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 I - Act II - Act III - Act IV - Act V - Main Page
ACT V.
SCENE I.
[An Apartment at Mr. Bronzely's. Enter Housekeeper and Footman.]
Housekeeper.
Dinner enough for twelve, and only two to sit down to it! Come home without one preparation —not a bed aired, or the furniture uncovered.Footman.
This is not the first time he has done so.Housekeeper.
No: but 'tis always thus when a woman's in the case. Well, I do say that my own sex are—Footman.
Hush! here they are. Run away.[Exeunt.
Enter Lady Priory and Mr. Bronzely.
Lady Priory.
Only twelve miles from London?Bronzely.
No more, be assured.Lady Priory.
And you avow that I did not come hither by the commands of my husband, but was deceived into that belief by you.Bronzely.
Still it was by his commands your servant introduced me to you; and, upon an errand, which I feared to deliver till I arrived at a house of my own.Lady Priory.
What is the errand?Bronzely.
To tell you that—I love you.Lady Priory.
Do you assert, Lord Priory sent you to me for this?Bronzely.
I assert, that, in triumph at your betraying to him our private appointment, he gave me leave to have a second trial. If, then, you have ever harboured one wish to revenge, and forsake a churlish ungrateful partner, never return to him more—but remain with me.Lady Priory.
And what shall I have gained by the exchange, when you become churlish, when you become ungrateful? My children's shame! the world's contempt! and yours! [Smiling] Come, come; you are but jesting, Mr. Bronzely! You would not affront my little share of common sense by making the serious offer of so bad a bargain. Come, own the jest, and take me home immediately.Bronzely.
Is it impossible for me to excite your tenderness?Lady Priory.
Utterly impossible.Bronzely.
I will then rouse your terror.Lady Priory.
Even that I defy.Bronzely.
Lady Priory, you are in a lonely house of mine, where I am sole master, and all the servants slaves to my will.[Lady Priory calmly takes out her knitting, draws a chair, and sits down to knit a pair of stockings.]
Bronzely [aside.]
This composure is worse than reproach—a woman who meant to yield would be outrageous.— [Goes to speak to her, then turns away]—By heaven she looks so respectable in that employment, I am afraid to insult her. [After a struggle with himself] Ah! don't you fear me?Lady Priory.
No—for your fears will protect me—I have no occasion for my own.Bronzely.
What have I to fear?Lady Priory.
You fear to lounge no more at routs, at balls, at operas, in Bond-street; no more to dance in circles, chat in side boxes, or roar at taverns: for you have observed enough upon the events of life to know—that an atrocious offence like violence to a woman, never escapes condign punishment.Bronzely.
Oh! for once, let your mind be feminine as your person—hear the vows—[he seizes her hand—she rises—he starts back.]Lady Priory.
Ah! did not I tell you, you were afraid? 'Tis you who are afraid of me. [He looks abashed.] Come, you are ashamed, too—I see you are, and I pardon you.—In requital, suffer me to return home immediately. [He shakes his head.]—How! are not you ashamed of yourself?Bronzely.
I was not this moment—But now you mention it, I think I am.Lady Priory.
Repent your folly then, and take me home. [hastily].Bronzely.
Can you wish to go back to the man who has made this trial of your fidelity, and not resent his conduct?Lady Priory.
Most assuredly I wish to return. But if you deliver me safe, perfectly safe from farther insult, it will be impossible for me not to shew resentment to Lord Priory.Bronzely.
Why only in that case?Lady Priory.
Because, only in that case, you will make an impression on my heart—and I will resent his having exposed me to such a temptation.Bronzely.
Oh! I'll take you home directly—this moment. —I make an impression on your heart. William! —[calling]—I'll take you home directly. Here, John, Thomas, William—[calling] But, upon my life, it will be a hard task—I cannot do it—I am afraid—I am afraid I cannot.—Besides, what are we to say when we go back?—No matter what, so you will but think kindly of me. [Enter Servant.] —Order the horses to be put to the chaise; I am going back to London immediately. Quick! quick! Bid the man not be a moment, for fear I should change my mind.Servant.
The chaise is ready now, Sir; for the post-boy was going back without unharnessing his horses.Bronzely.
Then tell him he must perform his journey in half an hour—If he is a moment longer, my resolution will stop on the road. [Exit Servant.] I feel my good designs stealing away already—now they are flying rapidly. [Taking Lady Priory's hand]— Please to look another way—I shall certainly recant if I see you. [Going]—And now should I have the resolution to take you straight to your husband, you will have made a more contemptible figure of me by this last trick, than by any one you have played me.[Exit, leading her off.
