Original Plays [First Series]

by W. S. Gilbert

ACT III.

Scene: Morning room in Smailey’s house. Door at back, giving on to a pretty garden.

Frederick discovered sealing a letter.

Fred. “Your eternally attached Frederick.” If there was any flaw in Mrs. Van Brugh’s marriage, as my father seems to suspect—and his suspicions are corroborated by her astonishing behavior on his reading her godfather’s will—then Mrs. Van Brugh is penniless—and Eve is penniless too. Poor little lady. I’m afraid I shall have to cry off. I’m sorry for the poor child, because I’m sure she is fond of me. I’m sorry for myself, because I’m sure I’m fond of her. But when a man proposes to marry, he must not allow himself to be misled by his affections. As far as Eve is concerned I see no difficulty. She is a tender-hearted and sensitive little thing, heaven bless her, and can be easily shaken off. But my poor old father; how indignant he will be if I dare to suggest what he would consider a dishonorable course! Why, if he thought me capable of breaking a solemn engagement for a mercenary motive, he’d disown me! No, I must rest my excuse on a surer ground. I must touch his sense of family pride. I must remind him of the blight that would fall on our race, if I intermarried with a tainted family. A really good man does a deal of harm in the world. One has to stoop to so much dirty dissimulation before one can meet him on equal terms.

Enter Mr. Smailey.

Mr. S.} Frederick, I want to speak seriously—

Fred.} Father, I want to speak seriously——

Mr. S. Eh?

Fred. I beg your pardon.

Mr. S. I was about to say that I want to speak to you on a most serious and important matter.

Fred. Dear me, that’s very odd! Do you know I was about to say the very same thing! I am most anxious to speak to you on a most serious and most important matter. Excuse me for one moment, while I give this note to Robins.

Mr. S. Whom are you writing to?

Fred. To my darling, of course?[Exit.

Mr. S. To his darling! Poor lad! He’s a noble fellow! No mercenary thought in connection with the girl has ever entered his head! But he must never marry her. Every thing points to the fact that Mrs. Van Brugh’s marriage was illegal, and, if so, her daughter is portionless. Thank Heaven! his sense of moral rectitude is so high that when he knows that her mother’s conduct is open to suspicion he may feel bound to dissociate himself from her. Ah, it is a pleasant and a goodly thing when a parent finds that the strict principles he has instilled into his offspring are bearing golden fruit on which they both may feed!

Enter Frederick.

Mr. S. (aside).} How shall I break it to him?

Fred. (aside).} How shall I begin?

Fred. Now I’m at your disposal.

Mr. S. Frederick, my dear lad, this life of ours is made up of hopes frustrated, and cherished schemes brought to nothing.

Fred. Very true. A man who places himself under the sweet dominion of his conscience, must not count on the fulfillment of even his most innocent intentions.

Mr. S. Unforeseen circumstances occasionally arise that render it almost criminal to carry out an otherwise laudable purpose.

Fred. For instance: a discovery that a contemplated act would, if carried out, bring dishonor on a long line of ancestors.

Mr. S. Or give an implied sanction to a discreditable, if not an immoral, relationship. Events might occur which would justify him in breaking the most solemn pledge.

Fred. Justify him! I can conceive a state of things under which he would be morally bound to cast his most sacred obligations to the wind.

Mr. S. My dear boy!

Fred. My dear father! (They shake hands.)

Mr. S. Now Fred, this is what I was coming to, my boy. We are the last descendants of a very noble family.

Fred. So I have often heard you say. And that reminds me to mention a matter, upon which I have long desired to talk to you——

Mr. S. (interrupting). I am free to admit that I am proud of my ancestry.

Fred. My dear father, the safe-keeping of their honor is my dearest aim. And, talking of my ancestors’ honor, reminds me——

Mr. S. (interrupting). If Caius Smaileius heard that one of his race was about to marry, for instance, into a tainted family, I believe the doughty old Roman would turn in his tumulus!

