CLAYTON'S EDITION.
A
BOLD STROKE FOR A HUSBAND
A Comedy, in Five Acts;
BY MRS. COWLEY.
As Performed at the
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN,
AND
PARK THEATRE, NEW-YORK.
PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS, FROM THE
PROMPT BOOK.
With Remarks,
BY MRS. INCHBALD.
New-York:
PUBLISHED BY E. B. CLAYTON,
No. 9 Chambers-Street.
1831.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
_Covent Garden._ _Park_, 1830.
_Don Cæsar_ Mr. Munden Mr. Barnes.
_Don Julio_ Mr. Lewis Mr. Simpson.
_Don Carlos_ Mr. Cooke Mr. Barry.
_Don Vincentio_ Mr. Fawcet Mr. Richings.
_Don Garcia_ Mr. Brunton Mr. Woodhull.
_Don Vasquez_ Mr. Simmons Mr. Foot.
_Gasper_ Mr. Blanchard Mr. Blakeley.
_Pedro_ Mr. Harley Mr. Nexsen.
{Mr. Hayden.
_Servants_ {Mr. Bissett.
_Donna Olivia_ Mrs. Glover Miss Fisher.
_Donna Victoria_ Mrs. Litchfield Mrs. Hilson.
_Donna Laura_ Mrs. Dibdin Mrs. Durie.
_Minette_ Mrs. Gibbs Mrs. Wheatley.
_Marcella_ Miss Waddy Mrs. Godey.
_Sancha_ Mrs. Whitmore Miss Turnbull.
_Inis_ Mrs. Beverly Miss Jessup.
SCENE--_Spain_.
STAGE DIRECTIONS.
EXITS AND ENTRANCES.
R. means _Right_; L. _Left_; F. _the Flat, or Scene running across the
back of the Stage_; D. F. _Door in Flat_; R. D. _Right Door_; L. D.
_Left Door_; S. E. _Second Entrance_; U. E. _Upper Entrance_; C. D.
_Centre Door_.
RELATIVE POSITIONS.
R. means _Right_; L. _Left_; C. _Centre_; R. C. _Right of Centre_; L. C.
_Left of Centre_.
R. RC. C. LC. L.
_The Reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the Audience._
REMARKS.
Although "The Bold Stroke for a Husband," by Mrs. Cowley, does not equal
"The Bold Stroke for a Wife," by Mrs. Centlivre, either in originality
of design, wit, or humour, it has other advantages more honourable to
her sex, and more conducive to the reputation of the stage.
Here is contained no oblique insinuation, detrimental to the cause of
morality--but entertainment and instruction unite, to make a pleasant
exhibition at a theatre, or give an hour's amusement in the closet.
Plays, where the scene is placed in a foreign country, particularly when
that country is Spain, have a license to present certain improbabilities
to the audience, without incurring the danger of having them called
such; and the authoress, by the skill with which she has used this
dramatic permittance, in making the wife of Don Carlos pass for a man,
has formed a most interesting plot, and embellished it with lively,
humorous, and affecting incident.
Still there is another plot, of which Olivia is the heroine, as Victoria
is of the foregoing; and this more comic fable, in which the former is
chiefly concerned, seems to have been the favourite story of the
authoress, as from this she has taken her title.
But if Olivia makes a bold stroke to obtain a husband, surely Victoria
makes a still bolder, to preserve one; and there is something less
honourable in the enterprises of the young maiden, in order to renounce
her state, than in those of a married woman to avert the dangers that
are impending over hers.
Whichever of those females becomes the most admired object with the
reader, he will not be insensible to the trials of the other, or to the
various interests of the whole dramatis personæ, to whom the writer has
artfully given a kind of united influence; and upon a happy combination
it is, that sometimes, the success of a drama more depends, than upon
the most powerful support of any particularly prominent, yet insulated,
character.
The part of Don Vincentio was certainly meant as a moral satire upon the
extravagant love or the foolish affectation, of pretending to love, to
extravagance--music. This satire was aimed at so many, that the shaft
struck none. The charm of music still prevails in England, and the folly
of affected admirers.
Vincentio talks music, and Don Julio speaks poetry. Such, at least, is
his fond description of his mistress Olivia, in that excellent scene in
the third act, where she first takes off her veil, and fascinates him at
once by the force of her beauty.
In the delineation of this lady, it is implied that she is no termagant,
although she so frequently counterfeits the character. This insinuation
the reader, if he pleases, may trust--but the man who would venture to
marry a good impostor of this kind, could not excite much pity, if his
helpmate was often induced to act the part which she had heretofore,
with so much spirit, assumed.
The impropriety of making fraud and imposition necessary evils,
to counteract tyranny and injustice, is the fault of all Spanish
dramas--and perhaps the only one which attaches to the present comedy.
A Bold Stroke for a Husband.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--_A Street in Madrid._
_Enter_ SANCHA _from a House_, R. D. _She advances, then runs back, and
beckons to_ PEDRO _within_.
_San._ Hist! Pedro! Pedro!
_Enter_ PEDRO, R. D.
There he is: dost see him? just turning by St. Antony in the corner.
Now, do you tell him that your mistress is not at home; and if his
jealous donship should insist on searching the house, as he did
yesterday, say that somebody is ill--the black has got a fever, or
that----
_Ped._ Pho, pho, get you in. Don't I know that the duty of a lacquey in
Madrid is to lie with a good grace? I have been studying it now for a
whole week, and I'll defy don or devil to surprise me into a truth. Get
you in, I say--here he comes. [_Exit_ SANCHA, R. D. F.
_Enter_ CARLOS, L.
[PEDRO _struts up to him_.] Donna Laura is not at home, sir.
_Car._ Not at home!--come, sir, what have you received for telling that
lie?
_Ped._ Lie!--lie!--Signior!--
_Car._ It must be a lie, by your promptness in delivering it.--What a
fool does your mistress trust--A clever rascal would have waited my
approach, and, delivering the message with easy coolness, deceived
me--_thou_ hast been on the watch, and runnest towards me with a face of
stupid importance, bawling, that she may hear through the lattice how
well thou obeyest her,--"Donna Laura is not at home, sir."
_Ped._ Hear through the lattice--hah! by'r lady, she must have long
ears, to reach from the grotto in the garden to the street.
_Car._ Hah! [_Seizes him._] Now, sir, your ears shall be longer, if you
do not tell me who is with her in the grotto.
_Ped._ In the grotto, sir!--did I say any thing about the grotto? I----I
only meant that----
_Car._ Fool!--dost thou trifle with me? who is with her? [_Pinching his
ear._]
_Ped._ Oh!--why, nobody, sir--only the pretty young gentleman's valet,
waiting for an answer to a letter he brought. There! I have saved my
ears at the expense of my place. I have worn this fine coat but a week,
and I shall be sent back to Segovia for not being able to lie, though I
have been learning the art six days and nights.
_Car._ Well--come this way--if thou wilt promise to be faithful to me, I
will not betray thee: nor at present enter the house.
_Ped._ Oh, sir, blessings on you!
_Car._ How often does the pretty young gentleman visit her?
_Ped._ Every day, sir--If he misses, madam's stark wild.
_Car._ Where does he live?
