PN Class lEH Opt 7.i ft Copyright W- COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Mfolter ITBekker&Co Q o >s t o rv library of congress, **^ lYS. COPYRIGHT OFFICE. No registration of title of this book as a preliminary to copyright protec- tion has been found. Forwarded to Order Division (Date) i by the new r protected, the highest ing English ed for ama- (Apr. 5, 1901—5,000.) rear peTiormaiiue. iuis puunuauwu w»b vugm-auy iiii/cu.u.cu iur me benefit of readers only, but the increasing demand for the plays for acting purposes has far outrun their merely literary success. With the idea of placing this excel- lent series within the reach of the largest possible number of amateur clubs, we have obtained authority to offer them for acting purposes at an author's roy- alty of Ten Dollars for Each Performance. This rate does not apply to prof essional performances ', for which terms will be made known on application. TTLTp A TUT A T^fYFJ^ I A Farcical Romance in Three Acts. By Arthur J <-£^ ru.YLfX^\JL>&> | w Pinero. Seven male and five female char- 1 acters. Costumes, modern; scenery, an exterior and an interior, not at all difficult. This admirable farce is too well known through its recent performance by the Lyceum Theatre Company, New York, to need description. It is especially recommended to young ladies' schools and colleges. (1895.) W THE CABINET MINISTER. f A Farce in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Ten male and nine female characters. Costumes, modern society ; scenery, three interiors. A very amusing piece, in- genious in construction, and brilliant in dialogue. (1892.) DANDY DICK. A Farce in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Seven male, four female characters. Costumes, mod- ern ; scenery, two interiors. This very amusing piece was another success in the New York and Boston theatres, and has been ex- tensively played from manuscript by amateurs, for whom it is in every respect suited. It provides an unusual number of capital character parts, is very funny, and an excellent acting piece. Plays two hours and a half. (1893.) TUT T-TORRV T-TOP^F I A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur 1 nfi n\J?&I> X IT1KJ£kOS1» I w> Pinero. Ten male, five female char- 1 acters. Scenery, two interiors and an ex- terior ; costumes, modern. This piece is best known in this country through the admirable performance of Mr. John Hare, who produced it in all the principal cities. Its story presents a clever satire of false philanthropy, and is full of interest and humor. Well adapted for amateurs, by whom it has been success- fully acted. Plays two hours and a half. (1892.) LADY BOUNTIFUL. A Play $i Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Eight male and seven female char- acters. Costumes, modern; scenery, four interiors, not easy. A play of powerful sympathetic interest, % little sombre in key, but not unrelieved by humorous touches. (1892.) THE SOUP TUREEN AND OTHER DUOLOGUES AND DIALOGUES TRANSLATED BY MEMBERS OF THE BELLEVUE DRAMATIC CLUB OF NEWPORT BOSTON WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 1902 !bRARYG>F MGRESSi o:es Received APR ^3 1903 Entry CLASS XXc. No. COPY B. Co .<*•' Copyright, 1878, by Henry Holt & Co. NOTE. There is no change of scenery in these plays. The division of the text into " scenes " merely follows the French literary custom, and indicates no interruption of the action whatever. The stage is set to represent an interior, but no scenery is actually necessary. • c » ■ « « • • • C i O CO CONTENTS PAGE The Soup Tureen, i male, 2 females 5 The Unlucky Star. 2 males 21 Lelia. 1 male, 1 female 31 The Serenade. 2 females 52 The Flower of Tlemcen. 2 males, 3 females . . 60 The Old Homestead. 2 males, 2 females .... 92 The Cardinal's Illness. 6 males, 1 female . . . 121 THE SOUP TUREEN. BY E. D'HERVILLY. CHARACTERS. Mrs. Spoon. Mr. de Honduras. Servant. Scene — A drawing-room — London. SCEXE I. Mrs. Spoon. [Enter Mrs. Spoon in full ball-dress — speaks, as if to somebody behind scenes. ] Theodora, you under- stand, do you not, that the carriage is to be here at ten o'clock ? [Looks at clock.] Half-past nine. I shall have time to pass myself in review, as poor Colonel Spoon used to say. [Before glass.] Steady! not bad — and modesty itself. I shall have to follow rigidly the programme laid down by my dear Jemima. She begged me to appear at her ball this evening, simply dressed, that I might not dazzle the eyes of her un- fashionable friends ; so I have been obliged to take a reef in my sails, as Colonel Spoon used to say. Never s 5 THE SOUP TUREEN. mind, I make rather a nice-looking widow yet, and could he see me even in this simple but tasteful ball- dress, I am sure my poor husband would say, " Sol- dier, I am satisfied with you." Poor Colonel Spoon ! Ah ! what a cruel fate it is, tha.t takes away your husband in the flower of your. . .age. The Colonel took cold, a few months after our marriage, in re- turning one evening from his club. It was nothing at first, but science took hold of it. The faculty soon passed sentence upon him. At last, one morn- ing he took a dose, and a few minutes afterwards medical science was satisfied. [After a moment of pen- sive thought, she draws aside the window curtains, and looks into the darkness outside. ] Still raining ! What a horrid winter ! Dark as pitch ! Not a star to be seen ! As Theodora, my maid, says, one would really think that the poverty-stricken angels had pawned the stars, this month. [Laughs.] I'm thinking of that imbecile, that queer good-natured little fellow, with the eyes of a pelican sacrificing itself for its young — that man whom I've been continually meet- ing in the streets for the last week. I declare, I should be perfectly happy if he got the whole or even a part of this tremendous shower on his noble shoulders ! That would cool down his ardor, I should think. [A knock, L. ] Well, what is it ? [Enter Servant, with waiter. \ I told you I wanted the car- riage at ten o'clock ! Servant. I beg your pardon, madam, but a gentle- man wishes to speak with you on urgent business. Mrs. Spoon. But I gave orders that I was engaged PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG. j Servant. I told him so, but he begged me to give you this card. [Gives card.] Mrs. Spoon [reading card]. "Wilfrid de Hondu- ras." Honduras ! I don't know Honduras ! Let me see ! Yes ! now I come to think of it, I'm sure I have seen the name in the newspaper. Hon- duras ! Oh ! now I know ! It's that foreigner — it's that South American who — that's it — a famous bric- a-brac hunter. What can