[Going.
Cecilia. Stay, stay Mr. Censor! — amazement has, indeed, silenced me, but it must not make me forget myself. Take back, I entreat you, this paper —
Censor. Probably you suspect my motives? &, if you do, I am the last man whom your doubts will offend; they are authorized by the baseness of mankind, &, in fact, suspicion, in worldly transactions, is but another word for common sense.
Cecilia. Is it, then, possible you can think so ill of all others, & yet be so generous, so benevolent yourself?
Censor. Will any man follow an example he abhors to look at? Will you, for instance, because you see most women less handsome than yourself, ape deformity in order to resemble them?
Cecilia. O how little are you known, & how unjustly are you judged! For my own part, I even regarded you as my enemy, & imagined that, if you thought of me at all, it was with ill-will.
Censor. In truth, madam, my character will rather increase than diminish your surprise as you become more acquainted with it. You will, indeed, find me an odd fellow; a fellow who can wish you well without loving you, &, without any sinister view, be active in your service; a fellow, in short, unmoved by beauty, yet susceptible of pity, — invulnerable to love, yet zealous in the cause of distress. If you accept my good offices, I shall ever after be your debtor for the esteem your acceptance will manifest, — if you reject them, I shall but conclude you have the same indignant apprehensions of the depravity of your fellow creatures that I harbour in my own breast.
Cecilia. If, hitherto I have escaped misanthropy, think you, sir, an action such as this will teach it me? No; I am charmed with your generous offer, & shall henceforward know better how to value you; but I must beg you to take back this paper. [Returns it.] I have at present no occasion for assistance, & I hope — but tell me, for uncertainty is torture, have you, or have you not been at Lady Smatter’s?
Censor. I have; & I come hither loaded with as many messages as ever abigail was charged with for the milliner of a fantastic bride. The little sense, however, comprised in their many words, is briefly this; Lady Smatter offers you her protection, — which is commonly the first step towards the insolence of avowed superiority: & Beaufort —
Cecilia. Beaufort? — Good Heaven! — did Mr. Beaufort know whither you were coming?
Censor. He did; & charged with as many vows, supplications, promises, & tender nonsenses, as if he took my memory for some empty habitation that his fancy might furnish at it’s pleasure. He commissioned me —
Cecilia. Oh heaven! [Weeps.]
Censor. Why how now? He commissioned me, I say —
Cecilia. Oh faithless Beaufort! Lost, lost Cecilia!
Censor. To sue for him, — kneel for him, —
Cecilia. Leave me, leave me, Mr. Censor! — I can hear no more.
Censor. Nay, prithee, madam, listen to his message.
Cecilia. No, sir, never! At such a time as this, a message is an insult! He must know I was easily to be found, or he would not have sent it, &, knowing that, whose was it to have sought me? — Go, go, hasten to your friend, — tell him I heard all that it became me to hear, & that I understood him too well to hear more: tell him that I will save both him & myself the disgrace of a further explanation, — tell him, in short, that I renounce him for ever!
Censor. Faith, madam, this is all beyond my comprehension.
Cecilia. To desert me at such a time as this! To know my abode, yet fail to seek it! To suffer my wounded heart, bleeding in all the anguish of recent calamity, to doubt his faith, & suspect his tenderness!
Censor. I am so totally unacquainted with the laws & maxims necessary to be observed by fine ladies, that it would ill become me to prescribe the limits to which their use of reason ought to be contracted; I can only —
Cecilia. Once more, Mr. Censor, I must beg you to leave me. Pardon my impatience, but I cannot converse at present. Ere long, perhaps, indignation may teach me to suppress my sorrow, & time & reason may restore my tranquility.
Censor. Time, indeed, may possibly stand your friend, because Time will be regardless of your impetuosity, but faith, madam, I know not what right you have to expect succour from Reason, if you are determined not to hear it. Beaufort, I say —
Cecilia, Why will you thus persecute me? Nothing can extenuate the coldness, the neglect, the insensibility of his conduct. Tell him that it admits no palliation, & that henceforth — no, tell him nothing, — I will send him no message, — I will receive none from him, — I will tear his image from my heart, — I will forget, if possible, that there I cherished it! —
Enter Mrs. Voluble.
