Queen Anne Read online

  Helen Edmundson

  QUEEN ANNE

  NICK HERN BOOKS

  London

  www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Original Production

  Characters

  Queen Anne

  Music

  About the Author

  Copyright and Performing Rights Information

  Queen Anne was first performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company in the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, on 20 November 2015. The cast was as follows:

  LADY CLARENDON

  Daisy Ashford

  ROBERT HARLEY

  Jonathan Broadbent

  JOHN CHURCHILL

  Robert Cavanah

  ARTHUR MAYNWARING

  Jonathan Christie

  QUEEN ANNE

  Emma Cunniffe

  COLONEL MASHAM

  Daniel Easton

  DR JOHN RADCLIFFE

  Michael Fenton Stevens

  SYDNEY GODOLPHIN

  Richard Hope

  SARAH CHURCHILL

  Natascha McElhone

  PRINCE GEORGE OF DENMARK

  Hywel Morgan

  ABIGAIL HILL

  Beth Park

  DANIEL DEFOE/WILLIAM III

  Carl Prekopp

  JEZEBEL

  Jenny Rainsford

  JACK CHURCHILL

  Elliott Ross

  LADY SOMERSET

  Anna Tierney

  JONATHAN SWIFT

  Tom Turner

  GROOM

  Ragevan Vasan

  All other parts played by members of the Company.

  Director

  Natalie Abrahami

  Designer

  Hannah Clark

  Lighting Designer

  Charles Balfour

  Music & Sound

  Ben & Max Ringham

  Original songs

  Helen Edmundson

  Movement

  Ann Yee

  Video Designer

  Will Duke

  Company Voice and Text Work

  Stephen Kemble

  Assistant Director

  Jane Moriarty

  Music Director

  John Woolf

  Casting

  Helena Palmer CDG

  Dramaturg

  Pippa Hill

  Production Manager

  David Tanqueray

  Costume Supervisor

  Rachel Dickson

  Company Manager

  Michael Dembowicz

  Stage Manager

  Linda Fitzpatrick

  Deputy Stage Manager

  Francesca Finney

  Assistant Stage Manager

  George Hims

  Producer

  Zoë Donegan

  Characters

  DR JOHN RADCLIFFE

  ARTHUR MAYNWARING

  DEFOE

  JEZEBEL

  ABIGAIL HILL

  ROBERT HARLEY

  JONATHAN SWIFT

  JOHN CHURCHILL, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH

  JACK CHURCHILL

  SIDNEY GODOLPHIN

  SARAH CHURCHILL

  KING WILLIAM III

  PRINCE GEORGE OF DENMARK

  LADY CLARENDON

  LADY SOMERSET

  QUEEN ANNE

  COLONEL MASHAM

  GROOM

  And ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, LORDS, MUSICIANS, PERFORMERS

  This ebook was created before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.

  ACT ONE

  Scene One

  HARLEY’s rooms. The Inns of Court, London, February 1702. Various GENTLEMEN are drinking and smoking. Here and there a WOMAN, for the sake of titillation. In one corner, DR JOHN RADCLIFFE, ARTHUR MAYNWARING, DEFOE and JEZEBEL prepare for a performance. At RADCLIFFE’s direction, a small group of MUSICIANS strikes up. RADCLIFFE steps forward –

  RADCLIFFE. Pray be upstanding for Her Royal Highness the Princess Anne!

  Enter MAYNWARING, dressed, crudely, as Anne. He is greeted by cheers, whistles and laughter from the assembled COMPANY, who get to their feet.

  And for her estimable husband, Prince George of Denmark!

  Enter DEFOE, dressed as George. He bows, and makes a show of delight about the cheers that greet him. They begin to sing.

  DEFOE. Tonight?

  MAYNWARING. Tonight it has to be,

  I’m ripe as a cherry upon the tree,

  Pray come and squeeze the pips from me,

  We’ll do it tonight for England.

  RADCLIFFE and JEZEBEL lead MUSICIANS and anyone who will sing in a chorus.

  COMPANY.

  So here’s a cheer for Princess Anne,

  She’s doing her duty the way she can,

  She’s up and down like any man,

  She’s giving it all for England.

