Читать книгу Every one has his Fault - Elizabeth Inchbald - Страница 7

Table of Contents

An Apartment at Mr. Placid’s.

Enter Mr. Placid and Mr. Solus.

Plac.You are to blame.

Sol.I say the same by you.

Plac.And yet your singularity pleases me; for you are the first elderly bachelor I ever knew, who did not hug himself in the reflection, that he was not in the trammels of wedlock.

Sol.No; I am only the first elderly bachelor who has truth and courage enough, to confess his dissatisfaction.

Plac.And you really wish you were married?

Sol.I do. I wish still more, that I had been married thirty years ago. Oh! I wish that a wife and half a score children would now start up around me, and bring along with them all that affection, which we should have had for each other by being earlier acquainted. But as it is, in my present state, there is not a person in the world I care a straw for;—and the world is pretty even with me, for I don’t believe there is a creature in it who cares a straw for me.

Plac.Pshaw! You have in your time been a man of gallantry; and, consequently, must have made many attachments.

Sol.Yes, such as men of gallantry usually make. I have been attached to women, who have purloined my fortune, and to men, who have partaken of the theft: I have been in as much fear of my mistress, as you are of your wife.

Plac.Is that possible?

Sol.Yes; and without having one of those tender, delicate, ties of a husband, an excuse for my apprehension.—I have maintained children——

Plac.Then why do you complain for the want of a family?

Sol.I did not say, I ever had any children; I said, I had maintained them; but I never believed they were mine; for I could have no dependence upon the principles of their mother—and never did I take one of those tender infants in my arms, that the forehead of my valet, the squint eye of my apothecary, or the double chin of my chaplain, did not stare me in the face, and damp all the fine feelings of the parent, which I had just called up.

Plac.But those are accidents, which may occur in the marriage state.

Sol.In that case, a man is pitied—in mine, he is only laughed at.

Plac.I wish to heaven I could exchange the pity which my friends bestow on me, for the merriment which your ill fate excites.

Sol.You want but courage to be envied.

Plac.Does any one doubt my courage?

Sol.No; if a prince were to offend you, you would challenge him——

Plac.But if my wife offend me, I am obliged to make an apology.—Was not that her voice? I hope she has not overheard our conversation.

Sol.If she have, she’ll be in an ill humour.

Plac.That she will be, whether she have heard it or not.

Sol.Well, good day. I don’t like to be driven from my fixed plan of wedlock; and, therefore, I won’t be a spectator of your mutual discontent.

[Going.

Plac.But before you go, Mr. Solus, permit me to remind you of a certain concern, that, I think, would afford you much more delight, than all you can, at this time of life, propose to yourself in marriage. Make happy, by your beneficence, a near relation, whom the truest affection has drawn into that state, but who is denied the blessing of competency, to make the state supportable.

Sol.You mean my nephew, Irwin? But do not you acknowledge he has a wife and children? Did not he marry the woman he loved, and has he not, at this moment, a large family, by whom he is beloved? And is he not, therefore, with all his poverty, much happier than I am? He has often told me, when I have reproached him with his indiscreet marriage, “that in his wife he possessed kingdoms!” Do you suppose I will give any part of my fortune to a man who enjoys such extensive domains? No:—let him preserve his territories, and I will keep my little estate for my own use.

[Exit.

Plac.John! John!

Enter Servant.

Has your mistress been inquiring for me?

John.Yes, sir:—My lady asked, just now, if I knew who was with you?

Plac.Did she seem angry?

John.No, sir;—pretty well.

Plac.You scoundrel, what do you mean by “pretty well?”

[In Anger.

John.Much as usual, sir.

Plac.And do you call that “pretty well?” You scoundrel, I have a great mind——

Enter Mrs. Placid, speaking very loud.

Mrs. P.What is the matter, Mr. Placid? What is all this noise about? You know I hate a noise. What is the matter?

Plac.My dear, I was only finding fault with that blockhead.

Mrs. P.Pray, Mr. Placid, do not find fault with any body in this house. But I have something which I must take you very severely to task about, sir.

Plac.No, my dear, not just now, pray.

Mrs. P.Why not now?

Plac.[Looking at his Watch.] Because dinner will be ready in a very few minutes. I am very hungry, and it will be cruel of you to spoil my appetite. John, is the dinner on table?

Mrs. P.No, John, don’t let it be served yet—Mr. Placid, you shall first hear what I have to say.

[Sitting down.—Exit Servant.

Plac.But then I know I shall not be able to eat a morsel.

Mrs. P.Sit down. [Placid sits.]—I believe, Mr. Placid, you are going to do a very silly thing. I am afraid you are going to lend some money?

Plac.Well, my dear, and suppose I am?

Mrs. P.Then, I don’t approve of people lending their money.

Plac.But, my dear, I have known you approve of borrowing money: and, once in our lives, what should we have done, if every body had refused to lend.

Mrs. P.That is nothing to the purpose.—And, now, I desire you will hear what I say, without speaking a word yourself.

Plac.Well, my dear.

Mrs. P.Now, mind you don’t speak, till I have done.—Our old acquaintance, Captain Irwin, and Lady Eleanor, his wife (with whom we lived upon very intimate terms, to be sure, while we were in America), are returned to London; and, I find, you have visited them very frequently.

Plac.Not above two or three times, upon my word; for it hurts me to see them in distress, and I forbear to go.

Mrs. P.There! you own they are in distress; I expected as much. Now, own to me that they have asked you to lend them money.

Plac.I do own it—I do own it. Now, are you satisfied?

Mrs. P.No: for I have no doubt but you have promised they shall have it.

Plac.No, upon my word I have not promised.

Mrs. P.Then promise me they shall not.

Plac.Nay, my dear, you have no idea of their unhappy situation.

Mrs. P.Yes, I have; and ’tis that which makes me suspicious.

Plac.His regiment is now broken; all her jewels, and little bawbles, are disposed of; and he is in such dread of his old creditors, that, in the lodging they have taken, he passes by the name of Middleton—They have three more children, my dear, than when we left them in New York; and they have, in vain, sent repeated supplications, both to his uncle, and her father, for the smallest bounty.

Mrs. P.And is not her father, my Lord Norland, a remarkable wise man, and a good man? and ought you to do for them, what he has refused?

Plac.They have offended him, but they have never offended me.

Mrs. P.I think, ’tis an offence, to ask a friend for money, when there is no certainty of returning it.

Plac.By no means: for, if there were a certainty, even an enemy might lend.

Mrs. P.But I insist, Mr. Placid, that they shall not find a friend in you upon this occasion.—What do you say, sir?

Plac.[After a Struggle.] No, my dear, they shall not.

Mrs. P.Positively shall not?

Plac.Positively shall not—since they have found an enemy in you.

Enter Servant.

Serv.Dinner is on table.

Plac.Ah! I am not hungry now.

Mrs. P.What do you mean by that, Mr. Placid? I insist on your being hungry.

Plac.Oh, yes! I have a very excellent appetite. I shall eat prodigiously.

Mrs. P.You had better.

[Exeunt.