(A CONVERSATION.)
_Characters._
_Mr and Mrs John Dashwood_.
_Scene—The morning room at Norlands. It is a comfortably furnished
room._
_Properties required:—Door R. Window C. Tables R. and L. Chairs on
either side. Books and a work basket with household mending in it._
_N.B._—“He (Mr John Dashwood) was not an ill-disposed young
man, unless to be rather cold-hearted, and rather selfish is to
be ill-disposed; but he was, in general, well respected, for he
conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary
duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been still
more respectable than he was; he might even have been made amiable
himself, for he was very young when he married, and very fond of
his wife. But Mrs Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself; more
narrow-minded and selfish.”—_Sense and Sensibility_, Chap. I.
_Enter Mrs John Dashwood, Door R. She is in mourning._
_Mrs D._ (_going to the window and arranging the curtains._) A
comfortably appointed house—a little shabby, perhaps—but with
judicious alterations here and there, I do not doubt of making it very
fit and habitable for Mr Dashwood and myself. (_Sitting to her work._)
Yet I wish my father-in-law had not died here, and thus put me to the
inconvenience of offering a home to his widow and three daughters
till they have found a suitable house of their own. I think I made
it palpably clear to them that their stay could only be considered
in the light of a visit, by arriving with dear little Harry and our
attendants as soon as the funeral was over. The house was my husband’s
from the moment of his father’s decease, and no one could dispute
my right to come. But such is the indelicacy and selfishness of our
mother-in-law, that unless my husband finds her a home elsewhere, she
and her daughters will consider they may remain here for ever. I hope
Mr Dashwood will see that they are soon settled, and then I can take up
my proper position at Norlands.
_Enter Mr John Dashwood. He, too, is in mourning._
_Mr D._ My dear, if you are at leisure I should like to speak with you
about the promise I made to my late lamented father upon his death-bed
respecting the future of my step-mother and three sisters.
_Mrs D._ The very thing I was thinking of myself.
_Mr D._ I am happy to see we are in such accord. The case is this. My
present income, which is not inconsiderable, will now be increased by
four thousand a-year, and the prospect has determined me to behave with
generosity. I therefore propose to give them three thousand pounds.
_Mrs D._ (_with horror_). Three thousand pounds!
_Mr D._ Yes. It will be liberal and handsome. I can spare so
considerable a sum with little inconvenience, and it would be enough to
make them completely easy.
_Mrs D._ But, my dear Mr Dashwood, pray consider. To take three
thousand pounds from the fortune of our dear little boy would be
impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree. I beg you to think again
on the subject. How can you answer it to yourself to rob your child,
your only child too, of so large a sum? and what possible claims can
the Miss Dashwoods, who are related to you only by half blood, which I
consider as no relationship at all, have on your generosity to so large
an amount? It is very well known that no affection is ever supposed to
exist between the children of any man by different marriages; and why
are you to ruin yourself and our poor little Harry, by giving away all
your money to your half sisters?
_Mr D._ It was my father’s last request to me, that I should assist his
widow and daughters.
_Mrs D._ He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say. Ten to one
but he was light-headed at the time. Had he been in his right senses,
he could not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away
half your fortune from your own child.
_Mr D._ He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he
only requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their
situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it
would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself. He could
hardly suppose I should neglect them. But—as he required the promise,
I could not do less than give it—at least, I thought so at the time.
The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed. Something
must be done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new
home.
_Mrs D._ Well, then, _let_ something be done for them; but _that_
something need not be three thousand pounds. Consider, that when the
money is once parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will
marry, and it will be gone for ever,—if, indeed, it could ever be
restored to our poor little boy.
_Mr D._ (_gravely_). Why, to be sure, that would make a difference. The
time may come when Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted
with. If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it would be a
very convenient addition.
_Mrs D._ To be sure it would.
_Mr D._ Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties if the sum
were diminished one half. Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious
increase to their fortune.
_Mrs D._ Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would do
half so much for his sisters, even if _really_ his sisters! And as it
is—only half blood! But you have such a generous spirit!
_Mr D._ I would not wish to do anything mean; one had rather, on such
occasions, do too much than too little. No one, at least, can think I
have not done enough for them. Even themselves, they can hardly expect
more.
_Mrs D._ There is no knowing what _they_ may expect. But we are not to
think of their expectations; the question is, what you can afford to
do.
_Mr D._ Certainly; and I think I can afford to give them five hundred
pounds a-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will
each have above three thousand pounds on their mother’s death—a very
comfortable fortune for any young woman.
_Mrs D._ To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can
want no addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided
amongst them. If they marry they will be sure of doing well, and if
they do not, they will live very comfortably together on the interest
of ten thousand pounds.
