Married Life

Young. So she did.

Mrs. Y. She didn’t – ’twas uncle Tolloday gave it me.

Young. ’Twas aunt Sarah.

Mrs. Y. Uncle Tolloday.

Young. You’re a provoking woman.

Mrs. Y. You’re a hideous man.

Young. I’m going home.

Mrs. Y. I am not. I shall never go home any more.

Young. That wont break my heart.

Mrs. Y. Your heart! you never had one.

Young. I had once.

Mrs. Y. Never.

Young. You drive me to madness; I shall go home; and I can only tell you, madam, since you threaten me, that when you arrive there, you will receive no welcome from me.

Mrs. Y. Do you mean that?

Young. I do. – (He rushes off R.)

Mrs. Y. Then I’ll go to my aunt Sarah; – he shall never see me again, an aggravating creature. How I could ever marry him, I can’t think! It was uncle Tolloday that gave me the silver thimble – I know it was; but he will contradict me. He does it on purpose to vex me – and oppose me – and worry me – and break my heart; but I’ll go this moment to my aunt’s, and I’ll never – never set foot in his house again.

[Exit, L. H.

Mrs. Dove. Dear, dear! what wretched lives some people do lead, don’t they, love?

Dove. Yes, dear.

Mrs. Dis. (To DISMAL.) – Just like you brutes of men – It’s quite heart-breaking to see how we poor creatures are treated!

Dis. What is it to you; nobody ill treats you!

Mrs. Dis. You do; I’ve been sitting here for this hour, and you have never spoken a word to me.

Dis. I had nothing to say.

Mrs. Dis. And though you know how fond I am of the wing of a fowl, you would send me a leg at dinner.

Dis. You women always want the wing.

Mrs. Dis. I’m a wretched woman.

Mrs. Dove. My dear Henry, can’t you console poor Mrs. Dismal?

Dove. Oh yes, love! have a hapricot, Ma’am?

Mrs. Dove. An apricot – Henry, dear, you mis-apply your indefinite article.

Dove. Do I? – console the lady yourself, love.

Mrs. Dis. The fact is – I had no business to marry you.

Dis. Now you speak the truth, we both ought to have known better; when people have lived single for fifty years, they should learn to look on matrimony as a misery they have luckily escaped.

Mrs. Dis. You need not allude to my age, sir, before people.

Dis. What does it matter? who cares how old you are? you’re fifty odd – so am I; and we have been married a year and a half – more fool I – more fool you.

Mrs. Dis. (Crosses L.) – I’m going home.

Dis. Well, go.

Mrs. Dis. Don’t you intend to come with me?

Dis. No.

Mrs. Dis. You’re an unkind man, and if we never meet again – I sha’n’t be sorry.

Dis. Then the gratification will be mutual.

Mrs. Dis. Indeed! I shall take you at your word, sir – (going) – but, remember, all my property is settled on myself.

[Exit L. H.

Dis. Serves me right – after living a bachelor fifty years, I had no right to alter my situation, but I’ll apply for a divorce – I will – ’twill be granted too; I’ve an excellent plea – mutual insanity.

[Exit R. H.

Dove. Well – now all the people have gone, I’ve something to say – and something that I mean, too; I won’t be taken up, as I always am, before people.

Mrs. Dove. What do you mean, Henry, by being taken up?

Dove. Why – altering my pronounciation every minute, as you do.

Mrs. Dove. How can I calmly sit and hear my husband commit himself in every syllable that he utters? respect for you and for myself, renders it necessary that I should correct you.

Dove. Well, I don’t like it – and I warn you not to result me again.

Mrs. Dove. Insult you.

Dove. Well, insult me again – you know how wiolent I am when I’m exaggerated.

Mrs. Dove. When you’re exasperated.

Dove. Well, what’s it matter! you perfectly compromise my meaning.

Mrs. Dove. Henry – Henry – I will not hear you make use of such language. Had I been aware that you were so illiterate – I would have broken my heart ere I would have married you —

Dove. Yes – you never used to find fault with my language when we used to sit under the apple-tree of an evening.

Mrs. Dove. That I should not have seen the absurdity of uniting myself with one so opposite to me!

Dove. Opposite to you! – you never would let me be opposite to you; you was never easy but when I was by your side; you know you wasn’t!

Mrs. Dove. But love is blind —

Dove. Yes, and deaf too, if I may judge from my own situation; just as if you couldn’t have found out my pronounciation then as well as now. I know’d there was a great contract between us.