Bronzely.
[Without] Tell the post-boy he need not wait—I have changed my mind—I sha'n't go to London tonight.
SCENE II.
[A Room in a Prison. Enter Miss Dorrillon and Mr. Norberry.]
Mr. Norberry.
You ought to have known it was in vain to send for me. Have not I repeatedly declared, that, till I heard from your father, you should receive nothing more from me than a bare subsistence?—I promise to allow you thus much, even in this miserable place: but do not indulge a hope that I can release you from it. [She weeps—he goes to the door— then returns.] I forgot to mention, that Mr. Mandred goes on board to-morrow for India; and, little as you may think of his sensibility, he seems concerned at the thought of quitting England without just bidding you farewel. He came with me hither —shall I send him up?Miss Dorrillon.
Oh! no: for heaven's sake! Deliver me from his asperity, as you would save me from distraction.Mr. Norberry.
Nay, 'tis for the last time—you had better see him. You may be sorry, perhaps, you did not, when he is gone.Miss Dorrillon.
No, no: I sha'n't be sorry.—Go, and excuse me —Go, and prevent his coming. I cannot see him. —[Exit Mr. Norberry.]—This would be aggravation of punishment, to shut me in a prison, and yet not shelter me from the insults of the world!Enter Sir William.—[She starts.]
Sir William.
—I know you have desired not to be troubled with my visit; and I come with all humility—I do not come, be assured, to reproach you.Miss Dorrillon.
Unexpected mercy!Sir William.
No; though I have watched your course with anger, yet I do not behold its end, with triumph.Miss Dorrillon.
It is not to your honour, that you think it necessary to give this statement of your mind.Sir William.
May be—but I never boasted of perfection, though I can boast of grief that I am so far beneath it. I can boast too, that, though I frequently give offence to others, I could never part with any one for ever (as I now shall with you), without endeavouring to make some atonement.Miss Dorrillon.
You acknowledge, then, your cruelty to me?Sir William.
I acknowledge I have taken upon me to advise, beyond the liberty allowed by custom to one who has no apparent interest or authority—But, not to repeat what has passed, I come, with the approbation of your friend Mr. Norberry, to make a proposal to you for the future. [he draws chairs, and they sit.]Miss Dorrillon.
What proposal?—What is it? [eagerly.]Sir William.
Mr. Norberry will not give either his money or his word to release you—But as I am rich—have lost my only child—and wish to do some good with my fortune, I will instantly lay down the money of which you are in want, upon certain conditions.Miss Dorrillon.
Do I hear right? Is it possible I can find a friend in you?—a friend to relieve me from the depth of misery! Oh Mr. Mandred!Sir William.
Before you return thanks, hear the conditions on which I make the offer.Miss Dorrillon.
Any conditions—What you please!Sir William.
You must promise, never, never to return to your former follies and extravagancies. [She looks down.] Do you hesitate? Do you refuse?—Won't you promise?Miss Dorrillon.
I would, willingly—but for one reason.Sir William.
And what is that?Miss Dorrillon.
The fear, I should not keep my wordSir William.
You will, if your fear be real.Miss Dorrillon.
It is real—It is even so great, that I have no hope.Sir William.
You refuse my offer then, and dismiss me? [Rises.]Miss Dorrillon [rising also.]
With much reluctance.—But I cannot, indeed I cannot make a promise, unless I were to feel my heart wholly subdued; and my mind entirely convinced that I should never break it.—Sir, I am most sincerely obliged to you for the good which I am sure you designed me; but do not tempt me with the proposal again—do not place me in a situation, that might add to all my other afflictions, the remorse of having deceived you.Sir William [after a pause.]
Well, I will dispense with this condition—but there is another I must substitute in its stead.—Resolve to pass the remainder of your life, some few ensuing years at least, in the country. [She starts.] Do you start at that?Miss Dorrillon.
I do not love the country. I am always miserable while I am from London. Besides, there are no follies or extravagancies in the country.—Dear Sir, this is giving me up the first condition, and then forcing me to keep it.Sir William.
There, Madam, [taking out his pocket-book] I scorn to hold out hopes, and then destroy them. There is a thousand pounds free of all conditions [she takes it] —extricate yourself from this situation, and be your own mistress to return to it when you please.[Going.
Miss Dorrillon.
Oh, my benefactor, bid me farewell at parting— do not leave me in anger.Sir William.
