Jack. Why, ma’am, that’s just my way of thinking! I like to be always getting forward, always doing something. Why, I am going now as far as Fleet Street, to a print shop, where I left Tom Whiffle. I met him in my way from Cornhill, & promised to be back with him in half an hour.
Beaufort. Cornhill? You said you were going to Hyde Park.
Jack. Yes, but I met Kit Filligree, & he hauled me into the City. But, now you put me in mind of it, I believe I had best run there first, & see who’s waiting.
Beaufort. But what, in the mean time, is to become of Tom Whiffle?
Jack. O, hang him, he can wait.
Codger. In truth, son Jack, you scandalize me! I have even apprehensions for your head; you appear to me to be non compos mentis.
Beaufort. Tis pity, Jack, you cannot change situations with a running footman.
Jack. Ay, ay, good folks, I know you all love to cut me up, so pray amuse yourselves your own way, — only don’t expect me to stay & hear you.
[Going.
Codger. Son Jack, return. Pray answer me to the following question.
Jack. Dear sir, pray be quick, for I’m in a horrid hurry.
Codger. A little more patience, son, would become you better; you should consider that you are but a boy, & that I am your father.
Jack. Yes, sir, I do. Was that all, sir?
Codger. All? Why, I have said nothing.
Jack. Very true, sir.
Codger. You ought, also, to keep it constantly in your head that I am not merely older, but wiser than yourself.
Jack. Yes, sir. [Aside.] Demme, though, if I believe that!
Codger. You would do well, also, to remember, that such haste to quit my presence, looks as if you took no pleasure in my company.
Jack. It does so, sir. [Aside.] Plague take it, I shan’t get away this age.
Codger. Son Jack, I insist upon your minding what I say.
Jack. I will, sir.
[Going.
Codger. Why, you are running away without hearing my question.
Jack. [Aside.] O dem it, I shall never get off! [To Codger.] Pray, sir, what is it?
Codger. Don’t speak so quick, Jack, there’s no understanding a word you say. One would think you supposed I was going to take the trouble of asking a question that was not of sufficient importance to deserve an answer.
Jack. True, sir: but do pray be so good to make haste.
Codger. Son, once again, don’t put yourself in such a fury; you hurry me so, you have almost made me forget what I wanted to ask you; let me see, — O, now I recollect; pray do you know if the fish was sent home before you came out?
Jack. Lord no, sir, I know nothing of the matter! [Aside.] How plaguey tiresome! To keep me all this time for such a question as that.
Codger. Son Jack, you know nothing! I am concerned to say it, but you know nothing!
Lady Smatter. Don’t judge him hastily. Mr. Dabler, you seem lost in thought.
Dabler. Do I, ma’am? I protest I did not know it.
Lady Smatter. O you are a sly creature! Planning some poem, I dare say.
Jack. I’ll e’en take French leave.
[Going.
Cecilia. [Following him.] You are destined to be tormented this morning, for I cannot suffer you to escape till we come to an explanation: you said you had news for me?
Jack. O ay, true; I’ll tell you what it was. While I was upon ’Change this morning — but hold, I believe I’d best tell Lady Smatter first.
Cecilia. Why so?
Jack. Because perhaps you’ll be frightened.
Cecilia. Frightened? At what?
Jack. Why it’s very bad news.
Cecilia. Good God, what can this mean?
Beaufort. Nothing, I dare be sworn.
Jack. Very well, brother! I wish you may think it nothing when you’ve heard it.
Cecilia. Don’t keep me in suspense, I beseech you.
Beaufort. Jack, what is it you mean by alarming Miss Stanley thus?
Jack. Plague take it, I wish I had not spoke at all! I shall have him fly into another passion!
Cecilia. Why will you not explain yourself?
Jack. Why, ma’am, if you please, I’ll call on you in the afternoon.
Cecilia. No, no, you do but increase my apprehensions by this delay.
Beaufort. Upon my honour, Jack, this is insufferable!
Jack. Why Lord, brother, don’t be so angry.
Lady Smatter. Nay, now Jack, you are really provoking.
Mrs. Sapient. Why yes, I must needs own I am, myself, of opinion that it is rather disagreeable to wait long for bad news.
