Eliante. You may pursue this thought. I am not at all embarrassed with my hand; and here is your friend, who, without giving me much trouble, might possibly accept it if I asked him.
Philinte. Ah! Madam, I ask for nothing better than that honour, and I could sacrifice my life and soul for it.
Alceste. May you, to taste true contentment, preserve for ever these feelings towards each other! Deceived on all sides, overwhelmed with injustice, I will fly from an abyss where vice is triumphant, and seek out some small secluded nook on earth, where one may enjoy the freedom of being an honest man.
Philinte. Come, Madam, let us leave nothing untried to deter him from the design on which his heart is set.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER by Oliver Goldsmith
1773
First performed in London in 1773, She Stoops to Conquer is one of the few plays from the eighteenth century to retain an enduring appeal, being still regularly performed today. The drama concerns the wealthy countryman Mr. Hardcastle, who arranges for his daughter Kate to meet Charles Marlow, the son of a wealthy Londoner, hoping the pair will marry. Unfortunately, Marlow is nervous around upper-class women, yet the complete opposite around lower-class females. When meeting Marlow, Kate realises she will have to pretend to be ‘common’, or Marlow will not woo her. Thus Kate ‘stoops to conquer’, by posing as a maid, hoping to put Marlow at his ease so that he will fall for her. The title refers to Kate’s ruse of pretending to be a barmaid to reach her goal. The phrase originates from the poetry of John Dryden, which Goldsmith may have seen misquoted by Lord Chesterfield. In Chesterfield’s version, the lines in question read: “The prostrate lover, when he lowest lies, But stoops to conquer, and but kneels to rise.”
In the plot, Marlow sets out for the Hardcastle’s manor with a friend, George Hastings, an admirer of Miss Constance Neville, another young lady that lives with the Hardcastles. During the journey, the two men become lost and stop at an alehouse, The Three Jolly Pigeons, for directions. Tony Lumpkin, Kate’s half-brother and cousin to Constance, comes across the two strangers at the alehouse and, realising their identity, plays a practical joke by telling them that they are a long way from their destination and will have to stay overnight at an inn. The “inn” he directs them to is actually the home of the Hardcastles. When they arrive, the Hardcastles, who have been expecting them, go out of their way to make them welcome. However, Marlow and Hastings, believing themselves to be staying at an inn, behave extremely disdainfully towards their hosts. Hardcastle bears their unwitting insults with forbearance, because of his friendship for the father.
The original production opened in London at Covent Garden Theatre on 15 March 1773 and was an immediate success. Lionel Brough is believed to have played Tony Lumpkin 777 times. Interestingly, Lillie Langtry had her first great success in this play in 1881.
She Stoops to Conquer is often identified as a comedy of manners, ridiculing the manners (including the way of life, social customs, etc.) of a certain segment of society, in this case the upper class. The play is also occasionally termed a drawing-room comedy, employing farce and satire to poke fun at the class-consciousness of eighteenth century Englishmen and to satirise what Goldsmith called the “weeping sentimental comedy so much in fashion at present.”
The Covent Garden Theatre, where the play was first performed. The theatre burned down in 1808.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE,
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ACT THE FIRST.
ACT THE SECOND.
ACT THE THIRD.
ACT THE FOURTH.
ACT THE FIFTH.
Goldsmith, close to the time of the play’s first performance
This play was taken from our Complete Works edition:
TO SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
Dear Sir, —
By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most unaffected piety.
I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this performance. The undertaking a comedy not merely sentimental was very dangerous; and Mr. Colman, who saw this piece in its various stages, always thought it so. However, I ventured to trust it to the public; and, though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season, I have every reason to be grateful.
I am, dear Sir, your most sincere friend and admirer,
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
PROLOGUE,
By David Garrick, Esq.
Enter MR. WOODWARD, dressed in black, and holding a handkerchief to his eyes.
Excuse me, sirs, I pray — I can’t yet speak —
I’m crying now — and have been all the week.
“’Tis not alone this mourning suit,” good masters:
“I’ve that within” — for which there are no plasters!
Pray, would you know the reason why I’m crying?
The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!
And if she goes, my tears will never stop;
For as a player, I can’t squeeze out one drop:
I am undone, that’s all — shall lose my bread —
I’d rather, but that’s nothing — lose my head.
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
Shuter and I shall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in sentimentals, will succeed!
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents;
We can as soon speak Greek as sentiments!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up.
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall we do? If Comedy forsake us,
They’ll turn us out, and no one else will take us.
But why can’t I be moral? — Let me try —
My heart thus pressing — fixed my face and eye —
With a sententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks in sentimental scenes)
Thus I begin: “All is not gold that glitters,
“Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
“When Ignorance enters, Folly is at hand:
“Learning is better far than house and land.
“Let not your virtue trip; who trips may stumble,
“And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble.”
I give it up — morals won’t do for me;
To make you laugh, I must play tragedy.
One hope remains — hearing the maid was ill,
A Doctor comes this night to show his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He, in Five Draughts prepar’d, presents a potion:
A kind of magic charm — for be assur’d,
If you will swallow it, the maid is cur’d:
But desperate the Doctor, and her case is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
No poisonous drugs are mixed in what he gives.
Should he succeed, you’ll give him his degree;
If not, within he will receive no fee!
