Dabler. They’ll do very well, — pray leave them alone, — I am extremely busy; — [Aside.] I must leave these lodgings, I see!
Mrs. Voluble. O sir, I would not stay upon any account, but only sometimes there are such sudden showers, that if the windows are left open, half one’s things may be spoilt, before one knows any thing of the matter. And if so much as a paper of yours was to be damaged, I should never forgive myself, for I’d rather all the poets in the world should be burnt in one great bonfire, than lose so much as the most minikin bit of your writing, though no bigger than my nail.
Dabler. My dear Mrs. Voluble, you are very obliging. [Aside.] She’s a mighty good sort of woman, — I’ve a great mind to read her that song: — no, this will be better. [To Mrs. Voluble.] Mrs. Voluble, do you think you can keep a secret?
Mrs. Voluble. O dear sir, I’ll defy any body to excel me in that! I am more particular scrupulous about secrets than anybody.
Dabler. Well, then, I’ll read you a little thing I’ve just been composing, & you shall tell me your opinion of it. [Reads.] On a Young Lady Blinded by Lightning.
Fair Cloris, now depriv’d of sight,
To error ow’d her fate uneven;
Her eyes were so refulgent bright
The blundering lightning thought them heaven.
What do you think of it, Mrs. Voluble?
Mrs. Voluble. O, I think it the prettiest, most moving thing I ever heard in my life.
Dabler. Do you indeed? — pray sit down, Mrs. Voluble, I protest I never observed you were standing.
Mrs. Voluble. Dear sir, you’re vastly polite.
[Seats herself.
Dabler. So you really think it’s pretty good, do you?
Mrs. Voluble. O dear yes, sir; I never heard any thing I liked so well in my life. It’s prodigious fine, indeed!
Dabler. Pray don’t sit so near the door, Mrs. Voluble; I’m afraid you will take cold. [Aside.] ’Tis amazing to me where this woman picked up so much taste!
Mrs. Voluble. But I hope, sir, my being here is of no hindrance to you, because, if it is, I’m sure —
Dabler. [Looking at his watch.] No, Mrs. Voluble, I am obliged to go out myself now. I leave my room in your charge; let care be taken that no human being enters it in my absence, & don’t let one of my papers be touched or moved upon any account.
Mrs. Voluble. Sir, I shall lock the door, & put the key in my pocket. Nobody shall so much as know there’s a paper in the house.
[Exit Dabler.
Mrs. Voluble. I believe it’s almost a week since I’ve had a good rummage of them myself. Let’s see, is not this ‘Sprit Night? Yes; & he won’t come home till very late, so I think I may as well give them a fair look over at once. [Seats herself at the table.] Well, now, how nice & snug this is! What’s here?
[Takes up a paper.
Enter Bob.
Bob. Mother, here’s Miss Jenny, the milliner maker.
Mrs. Voluble. Is there? Ask her to come up.
Bob. Lord, mother, why you would not have her come into Mr. Dabler’s room? Why, if he —
Mrs. Voluble. What’s that to you? Do you suppose I don’t know what I’m about? You’re never easy but when you’re a-talking, — always prate, prate, prate about something or other. Go & ask her to come up, I say.
Bob. Lord, one can’t speak a word!
[Exit.
Mrs. Voluble. Have done, will you? Mutter, mutter, mutter; — It will be a prodigious treat to Miss Jenny to come into this room.
Enter Miss Jenny.
Miss Jenny, how do do, my dear? This is very obliging of you. Do you know whose room you are in?
Miss Jenny. No, ma’am.
Mrs. Voluble. Mr. Dabler’s own room, I assure you! And here’s all his papers; these are what he calls his miniscrips.
Miss Jenny. Well, what a heap of them!
Mrs. Voluble. And he’s got five or six boxes brimful besides.
Miss Jenny. Dear me! Well, I could not do so much if I was to have the Indies!
Mrs. Voluble. Now if you’ll promise not to tell a living soul a word of the matter, I’ll read you some of them: but be sure, now, you don’t tell.
Miss Jenny. Dear no, I would not for ever so much.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, then, let’s see, — what’s this? [Takes up a paper.] Elegy on the Slaughter of a Lamb.
Miss Jenny. O, pray let’s have that.
Mrs. Voluble. I’ll put it aside, & look out some more. A Dialogue between a Tear & a Sigh, — Verses on a Young Lady’s Fainting Away —
Miss Jenny. That must be pretty indeed! I dare say it will make us cry.