Mrs. Voluble. I hope I don’t disturb you, sir? Pray, ma’am, don’t let me be any hindrance to you; I only just come to ask if you would not have a bit of fire, for I think it’s grown quite cold. What say you, sir? Pray make free if you like it. I’m sure I would have had one before if I had known of having such company; but really the weather’s so changeable at this time of the year, that there’s no knowing what to do. Why, this morning I declare it was quite hot. We breakfasted with both the windows open. As to Bobby, I verily thought he’d have caught his death, for he would not so much as put his coat on.
Censor. Intolerable! The man who could stand this, would sing in the stocks, & laugh in the pillory! — Will you, Miss Stanley, allow me five minutes conversation to explain —
Mrs. Voluble. I beg that my being here may not be any stop to you, for I’ll go directly if I’m in the way. I’ve no notion of prying into other people’s affairs, — indeed, I quite make it a rule not to do it, for I’m sure I’ve business enough of my own, without minding other peoples. Why now, sir, how many things do you think I’ve got to do before night? Why, I’ve got to —
Censor. O pray, good madam, don’t make your complaints to me, — I am hard of heart, & shall be apt to hear them without the least compassion. Miss Stanley —
Mrs. Voluble. Nay, sir, I was only going —
Censor. Do prithee, good woman, give me leave to speak. Miss Stanley, I say —
Mrs. Voluble. Good woman! I assure you, sir, I’m not used to be spoke to in such a way as that.
Censor. If I have called you by an appellation opposite to your character, I beg your pardon; but —
Mrs. Voluble. I can tell you, sir, whatever you may think of it, I was never called so before; besides, —
Censor. Miss Stanley, some other time —
Mrs. Voluble. Besides, sir, I say, I think in one’s own house it’s very hard if —
Censor. Intolerable! Surely this woman was sent to satirize the use of speech! Once more —
Mrs. Voluble. I say, sir, I think it’s very hard if —
Censor. Miss Stanley, your most obedient!
[Exit abruptly.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, I must needs say, I think this is the rudest fine gentleman among all my acquaintance. Good woman, indeed! I wonder what he could see in me to make use of such a word as that! I won’t so much as go down stairs to open the street door for him, — yes I will, too, for I want to ask him about —
[Exit talking.
Cecilia. Hast thou not, Fortune, exhausted, now, thy utmost severity? — reduced to poverty, — abandoned by the world, — betrayed by Beaufort, — what more can I fear? — Beaufort, on whose constancy I relied, — Beaufort, from whose sympathy I expected consolation, — Beaufort, on whose honour, delicacy & worth I founded hopes of sweetest tranquility, of lasting happiness, of affection unalterable! Oh, hopes forever blighted! Oh, expectations eternally destroyed! Oh, fair & lovely tranquility — thou hast flown this bosom, never, never more to revisit it!
Re-enter Mrs. Voluble
Mrs. Voluble. I could not overtake him all that ever I could do, & yet I went as fast as — Lord, ma’am, sure you a’n’t a crying?
Cecilia. Loss of fortune I could have borne with patience, — change of situation I could have suffered with fortitude, — but such a stroke as this! —
Mrs. Voluble. Poor young
lady! — I declare I don’t know what to think of to entertain her.
Cecilia. Oh Beaufort! Had our situations been reversed, would such have been my conduct?
Mrs. Voluble. Come, dear ma’am, what signifies all this fretting? If you’ll take my advice —
Enter Betty.
Betty. Do pray, ma’am, speak to Master Bobby, — he’s a turning the house out of windows, as a body may say.
Mrs. Voluble. Well, if I don’t believe that boy will be the death of me at last! — only think, ma’am, what a plague he is to me! I’m sure I have my misfortunes as well as other people, so you see, ma’am, you a’n’t the only person in trouble. — Why ma’am, I say! — did not you hear Betty? — She says that Bobby —
Cecilia. O for a little repose! — leave me to myself, I beseech you! I can neither speak or listen to you; — pray go, — pray — alas, I know not what I say! — I forget that this house is yours, & that I have no right even to the shelter its roof affords me.