Codger. In truth, Jack, you are no better than a booby.
Jack. Well, if you will have it, you will! But I tell you before hand you won’t like it. You know Stipend, the banker?
Cecilia. Good heaven, know him? Yes, — what of him?
Jack. Why — now, upon my word, I’d rather not speak.
Cecilia. You sicken me with apprehension!
Jack. Well, — had you much money in his hands?
Cecilia. Every thing I am worth in the world!
Jack. Had you, faith?
Cecilia. You terrify me to death! — what would you say?
Beaufort. No matter what, — Jack, I could murder you!
Jack. There, now, I said how it would be! Now would not any body suppose the man broke through my fault?
Cecilia. Broke? — O heaven, I am ruined!
Beaufort. No, my dearest Cecilia, your safety is wrapt in mine, &, to my heart’s last sigh, they shall be inseparable.
Lady Smatter. Broke? — what can this mean?
Mrs. Sapient. Broke? Who is broke? I am quite alarmed.
Codger. In truth, this has the appearance of a serious business.
Cecilia. Mr. Beaufort, let me pass — I can stand this no longer.
Beaufort. Allow me to conduct you to your own room; this torrent will else over-power you. Jack, wait till I return.
He leads Cecilia out.
Jack. No, no, brother, you’ll excuse me there! — I’ve stayed too long already.
[Going.
Lady Smatter. Hold, Jack. I have ten thousand questions to ask you. Explain to me what all this means. It is of the utmost consequence I should know immediately.
Mrs. Sapient. I, too, am greatly terrified: I know not but I may be myself concerned in this transaction; & really the thought of losing one’s money is extremely serious, for, as far as I have seen of the world, there’s no living without it.
Codger. In truth, son Jack, you have put us all into tribulation.
Mrs. Sapient. What, sir, did you say was the banker’s name?
Jack. [Aside.] Lord, how they worry me! [To Lady Smatter.] Stipend, ma’am.
Mrs. Sapient. Stipend? I protest he has concerns with half my acquaintance! Lady Smatter, I am in the utmost consternation at this intelligence; I think one hears some bad news or other every day, — half the people one knows are ruined! I wish your Ladyship good morning, upon my word, in my opinion, a bankruptcy is no pleasant thing!
[Exit.
Lady Smatter. Pray, Jack, satisfy me more clearly how this affair stands; tell me all you know of it?
Jack. [Aside.] Lord, I shan’t get away till midnight! [To Lady Smatter.] Why, ma’am, the man’s broke, that’s all.
Lady Smatter. But how? Is there no prospect his affairs may be made up?
Jack. None; they say upon ’Change there won’t be a shilling in the pound.
Lady Smatter. What an unexpected blow! Poor Miss Stanley!
Dabler. ’Tis a shocking circumstance indeed. [Aside.] I think it will make a pretty good elegy, though!
Lady Smatter. I can’t think what the poor girl will do! For here is an end of our marrying her!
Dabler. Tis very hard upon her indeed. [Aside.] ‘Twill be the most pathetic thing I ever wrote! [To Lady Smatter.] Ma’am, your Ladyship’s most obedient. [Aside.] I’ll to work while the subject is warm, — nobody
will read it with dry eyes!
[Exit.
Lady Smaller. I have the greatest regard in the world for Miss Stanley, — nobody can esteem her more; but I can’t think of letting Beaufort marry without money.
Codger. Pray, madam, how came Miss Stanley to have such very large concerns with Mr. Stipend?
Lady Smaller. Why he was not only her banker, but her guardian, & her whole fortune was in his hands. She is a pretty sort of girl, — I am really grieved for her.
Jack. Lord, here’s my brother! I wish I could make off.
Re-enter Beaufort.
Beaufort. Stay, sir! One word, & you will be most welcome to go. Whence had you the intelligence you so humanely communicated to Miss Stanley?
Jack. I had it upon ’Change. Every body was talking of it.
Beaufort. Enough. I have no desire to detain you any longer.
Jack. Why now, brother, perhaps you think I am not sorry for Miss Stanley, because of my coming in such a hurry? But I do assure you it was out of mere good nature, for I made a point of running all the way, for fear she should hear it from a stranger.
