A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume Two/The Second Marriage Act 5
ACT V.
SCENE I. Seabright's library. He is discovered sitting by a table fast asleep, on which are scattered letters and papers. Enter Pry softly behind on her tiptoes, and making a long neck to see what he is about.
Pry. (shaking her head piteously.) Poor man! poor man! he can't sleep in his bed o'nights, and yet he has never committed any wicked crimes, that I ever heard of.
Sea. (angrily, after speaking inarticulately to himself in his sleep.) You don't know my name! (muttering again inarticulately.) The name of Lord Seabright. (muttering again, whilst Pry slips still nearer to him, listening with a face of great curiosity.) I can't walk in my robes any longer.—See how the crowd stares at me; ha, ha, ha! (laughing uncouthly, and Pry, drawing still nearer him, comes against a chair on her way, the noise of which wakes him, and she retires precipitately.) What's that? (rubbing his eyes and looking round.) It has been some noise in my dream. Ah! would it had been a reality!—What a busy, prosperous, animating world I have been in for these last two hours. (looking at his watch.) Ha! I have slept only a quarter of an hour; and I have enjoyed as many honours in that short term as would enrich my life-time,—Shall they indeed enrich it?—Wise men, in former ages, consider'd the visions of our sleep as faintly sketching out what is to happen, like trees and castles seen thro' the morning mist, before the brightening sun gives to them the distinct clearness of reality. (smiling animatedly.) In faith I could almost believe it! There is that invigorating confidence within me which says I shall not stop short at these paltry attainments—A baronet! every body now is a baronet.—My soul disdains the thought! (gives his chair a kick, and overturning it with a great noise,)
(Enter Pry alarmed.)
Pry. O la, Sir! what is the matter?
Sea. What, are you up Pry? Why are you out of bed so late?
Pry. Making your coffee, Sir.
Sea. Did not I tell you to leave it on the lamp, and go to bed?
Pry. Yes; but I thought it would keep warmer, some how, if I sat by it myself.
Sea. (aside.) Great fool! (aloud.) Let me have some of it then; my head will be clearer afterwards for writing.(Exit.
Pry. (shaking her head, and looking after him as he goes out.) Poor man! he would have every body to go to bed but himself. What has he got here now? (looking at the papers on the table.) Copies of letters to my Lord B—, and notes for a speech on the salt duties; and calculations.—O lud, lud! What a power of trouble he does give himself! Poor man! poor man! (Exit in a hurry, calling out as she goes.) I just stay'd behind, Sir, to stir the fire for you.
SCENE II. A room in the inn. Enter Mrs. Beaumont and Landlady, by different sides.
Land. La, madam! here be the great Lord, Lady Sarah Seabright's brother, who wants to see you.
Mrs. B. Wants to see me? how comes this great condescension?
Land. I reckon, madam, that some misfortune has befallen him, and that makes some folks wonderfully well bred. I was just standing at the door, a few minutes ago, and thinking, to be sure, nothing at all of the matter, when who should I see drive past but my Lord, just turning the corner as he used to do to Sir Anthony's gate. Well, I thinks no more of the matter, when in a trice by comes that saucy-looking gentleman of his, that turns up his nose at my ale, and puts a letter into his lord's hand; upon which, after he had read it, he desired his postillions to turn round and set him down here. I'm as sure as I am a living woman that something has happen'd, for he came into the house with a face as white as my apron.
Mrs. B. And wants to see me?
Land. Yes, madam; he ask'd first of all for Mr. Beaumont, and finding he was walk'd out, he ask'd next for you.
Mrs. B. But how did he know we were here?
Land. La, madam! he saw your carriage in the yard, and moreover your man told him that his master and mistress had stopp'd here, on their way to Yorkshire, to see Sir Anthony's children. But here he comes, madam. Save us all! how proud and how vexed he looks!(Exit.
(Enter Lord Allcrest.)
Lord A. Madam, I am sorry to find Mr. Beaumont is gone out: I had something of importance to communicate to him, but I believe it will be nearly the same thing if I impart it to you. I—I—(seems embarrassed.)—it is an unfortunate affair. As to myself, I have little to do with it; but it is right that the near relations of Sir Anthony Seabright should know, that his salt scheme has entirely fail'd, and he is involved in utter ruin; they can communicate the dreadful tidings to him more properly than I can.
