epistolary novel from Jane Austen’s Juvenilia
script by Elizabeth Ann
Isabel
Laura
Young Laura
Laura’s Father-Polydore
Laura’s Mother-Claudia
Servant--Mary
Edward Lindsay (Talbot)
Aunt Philippa
Augusta
Lady Dorthea
Sir Edward
Sophia
Augustus
Servant (man or woman)
Policemen (2)
Postilion
Lord St. Clair
Philander
Gustavus
Servant
Macdonald
Janetta
Graham
Captain M’Kenzie
Servant
Act I
Scene: Isabel at a writing desk reads aloud her letter with Old Laura standing behind her somewhat in the shadows. There are three chairs and a table with flowers.
Isabel: How often, in answer to my repeated intreaties that you would give my Daughter a regular detail of the Misfortunes and Adventures of your Life, have you said:
Old Laura (saddened): No, my friend, never will I comply with your request till I may no longer be in Danger of again experiencing such dreadful ones.
Isabel: Surely that time is now at hand. You are this day 55. If a woman may ever be said to be in safety from the determined Perseverance of disagreeable Lovers and the cruel Persecutions of obstinate Fathers, surely it must be at such a time of Life. (O. Laura makes a disagreeable face)
O. Laura steps forward out of the shadows, and moves in front of the desk while Isabel leaves the stage.
O. Laura: Altho’ I cannot agree with you in supposing that I shall never be again exposed to Misfortunes as unmerited as those I have already experienced, yet to avoid the imputations of Obstinacy or ill-nature, I will gratify the curiosity of your Daughter; and may the fortitude with which I have suffered the many afflictions of my past Life, prove to her a useful lesson for the support of those which may befall her in her own.
O. Laura now takes her seat at the writing desk, and takes out a pen and paper. She reads aloud her letter as she writes it.
Laura: Dearest Marianne, as the Daughter of my most intimate friend, I think you entitled to my unhappy story, which your mother has so often solicited me to give you.
My father was the native of Ireland and an inhabitant of Wales (Laura’s father enters the room and sits in one of three large chairs situated in the opposite corner of the room. He is followed by Laura’s mother, who likewise sits and takes up some sewing. He begins to read.); my mother was the natural Daughter of a Scotch Peer by an Italian Opera-girl-I was born in Spain, and received my Education at a convent in France.
When I had reached my eighteenth Year, I was recalled by my Parents to my paternal roof in Wales. (Enter Young Laura and Isabel walking arm in arm slowly about the room whispering silently. They go unnoticed by Laura’s parents.) Our mansion was situated in one of the most romantic parts of the Vale of Uske. As lovely as I was, the Graces of my person were the least of my Perfections. Of every accomplishment accostomary to my sex, I was Mistress. My Acquirements had been wonderful for my age, and I had shortly surpassed my Masters. A sensibility too tremblingly alive to every affliction of my Friends, my Acquaintance, and particularly to every affliction of my own, was my own fault, if a fault it could be called. (A look of fatigue crosses her face and she sighs) I can neither sing so well nor Dance so gracefully as I once did-and I have entirely forgot the Minuet Dela Cour.
Our neighborhood was small, for it consisted only of your mother. It was there that our friendship commenced. Isabel was one and twenty. Tho’ pleasing both in her Person and Manners, (between ourselves) she never possessed the hundredth of my Beauty or Accomplishments (Isabel, with a look of shock glances at O. Laura, and Y. Laura pats her hand with a sympathetic look.) Isabel had seen the world, for she had passed 2 years at a boarding school in London; had spent a fortnight in Bath and had supped one night in Southampton.
Isabel: Beware my Laura, Beware of the insipid Vanities and idle Dissipations of the Metropolis of England; Beware of the unmeaning luxuries of Bath, or the stinking Fish of Southampton.
Y. Laura: Alas! How am I to avoid those evils I shall never be exposed to? What probability is there of my ever tasting the Dissipations of London, the Luxuries of Bath, or the stinking Fish of Southampton? I who am doomed to waste my Days of youth and Beauty in a humble Cottage in the Vale of Uske. How I long for the Deceitful Pleasures of the World.
Laura bids farewell to Isabel and joins her family in the remaining chair. The wind begins to howl outside. A violent knocking sounds on the outside door.
Father (starting): What noise was that?
Mother: It sounds like a loud rapping at the door.
Laura (crying out): It does indeed.
Father: I am of your opinion; it certainly does appear to proceed from some uncommon violence exerted against our unoffending door.
Laura (exclaims): Yes, I cannot help thinking it must be somebody who knocks for admittance.
Father: That is another point; we must not pretend to determine on what motive the person may knock-tho’ that someone does rap at the door, I am partly convinced.
