Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor», страница 9
ACT IV
SCENE I. – O’Dedimus’s office – Enter Charles pulling in Ponder by the collar
Char. This way, sirrah, this way, and now out with your confession, if you expect mercy at my hands.
Pon. I will, sir, I will: but I expect no mercy at your hands, for you’ve already handled me most unmercifully – (Charles shakes him) what would you please to have me confess, sir?
Char. I have seen old Abel Grouse – he has told me the story of his daughter’s marriage with this amiable cousin of mine: now, sirrah, confess the truth – were you present, or were you not? out with it (shakes him).
Pon. Now pray recollect yourself – do, sir – think a little.
Char. Recollect myself?
Pon. Ay, sir, if you will but take time to reflect, you’ll give me time to collect my scattered thoughts, which you have completely shaken out of my pericranium.
Char. No equivocation, answer directly, or though you’re no longer my servant, by heavens I’ll —
Pon. Sir – for heaven’s sake! – you’ll shake nothing more out of me, depend on’t – if you’ll be pleased to pause a moment, I’ll think of an answer.
Charles. It requires no recollection to say whether you were a witness —
Pon. No indeed, sir, ask my master if I was; besides if I had been, my conscience wouldn’t let me disclose it.
Charles. Your conscience! good, and you’re articled to an attorney!
Pon. True, sir, but there’s a deal of conscience in our office; if my master knew I betrayed his secrets even to you, I believe (in conscience,) he’d hang me if he could.
Charles. If my old friend O’Dedimus proves a rogue at last, I shan’t wonder that you have followed his example.
Pon. No, sir, for I always follow my master’s example, even though it should be in the path of roguery; compliment apart sir, I always followed yours.
Charles. Puppy, you trifle with my patience.
Pon. No indeed, sir, I never play with edg’d tools.
Charles. You wont acknowledge it then.
Pon. Yes, sir, I’ll acknowledge the truth, but I scorn a lie.
Charles. ’Tis true I always thought you honest. I have ever trusted you, Ponder, even as a friend: I do not believe you capable of deceiving me.
Pon. Sir, (gulping) I can’t swallow that! it choaks me (falling on his knees); forgive me, dear master that was; your threats I could withstand, your violence I could bear, but your kindness and good opinion there is no resisting; promise you wont betray me.
Charles. So; now it comes. I do.
Pon. Then, sir, the whole truth shall out, they are married, sir, and they are not married, sir.
Charles. Enigma too!
Pon. Yes, sir, they are married, but the priest was ordained by my master, and the license was of his own granting, and so they are not married, and now the enigma’s explained.
Charles. Your master then is a villain!
Pon. I don’t know, sir, that puzzles me: but he’s such an honest follow I can hardly think him a rogue – though I fancy, sir, between ourselves, he’s like the rest of the world, half and half, or like punch, sir, a mixture of opposites.
Charles. So! villany has been thriving in my absence. If you feel the attachment you profess why did you not confide this to me before?
Pon. Sir, truth to speak, I did not tell you, because, knowing the natural gentleness of your disposition, which I have so often admired, I was alarmed, lest the sudden shock should cause one of those irascible fits, which I have so often witnessed, and produce some of those shakes and buffets, which to my unspeakable astonishment, I have so often experienced.
Charles. And which, I can tell you, you have now so narrowly escaped.
Pon. True sir, I have escaped as narrowly as a felon who gets his reprieve five minutes after execution.
Charles. Something must be done. I am involved in a quarrel with Helen too! curse on my irritable temper.
Pon. So I say, sir – try and mend it; pray do.
Charles. I am resolved to have another interview with her; – to throw myself at her feet, and sue for pardon! Though fate should oppose our union, I may still preserve her from the arms of a villain, who is capable of deceiving the innocent he could not seduce: and of planting a dagger in the female heart, where nature has bestowed her softest attributes, and has only left it weak, that man might cherish, shelter, and protect it. [Exit.
Pon. So! now I’m a rogue both ways – If I escape punishment one way, I shall certainly meet it the other. But if my good luck saves me both ways I shall never more credit a fortune-teller: for one once predicted, that I was born to be hanged. [Exit.
SCENE II. – Sir Rowland’s
Enter Sir Rowland and O’Dedimus
Sir R. You have betrayed me then! – Did not I caution you to keep secret from my nephew this accursed loss.