Mrs. Voluble. An Epitaph on a Fly killed by a Spider; an —
Enter Bob.
Bob. Mother, here’s a young gentlewoman wants you.
Mrs. Voluble. A young gentlewoman? — who can it be?
Bob. I never see her before. She’s a deal smarter than Miss Jenny.
Miss Jenny. I’m sure I’d have come more dressed, if I’d known of seeing anybody.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, I can’t imagine who it is. I’m sure I’m in a sad pickle. Ask her into the parlor.
Miss Jenny. Dear ma’am, you’d better by half see her here; all the fine folks have their company up stairs, for I see a deal of the quality, by carrying things home.
Mrs. Voluble. Well then, ask her to come up.
Bob. But suppose Mr. Dabler —
Mrs. Voluble. Mind your own business, sir, & don’t think to teach me. Go & ask her up this minute.
Bob. I’m going, a’n’t I?
[Exit.
Mrs. Voluble. I do verily believe that boy has no equal for prating; I never saw the like of him, — his tongue’s always a-running.
Re-enter Bob, followed by Cecilia.
Bob. Mother, here’s the young gentlewoman.
Cecilia. I presume, ma’am, you are Mrs. Voluble?
Mrs. Voluble. Yes, ma’am.
Cecilia. I hope you will excuse this intrusion; & I must beg the favour of a few minutes private conversation with you.
Mrs. Voluble. To be sure, ma’am. Bobby, get the lady a chair. I hope, ma’am, you’ll excuse Bobby’s coming in before you; he’s a sad rude boy for manners.
Bob. Why the young gentlewoman bid me herself; ’twas no fault of mine.
Mrs. Voluble. Be quiet, will you? Jabber, jabber, jabber, — there’s no making you hold your tongue a minute. Pray, ma’am, do sit down.
Cecilia. I thank you, I had rather stand. I have but a few words to say to you, & will not detain you five minutes.
Miss Jenny. Suppose Master Bobby & I go down stairs till the lady has done? [Apart to Mrs. Voluble.] Why Lord, Mrs. Voluble, I know who that lady is as well as I know you! Why, it’s Miss Stanley, that we’ve been making such a heap of things for.
Mrs. Voluble. Why you don’t say so! What, the bride?
Miss Jenny. Yes.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, I protest I thought I’d seen her some where before. [To Cecilia.] Ma’am, I’m quite ashamed of not recollecting you sooner, but I hope your goodness will excuse it. I hope, ma’am, the good lady your aunt is well? — that is, your aunt that is to be?
Cecilia. If you mean Lady Smatter, — I believe she is well. —
Mrs. Voluble. I’m sure, ma’am, I’ve the greatest respect in the world for her Ladyship, though I have not the pleasure to know her; but I hear all about her from Mrs. Hobbins, — to be sure, ma’am, you know Mrs. Hobbins, my lady’s house-keeper?
Cecilia. Certainly: it was by her direction I came hither.
Mrs. Voluble. That was very obliging of her, I’m sure, & I take your coming as a very particular favour. I hope, ma’am, all the rest of the family’s well? And Mrs. Simper, my lady’s woman? But I beg pardon for my ill manners, ma’am, for to be sure, I ought first to have asked for Mr. Beaufort. I hope he’s well, ma’am?
Cecilia. I — I don’t know — I believe, — I fancy he is. —
Mrs. Voluble. Well, he’s a most agreeable ge
ntleman indeed, ma’am, & I think —
Cecilia. If it is inconvenient for me to speak to you now —
Mrs. Voluble. Not at all, ma’am; Miss Jenny & Bobby can as well divert themselves in the parlor.
Miss Jenny. Dear me, yes, I’ll go directly.
Bob. And I’ll go & sit in the kitchen, & look at the clock, & when it’s five minutes, I’ll tell Miss Jenny.
Miss Jenny. Come, then, Master Bobby. [Aside.] She’s very melancholic, I think, for a young lady just going to be married.
[Exit with Bob.
Cecilia. The motive which has induced me to give you this trouble, Mrs. Voluble —
Mrs. Voluble. Dear ma’am, pray don’t talk of trouble, for I’m sure I think it none. I take it quite as a favour to receive a visit from such a young lady as you. But pray, ma’am, sit down; I’m quite ashamed to see you standing, — it’s enough to tire you to death.
