Mrs. Sapient. O Mrs. Wheedle, how could you disappoint me so of my short apron? I believe you make it a rule never to keep to your time; & I declare, for my part, I know nothing so provoking as people’s promising more than they perform.
Mrs. Wheedle. Indeed, ma’am, I beg ten thousand pardons, but really, ma’am, we’ve been so hurried, that upon my word, ma’am — but you shall certainly have it this afternoon. Will you give me leave to show you any caps, ma’am? I have some exceeding pretty ones just finished.
Mrs. Sapient. [Looking at the caps.] O, for heaven’s sake, don’t show me such flaunting things, for, in my opinion, nothing can be really elegant that is tawdry.
Mrs. Wheedle. But here, ma’am, is one I’m sure you’ll like; it’s in the immediate taste, — only look at it, ma’am! What can be prettier?
Mrs. Sapient. Why yes, this is well enough, only I’m afraid it’s too young for me; don’t you think it is?
Mrs. Wheedle. Too young? Dear ma’am, no, I’m sure it will become you of all things: only try it. [Holds it over her head.] O ma’am, you can’t think how charmingly you look in it! & it sets so sweetly! I never saw any thing so becoming in my life.
Mrs. Sapient. Is it? Well, I think I’ll have it, — if you are sure it is not too young for me. You must know, I am mightily for people’s consulting their time of life in their choice of clothes: &, in my opinion, there is a wide difference between fifteen & fifty.
Censor. [To Beaufort.] She’ll certainly tell us next that, in her opinion, a man who has but one eye, would look rather better if he had another!
Mrs. Wheedle. O, I’m sure, ma’am, you’ll be quite in love with this cap when you see how well you look in it. Shall I show you some of our new ribbons, ma’am?
Mrs. Sapient. O, I know, now, you want to tempt me; but I always say the best way to escape temptation is to run away from it: however, as I am here —
Mrs. Voluble. Had not you better sit down, ma’am? [Offering a chair.]
Mrs. Sapient. O Mrs. Voluble, is it you? How do ? Lord, I don’t like any of these ribbons. Pray how does Mr. Dabler do?
Mrs. Voluble. Very well, thank you, ma’am; that is, not very well, but pretty well considering, for to be sure, ma’am, so much study’s very bad for the health; it’s pity he don’t take more care of himself, & so I often tell him; but your great wits never mind what little folks say, if they talk never so well, & I’m sure I’ve sometimes talked to him by the hour together about it, for I’d never spare my words to serve a friend; however, it’s all to no purpose, for he says he has a kind of a Fury, I think he calls it, upon him, that makes him write whether he will or not. And, to be sure, he does write most charmingly! & he has such a collection of miniscrips! Lord, I question if a pastry cook or a cheesemonger could use them in a year! For he says he never destroyed a line he ever wrote in his life. All that he don’t like, he tells me he keeps by him for his Postimus works, as he calls them, & I’ve some notion he intends soon to print them.
Mrs. Wheedle. Do, ma’am, pray let me put this cloak up for you, & I’ll make you a hat for it immediately.
Mrs. Sapient. Well, then, take great care how you put in the ribbon, for you know I won’t keep it if it does not please me. Mr. Beaufort! — Lord bless me, how long have you been here? O heavens! Is that Mr. Censor? I can scarce believe my eyes! Mr. Censor in a milliner’s shop! Well, this does, indeed, justify an observation I have often made, that the greatest geniuses sometimes do the oddest things.
Censor. Your surprise, madam, at seeing me here today will bear no comparison to what I must myself experience should you ever see me here again.
Mrs. Sapient. O, I know well how much you must despise all this sort of business, &, I assure you, I am equally averse to it myself: indeed I often think what pity it is so much time should be given to mere show; — for what are we the better tomorrow for what we have worn today? No time, in my opinion, turns to so little account as that which we spend in dress.
Censor. [To Beaufort.] Did you ever hear such an impudent falsehood?
Mrs. Sapient. For my part, I always wear just what the milliner & mantua-maker please to send me; for I have a kind of maxim upon this subject which has some weight with me, though I don’t know if any body else ever suggested it: but it is, that the real value of a person springs from the mind, not from the outside appearance. So I never trouble myself to look at anything till the moment I put it on. [Turning quick to the milliners.] Be sure you take care how you trim the hat! I shan’t wear it else.
