


Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org





THE HUNCHBACK.
THE LOVE-CHASE.


                                    BY
                          JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES

                       CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
                _LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
                                  1887.




INTRODUCTION


James Sheridan Knowles was born at Cork in 1784, and died at Torquay in
December, 1862, at the age of 78.  His father was a teacher of elocution,
who compiled a dictionary, and who was related to the Sheridans.  He
moved to London when his son was eight years old, and there became
acquainted with William Hazlitt and Charles Lamb.  The son, after his
school education, obtained a commission in the army, but gave up
everything for the stage, and made his first appearance at the Crow
Street Theatre, in Dublin.  He did not become a great actor, and when he
took to writing plays he did not prove himself a great poet, but his
skill in contriving situations through which a good actor can make his
powers tell upon the public, won the heart of the great actor of his day,
and as Macready's own poet he rose to fame.

Before Macready had discovered him, Sheridan Knowles lived partly by
teaching elocution at Belfast and Glasgow, partly by practice of
elocution as an actor.  In 1815 he produced at the Belfast Theatre his
first play, _Caius Gracchus_.  His next play, _Virginius_ was produced at
Glasgow with great success.  Macready, who had, at the age of seventeen,
begun his career as an actor at his father's theatre in Birmingham, had,
on Monday, October 5th, 1819, at the age of twenty-six, taken the
Londoners by storm in the character of Richard III Covent Garden reopened
its closed treasury.  It was promptly followed by a success in
_Coriolanus_, and Macready's place was made.  He was at once offered
fifty pounds a night for appearing on one evening a week at Brighton.  It
was just after that turn in Macready's fortunes that a friend at Glasgow
recommended to him the part of Virginius in Sheridan Knowles's play
lately produced there.  He agreed unwillingly to look at it, and says
that in April, 1820, the parcel containing the MS. came as he was going
out.  He hesitated, then sat down to read it that he might get a
wearisome job over.  As he read, he says, "The freshness and simplicity
of the dialogue fixed my attention; I read on and on, and was soon
absorbed in the interest of the story and the passion of its scenes, till
at its close I found myself in such a state of excitement that for a time
I was undecided what step to take.  Impulse was in the ascendant, and
snatching up my pen I hurriedly wrote, as my agitated feelings prompted,
a letter to the author, to me then a perfect stranger."  Bryan Procter
(Barry Cornwall) read the play next day with Macready, and confirmed him
in his admiration of it.

Macready at once got it accepted at the theatre, where nothing was spent
on scenery, but there was a good cast, and the enthusiasm of Macready as
stage manager for the occasion half affronted some of his seniors.  On
the 17th of May, 1820, about a month after it came into Macready's hands,
_Virginius_ was produced at Covent Garden, where, says the actor in his
"Reminiscences," "the curtain fell amidst the most deafening applause of
a highly-excited auditory."  Sheridan Knowles's fame, therefore, was
made, like that of his friend Macready, and the friendship between author
and actor continued.  Sheridan Knowles had a kindly simplicity of
character, and the two qualities for which an actor most prizes a
dramatist, skill in providing opportunities for acting that will tell,
and readiness to make any changes that the actor asks for.  The
postscript to his first letter to Macready was, "Make any alterations you
like in any part of the play, and I shall be obliged to you."  When he
brought to the great actor his play of _William Tell_--_Caius Gracchus_
had been produced in November, 1823--there were passages of writing in it
that stopped the course of action, and, says Macready, "Knowles had less
of the tenacity of authorship than most writers," so that there was no
difficulty about alterations, Macready having in a very high degree the
tenacity of actorship.  And so, in 1825, _Tell_ became another of
Macready's best successes.

Sheridan Knowles continued to write for the stage until 1845, when he was
drawn wholly from the theatre by a religious enthusiasm that caused him,
in 1851, to essay the breaking of a lance with Cardinal Wiseman on the
subject of Transubstantiation.  Sir Robert Peel gave ease to his latter
days by a pension of 200 pounds a year from the Civil List, which he had
honourably earned by a career as dramatist, in which he sought to appeal
only to the higher sense of literature, and to draw enjoyment from the
purest source.  Of his plays time two comedies {1} here given are all
that have kept their place upon the stage.  As one of the most earnest
dramatic writers of the present century he is entitled to a little corner
in our memory.  Worse work of the past has lasted longer than the plays
of Sheridan Knowles are likely to last through the future.

