Генри Филдинг
The Old Debauchees. A Comedy
Mart. Have you any more Sins to confess!
Isa. Sins! – You have put all my Sins out of my Head, I think.
Mart. Benedicite – [crossing himself.] Daughter, you shall see me soon again, for great things are in Agitation; At present, I leave you to your Prayers.
SCENE V
Isabel alone
Isa. Sure never poor Maid had more need of Prayers: but you have left me no great Stomach to them. Great things are in Agitation! What can he mean? It must be so – Some old liquorish Rogue with a Title, or a larger Estate hath a mind to supplant my dear Laroon.
SCENE VI
Young Laroon, Isabel
Yo. Lar. My Isabel, my Sweet! – how painfully do I count each tedious Hour, till I can call you mine?
Isa. Indeed, you are like to count many more tedious Hours than you imagine.
Yo. Lar. Ha! What means my Love?
Isa. I would not have your Wishes too impatient, that's all; but if you will wait a Week, you shall know whether I intend to marry you or not.
Yo. Lar. And is this possible? Can Words like these fall from Isabel's sweet Lips; can she be false, inconstant, perjured?
Isa. Oh! do not discharge such a Volley of terrible Names upon me before you are certain I deserve them; doubt only whether I can be obedient to my Confessor, and guess the rest.
Yo. Lar. Can he have enjoined you to be perjured, by Heaven it would be sinful to obey him.
Isa. Be satisfied, if I prevail with my self to obey him in this Week's Delay, I will carry my Obedience no farther.
Yo. Lar. Oh! to what Happiness have those dear Words restor'd me. I am again my self: for while the Possession of thee is sure, tho' distant, there is in that dear Hope, more Transport than any other actual Enjoyment can afford.
Isa. Well adieu, and to cram you quite full with Hope (since you like the Food) I here promise you, that the Commands of all the Priests in France shall not force me to marry another. That is, Sir, I will either marry you or die a Maid, and I have no violent Inclination to the latter, on the Word of a Virgin.
SCENE VII
Young Laroon solus
Whether a violent Hatred to my Father, or an inordinate Love for Mischief, hath set the Priest on this Affair, I know not. Perhaps it is the former – for the old Gentleman hath the Happiness of being universally hated by every Priest in Toulon– Let a Man abuse a Physician, he makes another Physician his Friend, let him rail at a Lawyer, another will plead his Cause gratis; if he libel this Courtier, that Courtier receives him into his Bosom: but let him once attack a Hornet or a Priest, the whole Nest of Hornets, and the whole Regiment of Black-guards are sure to be upon him.
SCENE VIII
Old Laroon laughing, Young Laroon
Yo. Lar. You are merry, Sir.
Old. Lar. Merry, Sir! Ay, Sir! I am merry, Sir. Would you have your Father sad, you Rascal? Have you a mind to bury him in his Youth?
Yo. Lar. Pardon me, Sir, I rather wished to know the happy Occasion of your Mirth.
Old Lar. The Occasion of my Mirth, Sir, is the saddest Sight that ever Mortal beheld.
Yo. Lar. A very odd Occasion indeed.
Old Lar. Very odd truly. It is the Sight of an old honest Whoremaster in a Fit of Despair, and a damned Rogue of a Priest riding him to the Devil.
Yo. Lar. Ay, Sir, but I have seen a more melancholy Sight.
Old Lar. Ha! what can that be?
Yo. Lar. A fine young Lady in a Fit of Love, and a Priest keeping her from her Lover.
Old Lar. How?
Yo. Lar. The Explanation of which is, that Father Martin hath put off our Match for a Week.
Old. Lar. Put off your Match with Isabel!
Yo. Lar. Even so, Sir.
Old Lar. Well I never have made a Hole in a Gown yet, I never have tapped a Priest: but if I don't let out some reverend Blood before the Sun sets, may I never See him rise again. I'll carbonade the Villain, I'll make a Ragout for the Devil's Supper of him.
Yo. Lar. Let me intreat you, Sir, to do nothing rashly, as long as I am safe in the Faith of my Isabel.
Old Lar. I tell you, Sirrah, no Man is safe in the Faith of a Mistress, no one is secure of a Woman till he is in Bed with her. Had there been any Security in the Faith of a Mistress, I had been at present married to half the Dutchesses in France. I no more rely on what a Woman says out of a Church, than on what a Priest says in it.
Yo. Lar. Pardon me, Sir: but I should have very little Appetite to marry the Woman whom I had such an Opinion of.
Old Lar. You had an Opinion of! What Business have you to have any Opinion. Is it not enough that I have an Opinion of her, that is of her Fortune – But I suppose you are one of those romantick, whining Coxcombs, that are in Love with a Woman behind her Back: Sirrah, I have had two Women lawfully, and two thousand unlawfully, and never was in Love in my Life.