O’Ded. And so you did sure enough, but somehow it slipt out before I said a word about it; but I told him it was a secret, and I dare say he wont mention it.
Sir R. But you say, that he demands the immediate liquidation.
O’Ded. Ay, sir, and has given me orders to proceed against you.
Sir R. Is it possible! in a moment could I arrest his impious progress; but I will probe him to the quick, did he threaten me, say you? – There is however one way to save him from this public avowal of his baseness, and me from his intended persecution – a marriage between Charles and Mrs. Richland.
O’Ded. The widow’s as rich as the Wicklow mines!
Sir R. The boy refuses to comply with my wishes; we may find means, however, to compel him.
O’Ded. He’s a sailor; and gentlemen of his kidney are generally pretty tough when they take a notion in their heads.
Sir R. I am resolved to carry my point. I have reason to believe you advanced him a sum of money.
O’Ded. I did that thing – he’s a brave fellow; I’d do that thing again.
Sir R. You did wrong, sir, to encourage a young spendthrift in disobedience to his father.
O’Ded. I did right, sir, to assist the son of a client and the nephew of a benefactor, especially when his father hadn’t the civility to do it.
Sir R. Mr. O’Dedimus, you grow impertinent.
O’Ded. Sir Rowland, I grow old; and ’tis one privilege of age to grow blunt. I advanced your son a sum of money, because I esteemed him. I tack’d no usurious obligation to the bond he gave me, and I never came to ask you for security.
Sir R. You have his bond then —
O’Ded. I have, sir; his bond and judgment for two hundred pounds.
Sir R. It is enough: then you can indeed assist my views, – the dread of confinement will, no doubt, alter his resolution: you must enter up judgment, and proceed on your bond.
O’Ded. If I proceed upon my bond, it will be very much against my judgment.
Sir R. In order to alarm him, you must arrest him immediately.
O’Ded. Sir Rowland, I wish to treat you with respect – but when without a blush on your cheek you ask me to make myself a rascal, I must either be a scoundrel ready-made to your hands, for respecting you, or a damn’d hypocrite for pretending to do it – I see you are angry, sir, and I can’t help that; and so, having delivered my message, for fear I should say any thing uncivil or ungenteel, I wish you a most beautiful good morning. [Exit.
Sir R. Then I have but one way left – my fatal secret must be publicly revealed – oh horror! ruin irretrievable is preferable – never – never – that secret shall die with me– (Enter Falkner) as ’tis probably already buried in the grave with Falkner.
Falk. ’Tis false – ’tis buried only in his heart!
Sir R. Falkner!
Falk. ’Tis eighteen years since last we met. You have not, I find, forgotten the theme on which we parted.
Sir R. Oh, no! my heart’s reproaches never would allow me! Oh Falkner – I and the world for many years have thought you numbered with the dead.
Falk. To the world I was so – I have returned to it to do an act of justice.
Sir R. Will you then betray me?
Falk. During eighteen years, sir, I have been the depositary of a secret, which, if it does not actually affect your life, affects what should be dearer than life, your honor. If, in the moment that your ill-judged confidence avowed you as the man you are, and robbed me of that friendship which I held sacred as my being – If in that bitter moment I concealed my knowledge of your guilt from an imperious principle of honor, it is not likely, that the years which time has added to my life, should have taught me perfidy – your secret still is safe.
Sir R. Oh, Falkner – you have snatched a load of misery from my heart; I breathe, I live again.
Falk. Your exultation flows from a polluted source – I return to the world to seek you, to warm and to expostulate; I come to urge you to brave the infamy you have deserved; to court disgrace as the punishment you merit: briefly to avow your guilty secret.
Sir R. Name it not for mercy’s sake! It is impossible! How shall I sustain the world’s contempt, its scorn, revilings and reproaches?
Falk. Can he, who has sustained so long the reproaches of his conscience, fear the world’s revilings? – Oh, Austencourt! Once you had a heart.
Sir R. Sir, it is callous now to every thing but shame; when it lost you, its dearest only friend, its noblest feelings were extinguished: my crime has been my punishment, for it has brought on me nothing but remorse and misery: still is my fame untainted by the world, and I will never court its contumely.
Falk. You are determined —
Sir R. I am!
