Читать книгу: «Single Life», страница 2

Miss Sky. Alone, with Miss Skylark.

Pin. Oh, Lord, no; I hope not.

Miss Sna. ’Tis a general invitation to all our friends. You will find a card at your house, Miss Skylark. Perhaps Mr. P. will escort you.

Pin. I’ll do anything to make myself agreeable. I’ll call for you. Shall I? (To MISS SKYLARK.)

Miss Sna. If you please.

Pin. I will.

Miss Sna. Do!

Pin. I will!

Miss Sna. (To BOSS.) We’ll leave them together; he may overcome his bashfulness when he gets used to being alone with his object. He is fond of her, no doubt – true love is never very loquacious.

Boss. Can’t say, never having known the passion!

Miss Sna. Ah, you will know it some day.

Boss. What are the symptoms? Explain as we go along, that I may be aware of my malady when I am attacked. (Crosses to L.)

Miss Sna. For me to attempt to explain, would be to confess that I have experienced the emotion myself.

Boss. You have.

Miss Sna. No!

Boss. You Circe, you have.

Miss Sna. No, I declare.

Boss. Well then, you may —

Miss Sna. If I am much in your society, there is no knowing what I may experience.

[Exeunt F.E.L.

MISS SKYLARK seated, R., looking after them; sings

 
“Is there a heart that never loved,
Or felt soft woman’s sigh!”
 

Pin. Beautiful!

Miss Sky. Eh?

Pin. Oh, nothing. Dear me, I am quite alone with her – I wish I could say something confounded clever. I’ll be hanged if I don’t try. Hem! (Quickly.) How are you to-day, miss?

Miss Sky. (Imitating him.) Very well! how are you?

Pin. Very well, all but a slight pain in my side.

Miss Sky. Indeed!

Pin. Yes. I’ll be hanged if I can say another word. What can I talk about? What do people talk about? I have worn out the weather, and she has no particular relations to ask about. There is her grandmother, to be sure – I see no harm in asking after her. One must say something, miss?

Miss Sky. (R.) Yes.

Pin. How’s your grandmother?

Miss Sky. Very well indeed for her age!

Pin. How old is she?

Miss Sky. Seventy-two – I’ve told you so twenty times.

Pin. Dear me, then I must have asked that question twenty times. Now what more can I say, I wonder? Is there anything in the room I can talk about? (Looks about.) Nice place this, isn’t it?

Miss Sky. Very!

Pin. So airy?

Miss Sky. Very!

Pin. I’ve soon finished that subject. I wish she’d say something – I can’t find conversation for one, much more two!

Miss Sky. (Singing.) “Oh, bear me to some distant shore or solitary cell.”

Pin. You are partial to singing, ar’n’t you?

Miss Sky. Very. Do you sing?

Pin. I never tried but once.

Miss Sky. Indeed!

Pin. It was at a party.

Miss Sky. Indeed!

Pin. Yes, I could hardly get through the first verse of my song. In fact, I didn’t get through it.

Miss Sky. What prevented you?

Pin. When I begun, everybody looked at me so hard, that I felt so confused that I jumped up, rushed out of the house, and ran all the way home. And – and when I looked in the glass there, I found I had come away with the footman’s laced hat on my head!

Miss Sky. Singular!

Pin. Yes. (Aside.) Well I think I have talked more to her this morning than ever I did before – I know I only want encouragement. Oh! when shall I be able to touch upon the tender topic – I never shall get heart to venture – it’s odd she never alludes to my letters. I suppose she receives them. I’ve written another to her, asking for the state of her feelings – I’ll be my own postman, then I shall be sure she has it. (Slowly takes a letter from waistcoat pocket.) I’ll throw it in her lap, and run out of the house!

[Throws it in her lap, jumps up, and is running off, when DAMPER’S voice is heard without. Huzza! Victory! victory!

