YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, I shall pay an exact observance to your orders.
OLD VALENCE. Well, well, perhaps you might have settled your affections worse; I don’t know, I don’t promise any thing, but if matters appear exactly to my mind —
YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, you are the best and most indulgent of fathers.
OLD VALENCE. Remember, I promise nothing.
YOUNG VALENCE. You are the kindest of men, and I the happiest.
OLD VALENCE. Observe my advice.
YOUNG VALENCE. I should be unworthy, indeed, were I to neglect it.
OLD VALENCE. GO, send your sister to me; remember, I promise nothing.
YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, you are the best of fathers. [Exit.
OLD VALENCE. This is the effect of severity; severity is indeed the whole duty of a parent — Now for my daughter — a little caution would suffice with her; for women of their own accord are apt enough to practise deceit, and now, I think I have my old neighbour’s fortune at my disposal.
Enter Miss VALENCE.
MISS VALENCE. My brother told me, sir, you had sent for me.
OLD VALENCE. Yes, Sophy, I did; come hither, I have not very lately given you any pocket-money.
MISS VALENCE. Sir, it is not my business to keep an account where I have no demand, but from the generosity of the giver.
OLD VALENCE. But I think I have not lately, that is very lately, given you much.
MISS VALENCE. No, really, sir, I don’t remember to have had any thing of you, since you gave me a ticket for the opera, and that is almost a year ago.
OLD VALENCE. Well, well, there are a couple of pieces for you; be a good housewife, and you sha’n’t want money.
MISS VALENCE. I give you a thousand thanks, sir.
OLD VALENCE. NOW, Sophy, look me full in the face, and tell me what you think of young Boncour.
MISS VALENCE. Why should you ask me what I think of him, sir?
OLD VALENCE. What an impertinent question is that! You give me fine encouragement to be generous to you; why should I ask you? I have reason, no doubt of it, but your cheeks answer me better than your lips; that blush sufficiently assures me what you think of him.
MISS VALENCE. If I blushed, sir, it was at your suspicion, for I am sure Mr. Boncour is no more to me than another man.
OLD VALENCE. But suppose I have a desire he should be more to you?
MISS VALENCE. I shall be dutiful to you in all things.
OLD VALENCE. I believe it will be an easy piece of duty; you are all very dutiful when you are ordered to follow your inclinations; but, young lady, what I insist on at present is, that if this gentleman has your affections you will be so good as to conceal them.
MISS VALENCE. Pray, sir, why should you think he has my affections?
OLD VALENCE. Again at your whys! Madam, I tell you I expect you to behave with discretion; that is, in other words, to deal as dishonestly with your lover as you do with your father; I am sure you can never repine at such easy commands; so this afternoon I desire you will put on all your reserve, all your airs and indifference: but, perhaps you have given him encouragement already, perhaps you have dutifully intended to marry him without consent or approbation of mine.
MISS VALENCE. Indeed, sir, you have no reason —
OLD VALENCE. How, have I no reason! a pretty compliment to your father; go to your chamber, madam, and stay there till you have learnt a more respectful behaviour.
MISS VALENCE. Sir, I obey — [Exit.
OLD VALENCE. Ah, there’s nothing like severity! children are so vile, that one dares not indulge one’s good inclination towards them: I have brought all this on me by my own generosity: but now for the business with Boncour, I will go to my lawyer, and we will draw up proposals together. An imprudent man in my situation would have testified immediate raptures, but the best general rule I know is, never to discover your thoughts, either in your words or your countenance. [Exit.
SCENE II
MR. BONCOUR’S House.
Enter Mr. BONCOUR and Miss BONCOUR.
MISS BONCOUR. Dear papa, don’t tease me about the fellow: I care not if he was hanged, and all other fellows! I affections for the creature! I wonder who can have put it into your head!
MR. BONCOUR. Nay, if it be not so, tell me frankly, and you shall be left out of the treaty which I am carrying on with the old gentleman, relative to a match between your brother and his daughter.
MISS BONCOUR. A match between my brother and Miss Valence!
MR. BONCOUR. We met this morning, and shall meet again this afternoon about it.
MISS BONCOUR. And pray tell me, dear sir, what makes you suspect any thing between me and Mr. — ? I forget the creature’s name!
MR. BONCOUR. Are my suspicions well grounded?
MISS BONCOUR. La, sir, I can’t conceive what should make you imagine any such thing.
MR. BONCOUR. You will not answer me directly?
MISS BONCOUR. I don’t know what to answer.
MR. BONCOUR. Nay, I desire no more! Well, my dear, we will not be long in finishing the settlements.
MISS BONCOUR. Settlements! Sir, you frighten me. I hope I have not said any thing — can’t one converse and dance with a man — But. I assure you, sir, it is no such thing.
Enter Young Boncour.
MR. BONCOUR. So, George, you find me engaged in an impossible task.