  As the chorus is sung, MAYNWARING and DEFOE as Anne and George, chase each other and then simulate copulation in a bawdy way. They sing again.

  MAYNWARING. Oh, George, Oh George, I think I swell –

  DEFOE. But Annie, my pudding, how can you tell?

  MAYNWARING. I felt it move –

  DEFOE. Then all is well,

  But better make sure for England.

  COMPANY.

  So here’s a cheer for Princess Anne,

  She’s doing her duty the way she can,

  She’s up and down like any man,

  She’s giving it all for England.

  The whole room joins in the chorus now as ‘George’ chases ‘Anne’ – ‘Come here, my little one!’, ‘Oh, Georgie!’ He catches her and they start to copulate again.

  MAYNWARING. Oh, George, come quick…

  He does so.

  I think I start…

  RADCLIFFE steps into the scene, brandishing a surgical instrument.

  RADCLIFFE. Lie down please, madam, and legs apart –

  A cheer goes up from the COMPANY. ‘Anne’ lies down on a table. JEZEBEL makes a show of shielding ‘Anne’s’ rear from view, using a sheet.

  JEZEBEL. Now brace yourself, for this may smart…

  The audience love this. RADCLIFFE ducks under the sheet to examine ‘Anne’. The music creates a sense of suspension. ‘Anne’ begins to moan loudly – there is an ambiguity as to whether this is with pain or pleasure.

  HECKLER. Think of Hanover!

  More laughter.

  DEFOE. What news, good doctor, is she near?

  RADCLIFFE. No head. No feet. What have we here?

  MAYNWARING. It comes! It comes!

  RADCLIFFE. Watch out! Stand clear!

  ‘Anne’ begins to make the sound of bearing down and pushing. There is a drum roll.

  The Princess Anne,

  God bless her heart,

  Is now delivered of…

  ‘Anne’ lets out an enormous and protracted fart. This is met with cheers and laughter. The sheet is blown away. RADCLIFFE, ‘George’ and JEZEBEL look as though they will be blown away too. The fart stops for a second or two, but then continues, until it finally stops.

  DEFOE (mystically). A fart.

  ‘Anne’ sits up.

  MAYNWARING. Oh, but what a pretty one.

  As the whole room sings the chorus, JEZEBEL makes a bundle of the sheet, and puts it into ‘Anne’s’ arms, as though it is a baby. ‘Anne’ and ‘George’ look at it, lovingly.

  COMPANY.

  So here’s a cheer for Princess Anne,

  She’s doing her duty the way she can,

  She’s up and down like any man,

  She’s giving it all for England.

  ‘Anne’ and ‘George’ dance and the song comes to an end. The PERFORMERS take the applause.

  A woman (
ABIGAIL HILL) has entered during the song and listened to the end of it. She looks about the room. She is exceptionally plain with pox-scarred skin, poorly dressed, with a woollen cloak about her. DEFOE crosses in front of her.

  ABIGAIL. Excuse me? Is this… can this be the Inns of Court?

  DEFOE. The Inns of Court it is. Though some might say we’re better called the ‘Outs’.

  ABIGAIL. And are these Mr Harley’s rooms?

  MAYNWARING (calling from across the room). Defoe, your drink!

  DEFOE indicates a table to ABIGAIL.

  DEFOE. He’s over there. (To MAYNWARING.) J’arrive, ma chère!

  DEFOE moves off and ABIGAIL crosses to the table, where sit ROBERT HARLEY and JONATHAN SWIFT, deep in conversation. SWIFT, as a clergyman, wears a dog collar, although it is presently concealed.

  ABIGAIL. Mr Robert Harley?

  SWIFT. Who wants to know?

  ABIGAIL. My name is Hill.

  SWIFT. Hill?

  ABIGAIL. Miss Abigail Hill.

  SWIFT. Ah. Female then.

  ABIGAIL. I’m sorry for intruding upon your evening, Mr Harley, but your housekeeper was kind enough to tell me I might find you here.

  SWIFT. Had we an appointment?

  ABIGAIL. No, sir, but…

  SWIFT. Then you are here with some petition?

  ABIGAIL. We are related, sir. On my father’s side. Hill. Perhaps you recognise the name?

