemen there be, sir; but there are knights, citizens, their wives and daughters. Sir Tim. Make us thankful for that! our meat will not lie upon our hands then, Jervice; I'll say that for our little Londoners, they are as tall fellows at a well-charged board as any in Christendom. Jer. Then, sir, there's Nonconformist parsons. Sir Tim. Nay, then we shall have a clear board; appetite in a lay elder does a man's table credit. for your true Protestant Jer. Then, sir, there's country justices and grand jurymen. But it will be explained better still by what follows; as he gives directions for the entertainment, Wilding has been announced,— "Enter Wild. with Diana and Betty. Wild. Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest jewel all London can afford, fair Mrs. Charlotte Gettall. Sir Tim. Bless us, she's ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of being intimate with your worthy father. I think he has been dead Dia. If he catechise me much on that point, I shall spoil all. [Aside.] Alas! sir, name him not; for if you do [weeping] I'm sure I cannot answer you one question. Wild. For Heaven's sake, sir, name not her father to her; the bare remembrance of him kills her. Sir Tim. Alas, poor soul! Lady, I beg your pardon. How soft-hearted she is! I am in love; I find already a kind of tickling of I know not what run frisking through my veins. [Aside. Bet. Ay, sir, the good alderman has been dead this twelvemonth just, and has left his daughter here, my mistress, three thousand pound a year. [Weeping. Sir Tim. Three thousand pound a year! Yes, yes, I am in love. [Aside. Bet. Besides money, plate, and jewels. Sir Tim. I'll marry her out of hand. [Aside.] Alas, I could even weep too ; but 'tis in vain. Well, nephew, you may be gone now; for it is not necessary you should be seen here, d'ye see. [Pushing him out. Wild. You see, sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have often told me, sir, when that was kind you would be so. Those writings, sir, by which you were so good to make me heir of all your estate, you said you would put into my possession, whenever I made it appear to you I could live without them, or bring you a wife of fortune home. Sir Tim. And I will keep my word; it is time enough. [Putting him out. Wild. I have, 'tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil ways, establish myself in the religious city, and enter into the association. There want but these same writings, sir, and your good character of me. Sir Tim. Thou shalt have both, all in good time, man. Go, go thy ways, and I'll warrant thee for a good character, go. Wild. Ay, sir, but the writings, because I told her, sir, I was your heir; forced to swear too, before she would believe me. Sir Tim. Alas, alas! how shrewdly thou wert put to it! Wild. I told her too, you'd buy a patent for me; for nothing woos a city fortune like the hopes of a ladyship. Sir Tim. I'm glad of that; that I can settle on her presently. [Aside." In continuation of his plot, Wilding disguises himself as a foreigner, and proceeds to Sir Timothy's, to announce to him, as an ambassador from Poland, that the Poles, in admiration of his political principles, have elected him their king. This intelligence, working on the knight's vanity, gives rise to some amusing scenes, under cover of which the different lovers pursue their intrigues. A masquerade, which follows, affords still greater room for intrigue; and Charlotte herself comes in disguise to watch the proceedings, and is thus a witness to a tender scene between her lover and Lady Galliard, who gives him an assignation. In the subsequent interview, in the chamber of Lady Galliard, who is in undress, Wilding unfolds the following doctrines on the subject of love, which were, it appears, the accepted creed of the time of Charles II. F T 10 I "L. Gal. Unreasonable man! because you see I have unusual regards for you, Pleasure to hear, and trouble to deny you; A fatal yielding in my nature toward you, A weakness I ne'er felt in any other; And would you be so base? and could you have the heart To make me infamous, despis'd, loath'd, pointed at? According to the strictest rules of honour, For interest, takes some nauseous clown she hates : Be her price, that makes her but the dearer whore. Besides, are we not alone, and private? who can know it ?” This scene is a long one, but we will venture to give the conclusion, as a slight example of what could then be borne with on a public stage, and written for that purpose by a lady. Wilding gradually overcomes the scruples of Lady Galliard. "L. Gal. Said you most easily! Oh, inhuman! Your cruel words have wak'd a dismal thought; I feel 'em cold and heavy at my heart, And weakness steals upon my soul apace; I find I must be miserable I would not be thought false. [In a soft tone, coming near him. Wild. Nor would I think you so give me not cause. L. Gal. What heart can bear distrust from what it loves? Or who can always her own wish deny ? Wild. How can I, while you still remain unkind! L. Gal. How shall I speak my guilty thoughts? [Aside. [To him, in a soft tone. I have not power to part with you; conceal my shame, I doubt I cannot; I fear I should not any more deny you. Wild. Oh, heavenly sound! Oh, charming creature! Speak that word again, again, again! for ever let me hear it. Mrs. Charlotte, never? indeed? and will you never, never love |