Cecilia. It is not of the least consequence. A very unexpected & unhappy event has obliged me, most abruptly, to quit the house of Lady Smatter, & if —
Mrs. Voluble. Dear ma’am, you surprise me! But I hope you have not parted upon account of any disagreement?
Cecilia. I must beg you to hear me. I have, at present, insuperable objections to visiting any of my friends; & Mrs. Hobbins, who advised me to apply to you, said she believed you would be able to recommend me to some place where I can be properly accommodated till my affairs are settled.
Mrs. Voluble. To be sure, ma’am, I can. But pray, ma’am, may I make bold to ask the reason of your parting?
Cecilia. I am not, at present, at liberty to tell it. Do you recollect any place that —
Mrs. Voluble. O dear yes, ma’am, I know many. Let’s see, — there’s one in King Street, — & there’s one in Charles Street, — & there’s another in — Lord, I dare say I know an hundred! Only I shall be very cautious of what I recommend, for it is not every place will do for such a lady as you. But pray, ma’am, where may Mr. Beaufort be? I hope he has no hand in this affair?
Cecilia. Pray ask me no questions!
Mrs. Voluble. I’m sure, ma’am, I don’t mean to be troublesome; & as to asking questions, I make a point not to do it, for I think that curiosity is the most impertinent thing in the world. I suppose, ma’am, he knows of your being here?
Cecilia. No, no, — he knows nothing about me.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, that’s quite surprising, upon my word! To be sure, poor gentleman, it must give him a deal of concern, that’s but natural, & besides —
Cecilia. Can you name no place to me, Mrs. Voluble, that you think will be eligible?
Mrs. Voluble. Yes sure, I can, ma’am. I know a lady in the very next street, who has very genteel apartments, that will come to about five or six guineas a week, for, to be sure, a young lady of your fortune would not choose to give less.
Cecilia. Alas!
Mrs. Voluble. Dear ma’am, don’t vex so; I dare say my lady will think better of it; besides, it’s for her interest, for though, to be sure, Mr. Beaufort will have a fine income, yet young ladies of forty thousand pounds fortune a’n’t to be met with every day; & the folks say, ma’am, that yours will be full that.
Cecilia. I must entreat you, Mrs. Voluble, not to speak of my affairs at present; my mind is greatly disordered, & I cannot bear the subject.
Mrs. Voluble. Dear ma’am, I won’t say another word. To be sure, nothing’s so improper as talking of private affairs, — it’s a thing I never do, for really —
Enter Miss Jenny & Bob.
Miss Jenny. May we come in?
Mrs. Voluble. Lord no; why I ha’n’t heard one single thing yet.
Bob. It’s a great deal past the five minutes. I’ve been looking at the clock all the time.
Miss Jenny. Well, then, shall we go again?
Cecilia. No, it is not necessary. Mrs. Voluble, you can be so good as to answer my question, without troubling anybody to leave the room.
Miss Jenny. Then we’ll keep at this side, & we shan’t hear what you say.
[Miss Jenny & Bob walk aside.
Mrs. Voluble. What think you, ma’am, of that place I mentioned?
Cecilia. I mean to be quite private, & should wish for a situation less expensive.
Mrs. Voluble. Why sure, ma’am, you would not think of giving less than five guineas a week? That’s just nothing out of such a fortune as yours.
Cecilia. Talk to me no more of my fortune, I beseech you, — I have none! — I have lost it all! —
Mrs. Voluble. Dear ma’am, why, you put me quite in a cold sweat! Lost all your fortune?
Cecilia. I know not what I say! — I can talk no longer; — pray excuse my incoherence; — & if you can allow me to remain here for half an hour, I may, in that time perhaps hear from my friends, & know better how to guide myself.
Mrs. Voluble. Yes, sure, ma’am, I shall be quite proud of your company. But I hope, ma’am, you was not in earnest about losing fortune?
Cecilia. Let nothing I have said be mentioned, I beseech you; converse with your friends as if I was not here, & suffer me to recover my composure in silence. [Walks away.] [Aside.] Oh Beaufort, my only hope & refuge! Hasten to my support, ere my spirits wholly sink under the pressure of distressful suspense.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, this is quite what I call a nigma! Miss Jenny, my dear, come here; I’ll tell you how it is, — do you know she’s come away from Lady Smatter’s?
Miss Jenny. Dear me!
Mrs. Voluble. Yes; & what’s worse, she says she’s lost all her fortune.