The College YOU, must his pretensions back,
Pronounce him Regular, or dub him Quack.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
SIR CHARLES MARLOW Mr. Gardner.
YOUNG MARLOW (His Son) Mr. Lee Lewes.
HARDCASTLE Mr. Shuter.
HASTINGS Mr. Dubellamy.
TONY LUMPKIN Mr. Quick.
DIGGORY Mr. Saunders.
WOMEN.
MRS. HARDCASTLE Mrs. Green.
MISS HARDCASTLE Mrs. Bulkley.
MISS NEVILLE Mrs. Kniveton.
MAID Miss Williams.
LANDLORD, SERVANTS, Etc. Etc.
ACT THE FIRST.
&
nbsp; SCENE — A Chamber in an old-fashioned House.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you’re very particular. Is there a creature in the whole country but ourselves, that does not take a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little? There’s the two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month’s polishing every winter.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home! In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down not only as inside passengers, but in the very basket.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Ay, your times were fine times indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never see company. Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate’s wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all our entertainment your old stories of Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery.
HARDCASTLE. And I love it. I love everything that’s old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and I believe, Dorothy (taking her hand), you’ll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you’re for ever at your Dorothys and your old wifes. You may be a Darby, but I’ll be no Joan, I promise you. I’m not so old as you’d make me, by more than one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that.
HARDCASTLE. Let me see; twenty added to twenty makes just fifty and seven.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. It’s false, Mr. Hardcastle; I was but twenty when I was brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first husband; and he’s not come to years of discretion yet.
HARDCASTLE. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, you have taught him finely.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. No matter. Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. I don’t think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred a year.
HARDCASTLE. Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and mischief.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Humour, my dear; nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour.
HARDCASTLE. I’d sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footmen’s shoes, frightening the maids, and worrying the kittens be humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle’s face.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two’s Latin may do for him?
HARDCASTLE. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no; the alehouse and the stable are the only schools he’ll ever go to.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I believe we shan’t have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see he’s consumptive.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. He coughs sometimes.
HARDCASTLE. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I’m actually afraid of his lungs.
HARDCASTLE. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking trumpet — (Tony hallooing behind the scenes) — O, there he goes — a very consumptive figure, truly.
Enter TONY, crossing the stage.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won’t you give papa and I a little of your company, lovee?
TONY. I’m in haste, mother; I cannot stay.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. You shan’t venture out this raw evening, my dear; you look most shockingly.
TONY. I can’t stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expects me down every moment. There’s some fun going forward.
HARDCASTLE. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I thought so.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. A low, paltry set of fellows.
TONY. Not so low, neither. There’s Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack Slang the horse doctor, Little Aminadab that grinds the music box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at least.
TONY. As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind; but I can’t abide to disappoint myself.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (detaining him.) You shan’t go.
TONY. I will, I tell you.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I say you shan’t.
TONY. We’ll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exit, hauling her out.]
HARDCASTLE. (solus.) Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors? There’s my pretty darling Kate! the fashions of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in town, she is as fond of gauze and French frippery as the best of them.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE. Blessings on my pretty innocence! drest out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! What a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl! I could never teach the fools of this age, that the indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain.
MISS HARDCASTLE. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the evening I put on my housewife’s dress to please you.
HARDCASTLE. Well, remember, I insist on the terms of our agreement; and, by the bye, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience this very evening.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I protest, sir, I don’t comprehend your meaning.
HARDCASTLE. Then to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I have his father’s letter, in which he informs me his son is set out, and that he intends to follow himself shortly after.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It’s a thousand to one I shan’t like him; our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem.
HARDCASTLE. Depend upon it, child, I’ll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he’s a man of an excellent understanding.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Is he?
HARDCASTLE. Very generous.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I believe I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE. Young and brave.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I’m sure I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE. And very handsome.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, say no more, (kissing his hand), he’s mine; I’ll have him.
HARDCASTLE. And, to crown all, Kate, he’s one of the most bashful and reserved young fellows in all the world.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband.
HARDCASTLE. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so everything as you mention, I believe he’ll do still. I think I’ll have him.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It’s more than an even wager he may not have you.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so? — Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I’ll only break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and look out for some less difficult admirer.
HARDCASTL
E. Bravely resolved! In the mean time I’ll go prepare the servants for his reception: as we seldom see company, they want as much training as a company of recruits the first day’s muster. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. (Alone). Lud, this news of papa’s puts me all in a flutter. Young, handsome: these he put last; but I put them foremost. Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. But then reserved and sheepish; that’s much against him. Yet can’t he be cured of his timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can’t I — But I vow I’m disposing of the husband before I have secured the lover.
Enter MISS NEVILLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I’m glad you’re come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face to-day?
MISS NEVILLE. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look again — bless me! — sure no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? or has the last novel been too moving?
MISS HARDCASTLE. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened — I can scarce get it out — I have been threatened with a lover.
MISS NEVILLE. And his name —
MISS HARDCASTLE. Is Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. Indeed!
MISS HARDCASTLE. The son of Sir Charles Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him when we lived in town.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Never.
MISS NEVILLE. He’s a very singular character, I assure you. Among women of reputation and virtue he is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of another stamp: you understand me.
Masters of the Theatre Page 73