John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain passages in “The Grand Cyrus,” and in “Ibrahim, the illustrious Bassa.” Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task; satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the “Cyrus,” is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward; the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last moment. In this, as in all our author’s plays, some passages of beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition, nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles II.; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age, concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have been strictly in character.

  The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it was probably received very favourably.

  PREFACE

  It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example, though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece, as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and settlement of his people.

  For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. ’Tis a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and bizarre in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment. Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment) here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself, can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this to be much inferior to my “Indian Emperor.” But the argument of that was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to be faulty; some for not discovering the queen’s love, others for his joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely, that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no reason to guess so soon at the queen’s passion; she being a person so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time, can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen’s love, than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for that other objection, of his joining in the queen’s imprisonment, it is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed, what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum, is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty, the best judge, to think it so.

  I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the “Cyrus,” which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character, as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the fa
mous Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write by way of preface to “The Maiden Queen;” in the reading of which I fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic, being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the courage to have made it public.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE.

  SECOND PROLOGUE.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  ACT I.

  ACT II.

  ACT III.

  ACT IV.

  ACT V.

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE.

  I.

  He who writ this, not without pains and thought,

  From French and English theatres has brought

  The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought.

  II.

  The unities of action, place, and time;

  The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime

  Of Jonson’s humour, with Corneille’s rhyme.

  III.

  But while dead colours he with care did lay,

  He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh,

  Which are the living beauties of a play.

  IV.

  Plays are like towns, which, howe’er fortified

  By engineers, have still some weaker side,

  By the o’er-seen defendant unespied.

  V.

  And with that art you make approaches now;

  Such skilful fury in assaults you show,

  That every poet without shame may bow.

  VI.

  Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom,

  If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come,

  With flying colours, and with beat of drum.

  The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after which he returns again.

  SECOND PROLOGUE.

  I had forgot one half, I do protest,

  And now am sent again to speak the rest.

  He bows to every great and noble wit;

  But to the little Hectors of the pit

  Our poet’s sturdy, and will not submit.

  He’ll be beforehand with ‘em, and not stay

  To see each peevish critic stab his play;

  Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast,

  Is cheaply witty on the poet’s cost.

  No critic’s verdict should, of right, stand good,

  They are excepted all, as men of blood;

  And the same law shall shield him from their fury,

  Which has excluded butchers from a jury.

  You’d all be wits —

  But writing’s tedious, and that way may fail;

  The most compendious method is to rail:

  Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used,

  When in smart prologues you are not abused.

  A civil prologue is approved by no man;

  You hate it, as you do a civil woman:

  Your fancy’s palled, and liberally you pay

  To have it quickened ere you see a play;

  Just as old sinners, worn from their delight,

  Give money to be whipped to appetite.

  But what a pox keep I so much ado

  To save our poet? He is one of you;

  A brother judgment, and, as I hear say,

  A cursed critic as e’er damned a play.

  Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare;

  He is, like you, a very wolf or bear;

  Yet think not he’ll your ancient rights invade,

  Or stop the course of your free damning trade;

  For he (he vows) at no friend’s play can sit,

  But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit:

  Then, for his sake, ne’er stint your own delight;

  Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write;

  With such he ventures on an even lay,

  For they bring ready money into play.

  Those who write not, and yet all writers nick,

  Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  LYSIMANTES, first Prince of the Blood.

  PHILOCLES, the Queen’s favourite.

  CELADON, a courtier.

  Queen of Sicily.

  CANDIOPE, Princess of the Blood.

  ASTERIA, the Queen’s confident.

  FLORIMEL, a maid of honour.

  FLAVIA, another maid of honour.

  OLINDA, SABINA, Sisters.

  MELISSA, mother to OLINDA and SABINA.

  Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers.

  SCENE — Sicily.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I. — Walks near the Court.

  Enter CELADON and ASTERIA, meeting each other, he in a riding habit; they embrace.

