Mart. I contemn thy Threats. The Saints defend their Ministers.
Old Lar. The Saints defend their Ministers! the Laws defend them: St. Wheel, and St. Prison, and St. Gibbet, and St. Faggot; these are the Saints that defend you. If you had no Defence but from the Saints in the other World, you wou’d few of you stay long in this. If you had no other Arms than your Beads, you would have shortly no other Food.
Mart. Oh Slanderous! Oh impious! some Judgment cannot be far off.
Old Lar. When a Priest is so near — Sirrah!
SCENE VIII.
Isabel, to them.
Mart. Daughter, fly from this wicked Place; the Breath of Sin has infected it, and two Gallons of Holy Water will scarce purify the Air.
Isa. Oh! Heavens! What’s the Matter, Father?
Old Lar. Why the Matter is, this Gentleman in Black here, for Reasons best known to himself, and another Gentleman in Black, has thought fit to forbid your Marriage.
Isa. What the Saints please.
Old Lar. Hoity-toity! What, has he fill’d your Head with the Saints too?
Isa. Oh Sir! I have had such Dreams.
Old Lar. Dreams! Ha, ha, ha: The Devil’s in it, if a Girl just going to be married should not have Dreams. But they were Dreams the Saints had nothing to do with, I warrant you.
Isa. Such Visions of Saints appearing to me, and advising me to a Nunnery.
Old Lar. Impossible! Impossible! for I have had Visions too: I have been order’d by half a Dozen Saints to see you married with the utmost Expedition; and a very honest Saint, whose Name I forget, came to me about an Hour ago, and swore heartily if you were not married within this Week, he’d lead you to Purgatory in a Fortnight.
Mart. Oh! grievous!
Isa. Can there be such Contradictions?
Old Lar. Pshaw! Pshaw! Yours was a Dream, and so to be understood backwards; Mine, a true Vision, therefore to be believ’d. Why, Child, I have been a famous Seer of Visions in my Time. Wou’d you believe it? While I was in the Army, there never was a Battle, but I saw it some time beforehand. I have had an intimate Familiarity with the Saints, I know them all: There is not one of them cou’d be capable of saying such a thing.
Isa. Oh! Sir, I saw, and heard, and must believe, for none but the Church can contradict our Senses.
Old. Lar. So, so! the Distemper’s hereditary, I find: the Daughter is as full of the Church as the Father. Come away, Son, come away: I would not have thee marry into such a Family, I shou’d be Grand-father to a Race of greasy Priests. ‘Sdeath! this Girl will be brought to bed of a Pope one Day or other.
Isa. ‘Tis out, ‘tis out.
Mart. Oh prodigious! That such a Saint shou’d prophesy Truth through those Lips, whence the Devil has been thundring so many Lyes.
Old Lar. What Truth, Sir, what Truth?
Isa. Oh! Sir, the Blessing you mentioned, has been promised me! I am to give a Pope to the World.
Old Lar. Are you so, Madam? He shall have no Blood of mine in him, I’m resolv’d I’ll never ask Blessings of a Grandson. Come away, Jack, come a way, I say; let us leave the Devil’s Son, and the Pope’s Mother together.
Yo. Lar. Remember, my Isabel, I only live in the Hopes of seeing you mine.
SCENE IX.
Martin, Isabel.
Mart. It were better thou shouldst howl in Purgatory ten thousand Years, than ever see that Day. Oh! that we had but an Inquisition in France. Burning four or five hundred such Fellows in a Morning would be the best way of deterring others. Religion loves to warm it self at the Fire of a Heretick.
Isa. Fire is as necessary to keep our Minds warm as our Bodies, Father; and burning a Heretick is really a very great Service done to himself; a Faggot is a Purge for a sick Soul, and a Heretick is obliged to the Priest who applies it.
Mart. There spoke the Spirit of Zeal: Let me embrace thee, my little Saint; for such thou will be, let me kiss thee with the pure Affection of a Confessor —— Ha! there is something Divine in these Lips, let me taste them again; are you sure you have drank no Holy Water this Morning?
Isa. None, upon my Word.
Mart. Let me smell a third time. There. Numero Deus impare gaudet. Depend on it, Child, very great Happiness will attend you. But be sure to observe my Directions in every thing.
Isa. I shall, Father. I did as you commanded me this Morning.
Mart. Well, and did you perceive any great Alterations in your self? Any extraordinary Emotion?
Isa. I cannot say I did.
Mart. Hum! Spirits have their own Times of Operation; which must be diligently watch’d for. Perhaps your good Genius was at that Time otherwise employ’d. Repeat the Ceremony often, and my Life on the Success. Let me see, about an Hour hence will be a very good Season. Be ready to receive him, and I firmly believe, the Spirit will come to you.
Isa. Oh lud! Father, I shall be frightned out of my Wits at the Sight of a Spirit.
Mart. You will see nothing frightful, take my Word for it.
Isa. I hope he won’t appear in any horrible Shape.
