 | The Hunchback |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
—An Apartment in Master Heartwell's House.Enter Fathom and Thomas.
Thos.
Well, Fanthom, is thy mistress up?
Fath.
She is, Master Thomas, and breakfasted.
Thos.
She stands it well! 'Twas five, you say, when she
came home; and now it wants three quarters of an hour of
ten? Wait till her stock of country health is out.
Fath.
'Twill come to that, Master Thomas, before she lives
another month in town! Three, four, five, six o'clock are now
the hours she keeps. 'Twas otherwise with her in the country.
There, my mistress used to rise what time she now lies down.
Thos.
Why, yes; she's changed since she came hither.
Fath.
Changed, do you say, Master Thomas? Changed,
forsooth! I know not the thing in which she is not changed;
saving that she is still a woman. I tell thee there is no
keeping pace with her moods. In the country she had none
of them. When I brought what she asked for, it was “Thank
you, Fathom,” and no more to do; but now, nothing contents
her. Hark ye! Were you a gentleman, Master Thomas,—
for then you know you would be a different kind of man,—
how many times would you have your coat altered?
Thos.
Why, Master Fathom, as many times as it would take
to make it fit me.
Fath.
Good! But, supposing it fitted thee at the first?
Thos.
Then would I not have it altered at all.
Fath.
Good! Thou wouldst be a reasonable gentleman.
Thou wouldst have a conscience. Now hark to a tale about
my lady's last gown. How many times, think you, took I it
back to the sempstress?
Thos.
Thrice, may be.
Fath.
Thrice, may be! Twenty times, may be; and not a
turn too many, for the truth on't. Twenty times, on the oath
of the sempstress. Now mark me—can you count?
Thos.
After a fashion.
Fath.
You have much to be thankful for, Master Thomas.
You London serving-men know a world of things, which we in
the country never dream of. Now mark—Four times took I
it back for the flounce; twice for the sleeves; thrice for the
tucker—How many times, in all, is that?
Thos.
Eight times to a fraction, Master Fathom.
Fath.
What a master of figures you are! Eight times—
now, recollect that! And then found she fault with the
trimmings! Now tell me how many times took I back the
gown for the trimmings?
Thos.
Eight times more, perhaps!
Fath.
Ten times to a certainty. How many times makes
that?
Eighteen, Master Fathom, by the rule of addition.
Fath.
And how many times more will make twenty?
Thos.
Twice, by the same rule.
Fath.
Thou hast worked with thy pencil and slate, Master
Thomas! Well, ten times, as I said, took I back the gown
for the trimmings; and was she content after all? I warrant
you no, or my ears did not pay for it. She wished, she said,
that the slattern sempstress had not touched the gown; for
nought had she done, but botched it. Now what think you
had the sempstress done to the gown?
Thos.
To surmise that, I must be learned in the sempstress's
art.
Fath.
The sempstress's art! Thou hast hit it! Oh, the
sweet sempstress! The excellent sempstress! Mistress of
her scissors and needles, which are pointless and edgeless to
her art! The sempstress had done nothing to the gown; yet
raves and storms my mistress at her, for having botched it in
the making and altering; and orders her, straight, to make
another one; which home the sempstress brings on Tuesday
last.
Thos.
And found thy fair mistress as many faults with that?
Fath.
Not one! She finds it a very pattern of a gown! A
well-sitting flounce! The sleeves a fit—the tucker a fit—the
trimmings her fancy to a T—ha! ha! ha! and she praises the
sempstress—ha! ha! ha! and she smiles at me, and I smile—
ha! ha! ha! and the sempstress smiles—ha! ha! ha! Now
why did the sempstress smile?
Thos.
That she had succeeded so well in her art.
Fath.
Thou hast hit it again! The jade must have been
born a sempstress! If ever I marry, she shall work for my
wife. The gown was the same gown! and there was my
mistress's twentieth mood!
Thos.
What think you will Master Walter say when he
comes back? I fear he'll hardly know his country maid
again. Has she yet fixed her wedding-day?
Fath.
She has, Master Thomas. I coaxed it from her maid.
She marries, Monday week.
Thos.
Comes not Master Walter back to-day?
Fath.
Your master expects him.
[A ringing.]
Perhaps
that's he. I prithee go and open the door; do, Master
Thomas, do; for proves it my master, he'll surely question me.
Thos.
And what should I do?
Fath.
Answer him, Master Thomas, and make him none the
wiser. He'll go mad, when he learns how my lady flaunts it!
Go! open the door, I prithee. Fifty things, Master Thomas,
know you, for one thing that I know! You can turn and
twist a matter into any other kind of matter; and then twist
and turn it back again, if needs be; so much you servants of
the town beat us of the country, Master Thomas. Open the
door, now; do, Master Thomas, do!