  Cel. Dear Asteria! —

  Ast. My dear brother, welcome! A thousand welcomes! Methinks, this year, you have been absent, has been so tedious: — I hope, as you have made a pleasant voyage, so you have brought your good humour back again to court?

  Cel. I never yet knew any company I could not be merry in, except it were an old woman’s.

  Ast. Or at a funeral.

  Cel. Nay, for that you shall excuse me; for I was never merrier than I was at a creditor’s of mine, whose book perished with him. But what new beauties have you at court? How do Melissa’s two fair daughters?

  Ast. When you tell me which of them you are in love with, I’ll answer you.

  Cel. Which of them, naughty sister! what a question’s there? With both of them; with each and singular of them.

  Ast. Bless me! — You are not serious?

  Cel. You look, as if it were a wonder to see a man in love. Are they not handsome?

  Ast. Ay; but both together —

  Cel. Ay, and both asunder; why, I hope there are but two of them; the tall singing and dancing one, and the little innocent one?

  Ast. But you cannot marry both?

  Cel. No, nor either of them, I trust in Heaven: but I can keep them company; I can sing and dance with them, and treat them; and that, I take it, is somewhat better than musty marrying them. Marriage is poor folks’ pleasure, that cannot go to the cost of variety; but I am out of danger of that with these two, for I love them so equally, I can never make choice between them. Had I but one mistress, I might go to her to be merry, and she, perhaps, be out of humour; there were a visit lost: But here, if one of them frown upon me, the other will be the more obliging, on purpose to recommend her own gaiety; besides a thousand things that I could name.

  Ast. And none of them to any purpose.

  Cel. Well, if you will not be cruel to a poor lover, you might oblige me, by carrying me to their lodgings.

  Ast. You know I am always busy about the queen.

  Cel. But once or twice only; ‘till I am a little flushed in my acquaintance with other ladies, and have learned to prey for myself. I promise you I’ll make all the haste I can to end the trouble, by being in love somewhere else.

  Ast. You would think it hard to be denied now?

  Cel. And reason good. Many a man hangs himself for the loss of one mistress: How do you think, then, I should bear the loss of two; especially in a court, where, I think, beauty is but thin sown?

  Ast. There’s one Florimel, the queen’s ward, a new beauty, as wild as you, and a vast fortune.

  Cel. I am for her before the world. Bring me to her, and I’ll release you of your promise for the other two.

  Enter a Page.

  Page. Madam, the queen expects you.

  Cel. I see you hold her favour; adieu, sister: — you have a little emissary there, otherwise I would offer you my service.

  Ast. Farewell, brother; think upon Florimel.

  Cel. You may trust my memory for a handsome woman: I’ll think upon her, and the rest too; I’ll forget none of them. [Exit ASTERIA.

  SCENE II.

  Enter a Gentleman walking over the stage
hastily; After him FLORIMEL and FLAVIA masked.

  Fla. Phormio! Phormio! you will not leave us?

  Gent. In faith, I have a little business.

  [Exit Gent.

  Cel. Cannot I serve you in the gentleman’s room, ladies?

  Fla. Which of us would you serve?

  Cel. Either of you, or both of you.

  Fla. Why, could you not be constant to one?

  Cel. Constant to one! — I have been a courtier, a soldier, and a traveller, to good purpose, if I must be constant to one: Give me some twenty, some forty, some a hundred mistresses! I have more love than any woman can turn her to.

  Flo. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in his hands.

  Cel. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I shift my linen.

  Flo. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour rarely. [Aside.

  Fla. You are as inconstant as the moon.

  Flo. You wrong him, he’s as constant as the sun; he would see all the world in twenty-four hours.

  Cel. ’Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and away.

  Flo. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover.

  Cel. A rare creature this! [Aside] — Besides, madam, how like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment. — Ladies both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you.

  Fla. I’ll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be constant to one.

  Cel. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I’ll do more; I’ll be constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one, agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me.

  Flo. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I take you for my servant.

  Cel. And for once I’ll make a blind bargain with you. Strike hands; is’t a match, mistress?

  Flo. Done, servant.