he want of me ? Suppose I send him back to his bric-a-brac ? " Most urgent business ! " Oh, well, Joseph, show him in. [Aside.] Didn't Eve admit that the serpent came to see her — out of curiosity ? Exit Servant. She sits down and seems lost in thought.] De Honduras ! I have never even asked what this inhabitant of the New World looked like ! What a singular visit ! What on earth can I have to do with an ex-Indian who buys old cracked china at auction ? SCENE II. Mrs. Spoon — De Honduras. [Enter De Honduras in evening dress.] De Honduras. Madame. Mrs. Spoon [with a little scream of surprise']. Ah ! [Aside.] The man with the eyes of a devoted pelican. This is too much ! [Aloud, pointing to the door, angrily.] I beg, sir, that De Honduras [aside]. She recognizes me. [Aloud.] Have pity, madame 8 THE SOUP TUREEN. Mrs. Spoon. Go, sir — or you will compel an unpro- tected woman to use the stronger means that a touch of this bell will call to her aid. De Honduras. Listen to me, madame — only one word. In the name of all that you hold most dear ! In the name of your collection ! One word ! Mrs. Spoon [aside, while De H., drawn by irre- sistible curiosity, stealthily examines the ornaments about the room]. The man is crazy ! and yet there's nothing very alarming about him. He is well enough dressed. The carriage has not come — but, still . . . Joseph is on the watch. Well, let him speak. [Aloud.] Sir, you have entered a private house at night ; but as you did not break in, you may speak. I will listen to you. De Honduras. Madame, I shall not attempt to give you a complete picture of my horrible position ; I shall give a simple sketch — a mere outline. Mrs. Spoon [pointing to chair]. Profit by your victory, sir ; sit down. De Honduras [bows and sits]. To begin, then, I am that miserable being — that unknown intruder— that wandering Christian — who for the last week has thrown himself in your path — as disagreeable, per- haps, as orange-peel, but surely not so dangerous. Mrs. Spoon [dryly]. To the point, if you please. De Honduras. The unrelieved contempt you show for one of the most respectful of men, madame, will, I am sure, be softened, when you learn that my motive in calling upon you is entirely proper. Yes, madame, the sky of June is not purer than the PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. g depths of my heart. My name is Wilfrid de Hondu- ras Mrs. Spoon. I know it. If I may believe the best reports, you are a mad collector of china. De Honduras [interrupting]. Why! I have never bitten any one Mrs. Spoon \_sneeringly\. Ah ! I remember, now. It was you who paid five hundred pounds for a mus- tard pot — an old Marseille De Honduras. The mustard is perhaps a slight ex- aggeration ; but I certainly did give five hundred pounds for the jar — to whatever uses it may once have been forced to submit. Mrs. Spoon. I beg, sir, that you will come to the point. De Honduras. Very well, madame, shall I tear aside the veil still further ? Mrs. Spoon. Tear, sir, but tear quickly. De Honduras [fw«]. Well, then, the event took place in London. It was on a beautiful day of last month, about noon. It rained, but only in torrents. I was at an auction sale of old china, which had been collected by an ardent lover of such things — Mr. Montague. I bid for a superb soup tureen — a most exquisite thing — nearly two hundred years old — for it dated from the time when Louis XIV., after having sent his silver service to the Mint, " was consider- ing whether he should not take to china," accord- ing to Saint Simon. Oh ! what a tureen ! Madame, the festoons and fillets, the mantlings and foliage with which it was ornamented, would have rejoiced IO THE SOUP TUREEN. the heart of Bernard de Palissy himself. Moreover, it was covered with armorial bearings, a thing that is most unusual ! Mrs. Spoon [aside]. He really is stark mad ! [Aloud.] Let us be serious, sir. De Honduras. I am as serious as Pluto himself ; but to be brief. This tureen was knocked down to me for ^1,720 and some pence, which I shall not trouble you by mentioning. Mrs. Spoon [laughing]. Thank you, thank you ! De Honduras [sadly]. And this tureen; this dream of my youth ; this consolation of my riper years ; this tureen had been bereaved of its cover — widowed, madame ! Mrs. Spoon [coldly]. A most heart-rending story ; but I can do nothing to help it ; and, as I suppose, sir, that all this is the result of a wager, I will acknowledge that you have won. [Points to the door.] De Honduras. Would you drive me away, most cruel of your sex ? Mrs. Spoon [angrily]. Good heavens ! I've not got your cover ! De Honduras. A terrible mistake, madame, terrible ! Mrs. Spoon. What do you mean ? De Honduras [quickly]. Not a word — I know all ! The cover is here ! You bought it a month ago, at our friend Chapman's, the china merchant's, as a hanging vase for your conservatory. Am I not right ? That cover — if it has been correctly de- scribed to me — that cover, madame, is mine ! Chap- PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. Ir man did not know your name or your address, but one day, when I was in his shop, you passed by, and he exclaimed, " There she is! the lady with the cover!" With the fleetness and accuracy of the chamois I followed your footsteps over streets and bridges. But, alas ! like the chimera of the poet, you eluded me. for a whole week, vanishing into all sorts of shops each time that I hoped to reach you and to implore you to sell me your cover, at no matter what price. At last, I have found where you live, and I appear before you, as urgent and pale as the ghost of the Commendatore. Mrs. Spoon. This is clearly an advanced stage of insanity ! De Honduras \yiolently\. Ah, madame, it is evident that you do not collect ! You do not know this devour- ing passion ! While we are searching for a missing piece, we feel in us the blood of the Indian tracking his enemy along the war-path, to take his scalp and hang it proudly at the door of his wigwam ! and I have sworn to get your cover ! A tureen without its cover is like the solitary palm that sighs as the wind passes it by ; like Paul, two thousand leagues from his Virginia ; like one of the Siamese twins separated from his brother ; like a Laplander de- prived of his reindeer. In heaven's name, madame, sell me your cover ! Mrs. Spoon [aside, looking alarmed]. I am horribly frightened. [Aloud.'] One moment ! [Rings j enter Servant]. Bring me the hanging flower- vase that is in the green-house. [Exit Servant. ] 12 THE SOUP TUREEN. De Honduras. Oh ! is it possible [with great delight] you consent ? Mrs. Spoon. To