University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Palais Royal.
Enter St. Lo, Morluc, and Du Viray, from a gaming house, C.
Saint Lo.
Pest on the cards, the dice, the hour, the place,
Fortune, misfortune, luck, myself, the world,
And every man in it!

Du V.
Have you lost all?

St. Lo.
Drained to the bottom, and my pocket made
What prudent nature loathes—a vacuum!
I am an empty bag—a drawn-off butt;
Shake me—you will not find a jingle in me;
Tap me—I'm hollow—nothing left but noise.

Mor.
Go to Lafont, and get you filled again.

St. Lo.
Go to a usurer without a pledge!
Go to a well without a pitcher first,
And ask the water to flow up to you.
I've nothing left to draw with.—One by one,
Lafont has had my lands, my houses, horses,
My furniture, my very pots and pans!
I've not a fraction's fag end left of all
My patrimony—

Du V.
Then, before the last
Resource of want—the Morgue—try matrimony.

St. Lo.
I can't! I am in love!

Mor.
In love! ha, ha!

Du V.
Psha! With the widow Herminie de Vermont.

Mor.
A ward of Paul Lafont!

Du V.
Who, though his eyes
Are moderately sharp on most occasions,
Swears they could never see the fortune she
Declares her father left.

Mor.
Try Margaret Elmore,
The English merchant's daughter, and sole heir.
There is a bait, now, even old Lafont
Licks his dry lips at.

St. Lo.
Margaret and Lafont!
What profanation!

Mor.
Why? Lafont and Elmore
Are the two richest merchants in our city,
And what more fit than to unite them thus?

St. Lo.
And think you Elmore would consent to it?
Elmore—a man who rates a reputation
Above a life; whose own unspotted virtue
Brooks not the lightest shadow of a stain;
Whose proud, tenacious honour, holds itself
At guard against the world. He sell his child
For gold—and to a bidder like Lafont!

Mor.
'Twere hard to say: Elmore is a strange man.
When he first settled here, some three years back,
How eagerly he sought the young De Lormes,
Herminie and her brother, for no cause
But being orphans, with a knavish guardian.

Du V.
And when he found that Herminie was married,
He took Eugene, the other, to his house,
Adopted him, treated him like a son,
And till this daughter, Margaret, appeared,
All thought intended him his heir.

St. Lo.
And so
He may be yet; for Eugene loves her.

Mor.
Loves her!
You shall outbid him then—you shall adore her!

St. Lo.
Psha! What can Margaret ever be to me?
I grant her young—I grant her passing fair—
Her voice a music and her smile a spell;
Rich in attractions, talents, virtues, graces,
In all that makes her sex a glittering wonder.
I grant, had Herminie been never born,
Margaret had shone a very gem of women;
Yet she is but a woman: Herminie,
The saucy, wild, provoking Herminie,
Is—is—

Mor.
An angel—Out with it!

St. Lo.
She is—
As surely as Lafont is—

Du V.
What?

St. Lo.
A devil—
Which I'll be sworn to! Nothing merely mortal
Could have cajoled a man as he has me.
His silky smoothness is not of this world;
His sugared smile has nothing earthly in it—
None of the spice and pepper of a man!
He's never in a passion—that's not human.
Morluc—Du Viray—do now, if you love me,
Find out for me what tailor makes his clothes;
If they are fashioned like another man's—
If there is no provision for a tail?

Enter Paul Lafont and Jean Ruse, behind, R. & R.
Mor.
Lafont's a man of high repute.

St. Lo.
A devil!

Du V.
Of wealth unquestioned.

St. Lo.
Sir, I say, a devil!
I'll have him nothing less. Own him a devil,
Or we are enemies.

Mor.
Oh, if you wish it,
Lafont's a devil, then!

Du V.
So let it be,
With all my heart.

Laf.
[Advancing.]
Ha, ha! ha, ha! How do?
[They look embarrassed.
You think I heard you. Well, what if I did?
Don't look distressed. It grieves me!—You are well?
That's right—that's right. [Embracing them.]
A little ebullition
Of youthful mirth. I'm very fond of youth—
I am, indeed—so open, so ingenuous!
Your hands again—Ha, ha! That's very good.
You've had a merry night?—Sad rogues, wild rogues!
How went the cards, St. Lo?

St. Lo.
As though you had made them—
Fleeced me of every sou!

Laf.
Dear—that's a pity!
What will you do?

