The Orphan by Thomas Otway

First produced: 1680

First published: 1680

Type of work: Drama

Type of plot: Domestic tragedy

Time of work: Seventeenth century

Locale: Bohemia

Principal Characters:

• Acasto, a nobleman living in the country
• Castalio, and
• Polydore, his twin sons
• Serina, his daughter
• Chamont, a young soldier
• Monimia, an orphan, Chamont’s sister and Acasto’s ward

Critique:

Though not so highly regarded as his VENICE PRESERVED (1682), Otway’s THE ORPHAN held the stage until the early nineteenth century and still receives a few kind words from critics. The language abounds in Shakespearian echoes, particularly of ROMEO AND JULIET, and the character of Chamont, the hot-headed brother, is very reminiscent of Laertes. The plot, supposedly founded upon an actual incident, turns upon a highly improbable situation; but such improbabilities were common in the drama of the period. The tone of the play also points forward to the sentimental drama of the next century. Otway, now an almost forgotten writer, was highly admired in his own day, and Goldsmith considered him next only to Shakespeare in tragedy.

The Story:

Somewhere in the Bohemian countryside there lived a nobleman, Acasto, who had served the emperor well before his retirement from military service and the life of the court. In his household were his twin sons, Castalio and Polydore, and his daughter Serina, as well as a young noblewoman, Monimia, who had been left as his ward upon the death of her parents. It was Acasto’s purpose to keep his sons at home, for he had seen enough of the intrigues and disappointments of court life. The two sons, however, restless and unoccupied, had both fallen in love with Monimia.

Previously they had been close friends and sharers of each other’s secrets, but now their love for the same woman came between them. Castalio, whose weakness was an excessive scrupulousness, made the great mistake of minimizing his passion for Monimia when talking with his brother; he claimed that he had no desire for marriage and that he would not object to watching Polydore press his own suit. This conversation was repeated to Monimia by a page. Since she genuinely loved Castalio, she misunderstood his attitude and really believed that his love had cooled. Thus it was that Castalio, in his desire to be fair with Polydore, allowed him and Monimia to be alone together under circumstances which allowed the less scrupulous Polydore to make dishonorable proposals to her.

A short time later Chamont, Monimia’s brother, returned from the wars in which he had been engaged for many years. In his first interview with his sister, he told her of a strange and ill-omened dream he had had: a vision of Monimia surrendering herself to two lovers. Further, on his journey to Acasto’s estates, he had been warned by an old crone to hasten in order to protect his sister’s honor. Although Monimia convinced him that she really loved Castalio and that his intentions were thoroughly honorable, her brother nevertheless warned her against Castalio and all men and made her promise to treat her lover coldly, so as to try him. But when she and Castalio met, they smoothed out their misunderstandings, and the course of true love seemed again to be running smoothly.

Almost immediately the household was thrown into confusion by the sudden illness of Acasto, who had been entertaining his friends at a feast. Thinking that he was about to die, the old nobleman assembled his family and told of his plans to divide his estate among them and to dower Monimia. He also gave Chamont permission to marry Serina. After the old man and his family had left the room, Chamont found out from the family chaplain that that priest had just married Monimia and Castalio but that the marriage was still a secret because of their fear of Acasto’s disapproval. Chamont, disliking the secrecy of the marriage, felt that it was ill-omened, but that his sister’s honor was now safe.

Castalio, in the meantime, was urgently begging his bride to allow him to spend the night with her; she demurred, on the grounds that her room was next to that of Acasto and every sound would be heard. It was finally agreed, however, that Castalio was to come, was to make his presence known by three light knocks upon the door, and that not a word was to be spoken during the night. So the newly-married pair parted, not knowing that Polydore, lurking in the background, had overheard their plan. That dishonorable man, who was of course ignorant of the marriage, instantly decided to take his brother’s place, and this unworthy plan he carried out. When Castalio arrived at his wife’s bedroom, he was denied admittance because the maid thought him to be Polydore.

The next morning, when Castalio, who had been in a frenzy of despair all night, met Monimia, he threw her from him. The bride, thinking that she had spent the night with her husband, could not understand this treatment and complained to her brother. Chamont, always the impetuous soldier, demanded justice of Acasto and told him of the marriage, of which the nobleman did not approve. Next, the wretched Monimia met Polydore and the tragic horror was made complete when he, in his vanity, told her that it was he, not Castalio, who had spent the night with her. When she told him that he had slept with his brother’s wife, he was as horror-struck as she; and they both agreed to spend the rest of their lives in expiation of their sin.

For Castalio, still ignorant of the truth, there was to be no peace. His father told him of Chamont’s demand for justice; the young soldier, also ignorant of the truth, wished to fight. He and Castalio were parted only by Acasto. Then news was brought by the servants that Monimia was running distractedly through the house calling for Castalio. When husband and wife met, she told him that she must leave him forever, but did not reveal the terrible deception practiced by Polydore the previous night. A short time later the frantic Castalio met his brother, and Polydore, by insults, forced a fight upon his twin, then, dropping his own sword, ran upon Castalio’s blade. Dying, and having expiated his sin, Polydore told Castalio of the events of the night before. His only reproach, and a just one, was that, had Castalio trusted him and told him of the marriage, the tragedy would have been averted.

The tragedy was heightened when Monimia revealed that she had taken poison. She died, the innocent victim of circumstances. But this was not the end of the tragedy, for Castalio killed himself with a dagger and Polydore died of his wound. Only stricken Acasto, Chamont, and Serina survived the ruin of the family whose great tragedy was caused by excessive scrupulousness.

Further Critical Evaluation of the Work:

“Tender Otway” he was called, and with good reason, for Thomas Otway’s plays abound in a direct appeal to feeling. He has also been called the “Byron of the Restoration,” and the comparison is particularly illuminating when we consider their sudden popularity to his audience. Just as Byron awoke to find himself famous after the publication of the early cantos of CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE, Otway, after the first performances of THE ORPHAN, was credited with having done something entirely new in drama. Byron’s poem revealed the hidden feelings of an isolated and brooding spirit; Otway’s drama dared to explore the hidden anxieties and desires of ordinary people. Just as Byron’s intensely subjective poetry offered an alternative to eighteenth century decorum, Otway’s domestic tragedy relinquished the strict standards of Restoration heroic drama and poetry in both form and characterization. His appeal is not to aristocratic concepts of defiant and absolute heroism, nor is he a champion of Aristotelian unities. Otway’s appeal is to pity.

He has been accused of contriving the plot in THE ORPHAN so as to subject his characters to more suffering than should be their fate. Edmund Gosse, in his book on Otway, called the “foolish pretense of Castalio, the want of perception by Monimia, and the ruffianly crime of Polydore . . . all radical faults which go near to destroy the probability of the story.” Otway does stretch credibility in his attempt to burden his characters with not only unavoidable suffering, but suffering without any moral cause. Even the Hobbesian villain of the piece, Polydore, who reminds us of Shakespeare’s Edmund in KING LEAR by the way he stresses “Nature over law,” is not entirely culpable. After all, he did not know that Monimia had married his brother. No one, Otway makes sure, is exempt from at least some pity.

Otway, like Dryden in ALL FOR LOVE, relied heavily on Shakespeare to inject his plays with the power of feeling and bold characterization that could free drama from the stylization of Restoration conventions. Certainly THE ORPHAN in plot, character, and tone recalls aspects of both ROMEO AND JULIET and OTHELLO. But if Otway learned from Shakespeare how to put strong feelings of compassion and pity into a play, he learned little from his master about true terror and sublimity.