_Mr D._ That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon
the whole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their
mother while she lives, rather than for them—something of the annuity
kind I mean. My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as
herself. A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable.
_Mrs D._ (_hesitating_). To be sure it is better than parting with
fifteen hundred pounds at once; but then, if Mrs Dashwood should live
fifteen years, we shall be completely taken in.
_Mr D._ Fifteen years! my dear Fanny, her life cannot be worth half
that purchase.
_Mrs D._ Certainly not, but if you observe, people always live for
ever when there is any annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout,
and healthy, and hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business;
it comes over and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it.
You are not aware of what you are doing. I have known a great deal of
the trouble of annuities, for my mother was clogged with the payment
of three to old superannuated servants by my father’s will, and it is
amazing how disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities
were to be paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them:
and then one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned
out to be no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income
was not her own she said, with such perpetual claims upon it; and it
was the more unkind in my father, because otherwise, the money would
have been entirely at my mother’s disposal without any restriction
whatever. It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am
sure _I_ would not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the
world.
_Mr D._ It is certainly an unpleasant thing to have those kind of
yearly drains on one’s income. One’s fortune, as your mother justly
says, is _not_ one’s own. To be tied down to the regular payment of
such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable; it takes away
one’s independence.
_Mrs D._ Undoubtedly; and, after all, you have no thanks for it, they
think themselves secure; you do no more than what is expected, and it
raises no gratitude at all. If I were you, whatever I did should be
done at my own discretion entirely. I would not bind myself to allow
them anything yearly. It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a
hundred, or even fifty, pounds from our own expenses.
_Mr D._ I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there
should be no annuity in the case. Whatever I may give them occasionally
will be of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because
they would only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a
larger income, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end
of the year. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty
pounds now and then will prevent their ever being distressed for money,
and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father.
_Mrs D._ To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced
within myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any
money at all. The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such
as might be reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking
out for a comfortable small house for them, helping them to move their
things, and sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth,
whenever they are in season. I’ll lay my life that he meant nothing
further; indeed, it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did.
Do but consider, my dear Mr Dashwood, how excessively comfortable
your step-mother and her daughters may live on the interest of seven
thousand pounds, besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the
girls, which brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and of course
they will pay their mother for their board out of it. Altogether they
will have five hundred a year amongst them; and what on earth can
four women want for more than that? They will live so cheap! Their
housekeeping will be nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no
horses, and hardly any servants; they will keep no company, and can
have no expenses of any kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will
be! Five hundred a year! I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend
half of it; and as for your giving them more, it is quite absurd to
think of it. They will be much more able to give _you_ something.
_Mr D._ Upon my word, I believe you are perfectly right. My father
certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than what
you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil my
engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you have
described. When my step-mother removes into another house my services
shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little
present of furniture, too, may be acceptable then.
_Mrs D._ Certainly; but, however, _one_ thing must be considered,—that
though the furniture goes with this house, and is therefore our own,
your father left _all_ the china, linen, and plate to your step-mother.
Her house will therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she
takes it.
_Mr D._ That is a material consideration, undoubtedly; a valuable
legacy, indeed! And some of the plate would have been a very pleasant
addition to our own stock here.
_Mrs D._ Yes, and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as
ours; a great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for any place _they_
can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is. Your father thought
only of _them_, and I must say this, that you owe no particular
gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very well know,
that if he could he would have left almost everything in the world to
them.
_Mr D._ My love, I am convinced of the truth of what you say. It will
not only be absolutely unnecessary, but highly indecorous to do more.
(_Looking at his watch._) Eleven o’clock; the carriage should be here.
My step-mother has not been out of doors since my father’s funeral,
and I ordered the carriage to take her and my sisters for a drive.
_Mrs D._ (_rising and putting away her work_). My dear Mr Dashwood.
No! Here I must be firm. It is quite an unnecessary luxury, which they
must sooner or later relinquish; and if they are indulged in carriage
exercise now, how can they ever be expected to conform to the new mode
of life attendant on their reduced circumstances? It is a cruelty, not
a kindness, on your part to suggest such a thing. However, rather than
that Wilkins should have troubled to harness the horses in vain, I will
take little Harry out with me. The air will do him all the good in the
world, and you can easily explain to your mother and sisters that it is
incumbent upon me to drive round the estate in order to learn a little
of its extent and capacity. You can tell them they shall go out another
day.
_Mr D._ My dear Fanny, you are right, your judgment of such matters
can never be at fault. Perhaps I _was_ over-hospitable.
_Mrs D._ (_emphatically_). My dear Mr Dashwood, of that there is no
doubt.
[_Exeunt Mr and Mrs Dashwood_.
_End of Scene._
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