Enter with NIGGLE

Dam. Ha! ha! I’ve saved you, you villain! Miss Kitty, once more I’ve saved him.

Nig. Who could have thought it?

Dam. That designing woman, Miss Coy, was at the appointed place waiting for her victim sure enough. There was the chaise too; but what do you think? there was also the full-grown young man in earnest conversation with her. When we appeared, he tried to avoid us. We demanded who he was – she refused to explain. One word led to another – I told her all I had heard of her. She flew into a rage, showered her abuse upon me, whilst I dragged away my friend.

[Loud knocking; NIGGLEruns to window.

Nig. She’s at the door, chaise and all. What’s to be done?

Dam. She sha’n’t come in – let her knock. There is no doubt of the truth of the report. That young man is her son; and this infatuated old fellow was going to join his fate with such a character! Hav’n’t I saved you from perdition?

Nig. You have, indeed! My lot in life is clearly developed – I never am to be married. What am I to do with the cards?

Dam. Burn them.

Nig. What with the cake?

Dam. Eat it – we’ll all eat it.

Nig. So we will – so we will.

Dam. Sit down all of you, and be comfortable. (Hands the cake.) Take a bit, Miss Kitty – Pinkey, bless your bashfulness; ’tis your best friend – it will prevent you ever making a fool of yourself. Niggle, eat in peace and thankfulness; for I have once more saved you from the abyss of matrimony. (Loud knocking, without.) Ha! ha! you can’t come in. Go away, woman! go away! Finish the cake, and let the artful creature knock till she’s tired! Go away!

[Loud knocking continued. They sit eating the cake —NIGGLE throws all the wedding cards into the air, as the act drop descends.

END OF ACT I

ACT II

SCENE I. —Interior of a neat cottage, door and window in flat; table on the R., a china flower-stand on it. MISS MARIA MACAW discovered, hemming a handkerchief; she takes a note from the table and reads.

Miss Mac. (Reading.) “Miss Snare will be happy to have the pleasure of Miss Macaw’s company to tea this evening; of course Miss Macaw’s niece is included in the invitation.” I am sure I have no inclination to go, but Jessy insists upon it, she is so anxious to make an acquaintance with any one, that I’m sure if the gardener were to ask her to dine with him, she would accept the invite. I hope there will no men there, the brutes. One of the chief things that has reconciled me to this country life, is the very few male creatures that I have met with here. Ah, if I had my will, the sex should be exterminated! Well, niece?

Enter MISS JESSY MEADOWS, F.E.L., with a bouquet in her hand

Miss Mea. Ah, my dear aunt, at your needle as usual. I have been gathering flowers in our little garden – there. (She places the bouquet in the flower-glass on the table.) Are they not beautiful? I love flowers – I have a passion for them.

Miss Mac. You should not use such ardent expressions. It is very unseemly in a young lady to talk of having a passion for anything, whether animate or inanimate. If you begin with flowers, you may end with the same enthusiasm in behalf of a human object; and if that object were to be a man, I should tremble for the result!

Miss Mea. The most natural result might be matrimony; and is there anything so very terrible in that, my dear aunt?

Miss Mac. Terrible! I look upon matrimony as the general prologue to all the tragedies of life.

Miss Mea. To all, aunt?

Miss Mac. All. From the singular instance of the siege of Troy, to the connubial pluralities of Henry the Eighth!

Miss Mea. Is it possible, aunt, that you never had an offer in all your life?

Miss Mac. Never! I always expressed my antipathy to the male sex so openly, that no man ever ventured a tête-à-tête with me; if one dared to whisper nonsense in my ear, I used to turn and petrify him at once with a look —

Miss Mea. Like the Gorgon’s head on the shield of Minerva – your face turned every approaching lover to stone!

Miss Mac. Though I have often wished that a man would have the temerity to make me a sincere proposal.

Miss Mea. What would you do, aunt?

Miss Mac. Accept it at once!