_Ped._ Truly, I know not, sir.
_Car._ How! [_Menacing._]
_Ped._ By the honesty of my mother, I cannot tell, sir. She calls him
Florio;--that's his christian name--his heathen name I never heard.
_Car._ You must acquaint me when they are next together.
_Ped._ Lord, sir, if there should be any blood spilt!
_Car._ Promise,--or I'll lead thee by the ears to the grotto.
_Ped._ I promise, I promise.
_Car._ There, take that, [_Gives money._] and if thou art faithful,
I'll treble it. Now go in and be a good lad--and, d'ye hear?--you may
tell lies to every body else, but remember you must always speak truth
to me.
_Ped._ I will, sir,--I will. [_Exit, looking at the money_, R. D. F.
_Car._ 'Tis well my passion is extinguished, for I can now act with
coolness; I'll wait patiently, for the hour of their security, and take
them in the softest moments of their love. But if ever I trust to woman
more--may every----
_Enter two_ WOMEN, _veiled, followed by_ JULIO, R.
_Julio._ Fie, ladies! keep your curtains drawn so late! The sun is
up--'tis time to look abroad--[_Tries to remove the veils._] Nay, if you
are determined on night and silence, I take my leave. A woman without
prattle, is like burgundy without spirit.--Bright eyes, to touch me,
must belong to sweet tongues. [_Going_, R. _Ladies exit_ L.
_Car._ Sure, 'tis Julio. Hey!
_Julio._ [_Returning._] Don Carlos? Yes, by all the sober gods of
matrimony!--Why, what business, goodman gravity, canst thou have in
Madrid? I understand you are married--quietly settled in your own
pastures--father of a family, and the instructive companion of country
vine dressers--ha! ha!
_Car._ 'Tis false, by Heaven!--I have forsworn the country--left my
family, and run away from my wife.
_Julio._ Really! then matrimony has not totally destroyed thy free will.
_Car._ 'Tis with difficulty I have preserved it though; for women,
thou knowest, are most unreasonable beings! as soon as I had exhausted
my stock of love tales, which, with management, lasted beyond the
honey-moon, madam grew sullen,--I found home dull, and amused myself
with the pretty peasants of the neighbourhood----Worse and worse!--we
had nothing now but faintings, tears and hysterics, for twenty-four
honey-moons more.--So one morning I gave her in her sleep a farewell
kiss, to comfort her when she should awake, and posted to Madrid; where,
if it was not for the remembrance of the clog at my heel, I should bound
o'er the regions of pleasure, with more spirit than a young Arabian on
his mountains.
_Julio._ Do you find this clog no hindrance in affairs of gallantry?
_Car._ Not much.--In that house there--but, damn her, she's
perfidious!--in that house is a woman of beauty, with pretensions to
character and fortune, who devoted herself to my passion.
_Julio._ If she's perfidious, give her to the winds.
_Car._ Ah, but there is a rub, Julio, I have been a fool--a woman's
fool!--In a state of intoxication, she wheedled me, or rather cheated
me, out of a settlement.
_Julio._ Pho! is that----
_Car._ Oh! but you know not its nature. A settlement of lands, that both
honour and gratitude ought to have preserved sacred from such base
alienation. In short, if I cannot recover them, I am a ruined man.
_Julio._ Nay, this seems a worse clog than t'other--Poor Carlos! so
bewived and be----
_Car._ Pr'ythee, have compassion.
_Enter a_ SERVANT, R. _with a letter to_ JULIO; _he reads it,
and then nods to the_ SERVANT, _who exits_, R.
_Car._ An appointment, I'll be sworn, by that air of mystery and
satisfaction--come, be friendly, and communicate.
_Julio._ [_Putting up the letter._] You are married, Carlos;--that's all
I have to say--you are married.
_Car._ Pho! that's past long ago, and ought to be forgotten; but if a
man does a foolish thing once, he'll hear of it all his life.
_Julio._ Ay, the time has been when thou might'st have been intrusted
with such a dear secret,--when I might have opened the billet, and
feasted thee with the sweet meandering strokes at the bottom, which form
her name, when----
_Car._ What, 'tis from a woman then?
_Julio._ It is.
_Car._ Handsome?
_Julio._ Hum--not absolutely handsome, but she'll pass, with one who has
not had his taste spoiled by--matrimony.
_Car._ Malicious dog!--Is she young?
_Julio._ Under twenty--fair complexion, azure eyes, red lips, teeth of
pearl, polished neck, fine turned shape, graceful----
_Car._ Hold, Julio, if thou lov'st me!--Is it possible she can be so
bewitching a creature?
_Julio._ 'Tis possible--though, to deal plainly, I never saw her: but I
love my own pleasure so well, that I could fancy all that, and ten times
more.
_Car._ What star does she inhabit?
_Julio._ 'Faith, I know not; my orders are to be in waiting, at seven,
at the Prado.
_Car._ Prado!--hey!--gad! can't you take me with you? for though I have
forsworn the sex myself, and have done with them for ever, yet I may be
of use to you, you know.
_Julio._ 'Faith, I can't see that--however, as you are a poor wo-begone
married mortal, I'll have compassion, and suffer thee to come.
_Car._ Then I am a man again! Wife, avaunt! mistress, farewell!--At
seven, you say!
_Julio._ Exactly.
_Car._ I'll meet thee at Philippi! [_Exeunt_, JULIO, L. CARLOS, R.
SCENE II.--_A spacious Garden, belonging to_ DON CÆSAR.
_Enter_ MINETTE _and_ INIS, R. 2d E.
_Min._ There, will that do! My lady sent me to make her up a nosegay;
these orange flowers are delicious, and this rose, how sweet?
_Inis._ Pho! what signifies wearing sweets in her bosom, unless they
would sweeten her manners?--'tis amazing you can be so much at your
ease; one might think your lady's tongue was a lute, and her morning
scold an agreeable serenade.
_Min._ So they are--Custom, you know. I have been used to her music now
these two years, and I don't believe I could relish my breakfast without
it.
_Inis._ I would rather never break my fast, than do it on such terms.
What a difference between your mistress and mine! Donna Victoria is as
much too gentle, as her cousin is too harsh.
_Min._ Ay, and you see what she gets by it; had she been more spirited,
perhaps her husband would not have forsaken her;--men enlisted under the
matrimonial banner, like those under the king's, would be often tempted
to run away from their colours, if fear did not keep them in dread of
desertion.
_Inis._ If making a husband afraid is the way to keep him faithful, I
believe your lady will be the happiest wife in Spain.
_Min._ Ha! ha! ha! how people may be deceived!--nay, how people are
deceived!--but time will discover all things.
_Inis._ What! what, is there a secret in the business, Minette? if there
is, hang time! let's have it directly.
_Min._ Now, if I dared but tell ye--lud! lud! how I could surprise
ye!----[_Going._]
_Inis._ [_Stopping her._] Don't go.
_Min._ I must go; I am on the very brink of betraying my mistress,--I
must leave you--mercy upon me!--it rises like new bread.
_Inis._ I hope it will choke ye, if you stir till I know all.
_Min._ Will you never breathe a syllable?
_Inis._ Never.
_Min._ Will you strive to forget it the moment you have heard it?
