YOUNG BONCOUR. I was thinking, sir, how happy such a sum as this would have made me when I was at school; but really, in my circumstances, it will go a very little way; it will but just pay for a picture which I bought yesterday.
MR. BONCOUR. A hundred pounds is a large price for a picture.
YOUNG BONCOUR. A mere trifle, sir; one can get nothing to hang up in a room for less.
MR. BONCOUR. I only give that hint, because I should be sorry that your demands should ever be such as I should be unable to answer.
YOUNG BONCOUR. I am not such a stranger to your fortune, sir, as to incur expense beyond its reach.
MR. BONCOUR. No more of this: call on me by and by, and your wants shall be supplied; but, I believe you guess by the formality of my preparation, and my sending away your sister, that I have something of moment to impart to you — Without more preface — what think you of marriage?
YOUNG BONCOUR. Marriage sir?
MR. BONCOUR. Ay: I don’t expect your good sense will treat my proposition with the common stale raillery of those noble free-spirited libertines, whose great souls disdain to be confined within the limits of matrimony: who laugh at constancy to the chaste arms of a woman of virtue, while at the expense of health and fortune they are strictly faithful to the deceitful embraces of some vile designing harlot.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Pardon me, sir; my thoughts of marriage are different; but I hope, sir you will indulge me in choosing a wife for myself.
MR. BONCOUR. You need not apprehend too much compulsion or restraint; but the lady I shall recommend to you is so unexceptionable —
YOUNG BONCOUR. To be sincere, sir, my affections are already engaged; and though I have no hasty thoughts of marrying, yet when I do, I am determined on the person, and one whom I think unexceptionable on your side.
MR. BONCOUR. Her name?
YOUNG BONCOUR. Miss Valence.
MR. BONCOUR. Her fortune, I apprehend, is much inferior to that of the lady I should have proposed; but neither her fortune nor family are such as shall make me endeavour to oppose your inclinations.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Sir, you are ever good; though indeed in this you indulge me only in the common right which nature has bestowed on me; for to restrain the inclination in that point, is not a lawful but a usurped power in a parent: how can Nature give another the power to direct those affections which she has not enabled even ourselves to govern?
MR. BONCOUR. However, you will give me leave to treat with Mr. Valence on this subject; for though I know he must rejoice at that offer, yet he is a man of that kind who must be dealt with with due circumspection; and the minds of lovers are too much wrapt up in sublime pleasures, to attend to the low settlement of worldly affairs.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT. Sir, Monsieur Valence desires to know if your honour be at home. Young BONCOUR. I shall be glad to see him.
MR. BONCOUR. I’ll leave you, and go and find out the old gentleman.
YOUNG BONCOUR. I believe, sir, you may treat with him farther than for me; my sister’s inclinations, I am confident, look toward the same family.
MR. BONCOUR. Are you certain of that?
YOUNG BONCOUR. By incontestable proofs.
MR. BONCOUR. Well, Mr. Valence and I have been old acquaintance and neighbours; he is of a good family, and has a good fortune; and the world gives him and his children a fair character. I am glad you have disposed of your affections in no worse manner: good-morrow to you, George — I shall see you in the afternoon.
YOUNG BONCOUR. I shall not forget to pay my duty to you, sir.
MR. BONCOUR. No ceremony with me. [Exit.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Sir [bows]; I believe I have the most complaisant father in Christendom. Though all fathers are too niggardly — This sneaking hundred: ha! ha! ha! My dear Valence, good-morrow: —
Enter YOUNG VALENCE. Why look you so sprightly and gay? some unexpected happiness has befallen you.
YOUNG VALENCE. O Boncour! my father, can you believe it? he sent for me this morning, of his own accord, without the least petition, the least motion of mine, sent for me, and with the utmost generosity, made me a present of ten pieces.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Ha, ha, ha!
YOUNG VALENCE. Why do you laugh?
YOUNG BONCOUR. To see you so much over-rate a trifle. My father paid me a visit this morning, and with the utmost generosity made me a present of a hundred: upon which, with the utmost gratitude, I asked him for more! Why, tell me, Charles, dost thou think it is not his duty who hath begot us with all those appetites and passions, to supply them to the utmost of his power? But, Charles, I hope you will make your friends partakers of your father’s generosity: you will dine with us to-day.
YOUNG VALENCE. Your company is generally too expensive for me.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Why, faith, the world is grown to such a pass, that, without expense, a man cannot keep good company.
YOUNG VALENCE. By good company, I suppose you mean embroidered company; for men of sense are to be come at cheaper.
YOUNG BONCOUR. By good company, I mean polite company; for true politeness, though it does not make a man of sense, it mends him.
YOUNG VALENCE. But does politeness never dine without a French cook, nor eat out of anything but plate?
YOUNG BONCOUR. To show you I think otherwise, I will dine with you wherever you please.