  SWIFT. And this kinship you allege entitles you to touch me now for money, I suppose?

  ABIGAIL. I’m not here to ask for money, sir.

  SWIFT. Oh?

  ABIGAIL. I’ve travelled from the country and am looking for employment. I wish to know if there are any jobs I might perform within your household?

  SWIFT. Well, that rather depends, Miss Hill.

  ABIGAIL. On what, sir?

  SWIFT. On whether your arse is prettier than your face.

  HARLEY almost chokes on his drink.

  ABIGAIL. At least I keep my arse where it belongs, and do not choose to talk through it like some.

  HARLEY. Hoo, hoo. I say!

  SWIFT. Very good. That’s really very good. You have a talented tongue, Miss Hill.

  HARLEY spies RADCLIFFE passing close by.

  HARLEY. Dr Radcliffe! A word, sir, if you will!

  RADCLIFFE approaches. He nods to HARLEY.

  RADCLIFFE. Harley.

  And then to SWIFT.

  Swift.

  ABIGAIL looks from one man to the other, realising she’s been tricked.

  I trust you both enjoyed our little entertainment.

  HARLEY. You are confirmed then in your opinion that the Princess Anne is not with child?

  RADCLIFFE. The Princess is as likely to produce another child as you or I. Her age is now against her. And I have seen for myself, at closer quarters than I would wish, the damage done to her by all her pregnancies to date. Add to that the great bulk she carries presently about her like some fatty blanket, and I can say with certainty, no child will ever thrive within her womb. You may put that in a pamphlet, Swift.

  SWIFT. Oh, I intend to.

  RADCLIFFE. But no accreditation.

  SWIFT. Naturally.

  RADCLIFFE. Harley, I should ask your friends in Parliament to urge King William to wed again and quick, for there’s our only promise of an heir.

  SWIFT. The Hanoverians are salivating even as we speak.

  HARLEY. England will be theirs upon a platter.

  RADCLIFFE. Unless the Boy Pretender gets to table first.

  RADCLIFFE looks at ABIGAIL.

  Now I shall leave you to your… friend. Male or female?

  SWIFT. Female – so she says.

  RADCLIFFE. Ah. Pity.

  He leaves them. ABIGAIL looks at HARLEY.

  ABIGAIL. So you are Mr Harley?

  HARLEY. Indeed, I own that name. And must make verbal recompense for the antics of my friend Swift. He is apt to be a little mischievous, especially in his cups.

  ABIGAIL. You should rather apologise for yourself. I came here in good faith, a cousin to a cousin and did nothing in the least to earn your scorn. To think I was afraid to step inside this place. I thought I’d find a world so grand I wouldn’t dare to raise my eyes. Instead I find I’ve lifted up a stone.

  SWIFT. Excellent again.

  ABIGAIL. Well, I’ll leave you to your sport. And I thank God I’m not a princess, and need not suffer so-called gentlemen to make merry with my private sorrows.

  HARLEY. Now, now. You mustn’t take offence.

  ABIGAIL. Why wouldn’t I, when faced with liars and rogues?

  SWIFT (indicating his collar). What, ho! Do you not see my uniform?

  ABIGAIL. That? It qualifies you better for the charge.

  SWIFT. You’re wrong about our little ‘club’, Miss Hill. Gentlemen we may or may not be. Strangers to delicacy… now, that is certain…

  HARLEY. ‘Abandon taste all ye who enter here!’

  SWIFT. But there’s more honesty within these walls than anywhere in England. Truths spoken by we sidelong men tonight will tomorrow find themselves proclaimed in Parliament, decried from pulpits, printed up in black and white and spread through every street and town.

  ABIGAIL. How marvellously important you must be.

  Do you have a job for me, Mr Harley? Please answer yes or no. I’m poor, you see, and cannot run to pride.

  HARLEY. Yes. Yes, I see. No. No. I’m afraid at present I cannot…

  ABIGAIL. Then I will say goodnight.

  ABIGAIL starts to leave.

  HARLEY. Goodnight to you.

  SWIFT. Goodnight, Miss Hill. Be careful with that tongue.

  ABIGAIL pauses and returns.