Mrs. B. We are obliged to you, my Lord; it is a piece of intelligence we have every day expected to hear, but which does not certainly concern us more nearly than yourself, as I, who am Sir Anthony's connexion, stand exactly in the same degree of relation to him with your Lordship.
Lord A. Yes; my sister, indeed, would gratify very foolishly a foolish inclination—but it is a recent thing, scarcely to be consider'd as a—a—a—he had many children by your sister, and lived with her many years.
Mrs. B. (smiling with great contempt.) I don't know, indeed, at what time, from the date of a man's marriage, he is entitled to claim affinity with his wife's relations: perhaps it varies with occurrences, and misfortunes certainly have no tendency to shorten it.
Lord A. Madam, let me have the honour to inform you, that there is no term in which the chief of a noble and ancient family can be contaminated by the inferior alliances of those individuals who belong to his family: such things are consider'd as mere adventitious circumstances,
Mrs. B. You teach me, my Lord, to make very nice distinctions; and therefore, whilst I pay all respect to you as the representative of a noble family, you must likewise permit me to express for you, as an individual, sentiments of a very opposite nature.
Lord A. Good breeding, madam, will not permit me to return such an answer as you deserve; and therefore I will no longer intrude on your time.
Mrs. B. A better excuse, perhaps, might be found; but any one will be perfectly acceptable that procures me the pleasure of wishing your Lordship good morning.
(As Lord Allcrest is about to go out, enter Beaumont and Morgan, and prevent him.)
Bea. I am sorry, my Lord, I was not in the way when you did me the honour to enquire for me.
Lord A. (passing him abruptly with a slight bow.) Good morning, Sir; good morning.
Bea. (going after him.) You are not going to leave me thus, my Lord, angry and disturb'd as you appear to be? I cannot suffer any body, man, woman, or child, to leave me offended, if it be possible for me to part with them on more amicable terms. I flatter myself it is possible to do so on the present occasion; I am sure, I am confident of it, if you will do me the honour to explain in what way I can be useful to you.
Lord A. I came here, Sir, upon no concerns of my own; and the conversation I have had the honour to hold with this Lady, makes any explanation of the business that brought me unnecessary.
Bea. But she is angry too, I perceive, and I will have no explanation from her. I know already the unfortunate affairs of poor Seabright; and I can explain to myself the intention of your Lordship's visit: you must have the goodness to stay and hear if I explain it right. (taking him by the coat and preventing him from going.) Nay, nay, my Lord! the spirit of charity and of peace-making makes a well-meaning man very bold,—you shall stay.
Lord A. (relenting, and turning back.) I do believe, Mr. Beaumont, that you are a very good man, and as such I respect you; but since you already know the misfortune of Sir Anthony Seabright, and will, from the dictates of your own good heart, open the matter to him in the best manner possible, my business with you is anticipated.
Mrs.B. Not, I believe, entirely, my Lord; for he knows nothing at all, as yet, of those nice distinctions between individual and family relationship, which may be necessary to prevent him from forming any unreasonable expectations from a noble brother-in-law. I presume your Lordship means to hurry back to town again, without seeing Sir Anthony.
Bea. Hold your tongue, Susan; your spirit is less mild than it ought to be, considering the warm good heart it belongs to. It is not so: his lordship did not intend returning to town without seeing his distress'd friend; you are wrong in the very outset of your account. Is she not, my Lord.,
Lord A. (confused and hesitating.) If my seeing him could be of any real service, I should never—I could not certainly have thought of returning without seeing him.—But he has never attended to my opinions: my advice has been disregarded—and then, his damn'd vanity: he refused an office the other day, which I would have procured for him, that would have been a competency for life—it makes me mad to think of it.
Bea. Ah, my Lord! he is in that state in which a man's errours should be remember'd only by himself: he is in adversity.
Lord A. He has thought only of himself, I'm sure.
Bea. His connexion with your sister has, indeed, been unlucky; and I can, in some degree, sympathize with your resentment.
