Henry Nevil Payne - The Fatal Jealousie (1673)

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Series Five:
_Drama_
No. 2

Henry Nevil Payne, _The Fatal Jealousie_ (1673)

With an Introduction by
Willard Thorp

The Augustan Reprint Society
November, 1948
_Price One Dollar_

* * * * *

_GENERAL EDITORS_

RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_

_ASSISTANT EDITOR_

W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_

_ADVISORY EDITORS_

EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_
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_

Lithoprinted from copy supplied by author
by
Edwards Brothers, Inc.
Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A.
1949

* * * * *

INTRODUCTION

None of Henry Nevil Payne's plays, _The Fatal Jealousie_ (1673), _The
Morning Ramble_ (1673), _The Siege of Constantinople_ (1675), bears his
name on the title-page. Plenty of external evidence exists, however, to
prove his claim to them. John Downes, in _Roscius Anglicanus_ (1708),
has this to say: "_Loves Jealousy_ [i.e. _The Fatal Jealousy_], and _The
Morning Ramble_. Written by Mr. _Nevil Pain_. Both were very well
_Acted_, but after their first run, were laid aside, to make Room for
others; the Company having then plenty of new Poets" (ed. Montague
Summers, London, n.d., pp. 33-34). "After the Tempest, came the Siege of
_Constantinople_, Wrote by Mr. _Nevill Pain_" (_ibid._, p. 35).
Langbaine's _An Account of the English Dramatick Poets_ (1691) gives no
author for _The Siege of Constantinople_, but says of _The Fatal
Jealousy_ that it is "ascribed by some to Mr. Pane" (p. 531) and of _The
Morning Ramble_ that this "Play is said to be written by One Mr. _Pane_,
and may be accounted a good Comedy" (p. 541).

We do not have to depend on the early historians of the English drama
for certain knowledge that Payne was for a time a dramatist. Though his
brief excursion into the theater must later have seemed to him a minor
episode in his life, Payne's enemies were aware of the fact that he was
a playwright and have written their knowledge into the record of his
treasonable activities. For example, the author of a burlesque life of
Payne, which contains, so far as I know, the only connected account of
his activities, makes this useful remark: "Then [after his return from
Ireland in 1672] he composes a Tragedy of a certain Emperour of
Constantinople, whom he never knew; but in whose person he vilifies a
certain Prince [Charles II], whom he very well knows" (_Modesty
Triumphing over Impudence_ ... 1680, pp. 18-19).

As an agent of the Catholic party, Payne had excellent reasons for
wishing to keep his affairs well veiled. What we know of his life has
had to be pieced together from information found in state papers, court
records, and "histories" of the branches of the damnable Popish plots.*
The date of his birth is not known, nor of his death, unless Summers was
correct in giving it (without supporting evidence) as 1710 (_The Works
of Aphra Behn_, 1915, V, 519).

[Footnote: For this biographical sketch of Payne I have drawn
on my "Henry Nevil Payne, Dramatist and Jacobite Conspirator,"
published in _The Parrott Presentation Volume_, Princeton, 1935,
pp. 347-381.]

Payne's first opportunity to serve the Catholic party came, apparently,
in 1670, when he went to Ireland in the employ of Sir Elisha Leighton,
who was private secretary to the new lord lieutenant, Lord Berkeley. By
April 1672 Berkeley's pro-Catholic rule had so alienated the city
council of Dublin that he was ordered to return to England and the Earl
of Essex was sent out in his place. From Essex we learn that Payne was
deeply involved in the machinations of Berkeley and that he continued to
stir up trouble in Ireland even after his return to England.

