GENERAL EDITORS

H. RICHARD ARCHER, Clark Memorial Library RICHARD C. BOYS, University of Michigan EDWARD NILES HOOKER, University of California, Los Angeles JOHN LOFTIS, University of California, Los Angeles

ASSISTANT EDITOR

W. EARL BRITTON, University of Michigan

ADVISORY EDITORS

EMMETT L. AVERY, State College of Washington BENJAMIN BOYCE, Duke University LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, University of Michigan CLEANTH BROOKS, Yale University JAMES L. CLIFFORD, Columbia University ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, University of Chicago SAMUEL H. MONK, University of Minnesota ERNEST MOSSNER, University of Texas JAMES SUTHERLAND, Queen Mary College, London H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., University of California, Los Angeles

INTRODUCTION

During his extraordinarily long career as an actor, Charles Macklin wrote several plays. The earliest is King Henry VII; or, The Popish Imposter, a tragedy based on the Perkin Warbeck story, performed at Drury Lane 18 January 1745/6 and published the same year. As the Preface states, it "was design'd as a Kind of Mirror to the present Rebellion"; and it provided the author with a part in which he could express, through the character of Lord Huntley, his own aversion to foreign influences in the land, to "French and Priest-rid Weakness" and "Romish Tyranny." This and his succeeding plays were obviously composed to provide parts for himself; so no others were published until he had retired. They were his stock in trade, since Macklin seldom maintained a stable connection with one of the theatres. Instead he appeared now here now there for brief engagements or on special occasions, rather than as a regular member of the company, often carrying his plays with him. Thus a number have survived only in manuscript. The Larpent Collection contains seven,—the tragedy just

mentioned, four farces, and two five-act comedies, one of these in three states.[1] This is The Man of the World here reproduced for the first time in over a century and a half, despite the opinion expressed by Isaac Reed, in 1782, that "This play, … in respect to originality, force of mind, and well-adapted satire, may dispute the palm with any dramatic piece that has appeared within the compass of half a century…."[2] Originally it had been performed in Dublin in 1764 under the title The True-born Scotchman, but in 1770 the Examiner of Plays in London refused to license it. It was re-submitted in 1779 and again forbidden, but was finally allowed and performed at Covent Garden on 10 May 1781, with the author in the part of Sir Pertinax Macsycophant.

Himself irascible and passionate, Macklin had been the most admired Shylock of his century. His specialty was the performance of character parts, often dialect roles, either broadly comic or cruel and ironic. The central figure of this, his best comedy, is such a part. It combines those features that the author could portray so effectively, the broad dialect, the callous selfishness, the hypocrisy, the passionate resistance to all appeals to sentiment and the imperviousness to affection. One can detect in the creation strong resemblances to Macklin's interpretation of Shylock, something of Sir Giles Overreach, who was also known to eighteenth-century play-goers, and possibly of Tartuffe. In his resolute defiance of the conventions of comedy of sensibility, Macklin resisted the pressure to allow Sir Pertinax to soften in the end and terminate the play on a note of happy reconciliation and family harmony.

In thus preserving the toughness of Sir Pertinax consistently to the end, Macklin remained true to the tradition of critical, satiric comedy that he had been bred in but that by this time had almost disappeared. Protesting against the refusal of a license for his play, in 1779, Macklin composed a defense of satiric comedy. He insists upon the reformatory function of comedy and upon the satiric method of performing this task. "The business of the Stage," he says, "is to correct vice, and laugh at folly … This piece is in support of virtue, morality, decency, and the Laws of the Land: it satirizes both public and private venality, and reprobates inordinate passions and tyrannical conduct in a parent … Now, with regard to my comedy is it not just and salutary that the subtilty [sic], pride, insolence, cunning, and the thorough-paced villany [sic] of a backbiting Scotchman should be ridiculed? What a wretched state the Comic Muse and the Stage would be reduced to, were the prohibition of laughing at the corruption and other vices of the age to prevail!"[3] True the Comic

Muse, long sick, as Garrick said in his prologue to She Stoops to Conquer, had almost died, though farces had done something to sustain her. Fielding's and Garrick's little satires had largely avoided sentiment; and the personal, often gross farces of Foote had continued to use ridicule. But even these lack the forceful pertinacity of Macklin's denunciation of hypocrisy and vice. It is perhaps too bad that he fell so far into caricature in the portraits of Lord Lumbercourt and his daughter, that the main love stories do smack of sensibility, and that he turned his hero into a mouthpiece for the opposition to the Tory ministries of the early years of George III. And it is perhaps true that all the characters, including Sir Pertinax, are more true to the theatre than to the actual life of the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Still, Sir Pertinax is vigorous, and the author's position is unmistakable.