give up this cover ? Certainly. De Honduras. Certainly, you say ? Ah ! how en- chanting that adverb sounds to my ears. Words fail me to express the pleasure I Mrs. Spoon. Do not try, I beg ! De Honduras. I obey. But at least, madame, tell me the price you set on this rare article ? Mrs. Spoon. Oh, I set no price. I will give it to you. De Honduras. You give me — a real Rouen ? A — you — [with sudden suspicion] — but perhaps the enamel is scratched ? Some hidden flaw ? Mrs. Spoon. No, the piece is perfect. [Noise heard of broken china .] At least it was perfect a minute ago, but now, alas, I fear De Honduras. Heavens ! What do I hear ? What a blow ? My — your — in fact our cover — I feel very ill, madame — I — real Rouen — come — I — broken into a thousand pieces— ah ! ah ! [Faints], Mrs. Spoon [ fairly stupefied] . Good heavens ! This caps the climax ! Sir, sir ! Oh ! what a fearful ad- venture. Sir, I implore you to come to life again ! This is perfectly horrible ! And if he should die here ! Sir ! A corpse with me at this time of night [growing more and more excited], and when there's so little room, too. Sir ! This is a most irregular proceeding, sir ! I'll try slapping his hands ! [Ad- ministers this ancient and honorable remedy '.] Sir ! Dear Mr. de Honduras, revive once more ! For PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. jj heaven's sake ! And the ball ! Oh, dear, the ball ! What shall I do ? and I can't unlace him either ! Ah ! at such a critical moment how useful the Colonel would have been ! [De H. makes a move- ment^ There ! He is coming to life ! Saved ! De Honduras [opening his eyes]. "Where am I ? Oh ! it is you, madame ! What has happened ? Oh ! I recollect ! The cover ! [Shows signs of renewed faintness. ] Mrs. Spoon [alarmed]. Heavens ! is he going to faint again ? Sir De Honduras. It's over — I feel better. Thanks — Mrs. Spoon. Do you really feel better ? Would you like a glass of water ? De Honduras. Thank you, I should. [Scornfully examines the tumbler that she brings, and mutters, " Imitation Venetian ! " then drinks .] Ah ! now I feel completely — repaired. What excuse can I make to you, madame ? But you see my nervous system has become so frightfully sensitive since— [He takes his hat and is going.] Mrs. Spoon [with an air of curiosity]. Since when ? De Honduras. Since the breaking of an engage- ment which promised to overwhelm me with happi- ness. Mrs. Spoon. I am sorry to have been the innocent cause De Honduras [sitting] . How kind you are ! It would be a great relief to my feelings, if you would let me give you a few confidential details of my life, 14 THE SOUP TUREEN. Mrs. Spoon [aside]. This is too much. The man takes too much advantage of his condition. The ball ! the ball ! [Aloud \] I am very sorry, but I have an engagement. De Honduras. Two words will suffice. My story is simple. Several years ago, I was made most happy Mrs. Spoon. I am very sorry, sir — I regret ex- tremely — but I cannot wait any longer. A ball, given to celebrate the wedding De Honduras. A wedding was just what I was com- ing to ; mine, by-the-by ; but which never took place, for the young lady who was ripening for me upon the family tree — if I may be allowed the simile Mrs. Spoon. Really, sir De Honduras. In short, Miss Morville, although she was not acquainted with me — - — Mrs. Spoon [aside]. Who did he say? Miss Mor- ville ! [A loud.] Did you say Miss Morville ? De Honduras. Yes, madame — I was going to marry that young lady. Our witnesses — our parents, I mean — had arranged it for us. But before I could throw myself at her feet, breathing the tenderest expressions of affection, the dear, capricious child had given her white and precious hand to a rich foreigner Mrs. Spoon. To a foreigner ? [Aside.] How strange ! [Aloud.] Poor Mr. de Honduras ! De Honduras. Say rather, poor Mr. de Stromberg, for Honduras is a fictitious name — I adopted it for PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. IS the sake of guarding the strictest incognito in my relations with the agents of the auction rooms. Yes, madame, I am the unfortunate Hector de Strom- berg. Mrs. Spoon [aside]. Can it be possible that this is the young man ! Why, he was the Colonel's un- known rival ! he whom I refused to marry — What a coincidence ! De Honduras. I do not blame Miss Morville. She did not know me, I had never seen her. There- fore there was nothing heart-breaking, to her at least, in the rupture of our engagement,. As for me, I had built upon this marriage — a whole castle in the air. Ah ! I was sadly deceived. Mrs. Spoon [aside]. Poor fellow ! [Aloud]. How you must hate this treacherous girl ! De Honduras. I have treasured no bitter feeling towards her. But her refusal of me, without motive, gave me such a blow as struck to the depths of my soul ! This is why I have plunged into the ceramic art in the flower of my years ! Mrs. Spoon [aside]. The Colonel himself, had he been in this young man's place, would not have grieved more for me, I am convinced. [Aloud.] Into the ceramic art, did you say ? De Honduras. Yes, madame — and up to my neck in it — and by so doing, I have been able to preserve my deep respect for the sex of which I considered Miss Morville — until I had the pleasure of meeting you, madame — the choicest specimen. At least, I said to myself, I shall never be able to say of woman 1 6 THE SOUP TUREEN. what Hamlet thought of them. In all my sorrows I will say only, " Frailty, thy name is — china." Mrs. Spoon. And you are still — unmarried ? De Honduras. As Paris, the shepherd Mrs. Spoon. Ah ! then perhaps, in spite of your grief, you have distributed a few apples here and there ? De Honduras. Seldom, madame, I assure you. Paris, in every respect, is far from Mount Ida. Mrs. Spoon. I beg your pardon. Excuse my want of tact. Have you never heard of Miss Morville since ? De Honduras. Never ! The rich foreigner she preferred to me, is, I am told, a colonel in the Amer- ican militia — his name, I think, is — Fork. Mrs. Spoon [laughing]. You are mistaken. His name was Spoon. De Honduras [carelessly]. I beg pardon — Ah! the worthy Yankee's name is Spoon, eh ? Mrs. Spoon [angrily]. Respect the memory of my husband, sir ! De Honduras [suddenly enlightened]. The memory of your husband ? Spoon was your husband ! and you are actually a widow — and — and — ah ! then — this is Miss Morville, with whom I have the frantic joy of speaking ? Mrs. Spoon. I have betrayed myself ! Yes, you have come to Colonel Spoon's widow for a cover. De Honduras [with intense Joy] . Oh ! miracles of the ceramic art — I see all now ! Mrs. Spoon. All ? What do you mean, Mr. Hector ? PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. *7 De Honduras. You call me Hector ? Ah ! that name from your pretty lips effaces years of sorrow. Yes, I understand it all, now. While I was in ar- dent pursuit of that Golden Fleece in china, which now lies broken into a thousand bits, while I fol- lowed you persistently night and day — in the streets, at the theatre — Ah ! madame, the sweetest, tenderest feelings gradually entered my soul ! After three days of vain pursuit, my heart no longer held a tureen, but your adored image only ! Mrs. Spoon. Mr. Hector ! De Honduras. Every look that you gave me showed but too plainly your utter contempt for me, and from the madly enthusiastic collector I became the ar- dent but despairing lover. Ah ! how happy I am to have found in the fascinating unknown, towards whom I was so irresistibly drawn, the widow Spoon ! Mrs. Spoon. Mr. Hector ! De Honduras. Yes, I reproached myself with my infidelity to the memory of Miss Morville, and if the collector had not often whispered to the lover " Courage," I firmly believe that neither the one nor the other would ever have the happiness that they now have, of throwing themselves at your feet, im- ploring you to give them Mrs. Spoon. My dear friend De Honduras {much excited\ Pardon my boldness ! Look favorably upon this strange adventure, and deign — to complete my collection. Oh ! forgive me, I've lost my head — deign to reward my long constancy. Yes, one word from you will efface the 1 8 THE SOUP TUREEN. remembrance of all that I have suffered. I ask you, with tears of joy, madame, and smiles of hope, to give me youi cover — your charming hand, I mean. Mrs. Spoon. My dear friend ! After my servant's carelessness just now, in breaking so valuable a piece, what can I reply to the collector ? De Honduras. Devil take the collection ! What is china to me now ? I love you ! Mrs. Spoon. This earnest appeal deserves an honest reward ; but my poor friend, what am I — a sad widow ! I bring you a broken heart De Honduras [ perfectly beside himself]. I'll have it riveted ! Mrs. Spoon. My heart ! De Honduras. No, cruel woman. I don't know what I'm saying. Mrs. Spoon. I should think not, when your beau- tiful dream is in pieces. Do you no longer think of it ? What could repay you for it ? De Honduras [in transport]* I will console it Mrs. Spoon. My cover ? De Honduras. No, no, your heart. The pieces are good. Mrs. Spoon [laughing]. Of my heart ? De Honduras. Oh ! for heaven's sake, let us stop these cross purposes. The day is won — the cover has fallen, the collector has vanished, and the lover remains ! I adore you ! Mrs. Spoon [wickedly]. Even without the cover? De Honduras [rises]. With all my tureen ! [Knock at the door. ] PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 19 Mrs. Spoon. Well ? What is it? [Enter Servant.] Servant. The cover that you bought the other day, ma'am, has been taken to the jeweler to be mounted, ma'am. Mrs. Spoon. What was that noise then that I heard just now ? Servant. A jardiniere, that your dog, ma'am, knocked over. Your carriage is ready, ma'am. [Exit.] Mrs. Spoon. Well, Mr. Hector — what do you say to that ? Your cover is not broken. De Honduras. I am sorry for it ! For now I sup- pose you will send us both away, one in the arms of the other, and then I shall certainly die. Mrs. Spoon. "Certainly" — you have returned my "enchanting adverb." No, Hector, I shall not send you away ; but I must leave you, until to-morrow. This evening I am going to a ball given to celebrate the wedding of my friend Jemima Doughty, a com- patriot of the — late Colonel. De Honduras. Miss Jemima, who is to be married to Sir Robert Gravesend ? Mrs. Spoon. The same. De Honduras. That being the case, I shall beg for a seat in your carriage. [Draws from his pocket a wed- ding invitation.) My invitation (pointing to his dress suit) and my evening dress must emphatically prove to you that I too am going to a ball — that ball is given by my friend, Sir Robert Gravesend. Mrs. Spoon. What a delightful coincidence ! Are you well acquainted with him ? De Honduras. Intimately. We were both sick to- 20 THE SOUP TUREEN. gether on the same boat, from Calais to Dover. Such things create a life-long tie, and besides he is a collec- tor of china. His wife will be very happy. Mrs. Spoon. That we shall see ! In the meantime, I will give you with pleasure a seat in my carriage or coach, Mr. Hector. And the cover? What orders shall I give about that ? De Honduras. Let it be placed upon the sideboard in your dining-room, and perhaps some day my tureen will join it, with your consent. Mrs. Spoon. I shall expect you to cultivate my taste for the ceramic art, Hector. J THE UNLUCKY STAR. BY JULES GUILLEMOT, CHARACTERS. Pastorel. Marius Cabassol. SCENE I. Room in a hotel. Pastorel [alone, seated at a table preparing to write], I must write to my relations in the south. They'll be surprised to hear of my return, after not hearing from me for so many years. — What a draught ! [Goes to window, looks out, and then shuts it.] That gentle- man opposite is still at his window ; he can't have much to do. [He sits down and is about to commence his letter.] The... what is the day of the month? [Looks at almanac hanging on the wall.] Havre, July 17, 1877 — [Loud knocking. ] 21 22 THE UNLUCKY STAR. SCENE II. Pastorel — Marius Cabassol. Cabassol [entering excitedly]. Excuse me, sir, hut was it you who slammed the window so violently ? Pastorel [calmly], I shut my window just now, but I am not aware that I slammed it violently. Cabassol. Excuse me, sir, excuse me, but you did slam it violently. I was at my window. [Points to window.] There, sir ! opposite ; you're on the second floor of this hotel, I on the third. You look out on the street and on the court-yard, whereas my lookout is only on the court-yard. Life is full of injustice. For want of something better to do, I thought I would amuse myself [with a sarcastic smile] by look- ing on the court-yard of a hotel (if that can be called amusement) ; I happened to look in this direction, and saw you writing — why, there is the very letter. [Points to letter, and knocks on table.] I was looking at you very innocently — I don't think there is any rudeness in looking at a person writing thirty feet off — it was then you got up and slammed the win- dow violently . . .1 am not sensitive, and am naturally good-tempered, but your proceeding appeared to me most insulting, and I come to ask you if it was in- tentional on your part. Pastorel. Not at all, sir — I did it to avoid a draught ! and because the wind blew my paper away. [Aside.] What a queer fellow this is ! He is very annoying. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 2 ^ Cabassol. You assure me you had no other mo- tive ? Pastorel. I assure you. Cabassol. On your honor ? Pastorel [smiling in spite of himself]. On my honor. Cabassol [to himself]. Then I suppose / must apologize. That's very disgusting ! — [Aloud.] Sir ! I bid you good morning — I leave you without the slightest ill feeling. [Starts to go out.] Pastorel [calling him back]. Sir ! Cabassol [returning instantly]. No, sir, no ! I'm perfectly satisfied — I avoid quarrels as much as I can, being of a peaceful disposition — notwithstand- ing which I am constantly embroiling myself. I can't help thinking that I was born under an unlucky star — Oh ! if I were to tell you the history of my life ! . . . Pastorel. Oh ! I will not detain you, and I, you see. . . [Shows his half-written letter^] Cabassol. That's nothing, I've plenty of time. \He sits.] Pastorel [aside] . This is too much — he has settled himself for the day ! Cabassol. I am from the south ! Pastorel. I can see that, sir. Cabassol [irritably]. How can you see that, sir ? Pastorel. No offence ! I am from the south my- self. Cabassol. I should never have supposed it. Pastorel. But, I have been away thirty years. 2 4 THE UNLUCKY STAR. Cabassol. And I, sir, have scarcely ever been away from there. Pastorel. And yet, you are here in Havre. Cabassol. Do you want me to remain in one spot forever ? Pastorel. I had no idea. . . Cabassol. I accept your apologies ... As I told you, I was born in the south — I will not go back beyond my birth . . . Pastorel [aside]. I hope not. Cabassol. I will speak but briefly of my infancy . . . my first tooth . . . Pastorel [appalled]. Suppose we go to the second ? Cabassol [irritably]. Excuse me, sir ! If I weary you, say so. Pastorel. On the contrary, you amuse me. Cabassol. What do you mean ? Pastorel. I mean, that you do not weary me. Cabassol. Then, you should not look as if I did ! Where was I ? Oh ! the teeth. Are you a father of a family ? Pastorel. Alas ! no ! Cabassol. You do not realize how happy you are ! / do ! but as you are not a father, I will pass the teeth. [Pastorel shows signs of being pleased — Cabas- sol sees them.] When I say I will pass Pastorel. He is decidedly original, but very dis- agreeable. Cabassol. I come to my examination in elocution. Now you will see my bad luck ! I competed for the prize of honor, and I got it. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 25 Pastorel. I can't say that I see- Cabassol. You'll see, you'll see ! They gave me the works of Moliere, beautifully bound. Pastorel. Well ? Cabassol. Wait ! and the works of Masillon. Well, sir, I had the works of Masillon in my library ! Wasn't that bad luck, eh ? . . . and that's nothing. When I was eighteen years old . . . [Stops suddenly, and says, pointing to letter on table.'] But put that away ! Pastorel. What for ? Cabassol. It bothers me, I can't go on with my story comfortably. It seems to say to me : Aren't you ever going to get through with that story ? [Pasto- rel puts letter in drawer. Cabassol continues.] When I was eighteen, I went up for my examination . . . Pastorel. And you were rejected ? Cabassol. No ! I passed with the greatest ease. Pastorel. But then ? . . . Cabassol. Wait ! I passed easily ; but I had only four white balls, and my friend Balthazar had five ! It's always that way ! At twenty-eight, I was mar- ried . . . Oh ! if it was only to do over again ! . . . well, I married a lovely woman ! . . . Pastorel. Good ! Cabassol. I should say a woman whom all the world called lovely. I . . . well, you know she was my wife ! Besides which, she had two hundred thousand francs. Pastorel. Well ? Cabassol. But wait ! Six months after, Balthazar 26 THE UNLUCKY STAR. married a woman with two hundred and fifty thou- sand francs. I ought to have had that, oughtn't I ? . . . Well, no — it was for Balthazar ! Always my luck, my infernal bad luck ! [Breaks paper-knife while gesticulating. ] Pastorel. Take care, sir, you have broken my paper-knife. Cabassol. There's nothing to be surprised at in that ; my hand's unlucky. . .everything about me is unlucky Pastorel. If it belonged to me!... But it belongs to the hotel. Cabassol. That's all right ; they'll put it in your bill . . « Ah ! I forgot the most astonishing proof of my bad luck. My wife had some tickets in the grand lottery ; one of them came out a prize of ten thou- sand francs. Pastorel. That was superb. Cabassol. You think that superb, do you ? Well, listen ! I had 340,600. Now, what do you think drew the great prize, 100,000 francs ? No. 340,601 ! Yes, sir ! Yes, sir ! it's incredible ! . . .1 ought to be used to it ; it has been the same thing since my childhood Pastorel. Since your first tooth ? Cabassol. Yes, since my first tooth. When I take an umbrella it is sure to be a fine day ; if I go out with my cane it rains in torrents. Now, you never heard of such things happening to any one but me — Pastorel [with an incredulous air] . Oh ! Cabassol. If I run after an omnibus, it's sure to be PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 27 full ; and I have observed that this has happened most frequently on rainy days. It's a fatality ! If I were invited to see an eclipse at the Observatory, I might just as well stay at home — it would certainly be all over before I could get there. Pastorel. And they wouldn't do it over again for you ! Cabassol [thoughtlessly and with rage]. Do it over again ! [Seeing his mistake ?