[They go out.
SCENE II.
—A Garden with two Arbours.Enter Master Heartwell and Master Walter, meeting.
Heart.
Good Master Walter, welcome back again!
Wal.
I'm glad to see you, Master Heartwell!
Heart.
How,
I pray you, sped the weighty business which
So sudden call'd you hence?
Wal.
Weighty, indeed!
What thou wouldst ne'er expect—wilt scarce believe!
Long-hidden wrong, wondrously come to light,
And great right done! But more of this, anon.
Now of my ward discourse! Likes she the town?
How does she? Is she well? Canst match me her,
Amongst your city maids?
Heart.
Nor court ones neither!
She far outstrips them all!
Wal.
I knew she would!
What else could follow in a maid so bred?
A pure mind, Master Heartwell!—not a taint
From intercourse with the distemper'd town;
With which all contact was wall'd out, until,
Matured in soundness, I could trust her to it,
Secure against infection!
Heart.
Master Walter!
Wal.
Well?
Heart.
Tell me, prithee, which is likelier
To plough a sea in safety?—he that's wont
To sail in it,—or he that by the chart
Is master of its soundings, bearings,—knows
Its headlands, havens, currents—where 'tis bold,
And where behoves to keep a good look-out?
The one will swim, where drowns the other one!
Wal.
The drift of this?
Heart.
Do you not guess it?
Wal.
Humph!
Heart.
If you would train a maid to live in town,
Breed her not in the country!
Wal.
Say you so!
And stands she not the test?
Heart.
As snow stands fire!
Your country maid has melted all away,
And plays the city lady to the height;—
Her mornings gives to mercers, milliners,
Shoemakers, jewellers, and haberdashers;
Her noons, to calls; her afternoons, to dressing;
Evenings, to plays and drums; and nights, to routs,
Balls, masquerades! Sleep only ends the riot,
Which waking still begins!
Wal.
I'm all amaze!
How bears Sir Thomas this?
Why, patiently;
Though one can see with pain.
Wal.
She loves him? Ha!
[Aside.
That shrug is doubt! She'd ne'er consent to wed him
Unless she loved him!—never! Her young fancy
The pleasures of the town—new things—have caught;
Anon their hold will slacken; she'll become
Her former self again; to its old train
Of sober feelings will her heart return;
And then she'll give it wholly to the man
Her virgin wishes chose!
Heart.
Here comes Sir Thomas;
And with him Master Modus.
Wal.
Let them pass:
I would not see him, till I speak with her.
[They retire into one of the arbours.
Enter Clifford and Modus.
Clif.
A dreadful question is it, when we love,
To ask if love's return'd! I fondly thought
Fair Julia's heart was mine—I doubt it now!
But once last night she danced with me, her hand,
To this gallant and that, engaged, as soon
As ask'd for! Maid that loved would scarce do this?
Nor visit we together as we used,
When first she came to town. She loves me less
Than once she did—or loves me not at all!
Mod.
I'm little skill'd, Sir Thomas, in the world:
What mean you now to do?
Clif.
Remonstrate with her;
Come to an understanding, and, at once,
If she repents her promise to be mine,
Absolve her from it—and say farewell to her!
Mod.
Lo, then, your opportunity—She comes—
My cousin also:—her will I engage,
Whilst you converse together.
Clif.
Nay, not yet!
My heart turns coward at the sight of her!
Stay till it finds new courage! Let them pass.
[Clifford and Modus retire into the other arbour.
Enter Julia and Helen.
Helen.
So, Monday week will say good morn to thee,
A maid, and bid good night a sober wife!
Julia.
That Monday week, I trust, will never come,
That brags to make a sober wife of me!
Helen.
How changed you are, my Julia!
Julia.
Change breeds change!
Helen.
Why wedd'st thou then?
Julia.
Because I promised him!
Helen.
Thou lov'st him?
Julia.
Do I?
He's a man to love!
A right well-favour'd man!
Julia.
Your point's well-favour'd.
Where did you purchase it? In Gracechurch-street?
Helen.
Pshaw! never mind my point, but talk of him.
Julia.
I'd rather talk with thee about the lace.
Where bought you it? In Gracechurch-street, Cheapside,
Whitechapel, Little Britain? Can't you say
Where 'twas you bought the lace?
Helen.
In Cheapside, then.
And now then to Sir Thomas! He is just
The height I like a man.
Julia.
Thy feather's just
The height I like a feather! Mine's too short!
What shall I give thee in exchange for it?
Helen.
What shall I give thee for a minute's talk
About Sir Thomas?
Julia.
Why, thy feather.
Helen.
Take it!
And now let's talk about Sir Thomas—Much
He loves you.
Julia.
Much indeed, he has a right!