Fred. What you say about a tainted family is so true, that I venture——

Mr. S. My dear Fred, it’s no use beating about the bush. The girl you are engaged to—as good a girl as ever lived, is (there is no use in disguising it) a member of a tainted family. (Fred turns from Smailey.) It is therefore my duty to urge upon you, as the last of our line, the propriety, the necessity, of releasing Eve from her engagement. (Frederick appears hurt and indignant.) I know I am asking much, very much, of you. I know how tenderly you love the girl; but a flaw, my dear Fred, and you a Smailey! My boy, it is impossible.

Fred. (in affected indignation). Am I to understand that you require me to surrender my darling Eve. Never! With all possible respect for your authority—Never!

Mr. S. But, Fred, remember, my boy, remember, her mother has committed a faux pas of some kind.

Fred. It would certainly seem so; but I have given my word, and it is my duty to keep it.

Mr. S. What is duty to the living compared with duty to the dead. Think what your ancestors have done for you. And are we to neglect our duty to them, because they can do no more for us? Oh! shame, shame!

Fred. (with apparent reluctance). There is much truth in what you say, still——

Mr. S. To marry into such a family as hers, now that we know the truth, would be, as it were, to countenance her guilt.

Fred. I can not deny it. Nevertheless, I——

Mr. S. Would it be just—would it be moral to do this?

Fred. No, no; I see it now.

Mr. S. Show yourself to be a man of moral courage. As for what the world will say, do the right thing, my boy, and let them say what they please.

Fred. (after a pause). Father, you are right. As a moral man I have no alternative but to comply with your wish. At any cost it must be done—at any cost it shall be done!

Mr. S. That’s right, my dear, dear boy; and you shall find that you have lost little by your determination. And now that that’s settled, let us enter into your affairs. What was it that you wanted to speak to me so seriously about just now?

Fred. I? Oh, dear no.

Mr. S. But surely, you said——

Fred. Oh, to be sure! I—oh, it’s not of the least consequence.

Mr. S. Something about poor little Eve, wasn’t it?

Fred. Yes; about poor little Eve. How little do we know what five minutes may bring forth! I was actually going to consult you about fixing a day for our wedding. (Wiping his eyes.)

Mr. S. My poor boy, you have behaved nobly. You are a true Smailey.

Fred. (taking his hand). I hope it is not presumptuous in me, but I sometimes think I am.

Mr. S. I have wounded you deeply. Let me compensate you by telling you a more pleasant piece of news. I have discovered Fitz Partington’s clew.

Fred. Indeed! I am rejoiced to hear it.

Mr. S. Yes. Mrs. Van Brugh told me on Tuesday that she had never actually seen her godfather’s will. So I felt it to be my duty to make an excuse for reading aloud that part of the will in which she is particularly described. I did so, and she fainted. Now, my dear Fred, what does this point to?

Fred. I should say bigamy.

Mr. S. You would say bigamy, and so should I. I suggested this to Fitz Partington, and he seemed amazed at my penetration. We laid our heads together, and, at his suggestion, I drew up this advertisement. (Hands MS. advertisement, which he has taken from table-drawer.)

Fred. (reads). £50 Reward. This sum will be paid for a true copy of the burial certificate of the first wife of the late Captain Van Brugh, R.N. She is known to have died at Melbourne within the last eight years. Are you sure Fitz Partington is acting straightforwardly with you?

Mr. S. Why should he do otherwise?

Fred. £50 is a large sum.

Mr. S. A large sum? If I can only establish the fact that the first Mrs. Van Brugh died within the last eight years, every penny of this so-called Mrs. Van Brugh’s income—£8,000 a year at least—reverts to me.

Fred. Then, dear me——

Mr. S. Eh?

Fred. Poor Eve will lose her settlement!

Mr. S. True; quite true. Dear me, I never thought of that. Poor Eve!

Fred. Poor, poor Eve!

Enter Ruth.

Ruth. I’ve brought this note from my lady.

Mr. S. Oh! There may be an answer. Stay.

Ruth. (quietly). Yes; I’ll stay.