\ Ah ! you are laughing at me, sir ! If that's the case, I'll say no more ; but I'll see you again, sir. [He starts to go out.] Pastorel. Sir ! Cabassol [aside]. He seems delighted to get rid of me. I'll stay. [Aloud.] I have made up my mind ; I can't fight with you. With my luck, if you were the worst swordsman in the world, you would run me through immediately, and I have no wish to have my property divided amongst my heirs. I had rather live to get my share of other people's estates. Pastorel. What a beast ! Cabassol. There's my bad luck again ! Balthazar had two aunts and two cousins, he buried them all . . . They were only forty-five years old. There's luck. Now, I have neither uncle nor aunt, nor cousin nor . . .Stop though [thinking]. Yes ! I have an uncle in America. Pastorel. Oh ! oh ! Cabassol. Yes, I know people laugh at uncles in America. But still there are some, and some of these have come back, too. But mine never has come back, and never will. No, sir ! he never will. 28 THE UNLUCKY STAR. [ While saying this he gesticulates volently with glass weight. ] Pastorel. Take care, sir ! You are going to smash my paper-weight. Cabassol. Never mind ! they'll put it on your bill. Pastorel. So you have got an uncle in America. Allow me to ask what is the name of your birth- place ? Cabassol. I live at Andance. Pastorel. Where's Andance ? Cabassol. Opposite Andancette. Pastorel. And where's Andancette ? Cabassol. What a question ! Why opposite An- dance ... A Frenchman never knows anything about geography. Pastorel [to himself :] I know as much now as I did before. Cabassol. But that is my wife's country. I am from Martigues, near Marseilles Pastorel [aside]. From Martigues — it is he, no doubt ! [Aloud. ~\ And what was your uncle's name ? Cabassol. Pastorel, the old scoundrel ! old ... he was young when he went away ; but that's a long time ago, he ought to be old now. There is no doubt he was a man of very bad habits, and must have squandered all he made in dissipation, unless the savages ate him — I hope they did ! . . . But what makes you so curious ? Did you ever know him ? Pastorel. Yes, I knew the old scoundrel, as you call him. What would he say if he heard you ? Cabassol [uneasy]. You look like — a very good PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 2 9 man. I'm sure you would not repeat my idle words. Then you know him ? and he was not eaten ? Pastorel. No ! nor his money either. Cabassol. No ? Pastorel. That seems to interest you ? Cabassol. To be sure it does ! Pastorel. Yes, you seem very much interested. Well ! when I saw him he was thinking of coming here. Cabassol. You don't say so ! Pastorel. With a fortune of two hundred thousand dollars. Cabassol. Two hundred thousand dollars ! Dear uncle ! Pastorel. He could easily have doubled it, if he had chosen. Cabassol. And he didn't choose ! Why ? Why not? Pastorel. He felt so weary and lonely ; he thought he would rather see his country and relations again before he became enfeebled by age. Cabassol. Well ! there's my luck again ! two hun- dred thousand dollars that I lose in one stroke ! I shall never get over it. Pastorel. You'll not lose it. Cabassol. How ? Pastorel. I say, you'll not lose it, Mr. Cabassol. Cabassol. You know my name ? Pastorel. Oh ! he often talked to me about you. But to lose this money, you would have to be the heir of Pastorel. 30 THE UNLUCKY STAR. Cabassol. What nonsense ! I am his only near relative. Pastorel. But his money is his own, and he can leave it Cabassol \furious\. He can! . . .Ah, if I thought ! . . . Pastore] THnk so, Mr. Marius Cabassol, think so . . and let me tell you, that when we art unhappy in this world, nine times out of ten, it is our own fault — and what we call our bad luck, is our bad disposition. Cabassol Is that meant for me ? Pastorel. A little, my dear nephew. Cabassol. What ! you are Pastorel. Your uncle ! I am. Cabassol [overcome; then says] Well — this time at least, you acknowledge that I have had bad luck. [Smashes his hat on his head and goes out.] SCENE III. Pastorel, alone. Pastorel. And that is my nephew ! And I have come three thousand miles to make his acquain- tance ! L E L I A. &Y OCTAVE GASTINEATJ. CHARACTERS. Countess Lelia, an Italian. Sir Hugh Stanley. London — At the residence of Lady Emily Fielding, on the night of a ball. Small room, serving for dressing- room; dressing table, lamps, chairs, etc. SCENE I. Lelia. Lelia [enters, wrapped in opera cloak, speaking to some one behind the scenes 7 ]. You understand, Beppo ? Go home for my carriage, and come back with it as quickly as you can. [Shutting door, enters.] I won't stay any longer at this horrid ball ! I can't imagine why Emily will dance on a Friday ! — a fast-day — the 13th of the month, too ! These gay people never respect anything — not even a superstition ! I 31 32 LEU A. should have acted on my presentiments ; they never deceive me — and I've had a very strong one. About a week ago, in my own house at Rome, I was awak- ened by Zerlina, who as usual brought me my choco- late and my English letters. Amongst them was one from dear Lady Emily. Quick, Zerlina, and help me dress, I called out. In her eagerness and hurry she put my left slipper on my right foot. When I called her attention to this evil omen, she insisted that she had made no mistake. I opened my dear Emily's letter. " Come quickly, my dear child ; I have found the hero of your dreams ! Sir Roger Buford, age twenty-five, handsome, rich, clever, with beautiful teeth and hair, and still preserving the dreams and illusions of youth ; he is a real fairy-tale hero, and wants but two things in the world— to be attache of the legation at Rome, and to marry a charming widow. My uncle, the ambassador, has promised me his nomination, but you alone ... or I, can give Roger his second wish. I love him even to sacri- ficing myself — but I warn you not to delay, for my devotion is so sublime that it can't last long, and if you hesitate for a moment I shall keep your hero for myself." I set out at once ; I arrived in London. Emily kissed me and said, " Roger is delighted. There is to be a dance at my house to-night, where you will see him." I entered the ball-room at ten o'clock, and asked her to introduce him, but he had not yet arrived ; I waited until midnight — and he was the only one in London who was not there. Such an insult ... to me ! Countess Lelia ! I should PLAYS FOP PRIVATE ACTING. 33 have cried with rage, if I had not known that would have delighted my friends. I have just left Emily, in spite of her earnest request that I should stay longer. I have only this moment discovered, as Beppo handed it to me, how frightful my opera- cloak is — and last year's fashion ! I am hiding in this dressing-room, waiting for my carriage, which I did not order until two o'clock ; and to-morrow I shall go back to Italy. Ah ! Zerlina, why did you put my left slipper on my right foot ? [Seeing Hugh, who enters.] There's some one coming in! [Puts hood over head, and sits at back of 'stage .] SCENE IE Lelia — Hugh. Hugh [wearing overcoat, speaks to somebody behind the scene]. That's right, thank you. [Seeing Lelia, bows.] Madame. . . Lelia [aside]. Luckily I don't know this young man. Hughe Some old dowager, I suppose. [Goes to toilette table, searching?^ No, not one ! Lelia [aside]. What can he be looking for ? Hugh. It was very wrong of me, certainly, to have shaken hands with Bentley, who has the evil eye, and brings misfortune to all who come near him. Lelia [aside]. He seems to be worried about something. 