The earliest portion of The Man of the World in the Larpent Collection is a passage in the fourth act of The School for Husbands, performed at Covent Garden as The Married Libertine on 28 January 1761, twenty years before The Man of the World was finally presented in London. Elsewhere I have compared the three complete versions submitted to the Examiner and have shown why the Lord Chamberlain could not permit it to be licensed.[4]

The Man of the World was first published in England, with Macklin's farce Love a la Mode, by subscription, in a handsome quarto. Facing the title-page is a portrait of the author, "in his 93.^d Year," engraved by John Condé after Opie, for which the trustees of the fund paid 25 guineas. Preceding the text of the play are the list of subscribers, which contains many eminent names, an "Advertisement from the Editor," explaining the occasion and method of publication and giving an account of the handling of the fund by the trustees, and a dedication to Lord Camden, dated 10 December 1792, and signed by Macklin, though one rather suspects that Arthur Murphy had a hand in its composition. These pieces of front matter have been omitted from the present reproduction as containing nothing material to the reading or interpretation of the play. The Dramatis Personae follow, and the text begins with signature B page 1, and runs to signature K2^{V}. Love a la Mode, not reprinted here, then follows, with separate title-page and pagination.

Dougald MacMillan

The University of North Carolina

Notes to the Introduction

[Footnote 1: See Catalogue of the Larpent Plays in the Huntington Library (1939), Nos. 55, 58, 64, 96, 184, 274, 311, 500, 558.]

[Footnote 2: Biographia Dramatica (1812), III, 15.]

[Footnote 3: Quoted by Edward Abbot Parry, Charles Macklin (1891), p. 179.]

[Footnote 4: See The Huntington Library Bulletin, No. 10 (October, 1936), pp. 79-101.]

THE MAN OF THE WORLD.

A COMEDY.

BY

MR. CHARLES MACKLIN.

AS PERFORMED AT THE

THEATRES-ROYAL, DRURY-LANE AND COVENT-GARDEN.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY J. BELL, BOOKSELLER TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES, AT THE BRITISH LIBRARY, STRAND.

MDCCXCIII.

[Illustration: CHARLES MACKLIN (COMEDIAN) in his 93d. Year.

Printed for the Author by John Bell British Library London July 1792]

Dramatis Personæ.

COVENT-GARDEN.

Men.

SIR PERTINAX MACSYCOPHANT, MR. WILSON. EGERTON, MR. LEWIS. LORD LUMBERCOURT MR. THOMPSON. SIDNEY, MR. AICKIN. MELVILLE, MR. HULL. COUNSELLOR PLAUSIBLE MR. CUBITT. SERJEANT EITHERSIDE, MR. MACREADY. SAM, MR. LEDGER. JOHN, MR. ROCK TOMLINS, MR. EVATT.

Women

LADY MACSYCOPHANT MISS. PLATT. LADY RODOLPHA LUMBERCOURT, MRS. POPE. CONSTANTIA, MRS. MOUNTAIN. BETTY HINT, MRS. ROCK. NANNY, MRS. DEVERETT.

THE MAN OF THE WORLD.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A Library. Enter BETTY and SAM.

Betty. The Postman is at the gate, Sam; pray step and take in the letters.

Sam. John the gardener is gone for them, Mrs. Betty.

Bet. Bid John bring them to me, Sam: tell him I am here in the Library.

Sam. I'll send him to your ladyship in a crack, madam. [Exit.

Enter NANNY.

Nan. Miss Constantia desires to speak to you, Mrs. Betty.

Bet. How is she now? any better, Nanny?

Nan. Something; but very low spirited still. I verily believe it is as you say.

Bet. O! I would take my book oath of it. I can not be deceived in that point, Nanny.—Ay, ay, her business is done, she is certainly breeding, depend upon it.

Nan. Why so the housekeeper thinks too.

Bet. Nay, I know the father—the man that ruined her.

Nan. The deuce you do?

Bet. As sure as you are alive, Nanny;—or I am greatly deceived,—and yet—I can't be deceived neither.—Was not that the cook that came gallopping so hard over the common just now?

Nan. The same:—how very hard he gallopped;—-he has been but three quarters of an hour, he says, coming from Hyde Park Corner.

Bet. And what time will the family be down?

