SCENE: _Morning room in SMAILEY’S house. Door at back, giving on to a
pretty garden._
_FREDERICK discovered sealing a letter._
_Fred._ “Your eternally attached Frederick.” If there was any flaw
in Mrs. Van Brugh’s marriage, as my father seems to suspect--and his
suspicions are corroborated by her astonishing behavior on his reading
her godfather’s will--then Mrs. Van Brugh is penniless--and Eve is
penniless too. Poor little lady. I’m afraid I shall have to cry off.
I’m sorry for the poor child, because I’m sure she is fond of me.
I’m sorry for myself, because I’m sure I’m fond of her. But when a
man proposes to marry, he must not allow himself to be misled by his
affections. As far as Eve is concerned I see no difficulty. She is a
tender-hearted and sensitive little thing, heaven bless her, and can be
easily shaken off. But my poor old father; how indignant he will be if
I dare to suggest what he would consider a dishonorable course! Why, if
he thought me capable of breaking a solemn engagement for a mercenary
motive, he’d disown me! No, I must rest my excuse on a surer ground. I
must touch his sense of family pride. I must remind him of the blight
that would fall on our race, if I intermarried with a tainted family. A
really good man does a deal of harm in the world. One has to stoop to
so much dirty dissimulation before one can meet him on equal terms.
_Enter MR. SMAILEY._
_Mr. S._} Frederick, I want to speak seriously--
_Fred._ } Father, I want to speak seriously----
_Mr. S._ Eh?
_Fred._ I beg your pardon.
_Mr. S._ I was about to say that I want to speak to you on a most
serious and important matter.
_Fred._ Dear me, that’s very odd! Do you know I was about to say the
very same thing! I am most anxious to speak to _you_ on a _most_
serious and _most_ important matter. Excuse me for one moment, while I
give this note to Robins.
_Mr. S._ Whom are you writing to?
_Fred._ To my darling, of course? [_Exit._
_Mr. S._ To his darling! Poor lad! He’s a noble fellow! No mercenary
thought in connection with the girl has ever entered his head! But he
must never marry her. Every thing points to the fact that Mrs. Van
Brugh’s marriage was illegal, and, if so, her daughter is portionless.
Thank Heaven! his sense of moral rectitude is so high that when he
knows that her mother’s conduct is open to suspicion he may feel bound
to dissociate himself from her. Ah, it is a pleasant and a goodly thing
when a parent finds that the strict principles he has instilled into
his offspring are bearing golden fruit on which they both may feed!
_Enter FREDERICK._
_Mr. S._ (_aside_).} How shall I break it to him?
_Fred._ (_aside_). } How shall I begin?
_Fred._ Now I’m at your disposal.
_Mr. S._ Frederick, my dear lad, this life of ours is made up of hopes
frustrated, and cherished schemes brought to nothing.
_Fred._ Very true. A man who places himself under the sweet dominion
of his conscience, must not count on the fulfillment of even his most
innocent intentions.
_Mr. S._ Unforeseen circumstances occasionally arise that render it
almost criminal to carry out an otherwise laudable purpose.
_Fred._ For instance: a discovery that a contemplated act would, if
carried out, bring dishonor on a long line of ancestors.
_Mr. S._ Or give an implied sanction to a discreditable, if not an
immoral, relationship. Events might occur which would justify him in
breaking the most solemn pledge.
_Fred._ Justify him! I can conceive a state of things under which he
would be morally bound to cast his most sacred obligations to the wind.
_Mr. S._ My dear boy!
_Fred._ My dear father! (_They shake hands._)
_Mr. S._ Now Fred, this is what I was coming to, my boy. We are the
last descendants of a very noble family.
_Fred._ So I have often heard you say. And that reminds me to mention a
matter, upon which I have long desired to talk to you----
_Mr. S._ (_interrupting_). I am free to admit that I am proud of my
ancestry.
_Fred._ My dear father, the safe-keeping of their honor is my dearest
aim. And, talking of my ancestors’ honor, reminds me----
_Mr. S._ (_interrupting_). If Caius Smaileius heard that one of his
race was about to marry, for instance, into a tainted family, I believe
the doughty old Roman would turn in his tumulus!