_Inis._ I'll swear to myself forty times a-day to forget it.
_Min._ You are sure you will not let me stir from this spot till you
know the whole?
_Inis._ Not as far as a thrush hops.
_Min._ So! now, then, in one word,--here it goes. Though every body
supposes my lady an arrant scold, she's no more a----[_Looking out._]
_Don Cæsar._ [_Without_, L.] Out upon't e--h--h!
_Min._ Oh, St. Gerome!--here is her father, and his privy counsellor,
Gasper. I can never communicate a secret in quiet. Well! come to my
chamber, for, now my hand's in, you shall have the whole.--I would not
keep it another day to be confidant to an infanta. [_Exeunt_, R.
_Enter_ DON CÆSAR _and_ GASPER, L.
_Gasp._ Take comfort, sir; take comfort.
_Cæsar._ Take it;--why, where the devil shall I find it? You may say,
take physic, sir, or, take poison, sir----they are to be had; but what
signifies bidding me take comfort, when I can neither buy it, beg it,
nor steal it?
_Gasp._ But patience will bring it, sir.
_Cæsar._ 'Tis false, sirrah.--Patience is a cheat, and the man that
ranked her with the cardinal virtues was a fool. I have had patience at
bed and board these three long years, but the comfort she promised, has
never called in with a civil how d'ye?
_Gasp._ Ay, sir, but you know the poets say that the twin sister and
companion of comfort is good humour. Now if you would but drop that
agreeable acidity, which is so conspicuous----
_Cæsar._ Then let my daughter drop her perverse humour; 'tis a more
certain bar to marriage than ugliness or folly; and will send me to my
grave, at last, without male heirs. [_Crying._] How many have laid
siege to her! But that humour of hers, like the works of Gibraltar, no
Spaniard can find pregnable.
_Gasp._ Ay, well--Troy held out but ten years----Let her once tell over
her beads, unmarried at five-and-twenty, and, my life upon it, she ends
the rosary, with a hearty prayer for a good husband.
_Cæsar._ What, d'ye expect me to wait till the horrors of old maidenism
frighten her into civility? no, no;--I'll shut her up in a convent,
marry myself, and have heirs in spite of her. There's my neighbour Don
Vasquez's daughter, she is but nineteen----
_Gasp._ The very step I was going to recommend, sir. You are but a young
gentleman of sixty-three, I take it; and a husband of sixty-three, who
marries a wife of nineteen, will never want heirs, take my word for it.
_Cæsar._ What! do you joke, sirrah?
_Gasp._ Oh no, sir--not if you are serious. I think it would be one of
the pleasantest things in the world--Madam would throw a new life into
the family; and when you are above stairs in the gout, sir, the music
of her concerts, and the spirit of her converzationes, would reach your
sick bed, and be a thousand times more comforting than flannels and
panada.
_Cæsar._ Come, come, I understand ye.--But this daughter of mine--I
shall give her but two chances more.----Don Garcia and Don Vincentio
will both be here to-day, and if she plays over the old game, I'll marry
to-morrow morning, if I hang myself the next.
_Gasp._ You decide right, signor; at sixty-three the marriage noose and
the hempen noose should always go together.
_Cæsar._ Why, you dog you, do you suppose--There's Don Garcia--there he
is coming through the portico. Run to my daughter, and bid her remember
what I have said to her. [_Exit_ GASPER, R.] She has had her lesson--but
another memento mayn't be amiss--a young slut! pretty, and witty, and
rich--a match for a prince, and yet--but hist!----Not a word to my young
man; if I can but keep him in ignorance till he is married, he must
make the best of his bargain afterwards, as other honest men have done
before him.
_Enter_ GARCIA, L.
Welcome, Don Garcia! why, you are rather before your time.
_Gar._ Gallantry forbid that I should not, when a fair lady is
concerned. Should Donna Olivia welcome me as frankly as you do, I shall
think I have been tardy.
_Cæsar._ When you made your overtures, signor, I understood it was from
inclination to be allied to my family, not from a particular passion to
my daughter. Have you ever seen her?
_Gar._ But once--that transiently--yet sufficient to convince me that
she is charming.
_Cæsar._ Why, yes, though I say it, there are few prettier women in
Madrid; and she has got enemies amongst her own sex accordingly. They
pretend to say that----I say, sir, they have reported that she is not
blessed with that kind of docility and gentleness that a----now, though
she may not be so very placid, and insipid, as some young women, yet,
upon the whole--
_Gar._ Oh, fie, sir!--not a word--a beauty cannot be ill-tempered;
gratified vanity keeps her in good humour with herself, and every body
about her.
_Cæsar._ Yes, as you say--vanity is a prodigious sweetener; and Olivia,
considering how much she has been humoured, is as gentle and pliant
as----
_Enter_ MINETTE, R.
_Min._ Oh, sir! shield me from my mistress--She is in one of her old
tempers--the whole house is in an uproar.--I cannot support it!
_Cæsar._ Hush!
_Min._ No, sir, I can't hush--a saint could not bear it. I am tired of
her tyranny, and must quit her service.
_Cæsar._ Then quit it in a moment--go to my steward, and receive your
wages--go--begone. 'Tis a cousin of my daughter's she is speaking of.
_Min._ A cousin, sir!--No, 'tis Donna Olivia, your daughter--my
mistress. Oh, sir! you seem to be a sweet, tender-hearted young
gentleman--'twould move you to pity if----[_To_ GARCIA.]
_Cæsar._ I'll move you, hussy, to some purpose, if you don't move off.
_Gar._ I am really confounded--can the charming Olivia----
_Cæsar._ Spite, sir--mere malice! my daughter has refused her some cast
gown, or some--
_Olivia._ [_Without_, R.] Where is she?--Where is Minette?
_Cæsar._ Oh, 'tis all over!--the tempest is coming.
_Enter_ OLIVIA, R.
_Oliv._ Oh, you vile creature!--to speak to me!--to answer me!--am I
made to be answered?
_Cæsar._ Daughter! daughter!
_Oliv._ Because I threw my work-bag at her, she had the insolence to
complain; and, on my repeating it, said she would not bear it.--Servants
choose what they shall bear!
_Min._ When you are married, ma'am, I hope your husband will bear your
humour less patiently than I have done.
_Oliv._ My husband!--dost think my husband shall contradict my will? Oh,
I long to set a pattern to those milky wives, whose mean compliances
degrade the sex.
_Gar._ Opportune! [_Aside._]
_Oliv._ The only husband on record who knew how to treat a wife was
Socrates; and though his lady was a Grecian, I have some reason to
believe her descendants matched into our family; and never shall my tame
submission disgrace my ancestry.
_Gar._ Heavens! why have you never curbed this intemperate spirit, Don
Cæsar? [R. _of_ OLIVIA.]
_Oliv._ [_Starting._] Curbed, sir! talk thus to your groom--curbs and
bridles for a woman's tongue!
_Gar._ Not for yours, lady, truly! 'tis too late. But had the torrent,
not so overbearing, been taken at its spring, it might have been
stemmed, and turned in gentle streamlets at the master's pleasure.
_Oliv._ A mistake, friend!--my spirit, at its spring, was too powerful
for any master.
