 | A Hint to Husbands |  |
83
ACT V.
SCENE I.
—The Green Park.Sir Charles Le Brun alone.
SIR CHARLES.
Lady le Brun believes me out of town.
It is not much amiss sometimes to try
These small deceptions on our loving wives,
Merely to mark how harmlessly they pass
Their melancholy hours when we are absent.
My lady is a miracle of goodness;
Devotes best portion of her time to play,—
Yet finds some hours to moralise, no doubt,
With the Lord Transit.
Pliant appears.
Hah! your servant, sir!
Your very humble servant, Mr. Pliant!
Are you not now of all mankind—
PLIANT.
The best.—
I know you meant to say it: but don't praise me;
Your praise confounds me: I can bear my own,
I'm us'd to that.
SIR CHARLES.
You will have none from me.
Why did you trap me into a discussion
With Transit, and then turn about, and leave me
To be a laughing-stock, for my credulity?
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Why did I turn about?—Was it not time?
Cou'd I be too respectful of a life
So infinitely precious to the world?
Who wou'd have led the fashions of the Town,
Had we lost you? How many brilliant eyes
Wou'd have been blind with weeping!
SIR CHARLES.
Come, no raillery.
I think my wife, for one, wou'd have surviv'd it.
PLIANT.
Oh such an angel woman! such a heart!
SIR CHARLES.
What do you know of her?
PLIANT.
What do I know?
Enough to canonize her for a saint.
SIR CHARLES.
To which of all her numberless perfections
Has she made you the confidential witness?
PLIANT.
You'll see—you'll see.
SIR CHARLES.
I shall be glad to hear
What I'm to see.
PLIANT.
You're going out of Town—
SIR CHARLES.
Within this hour.
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Go, go! you safely may.
Her time will be most blessedly employ'd;
She is the most benevolent of beings:
Your house will be the scene of reconcilement.
I've been to Transit with your lady's letter—
Oh! such a peace-maker!
SIR CHARLES.
A perfect saint.
PLIANT.
You see that I know something.
SIR CHARLES.
Yes, I see it.
You saw the letter too?
PLIANT.
I saw her write it.
SIR CHARLES.
You took it to him?
PLIANT.
To be sure I did.
SIR CHARLES.
Quite right, quite right. It was an invitation?
PLIANT.
At eight o'clock this evening.—Ah, my friend,
You are the happiest man—
SIR CHARLES.
You make me so,
By telling me the virtues of my wife.
At eight this evening?
PLIANT.
Yes.
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Before that hour
I shall be fifty miles upon my way.
Good b'ye! I must make ready for my journey.
[Exit.
PLIANT.
There, there now! Sure I am the luckiest fellow
At making people happy with each other!
It is a gift—by Heav'n, an actual gift!
It can be nothing less. There is he gone
As gayly out of Town, as free from care,
As if he had no wife at all to think of.
My lady may be virtuous, nay, she is so
For aught I know; but if I were her husband,
I should not take that letter quite so coolly:
I watch'd her as she wrote it, and can swear
To more than one tear that the writing cost her.
Well, well—I'm but the bearer of the letter;
And be it what it may, by this manœuvre
I've made all parties safe. Trust me for that.
Yes, yes; I take that credit to myself.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
—An apartment in Lord Transit's house.LORD TRANSIT
reading a letter.
“I have appointed your afflicted wife
“To come to me this night at eight o'clock—
“If your heart feels compunction, meet her here,
“And take her pardon; take her to your arms,
“And let her intercession turn aside
“That wrath which Heav'n will else discharge upon you.”
“Clara Le Brun.”
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Your anxious summons. Now I understand
Your promise, as I led you to your coach,
Of an appointment. All which then appear'd
Dark and equivocal, is bright and clear.
Why did I suffer my dishonest thoughts
To build unfair presumptions on the chance
That Gaming had expos'd you to seduction?
Virtue, I see, can take so bright a polish,
That e'en that dæmon's touch cannot defile it.
Servant enters.
SERVANT.
My lord, some gentlemen in company
With Mr. Fairford—
LORD TRANSIT.
I am not at home.
SERVANT.
I told him so; but he'll take no refusal.
LORD TRANSIT.
What is the hour?
SERVANT.
Just on the stroke of eight.
And see! he has follow'd me to the very door.
[Exit Servant.
Fairford enters, followed by Heartright and Codicil.
LORD TRANSIT.
