Chapter III: Act II

SCENE I. _An Apartment at Sir_ Luke Tremor'_s_.

_Enter_ Twineall _and_ Meanright.

_Twi._ My dear friend, after so long a separation, how glad I am to meet you!--but how devilish unlucky that you shou'd, on the very day of my arrival, be going to set sail for another part of the world! yet before you go, I must beg a favour of you--you know Sir Luke and his family perfectly well, I dare say?

_Mean._ I think so--I have been in his house near six years.

_Twi._ The very person on earth I wanted!--Sir Luke has power here, I suppose?--a word from him might do a man some service perhaps? [_significantly._

_Mean._ Why, yes; I don't know a man that has more influence at a certain place.

_Twin._ And her Ladyship seems a very clever gentlewoman?

_Mean._ Very.

_Twi._ And I have a notion they think _me_ very clever.

_Mean._ I dare say they do.

_Twi._ Yes--but I mean _very_ clever.

_Mean._ No doubt!

_Twi._ But, my dear friend, you must help me to make them think better of me still--and when _my_ fortune is made, I'll make _yours_--for when I once become acquainted with people's dispositions, their little weaknesses, foibles and faults, I can wind, twist, twine, and get into the corner of every one's heart, and lie so snug, they can't know I'm there, till they want to pull me out, and find 'tis impossible.

_Mean._ Excellent talent!

_Twi._ Is not it? and now, my dear friend, do you inform me of the secret dispositions, and propensities of every one in this family, and of all their connections.--What Lady values herself upon one qualification, and what Lady upon another?--What Gentleman will like to be told of his accomplishments? or what man would rather hear of his wife's, or his daughter's?--or of his horses? or of his dogs?--now, my dear Ned, acquaint me with all this--and within a fortnight I will become the most necessary rascal----not a creature shall know how to exist without me.

_Mean._ Why such a man as you ought to have made your fortune in England.

_Twi._ No--my father, and my three uncles monopolized all the great men themselves; and wou'd never introduce me where I was likely to become their rival--This--this is the very spot for me to display my genius--But then I must penetrate the people first--and you will kindly save me that trouble.--Come, give me all their characters--all their little propensities--all their whims--in short, all I am to praise--and all I am to avoid praising,--in order to endear myself to them. [_Takes out tablets._] Come--begin with Sir Luke.

_Mean._ Sir Luke--values himself more upon personal bravery, than upon any thing else.

_Twi._ Thank you, my dear friend--thank you. [_Writes._] Was he ever in the army?

_Mean._ Oh yes--besieged a capital fortress, a few years ago--and now, the very name of a battle or a great general tickles his vanity, and he takes all the praises you can lavish upon the subject as compliments to himself.

_Twi._ Thank you--thank you a thousand times--[_Writes._] I'll mention a battle very soon.

_Mean._ Not directly.

_Twi._ O, no--let me alone for time and place--go on, my friend--go on--her Ladyship--

_Mean._ Descended from the ancient kings of Scotland.

_Twi._ You don't say so!

_Mean._ And though she is so nicely scrupulous as never to mention the word genealogy, yet I have seen her agitation so great, when the advantages of high birth have been extoll'd, she could scarcely withhold her sentiments of triumph; which in order to disguise, she has assumed a disdain for all "vain titles--empty sounds--and idle pomp."

_Twi._ Thank you--thank you--this is a most excellent _trait_ of the Lady's--[_Writes._] "Pedigree of the kings of Scotland?" O, I have her at once.

_Mean._ Yet do it nicely--oblique touches, rather than open explanations.

_Twi._ Let me alone for that.

_Mean._ She has, I know, in her possession--but I dare say she wou'd not show it you, nay, on the contrary, would even _affect_ to be highly offended, if you were to mention it--and yet it certainly would flatter her, to know you were acquainted with her having it.

_Twi._ What--what--what is it?

_Mean._ A large old-fashioned wig--which Malcolm the third or fourth, her great ancestor, wore when he was crowned at Scone, in the year----

_Twi._ I'll mention it.

_Mean._ Take care.

_Twi._ O, let me alone for the _manner_.

_Mean._ She'll pretend to be angry.

_Twi._ That I am prepared for.--Pray who is my Lord Flint?

_Mean._ A deep man--and a great favourite at court.

_Twi._ Indeed!--how am I to please him?

_Mean._ By insinuations against the _present_ Sultan.

_Twi._ How!

_Mean._ With all his pretended attachment, his heart----

_Twi._ Are you _sure_ of it?

_Mean._ Sure:--he blinds Sir Luke, (who by the bye is no great politician) but I know his Lordship--and if he thought he was sure of his ground--(and he thinks he _shall_ be sure of it soon)--then--

_Twi._ I'll insinuate myself and join his party--but, in the mean time, preserve good terms with Sir Luke, in case any thing shou'd fall in my way there.--Who is Mr. Haswell?