Those know I who would give their eyes to be
Sir Thomas, for my sake!
Helen.
Such too, know I.
But 'mong them none that can compare with him,
Not one so graceful.
Julia.
What a graceful set
Your feather has!
Helen.
Nay, give it back to me,
Unless you pay me for't.
Julia.
What wer't to get?
Helen.
A minute's talk with thee about Sir Thomas.
Julia.
Talk of his title, and his fortune then.
Clif.
[Aside.]
Indeed! I would not listen, yet I must!
Julia.
An ample fortune, Helen—I shall be
A happy wife! What routs, what balls, what masques,
What gala days!
Clif.
[Aside.]
For these she marries me!
She'll talk of these!
Julia.
Think not, when I am wed,
I'll keep the house as owlet does her tower,
Alone,—when every other bird 's on wing.
I'll use my palfrey, Helen; and my coach;
My barge too for excursion on the Thames:
What drives to Barnet, Hackney, Islington!
What rides to Epping, Hounslow, and Blackheath!
What sails to Greenwich, Woolwich, Fulham, Kew!
I'll set a pattern to your lady wives!
Clif.
[Aside.]
Ay, lady? Trust me, not at my expense.
Julia.
And what a wardrobe! I'll have change of suits,
For every day in the year! and sets for days!
And evening dress! Then will I show you lace
A foot deep, can I purchase it: if not,
I'll specially bespeak it. Diamonds too!
Not buckles, rings and ear-rings only,—but
Whole necklaces and stomachers of gems!
I'll shine! be sure I will.
Clif.
[Aside.]
Then shine away;
Who covets thee my wear thee!—I'm not he!
Julia.
And then my title! Soon as I put on
The ring, I'm Lady Clifford. So I take
Precedence of plain mistress, were she e'en
The richest heiress in the land! At town
Or country ball, you'll see me take the lead,
While wives that carry on their backs the wealth
To dower a princess, shall give place to me;—
Will I not profit, think you, by my right?
Be sure I will! Marriage shall prove to me
A never-ending pageant. Every day
Shall show how I am spoused! I will be known
For Lady Clifford all the city through,
And fifty miles the country round about.
Wife of Sir Thomas Clifford, baronet,—
Not perishable knight—who, when he makes
A lady of me, doubtless must expect
To see me play the part of one.
Clif.
[Coming forward.]
Most true;
But not the part which you design to play.
Julia.
A list'ner, sir!
Clif.
By chance, and not intent!
Your speech was forced upon mine ear, that ne'er
More thankless duty to my heart discharged!
Would for that heart it ne'er had known the sense
Which tells it 'tis a bankrupt, there, where most
It coveted to be rich, and thought it was so!
O Julia! is it you? Could I have set
A coronet upon that stately brow,
Where partial nature hath already bound
A brighter circlet—radiant beauty's own—
I had been proud to see thee proud of it;
So for the donor thou hadst ta'en the gift,
Not for the gift ta'en him. Could I have pour'd
The wealth of richest Crœsus in thy lap,
I had been blest to see thee scatter it;
So I was still thy riches paramount!
Julia.
Know you me, sir!
Clif.
I do!—On Monday week
We were to wed;—and are—so you're content,
The day that wives, you to be widow'd. Take
The privilege of my wife; be Lady Clifford!
Outshine thy title in the wearing on't!
My coffers, lands, all are at thy command!
Although the coveted of every eye,
Who would not wear me for myself alone.
Julia.
And do you carry it so proudly, sir?
Clif.
Proudly, but still more sorrowfully, lady!
I'll lead thee to the church on Monday week.
Till then, farewell!—and then, farewell for ever!
O Julia, I have ventured for thy love,
Like the bold merchant, who, for only hope
Of some rich gain, all former gains will risk!
Before I ask'd a portion of thy heart,
I perill'd all my own; and now, all's lost!
[Clifford and Modus go out.
Julia.
Helen!
Helen.
What ails you, sweet?
Julia.
I cannot breathe—quick, loose my girdle, oh!
[Faints.
Master Walter and Master Heartwell come forward.
Wal.
Good Master Heartwell, help to take her in,
Whilst I make after him! and look to her!
Unluckly chance that took me out of town!
[They go out severally.
SCENE III.
—The Street.Enter Clifford and Stephen, meeting.
Ste.
Letters, Sir Thomas.
Clif.
Take them home again,
I shall not read them now.
Ste.
Your pardon, sir,
But here is one directed strangely.
Clif.
How?
Ste.
“To Master Clifford, gentleman, now styled
Sir Thomas Clifford, baronet.”
Clif.
Indeed!
Whence comes that letter?
Ste.
From abroad.
Clif.
Which is it?
Ste.
So please you this, Sir Thomas.
Clif.
Give it me.
Ste.