Mart. Hum — That is to be averted by Ave Maries. As this is a friendly Spirit, I dare say, you may prevail on him to take what Shape you please. Perhaps your Father, or if you cannot prevail for a Lay-man, I dare swear, you may at least, pray him into the Shape of your Confessor: and tho’ I must suffer Pain on that Account, I am ready to undergo it for your Service.
Isa. I am infinitely obliged to my dear Father, I’ll prepare my self for this vast Happiness, nothing shall be wanting on my Parr, I assure you.
Mart. And if any thing be wanting on mine, may I never say Mass again, or never be paid for Masses I have not said. Either this Girl has extraordinary Simplicity, or what is more likely, extraordinary Cunning; she does not seem averse to my Kisses. Why should I not imagine she sees and approves my Design. Well, I’ll say this for the Sex: Let a Man but invent any Excuse for the Sin, and they are all ready to undertake it. How happy is a Priest,
Who can the blushing Maid’s Resistance smother,
With Sin in one Hand, Pardon in the other.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SCENE, Isabel’s Apartment.
Young Laroon, Isabel.
Young Laroon.
Perdition seize the Villain, may all the Torments of twenty Inquisitions wrack his Soul.
Isa. Act your Part well, and we shall not want his own Weapons against him.
Yo. Lar. Sure it is impossible he can intend it —
Isa. Shall I make the Experiment?
Yo. Lar. I shall never be able to forbear murdering him.
Isa. You shall promise not to commit any Violence, you know too well what wou’d be the Consequence of that. Let us sufficiently convict him, and leave his Punishment to the Law.
Yo. Lar. And I know too well what will be the Consequence of that. There seems to be a Combination between Priests and Lawyers; the Lawyers are to save the Priests from Punishment for their Rogueries in this World, and the Priests the Lawyers in the next.
Isa. However, the same Law that screens him for having injured you, will punish you for having done Justice to him.
[Knocking at the Door.
Isa. Oh! Heavens! the Priest is at the Door. What shall we do?
Yo. Lar. Damn him: I’ll stay here and confront him.
Isa. Oh! No, by no means: For once, I’ll attack him in his own Way; so the Moment he opens the Door, do you run out and leave the rest to me.
[She throws her self into a Chair, and shrieks. Young Laroon overturns Martin.
SCENE II.
Martin, Isabel.
Mart. I am slain, I am overlaid, I am murdered. Oh! Daughter, Daughter, is this your patient Expectation of the Spirit?
Isa. It has been here: It has been here.
Mart. What has been here?
Isa. Oh! the Spirit, the Spirit. It has been here this half Hour, and just as you came in, it vanished away in a Clap of Thunder, and I thought would have taken the Room with it.
Isa. Oh! don’t ask me: It is impossible to tell you.
Mart. Ay, ‘tis needless too: for I can give a shrewd Guess. I suppose you like his Company.
Isa. Oh! so well! That I could wish he would visit me ten Times every Day.
Mart. Oh, Ho! And in the same Shape too.
Isa. Oh! I shou’d like him in any Shape, and I dare swear he’ll come in any Shape too: For he is the purest, sweetest, most complaisant Spirit: I could have almost sworn it had been Mr. Laroon himself.
Mart. Was there ever such a ——
Isa. Nay, when it came in first, it behaved just like Mr. Laroon, and call’d it self by his Name; but when it found I did not answer a Word, it took me by the Hand, and cry’d, is it possible you can be angry with your Laroon! I answer’d not a Word; then it kissed me a hundred times; I said nothing still; it caught me in its Arms, and embrac’d me Passionately; I still behaved as you commanded me, very passive.
Mart. Oh! the Devil, the Devil! Was ever Man so caught. And did you never apprehend it to be Mr. Laroon himself?
Isa. Heaven forbid, I should have suffered Mr. Laroon in those Familiarities, which you order’d me to allow the Spirit.
Mart. I am caught indeed. Damn’d driveling Idiot!
[Aside.
Isa. But, dear Father, tell me, shall I not see it again quickly? For I long to see it again.
Mart. Oh! Yes, yes ——
Isa. I long to see it in the dark (methinks) for you know, Father, one sees Spirits best in the dark.
Mart. Ay, ay, you’ll see it in the dark, I warrant you; but be sure and behave as you did before.
Isa. And will he always behave as he did before, Father?
Mart. Hum! Be in your Chamber this Evening at Eight; take care there be no Light in the Room, and perhaps the Spirit may pay you a second Visit.
Isa. I’ll be sure to be punctual.
Mart. And passive.
Isa. I’ll obey you in every thing.
Mart. Senseless Oaf. But tho’ I have lost the first Fruits by her extreme Folly, yet am I highly delighted with it; and if I do not make a notable use of it I am no Priest.
SCENE III.
Jourdain solus.
Oh! Purgatory! Purgatory! What wou’d I not give to escape thy Flames! (methinks) I feel them already. Hark! what Noise is that? — Nothing — Ha! what’s that I see? Something with two Heads —— What can all this portend? —— What a poor miserable Wretch am I?
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, a Friar below desires to speak with you.
Jourd. Why will you suffer a Man of Holy Order to wait a Moment at my Door? Bring him in.
Perhaps he is some Messenger of Comfort. But Oh! I rather fear the reverse: For what Comfort can a Sinner like me expect?