Well, Mr. Fairford, since you won't be answer'd
By any apology, behold me present.
FAIRFORD.
You are the man I wanted to behold.
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A handsome recantation, I acknowledge—
All written with your own hand, is it not?
LORD TRANSIT.
It is my writing, and it was my paper.
FAIRFORD.
It was your paper—Right! It is mine now:
And in return for paper, there is parchment.
(pointing to the mortgage deed in Codicil's hand.)
That was your mortgage to old Gallishoff;
It came to me, and now it goes to you.
Take it, I've nothing more to do with it.
You've clear'd my daughter, I clear your estate.
LORD TRANSIT.
Hold, Mr. Fairford: 'tis not yet the time
That honour will allow me to receive it—
I beg you will release me.
FAIRFORD.
Heh! release you?
Egad, I rather think we shou'd confine you:
You're in a high delirium, a brain-fever.
LORD TRANSIT.
Well, be that as it may, I must decline it:
Imperious reasons force me to decline it.
FAIRFORD.
Imperious reasons! Let me tell you, sir,
I've reasons as imperious as yours can be,
Aye, and resentments too.
LORD TRANSIT.
I cannot help it.
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To meet my wife, and to receive my pardon.
My heart with joy embrac'd the blest occasion
To pour out all its penitence, its thanks,
Its hoarded transports of returning love,
And vow eternal truth in her dear arms;
When lo! with all my passions
Alive, and kindling fire in every vein,
You come, you cross me in the very hour,
The instant of my fate—'Sdeath! cou'd you offer
The wealth of worlds, I wou'd not stop to take it.
[Exit.
FAIRFORD.
Oho! that gives the case another colour:
Those are imperious reasons, I confess.
I'm not so angry now, nay I must own
My anger was for once in the wrong place.
HEARTRIGHT.
Every man's anger is in the wrong place.
FAIRFORD.
I'm satisfied; I'm calm; my heart's at rest.
CODICIL.
So is your mortgage—I may take this home.
FAIRFORD.
No, give it me.
CODICIL.
'Tis safer in my keeping;
Your pocket burns, my friend.
FAIRFORD.
Well, if it does;
Methinks I take the ready way to quench it.
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I don't care what you do. When you were poor,
I lik'd you most; and when you're poor again,
I shall not like you less. I only say,
Give to the worthy man, and you give well;
But give to every man for giving's sake,
When your whim's over, you will find yourself
With empty pockets in a thankless world.
[Exit Codicil.
HEARTRIGHT.
There's no great flattery to mankind in that;
But there's a plaguy deal of truth, I fear.
FAIRFORD.
Hear, and then judge. Amongst my dead wife's papers
I have discover'd letters that have pass'd
Betwixt this lord and her; and it appears
That in my absence, when the best of beings
(She for whose sake I wou'd have sluic'd my blood)
Was pincht by poverty, even to want
Of common necessaries—Oh my God! .......
Sir, I perceiv'd myself his lordship's debtor
For sums, not great perhaps in their amount,
But greatly, nobly, delicately giv'n,
Without parade or vaunting.—Now, by Heav'n!
I were a dog, not fit to feed on scraps,
If I cou'd hold a claim upon his purse,
Though thousands hung to it, whose hand was open
To the necessities of that dear saint
When cruel want oppress'd her.—Am I right?
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I think you are, and do believe you'll find,
When every heart is search'd, you have been right.
Let us withdraw.
FAIRFORD.
Aye, aye; we'll give them time
For reconcilement, and then share their joys.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
—Lady Le Brun's chamber.Lady Le Brun ushers in Lady Transit.
LADY LE BRUN.
This way, dear madam! You're before your time—
But never mind; my lord will soon be here;
I'm sure he will. I show you to this chamber,
Because it is my private sacristy,
Which nobody approaches. Shall I stay,
Or be at hand to usher in your lord?
LADY TRANSIT.
Stay a few minutes, but till I recover
My flutter'd spirits.
LADY LE BRUN.
Come, come, be compos'd;
I can ensure your perfect reconcilement.
LADY TRANSIT.
Indeed!—I feel as if it cou'd not be.
I won't detain you longer. I'll attend
And wait my lord's arrival.
LADY LE BRUN.
I obey you.
Alas, poor thing! (aside)
.
[Exit.
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What did that look imply?
It seem'd like pity; it might be contempt;
They are allied too nearly. Did I not
Come here unsanction'd by my father's leave?
