KYNASTON. No, no, no, no, no! You miss the point entirely. Theatre is artifice. It’s make-believe. Pretend. The blood is not real blood. Othello’s not a real Moor. People come to the playhouse to engage with the imaginary. For a short break from their wretched, drivel-filled lives they can escape. Who’d go to the theatre to see real people saying real things about real life? That would be preposterous! We trade in magic. And we are trained to do it. Honed, groomed, athletes of the imagination. And these women – what training have they had, eh? I want nothing to do with it. The whole thing stinks!
He leaves in a huff and meets HART in the doorway.
Oh, Charles, darling, have you heard the news? Everything’s going to change.
HART. Yes, yes it is! Gentlemen, the Duke’s might have Moll Davies, but wait till you see what I’ve brought you.
KYNASTON. What – some actor-ess guttersnipe you’ve found on the streets, ha ha!
NELL enters.
Oh Jesus.
HART. Fellows. I’d like you to meet Nell Gwynn.
NED. The orange seller!
HART. Nell, this is Mr Killigrew. (To KILLIGREW.) I think you ought to try her out.
KILLIGREW. But she’s – (Hushed.) she’s a strumpet, Charles. No disrespect, ma’am.
NELL. None taken.
HART. Listen. I watched her out there, jesting like a court wit. So we’ve done a little work together, and, well… I think she has something unusual.
KYNASTON. Syphilis?
KILLIGREW. Miss Gwynn, you do realise acting requires arduous training. They’ve all trained.
KYNASTON. For years.
KILLIGREW. Not only the attitudes, but the training of / the voice –
KYNASTON. The voice, the breath, the face, the brow, the alignment of the arms, the tripping of the feet –
KILLIGREW. Let’s not overwhelm her.
NELL. Mr Hart’s taught me the attitudes; I think I know them all.
KYNASTON. Oh really? Which ‘all’ would that be? All three hundred and seventy-two attitudes according to the Burbage edition of 1661, or the revised copy, with the appendices on twenty-one varieties of grief as expressed by the left eyebrow?
NELL. Oh, I’ve no need of books, not when you’re learning ‘by Hart’.
HART is flattered. KYNASTON is disgusted.
KILLIGREW. Well, why don’t we have a little trial. See how you prosper. You see, Miss Gwynn, drama relies on intrigue. What can you communicate to the man you love without your father noticing?
NELL. Or your husband.
NED laughs. KILLIGREW gives him a look.
KILLIGREW. A woman is bestowed with one tool with which she can coax a man.
NELL. Oh, I know all about that.
KILLIGREW (handing her a fan). I meant your fan, Miss Gwynn.
NELL. So did I. My ‘fan’. (Fans herself.)
KYNASTON. The fan, Mistress Gwynn, is not simply a crass tool for cooling one’s brow. The language of the fan is a complex work. Where did you go to fan school? Oh, you didn’t. Exactly!
KILLIGREW. Mr Kynaston, perhaps you / could demonstrate.
KYNASTON. I shall demonstrate.
KILLIGREW. Very good.
KYNASTON. Watch.
KYNASTON, besotted with HART, performs his fan sequence with a jealous intensity to him.
(Hits his palm with his fan.) Love me. (Lets his fan go, so it dangles on the wrist ribbon, then gracefully swoops it up.)I belong to you. (Touches his cheek with his fan.) Kiss me on the cheek. (Places his fan on his heart; to HART.) My love for you is breaking my heart.
KYNASTON runs his fingers through the fan’s ribs.
KILLIGREW. Stroking the ribs.
NED. We need to talk.
KYNASTON peers at HART over the fan.
KILLIGREW. Peeping above.
NED. We are being watched.
KYNASTON moves the fan to his right and stares at HART.
KILLIGREW. Placement to the right.
NED. I see that you’re looking at another woman.
KYNASTON moves the fan to his left.
KILLIGREW. And the left.
NED. Stop flirting with that woman.
KYNASTON turns to NELL and makes a provocative gesture with the fan.
Edward!
KILLIGREW. I think perhaps we’ll ignore that one.