SCENE IV.
Old Laroon in a Friar’s Habit, Jourdain.
Old Lar. A Plague attend this House and all that are in it.
Jourd. Oh! Oh!
Old Lar. Art thou that miserable, sad, poor Son of a Whore, Jourdain?
Jourd. Alas! Alas!
Old Lar. If thou art he, I have a Message to thee from St. Francis. The Saint gives his humble Service to you, and bid me tell you, You are one of the saddest Dogs that ever liv’d; for having disobey’d his Orders, and attempted to put your Daughter into a Nunnery: For which he has given me positive Orders to assure you, you shall lie in Purgatory five hundred thousand Years.
Jourd. Oh!
Old Lar. And I assure you it is a very warm sort of a Place; for I call’d there as I came along to take Lodgings for you.
Jourd. Oh! Heavens! is it possible! that you can have seen the dreadful Horrors of that Place?
Old Lar. Seen them! Ha, ha, ha, why, I have been there half a dozen times in a Day: Why, how far do you take it to be to Purgatory? Not above a Mile and half at farthest, and every Step of the way down Hill. Seen them! ay, ay, I have seen them, and a pretty Sight they are too, a pretty tragical sort of a Sight; if it were not for the confounded Heat of the Air —— then there is the prettiest Consort of Musick.
Jourd. Oh! Heavens! Musick!
Old Lar. Ay, ay, Groans, Groans, a fine Consort of Groans, you would think your self at an Opera, if it were not for the great Heat of the Air, as I said before; some Spirits are shut up in Ovens, some are chain’d to Spits, some are scatter’d in Frying-pans — and I have taken up a Place for you on a Gridiron.
Jourd. Oh! I am scorch’d, I am scorch’d — For Pity’s sake, Father, intercede with St. Francis for me: Compassionate my Case —
Old Lar. There is but one way, let me carry him the News of your Daughter’s Marriage, that may perhaps appease him. Between you and I, St. Francis is a liquorish old Dog, and loves to set People to work to his Heart.
Jourd. She shall be married this Instant, the Saint must know it is none of my Fault: Had I rightly understood his Will, it had been long since performed — But well might I misinterpret him, when even the Church, when Father Martin fail’d.
Old Lar. I wou’d be very glad to know where I should find that same Father Martin. I have a small Commission to him relating to a Purgatory Affair. St. Francis has sentenced him to lie in a Frying-pan there, just six hundred Years, for his Amour with your Daughter.
Jourd. My Daughter!
Old Lar. Are you ignorant of it then? Did not you know that he had debauched your Daughter?
Jourd. Ignorant! oh! Heavens! no Wonder she is refused the Veil.
Old Lar. I thought you had known it. I’ll shew you a Sight worse than Purgatory it self. You shall behold this Disgrace to the Church; a Sight shall make you shudder.
Jourd. Is it possible a Priest should be such a Villain?
Old Lar. Nothing’s impossible to the Church you know.
Jourd. And may I hope St. Francis will be appeas’d.
Old Lar. Hum! There is a great Favourite of that Saint who lives in this Town, his Name is Monsieur Laroon. If you could get him to say half a Dozen Bead-Rolls for you, they might be of great Service.
Jourd. How! Can the Saint regard so loose a Liver?
Old Lar. Oh! St. Francis loves an honest merry Fellow to his Soul. And hearkee, I don’t think it impossible for Mr. Laroon to bring you acquainted with the Saint; for to my Knowledge, they very often crack a Bottle together.
Jourd. Can I believe it?
Serv. Father Martin is below.
Old Lar. Son, behave civilly to him, nor mention a Word of what I have told you — that we may entrap him more securely.
SCENE V.
Martin, to them.
Mart. Peace be with my Son. Ha! a Friar here! I like not this, I will have no Partners in my Plunder. Save you, reverend Father.
Old Lar. Tu quoque.
Mart. This Fellow should be a Jesuit by his Taciturnity. You see, Father, the miserable State of our poor Son.
Old Lar. I have advis’d him thereon.
Mart. Your Advice is kind, tho’ needless. He hath not wanted Prayer, Fasting, nor Castigation, which are proper Physick for him.
Old Lar. Or suppose, Father, he was to go to a Ball. What think you of a Ball?
Mart. A Ball?
Old Lar. Ay, or a Wench now; suppose, we were to procure him a Wench.
Mart. Oh! monstrous! Oh! impious! ——
Old Lar. I only give my Opinion.
Mart. Thy Opinion is damnable. And thou art some Wolf in Sheep’s clothing. Thou art a Scandal to thy Order.
Old Lar. I wish thou art not more a Scandal to thine, Brother Father, to abuse a poor old Fellow in a Fit of the Spleen here as thou dost, with a Set of ridiculous Notions of Purgatory and the Devil knows what, when both you and I know there is no such thing.
Mart. That I should not know thee before. Don’t you know this reverend Father, Son? Your worthy Neighbour Laroon.
Old Lar. Then farewel, Hypocrisy. I wou’d not wear thy Cloke another Hour for any Consideration.
Jourd. What do I see?
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 294