St. Lo.
Starve, I suppose, or hang—
Blow out my brains—or jump into the Seine—
Or make some such short, gentlemanly ending.

Laf.
How very shocking! It distresses me—
It does indeed!

St. Lo.
Well—will you help me live, then?

Laf.
Without security? Ha! that's irregular—
Unbusiness-like—it is indeed, St. Lo—
You must not ask me—think of the example!

Mor.
Come, Lafont; you must do something for him.
The highwayman that takes the traveller's purse
Will scarcely grudge restoring a few coins
To help him on the road.—You can't do less.

Du V.
He is our friend—and if you deal too hardly,
You'll drive us to withdraw our custom.

Laf.
[Aside.]
Hm!
Well, I suppose then I must offer something—
And he's so pleasant!—“Paul Lafont's a devil!”—
“Do they make no provision for a tail?”—
I must do something for this dear St. Lo!

St. Lo.
Well—what's your answer?—Will you help me, gratis?

Laf.
Hm!—I am so soft-hearted—and I love you
So very much, St. Lo—I do indeed—
I think I must—to an old friend like you—
It's very foolish—but that's just my way!—
I had a clerk—poor fellow!—died last week—
His stool is not yet filled—and—you shall have it.

St. Lo.
Have your clerk's stool!

Laf.
His place, St. Lo.

St. Lo.
A clerk!
Your clerk!

Laf.
We give no salary the first five years,
Because of the advantages; but then
You'll learn the business—be lodged and fed—
Live all in-doors—the changes of the seasons
Will never reach you:—in your small snug office,
From dawn to midnight, let the tempest pour
Or the sun broil without, you will be safe.
[Aside.]
If he accepts this he's far gone indeed!

Mor.
[To Jean.]
But if he marries?

Jean.
Clerks must never marry.

St. Lo.
[Gasping.]
Your clerk!

Laf.
Here, Jean Rusé!—Tell dear St. Lo
The luxuries a clerk enjoys.

Jean.
I can't!

Laf.
Jean, you are jealous!—That's a wicked feeling!
Never be envious of another's good!

St. Lo.
[Dragging Jean forward.]
Come here, you dried up skin of withered parchment!
Do I look like a clerk?

Jean.
Perhaps not yet—
But after serving five-and-thirty years
You'll be much altered.

St. Lo.
Five-and-thirty years!
Go—go—poor wretch!

Laf.
Now, pray my dear St. Lo
Don't be precipitate—consider of it!

Jean.
Oh, what a wicked world!—Reject a clerkship!—
What black ingratitude!

Laf.
He'll think upon it.
He'll think upon it, Jean! Sweet gentlemen,
You'll talk to him. I cannot stay myself.
I am upon my way to our dear Elmore,
And his sweet daughter.—Ah, Sirs! There's a man!
Such wealth—such virtue!—How he makes us love him.
St. Lo, perhaps, will one day be an Elmore—
It's only to begin.—Good bye, St. Lo—
I love you very much—I do indeed!
You'll think upon my offer.—Dear Du Viray—
My very dear Morluc—I kiss your hands!

[Exit, L.
Jean.
[To St. Lo.]
Oh, most unhappy youth!—Reject a clerkship!

[Exit, L.
[Morluc and Du Viray burst into shouts of laughter
St. Lo.
Don't laugh!—I'll not endure it!—Were he not
Herminie's guardian, I'd not leave a bone
Whole in his body!—Don't stand laughing there,
But help me to abuse him!—May all plagues
Of ruined spendthrifts cling like plasters to him!
Unmanageable duns, with bills unpaid,
Growing with mushroom speed, a crop a night,
Hang on his steps!—May he for ever hold
Cards from which all the trumps have been forgot,
And dice that will throw nothing but deuce-ace!
May he—come, help me—help me!

Mor.
Be in love!

St. Lo.
And let it be despairingly!

Du V.
With one
Whose fortune, added to his own, will not
Make up the purchase of their wedding-ring!

St. Lo.
That's growing personal—But yet go on!—

Mor.
And may his mistress have a guardian, too,—
A guardian like Lafont!

St. Lo.
Go on—go on!
That was a clincher!—Help me to some more—
I have not half done yet.

Enter Eugene de Lorme, R.
Du V.
Eugene!

Eug.
How now?
What is the mood to-day?

