University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter Maddervan.
Mad.
I think old Vanderclufe will surely come.
He is obliged to me; I lent him once
Ten thousand ducats to preserve his credit:
But now he's rich, he needs my aid no more;
And favors granted to such minds as his,
Fade like a name traced idly with a stick,
Upon the ebbed sea's unstable sand.

[Enter Marian.]
Marian.
If not intrusive, I would speak with you.

Mad.
Well, what would ye?

Marian.
A small affair of mine.
Sir, with your leave and pleasure, I would marry.

Mad.
Do, when you will, and much good may it do you.

Marian.
I thank you, sir; but may I venture, sir—
Ten years and more I have been in your house,
I hope my service merits some reward.

Mad.
It does, it does. But have you found a man?

Marian.
Yes, sir.

Mad.
Aha! and who is he?—I guess
'Tis Monsieur's servant, is it not?

Marian.
It is.
I could not live so long nor know his worth:
He is a good, true-hearted, kind, young man.

Mad.
And you would go the world over with him?

Marian.
I could,—but, sir, I hope we shall stay here.

Mad.
Yes, if his master too were fixed, you might.

Marian.
No one knows better than yourself of that:
If you are satisfied, the thing is done.

Mad.
But there are other bars—I hope removable.

Marian.
Upon the lady's part, I'm sure there's none.

Mad.
No, no, poor wench, she's past all cure I think.

Marian.
I think so too.

Mad.
But when would you be married?

Marian.
Sir, if you please, the same day with my mistress.

Mad.
How!—

Marian.
Sir, with Miss Beatrice.

Mad.
Softly, softly;
If so, there's time enough—you yet must wait—
Speak of the marriage ere the match be made!

Marian.
And dont you know?

Mad.
Know! what?—O I know nothing.

Marian.
Did not you tell me, sir, that you knew all?
Is not the captain—

Mad.
Poh! you're all awry:
Think you that I would give my only child,
With such a dow'r as I may give with her,
To one who has not wherewithal to live!

Marian.
You told me, sir, his marriage would content you.

Mad.
Well, well, what then?—I say again it will.

Marian.
And who shall be his wife, if not your daughter?

Mad.
Is there no other girl in Amsterdam?

Marian.
He never goes to any other house.

Mad.
Comes no one here—not Constance Vanderclufe?

Marian.
Am I mistaken, or are you deceived?

Mad.
What confidence has Beatrice in you?

Marian.
She speaks of Monsieur always soft and kindly.

Mad.
And so you thought her kindness came from love.

Marian.
I did—I do—

Mad.
You're wrong.

Marian.
I also know
That he had in despair resolved to leave her,
Fearing her father never would consent.

Mad.
Good, good!

Marian.
And are not you her father?

Mad.
Am I the only father in the town?—
Was Constance Vanderclufe bred in an egg,
And like a chicken only knows her nurse?—
Away, you minx! respect your mistress more.

Marian.
Sir, I could stake my head that you are wrong.

Mad.
Hence, impudence, away! go, get you gone.
[Exit Marian.
I will discharge this gipsy—saucy slut,
To think so meanly of her mistress. Ha!—

[Enter Vanderclufe.]
Van.
Your servant, sir—

Mad.
Welcome, my worthy friend.
Here, sit you down—

Van.
My time will not permit.

Mad.
Nay, do sit down; you have a deal to do—
'Tis long, methinks, since I have seen you, sir,
But you thrive well, I hear. 'Tis seven years
Since we have dealt, and then, like many others,
You had your own adoes against the world.

Van.
Well—May I ask, sir, what you want with me?

Mad.
You have a daughter,—

Van.
Sir!

Mad.
A worthy daughter,
As good as fair, and modest as she's fair,
Mild as she's modest, and as kind as mild:—
Do you not wish to see her fix'd in life?

Van.
No, sir, not yet.

Mad.
May I inquire your reason?

Van.
I cannot yet afford to spare her dower.

Mad.
(aside)
A bad beginning. But, sir, if she love,
And to her choice you can make no objection,
It is, I think, your duty to consent.

Van.
It may be so; but with one of two things,
Without a dowery, if she please herself,
And with a rich one if she pleases me.

Mad.
I have, sir, something to propose to you.

Van.
You will oblige me now by being brief.

Mad.
You know La Gloire, the officer, my guest?

Van.
Do you propose him for my daughter, sir?

Mad.
And, sir, why not?

Van.
A soldier and a Frenchman!
Nor with nor without dower!—

Mad.
Why such aversion?

Van.
To country and profession I object:
I loathe the French—they are our enemies:
Tygers in war, and worse than apes in peace—
A fickle race, as changeable in heart,
As lax in principles—made to be slaves
Alike to vices and to tyranny.
I have paid dear for learning what they are;
And never, while I can, shall they from me
Have aught but hate and heartfelt detestation.

Mad.
But he of whom I speak is good and noble.

Van.
Is he rich too?

Mad.
He is a younger son.

Van.
Sir, if not rich, what boots nobility?

Mad.
Friend, not so fast; let us be calm, consider
That no one hears us, therefore give me leave:
A man like you, excuse my freedom, sir,
Blest with the means, could not bestow amiss
Part of his wealth for good relationship.

Van.
I would not give a stiver for such geer.

Mad.
Then pray for whom do you intend your daughter?

Van.
The sum that I can give her should procure
As good a match as any in the land.

Mad.
I doubt, I doubt, such matches will not have her.

Van.
No!—why not, sir?

Mad.
Because they will not take her.

Van.
Why, sir, should they object to take my money?

Mad.
They will not take your daughter—

Van.
You grow warm.

Mad.
I do, that you should scorn so good a match.

Van.
Why don't you give the officer your own?

Mad.
Because I won't.

Van.
That is my very reason.

Mad.
There is some difference, sir, I think, between us.

Van.
In what does it consist?

Mad.
All know your rise.

Van.
Well, and what then?—Who knows your end?

Mad.
You grow impertinent.

Van.
You are at home.

Mad.
Sir, you may know and feel to whom you speak.

Van.
I fear you not.

Mad.
Go to the devil, sir!

[Exeunt.