_Gar._ Indeed!--perhaps you may meet a Petruchio, gentle Catherine, yet.
_Oliv._ But no gentle Catherine will he find me, believe
it.----Catherine! why, she had not the spirit of a roasted chestnut--a
few big words, an empty oath, and a scanty dinner, made her as
submissive as a spaniel. My fire will not be so soon extinguished--it
shall resist big words, oaths, and starving.
_Min._ I believe so, indeed; help the poor gentleman, I say, to whose
fate you fall! [_Returns up._]
_Gar._ Don Cæsar, adieu! My commiseration for your fate subdues the
resentment I should otherwise feel at your endeavouring to deceive me
into such a marriage. [_Crosses_, L.]
_Oliv._ Marriage! oh, mercy!--Is this Don Garcia! [_Apart to_ CÆSAR.]
_Cæsar._ Yes, termagant!
_Oliv._ O, what a misfortune! Why did you not tell me it was the
gentleman you designed to marry me to?--Oh, sir! all that is past was in
sport; a contrivance between my maid and me: I have no spirit at all--I
am as patient as poverty.
_Gar._ This mask fits too ill on your features, fair lady: I have seen
you without disguise, and rejoice in your ignorance of my name, since,
but for that, my peaceful home might have become the seat of perpetual
discord.
_Min._ Ay, sir, you would never have known what a quiet hour----
[_On_ R. _of Olivia_.]
_Oliv._ [_Strikes her._] Impertinence! Indeed, sir, I can be as gentle
and forbearing as a pet lamb.
_Gar._ I cannot doubt it, madam; the proofs of your placidity are very
striking--But adieu! though I shall pray for your conversion, rather
than have the honour of it--I'd turn Dominican, and condemn myself to
perpetual celibacy. [_Exit_, L.
_Cæsar._ Now, hussy!--now, hussy!--what do you expect?
_Oliv._ Dear me! how can you be so unreasonable! did ever daughter do
more to oblige a father! I absolutely begged the man to have me.
_Cæsar._ Yes, vixen! after you had made him detest ye; what, I suppose,
he did not hit your fancy, madam; though there is not, in all Spain, a
man of prettier conversation.
_Oliv._ Yes he has a very pretty kind of conversation; 'tis like a
parenthesis.
_Cæsar._ Like a parenthesis!
_Oliv._ Yes, it might be all left out, and never missed. However, I
thought him a modest kind of a well-meaning young man, and that he would
make a pretty sort of a husband--for notwithstanding his blustering, had
I been his wife, in three months he should have been as humble and
complaisant as----
_Cæsar._ Ay, there it is--there it is!--that spirit of yours, hussy, you
can neither conquer nor conceal; but I'll find a way to tame it, I'll
warrant me.
[_Exit_, R. OLIVIA _and_ MINETTE _follow him with their eyes,
and then burst into a laugh_.
_Min._ Well, madam, I give you joy! had other ladies as much success in
getting lovers, as you have in getting rid of yours, what contented
faces we should see!
_Oliv._ But to what purpose do I get rid of them, whilst they rise in
succession like monthly pinks? Was there ever any thing so provoking?
After some quiet, and believing the men had ceased to trouble themselves
about me, no less than two proposals have been made to my inexorable
father this very day--What will become of me?
_Min._ What should become of you? You'll chuse one from the pair, I
hope. Believe me, madam, the only way to get rid of the impertinence of
lovers, is to take one, and make him a scarecrow to the rest.
_Oliv._ Oh, but I cannot!--Invention assist me this one day!
_Min._ Upon my word, madam, invention owes you nothing; and I am afraid
you can draw on that bank no longer.--You must trust to your established
character of vixen.
_Oliv._ But that won't frighten them all, you know, though it did its
business with sober Don Garcia. The brave General Antonio would have
made a property of me, in spite of every thing, had I not luckily
discovered his antipathy to cats, and so scared the hero, by pretending
an immoderate passion for young kittens.
_Min._ Yes, but you was still harder pushed by the Castilian Count, and
his engraved genealogy from Noah.
_Oliv._ Oh, he would have kept his post as immovably as the griffins at
his gate, had I not very seriously imparted to him, that my mother's
great uncle sold oranges in Arragon.
_Min._ And pray, madam, if I may be so bold, who is the next gentleman?
_Oliv._ Oh, Don Vincentio, who distracts every body with his skill in
music. He ought to be married to a Viol de Gamba. I bless my stars I
have never yet had a miser in my list--on such a character all art would
be lost, and nothing but an earthquake, to swallow up my estate, could
save me.
_Min._ Well, if some one did but know, how happy would some one be, that
for his sake----
_Oliv._ Now, don't be impertinent, Minette. You have several times
attempted to slide yourself into a secret, which I am resolved to keep
to myself. Continue faithful, and suppress your curiosity. [_Exit_, R.
_Min._ Suppress my curiosity, madam!--why, I am a chambermaid, and a
sorry one too, it should seem, to have been in your confidence two
years, and never have got the master-secret yet. I never was six weeks
in a family before, but I knew every secret they had in it for three
generations; ay, and I'll know this too, or I'll blow up all her plans,
and declare to the world, that she is no more a vixen than other fine
ladies----they have most of them a touch on't. [_Exit_, R.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--_An Apartment at_ DONNA LAURA'S.
_Enter_ LAURA, _followed by_ CARLOS, L.
_Car._ Nay, madam, you may as well stop here, for I'll follow you
through every apartment, but I will be heard. [_Seizing her hand._]
_Laura._ This insolence is not to be endured; within my own walls to be
thus----
_Car._ The time has been, when within your walls I might be master.
_Laura._ Yes, you were then master of my heart; that gave you a right
which----
_Car._ You have now transferred to another. [_Flinging away her hand._]
_Laura._ Well, sir!
_Car._ "Well, sir!"--Unblushing acknowledgement! False, fickle woman!
_Laura._ Because I have luckily got the start of you; in a few weeks I
should have been the accuser, and you the false and fickle.
_Car._ And to secure yourself from that disgrace, you prudently looked
out in time for another lover.
_Laura._ I can pardon your sneer, because you are mortified.
_Car._ Mortified!
_Laura._ Yes, mortified to the soul, Carlos!
_Car._ [_Stamping._] Madam! madam!
_Laura._ This rage would have been all cool insolence had I waited for
your change--Scarcely would you have deigned to form a phrase of pity
for me; perhaps have bid me forget a man no longer worthy my attachment,
and recommended me to hartshorn and my women.
_Car._ Has any hour, since I have first known you, given you cause for
such unjust----
_Laura._ Yes, every hour--Now, Carlos I bring thee to the test!--You
saw, you liked, you loved me; was there no fond trusting woman whom you
deserted, to indulge the transient passion? Yes, one blessed with
beauty, gentleness, and youth; one, who more than her own being loved
thee, who made thee rich, and whom thou madest thy wife.
_Car._ My wife!--here's a turn! So to revenge the quarrels of my
wife----
_Laura._ No, do not mistake me--what I have done was merely to indulge
myself, without more regard to your feelings, than you had to hers.
_Car._ And you dare avow to my face, that you have a passion for
another?
_Laura._ I do, and--for I am above disguise, I confess, so tender is my
love for Florio, it has scarcely left a trace of that I once avowed for
Carlos.