Lord A. You mistake me, Sir; his connexion with my sister is of no consequence to me; and I shall take care that it shall be of as little to her as possible, for I will make her independent of him: but children!—risking every thing on one single stake, with a family of children!—I am provoked beyond all measure when I think of this.
Mrs. B. (bridling up.) His children, my Lord—
Bea. Now pray, my dear, hold your tongue, if it be possible! We are weak, passionate creatures, why should we rub and fret one another thus? (to Lord A.) I praise you much, my Lord, for the interest you take in the children; but here is a good man (pointing to Morgan.) who will—
Mor. Stop, stop, my good friend, and don't now lead me into any discussion upon this subject. I am disturb'd, and uncomfortable, and unequal to it. Take his Lordship by himself; and say to him what you please for me. (to Mrs. B.) Come with me, niece.
(Exeunt Mor. and Mrs. B.
Bea. Let me have the pleasure of attending your Lordship into the fields, where we can take a short turn or two, and speak of this subject at length: I see strangers arrived; and it is noisy here.
Lord A. Most willingly.(Exeunt.
SCENE III. Seabright's house. Enter Seabright, followed by Sophia, the eldest boy, and the little girl.
Soph. Indeed, papa, you are in such good humour this morning we can't help following you. I hope we are not troublesome; if we are, I'll take the children away.
Sea. No, my good children, you are not troublesome; you shan't go away. (The children hang on his coat, and look up in his face much pleased.)
Soph. They are so glad to hang upon you again, papa; and you are so good humour'd this morning!
Sea. I finish'd my papers last night; and I have had some pleasant dreams too.—This is a chearful, enlivening morning: everything is in bright sunshine around us: it is like a day that wears good fortune on its face:—and, perhaps, it does.
Soph. I hope it does: and now that you seem so happy, papa, I would fain plead to you in behalf of a poor good man, who is not very happy at present.
Sea. And who is that?
Soph. Ah, you know very well; it is poor Robert. I know it was very wrong in him to frighten Lady Sarah; but he meant it for our good, and he will break his heart if he is not allow'd to be with us again.
Sea. Say no more of this at present, Sophia; and, perhaps, by-and-bye, he may return to us again as your own servant.
Soph. Ha! (surprised.)
Sea. Yes, my sweet girl; I will be very liberal to you and to all my children: I will make a good amends to you for all that is past, (turning to the boy.) And you, my good boy, I must think of you by-and-bye. Thou art become a stout boy, George: let me look at thy face. (lifting up his hair from his forehead.) Ay, it is a comely face enough: it will make a very good countenance for an admiral, or a general, or even for the woolsack, if thine inclinations should lead thee that way. Let me feel thy weight too, young rogue. (taking him up in his arms.) Ah! would now that I could but know the rank and eminence of the future man I hold in these arms!
Soph. My dear Sir, you are so good to us, and so good humoured this morning, I could wager those letters by the post have brought you pleasant news.
Sea. Letters by the post! I have received none.
Soph. Then you have not read them yet. You slept so much longer than usual this morning, that you were not up when they came, and they were put on the table in the next room. (pointing off the stage.)
Sea. Let me see them, then; if they bring me any good news they are welcome. (Exit with a light active step.)
Soph. Now, children, did not I tell you yesterday that papa would love us again; and you see he has begun to do it already.
Boy. And so he does, Sophy; and I'm sorry I spoke so naughtily of him, for my heart jumps so when he loves me! (looking off the stage.) But see! what is he about now, beating his forehead and walking up and down so strangely?
Soph. O dear! something is the matter. (Exit, alarmed.)
Boy. (to little girl.) Now don't ask me for those marbles at present, Emma; I can't find them, I don't know where they are. (looking off the stage again.) O how terrible he looks!
(Re-enter Seabright, with an open letter in his hand, beating his head with his clench'd hand, and tossing about his arm distractedly, followed by Sophia, who seems frightened at him, and yet wishing to sooth him. A long pause, in which he paces up and down the stage followed by Sophia, whilst the children run into a corner, frightened, and stare at him.)