Mrs. Dove. Contrast! besides, you are so stupid; you could not, during dinner, hear a bell or a knock at the door, but you must be running to answer it. I sat on thorns for you.

Dove. Well, then, that was werry kind of you. I wouldn’t do such a thing for my father; but don’t call me stupid – if you talk of bad language, what’s that, I wonder? Good bye! – you wont see me again, in a hurry.

Mrs. Dove. Where are you going?

Dove. I don’t know where I’m going, nor I don’t care; you’ve wounded me in a tender pint.

Mrs. Dove. Point! —

Dove. Point! – and I don’t care if I never see you again.

Mrs. Dove. (Taking his hand.) – Henry!

Dove. Let go my hand, Martha; I mean what I say; and don’t follow me, because I wont be follow’d.

Mrs. Dove. You cannot intend to be so base?

Dove. I do – you’ve put me in a passion, and when I am in a passion I’m dissolute.

[Exit, R. H.

Mrs. Dove. Resolute! – (calling after him) – Cruel Henry! I shall faint – Help! Henry! – Water! – oh! oh! – (She faints in a chair, and the drop falls.)

END OF ACT II

ACT III

SCENE I

A meanly furnished room; a door in the flat R. H.; in the second entrance L. H. a door bolted; the window shutters of the room are put up. Table and chairs, two candles burning. A knock heard at L. H. D.; after a pause, CODDLEpeeps out of the door in flat.

Cod. Who can that be? I told the woman of the house on no account to admit a soul, or to tell any one who had taken her rooms; but if she should be obliged to confess, to give out that a half-crazy gentleman occupies them, who will not allow a creature to approach him but herself. I think I am safe here, nobody knows me; I’ve changed my name, I have paid a month’s rent in advance, have closed and fastened the shutters and door, and intend to live in future by candle-light; so here I am alone – (Sitting in a chair.) – with two wives claiming me, yet alone, that’s something. What a night I have passed! One minute trembling with apprehension, the next with cold; the loose windows rattling all night like the chains of a sleepless felon – nothing but draughts all over the room, and a corner house too, its edges worn away by the wind constantly whistling round it – ugh! – (Shuddering – A knocking heard L. H. D.) – It must have been the landlady that knocked; she thought I was asleep, no doubt, so wouldn’t disturb me; how cold I am, there is a terrible wind somewhere. This is the most miserable place I ever was in, in my life; where can that rush of air come from? I must find out, here’s my tow – (going to table.) – with this and a skewer, I can stop every crevice. – (He goes round the room with a lighted candle; he holds it before a crevice in the flat; the flame of the candle waves.) – Ah, here’s the place – a thorough draught, enough to kill me. – (The candle goes out.) – It has blown the candle out; what a horrid place! – (He hammers some tow into the crevice; while thus employed, a knocking is again heard at the L. H. D. CODDLE starts, the hammer falls from his hand.) – Who’s there? ’tis the foot-step of a man, it is not the landlady; – (he creeps to the L. H. D. and listens) – officers of justice, perhaps, who have dogged me here, – hush! – (Listens again – A loud knock makes him start away from the door.) – Shall I answer? I will – I must – this suspense will drive me mad – who – who’s there?

Lynx. (Without.) – My dear fellow, open the door.

Cod. Oh, it’s my excellent friend Lynx. – (he runs to the door and unbolts it.) – Come in, come in; quick, quick. – (LYNX enters; CODDLEimmediately closes the door again and bolts it.) – Now what’s the matter? how did you find me out? what brought you here? any of the police after me? any warrant granted? Speak, speak.

Lynx. No, no, calm your fears.

Cod. Was it you that knocked at the door, a few minutes ago?

Lynx. Yes, yes, and I thought you were dead, as I could get no reply; you are as difficult to come at as a grand sultan.

Cod. I am a grand sultan, I rejoice in a plurality of wives. Oh, that Turkey, what a blessed country! where bigamy is a virtue, and a man’s consequences is rated not by the number of voices he can command in a parliament, but by the number of wives he can command at home. But tell me, how did you discover my retreat?

Lynx. You certainly could not expect to remain here unknown.

Cod. Why?

Lynx. The house not only belongs to an inspector of the police, but a Bow-street officer occupies the floor above you.

Cod. Oh! I am a doomed man. – (Falling into his chair.)

Lynx. The woman of the house gave me your whole history, when I called a quarter of an hour ago. I expect two or three of our friends here in a moment. Dismal, I have left at the door.

