Buckstone John Baldwin
A Rough Diamond
MARGERY, laughs without
– There she is.
BLEN. Very merry, at any rate.
SIR W. Oh, she’s merry enough, and good-humoured enough; but, my dear Sir, with my prejudices, with my ideas of refinement, with my delicacy as regards conduct in society, conceive my agony in possessing a wife who is as wild as an unbroken colt, finds a nickname for everybody, and persists in being called by her Christian name of – of —
BLEN. What?
SIR W. I’m ashamed to tell you – Margery.
BLEN. Margery?
SIR W. I have tried to persuade her to change it to Matilda, or Magaretta, or Marguerite, but all in vain – she says her mother’s name was Margery, her grandmother’s name was Margery, that her name is Margery, and Margery she’ll be to the end of the chapter.
MARGERY. (without) Now, come along, Jack! and you, Tom, mind how you carry my kitten.
Enter MARGERY from the back, in a fashionably-made dress, but which she wears awkwardly – She is followed by TWO SERVANTS.
MAR. Now, Jack, mind what I say – how many pigs is there in the last litter? Oh, I know – eight! Well, you may send one to my cousin Joe – I’ll tell you where he lives by and by – two to my old dad, and one to Betsy Buncle, my old playfellow in Lancashire – the three black ones I shall want to have in the parlor to play with.
SIR W. Pigs in the parlor to play with? Lady Evergreen, do you not perceive a visitor?
MAR. Wait a minute – I’ll speak to him presently. Do as I bid you; and you, Tom, give my kitten her lunch, and turn all the young terriers loose on the grass plot, because I like to see ’em tumble over one another – and now go.
Exit SERVANTS at back.
– Well, Sir, and how d’ye do, Sir? and (to BLENHEIM) how are you, and who are you?
SIR W. My dear, my dear, do think of your station! This is an old friend of mine – we were at college together. Captain Blenheim – Lady Evergreen.
MAR. (dropping a country curtsey) Hope you’re well, Sir – fine weather for the hay, and nothing can look better as yet than the taters.
SIR W. Hush, hush! don’t talk, my dear.
MAR. Then what did you bring him here for?
BLEN. I am delighted in being introduced to the wife of my old friend.
MAR. Well, I ain’t sorry to see you, if it comes to that, if only for a bit of a change, for my Billy here seldom lets anybody come a-visiting, and when I ask him why he don’t have a few friends now and then to kick up a bit of a bobbery —
SIR W. My dear!
MAR. I will talk! He says I’m too rough to mix up with his sort, and that he can’t bring ’em here or take me amongst them till I’m polished up; but I’m afraid I shall take so much polishing that I shall be worn out before I’m as bright as he wants me to be.
BLEN. I trust not, Madam.
SIR W. My dear, will you go into your —
MAR. Not just yet – if I talk a little more to the gentleman he’ll get used to me, and won’t notice my grammar. And I’m not going to stand mumchance and try to talk that horrid gibberish you’ve been wanting to teach me, when I’ve got a good English tongue of my own. Leave me alone, Billy, or I’ll set Growler at you. Please don’t mind us, Sir (to BLENHEIM), man and wife, you know, when in company often have a few snaps at one another on the sly, and, as it’s nobody’s business but their own, why, of course you don’t know what we’re snapping about, do you?
BLEN. Certainly not, my lady.
MAR. Of course! I suppose you’ve been educated, haven’t you, Sir?
BLEN. Your husband and I were at college together.
MAR. I know what you mean – you were schoolfellows. Well, I dare say you’re very glad to see one another. I know I should be very glad to see my cousin Joe – we were schoolfellows, too – used to go to Old Mother Tickle’s, at the first house in the village, close to the duck pond. Oh, many and many’s the time I’ve pushed him into it – up to his knees! Oh lord! it was so bong-bong– that’s a bit of French – do you understand it, Sir?
SIR W. (who has crossed behind to BLENHEIM) Don’t you, don’t you pity me?
BLEN. I think her charming – it’s natural gaiety of heart, nothing more.
SIR W. No, no, you’re pleased to compliment.
MAR. (comes between them) Hallo! you’re whispering! where’s your manners, whispering before a lady? Is that your education, my dear?
SIR W. I stand corrected.
MAR. Corrected? why, I haven’t touched you – though you deserve to catch toko, that you do.
SIR W. Well, my dear friend, I shall expect you to dine with us to-day.
MAR. Ah, do! come and take pot luck!
SIR W. Lady Evergreen, I implore you!
MAR. If he knows my meaning what does it matter? You’ll come, won’t you? Oh, do! and bring some of the sojers with you – I like sojers! What are you, a sharpshooter, or a – what d’ye call ’em?
BLEN. In the infantry, your ladyship.
MAR. Infant – infantry! Oh! what, young ’uns in arms?
SIR W. No, no, my dear!
MAR. I know, bless you! but I like what I used to see in the country – the – the yeo-ho – No, yeo-ho’s sailors – the yeomanry, that’s it! I like them best – such red jackets with yellow insides, and a thing on their heads like a tin pot with a large fox’s brush pulled over it. Oh, didn’t they look prime!
SIR W. Oh good gracious! oh good heavens! (stamps about in agony)
MAR. Oh! look at my Billy dancing! I never saw him so full of fun before.
BLEN. Well, Lady Evergreen, I shall certainly accept your kind invitation: I must return to my quarters for a short time, but will rejoin you in the course of half-an-hour. I am delighted at meeting you again, Sir William, and believe me equally delighted at my introduction to your excellent lady.
MAR. That’s hearty! give me your hand —you’re the kind o’ man I like, after all.
SIR W. Don’t be longer than half-an-hour.
BLEN. Not a moment. Adieu, my lady, for the present.
MAR. Good bye! Come again soon, now.
BLENHEIM goes off at the back —MARGERY calls after him
– Captain! bon jour! There! that’s French, there’s a bit of education for him!
SIR W. Now, my dear, that we are alone, I must tell you that your behaviour has been abominable.
MAR. Oh! has it? Now if I didn’t think I was quite the lady!
SIR W. What with your directions respecting your animals, and your reference to your cousin Joe and the old woman your schoolmistress, and your ridiculous eulogium on the uniform of the yeomanry, I thought I should have taken to my heels and have run out of the house.
MAR. I wish you had – I know I should have got on much better without you at my elbow. And as for my cousin Joe, he may be a stupid fellow and all that, but he’s a very good fellow, and if he don’t know how to make a proper bow, or a long speech like you do – such as when I’ve heard you practising to yourself about railroads, and borrowing money, and taxes, and the state of the nation, and situation of the population, and that horrible Education —he can talk so as I can understand him, and that’s more than I always can when you talk – and anybody else, for the matter o’ that. And if I did like the sojers I used to see so often, what harm was there in that? I’m sure the Captain was a fine man, a very fine man, whiskers and all – and I’ve often looked at him till I’ve felt as if I could eat him.
SIR W. I know that you mean no harm – I know that your heart is pure; but you must learn to be conscious of your present station in society. The diamond, though of value in its rough and original state, must be polished and set before it can be worn. Now to-day, when I rang for the cook and wished you to commence giving your own orders for dinner, and had previously practised you in the pronunciation of asking for cabillaud au gratin poulet roti—pomme de terre bute—
MAR. Well, I couldn’t recollect it, and so I thought it best to ask for what I liked better than anything.
SIR W. And are you aware what you did ask for?