Back in England, possibly by mid-May, 1672, Payne must have plunged at
once into work for the theater. _The Fatal Jealousy_ was performed at
the Duke's Theatre in Dorset Garden in August 1672 and _The Morning
Ramble_ was shown at the same theater three months later. Both plays
were performed before the King (Allerdyce Nicoll, _A History of
Restoration Drama_, 1923, p. 309). Payne's third and last play, _The
Siege of Constantinople_, which reached the stage in November 1674, is
of particular interest in view of his long association with the cause of
James, Duke of York. Payne found his plot in the _General Historie of
the Turkes_ by Knolles, but he altered history to produce a work which
would compliment James. It is significant that there is no prototype in
Knolles for Thomazo (James), the brother of the last Christian emperor
of Constantinople (Charles). At the end of the play the Turks conquer
the city (_sc._, the Dutch and London) and the Emperor is slain. Here
was a warning to Englishmen of what would happen if their double-dealing
"Lord Chancellor" (Shaftesbury)--the villain of the piece--were to
succeed in alienating the two royal brothers.

During the years 1678-1680 Payne's name dodges in and out of the
thousands of words written about the Popish plot. He was pretty
certainly a friend of Edward Coleman (Secretary to the Duchess of York)
who was executed for treason in December, 1678. After a hearing before
the Privy Council, Payne was held over for trial and imprisoned in the
King's Bench. Confinement did not in the least hinder him from giving
aid to the Catholic party in organizing its counter-attack. According to
_Mr. Tho. Dangerfields Particular Narrative_ (1679) he was one of the
chief devisers of the Presbyterian Plot and, as "chief Pen-man" for the
Catholics, the author of several "scandalous books" about their enemies.
Payne was again before the Privy Council in November 1679, but
eventually all the principals in the Catholic plots to discredit the
government were released.

After the accession of James II Payne kept more respectable company.
References to him during these years say nothing about any work for the
theater, but his pen was still busy--from 1685 to 1687 in the cause of
religious toleration. In 1685 the Duke of Buckingham published _A Short
Discourse upon the Reasonableness of Men's having a Religion or Worship
of God_. A portion of this pamphlet had been written as a letter to
Payne. When Buckingham's work brought on a pamphlet war, Payne (together
with William Penn) rushed to his defence. The debate grew hotter when
James made the first Declaration of Indulgence in April 1687. Payne was
one of the chief controversialists in the war of words that followed.
Another literary friend of these years, and an extravagant admirer of
his devotion to the Stuarts, was Aphra Behn. She dedicated her _Fair
Jilt_ to Payne in 1688 in terms which suggest that he had favored her in
tangible ways.

With the deposition of James, the years of Payne's greatest activity
begin. The story of his life for the next twelve years is intricate and
exciting, for he has now moved out of the company of writers into the
dark world of secret agents and prison-guards. Though he was confined in
the Fleet by January 1688/89, Payne went boldly ahead with plans for
what would be the first Jacobite conspiracy, the Montgomery Plot. By
some means he contrived to escape to Scotland, where his plans had, of
course, more fertile soil in which to grow. Once more in custody, he was
moved from one prison to another, but the Privy Council was incapable of
persuading the Scottish authorities to "put the rogue to it." As more
and more evidence came out showing how deeply involved Payne was in the
Montgomery Plot, the Scottish Privy Council finally was prevailed upon
to put Payne to the torture. On Dec. 10, 1690, he bore the pain of two
hours under thumb and leg screws with such fortitude that some of the
Councilors were "brangled" and believed that his denials must be the
words of an honest man. The Earl of Crawford, one of the witnesses to
this, the last occasion in Britain in which a political prisoner was
tortured, was so moved that he reported to the Earl of Melville that
such manly resolution could come only from a deep religious fervor:
"[Payne] did conceive he was acting a thing not only generous towards
his friends and accomplices, but likewise so meritorious, that he would
thereby save his soule, and be canoniz'd among the saints" (_Letters ...
to George Earl of Melville_, Bannatyne Club, 1843, pp. 582-3).

For nearly eleven years more Payne was moved from one Scottish prison to
another, while the Scottish Privy Council sought to turn him over to the
English and the Privy Council in London endeavored to force him to trial
in Scotland. The truth is that Jacobitism was so rife in high places
that they whose duty it would be to prosecute him feared what might
happen if he were brought to the bar.