Nan. He has orders to have dinner ready by five; there are to be lawyers and a great deal of company here—he fancies there is to be a private wedding to night between our young Master Charles and Lord Lumbercourt's Daughter, the Scotch lady, who he says is just come post from Bath in order to be married to him.

Bet. Ay, ay—Lady Rodolpha—nay, like enough—for I know it has been talked of a good while;—well, go tell Miss Constantia that I will be with her immediately.

Nan. I shall, Mrs. Betty. [Exit.

Bet. Soh! I find they all believe the impertinent creature is breeding—that's pure! it will soon reach my lady's ears, I warrant.

Enter JOHN.

Well, John, ever a letter for me?

John. No, Mrs. Betty, but here is one for Miss Constantia.

Bet. Give it me.—Hum!—my lady's hand.

John. And here is one which the postman says is for my young master—but it's a strange direction. [reads.] 'To Charles Egerton, Esq.'

Bet. O! yes, yes,—that is for Master Charles, John:—for he has dropped his father's name of Macsycophant, and has taken up that of Egerton—the parliament has ordered it.

John. The parliament!—pr'ythee, why so, Mrs. Betty?

Bet. Why you must know, John, that my lady, his mother, was an Egerton by her father:—she stole a match with our old master, for which all her family on both sides have hated Sir Pertinax and the whole crew of the Macsycophants ever since.

John. Except Master Charles, Mrs. Betty.

Bet. O! they dote upon him, though he is a Macsycophant—he is the pride of all my lady's family:—and so, John,—my lady's uncle, Sir Stanley Egerton dying an old bachelor, and, as I said before, mortally hating our old master, and all the crew of the Macsycophants, left his whole estate to Master Charles, who was his godson,—but on condition that he should drop his father's name of Macsycophant, and take up that of Egerton—and that is the reason, John, why the parliament has made him change his name.

John. I am glad that Master Charles has got the estate, however—for he is a sweet tempered gentleman.

Bet. As ever lived:—but come, John, as I know you love Miss Constantia, and are fond of being where she is—I will make you happy;—you shall carry her letter to her.

John. Shall I, Mrs. Betty?—I am very much obliged to you.—Where is she?

Bet. In the housekeeper's room settling the dessert.—Give me Mr. Egerton's letter, and I'll leave it on the table in his dressing room. I see it's from his brother Sandy.—So,—now go and deliver your letter to your sweetheart, John.

John. That I will;—and I am much beholden to you for the favour of letting me carry it to her:—for though she should never have me, yet I shall always love her, and wish to be near her, she is so sweet a creature.—Your servant, Mrs. Betty. [Exit.

Bet. Your servant, John. Ha, ha, ha! poor fellow! he perfectly dotes on her—and daily follows her about with nosegays and fruit and the first of every thing in the season.—Ay, and my young Master Charles too is in as bad a way as the gardener:—in short—every body loves her,—and that's one reason why I hate her.—For my part, I wonder what the deuce the men see in her—a creature that was taken in for charity.—I am sure she's not so handsome.—I wish she was out of the family once:—if she was, I might then stand a chance of being my lady's favourite myself;—ay, and perhaps of getting one of my young masters for a sweetheart,—or at least the chaplain: but as to him, there would be no such great catch if I should get him. I will try for him however,—and my first step shall be to tell the doctor all I have discovered about Constantia's intrigues with her spark at Hadley.—Yes,—that will do,—for the doctor loves to talk with me,—loves to hear me talk too,—and I verily believe—he, he, he!—that

he has a sneaking kindness for me,—and this story will make him have a good opinion of my honesty,—and that, I am sure, will be one step towards——O! bless me,—here he comes,—and my young master with him.— I'll watch an opportunity to speak to him as soon as he is alone,—for I will blow her up I am resolved,—as great a favourite and as cunning as she is. [Exit.

Enter EGERTON in great warmth and emotion; SIDNEY following, as in conversation.

Sid. Nay, dear Charles, but why are you so impetuous?—why do you break from me so abruptly?

Eger. [With great warmth.] I have done, sir,—you have refused.—I have nothing more to say upon the subject.—I am satisfied.

Sid. [With a glow of tender friendship.] Come, come—correct this warmth,—it is the only weak ingredient in your nature, and you ought to watch it carefully. If I am wrong,—I will submit without reserve;—but consider the nature of your request—and how it would affect me:—from your earliest youth, your father has honoured me with the care of your education, and the general conduct of your mind; and, however singular and morose his temper may be to others,—to me—he has ever been respectful and liberal.—I am now under his roof too,—and because I will not abet an unwarrantable passion by an abuse of my sacred character, in marrying you beneath your rank,—and in direct opposition to your father's hopes and happiness,—you blame me—you angrily break from me—and call me unkind.