_Car._ Well, madam, if I hear this without some sudden vengeance on the
tongue which speaks it, thank the annihilation of that passion, whose
remembrance is as dead in my bosom as in yours. Let us, however, part
friends, and with a mutual acquittal of every obligation--so give up the
settlement of that estate, which left me almost a beggar.
_Laura._ Give it up!--ha! ha!----no, Carlos, you consigned me that
estate as a proof of love; do not imagine, then, I'll give up the only
part of our connexion of which I am not ashamed.
_Car._ Base woman! you know it was not a voluntary gift--after having in
vain practised on my fondness, whilst in a state of intoxication, you
prevailed on me to sign the deed, which you had artfully prepared for
the purpose--therefore you must restore it.
_Laura._ Never, never.
_Car._ Ruin is in the word!----Call it back, madam, or I'll be revenged
on thee in thy heart's dearest object--thy minion, Florio!----_he_ shall
not riot on my fortune.
_Laura._ Ha! ha! ha! Florio is safe--your lands are sold, and in another
country we shall enjoy the blessing of thy fond passion, whilst that
passion is indulging itself in hatred and execrations. [_Exit_, R.
_Car._ My vengeance shall first fall on her. [_Following._] No, he shall
be the first victim, or 'twill be incomplete.--Reduced to poverty, I
cannot live;----Oh, folly! where are now all the gilded prospects of my
youth? Had I----but 'tis too late to look back,--remorse attends the
past, and ruin--ruin waits me in the future! [_Exit_, L.
SCENE II.--DON CÆSAR'S.
VICTORIA _enters_ L., _perusing a letter; enter_ OLIVIA, R.
_Oliv._ [_Speaks as entering._] If my father should inquire for me, tell
him I am in Donna Victoria's apartment.--Smiling, I protest! my dear
gloomy cousin, where have you purchased that sun-shiny look?
_Vict._ It is but April sunshine, I fear; but who could resist such a
temptation to smile? a letter from Donna Laura, my husband's mistress,
styling me her dearest Florio! her life! her soul! and complaining of a
twelve hours absence, as the bitterest misfortune.
_Oliv._ Ha! ha! ha! most doughty Don! pray, let us see you in your
feather and doublet; as a Cavaleiro, it seems, you are formidable. So
suddenly to rob your husband of his charmer's heart! you must have used
some witchery.
_Vict._ Yes, powerful witchery--the knowledge of my sex. Oh! did the men
but know us, as well as we do ourselves;--but, thank fate they do
not--'twould be dangerous.
_Oliv._ What, I suppose, you praised her understanding, was captivated
by her wit, and absolutely struck dumb by the amazing beauties of--her
mind.
_Vict._ Oh, no,--that's the mode prescribed by the essayists on the
female heart--ha! ha! ha!--Not a woman breathing, from fifteen to fifty,
but would rather have a compliment to the tip of her ear, or the turn of
her ancle, than a volume in praise of her intellects.
_Oliv._ So, flattery, then, is your boasted pill?
_Vict._ No, that's only the occasional gilding; but 'tis in vain to
attempt a description of what changed its nature with every moment. I
was now attentive--now gay--then tender, then careless. I strove rather
to convince her that I was charming, than that I myself was charmed; and
when I saw love's arrow quivering in her heart, instead of falling at
her feet, sung a triumphant air, and remembered a sudden engagement.
_Oliv._ [_Archly._] Would you have done so, had you been a man?
_Vict._ Assuredly--knowing what I now do as a woman.
_Oliv._ But can all this be worth while, merely to rival a fickle
husband with one woman, whilst he is setting his feather, perhaps, at
half a score others?
_Vict._ To rival him was not my first motive. The Portuguese robbed me
of his heart; I concluded she had fascinations which nature had denied
to me; it was impossible to visit her as a woman; I, therefore, assumed
the Cavalier, to study her, that I might, if possible, be to my Carlos,
all he found in her.
_Oliv._ Pretty humble creature?
_Vict._ In this adventure I learnt more than I expected;--my (oh,
cruel!) my husband has given this woman an estate, almost all that his
dissipations had left us.
_Oliv._ Indeed!
_Vict._ To make him more culpable, it was my estate; it was that fortune
which my lavish love had made his, without securing it to my children.
_Oliv._ How could you be so improvident?
_Vict._ Alas! I trusted him with my heart, with my happiness, without
restriction. Should I have shown a greater solicitude for any thing,
than for these?
_Oliv._ The event proves that you should; but how can you be thus
passive in your sorrow? since I had assumed the man, I'd make him feel a
man's resentment for such injuries.
_Vict._ Oh, Olivia! what resentment can I show to him I have vowed to
honour, and whom, both my duty and my heart compel me yet to love.
_Oliv._ Why, really now, I think--positively, there's no thinking about
it; 'tis among the arcana of the married life, I suppose.
_Vict._ You, who know me, can judge how I suffered in prosecuting my
plan. I have thrown off the delicacy of sex; I have worn the mask of
love to the destroyer of my peace--but the object is too great to be
abandoned--nothing less than to save my husband from ruin, and to
restore him, again a lover, to my faithful bosom.
_Oliv._ Well, I confess, Victoria, I hardly know whether most to blame
or praise you; but, with the rest of the world, I suppose, your success
will determine me.
_Enter_ GASPER, L.
_Gasp._ Pray, madam, are your wedding shoes ready? [_To_ OLIVIA.]
_Oliv._ Insolence!----I can scarcely ever keep up the vixen to this
fellow. [_Apart to_ VICTORIA.]
_Gasp._ You'll want them, ma'am, to-morrow morning, that's all--so I
came to prepare ye.
_Oliv._ I want wedding shoes to-morrow! if you are kept on water gruel
till I marry, that plump face of yours will be chap-fallen, I believe.
_Gasp._ Yes, truly, I believe so too. Lackaday, did you suppose I came
to bring you news of your own wedding? no such glad tidings for you,
lady, believe me.--You married! I am sure the man who ties himself to
you, ought to be half a salamander, and able to live in fire.
_Oliv._ What marriage, then, is it, you do me the honour to inform me
of?
_Gasp._ Why, your father's marriage. You'll have a mother-in-law
to-morrow, and having, like a dutiful daughter, danced at the wedding,
be immured in a convent for life.
_Oliv._ Immured in a convent! then I'll raise sedition in the
sisterhood, depose the abbess, and turn the confessor's chair to a
go-cart.
_Gasp._ So, the threat of the mother-in-law, which I thought would be
worse than that of the abbess, does not frighten ye?
_Oliv._ No, because my father dares not give me one.--Marry, without my
consent! no, no, he'll never think of it, depend on't; however, lest the
fit should grow strong upon him, I'll go and administer my volatiles to
keep it under. [_Exit_ L. H.]
_Gasp._ Administer them cautiously then: too strong a dose of your
volatiles would make the fit stubborn. Who'd think that pretty arch look
belonged to a termagant? what a pity! 'twould be worth a thousand ducats
to cure her.
_Vict._ Has Inis told you I wanted to converse with you in private,
Gasper?