YOUNG BONCOUR. I am sorry for that, sir, pray what is it?
MR. BONCOUR. Nothing more than trying to get truth from a woman; it seems we have been under a mistake all this while, and one half of our treaty is abortive; your sister disavows all regard for Mr. Valence.
YOUNG BONCOUR. I am glad of it! for I should be sorry if she threw away her affections on one so worthless — one who, while he is addressing her, is engaged to another woman.
MR. BONCOUR. HOW!
YOUNG BONCOUR. Sir, I have had ocular demonstration; nay, I question if he be not married already; at least, I am certain every thing is concluded.
MR. BONCOUR. Say you so? this very well accounts for that backwardness which surprised me in the father —
MISS BONCOUR. Ha, ha, ha, — an affection, indeed! — ha, ha, ha! — no, I assure you, sir, I have no affection — an affection truly! — no, I have all the abhorrence and contempt in the world for him.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Dear sister, don’t be in a passion.
MISS BONCOUR. I am in no passion, brother; it is impossible for a man I hate and despise to put me in a passion; no, brother, when I know a man to be a villain, I assure you, brother, he shall never have if; in his power to give me uneasiness.
YOUNG BONCOUR. But, my dear —
MISS Boncour. No, brother, I would not have you think I am in a passion on his account; all that vexes me is, that my father should think I had a value for him.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Well, dear sir, I believe I need not fear to ask you the success of the business you was so kind to undertake.
MR. BONCOUR. Upon my word, George, it was such as surprised me, till you accounted for it, by this engagement of young Valence’s; T think, on comparing his circumstances, I might have expected a more hearty concurrence; but I do assure you, the best answer I could obtain was, that he would consider of it.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Oh, sir, that was only to lessen the opinion which he feared you might have had of the advantageousness of the proposal; I think I know him so well, that he would make an outward difficulty of assenting to a point which inwardly he heartily wished to compass; especially when he had no fear of losing it by so doing; as perhaps your good-natured forwardness made him secure on that side.
MR. BONCOUR. Ay, faith, it is surprising there should be such foolish wise men in the world.
MISS BONCOUR. Brother, one word with you; who told you this villain was to be married?
YOUNG BONCOUR. Excuse me — I cannot tell you.
MISS BONCOUR. I would not deny you, brother.
YOUNG BONCOUR. I should not have curiosity enough to ask what no ways
concerned me.
MISS BONCOUR. But suppose it did concern me?
YOUNG BONCOUR. Is that possible? — what! he that never made any addresses to you?
MISS BONCOUR. Addresses, pugh! — Pshaw, this is using me in a manner I did not expect; I would not conceal a secret from you, especially a sccret of this nature.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Oh! a secret of this nature! Now, be honest, and tell me why you called Valence a villain, and I will discover the whole.
MISS BONCOUR. A villain! if you knew as much as I, you would think it a term too gentle. Don’t imagine I have the least concern at losing him; but if what you say is true, he is the most perfidious wicked villain that ever broke his solemn vows to a woman.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Then to be as honest and sincere with you, there is not one single syllable of truth in all I have said. I am convinced he loves you sincerely, and since I find you return his passion with equal ardour —
MISS BONCOUR. What do you mean, brother?
MR. BONCOUR. Nay, child, ‘tis in vain to dissemble — you are fairly caught.
MISS BONCOUR. Well, I protest now, this is the most barbarous treatment; and so the story you raised of poor Valence is absolutely false?
YOUNG BONCOUR. AS mere fiction as ever came from a traveller or a newspaper.
MR. BONCOUR. Well, child, I think you need say no more to encourage me to include you in the treaty, at least I shall take your silence for consent.
MISS BONCOUR. Then if I must speak —
YOUNG BONCOUR. Let it be truth for once.
MISS BONCOUR. The devil take the story — for I never was more frightened by one in all my life.
MR. BONCOUR. George, I think there will be no farther obstruction; Mr. Valence will be here this afternoon; and as soon as matters can be settled by the lawyers, you may depend on your happiness.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Here is my mother coming this way; I believe it would be my sister’s wish, as well as mine, that this affair should be yet a secret from her.
MR. BONCOUR. I think you are in the wrong there; nor am I willing she should be unacquainted with a thing of this nature.
YOUNG BONCOUR. At least, sir, till I have the honour of seeing you again.
MISS BONCOUR. Ay, do, dear sir.
MR. BONCOUR. Well, so far I will indulge you. [Exeunt Young Boncour and Miss Boncour.
Enter MRS. BONCOUR.
MRS. BONCOUR. DO Mr. Valence’s family dine here to-day?
MR. BONCOUR. Yes, my dear.
MRS. BONCOUR. Very well, then, I will dine abroad.
MR. BONCOUR. AS you please, child, since your daughter is at home.
MRS. BONCOUR. I know, sir, it is a matter of indifference to you; but I think you need not affect it — it would be civiller to express — some regard for me, though it was never so counterfeit.