Mr. S. (reads note). Oh! Mrs. Van Brugh writes to say that she wishes to see me this afternoon—alone. (Sits down to write.)

Fred. Alone! Oh, then—then perhaps I’d better withdraw. (With affected emotion.)

Ruth. Ay, perhaps you better had.

(She follows him with her eyes as he goes to the door. He seems uneasy. Then exit.)

Mr. S. There is the answer. (Finishing note.)

Ruth. Smailey; wot’s wrong about my lady?

Mr. S. Wrong?

Ruth. Ay, there’s ruin comin’ to her, and she knows it. She’s been queer-like these two days. I’ve come upon her cryin’ odd times, and she’s as white as death. Wot is it, Smailey?

Mr. S. Probably a head-ache. I’m not a doctor.

Ruth. I am. It’s no head-ache—it’s heart-ache. It’s ruin.

Mr. S. It is ruin; to her wealth, and her good name.

Ruth. Her good name? Why, you’re never goin’ to meddle wi’ that.

Mr. S. You are deceived in your mistress. (Rises.) I will tell you what she has been——

Ruth. Stop! I won’t hear it, Smailey, I won’t hear it. Let bygones go by: no odds what she has been; think wot she is; think wot you’ve been. As I’ve dealt fair wi’ you, deal you fair wi’ her. Take wot’s yourn, but don’t take no more.

Mr. S. My rights and her good name are bound up together, I can not claim the one without destroying the other. I only want what the law will give me, if I commence proceedings.

Ruth. (changing her tone). If you commence proceedings, wot the law will give you is fourteen year, take my word for it. I’ve spoke fair, and no good’s come of it, so I’ll speak foul. Look here, Smailey, you’ve put a plot afoot to ruin my lady. Now my lady’s got a dog, Smailey, and that dog won’t stand no plots. Do you hear that, Smailey. Stir hand or foot to harm that pure and spotless creature, and sure as my lady’s dog has a set of fangs she’ll fix them in your throat.

Mr. S. This is hard. This is very hard. Even Mrs. Van Brugh would herself at once admit the justice of my claim.

Ruth. Well, wait till she does.

Mr. S. (after a pause). There is a good deal of sound common sense in what you say, Tredgett. Still, if—if Mrs. Van Brugh should at any time make a statement of her own free will, you will surely allow me to profit by it?

Ruth. Wotever my lady does of her own free will is angels’ doin’, and is right accordin’.

Mr. S. (aside). Then I think I see my way. (Aloud.) Well, Ruth, on that understanding you have my promise.

Ruth. Promise? Your promise? Smailey, don’t you meddle with things you don’t understand. Promises are ticklish goods in your hands. They’re temptin’ things to break, and you was always easy tempted. No, no; don’t you promise. I’ll promise this time, Smailey. I’ll promise.[Exit Ruth.

Mr. S. A sin, an early sin—a sin committed twenty years ago, brought up against me now that I am an honest man, and a regular church-goer! I am absolutely bound hand and foot by it—and to what end? For the protection of a woman who has committed Heaven knows what offense against morality. If this crime were to be proved against me, what on earth would become of me? For years I have endeavored to atone for my sin against society by treating wrong-doers brought before me with the strictest and most unflinching severity. Would Society be grateful for this—Would it even take heed of it? No; my atonement would go for nothing—absolutely nothing. Ah! this is a merciless world, and one in which penitence is taken no account of. But have a care, Mrs. Van Brugh, I’ll bide my time. You shall yet see that a sin against morality is not to be wiped out by a few years of sentimental self-denial!

Enter Eve and Fred.

Fred. Father, I met Mrs. Van Brugh and my darling on their way here, so I turned back with them.

Mr. S. My dear Eve. (Kisses her. Enter Mrs. Van Brugh.) Mrs. Van Brugh, I am very pleased to see you. Pray sit down. You look pale; I am afraid you are tired.

Mrs. V. B. No, I have not been very well lately.