_Gasp._ Oh, yes, madam, and I took particular notice, that it was to be
in private.----Sure, says I, Mrs. Inis, Madam Victoria has not taken a
fancy to me, and is going to break her mind.
_Vict._ Whimsical! ha! ha! suppose I should, Gasper?
_Gasp._ Why, then, madam, I should say, fortune had used you devilish
scurvily, to give you a gray-beard in a livery. I know well enough, that
some young ladies have given themselves to gray-beards, in a gilded
coach, and others have run away with a handsome youth in worsted lace;
they each had their apology; but if you run away with me--pardon me,
madam, I could not stand the ridicule.
_Vict._ Oh, very well; but if you refuse to run away with me, will you
do me another favour?
_Gasp._ Any thing you'll order, madam, except dancing a fandango.
_Vict._ You have seen my rich old uncle in the country?
_Gasp._ What, Don Sancho, who, with two thirds of a century in his face,
affects the misdemeanors of youth; hides his baldness with amber locks,
and complains of the tooth-ache, to make you believe, that the two rows
of ivory he carries in his head, grew there?
_Vict._ Oh, you know him, I find; could you assume his character for an
hour, and make love for him? you know, it must be in the style of King
Roderigo the First.
_Gasp._ Hang it! I am rather too near his own age; to appear an old man
with effect, one should not be above twenty; 'tis always so on the
stage.
_Vict._ Pho! you might pass for Juan's grandson.
_Gasp._ Nay, if your ladyship condesends to flatter me, you have me.
_Vict._ Then follow me; for Don Cæsar, I hear, is approaching--in the
garden I'll make you acquainted with my plan, and impress on your mind
every trait of my uncle's character. If you can hit him off, the arts of
Laura shall be foiled, and Carlos be again Victoria's. [_Exeunt_, R.
_Enter_ DON CÆSAR, _followed by_ OLIVIA, L.
_Cæsar._ No, no, 'tis too late--no coaxings; I am resolved, I say.
_Oliv._ But it is not too late, and you shan't be resolved, I say.
Indeed, now, I'll be upon my guard with the next Don--what's his name?
not a trace of the Xantippe left.--I'll study to be charming.
_Cæsar._ Nay, you need not study it, you are always charming enough, if
you would but hold your tongue.
_Oliv._ Do you think so? then to the next lover I won't open my lips;
I'll answer every thing he says with a smile, and if he asks me to have
him, drop a courtesy of thankfulness.
_Cæsar._ Pshaw! that's too much t'other way; you are always either above
the mark or below it; you must talk, but talk with good humour. Can't
you look gently and prettily, now, as I do? and say, yes, sir, and no,
sir; and 'tis very fine weather, sir; and pray, sir, were you at the
ball last night? and, I caught a sad cold the other evening; and bless
me! I hear Lucinda has run away with her footman, and Don Philip has
married his housemaid?--That's the way agreeable ladies talk; you never
hear any thing else.
_Oliv._ Very true; and you shall see me as agreeable as the best of
them, if you won't give me a mother-in-law to snub me, and set me tasks,
and to take up all the fine apartments, and send up poor little Livy to
lodge next the stars.
_Cæsar._ Ha! if thou wert but always thus soft and good-humoured, no
mother-in-law in Spain, though she brought the Castiles for her portion,
should have power to snub thee. But, Livy, the trial's at hand, for at
this moment do I expect Don Vincentio to visit you. He is but just
returned from England, and, probably, has yet heard only of your beauty
and fortune; I hope it is not from you he will learn the other part of
your character.
_Oliv._ This moment expect him! two new lovers in a day?
_Cæsar._ Beginning already, as I hope to live! ay, I see 'tis in vain;
I'll send him an excuse, and marry Marcella before night.
_Oliv._ Oh, no! upon my obedience, I promise to be just the soft, civil
creature, you have described.
_Enter a_ SERVANT, L.
_Ser._ Don Vincentio is below, sir. [_Exit_, L.
_Cæsar._ I'll wait upon him----well, go and collect all your smiles and
your simpers, and remember all I have said to you;--be gentle, and talk
pretty little small talk, d'ye hear, and if you please him, you shall
have the portion of a Dutch burgomaster's daughter, and the pin-money of
a princess, you jade, you. I think at last, I have done it; the fear of
this mother-in-law will keep down the fiend in her, if any thing can.
[_Exit_, L.
_Oliv._ Hah! my poor father, your anxieties will never end till you
bring Don Julio. But what shall I do with this Vincentio?--I fear he
is so perfectly harmonized, that to put him in an ill temper will be
impracticable.--I must try, however; if 'tis possible to find a discord
in him, I'll touch the string. [_Exit_, R.
SCENE III.--_Another Apartment._
_Enter_ CÆSAR _and_ VINCENTIO, L.
_Vin._ Presto, presto, signior! where is the Olivia?--not a moment to
spare. I left off in all the fury of composition; minums and crotchets
have been battling it through my head the whole day, and trying a
semibreve in G sharp, has made me as flat as double F.
_Cæsar._ Sharp and flat!--trying a semibreve!--oh--gad, sir! I had
like not to have understood you; but a semibreve is something of a
demi-culverin, I take it; and you have been practising the art military.
_Vin._ Art military!--what, sir! are you unacquainted with music?
_Cæsar._ Music! oh, I ask pardon: then you are fond of music----'ware of
discords! [_Aside._]
_Vin._ Fond of it! devoted to it.--I composed a thing to-day, in all the
gusto of Sacchini, and the sweetness of Gluck. But this recreant finger
fails me in composing a passage in E octave; if it does not gain more
elastic vigour in a week, I shall be tempted to have it amputated, and
supply the shake with a spring.
_Cæsar._ Mercy! amputate a finger, to supply a shake!
_Vin._ Oh, that's a trifle in the road to reputation--to be talked of,
is the summum bonum of this life.--A young man of rank should not glide
through the world, without a distinguished rage, or, as they call it in
England--a hobby-horse.
_Cæsar._ A hobby horse!
_Vin._ Yes; that is, every man of figure determines on setting out in
life, in that land of liberty, in what line to ruin himself; and that
choice is called his hobby-horse. One makes the turf his scene of
action--another drives about tall phaetons, to peep into their
neighbour's garret windows; and a third rides his hobby-horse in
parliament, where it jerks him sometimes on one side, and sometimes on
the other; sometimes in, and sometimes out; till at length, he is jerked
out of his honesty, and his constituents out of their freedom.
_Cæsar._ Ay! Well, 'tis a wonder, that with such sort of hobby-horses as
these, they should still outride all the world, to the goal of glory.
_Vin._ This is all cantabile; nothing to do with the subject of the
piece, which is Donna Olivia;--pray give me the key note to her heart.
_Cæsar._ Upon my word, signor, to speak in your own phrase, I believe
that note has never yet been sounded.--Ah! here she comes! look at
her.--Isn't she a fine girl?
_Vin._ Touching! Musical, I'll be sworn! her very air is harmonious!
_Cæsar._ [_Aside._] I wish thou may'st find her tongue so.
_Enter_ OLIVIA, _courtesies profoundly to each_. R.
Daughter, receive Don Vincentio--his rank, fortune, and merit, entitle
him to the heiress of a grandee; but he is contented to become my
son-in-law, if you can please him. [_Crosses_, R. OLIVIA _courtesies
again_.