That letter brings not news to wish him joy upon. If
he was disturbed before—which I guessed by his looks he was
—he is not more at ease now. His hand to his head! A most
unwelcome letter! If it brings him news of disaster, fortune
does not give him his deserts; for never waited servant upon
a kinder master.
Clif.
Stephen!
Ste.
Sir Thomas!
Clif.
From my door remove
The plate that bears my name.
The plate, Sir Thomas!
Clif.
The plate—collect my servants and instruct them
To make out, each, their claims unto the end
Of their respective terms, and give them in
To my steward. Him and them apprise, good fellow,
That I keep house no more. As you go home,
Call at my coachmaker's and bid him stop
The carriage I bespoke. The one I have
Send with my horses to the mart, whereat
Such things are sold by auction. They're for sale—
Pack up my wardrobe—have my trunks convey'd
To the inn in the next street—and when that's done,
Go round my tradesmen and collect their bills,
And bring them to me, at the inn.
Ste.
The inn!
Clif.
Yes; I go home no more! Why what's the matter?
What has fallen out to make your eyes fill up?
You'll get another place. I'll certify you
Most honest and industrious, and all
That servant ought to be.
Ste.
I see, Sir Thomas,
Some great misfortune has befallen you?
Clif.
No!
I have health; I have strength; my reason, Stephen, and
A heart that's clear in truth, with trust in God!
No great disaster can befall the man
Who's still possess'd of these! Good fellow, leave me.
What you would learn, and have a right to know,
I would not tell you now.—Good Stephen, hence!
Mischance has fallen on me—but what of that?
Mischance has fallen on many a better man.
I prithee leave me. I grow sadder while
I see the eye, with which you view my grief.
'Sdeath, they will out! I would have play'd the man,
Had you been less a kind and gentle one.
Now, as you love me, leave me!
Ste.
Never master
So well deserved the love of him that served him!
[Stephen goes out.
Clif.
Misfortune liketh company! it seldom
Visits its friends alone! Ha, Master Walter,
And ruffled too! I'm in no mood for him.
Enter Master Walter.
Wal.
So, Sir—Sir Thomas Clifford!—You are found!
Clif.
Well, Master Walter?
Wal.
You're a rash young man, sir!
Strong-headed, and wrong-headed—and I fear, sir,
Not over delicate in that fine sense
Which men of honour pride themselves upon!
Clif.
Well, Master Walter?
Wal.
A young woman's heart, sir,
Which knows not what is writ on't—which you may buy,
Exchange, or sell, sir,—keep or give away, sir:
It is a richer—yet a poorer thing;
Priceless to him that owns and prizes it;
Worthless, when own'd, not prized! which makes the man
That covets it, obtains it, and discards it,—
A fool, if not a villain, sir!
[Half drawing, then returning his sword.
Clif.
Well, sir!
Wal.
You never loved my ward, sir!
Clif.
The bright Heavens
Bear witness that I did!
Wal.
The bright Heavens, sir,
Bear not false witness! That you loved her not,
Is clear,—for had you loved her, you'd have pluck'd
Your heart from out your breast, ere cast her from your heart!
Old as I am, I know what passion is, sir!
We are wrong'd, sir, wrong'd!
Clif.
Nay, listen, Master Walter,
Touching your ward, if wrong is done, I think
On my side lies the grievance—I would not say so,
Did I not know so!—As for love!—look, sir,
That hand 's a widower's, to its first choice sworn
To clasp no second one! As for amends, sir,
You're free to get them from a man in whom
You've been forestall'd by fortune. Please you read
That letter. Now, sir, judge if life is dear,
To one, so much a loser.
Wal.
What, all gone!
Thy cousin living they reported dead!
Clif.
Title and land, sir, unto which add love!
All gone, save life—and honour!—which ere I'll lose,
I'll let the other go.
Wal.
We're public here,
And may be interrupted. Let us seek
Some spot of privacy. Your letter, sir.
[Gives it back.
Though fortune slights you, I'll not slight you! Not
Your title or the lack of it I heed!
Whether upon the score of love or hate,
With you and you alone I settle, sir.
We've gone too far. 'Twere folly now to part
Without a reckoning.
Clif.
Just as you please.
Wal.
You've done
A noble lady wrong!
Clif.
That lady, sir,
Has done me wrong!
Wal.
Go to, thou art a body!—
Fit to be trusted with a plaything, not
A woman's heart. Thou know'st not what it is!
And that I'll prove to thee, soon as we find
A lesson that shall serve you for the rest
Of your life. I'll make you own her, sir, a piece
Of Nature's handiwork, as costly, free
From bias, flaw, and fair, as ever yet
Her cunning hand turn'd out. Come on, sir!—Come!
[They go out.
| The Hunchback | |