  ABIGAIL. Before I go, would you at least do me the favour of acquainting me with the current whereabouts of the Countess of Marlborough?

  At the mention of this name, the whole room grows silent for a moment. HARLEY grows immediately serious and direct.

  HARLEY. The Countess of Marlborough? Why, what can you want with her?

  ABIGAIL. We’re related on my mother’s side. Perhaps I’ll meet with better kindness there.

  SWIFT. Now whose arse is holding forth?

  ABIGAIL. I never lie, Mr Swift. It isn’t in my nature.

  HARLEY. But if you are related to the most powerful woman in the land, why choose to come to me?

  ABIGAIL. I thought she wouldn’t see me. Even now I doubt she will, but it seems I have no option save to try. Do you know where I might find her?

  Pause. HARLEY is calculating silently. He stands and offers her his chair.

  HARLEY. Sit down, Miss Hill. Cousin. Dear.

  SWIFT. You cunning minx.

  HARLEY. Drinks, over here!

  ABIGAIL moves to the chair, then hesitates.

  ABIGAIL. I won’t be used.

  HARLEY. No, no, I think that’s clear. But where’s the harm in trying to find some way to ease each other’s interests? For family, let’s say.

  Scene Two

  The bedroom, the Marlboroughs’ house, St Albans. JOHN CHURCHILL, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH is sitting up in bed. His fifteen-year-old son, JACK CHURCHILL, is sitting on the bed. Both are in their nightclothes. In a chair beside the bed is SIDNEY GODOLPHIN. Standing on the bed, in a gorgeous nightrobe, is SARAH CHURCHILL – performing.

  SARAH. ‘I am Sophia, Electress of Hanover,’ says she.

  JACK. But surely not like that, Mama?

  SARAH. Oh, yes – for she is very old and German. ‘And who might you be?’

  ‘I am Sarah Churchill, Countess of Marlborough,’ I replied, and shook my goddess curls.

  ‘Ah yes – the General’s wife,’ says she. ‘And how do you like The Hague?’

  ‘I like it enormously,’ says I.

  ‘I understand you have the ear of the Princess Anne,’ says she.

  ‘I do,’ says I, and would have said, ‘I have her heart as well,’ but I resisted.

  JACK. You should have said it, for it’s tr
ue.

  SARAH. ‘And pray, how is the Princess?’

  Now… what to say to that?

  GODOLPHIN. That is a question.

  SARAH. For here’s the woman in the world with most to gain from Anne’s demise.

  JACK. The very throne of England.

  MARLBOROUGH. Tell them what you said, my dear. You’ll like this, Godolphin.

  SARAH. I thought – one second – then replied, ‘The Princess Anne is as well as can be hoped, Your Highness – for someone who’s so very sick as she.’

  JACK. You’re so clever.

  SARAH. ‘I understand,’ Sophia replies. And by my life, she winked at me.

  MARLBOROUGH. Did she indeed? You didn’t tell me that.

  SARAH. I liked her. She’s the first woman I’ve ever met who can match me for intelligence. If England is to pass into her hands, I’d say we can rejoice. She may be seventy but she has more wit in her than William and Anne combined.

  GODOLPHIN. This is good news. Did she stay for the signing of the Alliance?

  MARLBOROUGH. She did. She stood beside King William throughout.

  SARAH. Wearing twice her body weight in jewels. I promise you, Sidney, she’s a woman after my own heart.

  MARLBOROUGH. She’s offered us twenty thousand men.

  GODOLPHIN. As many as that?

  MARLBOROUGH. Added to the Hapsburgs and the Dutch and our own, and I’d say that makes an army to command.

  JACK. Are we really going to war against the French?

  MARLBOROUGH. It’s looking likely, Jack. The spring should see the start of our campaign.

  SARAH. We go to war for freedom. We shall rid the world of papists and be thanked for ever after. And tyranny will never dare to raise its head again.

  JACK. It won’t be over quickly, will it?

  SARAH. Why? Three years at least before you join the army.

  JACK. No.

  GODOLPHIN. You could always make a mascot of him, Marlborough – what do you say? Put him in a velvet coat, give him a painted drum to bang and send him out before.

  JACK. I want to be a soldier not a clown!