St. Lo.
Moral and savage!
There—hold your tongue—I'm cursing—

Eug.
Cursing!—Whom?

St. Lo.
Your and your sister's guardian, Paul Lafont.
Don't put me out—you'll lose the benefit!

Mor.
He has just had a dose of good advice,
And it is pinching him.—He's desperate!

Du V.
I think he'll turn a hermit.

Mor.
Ay—and grow
Extremely saintly—and extremely thin!

Du V.
De Lorme, I give you joy of your companion.
Farewell!—We've business. He is in good hands,
And we shall hear of him.

[Exeunt Morluc and Du Viray, R.
Eug.
What is the matter?

St. Lo.
Nothing worth mentioning. My wheels want greasing,
And so they shriek a little—that is all.

Eug.
Dear, dear St. Lo, when will you cast aside
These idle follies?

St. Lo.
Now, boy—now—to-day!—
From this hour forth I'll be another man.
I will not run in debt—for I've no credit—
Nor borrow—for I've no security.
Nor gamble—for I've nothing left to stake.
Nor—hear your sermons—for I have no patience!

Eug.
Why force me then to preach? Oh, well you know
I burn to call you brother—but my sister
Has always the same answer;—your wild courses,
Your thoughtless waste, your dissolute companions!—
And what can I reply?

St. Lo.
That she's an angel;
And you a lucky, calm, cold-blooded dog,
Whose virtue costs him nothing!—It's all luck—
Nothing but luck, I tell you. Here am I,
Who owned a fortune not a twelvemonth back,
What am I now? Cleaned out—drained dry—a beggar—
While you, who seemed the butt of all mischances.
Motherless from your birth—in infancy
Orphaned by violence—your father murdered—
His steward left your guardian and his heir.
For all your father's lands proved mortgaged to him—
What does it matter?—Nothing!—There's your luck—
For you up starts a stranger—Matthew Elmore—
This English merchant—takes you to his house—
Brings home a pretty daughter—gives you means
To ruffle with the bravest of her suitors—
Makes you—Psha!—Talking of it angers me!
Fortune's a jade—the world all goes by luck—
Nothing but luck!

Eug.
All this, and more than this,
Has Elmore done for me; more than my tongue
Or grateful heart can utter; and I love him
As I have dreamed a son should love his father.
Oft has my fancy called again to earth
My own lost father's unentombed remains
From the deep waters where they lie engulphed,
And animating them with Elmore's soul,
I've asked myself if I could love that father
More dearly then than I do Elmore now.

St. Lo.
And how replied your fancy?

Eug.
With a sigh!
A father!—Oh there is a magic charm
In the mere name of kindred, other words
Cannot supply!—How I have stood and watched
When Elmore gazed upon his daughter's face,
While their souls seemed to cling about each other,
And from their eyes, like two opposing mirrors,
The images received were given back,
Again to be returned, again reflected,
In endless interchange:—but upon me
His calm and chastened smile, though ever kind,
Is cold and saddened, too. Yet both are love—
That—the proud father's fondness for his child
This—the good man's compassion for the orphan.

St. Lo.
Oh that some good man, with the like good means
Would take a like compassion upon me!
I would not quarrel with his looks. Inquire
If Elmore wants another protégé!
I'm disengaged, and wholly at his service;
An orphan, too—the very thing to suit him!
I'm to be let.—I shall take little room—
My baggage will all lie in an arm-chair;
My purse pack up within a nurse-maid's thimble.

Eug.
Nay, not while mine is full.

St. Lo.
You're a kind fellow—
Perhaps I'll take you at your word, and use you;
If not, I shall not thank you aught the less:
And let your Margaret be but of my mind,
You'll win her from them all!

Eug.
Oh name her not!
To my own heart I dare not breathe my love.
I am the creature of her father's bounty.
Yet were I lord of kingdoms—nay, of worlds,—
To ask the love of Margaret would seem
As though I bade the silver queen of night
Curtain her beams from every other eye,
To shine on me alone.

St. Lo.
I've seen the moon
Shine brighter on a puddle than an ocean!
And women love that best on which their love
Can show most liberal.—Do you still doubt?
Then look at me!—I'll go and woo your sister
More hotly now than ever.—Follow me!
And, as I prosper, make me your example.

Eug.
[Laughing.]
You an example!

St. Lo.
And why not, good friend?
What wins a widow will not lose a maid!

[Exeunt, R.