Chapter III: 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.