Cod. Which do you think the easiest method of quitting life?

Lynx. Quitting life!

Cod. Aye, of committing suicide? – hanging, poisoning, suffocation, drowning, or the pistol? For to one of these escapes from my terrors, I am determined to apply.

Lynx. Then you have not seen your wife?

Cod. Which?

Lynx. Your second.

Cod. Not since we parted at your house yesterday. I can never face her again. How is Mrs. Lynx?

Lynx. She has left me.

Cod. Left you!

Lynx. I am now in search of her, for this morning I have received intelligence that leaves me at liberty to confess more respecting that girl, than I have hitherto dared to tell.

Cod. That girl? my adopted daughter, you mean?

Lynx. I do; to this alone is my wife indebted for my seeking her. I would rather have died, than have been the first to advance one step towards a reconciliation, after her deliberate attempt yesterday at publicly exposing me. – (A knock heard again at L. H. D.)

Cod. There’s somebody else, who can it be?

Lynx. ’Tis no doubt, Dismal, our brother in misfortune.

Cod. Misfortune!

Lynx. He and his wife have also separated; indeed, I hear that of the whole party of married people that sat down to my table yesterday, not one couple are now living together.

Cod. They found my example so very pleasant, I suppose, they could not resist following it. – (Knocking again.)

Young. (Without.) – Open the door, we wish to see you. – (LYNX unbolts the door; YOUNGHUSBAND and DISMAL enter.)

Young. (to CODDLE.) – Ah, my friend, we have found you out at last.

Dis. Mr. Dove is below, and wants to see you.

Cod. He sha’nt come in, I wont have any more visitors. I came here to conceal myself, and here is my whole circle of acquaintance around me already; well, sit down, sit down, as you are here. – (they all sit) – What poor unhappy wretches we all are!

Young. For my own part, I freely confess, that I never was more miserable in all my days, and really begin to think that a wife is an indispensable comfort.

Cod. Where you’ve but one. ’Tis a comfort so peculiarly singular, that once pluralized, it is destroyed.

Dis. I had no idea that a restless night, by myself, could have made me think so favourably of Mrs. Dismal.

Lynx. Ah, my friends – absence, like death, leads us to dwell on the better qualities of those that are away.

Cod. And the heart that can then but refer to faults, is one of which we ought to be ashamed. If the second Mrs. Coddle had but consulted my comforts a little more than she did, and not look’d for raptures and passions in one, who had them not in his nature – she would have been a divinity.

Young. My wife’s great fault is her perpetual proneness for contradiction; were she to qualify her opposition, by presuming that I mistake, or by merely thinking that I am wrong, I should be satisfied, but her flat contradictions on every subject are unbearable, and I won’t put up with it; she sometimes makes me quite furious, zounds!

Dis. My wife’s great defect is her want of cheerfulness; and expecting me every moment to be petting her like a Dutch pug. I can’t fondle, and be continually my dearing; my amiable moments are periodical.

Cod. We are all wretched creatures; and I’m the most wretched among you; you may be reconciled some day or other, but for me – I am without hope. – (A knocking at the door, L. H.) – Hush! – who’s there? – (Going to the door.)

Dove. (Without.) – It’s me.

Cod. Who?

Dove. Mr. H. Dove.

Cod. You can’t come in.

Dove. I want to speak to Mr. Coddle, on a pint of vast prominence to him.

Dis. I forgot to tell you, he was asking for you when I came up; he says that he has something to tell you respecting your first wife.

Coddle. What can it be? Shall I let him in?

Lynx. Yes, yes! – (CODDLEopens the door; DOVE enters; CODDLE closes the door again and bolts it.)

Dove. Ha! how d’ye do, gentlemen all? We meet, again, under very conspicuous circumstances.

Coddle. (Placing a chair, and going to his seat.) – Sit down, Sir.

Dove. We’re all bachelors again, I hear! I an’t seen Mrs. Dove since yesterday; she worked upon my feelings, and aspirated me to that degree, that I went and got cummy fo; and now I am afraid to go home.

Coddle. Well, Sir! this information —

Dove. Yes, sir, – but first allow me to collect my loose memorandums; my head’s a little circumfused.

Lynx. Proceed, sir, I beg; consider Mr. Coddle’s anxiety.

Dove. Well then – you must know – yesterday – after you had all gone, Mrs. D. exaggerated me to such a pitch, that I flew out of the house – never intending to be united again.