                                                                     H. M.



THE HUNCHBACK.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


(AS ORIGINALLY PERFORMED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1832.)
_Julia_                             Miss F. KEMBLE.
_Helen_                             Miss TAYLOR.
_Master Walter_                     Mr. J. S. KNOWLES.
_Sir Thomas Clifford_               Mr. C. KEMBLE.
_Lord Tinsel_                       Mr. WRENCH.
_Master Wilford_                    Mr. J. MASON.
_Modus_                             Mr. ABBOTT.
_Master Heartwell_                  Mr. EVANS.
_Gaylove_                           Mr. HENRY.
_Fathom_                            Mr. MEADOWS.
_Thomas_                            Mr. BARNES.
_Stephen_                           Mr. PAYNE.
_Williams_                          Mr. IRWIN.
_Simpson_                           Mr. BRADY.
_Waiter_                            Mr. HEATH.
_Holdwell_                          Mr. <DW12>.
_Servants_                          Mr. J. COOPER.
                                    Mr. LOLLETT.


ACT I.


SCENE I.--A Tavern.


On one side SIR THOMAS CLIFFORD, at a table, with wine before him; on the
other, MASTER WILFORD, GAYLOVE, HOLDWELL, and SIMPSON, likewise taking
wine.

_Wilf_.  Your wine, sirs! your wine!  You do not justice to mine host of
the Three Tuns, nor credit to yourselves; I swear the beverage is good!
It is as palatable poison as you will purchase within a mile round
Ludgate!  Drink, gentlemen; make free.  You know I am a man of
expectations; and hold my money as light as the purse in which I carry
it.

_Gay_.  We drink, Master Wilford.  Not a man of us has been chased as
yet.

_Wilf_.  But you fill not fairly, sirs!  Look at my measure!  Wherefore a
large glass, if not for a large draught?  Fill, I pray you, else let us
drink out of thimbles!  This will never do for the friends of the nearest
of kin to the wealthiest peer in Britain.

_Gay_.  We give you joy, Master Wilford, of the prospect of advancement
which has so unexpectedly opened to you.

_Wilf_.  Unexpectedly indeed!  But yesterday arrived the news that the
Earl's only son and heir had died; and to-day has the Earl himself been
seized with a mortal illness.  His dissolution is looked for hourly; and
I, his cousin in only the third degree, known to him but to be unnoticed
by him--a decayed gentleman's son--glad of the title and revenues of a
scrivener's clerk--am the undoubted successor to his estates and coronet.

_Gay_.  Have you been sent for?

_Wilf_.  No; but I have certified to his agent, Master Walter, the
Hunchback, my existence, and peculiar propinquity; and momentarily expect
him here.

_Gay_.  Lives there anyone that may dispute your claim--I mean
vexatiously?

_Wilf_.  Not a man, Master Gaylove.  I am the sole remaining branch of
the family tree.

_Gay_.  Doubtless you look for much happiness from this change of
fortune?

_Wilf_.  A world!  Three things have I an especial passion for.  The
finest hound, the finest horse, and the finest wife in the kingdom,
Master Gaylove!

Gay.  The finest wife?

_Wilf_.  Yes, sir; I marry.  Once the earldom comes into my line, I shall
take measures to perpetuate its remaining there.  I marry, sir!  I do not
say that I shall love.  My heart has changed mistresses too often to
settle down in one servitude now, sir.  But fill, I pray you, friends.
This, if I mistake not, is the day whence I shall date my new fortunes;
and, for that reason, hither have I invited you, that, having been so
long my boon companions, you shall be the first to congratulate me.

[Enter Waiter]

_Waiter_.  You are wanted, Master Wilford.

_Wilf_.  By whom?

_Waiter_.  One Master Walter.

_Wilf_.  His lordship's agent!  News, sirs!  Show him in!

[Waiter goes out]

My heart's a prophet, sirs--The Earl is dead.

[Enter MASTER WALTER]

Well, Master Walter.  How accost you me?

_Wal_.  As your impatience shows me you would have me.
My Lord, the Earl of Rochdale!

_Gay_.  Give you joy!

_Hold_.  All happiness, my lord!

_Simp_.  Long life and health unto your lordship!

_Gay_.  Come!
We'll drink to his lordship's health!  'Tis two o'clock,
We'll e'en carouse till midnight!  Health, my lord!

_Hold_.  My lord, much joy to you!

_Simp_.  All good to your lordship!

_Wal_.  Give something to the dead!

_Gay_.  Give what?

_Wal_.  Respect!
He has made the living!  First to him that's gone,
Say "Peace!"--and then with decency to revels!

_Gay_.  What means the knave by revels?

_Wal_.  Knave?

_Gay_.  Ay, knave!

_Wal_.  Go to!  Thou'rt flushed with wine!

