The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor

O’Ded. And by St. Patrick, if the law gives you what is due to you, that’s what I’m too polite to mention. You’ve had your swing in iniquity long enough, and such swings are very apt to end in one that’s much too exalted for my notions. [Exit.

SCENE II. – an apartment at sir Willoughby’s. – Enter sir Willoughby, and William meeting him, the latter delivers a letter

Will. The gentleman desired me to say he is below, sir.

Sir W. Hey! (reads) “My dear Worret, I hope that a long absence from my native land has not obliterated the recollection of our friendship. I have thought it right to adopt this method of announcing my return, lest my too sudden appearance should hurt your feelings, by deranging the delicate nerves of your amiable lady” Hey!

“Ever yours,“FREDERICK FALKNER.”

Bless my soul! Falkner alive? show the gentleman up.

Will. He’s here, sir.

Enter Falkner

Falk. My old friend, I rejoice to see you.

Sir W. Friend Falkner, I shan’t attempt to say how welcome your return is. We all thought you dead and buried. Where have you been all these years?

Falk. A wanderer. Let that suffice.

Sir W. I see you still retain your old antipathy to answering questions, so I shall ask none – Have you been in France, or among the savages? Hey! I remember you had a daughter at school – is she alive? is she merry or miserable? Is she married?

Falk. Zounds what a medley! France and savages! marriage and misery!

Sir W. Ods life, I’m happy to see you! I haven’t been so cheerful or happy for many a day.

Falk. How’s your wife?

Sir W. Hey! thank ye, sir! why that excellent good woman is in high health, in astonishing health! by my troth I speak it with unspeakable joy, I think she’s a better life now than she was when I married her! (in a melancholy tone.)

Falk. That must be a source of vast comfort to you. I don’t wonder at your being so cheerful and happy.

Sir W. True – but it isn’t that– that is, not altogether so: no, ’tis that I once more hold my friend Falkner by the hand, and that my daughter – you remember your little favourite Helen —

Falkner. I do indeed!

Sir W. You are arrived at a critical moment: I mean shortly to marry her —

Falkner. I forbid the banns!

Sir W. The devil you do!

Falkner. Pshaw! (aside) my feelings o’erstep my discretion. Take care what you’re about – If you’re an honest man, you’d rather see her dead than married to a villain.

Sir W. To be sure I would; but the man I mean her to marry —

Falkner. Perhaps will never be her husband.

Sir W. The devil he wont! why not?

Falkner. Talk of something else – you know I was always an eccentric being —

Sir W. What the devil does he mean? yes, yes you was always eccentric; but do you know —

Falkner. I know more than I wish to know; I’ve lived long enough in the world to know that roguery fattens on the same soil where honesty starves; and I care little whether time adds to information which opens to me more and more the depravity of human nature.

Sir W. Why, Falkner, you are grown more a misanthrope than ever.

Falkner. You know well enough I have had my vexations in life; in an early stage of it I married —

Sir W. Every man has his trials!

Falkner. About two years afterwards I lost my wife.

Sir W. That was a heavy misfortune! however you bore it with fortitude.

Falkner. I bore it easily; my wife was a woman without feelings: she had not energy for great virtue, and she had no vice, because she had no passion: life with her was a state of stagnation.

Sir W. How different are the fates of men!

Falkner. In the next instance, I had a friend whom I would have trusted with my life – with more – my honour – I need not tell you then I thought him the first of human beings; but I was mistaken – he understood my character no better than I knew his: he confided to me a transaction which proved him to be a villain, and I commanded him never to see me more.

Sir W. Bless me! what was that transaction?

Falkner. It was a secret, and has remained so. Though I should have liked to hang the fellow, he had trusted me, and no living creature but himself and me at this day is possessed of it.

Sir W. Strange indeed; and what became of him.

Falkner. I have not seen him since, but I shall see him in a few hours.

Sir W. Indeed, is he in this neighbourhood?

