Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  (Wheeler and Bursal wink at one another.)

  Wheel. We know nothing of him.

  Lord J. I have not the honour, sir, to be one of Mr. Talbot’s friends.

  It is his own fault, and I am sorry for it.

  Rory. ‘Faith, so am I, especially as it is mine — fault I mean; and especially as the election is just going to come on.

  Enter a party of boys, who cry, Finsbury’s come! — Finsbury’s come with the dresses!

  Wheel. Finsbury’s come? Oh, let us see the dresses, and let us try ’em on to-night.

  Burs. (pushing the crowd). On with ye — on with ye, there! — Let’s try ’em on! — Try ’em on — I’m to be colonel.

  lst Boy. And I lieutenant.

  2nd Boy. And I ensign.

  3rd Boy. And I college salt-bearer.

  4th Boy. And I oppidan.

  5th Boy. Oh, what a pity I’m in mourning.

  Several speak at once.

  And we are servitors. We are to be the eight servitors.

  Wheel. And I am to be your Captain, I hope. Come on, my Colonel. (To

  Bursal). My lord, you are coming?

  Rory. By-and-by — I’ve a word in his ear, by your LAVE and his.

  Burs. Why, what the devil stops the way, there? — Push on — on with them.

  6th Boy. I’m marshal.

  Burs. On with you — on with you — who cares what you are?

  Wheel. (to Bursal, aside). You’ll pay Finsbury for me, you rich Jew?

  (To Lord John.) Your lordship will remember your lordship’s promise.

  Lord J. I do not usually forget my promises, sir; and therefore need not to be reminded of them.

  Wheel. I beg pardon — I beg ten thousand pardons, my lord.

  Burs. (taking him by the arm). Come on, man, and don’t stand begging pardon there, or I’ll leave you.

  Wheel. (to Burs.) I beg pardon, Bursal — I beg pardon, ten thousand times.

  (Exeunt.)

  Manent LORD JOHN and RORY O’RYAN.

  Rory. Wheugh! — Now put the case. If I was going to be hanged, for the life of me I couldn’t be after begging so many pardons for nothing at all. But many men, many minds — (Hums.) True game to the last! No Wheeler for me. Oh, murder! I forgot, I was nigh letting the cat out o’ the bag again.

  Lord J. You had something to say to me, sir? I wait till your recollection returns.

  Rory. ‘Faith, and that’s very kind of you; and if you had always done so, you would never have been offended with me, my lord.

  Lord J. You are mistaken, Mr. O’Ryan, if you think that you did or could offend me.

  Rory. Mistaken was I, then, sure enough; but we are all liable to mistakes, and should forget and forgive one another; that’s the way to go through.

  Lord J. You will go through the world your own way, Mr. O’Ryan, and allow me to go through it my way.

  Rory. Very fair — fair enough — then we shan’t cross. But now, to come to the point. I don’t like to be making disagreeable retrospects, if I could any way avoid it; nor to be going about the bush, especially at this time o’ day; when, as Mr. Finsbury’s come, we’ve not so much time to lose as we had. Is there any truth, then, my lord, in the report that is going about this hour past, that you have gone in a huff, and given your promise there to that sneaking Wheeler to vote for him now?

  Lord J. In answer to your question, sir, I am to inform you that I HAVE promised Mr. Wheeler to vote for him.

  Rory. In a huff? — Ay, now, there it is! — Well, when a man’s MAD, to be sure, he’s mad — and that’s all that can be said about it. And I know, if I had been MAD myself, I might have done a foolish thing as well as another. But now, my lord, that you are not mad —

  Lord J. I protest, sir, I cannot understand you. In one word, sir, I’m neither mad nor a fool! — Your most obedient (going, angrily).

  Rory (holding him). Take care now; you are going mad with me again. But phoo! I like you the better for being mad. I’m very often mad myself, and I would not give a potato for one that had never been mad in his life.

  Lord J. (aside). He’ll not be quiet, till he makes me knock him down.

  Rory. Agh! agh! agh! — I begin to guess whereabouts I am at last. MAD, in your country, I take it, means fit for Bedlam; but with us in Ireland, now, ’tis no such thing; it mean’s nothing in life but the being in a passion. Well, one comfort is, my lord, as you’re a bit of a scholar, we have the Latin proverb in our favour—”Ira furor brevis est” (Anger is short madness). The shorter the better, I think. So, my lord, to put an end to whatever of the kind you may have felt against poor Talbot, I’ll assure you he’s as innocent o’ that unfortunate song as the babe unborn.

