DUOLOGUES FROM JANE AUSTEN’S NOVELS

ARRANGED BY ROSINA FILIPPI

(All Rights Reserved.)

DUOLOGUES AND SCENES FROM THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN ARRANGED AND ADAPTED FOR DRAWING-ROOM PERFORMANCE

BY Rosina Filippi (Mrs Dowson)

With Illustrations by Miss Fletcher

LONDON: Published by J. M. Dent and Company at Aldine House in Great Eastern Street, E.C. MDCCCXCV

[v]

PREFACE.

It is an ungrateful task to write a preface, for few people, if any, ever read one.

“The play’s the thing,” and “a good play needs no epilogue.” So should a good book need no preface, and for one that can boast of containing between its two covers seven picked scenes from the pen of one of the most charming writers in the English language—Jane Austen—no introduction whatever is needed. But to ruthlessly tear her from the library shelf and place her in the hands of the amateur actor demands explanation and even apology.

Jane Austen as a novelist has won and maintained a place in the first rank, but as a writer of true comedy she has been too long [vi]unrecognised. She is essentially dramatic, and her characters assume shape, form, and colour; her plots are human, her people are alive. No individual in any of her novels degenerates into caricature, yet there is not one but has a touch of the humorous in his or her composition. Her duologues and scenes are complete in themselves, and in them one appreciates the maxim of Alexandre Dumas, who declared that the only essentials for a play were “une passion, deux personages, et un paravent.”

Keeping, therefore, to this rule, these scenes should be represented with no scenery whatever—(by scenery, I mean stage, proscenium, footlights, and curtain)—but it is essential that the accurate costume of the day should be worn; for though the plot and sentiments thoroughly appeal to the modern mind, the language belongs to a past generation, and an incongruity would arise were it spoken in modern dress. The period represented is from 1792-1807, and a pen and ink sketch of the type of character and style of dress, the work of Miss Margaret Fletcher, accompanies each scene.

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In order to make the plots clear and the duologues intelligible to those of the audience who are unacquainted with the novels themselves, a few words in monologue form have sometimes been added to the text—the greatest care being taken, however, to keep as much as possible to the spirit of the original—while for dramatic effect and finish, the time or place of action has often been changed from a garden or street scene to that of an interior, lest the absence of scenery should be felt by actors or audience.

The idea of compiling this small book arose from the dearth of good duologues and one-act plays suitable for amateur performance. The acting rights of the best pieces being reserved, it is difficult for the uninitiated to obtain them; moreover, it is expensive, and so the orange-covered book is sought, and a play neither clever nor interesting selected, simply because it is found to contain the requisite number of characters, and has no elaborate scenery.

How refreshing, then, must these seven [viii]scenes be to both artists and audience—they play themselves—the language, sentiments, and personalities are within the reach of every cultivated amateur; and I am convinced that Jane Austen as a play-wright will fascinate her audiences as much as she has her readers as a novelist.

ROSINA FILIPPI.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

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COSTUMES.

LADIES.

The prevailing materials for the morning dresses of this period were cambrics, India muslins, clear muslins, usually white, and often spotted and sprigged with clear colours. The bodices were usually cut low with short sleeves, the neck being covered with an embroidered habit shirt or chemisette, often cut with very high collars coming up to the ears. The arms were covered with sleeves of rucked muslin or net. The walking dresses were worn to the ankle only, but the more graceful house dress was worn long. “Spencers,” or short bodices, with sleeves made of silk or cloth, were often worn over the muslin dress out of doors; these were sometimes buttoned down the centre, sometimes double-breasted, sometimes left open. “Spanish vests,” a sort of Spencer, with long-pointed ends in front, were often seen. Shawls, and long scarfs with embroidered ends, were almost invariable accompaniments of out-door dress, and were carried over the arm or worn draped over [xiv]one shoulder, or round the neck, with long ends hanging in front like a boa. The use of muslins,