And can I wonder if chastising Heaven
Provides a punishment for disobedience?
O Trevor, gallant friend, what wou'd I give
That thou wert now beside me! Ha! who's that?
Sir Charles Le Brun appears.
SIR CHARLES.
A friend as gallant, and not less dispos'd
Than Trevor to protect you. Fear me not!
Whilst you are silent, you are in no danger;
If you cry out, you bring destruction down
On all around you, and perhaps this chamber
Shall float with your unworthy husband's blood.
LADY TRANSIT.
Sir Charles Le Brun, I set you at defiance.
I find that innocence can feel no fear;
That conscious virtue buoys my spirit up,
To meet your menaces with firm contempt.
Why should I cry, when there are none to hear?
When you, whose heart no pity can approach,
Have barr'd your doors from them who might have felt it?
SIR CHARLES.
You do me wrong: you wrong the truest friend
That ever sacrific'd his heart's best feelings
To pity, to respect, to love for woman.
Your faithless husband spurn'd you from his doors,
I open'd mine—You've enter'd, and are safe.
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Then let me pass.
SIR CHARLES.
Stop! you must hear me first—
I felt your wrongs, and seiz'd the first occasion
To vent my vengeance on the man who wrong'd you:
His insolence soon gave me fair pretence—
My sword was ready; but you stay'd my hand.
LADY TRANSIT.
Did I? Your conscience will have cause to bless me.
SIR CHARLES.
I sheath'd my sword at Trevor's intercession,
Who spoke, as I believ'd, by your commission.
Now will you tell me I am not your friend?
Now will you spurn me, set me at defiance?
Now will you turn my fury on your husband?
Or hear me plead my passion at your feet,
And let me seize this unopposing hand,
And press it to the fondest, truest heart
That ever beat within a lover's breast?
LADY TRANSIT.
Thou wretch! thou murderer, if this be death
That now comes over me—dark, dark, and cold—
(She faints, and Sir Charles supports her.)
SIR CHARLES.
Heav'ns! I have gone too far—She faints—she falls.
Here after a pause, Lord Transit enters unseen by Sir Charles, and stands horror-struck, while Sir Charles proceeds:
Oh, let my arms support you! let my breast
Be Beauty's pillow, lovelier in its paleness
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That my rapt eye cou'd hardly rest upon it.
LORD TRANSIT.
I'm petrified with horror—No! Go on;
Stir not—but what you have subdued, support,
And prop the ruin that records your triumph!
SIR CHARLES.
Hear me, my lord!
LORD TRANSIT.
I will not hear you, sir;
Nor will I stay to look upon that wreck
Of all that was divine, and pure, and lovely.
Alive we never part. I shall wait for you.
[Exit.
Lady Le Brun runs to the assistance of Lady Transit.
LADY LE BRUN.
My lord, my lord, return! Sir Charles, you've kill'd her;
Inhuman wretch, you've kill'd her—Hence, away!
Go, hide yourself for ever—I'm your wife,
And cannot speak the word that fits your crime.
Trevor rushes in, and draws his sword.
TREVOR.
I can—a villain! With that word I stamp you,
And with my sword am ready to confirm it.
LADY LE BRUN.
Put up your sword! For Heav'n's sweet sake forbear!
Cease your loud anger! She revives! she lives!
TREVOR.
Louisa, I am with you.
LADY TRANSIT.
Raise me up.
George, something terrible, I know, has happen'd;
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Send for him! Madam, if you are sincere,
You can explain—
LADY LE BRUN.
And will—although the truth
Will strike conviction to that heart, whose honour
Shou'd be as dear to me as is my own.
Lord Transit, followed by Fairford and Heartright.
LORD TRANSIT.
Bay not me, sir, with your outrageous din;
Come in, and see your daughter in the arms
Of her triumphant lover.
FAIRFORD.
No, not she;
She is in no man's arms—'Tis false, 'tis false.
You have defam'd my daughter—That I see,
And, by defaming, seek to screen yourself:
That I can understand—My child is wrong'd;
And this your charge is false and foul as hell.
LADY TRANSIT.
George, calm his anger. (To Trevor.)
TREVOR.
Uncle, hear me speak.
FAIRFORD.
Aye, and I'm glad you're here, my gallant boy!
TREVOR.
Lady Le Brun, when I appeal to you,
I know you can expound this dark affair;
And as I think your motives were sincere
In bringing this much-injur'd lady hither,
By justifying her you'll clear yourself.