Finally, in February 1700/01, Payne was released. He made his way to the
Stuart court at St. Germain, whose incorruptible secret agent he had
been for twelve years. It was fitting that the last information we have
of him during his life is derived from his "Brief memorial by way of
preface to some proposals for your Majesty's service," a detailed letter
of advice instructing the exiled king how he might yet recapture his
throne (printed in _Original Papers; containing the Secret History of
Great Britain_, 1775, I, 602-5). When last heard from, Payne had yet
another conspiracy planned and ripened, to submit to his sovereign's
approval.

Payne's _Fatal Jealousy_ has intrinsic merit. If he had written more
works for the theater, he might have been remembered with Southerne and
possibly with Otway. But for the scholar this tragedy will be chiefly
interesting for the Shakespearean influences to be found in it.
Evidently Payne held Shakespeare in great reverence, and the result is
that _The Fatal Jealousy_ is one of the earliest examples of the return
to the Shakespearean norm in tragedy after the interlude of the heroic
play. Payne ridicules the love and honor theme in _The Morning Ramble_
where he makes Rose say (p. 54):

Love and Honour are the two great Wheels, on which all business
moves. The Tradesman cheats you upon his Honour, and like a Lord
swears by that, but that he particularly loves you, you should
not have it so. No Tragedy, Comedy, Farse, Demi-Farse, or Song
nowadayes, but is full of Love and Honour: Your Coffee-drinking
Crop-ear'd Little Banded-Secretary, that pretends not to know more
of Honour than it's Name, will out of abundance of Love be still
sighing and groaning for the Honour of the Nation.

The speaker of the Epilogue to _The Fatal Jealousy_ pointedly reminds
the audience that they have listened to a genuine tragedy and not to an
heroic play. Its author has not relied on the "rules of art," but hopes
he may have succeeded by some "Trick of Nature."

Most obvious of the Shakespearean influences is the jealousy theme in
which Don Antonio is modelled on Othello, Caelia on Desdemona, and
Jasper on Iago. My colleague, Professor E.L. Hubler, who has a vast deal
of the Shakespearean text in his memory, finds twenty-two possible
echoes or parallels. Of these we agree that at least fourteen are
certain. The influences strike in most impressively from _Othello_,
_Hamlet_, _Much Ado_, _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and _The Tempest_. Let
me cite two or three unmistakable echoes. Jasper's manner of arousing
Antonio's jealousy (pp. 17-19) and even his words recall Iago's mental
torturing of the Moor in _Othello_, III, 3. Throughout Gerardo's
soliloquy on death, at the opening of Act III, there is continuous
reference to Hamlet's "To be or not to be." The antecedent of "madness
methodiz'd" (p. 35) is easily spotted, as is the parallel between
Flora's dream (p. 63) which will not leave her head and the song that
will not go from Desdemona's mind. So far as I can discover, the seekers
for Shakespearean allusions in seventeenth-century writing have not
located this rich mine.

It is to be regretted that when _The Fatal Jealousy_ came to the stage
the company had, as Downes says, "plenty of new poets," and so the play
was laid aside after the first run. The performance must have been
brilliant. The greatest of Restoration stage villains, Sandford, played
Jasper. The parts of Caelia, Eugenia, and the Witch were taken by
veteran actors. "Mr. Nath. Leigh" made his second appearance on the
stage in this performance as Captain of the Watch. The lecherous Nurse
to Caelia was played by the famous Nokes whose sobriquet of "Nurse
Nokes" may have come to him with this role rather than from the part he
took, seven years later, in Otway's _Caius Marius_.

The text of _The Fatal Jealousy_ presents no special difficulties. Such
slight variations as I have found among the eleven copies I have
examined--chiefly dropped letters and the imperfect impression of some
words--can be accounted for as accidents to be expected in the printing
off of the sheets of a single edition. There seems to be no significance
in the fact that the title-page in some copies shows an ornament placed
between the second rule and the word _London_.