Beaufort. I desire you will leave me: my mind is occupied with other matters than attending to your defence.
Jack. Very well, brother. Plague take it, I wish I had gone to Hyde Park at once!
[Exit.
Codger. In truth, son Beaufort, I must confess Jack has been somewhat abrupt; but, nevertheless, I must hint to you that, when I am by, I think you might as well refer the due reproof to be given by me. Jack is not everybody’s son, although he be mine.
Beaufort. I am sorry I have offended you, sir, but —
Codger. Madam, as your house seems in some little perturbation, I hope you will excuse the shortness of my visit if I take leave now. Your Ladyship’s most humble servant. Jack is a good lad at the bottom, although he be somewhat wanting in solidity.
[Exit.
Beaufort. At length, thank heaven, the house is cleared. O madam, will you not go to Miss Stanley? I have left her in an agony of mind which I had no ability to mitigate.
Lady Smatter. Poor thing! I am really in great pain for her.
Beaufort. Your Ladyship alone has power to soothe her, — a power which, I hope, you will instantly exert.
Lady Smatter. I will go to her presently — or send for her here.
Beaufort. Surely your Ladyship will go to her? — at such a time as this, the smallest failure in respect —
Lady Smatter. As to that, Beaufort, — but I am thinking what the poor girl had best do; I really don’t know what to advise.
Beaufort. If I may be honoured with your powerful intercession, I hope to prevail with her to be mine immediately.
Lady Smatter. Pho, pho, don’t talk so idly.
Beaufort. Madam!
Lady Smatter. Be quiet a few minutes, & let me consider what can be done.
Beaufort. But, while we are both absent, what may not the sweet sufferer imagine?
Lady Smatter. Suppose we get her into the country? — yet I know not what she can do when she is there; she can’t live on green trees.
Beaufort. What does your Ladyship mean?
Lady Smatter. Nothing is so difficult as disposing of a poor girl of fashion.
Beaufort. Madam!
Lady Smatter. She has been brought up to nothing, — if she can make a cap, ’tis as much as she can do, — &, in such a case, when a girl is reduced to a penny, what is to be done?
Beaufort. Good heaven, madam, will Miss Stanley ever be reduced to a penny while I live in affluence?
Lady Smatter. Beaufort, — to cut the matter short, you must give her up.
Beaufort. Give her up?
Lady Smatter. Certainly; you can never suppose I shall consent to your marrying a girl who has lost all her fortune. While the match seemed suitable to your expectations, & to my intentions towards you, I readily countenanced it, but now, it is quite a different thing, — all is changed, and —
Beaufort. No, madam, no, all is not changed, for the heart of Beaufort is unalterable! I loved Miss Stanley in prosperity, — in adversity, I adore her! I solicited her favour when she was surrounded by my rivals, & I will still supplicate it, though she should be deserted by all the world besides. Her distress shall increase my tenderness, her poverty shall redouble my respect, & her misfortunes shall render her more dear to me than ever!
Lady Smatter. Beaufort, you offend me extremely. I have as high notions of sentiment & delicacy as you can have, for the study of the fine arts, as Pope justly says, greatly enlarges the mind; but, for all that, if you would still have me regard you as a son, you must pay me the obedience due to a mother, & never suppose I adopted you to marry you to a beggar.
Beaufort. A beggar? — Indignation chokes me! — I must leave you, madam, — the submission I pay you as a nephew, & the obedience I owe you as an adopted son, will else both give way to feelings I know not how to stifle!
[Exit.
Lady Smatter. This is really an unfortunate affair. I am quite distressed how to act, for the eyes of all the world will be upon me! I will see the girl, however, & give her a hint about Beaufort; — William!
Enter a Servant.
Tell Miss Stanley I beg to speak to her.
[Exit Servant.
I protest I wish she was fairly out of the house! I never cordially liked her, — she has not a grain of taste, & her compliments are so cold, one has no pleasure in receiving them, — she is a most insipid thing! I shan’t be sorry to have done with her.
Enter Cecilia.
Miss Stanley, my dear, your servant.
Cecilia. Oh madam!
Lady Smatter. Take courage; don’t be so downcast, — a noble mind, as I was reading the other day, is always superior to misfortune.