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As truly as I can attest to Heaven,
That I invited Lady Transit hither
For no one purpose but to meet her lord,
And seal his pardon,—so can I declare
She came for that sole purpose, being told
By me expressly, that Sir Charles Le Brun
Was gone from Town. For this I had his word;
And why he broke it, why he came by stealth,
By robber-like surprise (for other name
I cannot give it), to insult this lady,
Under his own roof, let Sir Charles account;
I cannot.
LORD TRANSIT.
Nor can he devise a tale
To overthrow the evidence of sight.
I saw my wife encircled by his arms,
Claspt in his fond embrace—Aghast I stood
Rooted with horror—He the whilst exclaim'd—
“Oh, let my arms support you! Let my breast
“Be Beauty's pillow!”—More he said; but this
Will serve his character, the favour'd lover.
SIR CHARLES.
Lord Transit, when I call'd on you to hear,
I wou'd have utter'd from my heart the truth
You wou'd not hear: proudly you turn'd away,
Threw me your challenge, threaten'd me with death,
And thought to force confessions from my fear,
Which from my conscience I had freely made.
I know the duty that I owe to truth,
To innocence, to justice—and I'll pay it;
But not at your command, nor till I see
That letter which my wife was pleas'd to write,
And sent by Mr. Pliant to your lordship.
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Lord Transit, if you have that letter with you,
I solemnly adjure you to produce it.
LORD TRANSIT.
Here is the letter—Let your husband read it.
(Gives it to Lady Le Brun.)
Pliant enters.
PLIANT.
Ah! here I am, the source of all confusion!
Ah, my sweet lady, if you want to know
Who 'twas betray'd your letter to Sir Charles,
'Twas I—I did it—I do all the mischief,
And never mean it—That is my misfortune—
LADY LE BRUN.
And every body's else, that has to do with you.
PLIANT.
I know it; I acknowledge it for truth.
No sooner do I fasten on a man
My curst left-handed friendship, down he goes
Plump as the whale does when the Thresher rides him.
SIR CHARLES.
Lady Le Brun, I'm satisfied—Your letter
Does honour to your heart. I ask your pardon.
LADY TRANSIT.
I now desire Sir Charles will recollect,
That I stand here and silently endure
Unjust suspicions to attaint my honour.
'Tis time for innocence to speak, when crimes
Black and detestable are on the point
Of being shifted from their real author,
And fasten'd upon me. Sir Charles, confess!
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If Honour ever harbour'd in my heart,
Or Truth e'er found a passage to my lips,
'Tis now—when solemnly I do aver
Myself the hateful cause that casts a doubt
Ev'n for a moment on that spotless wife,
Who, when expecting to receive her husband,
Was by my rude, profane assailance struck
With indignation, terror, and surprise;
And fainting, nay, expiring, as I fear'd,
Was so discover'd senseless in my arms.
FAIRFORD.
Ay, vengeance light upon you! well she might.
SIR CHARLES.
Now, if my lord has any other doubt,
Let him propound it.
LORD TRANSIT.
You was at the castle,
And visited my Lady Transit there
The instant I had left it.
SIR CHARLES.
I was there,
And only found admission to your lady
On the surmise that I might be encharg'd
With some kind message from you; some farewell
That look'd like pity, which you never felt.
FAIRFORD.
There, my Lord Transit, have you heard enough?
Will that content you?
HEARTRIGHT.
Come, no more of this.
His heart is wounded deep, and deep enough;
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Look, look! the load-star that directs his course
Beams in your daughter's eyes. See where he moves,
And follows as its soft attraction draws,
To its safe haven, there to rest for ever.
(Lord Transit during this speech fondly advances towards his wife, and in conclusion falls into her arms.)
FAIRFORD.
There, there! All's over!—Heartright, I cou'd hug you,
'Sdeath, I cou'd strangle you, but that I love you.
Oh, you can smile—Egad, I'm pleas'd to see it.
HEARTRIGHT.
Yes, 'tis a sympathy my muscles have,
A kind of trick, when I see others happy.
Jests are not apt to move them.
FAIRFORD.
Nephew George,
I won't say much to you. I feel the more.
LORD TRANSIT.
When Mercy and Forgiveness are gone forth,
The moment is auspicious to offenders.
May it not then be time for us, who feel
And own our imperfections, to prefer
The only plea that we presume to urge—
A zeal to profit, and a wish to please?
END OF THE COMEDY.
| A Hint to Husbands | |