_Mean._ He pretends to be a man of principle and sentiment--flatter him on that.

_Twi._ The easiest thing in the world--no people like flattery better than such as he.--They will bear even to hear their _vices_ praised.--I will myself undertake to praise the vices of a man of sentiment till he shall think them so many virtues.--You have mentioned no Ladies, but the Lady of the house yet.

_Mean._ There is no other Lady, except a pretty girl who came over from England, about two years ago, for a husband, and not succeeding in another part of the country, is now recommended to this house--and has been here three or four months.

_Twi._ Let me alone, to please her.

_Mean._ Yes--I believe you are skilled.

_Twi._ For the art of flattery, no one more.

_Mean._ But damn it--it is not a liberal art.

_Twi._ It is a great science, notwithstanding--and studied, at present, by all the connoisseurs.--Zounds! I have staid a long time--I can't attend to any more characters at present--Sir Luke and his Lady will think me inattentive, if I don't join them--Shall I see you again?--if not--I wish you a pleasant voyage--I'll make the most of what you have told me--you'll hear I'm a great man--God bless you!--good bye!--you'll hear I'm a great man. [_Exit._

_Mean._ And, if I am not mistaken, I shall hear you are turned out of the house before to-morrow morning. O, Twineall! exactly the _reverse_ of every character have you now before you--the greatest misfortune in the life of Sir Luke has been, flying from his army in the midst of an engagement, and a most humiliating degradation in consequence, which makes him so feelingly alive on the subject of a battle, that nothing but his want of courage can secure my friend Twineall's life for venturing to name the subject--then Lord Flint, firmly _attached_ to the _interest_ of the Sultan, will be all on fire, when he hears of open disaffection--but most of all her Ladyship! whose father was a grocer, and uncle, a noted advertising "Periwig-maker on a new construction." She will run mad to hear of births, titles, and long pedigrees.--Poor Twineall! little dost thou think what is prepared for thee.--There is Mr. Haswell too--but to him have I sent you to be reclaimed--to him,--who, free from faults, or even foibles, of his own, has yet more potently the blessing given, of tenderness for ours. [_Exit._

SCENE II. _The inside of a Prison._

_Several Prisoners dispersed in different situations._

_Enter_ Keeper _and_ Haswell _with lights_.

_Keep._ This way, Sir--the prisons this way are more extensive still--you seem to feel for these unthinking men--but they are a set of unruly people, whom no severity can make such as they ought to be.

_Has._ And wou'd not gentleness, or mercy, do you think, reclaim them?

_Keep._ That I can't say--we never try those means in this part of the world--that man yonder, suspected of disaffection, is sentenced to be here for life, unless his friends can lay down a large sum by way of penalty, which he finds they cannot do, and he is turned melancholy.

_Has._ [_After a pause._] Who is that? [_To another._

_Keep._ He has been try'd for heading an insurrection, and acquitted.

_Has._ What keeps him here?

_Keep._ Fees due to the Court--a debt contracted while he proved his innocence.

_Has._ Lead on, my friend--let us go to some other part. [_Putting his hand to his eyes._

_Keep._ In this ward, we are going to, are the prisoners, who by some small reserve--some little secreted stock when they arrived--or by the bounty of some friend who visit them----or suchlike fortunate circumstance, are in a less dismal place.

_Has._ Lead on.

_Keep._ But stop--put on this cloak, for, before we arrive at the place I mention, we must pass a damp vault, which to those who are not used to it--[Haswell _puts on the cloak_]--or will you postpone your visit?

_Has._ No--go on.

_Keep._ Alas! who wou'd suppose you had been used to see such places!--you look concerned--vext to see the people suffer--I wonder you shou'd come, when you seem to think so much about them.

_Has._ Oh! that, that is the very reason. [_Exit, following the Keeper._

[Zedan, _a tawny Indian Prisoner, follows them, stealing
out, as if intent on something_.]

_Two Prisoners walk slowly down the stage._

_1st Pris._ Who is this man?

_2d Pris._ From Britain--I have seen him once before.

_1st Pris._ He looks pale--he has no heart.

_2d Pris._ I believe, a pretty large one.

_Re-enter_ Zedan.

_Zed._ Brother, a word with you. [_To the 1st Prisoner, the other retires._] As the stranger and our keeper passed by the passage, a noxious vapour put out the light, and as they groped along I purloined _this_ from the stranger--[_Shews a pocket-book_] see it contains two notes will pay our ransom. [_Shewing the notes._

_1st Pris._ A treasure--our certain ransom!

_Zed._ Liberty! our wives, our children, and our friends, will these papers purchase.

_1st Pris._ What a bribe! our keeper may rejoice too.