Censor. Prithee, Beaufort, how long will you give a man to decide which is greatest, her folly, or her conceit?
Mrs. Sapient. Gentlemen, good morning; Mrs. Voluble, you may give my compliments to Mr. Dabler. Mrs. Wheedle, pray send the things in time, for, to me, nothing is more disagreeable than to be disappointed.
As she is going out, Jack enters abruptly, & brushes past her.
Mrs. Sapient. O heavens!
Jack. Lord, ma’am, I beg you a thousand pardons! I did not see you, I declare. I hope I did not hurt you?
Mrs. Sapient. No, sir, no; but you a little alarmed me, — & really an alarm, when one does not know how to account for it, gives one a rather odd sensation, — at least I find it so.
Jack. Upon my word, ma’am, I’m very sorry, — I’m sure if I’d seen you — but I was in such monstrous haste, I had no time to look about me.
Mrs. Sapient. O, sir, ’tis of no consequence; yet, allow me to observe that, in my opinion, too much haste generally defeats its own purpose. Sir, good morning.
[Exit.
Beaufort. Why, Jack, won’t you see her to her coach?
Jack. O ay, true, so I must!
[Follows her.
Censor. This brother of yours, Beaufort, is a most ingenious youth,
Beaufort. He has foibles which you, I am sure, will not spare; but he means well, & is extremely good-natured.
Censor. Nay, but I am serious, for without ingenuity no man, I think, could continue to be always in a hurry who is never employed.
Re-enter Jack.
Jack. Plague take it, brother, how unlucky it was that you made me go after her! In running up to her, my deuced spurs caught hold of some of her falaldrums, & in my haste to disengage myself, I tore off half her trimming. She went off in a very ill humour, telling me that, in her opinion, a disagreeable accident was very — very — very disagreeable, I think, or something to that purpose.
Beaufort. But, for heaven’s sake, Jack, what is the occasion of all this furious haste?
Jack. Why, Lord, you know I’m always in a hurry; I’ve no notion of dreaming away life: how the deuce is any thing to be done without a little spirit?
Beaufort. Pho, prithee, Jack, give up this idle humour.
Jack. Idle? Nay, brother, call me what else you please, but you can never charge me with idleness.
Beaufort. Why, with all your boasted activity, I question if there is a man in England who would be more embarrassed how to give any account of his time.
Jack. Well, well, I can’t stay now to discourse upon these matters, — I have too many things to do to stand here talking.
Beaufort. Nay, don’t go till you tell us what you have to do this morning.
Jack. Why more things than either of you would do in a month, but I can’t stop now to tell you any of them, for I have three friends waiting for me in Hyde Park, & twenty places to call at in my way.
[Going.
Mrs. Wheedle. [Following him.] Sir, would you not choose to look at some ruffles?
Jack. O, ay, — have you any thing new? What do you call these?
Mrs. Wheedle. O pray, sir, take care! They are so delicate they’ll hardly bear to be touched.
Jack. I don’t like them at all! Show me some others.
Mrs. Wheedle. Why, sir, only see! You have quite spoilt this pair.
Jack. Have I? Well, then, you must put them up for me. But pray have you got no better?
Mrs. Wheedle. I’ll look
some directly, sir, — but, dear sir, pray don’t put your switch upon the caps! I hope you’ll excuse me, sir, but the set is all in all in these little tasty things.
Censor. And pray, Jack, are all your hurries equally important & equally necessary as those of this morning?
Jack. Lord, you grave fellows, who plod on from day to day without any notion of life & spirit, spend half your lives in asking people questions they don’t know how to answer.
Censor. And we might consume the other half to as little purpose, if we waited to find out questions which such people do know how to answer.
Jack. Severe, very severe, that! However, I have not time now for repartee, but I shall give you a Rowland for your Oliver when we meet again.
[Going.
Mrs. Wheedle. Sir, I’ve got the ruffles, — won’t you look at them?
Jack. O, the ruffles! Well, I’m glad you’ve found them, but I can’t stay to look at them now. Keep them in the way against I call again.