Miss Mea. You would?

Miss Mac. Because, in being a wife, I should have it in my power to make one of the sex utterly miserable! Oh, if I had a husband, how I would torment the creature!

Miss Mea. Surely there must be some male person that you do not entirely dislike – Mr. Chester, for instance?

Miss Mac. I am grateful to Mr. Chester for saving me from the attack of a ferocious bull when we were walking in the meadows six months ago; but beyond that simple feeling of gratitude, there is nothing in common between us.

Miss Mea. He is again passing a few days here. I had the pleasure of speaking to him last night – he promised to call this morning to pay his respects to you!

Miss Mac. To me! No, no, miss, I can see through his shallow artifice! Under pretence of paying his respects to me, that he may have an interview with you– there you see. Even a generous young man that rescued me from the fury of a savage bull, is not exempt from double dealing.

[A knock, F.D.

Miss Mea. Here he is. (Going to the door.)

Miss Mac. I shall retire.

Miss Mea. Nay, not immediately.

Miss Mac. If I remain, I can only be moderately civil.

Miss Mea. ’Tis all that is required from you, aunt.

[MISS MEADOWS opens the door.

Enter MR. CHARLES CHESTER, L

Che. Good morning, Miss Macaw. Miss Meadows, I hope you are well; and you, Miss – (To MISS MACAW.)

Miss Mac. (Courtesying profoundly.) Quite well, sir.

Che. Entirely recovered from your alarm six months ago, when I first met you running from the infuriated animal?

Miss Mac. Entirely – though for some weeks I was excessively nervous. I assure you I have not been able to dine off beef since!

Che. You are looking exceedingly well.

Miss Mac. I don’t believe you.

Che. Nay, I assure you —

Miss Mac. Don’t utter falsehoods, young man. You know in your heart that I am not looking well – you merely say so, because you think flattery is agreeable to our sex. You know that I’m a perfect fright, but you have not the moral courage to tell me so to my face. You know you wish me at Jericho at this very moment, only you think it would be rude to order me out of the room; but I’ll spare you any further duplicity by leaving you. Good morning, sir.

[She courtesys and goes off, F.E.R.

Miss Mea. My aunt is a singular creature, is she not? though her heart is good, and, indeed, she is my very best friend. But for her care, I know not what would become of me.

Che. I wish I could persuade you to accept of a protection, stronger and more lasting than any aunt can offer you!

Miss Mea. I understand you – you wish to marry me.

Che. I do.

Miss Mea. But you are poor.

Che. Very.

Miss Mea. A painter in water colors.

Che. And one of very moderate talents.

Miss Mea. You were sketching a landscape when we first met you six months ago?

Che. I was, and immediately turned portrait painter; for I drew your features upon my heart the first moment I gazed upon them.

Miss Mea. And since that moment you have visited this place once every fortnight?

Che. Being all the leisure I can afford – otherwise my whole life should be passed here, could I but command your sweet society.

Miss Mea. During your absence we have been imprudent enough to correspond, and the result is, that we have written and talked ourselves into love.

Che. And when a young gentleman and lady set about mutually confessing all their thoughts and feelings, their likes and dislikes, their hopes and fears, what other result could be expected?

Miss Mea. And yet a strange fancy continually haunts me, that in all our candid confessions you conceal something from me. I cannot bring myself to believe that I am in possession of every thought, feeling, or circumstance belonging to you.

Che. Even there a sympathy exists between us —I am troubled with precisely the same fancy.

Miss Mea. You think that I practice some little concealment respecting myself?

Che. I confess that I do.

Miss Mea. What can it be?

Che. Ah! what can it be? Perhaps immediate matrimony will remove the mistrust.

Miss Mea. If you will marry me, you know what you are to expect. I have no friend but my aunt – you see me as you first knew me, a half-educated country miss. I think I have a good heart. I know I have an indifferent temper – right management may certainly do much to correct that fault – I am very whimsical, very lazy, want a deal of attention, and can go into something like a passion when offended!