_Zed._ And then the pleasure it will be to hear the stranger fret, and complain for his loss!--O, how my heart loves to see sorrow!--Misery such as I have known, on men who spurn me--who treat me as if (in my own Island) I had no friends that loved me--no servants that paid me honour--no children that revered me--who forget I am a husband--a father--nay, a _man_.--

_1st Pris._ Conceal your thoughts--conceal your treasure too--or the Briton's complaint--

_Zed._ Will be in vain--our keeper will conclude the bribe must come to him, at last--and therefore make no great search for it--here, in the corner of my belt [_Puts up the pocket-book_] 'twill be secure--Come this way, and let us indulge our pleasant prospect. [_They retire, and the scene closes._

SCENE III. _Another part of the Prison._

_A kind of sopha with an old man sleeping upon it_--Elvirus _sitting attentively by him_.

_Enter_ Keeper _and_ Haswell.

_Keep._ That young man, you see there, watching his aged father as he sleeps, by the help of fees gains his admission--and he never quits the place, except to go and purchase cordials for the old man, who, (though healthy and strong when he first became a prisoner) is now become ill and languid.

_Has._ Are they from Europe?

_Keep._ No--but descended from Europeans--see how the youth holds his father's hand!--I have sometimes caught him bathing it with tears.

_Has._ I'll speak to the young man. [_Going to him._

_Keep._ He will speak as soon as he sees me--he has sent a petition to the Sultan about his father, and never fails to inquire if a reply is come. [_They approach_--Elvirus _starts, and comes forward_]

_Elv._ [_To_ Haswell] Sir, do you come from the Court? has the Sultan received my humble supplication? Can you tell?--softly--let not my father hear you speak.

_Has._ I come but as a stranger, to see the prison.

_Elv._ No answer yet, keeper?

_Keep._ No--I told you it was in vain to write--they never read petitions sent from prisons--their hearts are hardened to such worn-out tales of sorrow. [Elvirus _turns towards his Father and weeps_.

_Has._ Pardon me, Sir--but what is the request you are thus denied?

_Elv._ Behold my father! but three months has he been confined here; and yet--unless he breathes a purer air--O, if _you_ have influence at Court, Sir, pray represent what passes in this dreary prison--what passes in my heart.----My supplication is to remain a prisoner here, while my father, released, shall be permitted to retire to humble life; and never more take arms in a cause the Sultan may suspect--which engagement broken, _my life_ shall be the forfeit.--Or if the Sultan wou'd allow me to serve him as a soldier--

_Has._ You would fight against the party your father fought for?

_Elv._ [_Starting._] No--but in the forests--or on the desert sands--amongst those slaves who are sent to battle with the wild Indians--there I wou'd go--and earn the boon I ask----or in the mines--

_Has._ Give me your name--I will, at least, present your suit--and, perhaps--

_Elv._ Sir! do you think it is likely? Joyful hearing!

_Has._ Nay, be not too hasty in your hopes--I cannot _answer_ for my success. [_Repeats_] "Your father humbly implores to be released from prison--and, in his stead, _you_ take his chains--or, for the Sultan's service, fight as a slave, or dig in his mines?"

_Elv._ Exactly, Sir--that is the petition--I thank you, Sir.

_Keep._ You don't know, young man, what it _is_ to dig in mines--or fight against foes, who make their prisoners die by unheard-of tortures.

_Elv._ _You_ do not know, Sir, what it _is_,--to see a parent suffer.

_Has._ [_Writing_] Your name, Sir?

_Elv._ Elvirus Casimir.--

_Has._ Your father's?

_Elv._ The same--one who followed agriculture in the fields of Symria--but, induced by the call of freedom--

_Has._ How? have a care.

_Elv._ No--his son, by the call of nature, supplicates his freedom.

_Keep._ The rebel, you find, breaks out.

_Elv._ [_Aside to the Keeper._] Silence--silence! he forgives it--don't remind him of it--don't undo my hopes.

_Has._ I will serve you if I can.

_Elv._ And I will merit it--indeed I will--you shall not complain of me--I will be--

_Has._ Retire--I trust you. [Elvirus _bows lowly, and retires_.]

_Keep._ Yonder cell contains a female prisoner.

_Has._ A female prisoner!

_Keep._ Without a friend or comforter, she has existed there these many years--nearly fifteen.

_Has._ Is it possible!

_Keep._ Wou'd you wish to see her?

_Has._ If it won't give her pain.

_Keep._ At least, she'll not resent it--for she seldom complains, except in moans to herself--[_Goes to the cell._] Lady, here is one come to visit all the prisoners--please to appear before him.

_Has._ I thank you--you speak with reverence and respect to her.