Falkner. That circumstance of my friend, and a loss in the West Indies, which shook the fabric of my fortune to its foundation, drove me from the world – I am now returned to it with better prospects – my property, which I then thought lost, is doubled – circumstances have called me hither on an important errand, and before we are four and twenty hours older, you may see some changes which will make you doubt your own senses for the remainder of your days —

Sir W. You astonish me mightily.

Falkner. Yes, you stare as if you were astonished: but why do I stay chattering here? I must be gone.

Sir. W. Nay, pr’ythee now —

Falkner. Pshaw! I have paid my first visit to you, because you are the first in my esteem: don’t weaken it by awkward and unseasonable ceremony – I must now about the business that brings me here: no interruption, if you wish to see me again let me have my own way, and I may, perhaps, be back in half an hour.

Sir W. But I want to tell you that —

Falkner. I know – I know – you want to prove to me that you are the least talker, and the best husband in the county: but both secrets must keep till my return, when I shall be happy to congratulate you – and so farewell – [Exit.

Sir W. Bless my soul! what can he mean? ‘I forbid the banns’ – ‘lost my wife’ – ‘horrid transaction’ – ‘back again in half an hour’ – dear me – John – Thomas! lady Worret! Helen! [Exit.

SCENE III. – A room in sir Willoughby’s house – Helen and Charles meeting – Helen screams – they run towards each other, as if to embrace – Charles stops suddenly

Helen. Charles! is it you, or is it your spirit?

Char. ’Tis I, madam, and you’ll find I have brought my spirit with me.

Helen. Hey! why what the deuce ails the man?

Char. My presence here, no doubt astonishes you.

Helen. Yes, sir, your presence does astonish me, but your manner still more.

Char. I understand you – you would still keep a poor devil in your toils, though in his absence you have been sporting with nobler game.

Helen. My good friend, will you descend from your heroical stilts, and explain your meaning in plain English?

Char. There needs no explanation of my conduct – call it caprice – say, if you please, that I am altered– say I have changed my mind, and love another better —

Helen. Indeed! and is it come to this! he shall not see he mortifies me, however – (aside) Since you are in this mind, sir, I wish you had been pleased to signify the same by letter, sir —

Char. By letter?

Helen. Yes, sir, – for this personal visit being rather unexpected, does not promise to be particularly pleasant —

Char. I believe so, madam – you did not calculate, I fancy, on this sudden return.

Helen. No, indeed, sir – and should have shown all Christian patience if this sudden return hadn’t happened these twelve months.

Char. The devil you would! madam! – but I’ll be cool – I’ll cut her to the heart with a razor of ice – I’ll congeal her with indifference – you must know, madam —

Helen. Bless me, Charles, how very strangely you look – you’re pale and red, and red and pale, in the same moment! why you can scarcely breathe! and now you tremble so! I’m afraid you are very ill.

Char. Sarcastic!

Helen. You move all over like a ship in a storm!

Char. Vastly well, madam – and now —

Helen. Your teeth chatter! —

Char. Fire and fagots, madam, I will speak!

Helen. Do, dear Charles, while your are able – your voice will be gone in a minute or two, and then —

Char. I will be heard! (bawling)

Helen. That you will, indeed, and all over the house, too.

Char. Madam, will you hear me or not?

Helen. I am glad to find there’s no affection of the lungs!

Char. Death and torments! may I be allowed to speak – yes, or no?

Helen. Yes, but gently; and make haste before they call the watch.

Char. Madam, madam – I wish to keep my temper – I wish to be cool.

Helen. Perhaps this will answer the purpose (Fanning him).

Char. (In confusion, after a pause, aside) Is she laughing at me now, or trying to wheedle me into a good humour? I feel, Miss Worret, that I am expressing myself with too much warmth – I must therefore inform you, that being ordered home with despatches, and having some leisure time on my hands on my return, I thought it but proper as I passed the house to call at your door – just to say – a – a – just civilly to say – false! cruel! perfidious girl! you may break the tough heart of a sailor, but damn me if he will ever own it broke for love of you!

Helen. On my honour, sir, I do not understand what all this means.

Char. You don’t?