How! will you dictate terms to me, while you reject all mine?Miss Dorrillon.
Then only suffer me to express my gratitude—Sir William.
I will not hear you. [going.]Miss Dorrillon.
Then hear me on another subject: a subject of much importance—indeed it is.Sir William.
Well!Miss Dorrillon.
You are going to India immediately—It is possible that there, or at some place you will stop at on your way, you may meet with my father.Sir William.
Well!Miss Dorrillon.
You have heard that I have expected him home for some time past, and that I still live in hopes—Sir William.
Well!—[anxiously.]Miss Dorrillon.
If you should see him, and should be in his company —don't mention me.Sir William.
Not mention you?Miss Dorrillon.
At least, not my indiscretions—Oh! I should die, if I thought he would ever know of them.Sir William.
Do you think he would not discover them himself, should he ever see you?Miss Dorrillon.
But he would not discover them all at once—I should be on my guard when he first came—My ill habits would steal on him progressively, and not be half so shocking, as if you were to vociferate them all in a breath.Sir William.
To put you out of apprehension at once—your father is not coming home—nor will he ever return to his own country.Miss Dorrillon. [starting.]
You seem to speak from certain knowledge— Oh! heavens! is he not living?Sir William.
Yes, living—but under severe affliction—fortune has changed, and all his hopes are blasted.Miss Dorrillon.
"Fortune changed!"—In poverty?—my father in poverty?—[weeping.]—Oh, Sir, excuse, what may perhaps appear an ill compliment to your bounty; but to me, the greatest reverence I can pay to it.— You are going to that part of the world where he is; take this precious gift back, search out my rather, and let him be the object of your beneficence. —[Forces it into his hand.]—I shall be happy in this prison, indeed I shall, so I can but give a momentary relief to my dear, dear father.—[Sir William takes out his handkerchief.] —You weep!—This present, perhaps, would be but poor alleviation of his sufferings —perhaps he is in sickness; or a prisoner! Oh! if he is, release me instantly, and take me with you to the place of his confinement.Sir William.
What! quit the joys of London?Miss Dorrillon.
On such an errand, I would quit them all without a sigh—And here I make a solemn promise to you—[kneeling.]Sir William.
Hold, you may wish to break it.Miss Dorrillon.
Never—exact what vow you will on this occasion, I will make, and keep it.—[Enter Mr. Norberry.—She rises.] —Oh! Mr. Norberry, he has been telling me such things of my father—Mr. Norberry.
Has he? Then kneel again—call him by that name—and implore him not to disown you for his child.Miss Dorrillon.
Good heaven!—I dare not—I dare not do as you require. [She faints on Norberry.]Sir William [going to her.]
My daughter!—My child!—Mr. Norberry.
At those names she revives.—[She raises her head, but expresses great agitation.] —Come, let us quit this wretched place—she will be better then. My carriage is at the door. You will follow us.[Exeunt, leading off Miss Dorrillon.
Sir William.
Follow you!—Yes—and I perceive that, in spite of philosophy, justice, or resolution, I could follow you all the world over.[Exit.
SCENE III.
[Another Room in the Prison. Lady Mary discovered sitting in a dejected posture, at a miserable table.]
Lady Mary.
Provoking! not an answer to one of my pathetic letters!—nor a creature to come and condole with me!—Oh that I could but regain my liberty before my disgrace is announced in the public prints—I could then boldly contradict every paragraph that asserted it—by "We have authority to say, no such event ever took place."Enter a Man belonging to the prison.
Man.
One Sir George Evelyn is here, Madam; he will not name your name, because it sha'n't be made public; but he desires you will permit him to come and speak a few words to you, provided you are the young lady from Grosvenor-street, with whom he has the pleasure of being acquainted.Lady Mary.
Yes, yes, I am the young lady from Grosvenor-street —my compliments to Sir George, I am that lady; intimately acquainted with him; and entreat he will walk up. [Exit the Man.] This is a most fortunate incident in my tragedy! Sir George no doubt takes me for Miss Dorrillon; yet I am sure he is too much the man of gallantry and good breeding to leave me in this place, although he visits me by mistake.Sir George Evelyn [speaking as he enters.]
Sir George.
Madam, you are free—the doors of the prison are open—my word is passed for the—[He stops— looks around—expresses surprise and confusion.]Lady Mary [curtsying very low.]
Sir George, I am under the most infinite obligation! —Words are too poor to convey the sense I have of this act of friendship—but I trust my gratitude will for ever—Sir George [confused.]