[Exit.
Mrs. Wheedle. Miss Jenny, put these ruffles up again. That gentleman never knows his own mind.
Miss Jenny. I’m sure he’s tumbled & tossed the things about like mad.
Censor. ’Tis to be much regretted, Beaufort, that such a youth as this was not an elder brother.
Beaufort. Why so?
Censor. Because the next heir might so easily get rid of him; for, if he was knocked down, I believe he would think it loss of time to get up again, & if he were pushed into a river, I question if he would not be drowned, ere he could persuade himself to swim long enough in the same direction to save himself.
Beaufort. He is young, & I hope this ridiculous humour will wear away.
Censor. But how came you so wholly to escape its infection? I find not, in you, any portion of this inordinate desire of action, to which all power of thinking must be sacrificed.
Beaufort. Why we are but half brothers, & our educations were as different as our fathers, for my mother’s second husband was no more like her first, than am I to Hercules, — though Jack, indeed, has no resemblance even to his own father.
Censor. Resemblance? An hare & a tortoise are not more different; for Jack is always running, without knowing what he pursues, & his father is always pondering, without knowing what he thinks of.
Beaufort. The truth is, Mr. Codger’s humour of perpetual deliberation so early sickened his son, that the fear of inheriting any share of it, made him rush into the opposite extreme, & determine to avoid the censure of inactive meditation, by executing every plan he could form at the very moment of projection.
Censor. And pray, sir, — if such a question will not endanger a challenge, — what think you, by this time, of the punctuality of your mistress?
Beaufort. Why, — to own the truth — I fear I must have made some mistake.
Censor. Bravo, Beaufort! Ever doubt your own senses in preference to suspecting your mistress of negligence or caprice.
Beaufort. She is much too noble minded, too just in her sentiments, & too uniform in her conduct, to be guilty of either.
Censor. Bravissimo, Beaufort! I commend your patience, &, this time twelvemonth I’ll ask you how it wears! In the mean time, however, I would not upon any account interrupt your contemplations either upon her excellencies, or your own mistakes, but, as I expect no advantage from the one, you must excuse my any longer suffering from the other: &, ere you again entangle me in such a wilderness of frippery, I shall take the liberty more closely to investigate the accuracy of your appointments.
[Exit.
Beaufort. My situation begins to grow as ridiculous as it is disagreeable. Surely Cecilia cannot have forgotten me!
Mrs Voluble. [Advancing to him.] To be sure, sir, it’s vastly incommodious to be kept waiting so, but, sir, if I might put in a word, I think —
Enter Jack running.
Jack. Lord, brother, I quite forgot to tell you Miss Stanley’s message.
Beaufort. Message! What message?
Jack. I declare I had got half way to Hyde Park, before I ever thought of it.
Beaufort. Upon my honour, Jack, this is too much!
Jack. Why, I ran back the moment I recollected it, & what could I do more? I would not even stop to tell Will. Scamper what was the matter, so he has been calling & bawling after me all the way I came. I gave him the slip when I got to the shop, — but I’ll just step & see if he’s in the street.
[Going.
Beaufort. Jack, you’ll provoke me to more anger than you are prepared for! What was the message? Tell me quickly!
Jack. O ay, true! Why, she said she could not come.
Beaufort. Not come? But why? I’m sure she told you why?
Jack. O yes, she told me a long story about it, — but I’ve forgot what it was.
Beaufort. [Warmly.] Recollect, then!
Jack. Why, so I will. O, it was all your aunt Smatter’s fault, — somebody came in with the new Ranelagh songs, so she stayed at home to study them; & Miss Stanley bid me say she was very sorry, but she could not come by herself.
Beaufort. And why might I not have been told this sooner?
Jack. Why, she desired me to come & tell you of it an hour or two ago, but I had so many places to stop at by the way I could not possibly get here sooner: & when I came, my head was so full of my own appointments that I never once thought of her message. However, I must run back to Will. Scamper, or he’ll think me crazy.
Beaufort. Hear me, Jack! If you do not take pains to correct this absurd rage to attempt every thing, while you execute nothing, you will render yourself as contemptible to the world, as you are useless or mischievous to your family.
[Exit.