Cecilia. Alas, madam, in the first moments of sorrow & disappointment, Philosophy & Rhetoric offer their aid in vain! Affliction may, indeed, be alleviated, but it must first be felt.
Lady Smatter. I did not expect, Miss Stanley, you would have disputed this point with me; I thought, after so long studying matters of this sort, I might be allowed to be a better judge than a young person who has not studied them at all.
Cecilia. Good heaven, madam, are you offended?
Lady Smatter. Whether I am or not, we’ll not talk of it now; it would be illiberal to take offence at a person in distress.
Cecilia. Madam!
Lady Smatter. Do you think Jack may have been misinformed?
Cecilia. Alas no! I have just received this melancholy confirmation of his intelligence. [Gives Lady Smatter a letter.]
Lady Smatter. Upon my word ’tis a sad thing! A sad stroke upon my word! However, you have good friends, & such as, I dare say, will take care of you.
Cecilia. Take care of me, madam?
Lady Smatter. Yes, my dear, I will for one. And you should consider how much harder such a blow would have been to many other poor girls, who have not your resources.
Cecilia. My resources? I don’t understand you.
Lady Smatter. Nay, my dear, I only mean to comfort you, & to assure you of my continued regard; & if you can think of any thing in which I can serve you, I am quite at your command; nobody can wish you better. My house, too, shall always be open to you. I should scorn to desert you because you are in distress. A mind, indeed, cultivated & informed, as Shakespeare has it, will ever be above a mean action.
Cecilia. I am quite confounded!
Lady Smatter. In short, my dear, you will find me quite at your disposal, & as much your friend as in the sunshine of your prosperity: — but as to Beaufort —
Cecilia. Hold, madam! I now begin to understand your Ladyship perfectly.
Lady Smatter. Don’t be hasty, my dear. I say as to Beaufort, he is but a young man, & young men, you know, are mighty apt to be rash; but when they have no independence, & are of no profession, they should be very cautious how they disoblige their friends. Besides, it always happens that, when they are drawn in to their own ruin
, they involve —
Cecilia. No more, I beseech you, madam! I know not how to brook such terms, or to endure such indignity. I shall leave your Ladyship’s house instantly, nor, while any other will receive me, shall I re-enter it! Pardon me, madam, but I am yet young in the school of adversity, & my spirit is not yet tamed down to that abject submission to unmerited mortifications which time & long suffering can alone render supportable.
Lady Smatter. You quite surprise me, my dear! I can’t imagine what you mean. However, when your mind is more composed, I beg you will follow me to my own room. Till then, I will leave you to your meditations, for, as Swift has well said, ’tis vain to reason with a person in a passion.
[Exit.
Cecilia. Follow you? No, no, I will converse with you no more, cruel, unfeeling woman! I will quit your inhospitable roof, I will seek shelter — alas where? — without fortune, destitute of friends, ruined in circumstances, yet proud of heart, — where can the poor Cecilia seek shelter, peace or protection? Oh Beaufort! ’tis thine alone to console me; thy sympathy shall soften my calamities, & thy fidelity shall instruct me to support them. Yet fly I must! — Insult ought not to be borne, & those who twice risk, the third time deserve it.
End of Act the Second.
Act III. Scene 1
A dressing room at Lady Smatter’s.
Enter Lady Smatter, followed by Beaufort.
Beaufort. Madam, you distract me! ’Tis impossible her intentions should be unknown to you, — tell me, I beseech you, whither she is gone? what are her designs? & why she deigned not to acquaint me with her resolution?
Lady Smatter. Why will you, Beaufort, eternally forget that it is the duty of every wise man, as Swift has admirably said, to keep his passions to himself?
Beaufort. She must have been driven to this step, — it could never have occurred to her without provocation. Relieve me then, madam, from a suspense insupportable, & tell me, at least, to what asylum she has flown?
Lady Smatter. Beaufort, you make me blush for you! — Who would suppose that a scholar, a man of cultivated talents, could behave so childishly? Do you remember what Pope has said upon this subject?
Beaufort. This is past endurance! — no, madam, no! — at such a time as this, his very name is disgustful to me.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 361