_Fred._ What you say about a tainted family is so true, that I
venture----
_Mr. S._ My dear Fred, it’s no use beating about the bush. The girl
you are engaged to--as good a girl as ever lived, is (there is no use
in disguising it) a member of a tainted family. (_FRED turns from
SMAILEY._) It is therefore my duty to urge upon you, as the last of
our line, the propriety, the necessity, of releasing Eve from her
engagement. (_FREDERICK appears hurt and indignant._) I know I am
asking much, very much, of you. I know how tenderly you love the girl;
but a flaw, my dear Fred, and you a Smailey! My boy, it is impossible.
_Fred._ (_in affected indignation_). Am I to understand that you
require me to surrender my darling Eve. Never! With all possible
respect for your authority--Never!
_Mr. S._ But, Fred, remember, my boy, remember, her mother has
committed a _faux pas_ of some kind.
_Fred._ It would certainly seem so; but I have given my word, and it is
my duty to keep it.
_Mr. S._ What is duty to the living compared with duty to the dead.
Think what your ancestors have done for you. And are we to neglect our
duty to them, because they can do no more for us? Oh! shame, shame!
_Fred._ (_with apparent reluctance_). There is much truth in what you
say, still----
_Mr. S._ To marry into such a family as hers, now that we know the
truth, would be, as it were, to countenance her guilt.
_Fred._ I can not deny it. Nevertheless, I----
_Mr. S._ Would it be just--would it be _moral_ to do this?
_Fred._ No, no; I see it now.
_Mr. S._ Show yourself to be a man of moral courage. As for what the
world will say, do the right thing, my boy, and let them say what they
please.
_Fred._ (_after a pause_). Father, you are right. As a moral man I have
no alternative but to comply with your wish. At any cost it must be
done--at any cost it _shall_ be done!
_Mr. S._ That’s right, my dear, dear boy; and you shall find that you
have lost little by your determination. And now that that’s settled,
let us enter into _your_ affairs. What was it that you wanted to speak
to me so seriously about just now?
_Fred._ I? Oh, dear no.
_Mr. S._ But surely, you said----
_Fred._ Oh, to be sure! I--oh, it’s not of the least consequence.
_Mr. S._ Something about poor little Eve, wasn’t it?
_Fred._ Yes; about poor little Eve. How little do we know what five
minutes may bring forth! I was actually going to consult you about
fixing a day for our wedding. (_Wiping his eyes._)
_Mr. S._ My poor boy, you have behaved nobly. You are a true Smailey.
_Fred._ (_taking his hand_). I hope it is not presumptuous in me, but I
sometimes think I am.
_Mr. S._ I have wounded you deeply. Let me compensate you by telling
you a more pleasant piece of news. I have discovered Fitz Partington’s
clew.
_Fred._ Indeed! I am rejoiced to hear it.
_Mr. S._ Yes. Mrs. Van Brugh told me on Tuesday that she had never
actually seen her godfather’s will. So I felt it to be my duty to make
an excuse for reading aloud that part of the will in which she is
particularly described. I did so, and she fainted. Now, my dear Fred,
what does this point to?
_Fred._ I should say bigamy.
_Mr. S._ You would say bigamy, and so should I. I suggested this to
Fitz Partington, and he seemed amazed at my penetration. We laid our
heads together, and, at his suggestion, I drew up this advertisement.
(_Hands MS. advertisement, which he has taken from table-drawer._)
_Fred._ (_reads_). _£50 Reward. This sum will be paid for a true copy
of the burial certificate of the first wife of the late Captain Van
Brugh, R.N. She is known to have died at Melbourne within the last
eight years._ Are you sure Fitz Partington is acting straightforwardly
with you?
_Mr. S._ Why should he do otherwise?
_Fred._ £50 is a large sum.
_Mr. S._ A large sum? If I can only establish the fact that the first
Mrs. Van Brugh died within the last eight years, every penny of this
so-called Mrs. Van Brugh’s income--£8,000 a year at least--reverts to
me.
_Fred._ Then, dear me----
_Mr. S._ Eh?
_Fred._ Poor Eve will lose her settlement!
_Mr. S._ True; quite true. Dear me, I never thought of that. Poor Eve!
_Fred._ Poor, poor Eve!
_Enter RUTH._
_Ruth._ I’ve brought this note from my lady.
_Mr. S._ Oh! There may be an answer. Stay.
_Ruth._ (_quietly_). Yes; I’ll stay.