Che. You don’t flatter yourself.

Miss Mea. I wish you to anticipate the worst, so that if you should find me not so bad as expected, the surprise may be the more agreeable to you. If you do marry me, it must be entirely for myself. Now if you persist in your intention, all that I can say is, that you are indeed a bold man!

Che. I will be equally as candid with you. You do not reject my offered hand?

Miss Mea. No.

Che. Then if you accept me, you will marry a poor artist, who is entirely dependent on his own exertions – who likes retirement, has no care for company – who wants to be petted when he complains – his every whim indulged – who cannot endure contradiction – and, with very inferior capabilities, wishes ever to be thought most superior in all things – but one who, amidst this chaos of fault, can still create a little world of love for you!

Miss Mea. After such a confession, I must be quite as bold a woman as you are a man, to take you – though when two people set about mutually confessing their faults, there may be some hope that they intend to correct them.

Che. Corrected or not, are you content?

Miss Mea. I am; and there is my hand to the bargain.

Che. And this kiss upon its white fingers, ratifies the contract!

[CHESTER kisses her hand – she in return presses his hand to her lips.

MISS MACAW enters

Miss Mea. Signed, sealed, and duly delivered!

Miss Mac. Jessy! I must be deceived – pressing the hand of a man to your lips! I’m horrified!

Miss Mea. He first pressed mine, aunt; and surely the gallantry should not always be on one side. We love one another; the passion brings us to an equality, and I have made up my mind where I love, never to be less tender, less grateful, or less enthusiastic than he that honors me with his affection!

Miss Mac. Oh! what revolutionary sentiments! Now miss, I have done with you for ever. You are henceforth the mistress of your own actions. Do as you please: but never approach me with your matrimonial complaints and miseries, for I shall be totally deaf to them!

Che. It shall be my care, dear madam, to prevent that, by never giving her cause to complain.

[A knock at the door.

Miss Mac. Who can this be? Another man, no doubt!

DAMPER opens the door, and peeps in

Dam. I beg your pardon, will you allow me to enter?

Miss Mac. I don’t know that I shall, sir – one of your sex has committed sufficient mischief here already!

Dam. (To MISS MACAW.) Don’t be afraid of me – you are perfectly out of harm’s way. (To CHESTER.) As my business is with you, sir, perhaps you will step out to me.

Miss Mea. Oh, sir – pray come in, sir.

Dam. (Advancing.) Mr. Niggle, the gentleman with whom you saw me yesterday, is my friend.

Che. Well, sir?

Dam. There are strange tales about, respecting you, sir; and that female with whom you were discovered in close conversation yesterday – and, in behalf of my friend, sir, I am here to ask you in plain language, who you are?

Che. It can be of little consequence to you sir, who, or what I am.

Miss Mea. A lady! Were you in conversation with a lady yesterday? What lady?

Dam. Ah, you may well ask. If that person is a stranger here, madam, whatever may be his intentions, look to him! My friend shall not fall a victim to the arts of a designing woman! You understand me —I can see the likeness between you – precisely the same circumventing countenance!

Miss Mea. A designing woman! – and a likeness between you! Pray explain.

Dam. Well, sir, I have nothing more to say than this – your refusal to explain who you are, fully justifies my friend’s conduct towards that female; and any action that she may bring against him, he is quite prepared to defend. He has had experience in such matters, and snaps his fingers at you!

Miss Mea. (To CHESTER.) I am afraid there is too much truth in the fancy that, I confess, troubled me. You are practising concealment with me, and till you remove every doubt from my mind, you must not expect further candour from me.

Che. Nay, hear me.

Miss Mea. Not till you are prepared to explain all. You see what a temper I have – I do not hide the slightest foible from you, and I expect equal sincerity at your hands.

[Exit F.E.L.