furs, China silks, sarsnets, satins, etc., indiscriminately, was characteristic of the period. A dress of India muslin and a fur muff and boa was not considered incongruous. Small hats and turban-shaped caps were as much worn as large; ostrich and herons’ feathers, satins, velvets, velvet flowers, and even jewels were used for these. Gloves were usually of York tan or French kid, but sometimes were of net. Shoes were made of varying materials—coloured kid, often velvet or silk. The colours most in vogue were pinks, lilacs, violets, lavender, pale primrose, pale greens—scarlets often for pelisses—and all clear colours. Browns are described as “cinamon,” chocolate, nut, “la boue de Paris,” Egyptian brown, etc. All muslin dresses were worn over “slips” of silk or cambric. In making the bodices, it should be borne in mind that of the many ways of cutting them, the least graceful is to have a straight line round the waist. The line should curve upwards from beneath the bosom in front and reach the highest point between the shoulder-blades at the

back, as seen in the back view of Emma. A double curve, which rises slightly in front as well, as seen in one of the distant figures in the frontispiece, is very becoming.

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GENTLEMEN.

The men’s dress of this period had all the variety of a time of transition—cut-away and swallow-tail coats as well as riding coats and surtouts were worn, differing mainly from the garments of to-day in the height of the waist, and often extravagant height of the collar. The waistcoats were high-waisted, of the gayest colours and most varied materials, being ornamented with fantastic buttons. Pantaloons, either buttoned just above the ankle, or tied with a riband, were in almost universal use; these were supplemented out of doors by top-boots or gaiters. The pantaloons were usually of cloth, though occasionally knitted wool was worn. High stocks and frilled shirt-fronts were usual, but would not have reached an eccentric pitch among Miss Austen’s quiet country folks. Hats were high-crowned, with curved brims of varying width, and were made of beaver, felt, or straw. Knee-breeches would be worn by the old-fashioned folk, and by clergy-men. The colouring being centred in the waistcoat, the rest of the costume, though perhaps slightly gayer

than that of the present day, would on the whole be sober in hue.

LITERARY TASTES.

Duologue between Catherine Morland and Isabella Thorpe.

From “Northanger Abbey.”

Costumes.

Isabella is wearing a pelisse of lilac-coloured sarsanet, trimmed with white swansdown; a French cambric frock fastened down the front with small round pearl buttons, and with a border of gold-coloured embroidery round the skirt, which is of walking length. The bodice is cut low, a muslin chemisette with high collar and frill being worn to cover the neck.

The hat of straw or white beaver is tied under the chin by a tan-coloured ribbon, which passes over the crown; a tuft of white ostrich feathers on the left side; tan gloves and tan shoes.

Catherine wears a large natural-coloured straw hat, with jonguille green ribbon and white feathers. A dress of cambric muslin spotted with pale yellow flowers, short full sleeves, and a primrose-coloured shawl; white or tan gloves.

[3]

LITERARY TASTES.

Characters.

Isabella Thorpe and Catherine Morland.

N.B.—“The progress of the friendship between Catherine and Isabella was quick as its beginning had been warm; and they passed so rapidly through every gradation of increasing tenderness, that there was shortly no fresh proof of it to be given to their friends or themselves. They called each other by their Christian name, were always arm-in-arm when they walked, pinned up each other’s train for the dance, and were not to be divided in the set; and, if a rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still resolute in meeting, in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up to read novels.... The following conversation, which took place between the two friends in the [4]Pump-room one morning, after an acquaintance of eight or nine days, is given as a specimen of their very warm attachment, and of the delicacy, discretion, originality of thought, and literary taste which marked the reasonableness of that attachment.”—Northanger Abbey, Chap. V. and VI.

Scene—Part of the Pump-room at Bath.

Properties required:—A sofa R.C.; a small table L., with the visitors’ book upon it. Door L. A window up R.C. Enter Isabella Thorpe. Having to wait a few moments, she shows every sign of impatience. Enter Catherine Morland.

Isabella (rising suddenly). My dearest creature! what can have made you so late? (They embrace.) I have been waiting for you at least this age.

Catherine (surprised). Have you, indeed? I am very sorry for it, but really I thought I was in very good time (pointing to her watch or a time-piece); it is but just one. I hope you have not been here long?