Cod. Well?

Dove. As I was a rushing through the streets – resolved to do as I liked – and talk as I liked, and to remove every obelisk that stood in my way of so doing, who should I run against but a lady in black —

Cod. (Starting up.) – Ah!

Lynx. Sit still, and hear him out.

Dove. Bless me, says I, why, Ma’am, I know you; pray, an’t we united by ties of iniquity? she looked at me – I looked at her, and she became mutilated to the spot —

Cod. Go on, go on.

Dove. Aunt, says I —

Cod. Aunt!

Dove. Aunt, says I – an’t you afraid of being exercised and taken before the conjugal authorities?

Cod. For what? tell me for what?

All. Hush, hush! Silence.

Lynx. Proceed, Mr. Dove.

Dove. Henry, says she, I am here on a matter that demands me to be very circumflex, and I beg you will not make known to any one that you have met me. Aunt, says I – I – owe you a grudge; do you remember how you used to use me, when I cleaned the boots in that family where you was cook? —

Cod. Lord! cook! Go on!

Dove. But to alleviate a long story, suffice it to say – that I found out she calls herself —

Cod. Mrs. Samuel Coddle!

Dove. Yes; she went out to the West Indies, in a doctor’s family, on account of some unlawful willanies. She went to Antigua —

Cod. True.

Dove. And changed her name —

Cod. Changed her name! To what – to what?

Dove. To – I forget – Bel —

Cod. Belvidera Montemar?

Dove. That’s it.

Cod. Then her real name was —

Dove. Jane Hobbs.

Cod. Huzza, huzza! – an illegal marriage! I’m free – it can be put aside, it can be put aside! Tol de rol lol. – (Dancing.) – You hear, she was obliged to leave the country; she imposed upon me; she left me; she’s here but to annoy me – but I’m free. Lynx, unbolt the door and let me out. – (LYNX unbolts and opens the door.) – Mr. Dove, let me collar you; you shall never leave me till I have seen and satisfied the lawful Mrs. Coddle. You are my witness, and must come to your aunt, and then to my wife; follow us, my dear friends – follow us; seek your wives and be reconciled; I’ll set you the example. Don’t attempt to get away from me; – (to DOVE) – you are my best friend, and I shall never quit my hold of you. I wouldn’t part with you for a million of money. My dear friend, my preserver, my every thing on earth to me – come with me to your aunt, to Belvidera – never mind hat, coat, any thing. My dear, my only Mrs. Coddle, open your arms, and receive your husband and his friend. – (Rushing out, L. H. D., and dragging DOVE with him by the collar.)

Lynx. (Calling after him.) – Coddle, my dear fellow, where are you running? let us follow him, my friends, and assist each other in search of our wives, and do our best, to gain mutual forgiveness.

[Exit LYNX.

Dis. I wont – I’ve been used very ill – I walked before my house for an hour this morning, and though Mrs. D. was seated at the window, she wouldn’t turn her head to notice me.

Young. Where my wife can be I am at a loss to guess. Not at her aunt’s, I have been there, and they have not seen her. I am getting quite distracted.

Dis. So am I.

Young. Then give me your arm, if you won’t go home to your wife, you must and shall help me to regain mine. It is a man’s duty sir, to advance the first step towards a reconciliation.

Dis. I have advanced.

Young. You have not.

Dis. Didn’t I walk by the house?

Young. No.

Dis. I did, and I won’t go again.

Young. You shall. If you don’t know your duty, I’ll teach it you. Come Sir, come. – [Exit YOUNGHUSBAND dragging off DISMAL, L. H. D.

SCENE II

A Room at a Boarding House Enter MRS. LYNX, followed by MRS. CODDLE, MRS. YOUNGHUSBAND, MRS. DISMAL, and MRS. DOVE

Mrs. Cod. The unhappy creature, Mrs. Belvidera Coddle, is lodging here, you tell me. – (To MRS. DISMAL.)

Mrs. Dis. Yes, ’twas at the door of this house that I saw Mr. Lynx talking to her yesterday.

Mrs. Cod. As she is not within, I shall look in again. I am resolved to see her, for the more I reflect, the more I am incensed against my husband. Oh! I am a wretched woman.

Mrs. Ly. Indeed, I am.

Mrs. Dove. So am I.

Mrs. Dis. So am I.

Mrs. Y. I’m completely miserable – miserable.

Mrs. Cod. I went home, but Coddle never came near the house; he has absconded, no doubt; I did not close my eyes all night.