Falk. Have you no fear from me?
Sir R. None! You have renewed your promise, and I am safe.
Falk. Nothing then remains for me but to return to that obscurity from whence I have emerged – had I found you barely leaning to the side of virtue, I had arguments to urge that might have fixed a wavering purpose; but I find you resolute, hardened and determined in guilt, and I leave you to your fate.
Sir R. Stay, Falkner, there is a meaning in your words.
Falk. A dreadful precipice lies before you: be wary how you tread! there is a being injured by your – by lord Austencourt, see that he makes her reparation by an immediate marriage – look first to that.
Sir R. To such a degradation could I forget my noble ancestry, he never will consent.
Falk. Look next to yourself: he is not a half villain, and it is not the ties of consanguinity will save you from a jail. Beware how you proceed with Charles – you see I am acquainted with more than you suspected; look to it, sir; for the day is not yet passed that by restoring you to virtue, may restore to you a friend; or should you persevere in guilty silence, that may draw down unexpected vengeance on your head – [Exit.
Sir R. Mysterious man! a moment stay! I cannot live in this dreadful uncertainty! whatever is my fate, it shall be decided quickly. [Exit.
SCENE III. – An apartment at sir Willoughby’s; a door in the flat. Enter Helen and Charles
Helen. I tell you, it is unless to follow me, sir. The proud spirit you evinced this morning, might have saved you methinks from this meanness of solicitation.
Charles. Surely now a frank acknowledgment of error deserves a milder epithet than meanness.
Helen. As you seem equally disposed, sir, to quarrel with my words, as you are to question my conduct, I fear you will have little cause to congratulate yourself on this forced and tiresome interview.
Charles. Forced interview! Did ever woman so consider the anxiety of a lover to seek explanation and forgiveness! Helen, Helen, you torture me; is this generous? – is it like yourself? surely if you lov’d me —
Helen. Charles – I do love you – that, is, I did love you, but – I don’t love you, but (aside) ah! now I’m going to make bad worse.
Charles. But what, Helen?
Helen. The violence of temper you have discovered this morning, has shown me the dark side of your character; it has given a pause to affection, and afforded me time to reflect – now though I do really and truly believe that – you – love me Charles.
Sir W. (behind) I must see my daughter directly – where is she!
Enter Tiffany running
Tiffany. Ma’am, ma’am, your father’s coming up stairs, with a letter in his hand, muttering something about Mr. Charles; as sure as life you’ll be discovered.
Helen. For heav’n’s sake hide yourself; I would not have him find you here for worlds – here, step into the music-room.
Charles. Promise me first your forgiveness.
Helen. Charles, retire, I entreat you – make haste, he is here.
Charles. On my knees —
Helen. Then kneel in the next room.
Charles. Give me but your hand.
Helen. That is now at my own disposal – I beseech you go – (Charles just gains the door when enter sir Willoughby with a letter in his hand, and Lady Worret.)
Sir W. Gadzooks! Here’s a discovery!
Helen. A discovery, sir? (Helen looks at the door)
Sir W. Ay, a discovery indeed! – Ods life! I’m in a furious passion!
Helen. Dear sir, not with me I hope —
Lady W. Let me entreat you sir Willoughby to compose yourself; recollect that anger is very apt to bring on the gout.
Sir W. Damn the gout, I must be in a passion – my – life – harkye, daughter —
Helen. They know he’s here! so I may as well own it at once.
Lady W. Pray compose yourself, remember we have no proof.
Sir W. Why that’s true – that is remarkably true – I must compose myself – I will– I do– I am composed – and now let me open the affair with coolness and deliberation! Daughter, come hither.
Helen. Yes, sir – now for it! —
Sir W. Daughter, you are in general, a very good, dutiful, and obedient child —
Helen. I know it, papa – and was from a child, and I always will be.
Lady W. Allow me, sir Willoughby – you are in general, child, a very headstrong, disobedient, and undutiful daughter.
Helen. I know it, mamma – and was from a child, and always will be.
Lady W. How, madam! – Remember, sir Willoughby – there is a proper medium between too violent a severity, and too gentle a lenity.
Sir W. Zounds, madam, in your own curs’d economy there is no medium – but don’t bawl so, or we shall be overheard.
