Inchbald, Elizabeth. Wives as They Were, and Maids as They Are. Eds. Gioia Angeletti and Thomas C. Crochunis. British Women Playwrights around 1800. 15 May 2003.
ACT III
SCENE I.
[An Apartment at Mr. Norberry's. Enter Mr. Bronzely, followed by a Servant.]
Bronzely [looking at his watch.]
I am early, I know: but Lady Priory
is the only person I wish to see. Is my Lord with her?
Servant.
No, sir, Lord Priory sat up very late,
and is in bed yet.
Bronzely.
Acquaint Lady Priory, a person who comes
on urgent business, begs to speak with her. If she asks my name, you know
it. [Exit Servant.] Pray heaven she may bless me with her sight! Never was
so enchanted by a woman in my life! and never was played such a trick in
my life. I am half inflamed by love, and half by spite, once more to attempt
her.
Enter Lady Priory—he bows most respectfully— she curtsies.
Bronzely.
Lady Priory, I come—I come upon rather
an aukward, yet a very serious business: it was my misfortune to be among
that company yesterday evening, where an unworthy member of it had the insolence
to offer an affront to your resplendent virtue—
Lady Priory.
—I have some household accounts to
arrange, and breakfast to make
for my Lord as soon as he leaves his chamber: therefore, if you please, Sir,
proceed to the business on which you came, without thinking it necessary
to interrupt it by any compliment to me.
Bronzely.
I will be concise, Madam.—In a word,
I wait upon you from Mr. Mandred, with the most humble apology for his late
conduct, which he acknowledges to have been indecorous and unwarrantable:
but he trusts, that in consequence of the concession which I now make for
him, the whole matter will, from this hour, be buried in oblivion.
Lady Priory [going to the side of
the scene, and speaking.]
If my Lord is at leisure, tell him here
is a gentleman would be glad to speak with him.—[To Bronzely. I am sorry,
Sir, you should know so little of the rules of our family, as to suppose
that I could give an answer upon any subject in which my husband condescends
to be concerned.
[Going.
Bronzely.
Lady Priory, stop. You can at least
use your power to soften Lord Priory's resentment; and unless this apology
is accepted, a challenge must follow, and possibly he may fall.
Lady Priory.
Possibly. [Sighing.]
Bronzely.
You are interested for your husband's
life?
Lady Priory.
Certainly. But I set equal value on
his reputation.
[Going.
Bronzely.
Hear me one sentence more.—I cannot
part from her. Aside.] Oh! I have something of such importance to communicate to you—and yet—I know not
how!
Lady Priory.
Then tell it to my husband.
Bronzely.
Hem, hem. Aside.] Oh! Lady Priory, if
the insult of last night has given you offence, should you not wish to be
informed of a plan laid for yet greater violence? [She starts.]
Lady Priory.
Good heaven!
Bronzely.
This is neither time nor place to disclose
what I wish to say—nor do I know how to find an opportunity to speak with
you alone, free from the possibility of intrusion; where I could reveal a
secret to you, which is connected with your happiness, with your future peace.
Lady Priory.
You alarm me beyond expression. I am
going to my own house about twelve o'clock, for a couple of hours—follow
me there.
Bronzely.
And I shall be admitted?
Lady Priory.
Certainly—for you have excited my
curiosity, and I am all impatience to hear what you have to communicate that
so much concerns me.
Bronzely.
Promise then, no person but yourself
shall ever know of it. [She hesitates.] Unless you promise this, I dare not
trust you.
Lady Priory [after a second hesitation.]
I do promise—I promise faithfully.
Bronzely.
Your word is sacred, I rely.
Lady Priory.
Most sacred.
Bronzely.
And you promise that no one but yourself
shall know of the appointment we have now made at your house, nor of the secret
which I will then disclose to you.
Lady Priory.
I promise faithfully that no one but
myself shall ever know of either.
Bronzely.
Remember then to be there alone, exactly—
Lady Priory.