Mrs. Dove. I have been in a state of perfect distraction since my unhappy disagreement, with Henry – where can he have gone?

Mrs. Y. I would not go to my aunt – I changed my mind, called on Mrs. Dismal and sat up with her, I am determined not to return home till Frederick fetches me; it was Uncle Tolloday that gave me the thimble.

Mrs. Dis. If you had not come to me, Mrs. Y., I should have died before morning; as it is, Mr. D’s. cruel indifference has worn me to a shade.

Mrs. Cod. Indifference! I am sure the apathy of my husband was never equalled; I have flirted with a dozen young men in one evening, to excite him to a little harmless jealousy, but in vain; and I really think, he would neither have stirred, nor cared, had I eloped with three captains at once. And now to discover that he has another wife! Oh, if I could see him again – I think I should assassinate him! a monster! a – oh! – (Sobbing.)

Mrs. Dis. Just like my Dismal; when we go into company, he always gets as far away from me as he can – never notices me – never smiles at me – never looks as if he loved me. I – I – I am a very ill-used woman. – (Sobbing.)

Mrs. Y. (Sobbing.) – Don’t weep, Mrs. Dismal; don’t weep; I wont, if – if – I break my heart. Y. sha’n’t say that I ever dropped a tear at his absence – an aggravating creature; though I could be comfortable with him, if he would not contradict me in every thing I say – and do – and – and – oh! – (Crying.)

Mrs. Dove. (Sobbing.) – Oh, Henry! – Once reconciled, I will never correct you again; you may select your own words from any dictionary you may think proper.

Mrs. Ly. (Sobbing.) – My wretched fate is fixed; I have suffered beyond the bounds of endurance, and can suffer no more.

Mrs. Cod. My friends! – ladies! – bless me, we are all in tears! this must not be; what would our husbands say if they knew of our weakness? No, no – we must not break our hearts for such creatures: we must rally and laugh. Ha! ha! ha! laugh, ladies, laugh – and make your arrangements for the future with resolution and spirit. You, Mrs. Lynx, will, I presume, for the present lodge here. I shall now step to my friends and return in half an hour. Mrs. Dove, you are a sensible and well-educated woman; pray accompany me, and give me your advice! we may hear of Mr. Dove while we are gone. Mrs. Y., you, of course, will stay with Mrs. Dismal for the present. Good bye, my dears – good bye! Now pray, don’t fret; be women – be women – don’t weep about a man. What are men? – mere self-elected law-makers. Don’t despair, ladies; the time is fast coming when we shall have voices in the legislation of the country, and then let them look to their questions. The wrongs done to our sex, for centuries, shall be well revenged in the first session.

[Exit with MRS. DOVE, L. H.

Mrs. Y. Good bye, Mrs. Lynx; if you wish to see us, we are only next door to you – you know. And pray, if you hear anything of our husbands apprize us immediately, and we will do the same for you. – (Taking MRS. DISMAL’S arm.) – Now, if Mr. Dismal passes the house again, I will call him in.

Mrs. Dis. No, no; you shall not.

Mrs. Y. I will.

Mrs. Dis. I won’t hear of it.

Mrs. Y. I’m not used to contradict, but you must. Though I am wretched, if I can assist in restoring happiness to others, Mrs. Frederick Younghusband is not the woman to be idle in such a matter. So come, dear D., smile and look pleasant!

[Exit with MRS. DISMAL, L. H. D.

Mrs. Lynx. (Alone.) – Now what course shall I take? – that my husband is guilty, I have abundant of proof – and that I can never, never live with him again, is equally sure. I have sought a refuge here, in a miserable lodging-house; for where had I to go? Where could an outraged and a homeless wife seek for shelter? with friends – with relations? No, no; I could not endure that bitter humiliation. If I am to be wretched, it shall be unseen and alone; I’ll have no cold and affected sympathy – no pity from my kindred. Pity! there is no such feeling! ’tis disguised triumph, and we know it too; else why does the soul rise up within us and spurn it? – (Looking off, R. H., F. E.) – Ah, he here! the writer of the letter I received yesterday? then he has traced me to this house. What shall I do? he must not see me. Hark! – (listens) – he is making enquiries concerning me; how shall I avoid him? To retaliate upon my husband, I affected to encourage that man, and he thus presumes upon it. But now, though I shall never return again to my home, I must avoid all that would make me cease to respect myself – I’ll to my room.