_Keep._ She has been of some note, though now so totally unfriended--at least, we _think_ she has, from her gentle manners; and our governor is in the daily expectation of some liberal ransom for her, which makes her imprisonment without a hope of release, till that day arrives--[_Going to the cell_]--Lend me your hand--you are weak. [_He leads her from the cell--she appears faint--and as if the light affected her eyes_--Haswell _pulls off his hat, and, after a pause_--

_Has._ I fear you are not in health, Lady?----

[_She looks at him solemnly for some time._

_Keep._ Speak--Madam, speak.

_Pris._ No--not very well. [_Faintingly._

_Has._ Where are your friends? When do you expect your ransom?

_Pris._ [_Shaking her head._] Never.

_Keep._ She persists to say so; thinking by that declaration, we shall release her _without_ a ransom.

_Has._ Is that your motive?

_Pris._ I know no motive for a falsehood.

_Has._ I was to blame--pardon me.

_Keep._ Your answers are somewhat prouder than usual.

[_He retires up the stage._

_Pris._ They are.--[_To_ Haswell] Forgive me--I am mild with all of these--but from a countenance like yours--I could not bear reproach.

_Has._ You flatter me.

_Pris._ Alas! Sir, and what have I to hope from such a meaness?--You do not come to ransom me.

_Has._ Perhaps I do.

_Pris._ Oh! do not say so--unless--unless--I am not to be deceived --pardon in your turn this suspicion--but when I have so much to hope for--when the sun, the air, fields, woods, and all that wonderous world, wherein I have been so happy, is in prospect; forgive me, if the vast hope makes me fear.

_Has._ Unless your ransom is fixed at something beyond my power to give, I _will_ release you.

_Pris._ Release me! Benevolent!

_Has._ How shall I mark you down in my petition? [_Takes out his book._] what name?

_Pris._ 'Tis almost blotted from my memory. [_Weeping._

_Keep._ It is of little note--a female prisoner, taken with the rebel party, and in these cells confined for fifteen years.

_Pris._ During which time I have demeaned myself with all humility to my governors--neither have I distracted my fellow prisoners with a complaint that might recall to their memory their own unhappy fate--I have been obedient, patient; and cherished hope to chear me with vain dreams, while despair possess'd my reason.

_Has._ Retire--I will present the picture you have given.

_Pris._ Succeed too--or, never let me see you more--[_She goes up the stage._

_Has._ You never shall.

_Pris._ [_Returns_] Or, if you shou'd miscarry in your views [for who forms plans that do not sometimes fail?] I will not reproach you even to _myself_----no--nor will I suffer _much_ from the disappointment --merely that you may not have, what I suffer, to account for. [_Exit to her cell._

_Has._ Excellent mind!

_Keep._ In this cell--[_Going to another._

_Has._ No--take me away--I have enough to do--I dare not see more at present.--[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV. _The former Prison Scene._

_Enter_ Zedan.

_Zed._ They are coming--I'll stand here in his sight, that, shou'd he miss what I have taken, he'll not suspect me, but suppose it is one who has hid himself.

_Enter_ Keeper _and_ Haswell.

_Keep._ [_To_ Zedan] What makes you here?--still moping by yourself, and lamenting for your family?--[_To_ Haswell] that man, the most ferocious I ever met with--laments, sometimes even with tears, the separation from his wife and children.

_Has._ [_Going to him_] I am sorry for you, friend; [Zedan _looks sullen and morose_.] I pity you.

_Keep._ Yes--he had a pleasant hamlet on the neighbouring island--plenty of fruits--clear springs--and wholesome roots--and now complains bitterly of his repasts--sour rice, and muddy water. [_Exit Keeper._

_Has._ Poor man! bear your sorrows nobly--and as we are alone--no miserable eye to grudge the favour--[_Looking round_] take this trifle--[_Gives money_] it will at least make your meals better for a few short weeks--till Heaven may please to favour you with a less sharp remembrance of the happiness you have lost--Farewell. [_Going._] [Zedan _catches hold of him, and taking the pocket-book from his belt, puts it into_ Haswell'_s hand_.]

_Has._ What's this?

_Zed._ I meant to gain my liberty with it--but I will not vex you.

_Has._ How came you by it?

_Zed._ Stole it--and wou'd have stabb'd you too, had you been alone--but I am glad I did not--Oh! I am glad I did not.

_Has._ You like me then?

_Zed._ [_Shakes his head and holds his heart._] 'Tis something that I never felt before--it makes me like not only you, but all the world besides--the love of my family was confined to them alone; but this makes me feel I could love even my enemies.

_Has._ Oh, nature! grateful! mild! gentle! and forgiving!--worst of tyrants they who, by hard usage, drive you to be cruel!

_Enter_ Keeper.

_Keep._ The lights are ready, Sir, through the dark passage-- [_To_ Zedan.] Go to your fellows.

_Has._ [_To_ Zedan.] Farewell--we will meet again.

[Zedan _exit on one side_, Haswell _and_ Keeper _exeunt on
the other_.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.