At one o'clock.
Bronzely.
And that your servants have orders to
shew me to you.
Lady Priory.
I am too much interested to forget one
circumstance.
Bronzely.
Go now then to Lord Priory with Mandred's
apology—and urge his acceptance of it, with all that persuasion by which
you are formed to govern, while you appear to obey.
Lady Priory.
I will present the apology as I received
it from you; but do not imagine I dare give my opinion upon it, unless I
am desired.
Bronzely.
But if you are desired, you will then
say—
Lady Priory.
Exactly what I think.
[Exit.
Bronzely.
I'll do a meritorious act this very
day. This poor woman lives in slavery with her husband. I'll give her an opportunity
to run away from him. When we meet, I'll have a post-chaise waiting a few
doors from her house; boldly tell her that I love her; and—[Enter Miss
Dorrillon.]—My dear Miss Dorrillon, I could not sleep all night, but
am come thus early on purpose to complain of your treatment of me during the
whole of yesterday evening. Not one look did you glance towards me— and
there I sat in miserable solitude up in one corner, the whole time of the
concert.
Miss Dorrillon.
I protest I did not see you!—and,
stranger still! never thought of you.
Bronzely.
You then like another better than you
do me?
Miss Dorrillon.
I do.
Bronzely.
Do you tell him so?
Miss Dorrillon.
No.
Bronzely.
You tell him you like me the best.
Miss Dorrillon.
Yes
Bronzely.
Then I will believe what you say to
him, and not what you say to me.—And though you charge me with inconstancy,
yet I swear to you, my beloved Maria, [taking her hand] that no woman, no
woman but yourself—
Enter Sir William, and starts at seeing his Daughter in such close conversation with Bronzely.
Sir William [aside.]
How familiar!—my eyes could not be
shocked with a sight half so wounding to my heart as this!
Bronzely [apart to Miss Dorrillon.]
Hush! you have heard the story; but
don't laugh at him now. He is in a devilish ill humour, and it will all fall
on me. Go away.—It's a very good story, but laugh at him another time.
Miss Dorrillon.
I don't believe a word of the story;
yet, as a received opinion, it is a charming weapon for an enemy, and I long
to use it.
Bronzely.
Not now, not now—because I have some
business with him, and 'twill put him out of temper. [He hands her to
the door.]
[Exit Miss Dorrillon.
Sir William [looking stedfastly
after her.]
Poor girl! poor girl! I am not yet sufficiently
enraged against her, not to compassionate her for her choice!—Is this the
man who is to be, for life, her companion, her protector?
Bronzely.
Well, Mr. Mandred. I believe I have
settled it.
Sir William.
Settled what? [anxiously.]
Bronzely.
At least I have done all in my power
to serve you: perhaps you don't know that Mr. Oliver divulged the whole affair.
But I have waited on my Lady Priory, and I do believe I have settled it with
her, to manage it so with my Lord, that every thing shall be hushed up. You
may expect a few jests among your
female acquaintance, and a few epigrams in the news papers; but I verily
believe every thing material is safe.—Is there any farther satisfaction
which you demand from me?
Sir William.
Not at present—a man is easily satisfied
who possesses both courage and strength to do himself right, whenever he
feels his wrongs oppressive. I have as yet found but little inconvenience
from the liberties you have taken with me; and what, just at this time, far
more engages my attention than revenge, is, an application to you for intelligence.
Without farther preface, do you pay your addresses to the young lady who
lives in this house?
Bronzely.
Yes I do, Sir—I do.
Sir William.
You know, I suppose, which of the two
ladies I mean?
Bronzely.
Which ever you mean, Sir, 'tis all the
same; for I pay my addresses to them both.
Sir William [starting.]
To them both!
Bronzely.
I always do.
Sir William.
And pray, which of them do you love?
Bronzely.
Both, Sir—upon my word, both—I assure
you, both.
Sir William.
But you don't intend to marry both?
Bronzely.