YOUNG VALENCE. Why, my business with you was, to let you know my father has been so good to give my sister leave to spend this day at your house; now, if you will, without ceremony, let me invite myself to the same place —
YOUNG BONCOUR. You make me perfectly happy, and I hope to know something this afternoon which will make you so; at least, if you wish to call me brother as eagerly as I do to call you by that name.
YOUNG VALENCE. Need I declare that to you?
YOUNG BONCOUR. Then I assure you, your father’s consent is only wanting.
YOUNG VALENCE. Ha! — you make me happy, indeed; for were the alliance less advantageous, he is so good, so indulgent, I will fly to him, and throw myself at his feet to obtain it.
YOUNG BONCOUR. I believe my chariot is at the door; I will carry you — Oh, my dear Charles, my spirits are now so high, that it must be an uncommon accident which will ruffle them; and believe me, the vast delight which the near prospect of enjoyment of my love affords me, is not a little heightened by the expectation of seeing you also happy in your wishes; and I can look down with contempt on the merchant, who sees the anchor cast to his ship; the general, who has just obtained a victory; or the despairing minister, who has just carried his point and subverted the designs of his enemies. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A Room in OLD VALENCE’S House.
Enter OLD VALENCE and SERVANT.
OLD VALENCE. Tell Mr. Boncour I shall be glad to see him. — What can this formal visit mean? I hope he has not discovered the intimacy between our children; if I could once compass that double marriage, I should complete my wishes; why not? For I know the violent passion of the young people, and the extreme indulgence of the father; but, though he is a weak man, it is impossible he should give his consent; the disparity of fortune is too great: Well! but, as he has brought up his children to hate and despise him, perhaps they may not ask it; no, it would make me too happy.
Enter MR. BONCOUR.
MR. BONCOUR. My good old friend and neighbour, how do you do?
OLD VALENCE. Mr. Boncour, I am heartily glad to see you; this is extremely kind, and hath prevented me this very morning paying you that visit, which I have been obliged to owe you some time against my inclination.
MR. BONCOUR. Ceremony between old friends, my good neighbour, is ridiculous; it is the privilege of friendship and love to throw aside those forms, which only serve men to keep up an appearance of affection where there is none; there has been a long acquaintance and intimacy between our families.
OLD VALENCE. There has been so indeed, and highly to my satisfaction.
MR. BONCOUR. I am deceived, my very good old friend, if there are not some who wish a much closer alliance; you know, Mr. Valence, my way hath been always to discover my sentiments, without great formality of introduction; in short, I have discovered a very particular intimacy between our younger branches; I am mistaken if they are not desirous to knit the alliance still closer.
OLD VALENCE. SO! (just what I feared). [Aside.
MR. BONCOUR. But you know, my old friend, the views of young people, and of their parents, in matrimony, are extremely different; theirs is only the satisfaction of an immediate passion, ours looks forward to their future happiness.
OLD VALENCE. Sir, I am surprised at what you tell me. [Confusedly.
MR. BONCOUR. Why surprised? it is but a natural affection.
OLD VALENCE. It is an affection, sir, which I never encouraged in them.
MR. BONCOUR. It is in our power, Mr. Valence —
OLD VALENCE. I shall be very ready to contribute mine, I assure you; I scorn to connive at my children’s stealing a match into any family, particularly my friend’s: I do assure you, I should scorn it.
MR. BONCOUR. I believe, indeed, you would — but —
OLD VALENCE. If I had had but the least suspicion — if such a thing had ever entered into my thoughts, you should have known it that moment.
MR. BONCOUR. I am convinced, but give me leave — perhaps the advantage may be somewhat of your side.
OLD VALENCE. Dear sir, the whole world knows how infinitely it is so; but I am not like the world in all respects; I am not so devoted to my interest to do a mean thing; I would not do a mean thing for the world.
MR. BONCOUR. Nor am I so like the world to place my own or my children’s interest in riches only, or rather to sacrifice their happiness to my own vanity; I am willing, when they have taken out a license, that they shall have no more to do with Doctors’ Commons; for which reason I will neither marry my daughter to a spindle-shanked beau, nor my son to a rampant woman of quality. Mr. Valence, our children love each other, and their passions, if encouraged, may make them happy: my business with you, my neighbour, is not to frustrate, but to complete their attachments; in a word, what think you of a double marriage between our families?
OLD VALENCE. [Surprised.] Sir! —
MR. BONCOUR. Are you willing it should be so?
OLD VALENCE. Are you in earnest?
MR. BONCOUR. I thought you had known me too well to suspect me of jesting on such an occasion; I assure you I have no other business here at present: I know my son’s happiness is wrapt up in your daughter, and for aught I know, my daughter may have the same affection for your son; I do not only therefore propose the match to you, but I do it with earnestness.
OLD VALENCE. Do you? Why then, for that very reason, I shall put on some backwardness; eagerness is always to be taken advantage of. [Aside.
MR. BONCOUR. Be not surprised; perhaps there may be some advantage in point of fortune on one side or other: if it should be on mine, I can never give it up better than to an old friend.