[5]

Isabella. Oh! these ten ages at least. I am sure I have been here this half-hour; but now, let us sit down and enjoy ourselves. (They sit on the sofa.) I have a hundred things to say to you. In the first place, I was so afraid it would rain this morning, just as I wanted to set off; it looked very showery, and that would have thrown me into agonies! Do you know, I saw the prettiest hat you can imagine in a shop window in Milsom Street just now—very like yours, only with coquelicot ribands instead of green; I quite longed for it. But, my dearest Catherine, what have you been doing with yourself this morning? Have you gone on with “Udolpho”?

Catherine. Yes, I have been reading it ever since I awoke, and I am got to the black veil.

Isabella. Are you, indeed? How delightful! Oh! I would not tell you what is behind the black veil for the world! Are you not wild to know?

Catherine. Oh! yes, quite, what can it be? But do not tell me—I would not be told upon any account. I know it must be a skeleton, I am sure it is Laurentina’s skeleton. Oh! I [6]am delighted with the book! I should like to spend my whole life in reading it, I assure you; if it had not been to meet you, I would not have come away from it for all the world.

Isabella (embracing Catherine impulsively). Dear creature! how much I am obliged to you; and when you have finished “Udolpho” we will read the Italian together; and I have made out a list of ten or twelve more of the same kind for you.

Catherine. Have you, indeed! How glad I am! What are they all?

Isabella (rising). I will read you their names directly; here they are in my pocket-book—(takes out a small pocket-book from her reticule and reads), “Castle of Wolfenbach,” “Clermont,” “Mysterious Warnings,” “Necromancer of the Black Forest,” “Midnight Bell,” “Orphan of the Rhine,” and “Horrid Mysteries”—(shutting the book). There! those will last us some time.

Catherine. Yes—pretty well, but are they all horrid? are you sure that they are all horrid?

Isabella (leaning on the sofa, R. end). Yes, quite sure; for a particular friend of mine—a Miss Andrews, a sweet girl, one of the sweetest [7]creatures in the world, has read every one of them. I wish you knew Miss Andrews, you would be delighted with her. She is netting herself the sweetest cloak you can conceive. I think her as beautiful as an angel, and I am so vexed with the men for not admiring her! I scold them all amazingly about it.

Catherine. Scold them! Do you scold them for not admiring her?

Isabella. Yes, that I do. There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves; it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong. I told Captain Hunt, at one of our assemblies this winter, that if he was to tease me all night, I would not dance with him unless he would allow Miss Andrews to be as beautiful as an angel. The men think us incapable of real friendship, you know, and I am determined to show them the difference. Now, if I were to hear anybody speak slightingly of you (embrace) I should fire up in a moment; but that is not at all likely, for you are just the kind of girl to be a great favourite with the men.

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Catherine (hanging her head and turning away). Oh! dear! how can you say so?

Isabella. Oh! I know you very well, you have so much animation, which is exactly what Miss Andrews wants; for I must confess there is something amazingly insipid about her. (Sitting down again.) Oh! I must tell you, that just after we parted yesterday I saw a young man looking at you so earnestly.

Catherine (turning away still more).

Isabella. I am sure he is in love with you.

Catherine. Oh! Isabella!

Isabella (laughing). It is very true, upon my honour. But I see how it is; you are indifferent to everybody’s admiration except that of one gentleman, who shall be nameless. (Suddenly serious.) Nay, I cannot blame you, your feelings are easily understood (rising); where the heart is really attached, I know very well how little one can be pleased with the attentions of anybody else (walking to R.); everything is so insipid, so uninteresting, that does not relate to the beloved object; I can perfectly comprehend your feelings.

Catherine. But you should not persuade me [9]that I think so very much about Mr Tilney, for perhaps I may never see him again.

Isabella. Not see him again! (embracing) my dearest creature, do not talk of it. I am sure you would be miserable if you thought so.

Catherine (smiling). No, indeed, I should not. I do not pretend to say that I was not very much pleased with him; but while I have “Udolpho” to read, I feel as if nobody could make me miserable. Oh! the dreadful black veil! My dear Isabella, I am sure there must be Laurentina’s skeleton behind it.

Isabella (taking Catherine’s arm and walking up and down). It is so odd to me that you should never have read “Udolpho” before; but I suppose Mrs Morland objects to novels.

Catherine. No, she does not. She very often reads “Sir Charles Grandison” herself; but new books do not fall in our way.

Isabella. “Sir Charles Grandison”! that is an amazing horrid book, is it not? I remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume.