_Vin._ Please me! she entrances me! Her presence thrills me like a
cadenza of Pachierotti's, and every nerve vibrates to the music of her
looks.
_Her step andante gently moves,_
_Pianos glance from either eye;_
_Oh how larghetto is the heart,_
_That charms so forté can defy!_
Donna Olivia, will you be contented to receive me as a lover?
_Oliv._ Yes, sir--No, sir.
_Vin._ Yes, sir! no, sir! bewitching timidity?
_Cæsar._ Yes, sir, she's remarkably timid,--She's in the right cue, I
see. [_Aside._]
_Vin._ 'Tis clear you have never travelled.--I shall be delighted to
show you England.--You will there see how entirely timidity is banished
the sex. You must affect a marked character, and maintain it at all
hazards.
_Oliv._ 'Tis a very fine day, sir.
_Vin._ Madam!
_Oliv._ I caught a sad cold the other evening.--Pray, was you at the
ball last night?
_Vin._ What ball, fair lady?
_Oliv._ Bless me! they say, Lucinda has run away with her footman, and
Don Philip has married his house-maid. Now, am I not very agreeable?
[_Apart to_ DON CÆSAR.]
_Cæsar._ O, such perverse obedience!
_Vin._ Really, madam, I have not the honour to know Don Philip and
Lucinda--nor am I happy enough, entirely to comprehend you.
_Oliv._ No! I only meant to be agreeable--but, perhaps, you have no
taste for pretty little small talk!
_Vin._ Pretty little small talk!
_Oliv._ A marked character you admire; so do I, I dote on it.--I would
not resemble the rest of the world in any thing.
_Vin._ My taste to the fiftieth part of a crotchet!--We shall agree
admirably when we are married!
_Oliv._ And that will be unlike the rest of the world, and therefore,
charming!
_Cæsar._ [_Aside._] It will do! I have hit her humour at last. Why
didn't this young dog offer himself before?
_Oliv._ I believe, I have the honour to carry my taste that way, farther
than you, Don Vincentio. Pray, now, what is your usual style in living?
_Vin._ My winters I spend in Madrid, as other people do. My summers I
drawl through at my castle----
_Oliv._ As other people do!--and yet you pretend to taste and
singularity, ha! ha! ha! Good Don Vincentio, never talk of a marked
character again. Go into the country in July, to smell roses and
woodbines, when every body regales on their fragrance! Now, I would
rusticate only in winter, and my bleak castle should be decorated with
verdure and flowers, amidst the soft zephyrs of December.
_Cæsar._ [_Aside._] Oh, she'll go too far!
_Oliv._ On the leafless trees I would hang green branches--the labour of
silk worms, and therefore, natural; whilst my rose shrubs and myrtles
should be scented by the first perfumers in Italy. Unnatural, indeed,
but, therefore, singular and striking.
_Vin._ Oh, charming! You beat me, where I thought myself the
strongest. Would they but establish newspapers here, to paragraph
our singularities, we should be the most envied couple in Spain!
_Cæsar._ [_Aside._] By St. Antony, he is as mad as she is!
_Vin._ What say you, Don Cæsar? Olivia, and her winter garden, and I and
my music.
_Oliv._ Music, did you say? Music! I am passionately fond of that!
_Cæsar._ She has saved my life! I thought she was going to knock down
his hobby-horse. [_Aside._]
_Vin._ You enchant me! I have the finest band in Madrid--My first
violin draws a longer bow than Giardini; my clarionets, my viol de
gamba----Oh, you shall have such concerts!
_Oliv._ Concerts! Pardon me there--My passion is a single instrument.
_Vin._ That's carrying singularity very far indeed! I love a crash; so
does every body of taste.
_Oliv._ But my taste isn't like every body's; my nerves are so
particularly fine, that more than one instrument overpowers them.
_Vin._ Pray tell me the name of that one: I am sure it must be the most
elegant and captivating in the world.--I am impatient to know it.--We'll
have no other instrument in Spain, and I will study to become its
master, that I may woo you with its music. Charming Olivia! tell me, is
it a harpsichord? a piano forte? a pentachord? a harp?
_Oliv._ You have it, you have it; a harp--yes, a Jew's-harp is, to me,
the only instrument. Are you not charmed with the delightful h--u--m of
its base, running on the ear, like the distant rumble of a state coach?
It presents the idea of vastness and importance to the mind. The moment
you are its master--I'll give you my hand.
_Vin._ Da capo, madam, da capo! a Jew's-harp!
_Oliv._ Bless me, sir, don't I tell you so? Violins chill me;
clarionets, by sympathy, hurt my lungs; and, instead of maintaining a
band under my roof, I would not keep a servant, who knew a bassoon from
a flute, or could tell whether he heard a jigg, or a canzonetta.
_Cæsar._ Oh thou perverse one! you know you love concerts--you know you
do. [_In great agitation._]
_Oliv._ I detest them! It's vulgar custom that attaches people to the
sound of fifty different instruments at once; 'twould be as well to talk
on the same subject, in fifty different tongues. A band; 'tis a mere
olio of sound! I'd rather listen to a three-stringed guitar serenading a
sempstress in some neighbouring garret.
_Cæsar._ Oh you----Don Vincentio, [_Crosses_, C.] this is nothing but
perverseness, wicked perverseness. Hussy!--didn't you shake, when you
mentioned a garret? didn't bread and water, and a step-mother, come into
your head at the same time?
_Vin._ Piano, piano, good sir! Spare yourself all farther trouble.
Should the Princess of Guzzarat, and all her diamond mines, offer
themselves, I would not accept them, in lieu of my band--a band, that
has half ruined me to collect. I would have allowed Donna Olivia a
blooming garden in winter; I would even have procured barrenness and
snow for her in the dog-days; but, to have my band insulted!--to have my
knowledge in music slighted!--to be roused from all the energies of
composition, by the drone of a Jew's-harp, I cannot breathe under the
idea.
_Cæsar._ Then--then you refuse her, sir!
_Vin._ I cannot use so harsh a word--I take my leave of the
lady.--Adieu, madam--I leave you to enjoy your solos, whilst I fly to
the raptures of a crash. [_Exit_, L.
[CÆSAR _goes up to her, and looks her in the face; then goes off
without speaking_, L.
_Oliv._ Mercy; that silent anger is terrifying: I read a young
mother-in-law, and an old lady abbess, in every line of his face.
_Enter_ VICTORIA, R.
Well, you heard the whole, I suppose--heard poor unhappy me scorned and
rejected.
_Vict._ I heard you in imminent danger; and expected Signor Da Capo
would have snapped you up, in spite of caprice and extravagance.
_Oliv._ Oh, they charmed, instead of scaring him. I soon found, that my
only chance was to fall across his caprice. Where is the philosopher who
could withstand that?
_Vict._ But what, my good cousin, does all this tend to?
_Oliv._ I dare say you can guess. Penelope had never cheated her lovers
with a never-ending web, had she not had an Ulysses.
_Vict._ An Ulysses! what, are you then married?