A second tremendous rap alarms all three, and they lean forward in their chairs listening.
Mother: Had we better not go and see who it is? The servants are out.
Laura: I think we had.
Father: Certainly, by all means.
Mother: Shall we go now?
Father: The sooner the better.
Y. Laura (crying out): Oh! Let no time be lost.
The third most violent rap assaults their ears.
Mother: I am certain there is somebody knocking at the Door.
Father: I think there must.
Y. Laura: I fancy the servants are returned; I think I hear Mary going to the Door.
They take a collective sigh of relief and sit back in their chairs, resuming their previous activities.
Father: I’m glad of it for I long to know who it is.
Mary enters the room.
Mary: A young Gentleman and his Servant are at the door. They’ve lost their way, are very cold, and beg leave to warm themselves by our fire.
Y. Laura: Won’t you admit them?
Father: You have no objection, my Dear?
Mother: None in the World.
Mary leaves the room and quickly returned with a young man who enters with a sweep of his cape.
O. Laura: He was the most beauteous and amiable Youth I had ever beheld. My natural sensibilities had already been greatly affected by the suffering of the unfortunate stranger and no sooner did I first behold him, than I felt that on him the happiness or Misery of my future Life must depend.
The three stand up.
Edward: My name is Edward Lindsay.
O. Laura: For particular reasons, however, I shall conceal his name under that of…
Edward: Excuse me, I meant to say Talbot. I am the son of an English Baronet, and my mother has been many years no more. I also have a sister of middle size. My Father is a mean and mercenary wretch-it is only to such particular friends as this Dear Party that I would thus betray his failings.
O. Laura: We thus became acquainted with the youth, and proper introductions took place.
The four shake hands.
Edward: Your virtues, my amiable Polydore, yours Dear Claudia, and yours my Charming Laura, call on me to repose in you my confidence.
Laura, her mother, and her father bow.
Edward: My Father, seduced by the false glare of Fortune and the Deluding Pomp of Title, insisted on my giving my hand to Lady Dorthea. ‘No, never’ exclaimed I. ‘Lady Dorthea is lovely and Engaging; I prefer no woman to her; but know, Sir, that I scorn to marry her in compliance with your Wishes. No! Never shall it be said that I obliged my Father.’”
O. Laura: We all admired the noble Manliness of his reply.
Edward: Sir Edward was surprized; he had perhaps little expected to meet with so spirited an opposition to his will. “Where, Edward in the name of wonder (said he) did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish? You have been studying Novels, I suspect.” I scorned to answer: it would have been beneath my dignity. I mounted my Horse and followed by my faithful William, set for my Aunt’s. After having wandered some time on the bank of the Uske without knowing which way to go, I began to lament my cruel Destiny in the bitterest and most pathetic Manner. It was now perfectly dark, not a single star was there to direct my steps, and I know not what might have befallen me, had I not at length discerned thro’ the solemn Gloom that surrounded me a distant Light, which, as I approached it, I discovered to be the cheerful Blaze of your fire. And now, my Adorable Laura (he takes her hand) when may I hope to receive that reward of all the painful sufferings I have undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to which I have ever aspired. Oh! When will you reward me with Yourself?”
Y. Laura: This instant, Dear and Amiable Edward.
The two embrace, and Laura’s father goes to his chair where the book he was reading is discovered to be a Bible. Whereupon he brings the Bible to the pair of lovers, and they place their hands upon it.
O. Laura: We were immediately united by my Father, who, tho’ he had never taken orders, had been bred to the Church. We remained but a few days after our Marriage in the Vale of Uske. After taking an affectionate Farewell of my Father, my Mother, and my Isabel (all appear on the stage, and tearfully Laura embraces them all,) I accompanied Edward to his Aunt’s in Middlesex. (Everyone leaves the stage, the lovers first, followed by the rest. The lights dim except for around the desk. Phillipa enters as do the lovers. Phillipa looks very surprised by their arrival, and embraces both of them.)
O. Laura: Phillipa received us with every expression of affectionate Love. My arrival was indeed a most agreeable surprise to her, as she had not only been totally ignorant of my Marriage with her Nephew, but had never even the slightest idea of there being such a person in the World.
Augusta appears entering the room.
Edward: Sister, I would like you to meet my bride, Laura.
O. Laura: Augusta, the sister of Edward, was on a visit to Phillipa when we arrived. I found her to be exactly as her Brother had described her to be-of the middle size. (Augusta takes Laura’s hand) There was a disagreeable Coldness and Forbidding Reserve in her reception of me (none discernible to the audience. Augusta’s smile is very warm) which was equally Distressing and Unexpected; she had none of that interesting Sensibility in her manners and Address to me when we first met. Her arms were not opened to receive me into her heart, tho’ my own were extended to press her to mine.