The copy of the play here reproduced is owned by the University of
Michigan, and is reprinted by permission.

WILLARD THORP
Princeton University

* * * * *

The
Fatal Jealousie.

A
TRAGEDY.

Acted at the Duke's Theatre.
Licensed _Novemb. 22, 1672_.
_Roger L'Estrange._

_LONDON_,

Printed for _Thomas Dring_, at the _White
Lyon_, next _Chancery-Lane_ end in
_Fleet-street_. 1673.

The Actors Names.

_Don Antonio_. A Jealous Lord. Mr. _Smith_.
_Don Gerardo_. Friend to _Antonio_. Mr. _Medburn_.
_Don Francisco_. A Young Lord. Mr. _Young_.
_Don Sebastian_. Friend to _Francisco_. Mr. _Crosby_.
_Jasper_. A Villain. Servant to _Antonio_. Mr. _Sandford_.
_Pedro_. Servant to _Antonio_. Mr. _Burford_.
Servant To _Gerardo_. Mr. _Norris_.
_Captain of the Watch_. Mr. _Nath. Leigh_.
_Souldiers_.

Women.

_Caelia_. Wife to _Antonio_. Mrs. _Shadwel_.
_Eugenia_. Sister to _Caelia_. Mrs. _Betterton_.
_Flora_. Waiting Woman to _Caelia_. Mrs. _Osborn_.
_Nurse_ To _Caelia_. Mr. _Nokes_.
_Witch_. Aunt to _Jasper_. Mrs. _Norris_.
_Spirits_.
_Gipsies_.

PROLOGUE

By Mr. _Smith_.

_To you, great Sovereign Wits, that have such sway,
Without Controul to save, or damn a Play;
That with a pish, my Anthony, or so,
Can the best Rally'd sence at once or'e throw;
And by this pow'r, that none must question now,
Have made the most Rebellious Writers bow,
Our Author, here his low Submission brings,
Begging your pass, calls you the Stages Kings;
He sayes, nay, on a Play-Book, swears it too,
Your pox uppo'nt damn it, what's here to do?
Your nods, your winks, nay, your least signs of Wit,
Are truer Reason than e're Poet writ,
And he observes do much more sway the Pit.
For sitting there h' has seen the lesser gang
Of Callow Criticks down their heads to bang;
Lending long Ears to all that you should say,
So understand, yet never hear the Play:
Then in the Tavern swear their time they've lost,
And Curse the Poet put e'm to that cost.
And if one would their just Exceptions know,
They heard such, such, or such a one say so;
And thus in time by your dislikes they rise,
To be thought Judges, though indeed but spyes.
This is not fair your Subjects to betray
To those that strive to Rival you in sway;
That will in time by your expence of wit,
Usurp or'e us, and your successors sit.
These and some other dangers to remove,
We beg that though this Play you disapprove,
Say nothing of it here, and when you're gone,
We give that leave you'le take to cry it down;
Thus you preserve your pow'r, and we shall be
From Fopps, and Demi-Criticks Censure free.

Subdu'd by force, we Tyrants thus obey,
But Ladys, you like lawful Monarches sway,
You Rule by Love, and Pardon faults with ease,
In Subjects that do all they can to please.
By faction they condemn, you by our Peers,
And he is guilty sure such Trial fears:
And though our Author pleads not guilty now.
And to his Tryal stands, he hopes that you,
Will not too strictly his accusers hear,
For if this Play can draw from you a Tear,
He'l slight the Wits, Half-Wits, and Criticks too;
And Judge his strength by his well pleasing you_.

The
Fatal Jealousie.

Act the First. Scene the First.

_The Curtain drawn Discovers _Don Antonio_ and _Caelia_ in
Morning-Gowns. Chamber and Bed._

_Cael._ My Lord, you well may blame my conduct of that bus'ness,
Since it produc'd such dismal Accidents,
As my heart trembles but to think upon;
Yet for _Don Lewis_'s Innocence and mine,
In the contrivance of that Fatal Meeting;
I must for ever, during Life, be Champion.
And, as he with his dying breath protested,
He ne're meant wrong to you; so am I ready
To dye a Martyr to my Innocence.