_Oliv._ O no, not yet! but, believe me, my design is not to lead apes;
nor is my heart an icicle. If you choose to know more, put on your veil,
and slip with me through the garden, to the Prado.
_Vict._ I can't, indeed. I am this moment going to dress _en homme_ to
visit the impatient Portuguese.
_Oliv._ Send an excuse; for, positively, you go with me. Heaven and
earth! I am going to meet a man! whom I have been fool enough, to dream
and think of these two years, and I don't know that ever he thought of
me in his life.
_Vict._ Two years discovering that?
_Oliv._ He has been abroad. The only time I ever saw him was at the
Duchess of Medina's--there were a thousand people; and he was so
elegant, so careless, so handsome!--In a word, though he set off for
France the next morning, by some witchcraft or other, he has been before
my eyes ever since.
_Vict._ Was the impression mutual?
_Oliv._ He hardly noticed me. I was then a bashful thing just out of a
convent, and shrunk from observation.
_Vict._ Why, I thought you were going to meet him.
_Oliv._ To be sure; I sent him a command this morning, to be at the
Prado. I am determined to find out if his heart is engaged, and if it
is----
_Vict._ You'll cross your arms, and crown your brow with willows?
_Oliv._ No, positively; not whilst we have myrtles. I would prefer
Julio, 'tis true, to all his sex; but if he is stupid enough to be
insensible to me, I shan't for that reason, pine like a girl, on chalk
and oatmeal.--No, no; in that case, I shall form a new plan, and treat
my future lovers with more civility.
_Vict._ You are the only woman in love, I ever heard talk reasonably.
_Oliv._ Well, prepare for the Prado, and I'll give you a lesson against
your days of widowhood. Don't you wish this the moment, Victoria? A
pretty widow at four-and-twenty has more subjects, and a wider empire,
than the first monarch upon earth. I long to see you in your weeds.
_Vict._ Never may you see them! Oh, Olivia! my happiness, my life,
depend on my husband. The fond hope of still being united to him, gives
me spirits in my affliction, and enables me to support even the period
of his neglect with patience. [_Exeunt_, R.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_A long Street._
JULIO _enters from a Garden Gate in flat, with precipitation; a_
SERVANT, _within, fastens the Gate_.
_Julio._ Yes, yes, bar the gate fast, Cerberus, lest some other curious
traveller should stumble on your confines.--If ever I am so caught
again--
GARCIA _enters_ L.; _going hastily across_, JULIO _seizes him_.
Don Garcia, never make love to a woman in a veil.
_Gar._ Why so, pr'ythee? Veils and secrecy are the chief ingredients in
a Spanish amour; but in two years, Julio, thou art grown absolutely
French.
_Julio._ That may be; but if ever I trust to a veil again, may no
lovely, blooming beauty ever trust me. Why dost know, I have been an
hour at the feet of a creature, whose first birth-day must have been
kept the latter end of the last century, and whose trembling, weak
voice, I mistook for the timid cadence of bashful fifteen!
_Gar._ Ha! ha! ha! What a happiness to have seen thee in thy raptures,
petitioning for half a glance only, of the charms the envious veil
concealed!
_Julio._ Yes; and when she unveiled her Gothic countenance, to render
the thing completely ridiculous, she began moralizing; and positively
would not let me out of the snare, till I had persuaded her she had
worked a conversion, and that I'd never make love--but in an honest way,
again.
_Gar._ Oh, that honest way of love-making is delightful, to be sure! I
had a dose of it this morning; but, happily, the ladies have not yet
learned to veil their tempers, though they have their faces.
_Enter_ DON VINCENTIO, R.
_Vin._ Julio! Garcia! congratulate me!--Such an escape! [_Crosses to_ C.
_Julio._ What have you escaped?
_Vin._ Matrimony.
_Gar._ Nay, then our congratulations may be mutual. I have had a
matrimonial escape too, this very day. I was almost on the brink of the
ceremony with the veriest Xantippe!
_Vin._ Oh, that was not my case--mine was a sweet creature, all
elegance, all life.
_Julio._ Then where's the cause of congratulation?
_Vin._ Cause! why she's ignorant of music! prefers a jig to a
canzonetta, and a Jew's-harp to a pentachord.
_Gar._ Had my nymph no other fault, I would pardon that, for she was
lovely and rich.
_Vin._ Mine, too, was lovely and rich; and, I'll be sworn, as ignorant
of scolding, as of the gamba!--but not to know music!
_Julio._ Gentle, lovely, and rich! and ignorant only of music?
_Gar._ A venial crime indeed! if the sweet creature will marry me, she
shall carry a Jew's-harp always in her train, as a Scotch laird does his
bagpipes. I wish you'd give me your interest.
_Vin._ Oh, most willingly, if thou hast so gross an inclination; I'll
name thee as a dull-souled, largo fellow, to her father, Don Cæsar.
_Gar._ Cæsar! what Don Cæsar?
_Vin._ De Zuniga.
_Gar._ Impossible!
_Vin._ Oh, I'll answer for her mother. So much is Don Zuniga, her
father, that he does not know a semibreve from a culverin!
_Gar._ The name of the lady?
_Vin._ Olivia.
_Gar._ Why you must be mad--that's my termagant!
_Vin._ Termagant!--ha! ha! ha! Thou hast certainly some vixen of a
mistress, who infects thy ears towards the whole sex. Olivia is timid
and elegant.
_Gar._ By Juno, there never existed such a scold!
_Vin._ By Orpheus, there never was a gayer tempered creature!--Spirit
enough to be charming, that's all. If she loved harmony, I'd marry her
to-morrow.
_Julio._ Ha! ha! what a ridiculous jangle! 'Tis evident you speak of two
different women.
_Gar._ I speak of Donna Olivia, heiress to Don Cæsar de Zuniga.
_Vin._ I speak of the heiress of Don Cæsar de Zuniga, who is called
Donna Olivia.
_Gar._ Sir, I perceive you mean to insult me.
_Vin._ Your perceptions are very rapid, sir, but if you choose to think
so, I'll settle that point with you immediately: But for fear of
consequences, I'll fly home, and add the last bar to my concerto, and
then meet you where you please. [_Crosses_, L.
_Julio._ Pho! this is evidently misapprehension. [_Crosses_, C.] To
clear the matter up, I'll visit the lady, if you'll introduce me,
Vincentio;--but you shall both promise to be governed in this dispute,
by my decision.
_Vin._ I'll introduce you with joy, if you'll try to persuade her of the
necessity of music, and the charms of harmony.
_Gar._ Yes, she needs that----You'll find her all jar and discord.
_Julio._ Come, no more, Garcia; thou art but a sort of male vixen
thyself. Melodious Vincentio, when shall I expect you?
_Vin._ This evening.
_Julio._ Not this evening; I have engaged to meet a goldfinch in a
grove--then I shall have music, you rogue!
_Vin._ It won't sing at night.
_Julio._ Then I'll talk to it till the morning, and hear it pour out its
matins to the rising sun. Call on me to-morrow; I'll then attend you to
Donna Olivia, and declare faithfully the impression her character makes
on me.--Come, Garcia, I must not leave you together, lest his crotchets
and your minums should fall into a crash of discords. [_Exeunt_,
VINCENTIO, L., JULIO _and_ GARCIA, R.