Helen. No, sir – if your purpose here is insult, you might, methinks, have found some fitter object than one who has so limited a power to resent it! [Going.

Char. Stay, madam, stay – what a face is there! a smile upon it too: oh, Helen, spare those smiles! they once could wake my soul to ecstasy! but now they rouse it into madness: save them, madam, for a happier lover – save them for lord Austencourt.

Helen. Charles, Charles, you have been deceived: but come, sit down and hear me.

Char. I am all attention, and listen to you with all that patience which the subject demands.

Helen. As you know the world, Charles, you cannot wonder that my father (in the main a very good father, but in this respect like all other fathers) should wish to unite his daughter to a man whose rank and fortune —

Char. (Rising in anger) Spare yourself the trouble of further explanation, madam; I see the whole at once – you are now going to tell me about prudence, duty, obedience, filial affection, and all the canting catalogue of fine phrases that serve to gloss over the giddy frailty of your sex, when you sacrifice the person and the heart at the frequented shrine of avarice and ambition!

Helen. (Rising also) When I am next inclined to descend to explanation, sir, I hope you will be better disposed to attend to me. [Going.

Char. A moment, madam! The whole explanation lies in a word – has not your father concluded a treaty of marriage between you and lord Austencourt?

Helen. He has—

Char. There – ’tis enough! you have confessed it —

Helen. (Stifling her tears) Confessed what? you monster! I’ve confessed nothing.

Char. Haven’t you acknowledged that you are to be the wife of another?

Helen. No.

Char. No! won’t you consent then?

Helen. Half an hour ago nothing on earth should have induced me to consent – but since I see, Charles, of what your temper is capable, I shall think it more laudable to risk my happiness by obedience to my father, than by an ill-judged constancy to one who seems so little inclined to deserve it. [Exit.

Char. Hey! where am I! zounds, I see my whole error at once! Oh, Helen, Helen – for mercy’s sake one moment more! – She’s gone – and has left me in anger! but I will see her again, and obtain her forgiveness – fool, idiot, dolt, ass, that I am, to suffer my cursed temper to master reason and affection at the risk of losing the dearest blessing of life – a lovely and an amiable woman! [Exit.

End of act III

ACT IV

SCENE I. – O’Dedimus’s office – Enter Charles pulling in Ponder by the collar

Char. This way, sirrah, this way, and now out with your confession, if you expect mercy at my hands.

Pon. I will, sir, I will: but I expect no mercy at your hands, for you’ve already handled me most unmercifully – (Charles shakes him) what would you please to have me confess, sir?

Char. I have seen old Abel Grouse – he has told me the story of his daughter’s marriage with this amiable cousin of mine: now, sirrah, confess the truth – were you present, or were you not? out with it (shakes him).

Pon. Now pray recollect yourself – do, sir – think a little.

Char. Recollect myself?

Pon. Ay, sir, if you will but take time to reflect, you’ll give me time to collect my scattered thoughts, which you have completely shaken out of my pericranium.

Char. No equivocation, answer directly, or though you’re no longer my servant, by heavens I’ll —

Pon. Sir – for heaven’s sake! – you’ll shake nothing more out of me, depend on’t – if you’ll be pleased to pause a moment, I’ll think of an answer.

Charles. It requires no recollection to say whether you were a witness —

Pon. No indeed, sir, ask my master if I was; besides if I had been, my conscience wouldn’t let me disclose it.

Charles. Your conscience! good, and you’re articled to an attorney!

Pon. True, sir, but there’s a deal of conscience in our office; if my master knew I betrayed his secrets even to you, I believe (in conscience,) he’d hang me if he could.

Charles. If my old friend O’Dedimus proves a rogue at last, I shan’t wonder that you have followed his example.

Pon. No, sir, for I always follow my master’s example, even though it should be in the path of roguery; compliment apart sir, I always followed yours.

Charles. Puppy, you trifle with my patience.

Pon. No indeed, sir, I never play with edg’d tools.

Charles. You wont acknowledge it then.

Pon. Yes, sir, I’ll acknowledge the truth, but I scorn a lie.