KILLIGREW (to NELL). Perhaps you could conjure a few lines, or –
NELL. I could sing you a ditty?
KILLIGREW. Why not? When you’re ready.
NELL begins to mimic the fan gestures which she’s learnt from KYNASTON. She turns it on. Her fan flirtation is brilliant. The men are all entranced… except KYNASTON, who is horrified.
NELL (singing).
Here dwells a pretty maid whose name is Sis,
If you’ve a mind you may come in and kiss –
Her hole, her hole, her holey, holey hole –
KYNASTON. Stop, STOP!
NELL (continuing her song).
Her whole Estate is sev’nteen pence a year.
Yet you may kiss her if you come but near.
NELL, now enjoying herself, continues, with the musicians now in full swing.
Sis meets a farmer taller than an oak,
Lays down his fork and calls on her to stroke –
His cock, his cock, his cocky, cocky cock,
His cocker spaniel yelping at his knee
Oh shan’t you stroke him, Sis? Oh Sis, for me!
Sis and the farmer they decide to wed,
Sun going down and when they go to bed
They bang, they bang, they bangy, bangy –
KYNASTON (interrupting). Enough! No woman can play a woman as well as I can play a woman!
KILLIGREW. We must follow the fashion.
KYNASTON. Fashions die. Trust me. An actor-ess? It’ll never last. And I shall not be party to it – (Exits.)
DRYDEN. But my play! Come back! (Following KINGSTON off).
NANCY. Hey! Not out there with your show shoes on! (Following KYNASTON off.)
KILLIGREW. Oh sot. Hell, what have we got to lose? (To NELL.) You’ll start on two shillings a week. (Gives her a pouch of coins.) But watch your manners. We don’t need any more drama.
NELL. Not at the playhouse.
KILLIGREW. And none of your cheek.
NELL. Sir.
KILLIGREW (handing her a role). Here. Read Florimel. Have it learnt by the end of the week. Now, if you will excuse me, I seem to have a raging fire to put out. Kynaston! (Exits.)
HART. I told you not to provoke him.
NELL (flirting). Didn’t you like my song? (Singing.) ‘Here dwells a pretty maid…’
She beckons him with her fan.
HART. ‘Come here.’ All right then.
He moves towards her. She runs her fingers through the fan’s spokes.
‘You want to talk to me.’
She puts the fan in front of her face and peers over the top.
‘We are being watched’? (Looks around.) We’re not.
NELL indicates that NED is watching.
Ned!
NED. Sorry.
NED scuttles off. She fans herself quickly.
HART. ‘You don’t care about me in the least’?
NELL. Damn. No. Wait.
She places the fan on her hand.
HART. ‘Kiss you on the hand.’
He does. She moves the fan to her cheek.
‘Kiss you… on the cheek.’
He does. She moves the fan to her mouth.
‘Kiss you… kiss you…’ (Suddenly aware that they might be caught.) What, here?
NELL. It’s all right. No one’s watching.
HART turns and looks directly at the audience. Awkward. Then cuts his losses. Big snog.
Scene Four
Medea
A room in the Palace. There is an easel on stage. Huge fanfare with pomp, ceremony and golden regalia. Liveried SERVANTS stand at the ready as the trumpets herald the arrival of His Majesty KING C
HARLES II. CHARLES bursts in in full monarchical get-up. Everyone bows as he strides into the centre of the room and proclaims –
CHARLES. Where’s Barbara?!
ARLINGTON. Your Majesty?
CHARLES. I thought she was having her portrait painted.
ARLINGTON. She was.
CHARLES. Well?
ARLINGTON. I’m afraid she and Mr Lely didn’t quite see eye to eye.
CHARLES. Oh?
ARLINGTON. She asked to be painted as Venus.
CHARLES. But Lucy Walter is Venus.
ARLINGTON. Precisely.
CHARLES. So who… who did he paint her as?
ARLINGTON. Medea.
CHARLES. Hell and furies.
ARLINGTON. And now he’s with the Royal Physician, having a paintbrush removed from his nostril.
CHARLES. Why do women have to complicate everything? (Going.) Where is she?