Madam—really—I ought to apologise for the liberty I have taken.Lady Mary.
No liberty at all, Sir George—at least no apology is necessary—I insist on hearing no excuses. A virtuous action requires no preface, no prologue, no ceremony—and surely, if one action be more noble and generous than another, it must be that one, where an act of benevolence is conferred, and the object, an object of total indifference to the liberal benefactor.—Generous man, good evening.—Call me a coach. [going.]Sir George.
Stay, Madam—I beg leave to say—Lady Mary.
—Not a word—I won't hear a word—my thanks shall drown whatever you have to say.Enter the former Man.
Sir George.
Pray, Sir, did not you tell me, you had a very young lady under your care?Man.
Yes, Sir, so I had—but she, it seems, has just been released, and is gone away with the gentleman who paid the debt.Lady Mary.
Do you mean Miss Dorrillon?Man.
I mean the other lady from Grosvenor-street.Sir George.
Who can have released her?Lady Mary.
Some friend of mine, I dare say, by mistake—Well, if it is so, she is extremely welcome to the good fortune which was designed for me. For my part, I could not submit to an obligation from every one —scarcely from any one—and from no one with so little regret as I submit to it from Sir George Evelyn.[Exit, curtsying to Sir George.
Sir George.
Distraction! the first disappointment is nothing to this second! to the reflection that Miss Dorrillon has been set at liberty by any man on earth except myself.[Exit.
SCENE IV.
[An Apartment at Mr. Norberry's. Enter Lord Priory.]
Lord Priory.
What a situation is mine! I cannot bear solitude, and am ashamed to see company! I cannot bear to think on the ungrateful woman, and yet I can think of nothing else! It was her conduct which I imagined had alone charmed me; but I perceive her power over my heart, though that conduct is changed!Enter Mr. Norberry, Sir William, and Miss Dorrillon.
Mr. Norberry.
My dear Lord Priory, exert your spirits to receive and congratulate a friend of mine. Sir William Dorrillon [presenting him] father to this young woman, whose failings he has endeavoured to correct under the borrowed name of Mandred.Sir William.
And with that fictitious name, I hope to disburthen myself of the imputation of having ever offered an affront to my Lord Priory. [He takes Lord Priory aside, and they talk together.]Enter Sir George Evelyn.
Sir George.
Is it possible what I have heard is true? was it Mr. Mandred who has restored Miss Dorrillon to the protection of Mr. Norberry?Sir William [coming forward.]
No, Sir George, I have now taken her under my own protection.Sir George.
By what title, Sir?Sir William.
A very tender one—don't be alarmed—I am her father.Sir George.
Sir William Dorrillon? [They talk apart.]Enter Lady Mary.
Lady Mary.
Has there been any intelligence of my Lady Priory yet? [sees Miss Dorrillon.] My dear Dorrillon, a lover of yours has done the civilest thing by me! —As I live, here he is. How do you do, Sir George? I suppose you have all heard the news of Bronzely running away with—Miss Dorrillon.
Hush!—Lord Priory is here.Lady Mary.
Oh, he knows it—and it is not improper to remind him of it—it will teach him humility.Lord Priory.
I am humble, Lady Mary, and own I have had a better opinion of your sex than I ought to have had.Lady Mary.
You mean, of your management of us; of your instructions, restrictions, and corrections.Enter Servant.
Servant.
Lady Priory and Mr. Bronzely.
Lady Mary.
What of them?Servant.
They are here.Lord Priory.
I said she'd preserve her fidelity! Did not I always say so? Have I wavered once? Did I not always tell you all that she was only making game of Bronzely? Did I not tell you all so?Enter Bronzely and Lady Priory.
Bronzely.
Then, indeed, my Lord, you said truly; for I return the arrantest blockhead—Lord Priory.
I always said you would! But how is it? Where have you been? What occasion for a post-chaise? Instantly explain, or I shall forfeit that dignity of a husband to which, in those degenerate times, I have almost an exclusive right.Bronzely.
To reinstate you, my Lord, in those honours, I accompany Lady Priory; and beg public pardon for the opinion I once publicly professed, of your want of influence over her affections.Lord Priory.
Do you hear? Do you all hear? Lady Mary, do you hear?Bronzely.
Taking advantage of your permission to call on her, by stratagem I induced her to quit your house, left restraint might there act as my enemy. But your authority, your prerogative, your honour attached to her under my roof. She has held those rights sacred, and compelled even me to revere them.Lord Priory.
Do you all hear? I was sure it would turn out so!Lady Mary.