Eger. [With tenderness and conviction.] Dear Sidney,—for my warmth I stand condemned: but for my marriage with Constantia, I think I can justify it upon every principle of filial duty,—honour,—and worldly prudence.

Sid. Only make that appear, Charles, and you know you may command me.

Eger. [With great filial regret.] I am sensible how unseemly it appears in a son to descant on the unamiable passions of a parent;—but, as we are alone, and friends,—I cannot help observing in my own defence,—that when a father will not allow the use of reason to any of his family—when his pursuit of greatness makes him a slave abroad—only to be a tyrant at home,—when a narrow partiality to Scotland, on every trivial occasion, provokes him to enmity even with his wife and children, only because they dare give a national preference where they think it most justly due;—and when, merely to gratify his own ambition, he would marry his son into a family he detests,—[great warmth.] sure, Sidney, a son thus circumstanced (from the dignity of human reason and the feelings of a loving heart) has a right—not only to protest against the blindness of a parent, but to pursue those measures that virtue and happiness point out.

Sid. The violent temper of Sir Pertinax, I own, cannot be defended on many occasions, but still—your intended alliance with Lord Lumbercourt—

Eger. [With great impatience.] O! contemptible!—a trifling, quaint, haughty, voluptuous, servile tool,—the mere lackey of party and corruption; who, for the prostitution of near thirty years and the ruin of a noble fortune, has had the despicable satisfaction, and the infamous honour—of being kicked up and kicked down—kicked in and kicked out,— just as the insolence, compassion, or convenience of leaders predominated:—and now—being forsaken by all parties, his whole political consequence amounts to the power of franking a letter, and the right honourable privilege of not paying a tradesman's bill.

Sid. Well, but, dear Charles, you are not to wed my lord,—but his daughter.

Eger. Who is as disagreeable to me for a companion, as her father for a friend, or an ally.

Sid. What—her Scotch accent, I suppose, offends you?

Eger. No, upon my honour—not in the least,—I think it entertaining in her;—but were it otherwise—in decency—and indeed in national affection (being a Scotchman myself), I can have no objection to her on that account,—besides, she is my near relation.

Sid. So I understand. But pray, Charles, how came Lady Rodolpha, who, I find, was born in England, to be bred in Scotland?

Eger. From the dotage of an old, formal, obstinate, stiff, rich, Scotch grandmother, who, upon a promise of leaving this grandchild all her fortune, would have the girl sent to her to Scotland, when she was but a year old, and there has she been ever since, bred up with this old lady in all the vanity and unlimited indulgence that fondness and admiration could bestow on a spoiled child—a fancied beauty and a pretended wit.

Sid. O! you are too severe upon her.

Eger. I do not think so, Sidney; for she seems a being expressly fashioned by nature to figure in these days of levity and dissipation:— her spirits are inexhaustible: her parts strong and lively; with a sagacity that discerns, and a talent not unhappy in painting out the weak side of whatever comes before her:—but what raises her merit to the highest pitch in the laughing world is her boundless vanity and spirits in the exertion of those talents, which often render her much more ridiculous than the most whimsical of the characters she exposes—[in a tone of friendly affection.] and is this a woman fit to make my happiness?— this the partner that Sidney would recommend to me for life?—to you, who best know me, I appeal.

Sid. Why, Charles, it is a delicate point,—unfit for me to determine—besides, your father has set his heart upon the match.

Eger. [Impatiently.] All that I know:—but still I ask and insist upon your candid judgment,—is she the kind of woman that you think could possibly contribute to my happiness? I beg you will give me an explicit answer.

Sid. The subject is disagreeable;—but, since I must speak,—I do not think she is.

Eger. [a start of friendly rapture.] I know you do not; and I am sure you never will advise the match.

Sid. I never did. I never will.

Eger. [With a start of joy.] You make me happy,—which I assure you I never could be with your judgment against me in this point.

Sid. And yet, Charles, give me leave to observe, that Lady Rodolpha, with all her ridiculous and laughing vanity, has a goodness of heart, and a kind of vivacity that not only entertains,—but upon seeing her two or three times, she improves upon you; and when her torrent of spirits abates, and she condescends to converse gravely—you really like her.