Lady W. Sir Willoughby, you are very ill I’m sure; but I must now attend to this business, daughter, we have heard that Charles —
Sir W. Lady Worret, my love, let me speak – you know, child, it is the duty of an obedient daughter, to obey her parents.
Helen. I know it, papa, and when I obey you, I am generally obedient.
Lady W. In short, child, I say again, we learn that Charles —
Sir W. Lady Worret, lady Worret, you are too abrupt, od-rabbit it, madam, I will be heard: this affair concerns the honor of my family, and on this one occasion, I will be my own spokesman.
Lady W. Oh heavens! Your violence affects my brain.
Sir W. Does it? I wish it would affect your tongue, with all my heart: bless my soul, what have I said! Lady Worret! lady Worret! you drive me out of my senses, and then wonder that I act like a madman.
Lady W. Barbarous man, your cruelty will break my heart, and I shall leave you, sir Willoughby, to deplore my loss, in unavailing despair, and everlasting anguish. [Exit.
Sir W. (aside) I am afraid not: such despair and anguish will never be my – happy – lot! – bless me, how quiet the room is – what can be – oh, my wife’s gone! now then we may proceed to business – and so daughter, this young fellow, Charles, has dared to return, in direct disobedience to his father’s commands.
Helen. I had better confess it all at once – he has, he has, my dear papa. I do confess it was very, very wrong; but pray now do forgive —
Sir W. I– forgive him! never; nor his father will never forgive him; sir Rowland writes me here, to take care of you; I have before given him my solemn promise to prevent your meeting, and I am sorry to say, I haven’t the least doubt that you know he is here, and will —
Helen. I do confess, he is here, papa.
Sir W. Yes, you’ll confess it fast enough, now I’ve found it out.
Helen. Indeed I was so afraid you would find it out, that I —
Sir W. Find it out! his father writes me word, he has been here in the village these three hours!
Helen. In the village! Oh, what, you heard he was in the village!
Sir W. Yes, and being afraid he should find his way to my house – egad I never was brisker after the fox-hounds than I was after you, in fear of finding you at a fault, you puss.
Helen. Oh! you were afraid he should come here, were you?
Sir W. Yes; but I’ll take care he shan’t; however, as my maxim is (now my wife doesn’t hear me) to trust your sex no farther than I can possibly help, I shall just put you, my dear child, under lock and key, ’till this young son of the ocean, is bundled off to sea again.
Helen. What! lock me up!
Sir W. Damme if I don’t. Come, walk into that room, and I’ll take the key with me. (pointing to the room where Charles entered.)
Helen. Into that room?
Sir W. Yes.
Helen. And do you think I shall stay there by myself?
Sir W. No, no. Here Tiffany! (enter Tiffany) Miss Pert here shall keep you company. I’ll have no whisperings through key-holes, nor letters thrust under doors.
Helen. And you’ll really lock me up in that room!
Sir W. Upon my soul I will.
Helen. Now, dear papa, be persuaded; take my advice, and don’t.
Sir W. If I don’t, I wish you may be in Charles Austencourt’s arms in three minutes from this present speaking.
Helen. And if you do, take my word for it I might be in his arms if I chose, in less than two minutes from this present warning.
Sir W. Might you so? Ha, ha! I’ll give you leave if you can: for unless you jump into them out of the window, I’ll defy the devil and all his imps to bring you together.
Helen. We shall come together without their assistance, depend on it, papa.
Sir W. Very well; and now, my dear, walk in.
Helen. With all my heart; only remember you had better not. (He puts her in.)
Sir W. That’s a good girl; and you, you baggage, in with you (to Tiffany, who goes in.)
Sir W. (shuts the door and locks it) “Safe bind, safe find,” is one of my lady Worret’s favourite proverbs; and that’s the only reason why I in general dislike it (going.)
Enter Falkner
Sir W. Once more welcome, my dear Falkner. What brings you back so soon?
Falk. You have a daughter —
Sir W. Well, I know I have.
Falk. And a wife.
Sir W. I’m much obliged to you for the information. You have been a widower some years I believe.
Falk. What of that? do you envy me?
Sir W. Envy you! what! because you are a widower? Eh? Zounds, I believe he is laughing at me (aside.)
Falk. I am just informed that every thing is finally arranged between your lady and his lordship respecting Helen’s marriage.
Sir W. Yes, every thing is happily settled.