Eve. Mamma wished to come alone, as she wants to speak to you on business, but I wouldn’t hear of that, as she is really very far from well, so I’ve brought her to you, Mr. Smailey; and now I’m going to take a turn in the garden with Fred. Dr. Athelney is waiting for us in the arbor.

Fred. If the arbor were a consecrated arbor, and I had a license in my pocket, we might take a turn—in the garden—that would surprise our dear friends.

Eve. What, without a wedding-dress and bridesmaids, and bouquets and presents, and a breakfast? My dear Fred, it wouldn’t be legal![Exeunt Eve and Fred into the garden.

Mrs. V. B. (after a pause). Mr. Smailey, I come to you in great distress. On Tuesday last, a circumstance occurred, no matter what it was, that induced me to believe that there was a flaw—a vital flaw—in my title to all I possess. Mr. Smailey, I haven’t a shilling in the world.

Mr. S. A shilling! My very dear lady, you haven’t a penny.

Mrs. V. B. What! Do you know this?

Mr. S. Mrs. Van Brugh, I will be candid with you. The Smaileys are a very, very old and very famous family. No suspicion of a bar sinister has ever shadowed their escutcheon. My son is betrothed to your daughter, and I have reason to believe that you are not entitled to the name you bear. Therefore, in his interests, and in those of his slumbering ancestors, I have taken steps to ascertain the truth.

Mrs. V. B. (much agitated). What do you hope to prove?

Mr. S. That when you went through the form of marriage with the late Captain Van Brugh you knew that his first wife was still alive.

Mrs. V. B. (wildly). No, no, no! Mr. Smailey, it is bad enough, but not so bad as that. Oh, Mr. Smailey, dismiss that fearful thought from your mind, and I will tell you the truth I came here to tell. It’s a bitter, bitter truth, but not so bad as you would make it out to be.

Mr. S. What is the truth? (Sternly.)

Mrs. V. B. I—I—when I met Captain Van Brugh—I was very young, and my mother was dead—and— (Bursts into tears and sobs wildly, laying her head on the table.)

Mr. S. What is the truth?

Mrs. V. B. Oh, man, man, can’t you read it in these tears? Is there not shame enough in my face, that you want it in shameful words. Read what you see before you, and as you are a man with a heart, keep my secret; oh, keep my unhappy secret!

Mr. S. What! am I to understand that you never even went through the form of marriage with Captain Van Brugh?

Mrs. V. B. (under her breath). Never!

Mr. S. (after a pause). I decline to believe you. I had hoped that it was barely possible you were the unconscious dupe of a reckless scamp. I now believe that you were well aware of the crime you were committing, and you take this step to avoid its legal consequences.

Mrs. V. B. (with forced calmness). Mr. Smailey, I have, perhaps, no right to be indignant at this insult; but you are mistaken—utterly mistaken. Have you no pity, no sympathy? See, every thing I possess is legally yours; I leave your presence penniless. Commence an action against me, and I will quietly yield up every thing before the case comes into court; but, if you love your son, spare me the shame, the intolerable shame, of a public exposure!

Mr. S. I will spare you nothing; neither will I take the step you suggest, nor any other step to dispossess you. In this matter I am passive; I leave you to act as conscience may prompt you. But understand that I will be a party to no concealment, no subterfuge. On these terms, and on no other, will I consent to take this property.

Mrs. V. B. (wildly). What am I to do? I can not keep it, and I have no one to advise me!

Mr. S. I will advise you. You have sinned, and must make atonement. There are witnesses at hand, let them hear the truth: whatever the truth may be, let them hear it.

Mrs. V. B. What witnesses?

Mr. S. Dr. Athelney, my dear son, Ruth Tredgett, and your daughter.

Mrs. V. B. (wildly). No, no; not before Eve. You can not mean that I am to say this before Eve. Think, Mr. Smailey, what you are asking me to do. I am her mother!

Mr. S. I desire to press hardly on no fellow-creature, but it is meet that she should know the truth. Indeed, as a principle, truth can not be too widely known.