This is the first time I ever knew the gallant's word taken for a woman's honour.Lord Priory.
I will take her own word—the tongue which for eleven years has never in the slightest instance deceived me, I will believe upon all occasions. My dear wife, boldly pronounce before this company that you return to me with the same affection and respect, and the self-same contempt for this man— [to Bronzely]—you ever had.[A short pause.
Lady Mary.
She makes no answer.Lord Priory.
Hush! Hush! She is going to speak.—[Another pause] —Why, why don't you speak?Lady Priory.
Because I am at a loss what to say.Lady Mary.
Hear, hear, hear—do you all hear?Lord Priory.
Can you be at a loss to declare you hate Mr. Bronzely?Lady Priory.
I do not hate him.Lady Mary.
I was sure it would turn out so.Lord Priory.
Can you be at a loss to say you love me?[She appears embarrassed.
Lady Mary.
She is at a loss.Lord Priory.
How! Don't you fear me?Lady Priory.
Yes.Lady Mary.
She speaks plainly to that question.Lord Priory.
You know I love truth—speak plainly to all their curiosity requires.Lady Priory.
Since you command it then, my Lord—I confess that Mr. Bronzely's conduct towards me has caused a kind of sentiment in my heart—Lord Priory.
Hah! What?Lady Mary.
You must believe her—"she has told you truth for eleven years."Lady Priory.
A sensation which—Lord Priory.
Stop—any truth but this I could have borne.— Reflect on what you are saying—Consider what you are doing—Are these your primitive manners?Lady Priory.
I should have continued those manners, had I known none but primitive men. But to preserve ancient austerity, while, by my husband's consent, I am assailed by modern gallantry, would be the task of a Stoic, and not of his female slave.Lady Mary.
Do you hear? Do you all hear? My Lord, do you hear?Lord Priory.
I do—I do—and though the sound distracts me, I cannot doubt her word.Lady Priory.
It gives me excessive joy to hear you say so: because you will not then doubt me when I add—that gratitude, for his restoring me so soon to you, is the only sentiment he has inspired.Lord Priory.
Then my management of a wife is right after all!Mr. Norberry.
Mr. Bronzely, as your present behaviour has in great measure atoned for your former actions, I will introduce to your acquaintance my friend Sir William Dorrillon.Bronzely.
Mandred, Sir William Dorrillon!Sir William.
And considering, Sir, that upon one or two occasions I have been honoured with your confidence— you will not be surprised, if the first command I lay upon my daughter, is—to take refuge from your pursuits, in the protection of Sir George Evelyn.Sir George.
And may I hope, Maria?Miss Dorrillon.
No—I will instantly put an end to all your hopes.Sir George.
How!Sir William.
By raising you to the summit of your wishes. Alarmed at my severity, she has owned her readiness to become the subject of a milder government.Sir George.
She shall never repine at the election she has made.Lord Priory.
But, Sir George, if you are a prudent man, you will fix your eyes on my little domestic state, and guard against a rebellion.Lady Priory.
Not the rigour of its laws has ever induced me to wish them abolished.Bronzely [to Lady Priory.]
Dear Lady, you have made me think with reverence on the matrimonial compact: and I demand of you, Lady Mary—if, in consequence of former overtures, I should establish a legal authority over you, and become your chief magistrate—would you submit to the same controul to which Lady Priory submits?Lady Mary.
Any controul, rather than have no chief magistrate at all.Sir George [to Miss Dorrillon.]
And what do you say to this?Miss Dorrillon.
Simply one sentence—A maid of the present day shall become a wife like those—of former times.The scene closes—She comes forward.
ADDRESS, WRITTEN BY MR. TAYLOR; SPOKEN BY MISS WALLIS. [By Taylor, Mr.]
Well, female critics, what's the sentence, say—
Can you with kindness treat this saucy play,
That gives to ancient dames the wreath of praise
And boldly censures those of modern days?
Bring us good husbands first, and, on my life,
For every one we'll shew as good a wife.
Whate'er the errors in the nuptial state,
Man sets th' example to his passive mate;
While all the virtues the proud sex can claim
From female influence caught the gen'rous flame.
Nay, though our gallant rulers of the main
With force resistless crush the pride of Spain
'Tis Woman triumphs—that inspiring charm
With tenfold vigour nerves the hero's arm:
For King and Country though they nobly bleed,
The smile of Beauty is their dearest meed,
And valiant tars should still be Beauty's care
Since 'tis "the brave alone deserve the fair."
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