  Lord J. It is rather late for Mr. Talbot to make apologies to me.

  Rory. He make apologies! Not he, ‘faith; he’d send me to Coventry, or, maybe, to a worse place, did he but know I was condescending to make this bit of explanation, unknown to him. But, upon my conscience, I’ve a regard for you both, and don’t like to see you go together by the ears. Now, look you, my lord. By this book, and all the books that were ever shut and opened, he never saw or heard of that unlucky song of mine till I came out with it this morning.

  Lord J. But you told me this morning that it was he who wrote it.

  Rory. For that I take shame to myself, as it turned out; but it was only a WHITE lie to SARVE a friend, and make him cut a dash with a new song at election time. But I’ve done for ever with white lies.

  Lord J. (walking about as if agitated). I wish you had never begun with them, Mr. O’Ryan. This may be a good joke to you; but it is none to me or Talbot. So Talbot never wrote a word of the song?

  Rory. Not a word or syllable, good or bad.

  Lord J. And I have given my promise to vote against him. He’ll lose his election.

  Rory. Not if you’ll give me leave to speak to your friends in your name.

  Lord J. I have promised to leave them to themselves; and Wheeler, I am sure, has engaged them by this time.

  Rory. Bless my body! I’ll not stay prating here then.

  (Exit Rory.)

  Lord J. (follows). But what can have become of Talbot? I have been too hasty for once in my life. Well, I shall suffer for it more than anybody else; for I love Talbot, since he did not make the song, of which I hate to think. (Exit.)

  SCENE III.

  A large hall in Eton College — A staircase at the end — Eton lads, dressed in their Montem Dresses in the Scene — In front, WHEELER (dressed as Captain), BURSAL and FINSBURY.

  Fins. I give you infinite credit, Mr. Wheeler, for this dress.

  Burs. INFINITE CREDIT! Why, he’ll have no objection to that — hey, Wheeler? But I thought Finsbury knew you too well to give you credit for anything.

  Fins. You are pleased to be pleasant, sir. Mr. Wheeler knows, in that sense of the word, it is out of my power to give him credit, and I’m sure he would not ask it.

  Wheel. (aside). O, Bursal, pay him, and I’ll pay you tomorrow.

  Burs. Now, if you weren’t to be captain after all, Wheeler, what a pretty figure you’d cut. Ha! ha! ha! — Hey?

  Wheel. Oh, I am as sure of being captain as of being alive. (Aside.) Do pay for me, now, there’s a good, dear fellow, before THEY (looking back) come up.

  Burs. (aside). I love to make him lick the dust. (Aloud.) Hollo! here’s Finsbury waiting to be paid, lads. (To the lads who are in the back scene.) Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say?

  (The lads come forward, and several exclaim at once,) I’ve paid! I’ve paid!

  Enter LORD JOHN and RORY O’RYAN.

  Rory. Oh, King of Fashion, how fine we are! Why, now, to look at ye all one might fancy one’s self at the playhouse at once, or at a fancy ball in dear little Dublin. Come, strike up a dance.

  Burs. Pshaw! Wherever you come, Rory O’Ryan, no one else can be heard.

  Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say?

  Several Boys exclaim. We’ve all paid.r />
  1st Boy. I’ve not paid, but here’s my money.

  Several Boys. We have not paid, but here’s our money.

  6th Boy. Order there, I am marshal. All that have paid march off to the staircase, and take your seats there, one by one. March!

  (As they march by, one by one, so as to display their dresses, Mr.

  Finsbury bows, and says,)

  A thousand thanks, gentlemen. Thank you, gentlemen. Thanks, gentlemen.

  The finest sight ever I saw out of Lon’on.

  Rory, as each lad passes, catches his arm, Are you a TalbotITE or a WheelerITE? To each who answers “A Wheelerite,” Rory replies, “Phoo! dance off, then. Go to the devil and shake yourself.”* Each who answers “A Talbotite,” Rory shakes by the hand violently, singing,

  “Talbot, oh, Talbot’s the dog for Rory.”

  *This is the name of a country dance.

  When they have almost all passed, Lord John says, But where can Mr.

  Talbot be all this time?

  Burs. Who knows? Who cares?

  Wheel. A pretty electioneerer! (Aside to Bursal.) Finsbury’s waiting to be paid.

  Lord J. You don’t wait for me, Mr. Finsbury. You know, I have settled with you.