_Mr. S._ (_reads note_). Oh! Mrs. Van Brugh writes to say that she
wishes to see me this afternoon--alone. (_Sits down to write._)
_Fred._ Alone! Oh, then--then perhaps I’d better withdraw. (_With
affected emotion._)
_Ruth._ Ay, perhaps you better had.
(_She follows him with her eyes as he goes to the door. He seems
uneasy. Then exit._)
_Mr. S._ There is the answer. (_Finishing note._)
_Ruth._ Smailey; wot’s wrong about my lady?
_Mr. S._ Wrong?
_Ruth._ Ay, there’s ruin comin’ to her, and she knows it. She’s been
queer-like these two days. I’ve come upon her cryin’ odd times, and
she’s as white as death. Wot is it, Smailey?
_Mr. S._ Probably a head-ache. I’m not a doctor.
_Ruth._ I am. It’s no head-ache--it’s heart-ache. It’s ruin.
_Mr. S._ It _is_ ruin; to her wealth, and her good name.
_Ruth._ Her good name? Why, _you’re_ never goin’ to meddle wi’ _that_.
_Mr. S._ You are deceived in your mistress. (_Rises._) I will tell you
what she has been----
_Ruth._ Stop! I won’t hear it, Smailey, I won’t hear it. Let bygones go
by: no odds what she _has_ been; think wot she is; think wot _you’ve_
been. As I’ve dealt fair wi’ you, deal you fair wi’ her. Take wot’s
yourn, but don’t take no more.
_Mr. S._ My rights and her good name are bound up together, I can not
claim the one without destroying the other. I only want what the law
will give me, if I commence proceedings.
_Ruth._ (_changing her tone_). If you commence proceedings, wot the
law will give you is fourteen year, take my word for it. I’ve spoke
fair, and no good’s come of it, so I’ll speak foul. Look here, Smailey,
you’ve put a plot afoot to ruin my lady. Now my lady’s got a dog,
Smailey, and that dog won’t stand no plots. Do you hear that, Smailey.
Stir hand or foot to harm that pure and spotless creature, and sure as
my lady’s dog has a set of fangs she’ll fix them in your throat.
_Mr. S._ This is hard. This is very hard. Even Mrs. Van Brugh would
herself at once admit the justice of my claim.
_Ruth._ Well, wait till she does.
_Mr. S._ (_after a pause_). There is a good deal of sound common sense
in what you say, Tredgett. Still, if--_if_ Mrs. Van Brugh should at any
time make a statement of _her own free will_, you will surely allow me
to profit by it?
_Ruth._ Wotever my lady does of her own free will is angels’ doin’, and
is right accordin’.
_Mr. S._ (_aside_). Then I think I see my way. (_Aloud._) Well, Ruth,
on that understanding you have my promise.
_Ruth._ Promise? _Your_ promise? Smailey, don’t you meddle with things
you don’t understand. Promises are ticklish goods in _your_ hands.
They’re temptin’ things to break, and you was always easy tempted. No,
no; don’t _you_ promise. _I’ll_ promise this time, Smailey. _I’ll_
promise. [_Exit RUTH._
_Mr. S._ A sin, an early sin--a sin committed twenty years ago, brought
up against me now that I am an honest man, and a regular church-goer!
I am absolutely bound hand and foot by it--and to what end? For the
protection of a woman who has committed Heaven knows what offense
against morality. If this crime were to be proved against me, what
on earth would become of me? For years I have endeavored to atone
for my sin against society by treating wrong-doers brought before me
with the strictest and most unflinching severity. Would Society be
grateful for this--Would it even take heed of it? No; my atonement
would go for nothing--absolutely nothing. Ah! this is a merciless
world, and one in which penitence is taken no account of. But have a
care, Mrs. Van Brugh, I’ll bide my time. You shall yet see that a sin
against morality is not to be wiped out by a few years of sentimental
self-denial!
_Enter EVE and FRED._
_Fred._ Father, I met Mrs. Van Brugh and my darling on their way here,
so I turned back with them.
_Mr. S._ My dear Eve. (_Kisses her. Enter MRS. VAN BRUGH._) Mrs. Van
Brugh, I am very pleased to see you. Pray sit down. You look pale; I am
afraid you are tired.
_Mrs. V. B._ No, I have not been very well lately.