Phillipa (addressing Laura): Why don’t we let you change out of your traveling clothes my dear?
She ushers Laura out of the room, and Edward and his sister awkwardly stroll about the room, both attempting to avoid the other. After a few moments Laura, now without her cloak, reenters behind the desk, not visible to the siblings. During the whole of the following conversation, O. Laura and Y. Laura make the same facial reactions to Edward and Augusta.
Augusta (turns to brother, look of sympathy): But do you think that my Father will ever be reconciled to this imprudent connection?
Edward: Augusta, I thought you had a better opinion of me, than to imagine I would so abjectly degrade myself as to consider my Father’s Concurrence in any of my Affairs, either of Consequence or concern to me. Tell me, Augusta, tell me with sincerity; did you ever know me consult his inclinations, or follow his Advice in the least trifling Particular, since the age of fifteen?
Augusta (exasperated): Edward, you are surely too diffident in your own praise. Since you were fifteen only! My Dear Brother, since you were five years old, I entirely acquit you of ever having willingly contributed to the Satisfaction of your Father. But still, I am not without apprehensions of your being shortly obliged to degrade yourself in your own eyes by seeking a support for your Wife in the Generosity of Sir Edward.
Edward: Never, never Augusta will I so demean myself. Support! What support will Laura want which she can receive from him?
Augusta: Only the very insignificant ones of Victuals and Drink.
Edward: Victuals and Drink! And dost thou then imagine that there is no other support for an exalted Mind (such as is my Laura’s) than the mean and indelicate employment of Eating and Drinking?
Augusta: None that I know of, so effacious.
Edward: And did you then never feel the pleasing Pangs of Love, Augusta. Does it appear impossible to your vile and corrupted Palate, to exist on Love? Can you not conceive the Luxury of living in every Distress that Poverty can inflict, with the object of your tenderest Affection?
Augusta: You are too ridiculous to argue with; perhaps, however, you may in time be convinced that…
Here Lady Dorthea enters the room, in front of the desk, with much sweeping of skirts, and head up in the air. Laura comes from around the desk.
Edward: Lady Dorthea!
Y. Laura: I have heard so much about you! I am Laura, Edward’s wife.
Lady Dorthea (icy): How do you do?
Augusta catches Lady D.’s eye and raises her eyebrows. Edward motions for them all to sit, oblivious to the fact that Lady D. is displeased. The lights dim leaving everyone but O. Laura in silhouette.
O. Laura: Altho’ Lady Dorthea’s visit was nominally to Phillipa and Augusta, yet I have some reason to imagine that to see me was a principle motive. Soon I perceived that tho’ Lovely and Elegant in her person, she was of that inferior order of Beings with regard to Delicate Feeling, tender Sentiments, and refined Sensibility, of which Augusta was one. She staid but a half an hour and neither, in the Course of her Visit, confided to me any of her secret thoughts, nor requested me to confide in her any of Mine. You will easily imagine, therefore, my Dear Marianne, that I could not feel any ardent affection or very sincere Attachment for Lady Dorthea.
Lady D. leaves the stage and the lights come back up. Sir Edward enters with Phillipa behind him, and Edward jumps up.
Edward: Sir Edward, I know the motive of your Journey here-You come with the base Design of reproaching me for having entered into an indissoluble engagement with my Laura without your Consent. But sir, I glory in the Act-It is my greatest boast, that I have incurred the displeasure of my Father!
Taking Y. Laura’s hand, Edward leads her out of the room leaving Sir Edward, Phillipa, and Augusta in total distress. The lights dim, excepting O. Laura, and everyone else leaves.
O. Laura: We took the carriage which remained outside the Door, and in it we were instantly conveyed to the home of Augustus, a particular friend of Edward’s, safely out of the hands of Sir Edward. We arrived in a few hours; and on sending in our names, we were immediately admitted to Sophia, the Wife of Edward’s friend. (Lights come up on Sophia tiding up around the room) After having been deprived during the course of 3 weeks of a real friend, imagine my transports at beholding one most truly worthy of the Name. (Enter Edward and Y. Laura). She was all Sensibility and Feeling. (Y. Laura and Sophia rush into one and other’s arms, amongst loud tears, and cries of ‘I love you’ or ‘my dearest’. O. Laura must talk much louder to talk over the din.) Having exchanged vows of mutual Friendship for the rest of our Lives, we unfolded to each other the most inward secrets of our Hearts.
Enter Augustus.
Edward: My Life! My soul!
Augustus: My Adorable Angel!