_Anto._ Come, come, these are but wyles to Palliate things,
Can you believe me stupid, or an Ass?
To think my Wife should meet a Man i' th' Night;
Nay, more; a Man that was my seeming Friend;
Yet taken in at Window privately!
Nay, which was most, stay with him two full hours,
And in a Room made proper by a Bed,
And yet not Cuckold me; the thing's too plain,
I do not doubt the deed, which Iv'e Reveng'd
In part, by killing him: No, I am mad,
That you should think so meanly still of me,
As to hope time may alter my belief;
Which is by such unerring Reasons fixt:
Or else that you suspect my Truth, when I have sworn
By all things sacred; nay upon my Honour
(Which I am so Jealous of) that if you would
Relate the truth of your so close amours,
I from my memory would blot it all,
And look on you at worst, but as the Widdow
Of your dead Couzen _Lewis_.

_Cael._ Good my Lord,
Forbear to use these killing Arguments,
Which every moment give me many Deaths,
Rather be like your self, that's Gen'rous,
And kill me once for all; torment me not
By giving no belief, either to Vows
Or Actions that have spoke my Innocence:
Reflect (my Lord) on the unwearied pains
Iv'e took to gain your pardon for his Death.
Think with what patience I've suffer'd still
Your often starts of Passion, which sometimes
Have ne're produc'd th' effects of Cruelty.
And without boast, my Lord, you well do know
My Friends were much too strong for yours at Court,
Then had I but made known your severe Carriage,
Or suffer'd your surprizal--'tis too plain;
Yoor Life had been a forfeit to the Law.
And were I but the wanton Wife you think me,
What wou'd more welcome be then that Revenge--
Here on my knees I beg again, my Lord,
You would perswade your self, that what I told you
Was cause of that close meeting, was so truly,
And no invention; and as this Day
Began our Nuptial Joys, so let it end
Our Marriage Discords; then shall I have cause
To keep it Annually a Festival;
In thanks to Heav'n for two such mighty Blessings.

_Anto._ _Caelia_, stand up, I will perswade my self.
By this ---- I will as much, as e're I can,
[Kisses her.
That thou art Innocent, for if thou bee'st not,
What Woman in the World ought to be thought so?
But prethee be discreet, mannage thy Actions
With strictest Rules of Prudence, for if not,
Like to a Bow or'e-bent, I shall start back,
And break with passion on thee: wilt thou be careful?

_Cael._ Oh! I am paid for all my sufferings,
This kindness does or'e-joy me, which, my Lord,
Let me for ever lose when any Act
Of mine, shall justly make a forfeit of it.

_Enter _Flora_._

_Flor._ My Lord, here's _Don Gerardo_ come to see you.

_Anto._ Admit him in.

[Exit _Flora_.

_Cael._ I will retire, my Lord.

_Anto._ You need not, _Caelia_.
[Enter _Gerardo_.
Welcome, _Gerardo_, this is like a Friend,
That name should know no Ceremonious Laws,
Let them make formal Visits that maintain,
As formal Friendships; ours is try'd and true.

_Gerar._ This, as I take it, was your Wedding-day,
At which (your pardon, Madam, for a truth.)
I was a Jealous waiter; your great worth
Made me to fear I then had lost a Friend,
And in that room should an acquaintance find.

_Cael._ But now, my Lord, you see how you mistook,
I was a Rival to his Mistresses,
But to his Friends, one to increase their number.

_Ger._ I find the truth so great, I wish you may
Live long and happy to possess that place;
Yet I'le confess I did not lose my fears,
Till my dear Friend was pleas'd to use my Sword,
As Second, in the Quarrel with your Kinsman,
The Unfortunate _Don Lewis_; and I protest
Such Joy I met to be employ'd by him,
That I ne're sought to know what caus'd the quarrel.