Catherine. It is not like “Udolpho” at all, but yet I think it is very entertaining.

[10]

Isabella. Do you, indeed? You surprise me; I thought it had not been readable (stopping short). But, my dearest Catherine, have you settled what to wear on your head to-night? I am determined, at all events, to be dressed exactly like you. The men take notice of that sometimes, you know.

Catherine (innocently). But it does not signify if they do.

Isabella. Signify! Oh! Heavens! I make it a rule never to mind what they say. They are very often amazingly impertinent if you do not treat them with spirit, and make them keep their distance.

Catherine. Are they? Well, I never observed that. They always behave very well to me.

Isabella. Oh! They give themselves such airs. They are the most conceited creatures in the world, and think themselves of so much importance. By the bye, though I have thought of it a hundred times, I have always forgot to ask you what is your favourite complexion in a man. Do you like them best dark or fair?

Catherine. I hardly know. I never much [11]thought about it. Something between both, I think; brown—not fair and not very dark.

Isabella. Very well, Catherine. That is exactly he. I have not forgot your description of Mr Tilney—“A brown skin, with dark eyes and rather dark hair.” Well, my taste is different; I prefer light eyes; and as to complexion—do you know—I like a sallow better than any other. But you must not betray me, if you should ever meet with one of your acquaintance answering that description.

Catherine (impulsively). Betray you! what do you mean?

Isabella. Nay, do not distress me—I believe I have said too much already. Pray, let us drop the subject.

Catherine. My dearest Isabella, certainly, if you wish it. (Aside as Isabella walks towards the door.) I wonder if it is Laurentina’s skeleton. Oh! it must be Laurentina’s skeleton.

Isabella (coming suddenly back to Catherine, but looking over her shoulder towards the door). For Heaven’s sake let us move away from this end [12]of the room. Do you know, there are two odious young men who have been staring at me this half hour? They really put me quite out of countenance. Let us go and look at the arrivals in the visiting book. They will hardly follow us there. (They walk to the book. While Isabella examines the book, Catherine watches the proceedings off L. door.) They are not coming this way, are they? I hope they are not so impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know if they are coming. I am determined I will not look up.

Catherine (at door, with unaffected pleasure). You need no longer be uneasy; the gentlemen have just left the Pump-room.

Isabella (turning hastily round). And which way are they gone? One of them was a very good-looking young man.

Catherine (going to the window). They are going towards the Churchyard.

Isabella (hastily). Well, I am amazingly glad I have got rid of them; and now, what say you to going to Edgar’s Buildings with me and looking at my new hat? You said you should like to see it.

[13]

Catherine. With pleasure—only—perhaps we may overtake the two young men.

Isabella. Oh! never mind that. If we make haste, we shall pass by them presently, and I am dying to show you my hat (taking Catherine’s hand and drawing her towards the door.)

Catherine (holding back). But if we only wait a few minutes there will be no danger of our seeing them at all.

Isabella (with great dignity, still holding Catherine’s hand). I shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure you. I have no notion of treating men with such respect. That is the way to spoil them. Come—and see my new hat. (Exeunt Catherine and Isabella, hurriedly, by the door.)

Curtain.

[15]

THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION.

Duologue between Mr and Mrs John Dashwood.

From “Sense and Sensibility,” Vol. I., chap. II.

[16]

Costumes.

Mrs D. Black dress with a Spanish vest trimmed with narrow black velvet; pointed ends in front, finished with black tassels. Skirt trimmed with black ermine velvet to match white ermine opera tippet.

Mr D. In grey and black.

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THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION.

(A Conversation.)

Characters.

Mr and Mrs John Dashwood.

Scene—The morning room at Norlands. It is a comfortably furnished room.

Properties required:—Door R. Window C. Tables R. and L. Chairs on either side. Books and a work basket with household mending in it.

N.B.—“He (Mr John Dashwood) was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold-hearted, and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed; but he was, in general, well respected, for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been still more [20]respectable than he was; he might even have been made amiable himself, for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife. But Mrs Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself; more narrow-minded and selfish.”—Sense and Sensibility, Chap. I.

Enter Mrs John Dashwood, Door R. She is in mourning.