Soph. (after attempting in vain several times to speak.) My father! my dear, dear father! (he still paces up and down without heeding her.) O if you would but speak two words, and tell what is the matter with you, my dear, dear Sir!
Sea. I am ruined, and deceived, and undone! I am a bankrupt and a beggar!—I have made beggars of you all!
Soph. O no, father! that won't be! for God's sake don't take on so violently!
Sea. (still pacing up and down, followed by Soph.) I am a bankrupt and a beggar!—disgrace, and ridicule, and contempt!—Ideot, ideot, ideot! O worse than ideot!
Soph. Dear father!
(The children run and take hold of Sophia, as she follows him.)
Sea. Come not near me—come not near me, children—I have made beggars of you all!
Soph. But we will come near you, my dear father, and love you and bless you too, whatever you have done. Ay, and if we are beggars, we will beg with you, and beg for you cheerfully.
Sea. Oh, oh, oh! This is more than I can bear!
(Throws himself into a chair, quite overcome, whilst the children stand gazing on him, and Sophia hangs over him affectionately.)
(Enter Lady Sarah.)
Lady S. What are you doing here, children?—What is all this for?—What is the matter with you, Sir Anthony?—No answer at all!—What letter is this? (picks up the letter which Seabright had dropt in his agitation, and reads it; then breaking out violently.) O, I told you it would come to this!—I counsel'd you—I warn'd you—I beseech'd you. O Sir Anthony! Sir Anthony! what devil tempted you to such madness as this?
Soph. Oh, madam, do not upbraid him! See how he is!
Lady S. I see how it is well enough: the devil, the devil of ambition has tempted him—(going nearer him with great vehemence.) Did not I tell you that with prudence, and management, and economy, we should in the end amass a good fortune? but you must be in such a hurry to get rich!—O it would get the better of a saint's spirit to think how I have saved, and regulated, and laid down rules for my houshold, and that it should all come to this!—To have watched, and toiled, and fretted as I have done, and all to no purpose!—If I did not begrudge the very food that was consumed in the family!—If I did not try all manner of receipts that the wife of the meanest citizen would scarcely have thought of!—If I did not go a bargain hunting thro' every shop in London, and purchase damaged muslins even for my own wearing!—It is very hard—it is very hard indeed! (bursting into tears.) O it is enough to turn a woman's brains!
Sea. (starting np in a rage.) By heavens, madam, it is enough to turn a man's brains to think, that, in addition to the ruin I have brought upon myself and my children, I have taken to my bosom—I have set over their innocent heads, a hard-hearted, narrow, avaricious woman, whose meanness makes me contemptible, whose person and character I despise!—This, madam, the spirit of ambition, which you talk of, has tempted me to do, and for this, more than all his other malice, I will curse him!
Soph. (endeavouring to sooth him.) Pray be not so violent with her! she does not consider what she says—she did not intend to hurt you.
Lady S. Sir Anthony Seabright, you are a base man and a deceiver: my brother shall know how you have used me: he has made you a Member of Parliament and a Baronet.
Sea. Yes, and a contemptible fool, and a miserable wretch into the bargain. But no, no, no! I have made myself so; I deserve my punishment.—
(Enter Lord Allcrest, Beaumont, Morgan, Mrs. B. and William B.)
And here are more of my advisers and beseechers come to visit me: advance, advance, good friends! you are come to look upon a ruined man, and you are gratified.
Bea. (going up to him affectionately.) No, my dear Seabright; in a very different spirit are we come: we come to sympathize with you, and to console you.
Sea. I hate sympathy, and I hate consolation! You are come, I suppose, to sympathize with me too, my Lord, and to put me in mind of the damn'd place I have given up to that knave Sir Crafty Supplecoat.
Lord A. No, Sir Anthony, I scorn to upbraid, but I pretend neither to sympathize with you nor to console you: I come to rescue my sister from a situation unworthy a daughter of the house of Allcrest, and she shall go home with me.
Sea. Nay, by the sincerity of a miserable man, but you do console me.—Take her o' God's name! I received her not half so willingly as I resign her to you again. (taking Lady Sarah's hand to give her to her brother, which she pulls away from him angrily, and going up to Lord Allcrest, gives him her hand as an act of her own.)