Charles. ’Tis true I always thought you honest. I have ever trusted you, Ponder, even as a friend: I do not believe you capable of deceiving me.

Pon. Sir, (gulping) I can’t swallow that! it choaks me (falling on his knees); forgive me, dear master that was; your threats I could withstand, your violence I could bear, but your kindness and good opinion there is no resisting; promise you wont betray me.

Charles. So; now it comes. I do.

Pon. Then, sir, the whole truth shall out, they are married, sir, and they are not married, sir.

Charles. Enigma too!

Pon. Yes, sir, they are married, but the priest was ordained by my master, and the license was of his own granting, and so they are not married, and now the enigma’s explained.

Charles. Your master then is a villain!

Pon. I don’t know, sir, that puzzles me: but he’s such an honest follow I can hardly think him a rogue – though I fancy, sir, between ourselves, he’s like the rest of the world, half and half, or like punch, sir, a mixture of opposites.

Charles. So! villany has been thriving in my absence. If you feel the attachment you profess why did you not confide this to me before?

Pon. Sir, truth to speak, I did not tell you, because, knowing the natural gentleness of your disposition, which I have so often admired, I was alarmed, lest the sudden shock should cause one of those irascible fits, which I have so often witnessed, and produce some of those shakes and buffets, which to my unspeakable astonishment, I have so often experienced.

Charles. And which, I can tell you, you have now so narrowly escaped.

Pon. True sir, I have escaped as narrowly as a felon who gets his reprieve five minutes after execution.

Charles. Something must be done. I am involved in a quarrel with Helen too! curse on my irritable temper.

Pon. So I say, sir – try and mend it; pray do.

Charles. I am resolved to have another interview with her; – to throw myself at her feet, and sue for pardon! Though fate should oppose our union, I may still preserve her from the arms of a villain, who is capable of deceiving the innocent he could not seduce: and of planting a dagger in the female heart, where nature has bestowed her softest attributes, and has only left it weak, that man might cherish, shelter, and protect it. [Exit.

Pon. So! now I’m a rogue both ways – If I escape punishment one way, I shall certainly meet it the other. But if my good luck saves me both ways I shall never more credit a fortune-teller: for one once predicted, that I was born to be hanged. [Exit.

SCENE II. – Sir Rowland’s Enter Sir Rowland and O’Dedimus

Sir R. You have betrayed me then! – Did not I caution you to keep secret from my nephew this accursed loss.

O’Ded. And so you did sure enough, but somehow it slipt out before I said a word about it; but I told him it was a secret, and I dare say he wont mention it.

Sir R. But you say, that he demands the immediate liquidation.

O’Ded. Ay, sir, and has given me orders to proceed against you.

Sir R. Is it possible! in a moment could I arrest his impious progress; but I will probe him to the quick, did he threaten me, say you? – There is however one way to save him from this public avowal of his baseness, and me from his intended persecution – a marriage between Charles and Mrs. Richland.

O’Ded. The widow’s as rich as the Wicklow mines!

Sir R. The boy refuses to comply with my wishes; we may find means, however, to compel him.

O’Ded. He’s a sailor; and gentlemen of his kidney are generally pretty tough when they take a notion in their heads.

Sir R. I am resolved to carry my point. I have reason to believe you advanced him a sum of money.

O’Ded. I did that thing – he’s a brave fellow; I’d do that thing again.

Sir R. You did wrong, sir, to encourage a young spendthrift in disobedience to his father.

O’Ded. I did right, sir, to assist the son of a client and the nephew of a benefactor, especially when his father hadn’t the civility to do it.

Sir R. Mr. O’Dedimus, you grow impertinent.

O’Ded. Sir Rowland, I grow old; and ’tis one privilege of age to grow blunt. I advanced your son a sum of money, because I esteemed him. I tack’d no usurious obligation to the bond he gave me, and I never came to ask you for security.

Sir R. You have his bond then —

O’Ded. I have, sir; his bond and judgment for two hundred pounds.