Mrs. Voluble. Dear ma’am, pray take a little comfort, —
Cecilia. Have you, madam, any room which for a few hours you can allow me to call my own? — where, unmolested & alone, I may endeavour to calm my mind, & settle some plan for my future conduct?
Mrs. Voluble. Why, ma’am, the room over-head is just such another as this, & if it’s agreeable —
Cecilia. Pray show it me, — I’m sure it will do.
Mrs. Voluble. I only wish, ma’am, it was better for your sake; however, I’ll make it as comfortable as ever I can, & as soon —
[Exit, talking, with Cecilia.
Betty. I’ll be hanged, now, if it is not enough to provoke a stork to live in such a house as this! One may clean & clean for-ever, & things look never the better for it. As to Master Bobby, he does more mischief than his head’s worth; & as to my missus, if she can but keep talk, talk, talk, she don’t care a pin’s point for nothing else.
Re-enter Mrs. Voluble.
Mrs. Voluble. Why Betty, what do you stand there for? — Do you think I keep you to look at?
Betty. You won’t keep me for nothing long.
[Exit Betty.
Mrs. Voluble. There, now, that’s the way with all of them! If one does but say the least thing in the world, they’re ready to give one warning. I declare servants are the plague of one’s lives. I’ve got a good mind to — Lord, I’ve got so many things to do, I don’t know what to set about first! Let me see, [Seats herself.] now I’ll count them over. In the first place, I must see after a porter to carry the lady’s message; — then I must get the best plates ready against Mrs. Wheedle comes; — after that, I must put Mr. Dabler’s papers in order, for fear of a surprise; — then I must get in a little bit of something nice for supper; — then — Oh Lord, if I had not forgot that ‘scapegrace Bobby!
[Runs off.
End of Act the Third.
Act IV.
A library at Lady Smatter’s.
Lady Smatter, Mrs. Sapient, Dabler and Codger, seated at a round table covered with books.
Lady Smatter. Now before we begin our literary subjects, allow me to remind you of the rule established at our last meeting, that every one is to speak his real sentiments, & no flattery is to taint our discussions.
All. Agreed.
Lady Smatter. This is the smallest assembly we have had yet; some or other of our members fail us every time.
Dabler. But where such luminaries are seen as Lady Smatter & Mrs. Sapient, all other could only appear to be eclipsed.
Lady Smatter. What have you brought to regale us with tonight, Mr. Dabler?
Dabler. Me? Dear ma’am, nothing!
Lady Smatter. Oh barbarous!
Mrs. Sapient. Surely you cannot have been so cruel? For, in my opinion, to give pain causelessly is rather disobliging.
Dabler. Dear ladies, you know you may command me; but, I protest, I don’t think I have any thing worth your hearing.
Lady Smatter. Let us judge for ourselves. Bless me, Mr. Codger, how insensible you are! Why do you not join in our entreaties?
Codger. For what, madam?
Lady Smatter. For a poem, to be sure.
Codger. Madam, I understood Mr. Dabler he had nothing worth your hearing.
Lady Smatter. But surely you did not believe him?
Codger. I knew no reason, madam, to doubt him.
Lady Smatter. O you Goth! Come, dear Mr. Dabler, produce something at once, if only to shame him.
Dabler. Your Ladyship has but to speak. [Takes a paper from his pocket book, & reads.]
On a Certain Party of Beaux Esprits.
Learning, here, doth pitch her tent,
Science, here, her seeds doth scatter;
Learning, in form of Sapient,
Science, in guise of heav’nly Smatter.
Lady Smatter. O charming! Beautiful lines indeed.
Mrs. Sapient. Elegant & poignant to a degree!
Lady Smatter. What do you think, Mr. Codger, of this poem? [Whispering him.] To be sure, the compliment to Mrs. Sapient is preposterously overstrained, but, otherwise, nothing can be more perfect.
Mrs. Sapient. Mr. Dabler has, indeed, the happiest turn in the world at easy elegance. Why, Mr. Codger, you don’t speak a word? [Whispering him.] Pray, between friends, what say you to the notion of making Lady Smatter represent Science? Don’t you think he has been rather unskillful in his choice?