I don't intend to marry either: and
indeed, the woman whom I love best in the world, has a husband already. Do you suppose I could confine my
affections to Lady Mary or Miss Dorrillon, after Lady Priory appeared? do
you suppose I did not know who it was I met last night in the dark? wherever
I visit, Mr. Mandred, I always make love to every woman in the house: and
I assure you they all expect it—I assure you, Sir, they all expect it.
[Sir William walks about in anger.]
Bronzely.
Have you any further commands for me?
Sir William.
Yes, one word more.—And you really
have no regard for this girl who parted from you as I came in?
Bronzely.
Oh yes, pardon me—I admire, I adore,
I love her to distraction: and if I had not been so long acquainted with my
Lady Mary, nor had seen my Lady Priory last night, I should certainly call
Sir George Evelyn to an account for being so perpetually with her.
Sir William [anxiously.]
Do you think he loves her?
Bronzely.
Yes, I dare say, as well as I do.
Sir William.
Do you think she likes him?
Bronzely.
I think she likes me.
Sir William.
But, with your method of affection,
she may like him too.
Bronzely.
She may, she may.—In short, there
is no answering for what she likes—all whim and flightiness —acquainted
with every body—coquetting with every body—and in debt with every body.
Her mind distracted between the claims of lovers, and the claims of creditors,—the
anger of Mr. Norberry, and the want of intelligence from her father!
Sir William.
She is in a hopeful way.
Bronzely.
Oh, it would be impossible to think
of marrying her in her present state—for my part, I can't—and I question
whether Sir George would.—But if her father come home, and give her the
fortune that was once expected, why then I may possibly marry her myself.
Sir William [firmly.]
She will never have any fortune—I
came from India lately, you know; and you may take my word her father is not
coming over, nor will he ever come.
Bronzely.
Are you sure of that?
Sir William.
Very sure.
Bronzely.
Then keep it a secret—don't tell her
so—poor thing! it would break her heart. She is doatingly fond of her father.
Sir William.
Hah! how!—oh no, she can have no remembrance
of him.
Bronzely.
Not of his person, perhaps: but he has
constantly corresponded with her; sent her presents, and affectionate letters—and
you know a woman's heart is easily impressed.
Sir William.
I never heard her mention her father.
Bronzely.
Not to you—but to us who are kind
to her, she talks of him continually. She cried bitterly the other day when
the last ship came in, and there was no account of him.
Sir William.
Did she? did she? eagerly.] Aye, I
suppose she is alarmed lest he should be dead, and all his fortune lost.
Bronzely.
No, I believe her affection for him
is totally unconnected with any interested views. I have watched her upon
that head, and I believe she loves her father sincerely.
Sir William [wiping a tear from
his eye.]
I believe it does not matter whom she
loves!
Bronzely.
By the bye, she hates you.
Sir William.
I thought so.
Bronzely.
Yes, you may be satisfied of that. Yes,
she even quarrelled with me the other day for speaking in your favour: you
had put her in a passion, and she said "no one that loved her, ought to have
any respect for you."
Sir William.
I am much obliged to her—very much
obliged to her. Did she say nothing more?
Bronzely.
Only "that you were ill-natured, dogmatic,
cruel, and insolent." Nothing more.—And say what she will against you,
you know you can be even with her.
Sir William.
Yes, I can be even with her, and I will
be even with her.
Enter Lord Priory, and takes Bronzely on one side.
Lord Priory.
I have accepted this man's apology:—I
will not call him to a serious account; but he shall not escape every kind
of resentment.—I am resolved to laugh at him; to turn the whole affair into
mirth and good humour; at the same time to gall him to the heart. Good morning,
Mr. Mandred: how do you do this morning, Mr. Mandred?—Let me go, [violently
to Bronzely] I must joke with him.
Bronzely.
But neither your voice nor your looks
agree with your words.
Lord Priory.