Jack. What a passion he’s in! I’ve a good mind to run to Miss Stanley, & beg her to intercede for me.
[Going.
Mrs. Wheedle. Sir, won’t you please to look at the ruffles?
Jack. O ay, true, — where are they?
Mrs. Wheedle. Here, sir. Miss Jenny, give me those ruffles again.
Jack. O if they a’n’t ready, I can’t stay.
[Exit.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, Mrs. Wheedle, I’m sure you’ve a pleasant life of it here, in seeing so much of the world. I’d a great mind to have spoke to that young gentleman, for I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him before, though I can’t tell where. But he was in such a violent hurry, I could not get in a word. He’s a fine lively young gentleman, to be sure. But now, Mrs. Wheedle, when will you come & drink a snug dish of tea with me? You, & Miss Jenny, & any of the young ladies that can be spared? I’m sure if you can all come —
Enter Bob.
Bob. I ask pardon, ladies & gentlemen, but pray is my mother here?
Mrs. Voluble. What’s that to you, sirrah? Who gave you leave to follow me? Get home, directly, you dirty figure you! Go, go, I say!
Bob. Why, Lord, mother, you’ve been out all the morning, & never told Betty what was for dinner!
Mrs. Voluble. Why, you great, tall, greedy, gourmandizing, lubberly cub, you, what signifies whether you have any dinner or no? Go, get away, you idle, good for nothing, dirty, greasy, hulking, tormenting —
She drives him off, & the scene closes.
End of Act the First.
Act II.
A drawing room at Lady Smatter’s.
Lady Smatter & Cecilia.
Lady Smatter. Yes, yes, this song is certainly Mr. Dabler’s, I am not to be deceived in his style. What say you, my dear Miss Stanley, don’t you think I have found him out?
Cecilia. Indeed, I am too little acquainted with his poems to be able to judge.
Lady Smatter. Your indifference surprises me! For my part, I am never at rest till I have discovered the authors of every thing that comes out; &, indeed, I commonly hit upon them in a moment. I declare I sometimes wonder at myself when I think how lucky I am in my guesses.
Cecilia. Your Ladyship devotes so much time to these researches, that it would be strange if they were unsuccessful.
Lady Smatter. Yes, I do indeed devote my time to them; I own it without blushing, for how, as a certain author says, can time be better employed than in cultivating intellectual accomplishments? And I am often surprised, my dear Miss Stanley, that a young lady of your good sense should not be more warmly engaged in the same pursuit.
Cecilia. My pursuits, whatever they may be, are too unimportant to deserve being made public.
Lady Smatter. Well, to be sure, we are all born with sentiments of our own, as I read in a book I can’t just now recollect the name of, so I ought not to wonder that yours & mine do not coincide; for, I declare, if my pursuits were not made public I should not have any at all, for where can be the pleasure of reading books & studying authors if one is not to have the credit of talking of them?
Cecilia. Your Ladyship’s desire of celebrity is too well known for your motives to be doubted.
Lady Smatter. Well, but, my dear Miss Stanley, I have been thinking for some time past of your becoming a member of our Esprit Party: Shall I put up your name?
Cecilia. By no means; my ambition aspires not at an honour for which I feel myself so little qualified.
Lady Smatter. Nay, but you are too modest; you can’t suppose how much you may profit by coming among us. I’ll tell you some of our regulations. The principal persons of our party are authors & critics; the authors always bring us something new of their own, & the critics regale us with manuscript notes upon something old.
Cecilia. And in what class is your Ladyship?
Lady Smatter. O, I am among the critics. I love criticism passionately, though it is really laborious work, for it obliges one to read with a vast deal of attention. I declare I am sometimes so immensely fatigued with the toil of studying for faults & objections that I am ready to fling all my books behind the fire.
Cecilia. And what authors have you chiefly criticized?
Lady Smatter. Pope & Shakespeare. I have found more errors in those than in any other.
Cecilia. I hope, however, for the sake of readers less fastidious, your Ladyship has also left them some beauties.
Lady Smatter. O yes. I have not cut them up regularly through; indeed, I have not, yet, read above half their works, so how they will fare as I go on, I can’t determine. O, here’s Beaufort.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 359