Sir R. It is enough: then you can indeed assist my views, – the dread of confinement will, no doubt, alter his resolution: you must enter up judgment, and proceed on your bond.

O’Ded. If I proceed upon my bond, it will be very much against my judgment.

Sir R. In order to alarm him, you must arrest him immediately.

O’Ded. Sir Rowland, I wish to treat you with respect – but when without a blush on your cheek you ask me to make myself a rascal, I must either be a scoundrel ready-made to your hands, for respecting you, or a damn’d hypocrite for pretending to do it – I see you are angry, sir, and I can’t help that; and so, having delivered my message, for fear I should say any thing uncivil or ungenteel, I wish you a most beautiful good morning. [Exit.

Sir R. Then I have but one way left – my fatal secret must be publicly revealed – oh horror! ruin irretrievable is preferable – never – never – that secret shall die with me– (Enter Falkner) as ’tis probably already buried in the grave with Falkner.

Falk. ’Tis false – ’tis buried only in his heart!

Sir R. Falkner!

Falk. ’Tis eighteen years since last we met. You have not, I find, forgotten the theme on which we parted.

Sir R. Oh, no! my heart’s reproaches never would allow me! Oh Falkner – I and the world for many years have thought you numbered with the dead.

Falk. To the world I was so – I have returned to it to do an act of justice.

Sir R. Will you then betray me?

Falk. During eighteen years, sir, I have been the depositary of a secret, which, if it does not actually affect your life, affects what should be dearer than life, your honor. If, in the moment that your ill-judged confidence avowed you as the man you are, and robbed me of that friendship which I held sacred as my being – If in that bitter moment I concealed my knowledge of your guilt from an imperious principle of honor, it is not likely, that the years which time has added to my life, should have taught me perfidy – your secret still is safe.

Sir R. Oh, Falkner – you have snatched a load of misery from my heart; I breathe, I live again.

Falk. Your exultation flows from a polluted source – I return to the world to seek you, to warm and to expostulate; I come to urge you to brave the infamy you have deserved; to court disgrace as the punishment you merit: briefly to avow your guilty secret.

Sir R. Name it not for mercy’s sake! It is impossible! How shall I sustain the world’s contempt, its scorn, revilings and reproaches?

Falk. Can he, who has sustained so long the reproaches of his conscience, fear the world’s revilings? – Oh, Austencourt! Once you had a heart.

Sir R. Sir, it is callous now to every thing but shame; when it lost you, its dearest only friend, its noblest feelings were extinguished: my crime has been my punishment, for it has brought on me nothing but remorse and misery: still is my fame untainted by the world, and I will never court its contumely.

Falk. You are determined —

Sir R. I am!

Falk. Have you no fear from me?

Sir R. None! You have renewed your promise, and I am safe.

Falk. Nothing then remains for me but to return to that obscurity from whence I have emerged – had I found you barely leaning to the side of virtue, I had arguments to urge that might have fixed a wavering purpose; but I find you resolute, hardened and determined in guilt, and I leave you to your fate.

Sir R. Stay, Falkner, there is a meaning in your words.

Falk. A dreadful precipice lies before you: be wary how you tread! there is a being injured by your – by lord Austencourt, see that he makes her reparation by an immediate marriage – look first to that.

Sir R. To such a degradation could I forget my noble ancestry, he never will consent.

Falk. Look next to yourself: he is not a half villain, and it is not the ties of consanguinity will save you from a jail. Beware how you proceed with Charles – you see I am acquainted with more than you suspected; look to it, sir; for the day is not yet passed that by restoring you to virtue, may restore to you a friend; or should you persevere in guilty silence, that may draw down unexpected vengeance on your head – [Exit.

Sir R. Mysterious man! a moment stay! I cannot live in this dreadful uncertainty! whatever is my fate, it shall be decided quickly. [Exit.

SCENE III. – An apartment at sir Willoughby’s; a door in the flat. Enter Helen and Charles

Helen. I tell you, it is unless to follow me, sir. The proud spirit you evinced this morning, might have saved you methinks from this meanness of solicitation.