Codger. Why, madam, you give me no time to think at all.
Lady Smatter. Well, now to other matters. I have a little observation to offer upon a line of Pope; he says,
Most Women have no character at all;
Now I should be glad to know, if this was true in the time of Pope, why people should complain so much of the depravity of the present age?
Dabler. Your Ladyship has asked a question that might perplex a Solomon.
Mrs. Sapient. It is, indeed, surprisingly ingenious.
Dabler. Yes, & it reminds me of a little foolish thing which I composed some time ago.
Lady Smatter. O pray let us hear it.
Dabler. Your Ladyship’s commands —
The lovely Iris, young & fair,
Possess’d each charm of Face & air
That with the Cyprian might compare;
So sweet her Face, so soft her mind,
So mild she speaks, — she looks so kind, —
To hear — might melt! — to see, — might blind!
Together.
Lady Smatter & Mrs. Sapient. [Together.]
O elegant! Enchanting! Delicious!
O delightful! Pathetic! Delicate!
Lady Smatter. Why Mr. Codger, have you no soul? Is it possible you can be unmoved by such poetry as this?
Codger. I was considering, madam, what might be the allusion to which Mr. Dabler referred, when he said he was reminded of this little foolish thing, as he was pleased to call it himself.
Dabler. [Aside.] I should like to toss that old fellow in a blanket!
Codger. Now, sir, be so good as to gratify me by relating what may be the connection between your song, & the fore-going conversation?
Dabler. [Pettishly.] Sir, I only meant to read it to the ladies.
Lady Smatter. I’m sure you did us great honour. Mrs. Sapient, the next proposition is yours.
Mrs. Sapient. Pray, did your Ladyship ever read Dryden?
Lady Smatter. Dryden? O yes! — but I don’t just now recollect him; — let’s see, what has he writ?
Dabler. Cymon & Iphigenia.
Lady Smatter. O ay, so he did; & really for the time of day I think it’s mighty pretty.
Dabler. Why yes, it’s well enough; but it would not do now.
Mrs. Sapient. Pray what does your Ladyship think of the Spectator?
Lady Smatter. O, I like it vastly. I’ve just read it.
Codger. [To Lady Smatter.] In regard, madam, to those verses of Mr. Dabler, the chief fault I have to find with them, is —
Dabler. Why, sir, we are upon another subj
ect now! [Aside.] What an old curmudgeon! He has been pondering all this time only to find fault!
Mrs. Sapient. For my part, I have always thought that the best papers in the Spectator are those of Addison.
Lady Smatter. Very justly observed!
Dabler. Charmingly said! Exactly my own opinion.
Mrs. Sapient. Nay, I may be mistaken; I only offer it as my private sentiment.
Dabler. I can but wish, madam, that poor Addison had lived to hear such praise.
Lady Smatter. Next to Mr. Dabler, my favourite poets are Pope & Swift.
Mrs. Sapient. Well, after all, I must confess I think there are as many pretty things in old Shakespeare as in anybody.
Lady Smatter. Yes, but he is too common; everybody can speak well of Shakespeare!
Dabler. I vow I am quite sick of his name.
Codger. Madam, to the best of my apprehension, I conceive your Ladyship hath totally mistaken that line of Pope which says
Most women have no character at all.
Lady Smatter. Mistaken? How so, sir? This is curious enough! [Aside to Dabler.] I begin to think the poor creature is superannuated.
Dabler. So do I, ma’am; I have observed it for some time.
Codger. By no character, madam, he only means —
Lady Smatter. A bad character, to be sure!
Codger. There, madam, lieth your Ladyship’s mistake; he means, I say —
Lady Smatter. O dear sir, don’t trouble yourself to tell me his meaning; — I dare say I shall be able to make it out.
Mrs. Sapient. [Aside to Dabler.] How irritable is her temper!
Dabler. O, intolerably!
Codger. Your Ladyship, madam, will not hear me. I was going —
Lady Smatter. If you please, sir, we’ll drop the subject, for I rather fancy you will give me no very new information concerning it, — do you think he will, Mr. Dabler?
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 364