Che. In good time I will explain all; but now I cannot, will not.

[Exit, following her.

Miss Mac. Well I’m sure. Upon my word, the fellows give themselves fine airs – coming in here uninvited, and creating disturbances – fancying themselves authorized by nature to sport with our feelings, and trample us under foot! And what do you want here, sir? (To DAMPER.) What right, sir, have you under this roof? Who sent for you? Why are you standing there making grimaces at me, sir?

Dam. Ha! ha! you are annoyed – I see you are, and it gratifies me; and my countenance always shows the gratification of my heart! When I see a woman vexed, I revel in the sight! Go into a rage, do – I should like to see you furious!

Miss Mac. Oh, dear no, sir; you shall be disappointed. If my anger is a source of pleasure to you, it shall be subdued immediately. (Places him a chair in C.) Pray, sir, sit down – make yourself happy! Will you take a glass of wine? or shall I get my guitar and sing you a love song?

Dam. (Sitting down, R.) I should like to taste the one and listen to the other, amazingly; but for once I’ll save you your wine and spare your vocal acquirements, and merely ask you a question, which I am sure you will answer, as I can perceive I have already made a favorable impression on your heart.

Miss Mac. Well, sir, I will for once make an effort to be civil. What do you wish to know?

Dam. Who is that young man?

Miss Mac. I really cannot inform you – I know no more of him than I do of you; and I need not tell you that I wish to know nothing of either!

Dam. Then, madam, allow me to say that I am astonished.

Miss Mac. At what, sir?

Dam. At a woman of your palpable experience opening your door to a stranger. How do you know what he may be? An assassin, a sharper, a seducer, perhaps.

Miss Mac. For the matter of that, sir, this door has been opened to you, and, for aught I know, you may be one of those characters! Oh, sir, look indignant if you please, but whatever you may be, in my eyes your whole sex is hateful. You are all brimful of deceit, design, villainy, selfishness, and brutality! Had I my will, my door should be barred and double-locked against your entire gender!

Dam. Ah, you abusive woman! If we are villains, ’tis your abominable sex that makes us such. If you were not weak, we should not be wicked? Who lost Mark Antony the world? a woman. Who betrayed the strong man into the hands of his enemies? – a woman. Who was the origin of all evil? – a woman, a woman!

Miss Mac. Who leads armies to battle and slaughter? – man. Who tyrannizes over and enslaves our poor weak sex? – man. Who always plays the violin while Rome is burning? – man. And if woman was the origin of all evil, who has cherished and supported evil, heart and soul, since its first introduction? – man, man!

Dam. And who has helped him? – woman! Good morning!

[Exit D.F.

Miss Mac. That is the most complete savage I have yet encountered!

Re-enter CHESTER, L

Che. Your niece, madam, desires to see you. If my visit here has at all annoyed you, believe me I am sorry for it, and can assure you that the annoyance will not be repeated; for Miss Meadows and I are now as strangers!

Miss Mac. I am rejoiced to hear it.

Che. I should have been proud and happy to have made her my wife without asking one question as to her origin or connexions, so great was the confidence I reposed in her. She has proved that her faith cannot equal mine; and on that point we have parted, and for ever! Good morning.

[Exit F.D.

Miss Mac. The most pleasant piece of intelligence I have heard to-day.

Re-enter MISS MEADOWS, F.E.L

Miss Mea. Has he gone?

Miss Mac. To my great delight he has.

Miss Mea. Will he return?

Miss Mac. I have great hopes that he will not.

Miss Mea. Why does he refuse to explain all to me?

Miss Mac. As he has not asked you any questions, and appears quite willing to take a blind bargain in marrying you, I think it is but fair that you should be equally as ridiculous as the gentleman.

Miss Mea. You make no allowance for a woman’s natural curiosity – her proneness to jealousy, weaknesses that do not beset the minds of men so cruelly as they do ours. He knows that, and ought to have yielded!