Kitabı oku: «The Group», sayfa 3

done in consequence of the request of a much respected friend. It was wrote off with little attention.... I do not think it has sufficient merit for the public eye.

By the same post, she sent him another scene from "The Group."

Whatever you do with either of them [meaning the manuscripts], you will doubtless be careful that the author is not exposed, and hope your particular friends will be convinced of the propriety of not naming her at present.

Mrs. Warren was the author of several other plays, among them "The Adulateur" and "The Retreat," which preceded "The Group" in date of composition, and "The Sack of Rome." The latter was contained in a volume of poems issued in 1790, in which "The Ladies of Castile" was dedicated to President Washington, who wrote the author a courteous note in acknowledgment.

In the preface to this volume, Mrs. Warren gives her impressions of the stage, which are excellent measure of the regard Americans of this period had for the moral influence of the playhouse. Thus, she writes:

Theatrical amusements may, sometimes, have been prostituted to the purposes of vice; yet, in an age of taste and refinement, lessons of morality, and the consequences of deviation, may, perhaps, be as successfully enforced from the stage, as by modes of instruction, less censured by the severe; while, at the same time, the exhibition of great historical events, opens a field of contemplation to the reflecting and philosophic mind.

But Mrs. Warren was not entirely given over to the serious occupations of literary work. We find her on intimate terms with Mrs. Adams, the two of them in their daily association calling each other Portia and Marcia.

Who actually played in "The Group" when it was given a performance is not recorded. We know, however, from records, that it was given for the delectation of the audiences assembled "nigh head quarters, at Amboyne." This evidence is on the strength of Mrs. Warren's own statement. Sanction for the statement appears on the title-pages of the New York, John Anderson, issue of 1775,⁶ and the Jamaica-Philadelphia, James Humphreys, Jr., edition of the same year.

I have selected this play, "The Group," as being an excellent example of the partisan writing done at the time of our American Revolution, and no one can afford to overlook it, although its actable qualities, according to our present-day judgment, are doubtful.

PROLOGUE

 
What! arm'd for virtue, and not point the pen,
Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men,
Dash the proud gamester from his gilded car,
Bare the mean heart which lurks beneath a star,
 

*  *  *

 
Shall I not strip the gilding off a knave,
Unplac'd, unpension'd, no man's heir, or slave?
I will, or perish in the gen'rous cause;
Hear this and tremble, ye who 'scape the laws;
Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave,
Shall walk the world in credit to his grave;
To virtue only, and her friends, a friend,
The world beside may murmur, or commend.
 

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Lord Chief Justice Hazlerod,

Judge Meagre,

Brigadier Hateall,

Hum Humbug, Esquire,

Sir Sparrow Spendall,

Hector Mushroom,—Col.

Beau Trumps,

Dick, the Publican,

Simple Sapling, Esquire,

Monsieur de François,

Crusty Crowbar, Esquire,

Dupe,—Secretary of State,

Scriblerius Fribble,

Commodore Bateau,

Collateralis,—a new-made Judge.

Attended by a swarm of court sycophants, hungry harpies, and unprincipled danglers, collected from the neighbouring villages, hovering over the stage in the shape of locusts, led by Massachusettensis in the form of a basilisk; the rear brought up by Proteus, bearing a torch in one hand, and a powder-flask in the other. The whole supported by a mighty army and navy, from Blunderland, for the laudable purpose of enslaving its best friends.

ACT I

Scene I. A little dark Parlour in Boston:

Guards standing at the door

Hazlerod, Crusty Crowbar, Simple Sapling, Hateall, and Hector Mushroom

Simple

 
I know not what to think of these sad times,
The people arm'd,—and all resolv'd to die
Ere they'll submit.–
 

Crusty Crowbar

 
I too am almost sick of the parade
Of honours purchas'd at the price of peace.
 

Simple

 
Fond as I am of greatness and her charms,
Elate with prospects of my rising name,
Push'd into place,—a place I ne'er expected,
My bounding heart leapt in my feeble breast.
And ecstasies entranc'd my slender brain.—
But yet, ere this I hop'd more solid gains,
As my low purse demands a quick supply.—
Poor Sylvia weeps,—and urges my return
To rural peace and humble happiness,
As my ambition beggars all her babes.
 

Crusty

 
When first I listed in the desp'rate cause,
And blindly swore obedience to his will,
So wise, so just, so good I thought Rapatio,
That if salvation rested on his word
I'd pin my faith, and risk my hopes thereon.
 

Hazlerod

 
Any why not now?—What staggers thy belief?
 

Crusty

 
Himself—his perfidy appears—
It is too plain he has betray'd his country;
And we're the wretched tools by him mark'd out
To seal its ruins—tear up the ancient forms,
And every vestige treacherously destroy,
Nor leave a trait of freedom in the land.
Nor did I think hard fate wou'd call me up
From drudging o'er my acres,
Treading the glade, and sweating at the plough,
To dangle at the tables of the great;
At bowls and cards to spend my frozen years;
To sell my friends, my country, and my conscience;
Profane the sacred sabbaths of my God;
Scorn'd by the very men who want my aid
To spread distress o'er this devoted people.
 

Hazlerod

 
Pho—what misgivings—why these idle qualms,
This shrinking backwards at the bugbear conscience;
In early life I heard the phantom nam'd,
And the grave sages prate of moral sense
Presiding in the bosom of the just;
Or planting thongs about the guilty heart.
Bound by these shackles, long my lab'ring mind,
Obscurely trod the lower walks of life,
In hopes by honesty my bread to gain;