_Eve._ Mamma wished to come alone, as she wants to speak to you on
business, but I wouldn’t hear of that, as she is really very far from
well, so I’ve brought her to you, Mr. Smailey; and now I’m going to
take a turn in the garden with Fred. Dr. Athelney is waiting for us in
the arbor.
_Fred._ If the arbor were a consecrated arbor, and I had a license in
my pocket, we might take a turn--in the garden--that would surprise our
dear friends.
_Eve._ What, without a wedding-dress and bridesmaids, and bouquets and
presents, and a breakfast? My dear Fred, it wouldn’t be legal! [_Exeunt
EVE and FRED into the garden._
_Mrs. V. B._ (_after a pause_). Mr. Smailey, I come to you in great
distress. On Tuesday last, a circumstance occurred, no matter what
it was, that induced me to believe that there was a flaw--a vital
flaw--in my title to all I possess. Mr. Smailey, I haven’t a shilling
in the world.
_Mr. S._ A shilling! My very dear lady, you haven’t a penny.
_Mrs. V. B._ What! Do you know this?
_Mr. S._ Mrs. Van Brugh, I will be candid with you. The Smaileys
are a very, very old and very famous family. No suspicion of a bar
sinister has ever shadowed their escutcheon. My son is betrothed to
your daughter, and I have reason to believe that you are not entitled
to the name you bear. Therefore, in his interests, and in those of his
slumbering ancestors, I have taken steps to ascertain the truth.
_Mrs. V. B._ (_much agitated_). What do you hope to prove?
_Mr. S._ That when you went through the form of marriage with the late
Captain Van Brugh you knew that his first wife was still alive.
_Mrs. V. B._ (_wildly_). No, no, no! Mr. Smailey, it is bad enough, but
not so bad as that. Oh, Mr. Smailey, dismiss that fearful thought from
your mind, and I will tell you the truth I came here to tell. It’s a
bitter, bitter truth, but not so bad as you would make it out to be.
_Mr. S._ What is the truth? (_Sternly._)
_Mrs. V. B._ I--I--when I met Captain Van Brugh--I was very young, and
my mother was dead--and-- (_Bursts into tears and sobs wildly, laying
her head on the table._)
_Mr. S._ What is the truth?
_Mrs. V. B._ Oh, man, man, can’t you read it in these tears? Is there
not shame enough in my face, that you want it in shameful words. Read
what you see before you, and as you are a man with a heart, keep my
secret; oh, keep my unhappy secret!
_Mr. S._ What! am I to understand that you never even went through the
_form_ of marriage with Captain Van Brugh?
_Mrs. V. B._ (_under her breath_). Never!
_Mr. S._ (_after a pause_). I decline to believe you. I had hoped that
it was barely possible you were the unconscious dupe of a reckless
scamp. I now believe that you were well aware of the crime you were
committing, and you take this step to avoid its legal consequences.
_Mrs. V. B._ (_with forced calmness_). Mr. Smailey, I have, perhaps,
no right to be indignant at this insult; but you are mistaken--utterly
mistaken. Have you no pity, no sympathy? See, every thing I possess
is legally yours; I leave your presence penniless. Commence an action
against me, and I will quietly yield up every thing before the case
comes into court; but, if you love your son, spare me the shame, the
intolerable shame, of a public exposure!
_Mr. S._ I will spare you nothing; neither will I take the step you
suggest, nor any other step to dispossess you. In this matter I
am passive; I leave you to act as conscience may prompt you. But
understand that I will be a party to no concealment, no subterfuge. On
these terms, and on no other, will I consent to take this property.
_Mrs. V. B._ (_wildly_). What am I to do? I can not keep it, and I have
no one to advise me!
_Mr. S._ I will advise you. You have sinned, and must make atonement.
There are witnesses at hand, let them hear the truth: whatever the
truth may be, let them hear it.
_Mrs. V. B._ What witnesses?
_Mr. S._ Dr. Athelney, my dear son, Ruth Tredgett, and your daughter.
_Mrs. V. B._ (_wildly_). No, no; not before Eve. You can not mean that
I am to say this before Eve. Think, Mr. Smailey, what you are asking me
to do. I am her mother!
_Mr. S._ I desire to press hardly on no fellow-creature, but it is meet
that she should know the truth. Indeed, as a principle, truth can not
be too widely known.