Miss Jenny. Lost all her fortune? Lack a daisy! Why, then who’s to pay for all our things? Why, we’ve got such a heap as will come to a matter of I don’t know how much.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, to be sure it’s a sad thing; but you’re to know I don’t much believe it, for she said it in a sort of a pet; & my notion is she has been falling out with her sweetheart, & if so may be her head’s a little touched. Them things often happens in the quarrels of lovers.
Enter Betty.
Betty. Ma’am, here’s a gentleman wants the young lady.
Cecilia. [Starting.] Tis surely Beaufort! — Beg him to walk up stairs. — Mrs. Voluble, will you excuse this liberty?
Mrs. Voluble. Yes, sure, ma’am.
[Exit Betty.
Cecilia. [Aside.] Dear, constant Beaufort! — how grateful to my heart is this generous alacrity!
Mrs. Voluble. [Aside to Miss Jenny.] I dare say this is her sweetheart.
Miss Jenny. Dear me, how nice! We shall hear all they say!
Enter Censor.
Cecilia. Mr. Censor! — good heaven!
Censor. Miss Stanley, I will not say I rejoice, — for, in truth, in this place I grieve to see you.
Mrs. Voluble. Pray, sir, won’t you sit down?
Censor. I thank you, madam, I had rather stand. Miss Stanley, I must beg the honour of speaking to you alone.
Mrs. Voluble. O sir, if you like it, I’m sure we’ll go.
Censor. Ay, pray do.
Mrs. Voluble. [Aside to Miss Jenny.] This gentleman is by no means what I call a polite person, [To Censor.] Sir, I hope you’ll put the young lady in better spirits; she has been very low indeed since she came; &, sir, if you should want for any thing, I beg —
Censor. Do, good madam, be quick. I am in haste.
Mrs. Voluble. We’re going directly, sir. Come, Miss Jenny. Bobby, you great oaf, what do you stand gaping there for? Why don’t you go?
Bob. Why, you would not have me go faster than I can, would you?
[Exit.
Mrs. Voluble. I would have you hold your tongue, Mr. prate-apace! Always wrangling & wrangling. Come, Miss Jenny!
[Exit.
Miss Jenny. I don’t see why we might not as well have stayed here.
[Exit.
Cecilia. By what means, sir, have you discovered me? — have you been at Lady Smatter’s? — does anybody there know where I am, except her Ladyship?
Censor. First let m
e ask you what possible allurement could draw you under this roof? Did you mean, by the volubility of folly, to over-power the sadness of recollection? Did you imagine that nonsense has the same oblivious quality as the waters of Lethe? & flatter yourself that, by swallowing large draughts, you should annihilate all remembrance of your misfortunes?
Cecilia. No, no! I came hither by the dire guidance of necessity. I wish to absent myself from my friends till the real state of my affairs is better known to me. I have sent my servant into the City, whence I expect speedy intelligence. Lady Smatter’s housekeeper assured me that the character of this woman was unblemished, & I was interested in no other enquiry. But tell me, I beseech you, whence you had your information of the calamity that has befallen me? & who directed you hither? & whether my letter has been shown or concealed? — & what I am to infer from your being the first to seek me?
Censor. Pray go on!
Cecilia. Sir!
Censor. Nay, if you ask forty more questions without waiting for an answer, I have messages that will more than keep pace with your enquiries; therefore ask on, & spare not!
Cecilia. [Disconcerted.] No, sir, I have done!
Censor. How! Have I, then, discovered the art of silencing a lover? Hasten to me, ye wearied guardians of pining youth, I will tell ye a secret precious to ye as repose! Fly hither, ye sad & solemn confidants of the love-lorn tribe, for I can point out relief to exhausted patience!
Cecilia. Spare this raillery, I beseech you; — & keep me not in suspense as to the motive of your visit.
Censor. My first motive is the desire of seeing, — my second of serving you; if indeed, the ill-usage you have experienced from one banker, will not intimidate you from trusting in another.
Cecilia. How am I to understand you?
Censor. As an honest man! Or, in other words, as a man to whose friendship distressed innocence has a claim indisputable.
Cecilia. You amaze me!
Censor. It must be some time ere your affairs can be settled, & the loss of wealth will speedily, & roughly make you know its value. Consider me, therefore, as your banker, & draw upon me without reserve. Your present situation will teach you many lessons you are ill prepared to learn; but experience is an unfeeling master, whose severity is neither to be baffled by youth, nor softened by innocence. Suppose we open our account today? [Presenting a paper.] This may serve for a beginning; I will call again to-morrow for fresh orders.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 363