_Gay_.  Thou sayest false!
Though didst thou need a proof thou speakest true,
I'd give thee one.  Thou seest but one lord here,
And I see two!

_Wal_.  Reflect'st thou on my shape?
Thou art a villain!

_Gay_.  [Starting up.]  Ha!

_Wal_.  A coward, too!
Draw!

[Drawing his sword.]

_Gay_.  Only mark him! how he struts about!
How laughs his straight sword at his noble back.

_Wal_.  Does it?  It cuffs thee for a liar then!

[Strikes GAYLOVE with his sword.]

_Gay_.  A blow!

_Wal_.  Another, lest you doubt the first!

_Gay_.  His blood on his own head!  I'm for you, sir!

[Draws.]

_Clif_.  Hold, sir!  This quarrel's mine!

[Coming forward and drawing.]

_Wal_.  No man shall fight for me, sir!

_Clif_.  By your leave,
Your patience, pray!  My lord, for so I learn
Behoves me to accost you--for your own sake
Draw off your friend!

_Wal_.  Not till we have a bout, sir!

_Clif_.  My lord, your happy fortune ill you greet!
Ill greet it those who love you--greeting thus
The herald of it!

_Wal_.  Sir, what's that to you?
Let go my sleeve!

_Clif_.  My lord, if blood be shed
On the fair dawn of your prosperity,
Look not to see the brightness of its day.
'Twill be o'ercast throughout!

_Gay_.  My lord, I'm struck!

_Clif_.  You gave the first blow, and the hardest one!
Look, sir; if swords you needs must measure, I'm
Your mate, not he!

_Wal_.  I'm mate for any man!

_Clif_.  Draw off your friend, my lord, for your own sake!

_Wilf_.  Come, Gaylove! let's have another room.

_Gay_.  With all my heart, since 'tis your lordship's will.

_Wilf_.  That's right!  Put up!  Come, friends!

[WILFORD and Friends go out.]

_Wal_.  I'll follow him!
Why do you hold me?  'Tis not courteous of you!
Think'st thou I fear them?  Fear!  I rate them but
As dust! dross! offals!  Let me at them!--Nay,
Call you this kind? then kindness know I not;
Nor do I thank you for't!  Let go, I say!

_Clif_.  Nay, Master Walter, they're not worth your wrath.

_Wal_.  How know you me for Master Walter?  By
My hunchback, eh!--my stilts of legs and arms,
The fashion more of ape's than man's?  Aha!
So you have heard them, too--their savage gibes
As I pass on,--"There goes my lord!" aha!
God made me, sir, as well as them and you.
'Sdeath!  I demand of you, unhand me, sir!

_Clif_.  There, sir, you're free to follow them!  Go forth,
And I'll go too: so on your wilfulness
Shall fall whate'er of evil may ensue.
Is't fit you waste your choler on a burr?
The nothings of the town; whose sport it is
To break their villain jests on worthy men,
The graver still the fitter!  Fie for shame!
Regard what such would say?  So would not I,
No more than heed a cur.

_Wal_.  You're right, sir; right,
For twenty crowns!  So there's my rapier up!
You've done me a good turn against my will;
Which, like a wayward child, whose pet is off,
That made him restive under wholesome check,
I now right humbly own, and thank you for.

_Clif_.  No thanks, good Master Walter, owe you me!
I'm glad to know you, sir.

_Wal_.  I pray you, now,
How did you learn my name?  Guessed I not right?
Was't not my comely hunch that taught it you?

_Clif_.  I own it.

_Wal_.  Right, I know it; you tell truth.  I like you for't.

_Clif_.  But when I heard it said
That Master Walter was a worthy man,
Whose word would pass on 'change soon as his bond;
A liberal man--for schemes of public good
That sets down tens, where others units write;
A charitable man--the good he does,
That's told of, not the half; I never more
Could see the hunch on Master Walter's back!

_Wal_.  You would not flatter a poor citizen?

_Clif_.  Indeed, I flatter not!

_Wal_.  I like your face--
A frank and honest one!  Your frame's well knit,
Proportioned, shaped!

_Clif_.  Good sir!

_Wal_.  Your name is Clifford--
Sir Thomas Clifford.  Humph!  You're not the heir
Direct to the fair baronetcy?  He
That was, was drowned abroad.  Am I not right?
Your cousin, was't not?--so succeeded you
To rank and wealth, your birth ne'er promised you.

_Clif_.  I see you know my history.

_Wal_.  I do.
You're lucky who conjoin the benefits
Of penury and abundance; for I know
Your father was a man of slender means.
You do not blush, I see.  That's right!  Why should you?
What merit to be dropped on fortune's hill?
The honour is to