OLD VALENCE. Hum — that estate of mine in Northumberland is a very good estate, and very improvable; let me tell you, it is an estate that —
MR. BONCOUR. It will be the business of hereafter to consider each particular; we have been neighbours to each other so long, that our affairs in general can be no secret to either. At present I should be glad of your direct answer.
OLD VALENCE. A double marriage between our children! It is a matter, Mr. Boncour, which will require great consideration.
MR. BONCOUR. Ay! —
OLD VALENCE. Are you certain your son has so violent an affection for my daughter?
MR. BONCOUR. I am certain.
OLD VALENCE. And that your daughter has the same liking towards my son?
MR. BONCOUR. Women are not so open on these occasions, but I have reason to believe it.
OLD VALENCE. And they meet, I suppose, with a suitable return of affection from my children?
MR. BONCOUR. I believe they do.
OLD VALENCE. And you are entirely willing to have this double match go forward?
MR. BONCOUR. I am desirous of it, earnestly desirous.
OLD VALENCE. So that my consent alone is wanting?
MR. BONCOUR. Even so.
OLD VALENCE. It will require great consideration.
MR. BONCOUR. How?
OLD VALENCE. Mr. Boncour, I have always had the greatest respect for you and your family; there is nothing in my power which I would not do to serve you; consider, sir, I have but two children, a boy and a girl, they are my all, and the disposal of them is a matter of great weight; you cannot expect me to be so hasty in taking any measures leading to it.
MR. BONCOUR. Why, what objections can you apprehend?
OLD VALENCE. I don’t know: I have not yet considered enough of the matter. You will excuse me, Mr. Boncour, but treaties of this nature oblige us to inquire a little into one another’s affairs: why, that estate now of yours in Hampshire is a very ill-timbered estate.
MR. BONCOUR. Sir, I am in no doubt but that my estate will be able to answer your demands.
OLD VALENCE. They will not be unreasonable, Mr. Boncour; I shall act in a most generous manner; I have always despised those who have used any art in their actions; I shall be glad if it happens to fall within my power to oblige you; but truly, this affair requires great consideration.
MR. BONCOUR. Well, sir, I will leave you to it; in the afternoon I shall expect your answer.
OLD VALENCE. Mr. Boncour, you shall have my answer this very evening; be assured, if possible, I will comply with your desires.
MR. BONCOUR. I shall expect you this afternoon.
OLD VALENCE. I will wait on you, and hope there will be no difficulty.
MR. BONCOUR. There shall be none on my side. [Exit.
OLD VALENCE. This is beyond my utmost expectation; — but I must not appear forward, that I may make the better bargain; — nothing is so foolish as leaping eagerly at an advantageous proposal.
Enter YOUNG VALENCE.
So, son, where have you been? I have wanted you; is it impossible for you to stay at home with money in your pocket?
YOUNG VALENCE. Sir if I had known you would have wanted me —
OLD VALENCE. But you are not to know always: I don’t know myself; you must keep in the way; young fellows nowadays mind nothing but their pleasures.
YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, you will have no reason to complain of that, for to please you is my greatest pleasure.
OLD VALENCE. And so it ought to be, for I think my generosity to you this morning shows you that I have a pleasure in pleasing you.
YOUNG VALENCE. Oh, sir, if my happiness can give you pleasure, it is in your power to make me so happy!
OLD VALENCE. So, something else is wanted, I see; but, whatever it be, I may thank myself for it: bestowing one favour is giving right to ask a second; the first is a gift, the rest are payments.
YOUNG VALENCE. If a son hath any right to ask, it is the favour I shall ask of you; and if any son could hope to obtain, I must; since the only reason which prompts a father to deny is in my favour, and the lady on whom I have placed my affection is my superior in fortune.
OLD VALENCE. Ay! perhaps he means my friend’s daughter, and then my prudent backwardness will be finely rewarded [aside]. Who is the lady?
YOUNG VALENCE. One whose person, family, and fortune, are not unknown to you; but why should I fear to name her? Miss Boncour.
OLD VALENCE. Who? — what?
YOUNG VALENCE. Miss Boncour; sure you can have no objections.
OLD VALENCE. What a way is that of talking? You are sure I can have no objections? How can you tell what objections I may make? Are you to dictate to me? This is the consequence of my generosity to you this morning; this all arises from my foolish prodigality.
YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, I own my obligations, and am sorry I used an unguarded expression, by which I meant no more than that I hoped her fortune would be agreea
ble to you.
OLD VALENCE. I don’t know that.
YOUNG VALENCE. I thought, sir, so long an acquaintance with her father —
OLD VALENCE. And pray, why have you thought that my long acquaintance with her father must let me into the knowledge of his circumstances? Mr. Boncour has the reputation of a weak man, but notwithstanding that, I know he has a little low cunning in him, which makes it more difficult to see through his affairs than those of a wiser man; so let me give you a little advice: if you have an affection for this girl, don’t let her father see it; I hate deceit, and love to act openly and honestly with mankind; but still with some prudence towards such a cunning knave as Boncour.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 364