 | Love, Honour And Interest |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A Room.Constance.
I cannot think La Gloire feels love for me;
He is, 'tis true, still gentle and polite,
Attentive to each little want or need,
But never shows the common signs of love:
The soft solicitation of the eyes;
The wish to whisper and be ever near;
The languishing prolongment of adieu
When we have parted—never have I seen.—
But here he comes, and with him Beatrice.
[Enter Beatrice and La Gloire.]
Beat.
Forgive me, Constance, for detaining you.
Cons.
Make no apologies, my friend; believe me,
I always find your company so pleasant,
That I at any time wait willingly,
And feel myself rewarded when you come.
Beat.
There, captain, hear you that?—Batavian maids,
'Spite of their dull and foggy atmosphere,
You see, have spirits bright and generous.
La Gloire.
That I have felt and known, and must remember.
Cons.
I do her but the justice that she merits.
Beat.
But let us not dispute of our own merits;
Monsieur shall judge.
La Gloire.
Nay, you must find a better.
Beat.
I know not where we should a better find.
Cons.
He must perforce decide for the appellant.
Beat.
In Paris, strangers always are preferr'd.
La Gloire.
The Dutch, in that respect, are not less civil.
Beat.
Ah! Constance, Constance, you have won the day.
But where so soon?
Cons.
'Tis almost dinner-time,
And my aunt Hidelberg expects my coming.
Beat.
'Tis yet too early; stay with us awhile.
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Softly, dear Beatrice, do let her go.
Cons.
What does he say?
Beat.
Dear Constance, be not jealous;
He only whispers me to bid you stay.
Cons.
I know not what to think!—
La Gloire.
O let her go.
Beat.
Do, Constance, stay—Sir, I take pains to please you.
La Gloire.
In truth, in truth, I must be so consol'd.
Beat.
Hear, Constance, hear; he says he is consol'd.
Cons.
Dear Beatrice, I know your friendship for me,
And here, before you, I may freely speak:
Your father tells me news so very strange,
That without confirmation from La Gloire,
I dare not credit them.
Beat.
Now this is frank.
I love you dearer, Constance, for this frankness—
I know what you would say.
La Gloire.
O Beatrice!
What new perplexity is this you weave?
Cons.
A few short words will be enough for me.
Beat.
But, Constance, have you time to hear him now?
Your aunt, I'm sure, must wonder at your stay!—
O tell her, captain, do, pray tell her all.
La Gloire.
Would that I might, but I have not the heart.
Beat.
You see, my friend, how much he is distress'd—
Alas! he has a thousand things to say.
Cons.
One little sentence is all I desire.
But one short word, if it be true he loves me?
Beat.
Merciful me! art thou beside thyself,
To ask a question so unmaidenly?
I'm sure La Gloire, at least, has more discretion.
But lovers never wish for witnesses,
And I should leave you.
La Gloire.
Stay, in mercy stay!
[Enter Maddervan.]
Mad.
Aha, aha! a pleasant party this.
But why afoot; do, pray be seated, do.
Beat.
Constance must go.
Mad.
Must she?—Why must she go?
Beat.
Her aunt expects her.
Mad.
Constance, sit you down,
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Your father will be here; I've sent for him.
He will no doubt look both with mouth and eyes;
But never mind—we want but his consent,
Which if he grant, 'tis fit you be at hand,
We'll call you in and finish the affair.
La Gloire.
O Heavens! O Heavens!
Mad.
How she is agitated!
Beat.
She is indeed, and with excess of joy.
Mad.
Leave all to me; stay here and dine with us.
Beat.
She cannot, sir, to-day.
Mad.
Can't she?—how's that?
Beat.
Because—because her aunt expects her, sir.
Mad.
Poh! nonsense, nonsense!—What! a fusty aunt,—
A parsimonious, prim, inquisitive,—
Spare in her feasts, and plenteous in her talk,
Not leave her for a fond and youthful lover!—
You shall not go.
Cons.
I will, sir, soon return.
La Gloire.
How shall I extricate myself from this?
Beat.
Fye, fye, La Gloire! A man bred in the wars,
One who has walk'd the utmost edge of danger,
And in the very whirl of life and death,
Accustom'd still to bear a mind prepar'd,
And yet in such a crisis, here to stand
Stunn'd and amaz'd!—fye, fye, attend your duty.
La Gloire.
What do you mean?
Beat.
See Constance to the door.
[Exit Const.
Mad.
Daughter, daughter, I say, Beatrice,
Why do you meddle with them in this way?
He cannot speak to her while you are bye.
Beat.
He has, I do assure you, said enough.
Mad.
Has he? What said he?—Did you hear it all?
Beat.
Softly and low they spoke as lovers woo.
Mad.
Go, Monsieur, go, and say what you would say.
La Gloire.
O that I might!
[Exit and soon returns.
Mad.
Daughter, daughter, I say.
This conduct, Miss, I do not much approve.
Beat.
La, sir, allow me but a little sport;
Lovers' perplexities are lawful game.
How pleasant 'tis to see La Gloire's despair—
Was it not I that first their flame discover'd?
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I'm sure the captain will forgive my pranks.
Mad.
O woman, woman, every day we see
Men learn from you; but you the serpent taught.
Ah, Beatrice, your time will soon come round;
The first good match that I can find, prepare:
What say you, Monsieur, to't?
La Gloire.
All right, all right.
Beat.
What business, sir, have you to say all right?
Mad.
Do you expect I will not choose your husband?
Beat.
Choose if you will, but find one to my taste.
Mad.
Your fortune may ensure the very best.
Beat.
Sir, Constance' father, may expect the same.
Mad.
Think you, my daughter, but like Vanderclufe's.
Beat.
But, sir,—
Mad.