Lady S. If my brother will indeed have the goodness!
Boy. (skipping joyfully.) Sophy! sister Sophy! she is going away from us! is not that nice?
Soph. Hush, George!
Sea. (to Mrs. B. on perceiving her smile to herself.) Yes, madam, I make no doubt, but all this is very amusing to you—you are also come, no doubt, to bestow upon me your contribution of friendly sympathy.
Mrs. B. Indeed, Sir Anthony, recollecting the happiness you have enjoyed, and the woman that shared it with you, you are entitled to no small portion of pity.
Bea. (to Mrs. B.) Fie upon it! fie upon it, Susan! can't you hold out your hand to him, and forgive him nobly, without tacking those little ungracious recollections to it? (to Sea.) Indeed, my dear Seabright, you look upon us all with the suspicious eye of an unfortunate man, but we are truly come to you in kindness and Christian simplicity; and we bring you comfort.
Sea. Yes, Beaumont, you come to me in simplicity. What comfort can you bring to me, ruined as I am? all my fair prospects blasted! all my honours disgraced! sunk even to obscurity and contempt!—you are indeed come in great simplicity.
Bea. What comfort can we bring to you? does grandeur and riches include the whole of human happiness, that you should now feel yourself inconsolable and hopeless? Cannot a quiet, modest retreat, independent of the bustle of the world, still be a situation of comfort?
Sea. I know what you mean: contemptible, slothful obscurity.
Bea. You mistake me, Sir Anthony; respectable and useful privacy.
Sea. I understand you well enough: hopeless and without object—I abhor it!
Bea. What, Seabright! can a man with a family to grow up around him, be hopeless and without object? Come here children, and speak for yourselves. (he takes the children in his hands, and encouraging Sophia to come forward, they surround Seabright.)
Soph. (after endeavouring in vain to speak, and kissing her father's hand tenderly.) O my dear father! in the loneliest cottage in England I could be happy with you. I would keep it so neat and comfortable, and do every thing for you so willingly; and the children would be so good, if you would but love us enough to be happy with us!
Sea. (catching her in his arms.) Come to my heart, my admirable girl! thou truly hast found the way to it, and a stubborn unnatural heart it has been.— But I will love you all—yes my children, I will love you enough to be happy with you. (pausing.) I hope I shall—I think I shall.
Will B. (eagerly.) Yes, you will! yes, you will! if there be one spark of a true man in your breast, you will love them to the last beat of your heart.
Bea. (smiling affectionately on his son.) Get away, stripling! Your warmth interrupts us.
Sea. O no! let him speak!—say all of you what you please to me now: Say any thing that will break the current of my miserable thoughts; for we are at this moment indulging fancies as illusive as those that formerly misled me; even the cottage that we talk of, a peaceful home for my children, is no longer in my power.
Bea. (going up to Morgan.) Now, my friend, this is the time for you to step forth, and make a subdued father and his innocent children happy: bestow your wealth liberally, and the blessings that will fall upon your grey head, shall well reward the toils and dangers that have earn'd it. (Leading him up to Seabright.)
Sea. Ha! what stranger is this? I observed him not before.
Bea. Speak for yourself now, Mr. Morgan, I will do no more for you.
Sea. Mr. Morgan, the uncle of my Caroline!
Mor. Yes, Sir Anthony, and very much disposed, if you will give him leave, to—to love—to befriend—to be to you and yours—to be the uncle and friend of you all. (speaking in a broken agitated voice.)
Sea. O no! I am unworthy to receive any thing from you—from the uncle of my much injured wife; but these children, Mr. Morgan—I am not too proud to ask you to be a friend to them.
Bea. (hastily to Sea.) Poo, man! you have no real goodness in you, if you cannot perceive that he must and will be a friend to yourself also. Come, come! give him a hand of fellowship! (putting Seabright's hand into Morgan's.) Now, God will bless you both!
Mor. If Sir Anthony will permit an old man, who has past thro' many buffetings of fortune, to draw his arm-chair by him in the evening of his life, and tell over the varied hardships he has met with, he will cheer its gloom, and make it pass more pleasantly. (Sea. presses Morgan's hand to his breast, without speaking.)