_Mrs. V. B._ But she knows nothing of this miserable matter. She
believes, as others believe, that I was married abroad and that my
husband died soon after.
_Mr. S._ A mother seeking to deceive her own child!
_Mrs. V. B._ Take every penny I possess, but for Eve’s sake spare me
this intolerable shame. I will sign any deed you please that will
convey my property to you, but leave me the love and honor of my
darling child.
_Mr. S._ I decline to place myself in the invidious position of one who
takes steps to dispossess a helpless lady; I also decline to be a party
to any deception. If you refuse to make the public admission I require,
you may _keep_ your ill-gotten wealth.
_Mrs. V. B._ Keep it! Why I am here, of my own free will, to surrender
into your hands my wealth, and with it my good name!
_Mr. S._ I feel it to be my duty to remind you that you have as little
right to the one as to the other.
_Mrs. V. B._ What shall I do--What shall I do? If I refuse to publish
my sin, this man will make it known to the whole world.
_Mr. S._ No; there you wrong me. That would be an unmanly act indeed,
Miss Brandreth.
_Mrs. V. B._ Miss Brandreth!
_Mr. S._ That, I presume, is your name. Pardon me, but now that I know
the truth, I could not conscientiously call you Mrs. Van Brugh. It
would be a lie. For the future I shall call you Miss Brandreth, but--I
shall systematically withhold my reasons for so doing.
_Mrs. V. B._ Mr. Smailey, think what you are compelling me to do.
I have sinned, and for many years I have unceasingly endeavored to
atone for that sin. Blessed with an ample fortune, I have devoted
four-fifths of it to the rescue of the unhappiest among unhappy women.
In my search for them I have waded, year after year, through the
foulest depths of misery and disgrace, with ears and eyes outraged at
every turn. In the face of galling rebuke and insult unspeakable, in
the face of cold ridicule and insolent misconstruction, I have held on
to the task I set myself, and through the mercy of heaven--the infinite
mercy of heaven--I have succeeded. I have no desire to speak of these
things, and to no other man would I utter them. But you talk to me of
atonement; and have I not atoned? Oh! have I not atoned?
_Mr. S._ See how the deeds and words of these last years show in
the fierce light you have just thrown upon them. You have lost no
opportunity of rebuking my hardness of heart because I can not pardon
an act of immorality. See from what a foul and muddy source your own
forgiveness springs. You have taunted me with my severity towards
wrong-doers. See from what an interested motive your own leniency
arises. You have publicly assailed my want of charity. Had I the
control of another man’s income my charities might perhaps outvie your
own. In one word, if you retain your social position, you are morally
an impostor. If you retain my property, you are morally----
_Mrs. V. B._ (_interrupting him_). Enough! You have spoken, and I know
you now. I can see through those cold hard eyes down into the cold hard
heart from which they take their tone. I read there the stony creed,
“A woman who has once fallen shall never rise again.” So let it be.
You are strong--for you have the world on your side. I am weak--for I
am alone. If I am to die this moral death, it shall be by my own hand.
They _shall_ hear the truth. (_EVE and FREDERICK have appeared at the
door; she turns and sees them; they are followed by DR. ATHELNEY and
EDWARD._) Come here, Eve; come here, Dr. Athelney; all of you come
here. (_EVE comes forward and kneels at her mother’s feet._) Eve, my
darling, my pet--Eve dear, kiss me. Kiss me again and again--my child,
my child! Kiss me now, for you may never kiss me again. Dr. Athelney,
you love me, I know. Edward, my dear old friend, listen while I tell
you what manner of woman you have loved----
_Ruth._ (_rushing forward_). No, no, mistress, you mustn’t say it,
don’t, don’t speak it; for the love of mercy don’t speak it. As I’m a
sinful woman, it’ll be worse than death to me.
_Mrs. V. B._ I must go on to the end. Do you know on what kind of thing
you have lavished the treasure of your love? You have lavished it on a
fallen woman--an unhappy creature, who has committed that one sin for
which on earth there is no atonement--no forgiveness. You think of me
as Captain Brugh’s widow; God forgive me, I never was his wife!
(_RUTH recoils from her with an exclamation of horror. EVE falls
senseless into EDWARD’S arms. SMAILEY and FREDERICK watch the group
from a corner of the stage._)