Go to, go to, I'll hear no more.
[Exit Maddervan.
La Gloire.
Well, Beatrice, what think you of your scheme?
Beat.
Who could have thought that he would have done so—
La Gloire.
There is no remedy; I must depart.
Beat.
This time I will not interfere.
La Gloire.
O Heavens!
And must I marry Constance?
Beat.
If you can.
La Gloire.
What shall I do—must I disclose the plot?
Beat.
And make me pastime for the scand'lous world!
All I can say—to go—no certainly—
Marry Constance!—Surely, never, never.
Divulge our plan—that would indeed crown all.
I can no more—But as you are a lover,
Find means to rescue—
La Gloire.
I am in despair!
[Exeunt.
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,
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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,
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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,
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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.
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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.
SCENE III.
A Room.Maddervan and La Gloire.
Mad.
Ass! scoundrel! savage! brute! to use me so!
If it were not—gods! I could knock him down!
La Gloire.
Sir—
Mad.
Beast!
La Gloire.
Sir!
Mad.
Dog! cur! toad!
La Gloire.
Speak to me!
Mad.
I beg your pardon, captain, but that—that—
La Gloire.
May I inquire with whom you are offended?
Mad.
With whom but Vanderclufe, the mud-worm, Vanderclufe!
La Gloire.
How, sir! and will he not consent?—Alas!
Mad.
Poor soul, my heart is very sore to see him!
Come, Monsieur, come, pluck up a soldier's heart.
La Gloire.
Tell me at once the truth, has he refused?
Mad.
Ah, Monsieur, Monsieur—but we mortal men
Should ever be prepared for evil chance.
La Gloire.
Sir, by your leave,—
Mad.
Stop! fly not to despair.
La Gloire.
Have you not said enough?
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Dont be cast down—
Poor Monsieur—Come, lad, cheer thyself, there's hope:
He is an old conceited, purse-proud dog;
But there are ways to be revenged on him.
La Gloire.
Would you have me deceive her father, sir?
Mad.
What will you do?
La Gloire.
Return at once to France.
Mad.
And can you leave her, and for ever too?
La Gloire.
Ah, my good sir, you know not what you say.
Mad.
My word is given to promote your suit—
But you surprise me, that so bold a man
Should lack of enterprise at such a time.
La Gloire.
Sir, if you knew, you would not urge me so.
Mad.
I do know this, that you'll not be the first
Who won a wife against her father's will.
La Gloire.
May I, sir, marry without his consent?
Mad.
This is the case—Let us consider well—
Here are his riches,—there your noble birth—
His wealth assists you, and your blood confers
Honor and quality on all his race.
La Gloire.
But how, sir, can I ever look for pardon?
Mad.
When it is done, and there's no help,—
His anger, doubtless, will awhile burn fiercely;
But when a few short days are past and gone,
His back and bristle will again be smooth,
And he must do as better men have done,
Receive you home, promote you as his son,
And joke at lovers' tricks.
La Gloire.
May I hope this?
Mad.
Yes, if you have the spirit to attempt.
La Gloire.
I want not spirit.
Mad.
Soft! I understand.
La Gloire.
O Heavens! what will he next?
Mad.
Here, here, make haste,
There's money for a jaunt—no thanks, no thanks.
Find Constance, fly; away, away to France.
No words, but fly—Write me when all is done—
Courage, my boy!
La Gloire.
Fate is in this.
Mad.
Away!
[Exit La Gloire.
I have done wrong, but that curs'd Vanderclufe—
I have myself an only darling child—
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But poor young Monsieur is a worthy soul,
Deserves assistance, and is nobly born—
And Vanderclufe is blind to his own good—
But Constance comes.
[Enter Constance.]
Away! what do you here?
Cons.
Did you not, sir, invite me back?
Mad.
Aye, aye.
But where is Monsieur?
Cons.
How! is he not here?
Mad.
He seeks for you—he's running to your aunt's—
Away, away.
Cons.
Do you discard me, sir?
Mad.
No, no, no, no; but quickly, quickly run.
Cons.
For goodness, sir, tell me what means this haste?
Mad.
Go to your aunt's, see Monsieur, he will tell—
Cons.
Has something chanc'd anew?
Mad.
Yes, yes, make haste.
Cons.
What is it? tell me.
Mad.
To your aunt's, I say.
Cons.
My father has been here?
Mad.
He has, he has.
Cons.
Have you ask'd his consent?
Mad.
I have.
Cons.
For marriage?
Mad.
Yes, yes, for marriage. Fly!
Cons.
And with La Gloire?
Mad.
And with La Gloire.
Cons.
May I believe you, sir?
Mad.
Go to your aunt's, I say; make haste, away.
Cons.
For love and charity do tell me why.
Mad.
Time flies, time flies, away, away, away!
[Exit Constance.
[Enter Beatrice.]
Beat.
Can it be true, sir, what La Gloire has told me?
Mad.
What has he told?
Beat.
That you advise elopement.
Mad.
Eh! has he had this confidence in you?
Beat.
He has. And that you too have lent him money.
Mad.
He is a fool, and I repent my warmth.
Beat.
Your silence, sir, confirms what he has said.
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What is't to you?
Beat.
I only wish'd to know.
Your humble servant, sir.
Mad.
Where now? where now?
Beat.
To Monsieur's wedding, and with joyous heart.
Mad.
The ceremony can't be yet perform'd.
Beat.
It will be soon.
Mad.
I charge you, Beatrice,
As you have life, speak not a word of this.
Beat.
O trust me, sir, but it will soon be known,
And you shall then have all the merit, sir.
Mad.
Thou art, I see, a blithe, good-hearted knave;
Thy father's child, a chip of the old block.
[Exeunt.
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