  Fins. Yes, my lord — yes. Many thanks: and I have left your lordship’s dress here, and everybody’s dress, I believe, as bespoke.

  Burs. Here, Finsbury, is the money for Wheeler, who, between you and me, is as poor as a rat.

  Wheeler (affecting to laugh.). Well, I hope I shall be as rich as a Jew to-morrow. (Bursal counts money, in an ostentatious manner, into Finsbury’s hand.)

  Fins. A thousand thanks for all favours.

  Rory. You will be kind enough to LAVE Mr. Talbot’s dress with me, Mr.

  Finsbury, for I’m a friend.

  Fins. Indubitably, sir: but the misfortune is — he! he! he! — Mr. Talbot, sir, has bespoke no dress. Your servant, gentlemen. (Exit Finsbury.)

  Burs. So your friend Mr. Talbot could not afford to bespeak a dress —

  (Bursal and Wheeler laugh insolently.) How comes that, I wonder?

  Lord J. If I’m not mistaken, here comes Talbot to answer for himself.

  Rory. But who, in the name of St. Patrick, has he along with him?

  Enter TALBOT and LANDLORD.

  Talb. Come in along with us, Farmer Hearty — come in.

  (Whilst the Farmer comes in, the boys who were sitting on the stairs, rise and exclaim,)

  Whom have we here? What now? Come down, lads; here’s more fun.

  Rory. What’s here, Talbot?

  Talb. An honest farmer, and a good natured landlord, who would come here along with me to speak —

  Farm. (interrupting). To speak the truth — (strikes his stick on the ground).

  Landlord (unbuttoning his waistcoat). But I am so hot — so short-winded, that (panting and puffing) — that for the soul and body of me, I cannot say what I have got for to say.

  Rory. ‘Faith, now, the more short winded a story, the better, to my fancy.

  Burs. Wheeler, what’s the matter, man? you look as if your under jaw was broke.

  Farm. The matter is, young gentlemen, that there was once upon a time a fine, bay hunter.

  Wheel. (squeezing up to Talbot, aside). Don’t expose me, don’t let him tell. (To the Farmer.) I’ll pay for the corn I spoiled. (To the Landlord.) I’ll pay for the horse.

  Farm. I does not want to be paid for my corn. The short of it is, young gentlemen, this ‘un here, in the fine thing-em-bobs (pointing to Wheeler), is a shabby fellow; he went and spoiled Master Newington’s best hunter.

  Land. (panting). Ruinationed him! ruinationed him!

  Rory. But was that all the shabbiness? Now I might, or any of us might, have had such an accident as that. I suppose he paid the gentleman for the horse, or will do so, in good time.

  Land. (holding his sides). Oh, that I had but a little breath in this body o’ mine to speak all — speak on, Farmer.

  Farm. (striking his stick on the floor). Oons, sir, when a man’s put out, he can’t go on with his story.

  Omnes. Be quiet, Rory — hush! (Rory puts his finger on his lips.)

  Farm. Why, sir, I was a-going to tell you the shabbiness — why, sir, he did not pay the landlord, here, for the horse; but he goes and says to the landlord, here—”Mr. Talbot had your horse on the self-same day; ’twas he did the damage; ’tis from he you must get your money.” So Mr. Talbot, here, who is another sort of a gentleman (though he has not so fine a coat) would not see a man at a loss, that could not afford it; and not knowing which of ’em it was that spoiled the horse, goes, when he finds the other would not pay a farthing, and pays all.

  Rory (rubbing his hands). There’s Talbot for ye. And, now, gentlemen (to Wheeler and Bursal), you guess the RASON, as I do, I suppose, why he bespoke no dress; he had not money enough to be fine — and honest, too. You are very fine, Mr. Wheeler, to do you justice.

  Lord J. Pray, Mr. O’Ryan, let the farmer go on; he has more to say. How did you find out, pray, my good friend, that it was not Talbot who spoiled the horse! Speak loud enough to be heard by everybody.

  Farm. Ay, that I will — I say (very loudly) I say I saw him there (pointing to Wheeler) take the jump which strained the horse; and I’m ready to swear to it. Yet he let another pay; there’s the shabbiness.

  (A general groan from all the lads. “Oh, shabby Wheeler, shabby! I’ll not vote for shabby Wheeler!”)

  Lord J. (aside). Alas! I must vote for him.

  Rory sings.

  ”True game to the last; no Wheeler for me;

  Talbot, oh, Talbot’s the dog for me.”

  (Several voices join the chorus.)