They fly into each other’s arms. Y. Laura and Sophia give each other pathetic looks, and alternately faint onto the large chairs. Lights go out, and come back up when all four are seated. Edward has a letter in his hand. Phillipa is seated at the desk writing, and O. Laura stands behind her.
Phillipa(reading aloud): Sir Edward is greatly incensed by your abrupt departure; he has taken back Augusta with him to Bedfordshire. Much as I wish to enjoy again your charming society, I cannot determine to snatch you from that of such dear and deserving Friends-When your visit to them is terminated, I trust you will return to the arms of your Phillipa.
The lights go out on Phillipa, and she leaves the stage, but O. Laura remains standing.
Y. Laura: Oh! Edward, let us write her right this moment in return to this kind invitation.
Edward (to everyone): How thoughtful my wife is!
Laura and Edward get up and Edward takes a seat at the desk with Y. Laura next to him, and O. Laura behind him.
Y. Laura (dictating): Dearest Phillipa, Thank you ever so much for your kind, no, no, for your warm invitation. We so enjoyed your home, and your company. Be sure that we will certainly avail ourselves of it, whenever we might have no where else to go. Edward and Laura. There, I think that is very suitable.
Sophia: Suitable, I think you are the most grateful couple I have ever met. What good friends we have!
Augustus (ringing a bell for the servant): We’ll have it sent directly.
Servant enters, and Edward hands him/her the folded letter. Edward and Y. Laura return to their chairs, and O. Laura sits back at the desk.
O. Laura: I know not how it was, but Phillipa was capricious enough to be displeased with our behavior and in a few weeks after, either to revenge our Conduct, or relieve her own solitude, married a young and illiterate Fortune-hunter.
Enter the servant with a letter upon a silver tray, handing it to Edward. After scanning the letter and handing it to Y. Laura, both exclaim.
Y. Laura: This surely will deprive us of her fortune which Phillipa had taught us to expect!
Edward: We must remember the endless misery to the deluded Bride, my Dear.
Augustus: Surely you can consider our home yours as well.
Y. Laura: Edward, as I know you feel as I do, I will venture to say that we neither wish nor shall ever leave, dearest Friends.
They all look at each other with love, when two British policeman enter. They all stand up, amazed. Policeman A grabs Augustus, while Policeman B blows his whistle, and Policeman A takes Augustus out of the room amongst shouts of protest. All three faint on their perspective chairs.
O. Laura: It seemed that Sophia and Augustus’ happiness had sprung from the disapproval of Parental Authority. After having so nobly disentangled themselves from the shackles of Cruel and Mercenary Parents, by a Clandestine Marriage, they were soon visited by us. By our arrival their expenses were considerably increased, yet they would have blushed at the idea of paying their Debts-Alas! What was their reward for such good behavior!
Enter the servant, who clears his/her throat. Edward, Laura, and Sophia eagerly wake and stand up.
Servant: Excuse me, but the Policeman wishes me to inform you that an Execution shall shortly take place.
All three sigh and faint again. Lights go out, except on O. Laura. Lights come back up on Y. Laura and Sophia who sit dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs.
O. Laura: When we had somewhat recovered, Edward went to London. Meanwhile, Sophia and I Deliberated as to what was the best Course to take. We decided that to quit the house was our greatest hope, for we expected the Officers of Justice to take possession of it at any moment. In vain did we count the tedious Moments of his Absence-in vain did we weep (weeping)-in vain did we sigh (sighing)-no Edward returned-This was too cruel-we could not support it-we could only faint (both faint).
The lights go out, and for the first time the scene is changed. The girls should be sitting in some contraption suggesting a carriage with the Postilion at the front. People walk by them quickly to give the appearance that the carriage is moving rapidly. O. Laura is standing on the carriage and talks to the audience.
O. Laura: After we had regained our composer, we left for London to search for Edward.
Y. Laura (repeatedly to everyone that passes, but too late for them to hear): Have you seen my Edward?
Postilion: Where am I to drive?
Y. Laura: To Newgate, gentle Youth, to see Augustus.
Sophia: Oh! No, no, I cannot go to Newgate; I shall not be able to support the sight of my Augustus-my feelings are sufficiently shocked by the recital of his Distress, but to behold it with my own Eyes, it would overpower my Sensibility.
Y. Laura: Return to the country.
Postilion: Yes, ma’am.
O. Laura: You may be surprised, my Dearest Marianne, that in the Distress I then endured, I should never once recall my Father and Mother. To account for this I must tell you that I had received notice soon after arriving at Augustus’ and Sophia’s that they had died, and I wasn’t afforded the happiness of becoming the Heiress to the House and Fortune. It seemed that none of it had ever been their own. I should have returned with pleasure to your Mother, and acquainted her with Dear Sophia, but she had lately married and been carried away to Ireland.
End of Act I