Mr. Mandred, I did intend to be angry—but
it would give too respectable an air to a base action —and so I am come
to laugh at you. [Enter Lady Mary.] And I am sure, you, Lady Mary,
will join even me, in laughing at this man of gallantry.
Lady Mary.
Oh, I am absolutely afraid to come near
the Tarquin!
Sir William.
You need not, Lady Mary; for there can
be no Tarquin without a Lucretia.
Lord Priory.
However, Mr. Mandred, it is proper I
should tell you, I accept the apology you have made: but at the same time—
Sir William [hastily.]
What do you mean, my Lord? I have made
no apology.
Bronzely.
Yes, yes, you have—I called and made
one for you.
Sir William.
Made an apology for me! You have just
gone one step too far then; and I insist—
Bronzely [Drawing Sir William on
one side.]
I will—I will—I will set every thing
to rights. It would be base in me if I did not; and I will. [Turns to
Lord Priory and Lady Mary.] Yes, Mr. Mandred, I will retrieve your character
at the expence of my own. I am more able to contend with the frenzy of a
jealous husband than you are.—[Enter Miss Dorrillon and Sir George Evelyn.]—
I am happy to see you—you are just come in time to hear me clear the grave,
the respectable character of my friend Mr. Mandred, and to stigmatise my
own.—My Lord, vent all your anger and your satire upon me. It was I (pray
believe me, I beg you will; don't doubt my word), it was I who committed
the offence of which my friend, the man I respect and reverence, stands accused—It
was I who offended my Lady Priory, and then—
Lord Priory.
It can't be—I won't believe you.
Lady Mary.
But how generous and noble in him to
take it upon himself!
Bronzely [to Sir William.]
There! what can I do more? You see they
won't believe me!—Tell me what I can do more? Can I do any thing more?—My
feelings are wounded on your account, more than on my own, and compel me,
though reluctantly, to quit the room.
[Exit.
Sir George.
I am at a loss which to admire most,
the warmth of Mr. Bronzely's friendship, or the coldness of Mr. Mandred's
gratitude!
Lady Mary.
Oh! if it were not for that happy steadiness
of feature, he could not preach rectitude of conduct as he does.
Lord Priory [going up to Sir William.]
Eloquent admonisher of youth!
Miss Dorrillon [going to him.]
Indeed, my rigid monitor, I cannot but
express admiration, that, under those austere looks, and that sullen brow,
there still should lurk—
Sir William.
Have a care—don't proceed—stop where
you are—dare not you complete a sentence that is meant to mock me.—I
have borne the impertinence of this whole company with patience, with contempt;
but dare you to breathe an accent suspicious of my conduct, and I will instantly
teach you how to respect me, and to shrink with horror from yourself.
[She stands motionless in surprise.
Lord Priory.
What a passion he is in! Compose yourself,
Mr. Mandred.
Miss Dorrillon.
I protest, Mr. Mandred—
Sir William.
Silence. [Raising his voice.]
Dare not to address yourself to me.
Lady Mary.
Did you ever hear the like?—And I
vow she looks awed by him!
Lord Priory.
How strange, that a man can't command
his temper!
Sir George.
Mr. Mandred, permit me to say, I have
ever wished to treat you with respect—nor would I be rash in laying that
wish aside.—Yet, I must now take upon me to assure you, that if you think
to offend every lady in this house with impunity, you are mistaken.
Sir William.
Sir George, if you mean to frighten
me by your threats, I laugh at you—but if your warmth is really kindled,
and by an attachment to that unworthy object, [pointing to Miss Dorrillon]
I only pity you.
Sir George.
Insufferable!—[going up to him.]—Instantly
make an atonement for what you have said, or expect the consequence!
Sir William.
And pray, Sir George, what atonement
does your justice demand?
Sir George.
Retract your words—Acknowledge you
were grossly deceived, when you said Miss Dorrillon was unworthy.
Sir William.
Retract my words!
Sir George.