Falk. I am sincerely sorry to hear it.
Sir W. You are! I should have thought Mr. Falkner, that my daughter’s happiness was dear to you.
Falk. It is, and therefore I do not wish to see her married to lord Austencourt.
Sir W. Why then what the devil is it you mean?
Falk. To see her married to the man of her heart, with whom I trust to see her as happy – as you are with lady Worret.
Sir W. Yes, ha! ha! ha! yes! but you are in jest respecting my daughter.
Falk. No matter! where is Helen?
Sir W. Safe under lock and key.
Falk. Under lock and key!
Sir W. Ay, in that very room. I’ve locked her up to keep her from that hot-headed young rogue, Charles Austencourt. Should you like to see her? She’s grown a fine young woman.
Falk. With all my heart.
Sir W. You’ll be surprised, I can tell you.
Falk. I dare say.
Sir W. We’ll pop in upon her when she least expects it. I’ll bet my life you’ll be astonished at her appearance.
Falk. Well, I shall be glad to see your daughter; but she must not marry this lord.
Sir W. No! Who then?
Falk. The man she loves.
Sir W. Hey! oh yes! but who do you mean! Charles Austencourt? (opening the door.)
Enter Lady Worret, suddenly
Lady W. Charles Austencourt!
Falk. (aloud, and striking the floor with his stick.) Ay, Charles Austencourt!
Charles. (entering) Here am I. Who calls?
Helen and Tiffany come forward, and Tiffany goes off
Sir W. Fire and fagots! what do I see?
Lady W. Ah Heavens defend me! what do I behold?
Falk. Why, is this the surprise you promised me? The astonishment seems general. Pray, sir Willoughby, explain this puppet show!
Lady W. Ay! pray sir Willoughby explain —
Sir W. Curse me if I can.
Helen. I told you how it would be, papa, and you would not believe me!
Sir W. So! pray, sir, condescend to inform lady Worret and me, how you introduced yourself into that most extraordinary situation.
Charles. Sir, I shall make no mystery of it, nor attempt to screen you from her ladyship’s just reproaches, by concealing one atom of the truth. The fact is, madam, that sir Willoughby not only in my hearing, gave Miss Helen his unrestricted permission to throw herself into my arms, but actually forced her into the room where I was quietly seated, and positively and deliberately lock’d us in together!
Lady W. Oh! I shall expire!
Sir W. I’ve heard of matchless impudence, but curse me if this isn’t the paragon of the species! Zounds! I’m in a wonderful passion! Daughter, I am resolved to have this affair explained to my satisfaction.
Helen. You may have it explained, papa, but I fear it won’t be to your satisfaction.
Charles. No, sir, nor to her ladyship’s either, and now, as my situation here is not remarkably agreeable I take my leave: madam, your most obedient, and sir Willoughby, the next time you propose an agreeable surprise for your friends —
Sir W. Harkye sir, how you came into my house I can’t tell, but if you don’t presently walk out of it.
Charles. I say, I heartily hope that you may accomplish your purpose.
Sir W. Zounds, sir, leave my house.
Charles. Without finding yourself the most astonished of the party! [Exit.
Sir W. Thank heaven my house is rid of him.
Lady W. As usual, sir Willoughby, a precious business you’ve made of this!
Sir W. Death and furies, my Lady Worret —
Falk. Gently, my old friend, gently: I’m one too many here during these little domestic discussions; but before I go, on two points let me caution you; let your daughter choose her own husband if you wish her to have one without leaping out of the window to get at him; and be master of your own house and your own wife if you do not wish to continue, what you now are, the laughing-stock of all your acquaintance. – [Exit.
Lady W. Ah! the barbarian!
Sir W. (appears astonished) I’m thunderstruck (makes signs to Helen to go before.)
Helen. Won’t you go first, papa?
Sir W. Hey? If I lose sight of you till you’ve explained this business, may I be laid up with the gout while you are galloping the Gretna Green! “Be master of your house and wife if you don’t wish to continue, what you now are! – Hey? the laughing-stock of all your acquaintance!” Sir Willoughby Worret the laughing stock of all his acquaintance! I think I see my self the laughing-stock of all my acquaintance (pointing to the door) I’ll follow you ladies! I’ll reform! ’tis never too late to mend! [Exeunt.