Mrs. B. (to Mor.) Well said, and gracefully said, my good uncle! did not I tell you, you would go through your part well, if you would but trust to the dictates of your own good heart?
Bea. O there is nobody, when he does what is noble and right, that does not find a way of doing it gracefully.
Mrs. B. (to Sophia, who is going up timidly to Mor.) Yes, that is right, my dear. Come, children, (leading the children up to him.) gather all about him. Yes, take hold of him; don't be afraid to touch him; it does young people good to pat the cheeks of a benevolent old man. (Mor. embraces them affectionately.)
Wil. B. (joining the children in caressing Mor.)—My dear Mr. Morgan, I love you with all my soul!—And my sweet Sophy—my good Sophy, don't you love him too?—She is such a good girl, Mr. Morgan!
Mor. So she is, William; and she must have a good husband by-and-bye to reward her. I dare say we shall find some body or other willing to have her. (smiling archly upon William, who looks abashed; and letting go Sophy's hand retires behind.)
Sea. (to Mor.) I have now voice enough, my generous friend, to say that I am sensible of your goodness: but there are feelings which depress me
Mor. Say no more about it, my good Sir; I am happy, and I would have every body to rejoice with me.
Lord A. (to Mor. leading forward Lady Sarah.) And every body does rejoice with you, my good Sir. Permit me to assure you, that tho', perhaps, somewhat injured with the ways of the world, I have not been an unfeeling spectator of what has pass'd; and I believe Lady Sarah also has not looked upon it with indifference. (turning to Sea.) Now, Sir Anthony, I would, if possible, part friends with you; and I have a favour to request, which will, if it is granted, make me forget every unpleasant thing that has pass'd between us.
Sea. Mention it, my Lord; I will not willingly refuse you.
Lord A. My sister has just now told me, that she will leave you without regret, if you will let her have your youngest boy to live with her: I join my request to her's.
Boy. (eagerly.) What, take Tony away from us! no but she shant tho'!
Sea. I am much obliged to you, my Lord, and to Lady Sarah also; but I cannot find in my heart to divide my children. He shall, however, visit her frequently, if she will permit him; and if she will have the goodness to forget the hasty words of a passionate man, and still take an interest in any thing that belongs to him, he will be gratified by it.
Soph. And I will visit Lady Sarah too, if she will have the goodness to permit me.
Lady S. I thank you, my dear; it is, perhaps, more than I deserve. (to Mrs. B.) And may I hope, madam, that you will forget whatever unpleasant things may have pass'd between us?
Bea. (interrupting his wife as she is about to speak.) Now answer her pleasantly, my dear Susan! (Mrs. B. smiles pleasantly, and gives her hand to Lady Sarah.) Now every thing is right. O it is a pleasant thing to find that there is some good in every human being!
(Enter a Servant, and whispers to Bea.)
Is he here? let him enter then.
Sea. Who is it? I can see nobody now.
Bea. Don't be alarmed: it is a friend of your's, who has offended you, and takes a very proper season to be forgiven. It is one who durst not, in your prosperity, shew you the extent of his attachment; but he is now come, for he has already open'd his mind to me upon hearing of your misfortunes, to put into your hands, for the benefit of your children, all the little money he has saved, since he first began to lay up one mite after another, and to call it his own property.
Sea. Who can that be? I did not think there was a creature in the world that bore us so much affection.
(Enter Robert, who starts back upon seeing so many people.)
Bea. Come in, my good Robert: (taking his hand and leading him forward.) thou need'st not be ashamed to show thy face here: there is nobody here who will not receive thee graciously, not even Lady Sarah herself.
(The children and every body gather round Robert.)
Sea. (coming forward with Bea.) Ah, my dear Beaumont, what a charm there is in doing good! it can give dignity to the meanest condition. Had this unlucky scheme but succeeded, for if we could have but weather'd it a little while longer it must have succeeded, I should have been—I think I should have been, munificent as a prince.
Bea. Ah, no more of that, my dear friend! no more of that! such thoughts are dangerous, and the enemy is still at hand: chide the deceiver away from you, even when he makes his appearance in the fair form of virtue.
FINIS.