Were they not unjust?—Is it a reproach,
that, enveloped in the maze of fashionable life, she has yet preserved her
virtue unsuspected? That, encumbered with the expences consequent to her
connections, she has proudly disdained even from me the honourable offer
of pecuniary aid? that her fond hope still fixes on the return of an absent
parent, whose blessing she impatiently
expects? and that I should have watched her whole conduct with an eye of
scrutinizing jealousy, and yet have only beheld that which makes me aspire,
as the summit of earthly happiness, to become her husband?
Sir William.
Young man, I admire your warmth [with
great fervour and affection.] There is much compassion, and benevolence, and
charity, in sometimes mistaking the vicious for the virtuous;—and if in
the heat of contention I have said a word reflecting on your character, I
am ready to avow my error; and before this company to beg your pardon.
Sir George.
That is not enough, Sir—[taking
Miss Dorrillon by the hand, and leading her forward] —you must ask
this lady's pardon.
[Sir William starts, and turns his face away, strongly impressed.]
Sir William.
Ask her pardon! Though I forgive some
insults, I will not this.—Ask her pardon?—
Miss Dorrillon.
Nay, nay, Sir George, you have no business
with Mr. Mandred's quarrels and mine—Reserve your heroic courage for some
nobler purpose than a poor woman's reputation.
Sir George.
Point out a nobler, and I'll give up
this.
Lady Mary.
There is none so noble! And I wish,
Sir George, you would undertake to vindicate mine.
Lord Priory.
Come, Lady Mary, let us retire, and leave
these two irritable men to themselves.
Lady Mary.
Come, Maria, let us leave them alone.
He'll teach Mr. Mandred to be civil for the future.
Miss Dorrillon [in great agitation.]
Dear madam, I would not leave them alone
for the world!
Lady Mary.
Then, my Lord, you and I will; they
have no offensive weapons; so we may venture to leave them.
Lord Priory.
This comes of being too warm in conversation!
This comes of being in a passion!
[Exeunt Lord Priory and Lady Mary.
Sir George.
While there is a female present, I
have only to say—good morning, Mr. Mandred.
[Going.
Miss Dorrillon [catching hold of
him.]
For once I give up my pride to soften
yours. Come, do not look thus determined!—I am sure Mr. Mandred did not
mean to offend me; the words he made use of fell from his lips by accident.
Sir William.
They did not—I meant them—I mean
them still —and I repeat them.
Miss Dorrillon [to Sir William.]
Now, how can you be so provoking?—Nay,
hold, Sir George, [he offers to go] you shall not go away with that
frowning brow. [She draws him gently towards Sir William, then takes Sir
William's hand.] Nor you, with yours.—Come, shake hands for my sake.—Now,
as I live, Sir George, Mr. Mandred's hand feels warmer and kinder than yours—
he tries to draw it back, but he has not the heart. [Sir William snatches
it away as by compulsion.]— Thou art a strange personage!—thou wilt
not suffer me either to praise or to dispraise thee.—Come, Sir George,
make up this difference—for if you were to fight, and Mr. Mandred was to
fall—
Sir William.
What then?
Miss Dorrillon.
Why, "I could better spare a better
man."
Sir William.
How!
Miss Dorrillon.
I see you are both sullen, both obstinate,
and I have but one resource.—Sir George, if you aspire to my hand, dare
not to lift yours against Mr. Mandred. He and I profess to be enemies; but
if I may judge of his feelings by my own, we have but passing enmities—I
bear him no malice, nor he me, I dare be sworn. Therefore, Sir, lift but your
arm against him, or insult him with another word, and our intercourse is
for ever at an end.
[Exit.
[Sir George and Sir William stand for some time silent.]
Sir George.
Why is it in the power of one woman
to make two men look ridiculously?
Sir William.
I am at a loss to know, Sir, whether
you and I part friends or enemies.—However, call on me in the way you best
like, and you will find me ready to meet you either as an enemy, or as a
friend.
[Exeunt separately.
End of Act III