_Cael._ My Lord, I beg your pardon,
I have some little bus'ness in my Closet
Which forces me retire.

_Ger._ Your Lady looks as if she were displeas'd.

_Anto._ That Kinsman whom I slew is never nam'd,
But if she hears it she avoids the place.

_Ger._ I'm troubled much to be th' occasion now.

_Anto._ No matter, Friend, she only knows the cause,
Why from such Friendship we grew Enemies,
And there is reason why she should be griev'd.

_Ger._ That sudden and so secret Quarrel
Did much amaze all _Naples_;
And I (as Actor in it) often have been prest
To tell the cause, which yet I never could.

_Anto._ No, Friend, nor never must:
The Gen'rous _Lewis_; so I'le call him now,
Since he so bravely dy'd, was alwayes just
During that little time he breath'd this Air;
After his mortal Wound, for he Related
A Story of it fitted us for pardon:
Yet never told that Secret, only known
On Earth, to him, to _Caelia_ and my self.

_Ger._ I'me not inquisitive, nor never was,
There may be secrets fit for no Mans hearing.
And 'tis an Act of Friendship full as great
To tell a Friend I hide a secret from him,
As to Relate it, since they both shew Candor--

_Anto._ Happy _Antonio_, in a Friend so just!

_Ger._ Happy _Gerardo_, rather, that can say
He's sure he has a Friend, that dares employ him;
For confidence in Friends makes Friendship sure.

_Anto._ And dearest Friend, I'le not doubt yours so much,
To think you would not use this Life of mine,
As 'twere your own in any thing concerns you.

_Ger._ Ne're doubt it, Friend, I soon shall find occasion
Boldly to use the power, and to speak truth;
My coming now was chiefly to that purpose;
Though I intended to spend this day too
In Recreation with you, and to see you Bedded,
Like a new Bride and Bride-groom,
Then wishing you long: long and lasting Joys,
Retire, and wish to Copy out your Life.

_Anto._ Has _Don Gerardo_ Service for _Antonio_,
His own _Antonio_ and yet defers to name it?
Speak your Commands, that I as swift may flye
To put 'em into Action as I did
At first to meet those pleasures Lovers long for.

_Ger._ My fears perswade me I shall speak too soon,
Yet dress your self, and come into the Garden,
I with impatience there will wait to tell you.

_Anto._ Go then, you shall not long be silent.
[Ex. _Gerardo_.
Who waits there?
[Enter _Pedro_, and Exit.
_Pedro_, call my Wife--
My Wife, said I! _Gerardo_, didst thou know
The secret fears contain'd within this Bosome,
Thou'dst sooner pitty me, than wish my Life:
How can I think her story of the Jewels,
And other matters 'bout her Fathers Will,
Could have produc'd so scandalous a Meeting?
And yet she still avows it! Oh, Jealousie!
Where will these panting fears still hurry me?
I hourly seek to find what I wou'd give,
A thousand Worlds my heart would ne're believe;
And yet for what do I thus vex my self?
For that, which if 'twas gone, I cou'd not miss;
No, would I could, for then I'de never fear,
But when I found her Honour gone astray,
I'd send her Life to fetch mine back again.

_Enter _Caelia_._

_Cael._ What's your Command, my Lord?

_Anto._ Prethee, my Dear, do not retire too much,
But shew a merry freedom to our Friends,
That they may think us happy, themselves welcome.

_Cael._ My Lord, I shall, and reason have to do it;
But I desire you would dispence my absence,
Only a little time, I being preparing
A general Confession I shall make to Morrow.

_Anto._ You'l be too long about it.

_Cael._ No, my Lord, I take the shortest way
In writing what my thoughts can re-collect.

_Ant._ You would not let me read it, when y'have done?

_Cael._ I do confess I should be loath, my Lord.
But yet from any Sin concerns your self,
I am as free as are the purer Angels,
Or may I find no profit by my Prayers.

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