MR. BONCOUR. Would you have me say you shall not dine abroad?
MRS. BONCOUR. Shall not! I should laugh at that indeed!
MR. BONCOUR. Why, my dear, should I ever discover an inclination contrary to yours, by which you must be driven to the uneasiness of knowing you thwart one or the other? you know, child, concealments of this kind are the greatest delicacies of friendship.
MRS. BONCOUR. To be sure I can conceal nothing, nor I have no delicacy of friendship about me; I wonder you would choose so indelicate a woman.
MR. BONCOUR. Come, it is happy for you I did choose you; at least, you might have fallen to the lot of one who would have been less observant of your temper; suppose you had been married to my brother Sir George?
MRS. BONCOUR. Sir George! why Sir George? I know no man who would make a better husband.
MR. BONCOUR. So he says himself, and this I must confess, he would never have had a dispute of this kind with his wife; for he would have told her peremptorily, Madam, I have invited the company, and you shall stay and dine with them.
MRS. BONCOUR. Well, and that would have been kinder than indifference; for my part, I aver I could bear contradiction from a man that was fond of me.
MR. BONCOUR. What, rather than compliance?
MRS. BONCOUR. I am not that fool you may imagine me; I know a little of human nature, and am convinced there is no man truly fond of his wife who is not uneasy at the loss of her company.
MR. BONCOUR. Will it please you if I order you to stay at home?
MRS. BONCOUR. Order me! no, truly, if my company be so indifferent that you consult only my pleasure in desiring it, I shall never think myself obliged to you on that account: I thank Heaven, I am not every where so despicable, but that there are some weak enough to desire my conversation, and, perhaps, might prefer it to the agreeable Miss Valence herself.
MR. BONCOUR. She is a guest of my daughter’s, not of mine: surely you don’t conceive I have any particular pleasure in Miss Valence’s company?
MRS. BONCOUR. Oh, I am not jealous, I assure you; you wrong me mightily if you think I am jealous; she must be a poor creature, indeed, who could be jealous of every little flirt; no, I should have too much contempt for the man who delighted in the conversation of such flirts; but this I think I might reasonably expect, that he would enjoy them by himself, and not insist on my being of the company.
MR. BONCOUR. You cannot charge me with any such behaviour, nay, scarce with a single desire that would contradict your inclinations; therefore, when you told me you would dine abroad, I answered, Just as you please; though I knew not the company to be disagreeable to you.
MRS. BONCOUR. But I will not dine abroad, Mr. Boncour, I will dine at home; pray give me leave to know my own inclinations better than you; I am neither a fool nor a child, whatever you may think of me, nor will I be treated as such by any husband in the universe! What! I suppose I must shortly come with my hands before me, and ask you leave before I do any thing! Pray, Mr. Boncour, will you give me leave to make a few visits this morning?
MR. BONCOUR. Ha, ha, ha! My dear, did I ever deny you!
MRS. BONCOUR. You insist on my asking, then, it seems, but I assure you I shall not; I did not part with my fortune to part with my liberty too, so your servant. [Exit.
MR. BONCOUR. Well, Sir George is in the right; I have spoiled this woman certainly; for her temper from a good one is now become intolerable; but she brought me a fortune; true, she did, and an immense one, and with it, what I took for better and for worse; and so it is idle to complain. [Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
MR. BONCOUR’S House.
Enter MR. BONCOUR and SERVANT.
SERVANT. Mr. Valence’s man left this letter.
MR. BONCOUR. So! here I shall have, I suppose, my neighbour’s sentiments at large on this important business. [Reads the letter.]
“Sir, — I have maturely weighed your proposal; and to convince you of the desire I have to an alliance with your family, notwithstanding some offers made me, which, to a worldly-minded man might perhaps appear more advantageous, I have consented to the union between our children, for which purpose I have drawn up a few articles, not doubting but you will think them very reasonable.
“First, You shall vest your whole estate immediately in the possession of your son, out of which, besides your wife’s fortune, you shall be allotted two hundred pounds per annum during life.
“Secondly, You shall pay down fifteen thousand pounds as your daughter’s portion, for which she shall have a proportionable settlement, as our lawyers shall agree.
“Thirdly, That, as a very large part of my estate will, at my death, descend to my son, I shall remain in possession of the whole during my life, except— “
But why should I read any farther? Is this man mad, or doth he conclude me to be so?
Enter SIR GEORGE BONCOUR.
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. I called or you, brother, to let you know I shall dine with you, for my friend has sent me word the House will sit late.
MR. BONCOUR. Oh, Sir George, I am particularly glad to see you; I will give you an instance that your opinion of mankind is juster than m
y own; since I saw you, I have, to comply with my son’s inclinations, proposed a match in
MR. Valence’s family; could you imagine he would send me such a letter as this in answer? oh, you need only look at the articles.
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. [Reading.] Well, what of this?
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 365