ARLINGTON. Sir – please! Parliament needs an answer on the hearth tax.
CHARLES. Not now.
ARLINGTON. But the Ministers –
CHARLES. The Ministers can wait. I cannot concentrate!
ARLINGTON. Might I assist?
CHARLES. Arlington, don’t be a clodpoll. You know I can’t think when I haven’t… been satisfied. Now where on earth is –
SERVANT (announcing). Lady Castlemaine.
LADY CASTLEMAINE has arrived.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. You should have that dunce sent to the gallows. Your infant son could have painted a better likeness.
CHARLES. Even so, I do wish you wouldn’t injure my courtiers.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Medea!
CHARLES. At least she’s feisty. And I do like a woman with spunk.
LADY CASTLEMAINE and CHARLES look at each other. Chemistry oozes. She looks at the rest of the assembled COURT.
LADY CASTLEMAINE (quietly). Get out.
They leave. ARLINGTON stays.
All of you.
ARLINGTON. Ma’am. (Exits.)
CHARLES and LADY CASTLEMAINE are left alone.
CHARLES. Where have you been? I missed you.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. He embarrassed me, Charles. I won’t have it.
CHARLES. He shan’t do it again.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. No, I made sure of that. He shan’t be able to sit for a week.
CHARLES. Sit? I thought the brush went up his nostril?
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Darling, he’s an artist. He has a whole collection of brushes.
CHARLES. Had a whole collection. I shouldn’t think he’ll use them again.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Not unless he’s really trying to revolutionise the art world.
CHARLES. You do have a filthy mind. Come here.
They embrace. She pulls away.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Tell me what you want.
CHARLES. Isn’t it obvious?
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Tell me.
CHARLES. I want you, Barbara. Your mouth, your –
She lets him embrace her for a second then stops him.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Wait – What about what I want?
CHARLES. What you want? (Taken aback.) Oh. Well? What do you want?
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Kiss my neck. Slowly.
He does.
Now kiss me here – (Indicates her collarbone.) gently. (As he’s kissing her.) Put Clarendon to death.
CHARLES (pulling away). What?! But he’s my Chief Minister!
LADY CASTLEMAINE. We’re losing our grip on the Channel. He will sink us, Charles. Rebuild the fleet –
CHARLES. We don’t have the funds.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Because he has squandered them! Give Arlington the Treasury, and we’ll be the greatest traders in Europe.
CHARLES. It wouldn’t be good for relations.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. What sort of monarch do you want to be? A flaccid, feeble, slapsack of a man? Or a mighty king with a sceptre hard as rock.
CHARLES. I love it when you talk defence strategy.
CHARLES goes to kiss her. She moves off.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Not so fast. I’ve had an outfit shipped from India. Inspired by a little Sanskrit book with the most extraordinary illustrations. I’ll meet you in your chamber.
CHARLES. Be quick! Before I explode like a Spanish warship.
CHARLES goes, in a state of excitement. ARLINGTON emerges from his hideaway.
ARLINGTON. Barbara, don’t push him.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Arlington, I am the King’s beloved. His paramour. His muse. And I am rewarded generously for my services to King and country.
ARLINGTON. If only the King knew how much of the country you were servicing.
She gives him a look.
You need me. If you lose his favour, we both lose his ear.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. I have more than his ear, my friend. Now, if you please, the King awaits.
ARLINGTON. Go on, lie back and think of England.
LADY CASTLEMAINE. Lie back? Oh, Arlington. No wonder you never got further in politics.
She leaves. He watches her go, uneasy.
Scene Five
The Mask of Florimel
KYNASTON, DRYDEN, NED and KILLIGREW arrive for the rehearsal.
KYNASTON. She’s not here. She’s not here! I knew it! I’ll get into costume.
DRYDEN. She is here.
KYNASTON. Are you sure?
NED. She’s in the dressing room.
KYNASTON. Poxing hell.
KILLIGREW. Why don’t we look at the final act while we’re waiting. Dryden?
DRYDEN. Ah yes. About that.
KILLIGREW. Dryden?
DRYDEN. It’s almost done.
KILLIGREW. Let me see.
NED. Have you written a line for me?