Mrs. V. B. But she knows nothing of this miserable matter. She believes, as others believe, that I was married abroad and that my husband died soon after.

Mr. S. A mother seeking to deceive her own child!

Mrs. V. B. Take every penny I possess, but for Eve’s sake spare me this intolerable shame. I will sign any deed you please that will convey my property to you, but leave me the love and honor of my darling child.

Mr. S. I decline to place myself in the invidious position of one who takes steps to dispossess a helpless lady; I also decline to be a party to any deception. If you refuse to make the public admission I require, you may keep your ill-gotten wealth.

Mrs. V. B. Keep it! Why I am here, of my own free will, to surrender into your hands my wealth, and with it my good name!

Mr. S. I feel it to be my duty to remind you that you have as little right to the one as to the other.

Mrs. V. B. What shall I do—What shall I do? If I refuse to publish my sin, this man will make it known to the whole world.

Mr. S. No; there you wrong me. That would be an unmanly act indeed, Miss Brandreth.

Mrs. V. B. Miss Brandreth!

Mr. S. That, I presume, is your name. Pardon me, but now that I know the truth, I could not conscientiously call you Mrs. Van Brugh. It would be a lie. For the future I shall call you Miss Brandreth, but—I shall systematically withhold my reasons for so doing.

Mrs. V. B. Mr. Smailey, think what you are compelling me to do. I have sinned, and for many years I have unceasingly endeavored to atone for that sin. Blessed with an ample fortune, I have devoted four-fifths of it to the rescue of the unhappiest among unhappy women. In my search for them I have waded, year after year, through the foulest depths of misery and disgrace, with ears and eyes outraged at every turn. In the face of galling rebuke and insult unspeakable, in the face of cold ridicule and insolent misconstruction, I have held on to the task I set myself, and through the mercy of heaven—the infinite mercy of heaven—I have succeeded. I have no desire to speak of these things, and to no other man would I utter them. But you talk to me of atonement; and have I not atoned? Oh! have I not atoned?

Mr. S. See how the deeds and words of these last years show in the fierce light you have just thrown upon them. You have lost no opportunity of rebuking my hardness of heart because I can not pardon an act of immorality. See from what a foul and muddy source your own forgiveness springs. You have taunted me with my severity towards wrong-doers. See from what an interested motive your own leniency arises. You have publicly assailed my want of charity. Had I the control of another man’s income my charities might perhaps outvie your own. In one word, if you retain your social position, you are morally an impostor. If you retain my property, you are morally——

Mrs. V. B. (interrupting him). Enough! You have spoken, and I know you now. I can see through those cold hard eyes down into the cold hard heart from which they take their tone. I read there the stony creed, “A woman who has once fallen shall never rise again.” So let it be. You are strong—for you have the world on your side. I am weak—for I am alone. If I am to die this moral death, it shall be by my own hand. They shall hear the truth. (Eve and Frederick have appeared at the door; she turns and sees them; they are followed by Dr. Athelney and Edward.) Come here, Eve; come here, Dr. Athelney; all of you come here. (Eve comes forward and kneels at her mother’s feet.) Eve, my darling, my pet—Eve dear, kiss me. Kiss me again and again—my child, my child! Kiss me now, for you may never kiss me again. Dr. Athelney, you love me, I know. Edward, my dear old friend, listen while I tell you what manner of woman you have loved——

Ruth. (rushing forward). No, no, mistress, you mustn’t say it, don’t, don’t speak it; for the love of mercy don’t speak it. As I’m a sinful woman, it’ll be worse than death to me.

Mrs. V. B. I must go on to the end. Do you know on what kind of thing you have lavished the treasure of your love? You have lavished it on a fallen woman—an unhappy creature, who has committed that one sin for which on earth there is no atonement—no forgiveness. You think of me as Captain Brugh’s widow; God forgive me, I never was his wife!

(Ruth recoils from her with an exclamation of horror. Eve falls senseless into Edward’s arms. Smailey and Frederick watch the group from a corner of the stage.)