  Burs. Wheeler, if you are not chosen Captain, you must see and pay me for the dress.

  Wheel. I am as poor as a rat.

  Rory. Oh, yes! oh yes! hear ye! hear ye, all manner of men — the election is now going to begin forthwith in the big field, and Rory O’Ryan holds the poll for Talbot. Talbot for ever! — huzza!

  (Exit Rory, followed by the Boys, who exclaim “Talbot for ever! — huzza!”

  The Landlord and Farmer join them.)

  Lord J. Talbot, I am glad you are what I always thought you — I’m glad you did not write that odious song. I would not lose such a friend for all the songs in the world. Forgive me for my hastiness this morning. I’ve punished myself — I’ve promised to vote for Wheeler.

  Talb. Oh, no matter whom you vote for, my lord, if you are still my friend, and if you know me to be yours. (They shake hands.)

  Lord J. I must not say, “Huzza for Talbot!” (Exeunt.)

  SCENE IV.

  WINDSOR TERRACE.

  LADY PIERCEFIELD, MRS. TALBOT, LOUISA, and a little girl of six years old, LADY VIOLETTA, daughter to LADY PIERCEFIELD.

  Violetta (looking at a paper which Louisa holds). I like it VERY much.

  Lady P. What is it that you like VERY much, Violetta?

  Violet. You are not to know yet, mamma; it is — I may tell her that — it is a little drawing that Louisa is doing for me. Louisa, I wish you would let me show it to mamma.

  Louisa. And welcome, my dear; it is only a sketch of “The Little Merchants,” a story which Violetta was reading, and she asked me to try to draw the pictures of the little merchants for her. (Whilst Lady P. looks at the drawing, Violetta says to Louisa)

  But are you in earnest, Louisa, about what you were saying to me just now, — quite in earnest?

  Louisa. Yes, in earnest, — quite in earnest, my dear.

  Violet. And may I ask mamma, NOW?

  Louisa. If you please, my dear.

  Violet. (runs to her mother). Stoop down to me, mamma ; I’ve something to whisper to you.

  (Lady Piercefield stoops down; Violetta throws her arms round her mother’s neck.)

  Violet. (aside to her mother). Mamma, do you know — you know you want a governess for me.

  Lady P. Yes, if I could find a good one.

 
Violet. (aloud). Stoop again, mamma, I’ve more to whisper. (Aside to her mother). SHE says she will be my governess, if you please.

  Lady P. SHE! — who is SHE?

  Violet. Louisa.

  Lady P. (patting Violetta’s cheek). You are a little fool. Miss Talbot is only playing with you.

  Violet. No, indeed, mamma; she is in earnest; are not you, Louisa? — Oh, say yes!

  Louisa. Yes.

  Violet. (claps her hands). YES, mamma; do you hear YES?

  Louisa. If Lady Piercefield will trust you to my care, I am persuaded that I should be much happier as your governess, my good little Violetta, than as an humble dependent of Miss Bursal’s. (Aside to her mother.) You see that, now I am put to the trial, I keep to my resolution, dear mother.

  Mrs. T. Your ladyship would not be surprised at this offer of my Louisa, if you had heard, as we have done within these few hours, of the loss of the East India ship in which almost our whole property was embarked.

  Louisa. The Bombay Castle is wrecked.

  Lady P. The Bombay Castle! I have the pleasure to tell you that you are misinformed — it was the Airly Castle that was wrecked.

  Louisa and Mrs. T. Indeed!

  Lady P. Yes; you may depend upon it — it was the Airly Castle that was lost. You know I am just come from Portsmouth, where I went to meet my brother, Governor Morton, who came home with the last India fleet, and from whom I had the intelligence.

  (Here Violetta interrupts, to ask her mother for her nosegay — Lady P. gives it to her, then goes on speaking.)

  Lady P. They were in such haste, foolish people! to carry their news to

  London, that they mistook one castle for another. But do you know that

  Mr. Bursal loses fifty thousand pounds, it is said, by the Airly Castle!

  When I told him she was lost, I thought he would have dropped down.

  However, I found he comforted himself afterwards with a bottle of

  Burgundy: but poor Miss Bursal has been in hysterics ever since.

  Mrs. T. Poor girl! My Louisa, YOU did not fall into hysterics, when I told you of the loss of our whole fortune.

  (Violetta, during this dialogue, has been seated on the ground making up a nosegay.)

  Violet. (aside). Fall into hysterics! What are hysterics, I wonder.