Yo. Lar. Well, Sir, then I am happy, that we both agree in the same Person; I like the Woman, and you her Fortune.
Old. Lar. Yes, you Dog, and I'd have you secure her as soon as you can: for if a greater Fortune should be found out in Toulon, I'd make you marry her – So go find out your Mistress, and stick close to her, and I'll go seek the Priest, whom, if I can find, I will stick close to with a Vengeance.
SCENE IX
Another Apartment.
Jourdain, Martin
Jourd. Alas! Father, there is one Sin sticks by me more than any I have confessed to you. It is so enormous a one my Shame hath prevented me discovering it – I have often concealed my Crimes from my Confessor.
Mart. That is a damnable Sin indeed. It seemeth to argue a Distrust of the Church, the greatest of all Crimes; a Sin I fear the Church cannot forgive.
Jourd. Oh! say not so, Father!
Mart. I should have said will not, or not without difficulty: for the Church can do all things.
Jourd. That is some Comfort again.
Mart. I hope, however, tho' you have not confessed them, you have not forgotten them; for they must be confessed before they can be forgiven.
Jourd. I hope I shall recollect them, they are a black Roll – I remember I once was the Occasion of ruining a Woman's Reputation by shewing a Letter from her.
Mart. If you had shewn it to the Priest it had been no Fault.
Jourd. Alas! Sir, I wrote the Letter to my self, and thus traduced the Innocent. I afterwards commanded a Company of Granadiers, at the taking of a Town, where I knocked a poor old Gentleman in the Head for the sake of his Money, and ravished his Daughter.
Mart. These are crying Sins indeed.
Jourd. At the same time I robbed a Jesuit of two Pistoles.
Mart. Oh! damnable! Oh! execrable!
Jourd. Good Father, have Patience: I once borrowed five hundred Livres of an honest Citizen in Paris, and repay'd him by lying with his Wife: And what sits nearest my Heart, was forced to pay a young Cavalier the same Sum, by suffering him to lie with mine.
Mart. Oh!
Jourd. And yet what are these to what I have done since I commenced Merchant. What have I not done to get a Penny. I insured a Ship for a great Value, and then cast it away; I broke when I was worth a hundred thousand Livres, and went over to London. I settled there, renounced my Religion, and was made a Justice of Peace.
Mart. Oh! that Seat of Heresy and Damnation! that Whore of Babylon!
Jourd. With the Whores of Babylon did I unite: I protected them from Justice: Gaming-houses and Baudy-houses did I license, nay, and frequent too; I never punished any Vice but Poverty: for Oh! I dread to name it: I once committed a Priest to Newgate for picking Pockets.
Mart. Oh! monstrous! horrible! dreadful! I'll hear no more. Thou art damn'd without Reprieve.
Jourd. Take Pity, Father, take Pity on a Penitent.
Mart. Pity! the Church abhors it. 'Twere Mercy to such a Wretch to pray him into Purgatory.
Jourd. I'll give all my Estate to the Church, I'll found Monasteries, I'll build Abbies.
Mart. All will not do, ten thousand Masses will not deliver you.
Jourd. Was ever such a miserable Wretch!
Mart. Thou hast Sins enough to damn thy whole Family. Monstrous Impiety! to lift up the Hand of Justice against the Church.
Jourd. Oh speak some Comfort to me: will no Penance expiate my Crime?
Mart. It is too grievous for a single Penance, go settle your Estate on the Church, and send your Daughter to a Nunnery, her Prayers will avail more than yours: Heaven hears the young and innocent with Pleasure. I will, my self, say four Masses a-day for you; and all these, I hope, will purchase your Forgiveness, at least your Stay in Purgatory will be short.
Jourd. My Daughter! She is to be married to-morrow, and I shall never prevail on her.
Mart. You must force her; your all depends on it.
Jourd. But I have already sworn I will not force her.
Mart. The Church absolves you from that Oath, and it were now Impiety to keep it. Go, lose not a Moment, see her entered with the utmost Expedition; she may put it out of your Power.
Jourd. What a poor miserable Wretch am I?
SCENE X
Martin solus
Thou art a miserable Wretch indeed! And it is on such miserable Wretches depends our Power: that Superstition which tears thy Bowels, feeds ours. This Nunnery is a Master-piece, let me but once shut up my dear Isabel from every other Man, and the Warmth of her Constitution may be my very powerful Friend. How far am I got already from the very Brink of Despair, by the Despair of this old Fool. Superstition, I adore thee,
Thou handle to the cheated Layman's Mind,
By which in Fetters Priestcraft leads Mankind.