DRYDEN (handing KILLIGREW a scrumpled scroll with multiple crossings out). Sir.
KILLIGREW. Where’s the rest of it?
DRYDEN. It’s nearly there, the prologue’s done now, and the middle bit, it’s just the ending.
KILLIGREW. Well, the ending’s pretty vital, isn’t it – dramatically? We’re not going for a groundbreaking new form of theatre where there’s a beginning, a middle and a very long pause! For goodness’ sake – we open next week! We don’t have an audience, we don’t have an ending and we seem to be missing a leading lady.
KYNASTON. I’ll do it!
KILLIGREW. Absolutely not! Nell is to play Florimel and you are to play Flavia (Pronounced with a long ‘a’ as in ‘bra’.) as we agreed.
KYNASTON. As you insisted.
HART arrives with NELL, NANCY and ROSE. NELL is wearing a splendid dress.
NANCY. Told you she’d scrub up all right.
NED. Fig me.
KYNASTON (looking at ROSE). And who’s this?
NELL. My sister.
KYNASTON (to KILLIGREW). Are we to have the whole scurvy pack of them descend on us?
NELL. Well, my dad’s dead and my mother’s a drunk so probably not.
KILLIGREW. Rehearsals are supposed to be private –
NELL. She just wants to watch.
ROSE. I can help.
NANCY indicates a basket of dirty stockings for darning. They sit down and start sewing.
KILLIGREW. Well?… Fine. Let’s start with Scene Three – and hope that Miss Gwynn remembers her lines.
HART. Well, if Dryden didn’t insist on changing them –
DRYDEN. I’m just trying to get it right!
KILLIGREW. Well, maybe next time you could get it right before we start rehearsals. Now, we begin in the park, by moonlight. Florimel and Celadon are wildly in love – but rumour has it he’s been amorous with other women.
NELL (to HART, warmly). The devil!
KILLIGREW. So she sets him a trap. Nancy, the mask if you will.
NANCY hands NELL a mask on a stick.
ROSE. Oh, I like that.
KYNASTON. Oh, please.
KILLIGREW. And onwards, Mr Hart.
Perhaps musicians begin to play.
HART. ‘What angel do I see her
e? (Blocking her path.) I’ faith, Lady Bright, I am got betwixt you and home. You are my prisoner until you resolve me one question.’
She makes a melodramatic sign that she is dumb.
‘Pox, I think she’s dumb!’
NELL makes a coy gesture.
‘Indeed? Then thou canst tell no tales.’
He goes to kiss her. She holds her fan up to stop him.
NELL. ‘Hold, hold!’
HART. ‘Ah! You have found your tongue!’
NELL. ‘’Twas time, I think. What had become of me… (Drying.) What had become of me…’
KILLIGREW. ‘If I had not’!
NELL. ‘If I had not.’
KILLIGREW. You said you’d learned it!
HART. ‘You are infinitely handsome. They may talk of Florimel, but in faith she must come short of you.’
NELL. ‘Have you seen this Florimel?’
HART. ‘I looked a little that way, but I had soon enough of her.’
NELL. ‘Indeed? They say you are betrothed.’
KYNASTON enters as Flavia and looks around for NELL.
KYNASTON. ‘Florimel, you are called within.’
HART. ‘Florimel?!’
A beat. KYNASTON stands on stage. The others look at him, waiting for him to exit.
Edward?
KYNASTON. What?
HART. That’s your cue to leave.
KILLIGREW. All right, let’s go back – we’ll go from / ‘Indeed’.
KYNASTON. I don’t think it’s clear.
KILLIGREW. What?
KYNASTON. Flavia should tell us why Florimel must return inside.
KILLIGREW. She doesn’t need to.
KYNASTON. Of course she does. The audience doesn’t know why Florimel must go in. There must be a pressing reason.
HART. It’s just a device.
KYNASTON. A device?
DRYDEN. I just put it in as a feed, Ed.
KYNASTON. A ‘feed’?
KILLIGREW. So let’s move / on.
KYNASTON. But it doesn’t explain why Flavia asks.
Nell Gwynn Page 3