34 LELIA. Hugh. The left eye, too ! I was particularly anx- ious to get to the duchess's early this evening — as I hoped to see the ambassador, who, I suppose, must have gone by this time — for these functionaries are always coming and going in a ball-room, fearing the nightly attacks of petitioners ! I left the club at ten o'clock, dressed myself, and waited for my barber until half-past eleven. Now I know why bald men are always punctual ! While Frederick was curling my hair, I sent for a carriage, but only one could be found — a horrid, old, dirty rattle-trap — which covered me with dust. I fortunately dis- covered my condition before entering the ball-room. [Half opens overcoat \ and looks at clothes .] SCENE III. Lelia. Lelia [aside, laughing]. Ha! ha ! ha ! Hugh. I asked for a brush, but none of the ser- vants had one. A waiting-maid told me that I should find one in the dressing-room, but I didn't see any there. [Looking in a drawer.] Ah ! yes ! — Pshaw ! a tooth-brush ! [Takes off gloves, and puts overcoat on chair — a card falls fro7n pocket of coat.] I can't go in looking like a street-sweeper ! Who can I speak to ? I must go and look for some one ! [Exit. Lelia [alone, laughing]. Ha! ha! ha! poor fel- low ! Now, if I were wickedly inclined, I should PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG, 35 go back to the ball-room, expressly to spread this funny little incident — How easily people are amused ! By a few grains of dust ! This young man is very nice, and his dilemma amuses me greatly ! It has almost made me forget Sir Roger, who must resemble him somewhat, by-the-by. I'll write and ask Emily what his name is ! [Seeing card which has fallen from Hug his coat pocket^ Why here's a visit- ing-card, which has fallen from his coat pocket — Now, I'll find out who he is ! [Reading.] " Sir Roger Buford." There ! I knew it ! My presentiments never deceive me. This, then, was the reason he was late — and there was I abusing him ! [Laughs.] Emily is right — his hair is beautiful ... I think I won't go home ! I'll go back to my dear Emily, .who will introduce him to me. . .or. . .I'll stay here alone with him. He does not know me, and I must make his acquaintance — but how shall I manage to detain him here ? [Taking off opera-cloak.'] I wonder if I look tolerably well ! Zerlina is not here to tell me the truth... but I tell it to myself sometimes. [Looking in glass.] Lelia, you are simply bewitching this evening. SCENE IV. Lelia — Hugh. Hugh [enters]. I'm dusted at last ! thank heav- ens ! [Seeing Lelia, arranging flowers in her hair.] Ah ! a lady putting the finishing touches to he* towering structure ! Pardon my intrusion . . ■ $6 LEU A. Lelia. Not at all, sir ! Hugh [aside]. Why, the old dowager has gone ! [Aloud.] I must have left my gloves here. Lelia [seeing gloves and hiding theni]. Ah ! Hugh [searching]. Where are they ? Oh ! in my overcoat, perhaps ? [Searches.] Lelia [aside]. I've got him now, tied hand — un- gloved — and foot. Hugh [searching]. The effect of Bentley's evil eye still on me ! I'm sure I had them when I came up stairs. Lelia. Are you looking for something ? Hugh. Yes, my gloves ! Have you seen them, by any chance ? Lelia. No ! [smiling] unless I mistook them for mine. . . Hugh. Oh ! Madame ! [Searching.] I can't pos- sibly enter a ball-room with no gloves. Lelia. Do as I do, and make up your mind not to be bored by this stupid ball. Hugh. Are you going home so early ? Lelia. It's twelve o'clock. Hugh. Cinderella's magic hour ! Have you the same reason ? Lelia. Who knows ! Hugh. Then, if I should find your slipper, allow me to take it to you to-morrow ? Lelia. A slipper is not as easily lost as a pair of gloves ; besides, our maids would not allow us to go to a ball with shoes large enough to drop off. In fact, Cinderella was only a fairy's god-child, while I PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG. ^7 Hugh. You are her god-mother ? Lelia. Perhaps so. Hugh. Everything must be possible to you, Madame Fairy. Lelia. Not everything . . . but all that I wish. Hugh. Then, will you find my gloves, please ? Lelia. Pshaw ! how can you ask me to do so small a favor ? Hugh. But I attach great importance to the find- ing of my gloves. Give me a proof of your super- natural powers. Lelia. Why ! I've already given you one. Hugh. By dazzling me with your beauty ! Lelia. No, by making me invisible to your eyes. Hugh. Invisible ! when ? Lelia. Just now, when I was sitting there ! You did not deign even to look at me. Hugh. Why, was that you ? Lelia. I took the form of an old woman, which is always the way we appear for the first time to mor- tals. Don't you recollect Perrault's " Stories " ? Hugh. Oh ! yes ! and then the fairy makes a gift. Lelia. To Prince Charming. Hugh. Even when the mortal is neither a prince nor charming. Lelia. Very well ; now I want to follow out an- cient traditions : Prince Charming had three wishes — Hugh. That the fairy granted. Lelia. Yes, to punish him ; for the fulfilling of these wishes is only a deception — there being one 2,S LELIA. thing that Prince Charming always forgets to ask for — viz., happiness. Hugh. I'd begin with that. Lelia. Are you quite sure ; Here is a tablet ! [Gives him her ball tablet] Write your three wishes upon this ivory leaf. Hugh. Immediately ? Lelia. No, no ! Reflect well first, and take great care not to deceive yourself. Hugh. And then will the three wishes be fulfilled ? Lelia. Without an instant's delay. I leave you now to your reflections. Hugh. What ! are you going to disappear ? Lelia. I am going back to the ball to find my sis- ters, [aside'] and to tell Emily of my folly. Hugh. Let me go with you. Lelia. No ! I command you to stay where you are. Hugh. Please ! Lelia [pointing to Hugh's hands with her fan\ I dare you to follow me. Hugh. Oh ! I forgot. Lelia. A fairy can never be disobeyed. Good-by for the present, beautiful Prince Charming. [Exit laughing. ] SCENE V. Hugh. Hugh [following]. Madame. . . [Returning.'] Where can I find a pair of gloves ? Every shop is closed. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 39 Suppose I wait for some polite guest, and borrow his. Your gloves or your life ! No, that would be too ridiculous, particularly if his hand should not happen to be the size of mine. I might go home and get a pair, but then she is to come back — at least she prom- ised me that she would — and fairies, I believe, al- ways keep their promises. I suspect she'll do some- thing remarkable. Who is she ? I'm certain that I never met her before. A fairy ! Well, why not ? All pretty women are fairies, or have been . . . Who cares? She is bewitching, clever. . .Well, a little too clever perhaps, for she airs her wit at my ex- pense. She must be a wicked fairy, for she has put me into such a ridiculous position. I leave the club, put on a dress- coat and white cravat, and all for the sake of staying all the evening in the dressing- room like an over-coat or an opera-cloak. Halloa ! talking of opera-cloaks, here's hers. [Examining it.'] It's not a very stylish one. Ah ! ha ! a pocket ! perhaps it would be rather impertinent, but pshaw ! with a fairy ! SCENE VI. Hugh — Lelia. Lelia [enters, but seeing Hugh examining her cloak, hides behind the curtain. — Aside]. Why, he's search- ing my pockets ! Hugh [searching in pockei\. A pocket-handker- chief ! 40 LELIA. Lelia [aside]. Zerlina's ! Hugh. No name on it ! I'll keep it as a remem- brance. Lelia [aside]. Zerlina will be furious. Hugh [still searching] . A note ! If I only dared Lelia [anxiously]. Ah ! Hugh. No, that would be worse than impertinent. Lelia [aside]. That's true ! Hugh. So she receives notes, eh ? No doubt it's a declaration of love ! Ah, after all, fairies are only- women ! Here was I believing, hoping — Halloa ! I wonder if I'm getting jealous ! Unfortunately, I've got no right to be. I'd give anything in the world to know what is in that note, and it would be so easy to gratify my curiosity ! Ah ! there are moments in our lives, when great moral courage is needed to keep us from doing mean things. [Puts back note.] Lelia [aside]. Oh ! I'm so glad ! Hugh. I must think of something else, and not let myself get tempted. Jove ! I forgot my three wishes ! This adventure is too amusing to give up. Let me see ! what do I wish ? Oh, first my gloves. [ Writes on tablet.] Lelia [aside]. I'll give them back to him. Hugh. They are absolutely indispensable to me — for I must see Lady Emily — I have a most delicate mission to her. Lelia [aside]. A delicate mission ! why does he call it a mission ? Hugh. No doubt Lady Emily will give me infor- mation about the position I am begging f or . . . Oh ! PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 41 this will be my second wish. [ Writes ■.] I wish to be attached to the legation at Rome. Lelia [aside]. He never dreams that his wish is already realized, Hugh. I have no right . . . but fairies are not like embassadors — they have no responsibilities. Now for my third wish ! That bothers me ! What can I ask ? [Reflects.] SCENE VII. Hugh — Lelia. Lelia [showing herself]. Well, beautiful Prince Charming, what are you thinking of ? Hugh. Being a fairy, you ought to know. Lelia. I do know ! Hugh. What nonsense ! Lelia. You still doubt my power ? Take care, or I will punish you. Hugh. By disappearing ? Lelia. No ! by telling you all that you have been doing while I was away. Hugh. That's impossible ! Lelia. Listen to me ! After I had gone, you won- dered who I was. Hugh. There's nothing very strange in that. Lelia. Then, not being able to solve the question, you felt tempted to inquire of my confidante. Hugh. Your confidante ? Lelia. Yes, my duenna, whom I had changed into an opera-cloak. 42 LELIA Hugh. What ! you ? Lelia. You see that she still kept her old age, but the transformation had taken the power of speech from her, and as she could not answer you, you were determined to find out whether my pocket-handker- chief was more talkative. Hugh. How could you know ? Lelia. Pocket-handkerchiefs are imprudent. They are pocket-alphabets ; so with one stroke of my wand, I made my initials disappear, but the handker- chief, a wicked magician whom I had condemned to keep that form, slipped a note into my pocket out of revenge. Hugh. I swear to you that I did not read it. Lelia. You needn't swear, for I know all about it. Your forbearance deserves a reward — so I will let you read it. Hugh. Oh ! no, no ! Lelia. Not when I give you permission ? Hugh. But Lelia. What's the use of trying to deceive me ? You are crazy to know the contents of that note ; so read it, I command you — come, obey me. Hugh. Since you exact it ... [ Takes note, hesitates to open it^\ Lelia. You hesitate ; what are you afraid of ? Hugh. I'm afraid that this paper is a Pandora's box, and that all sorts of troubles will come out of it. Lelia. Read it, I tell you. Hugh. " My dear ". . . Ah ! PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 43 Lelia. Go on, go on. Hugh [reading]. " Our protege has been made at- tache to the legation at Rome, and the news will ap- pear in the official gazette to-morrow." Ah ! I was afraid of some great misfortune ! So this place of attache has been given Lelia. To you. Hugh. What, Madame, to me ? Lelia. Was not that one of your wishes ? Hugh. Yes, the second; but. . . Lelia [giving him gloves] . Here is your first. Hugh. My gloves ! How could you have guessed ? Lelia. The most trifling things are always anxiously desired. Hugh. Important things are kept till the last. Well, and my third wish ? Lelia. I own that that embarrasses me a little. Hugh. No wonder, for I had not decided on one ; but now I shall no longer hesitate. . . [ Writes.] Lelia [aside] . His eyes betray what he is writing. Hugh [handing her tablet]. Here it is. Lelia {without reading]. Remember that this is the last one. Hugh. But the one that secures my happiness. Lelia. Happiness ; don't you know how it has been defined ? " Happiness is like a ball that, while it rolls, the child most eagerly pursues ; but once within his longing grasp, he flings again far from him." Hugh. Yes, the child ; but the man holds it fast. Lelia. Yes, when he is tired of running. 44 LELIA, Hugh. No ; because he is wiser. Will you grant this wish as well as the others ? Lelia. The power of fairies has its limits. Hugh. And what are those ? Lelia. The limits of the impossible ; and what you wish is precisely the impossible. Hugh. Then you know my wish ? Lelia. You ask for my hand in marriage . Hugh. And your heart. Lelia. Are you sure that fairies have hearts ? Hugh. Yes, for they are good. Lelia. There are bad fairies, you know. Hugh. Then those have bad hearts ; but every fairy has a hand . . . Lelia. Yes ; but they can't give it to a simple mor- tal. Hugh. Make me immortal then. Lelia. Nothing easier. Hugh. What? Lelia. All you have to do is to publish a book on any subject, so learned that no one can read it. Write as preface praises of the oldest or youngest son of some one — to whom you must send your book and your card, and you will shortly be — — Hugh. Member of the Royal Society. Lelia. And immortal. Hugh. Having always held suicide in great horror, I prefer to live ; to live, that I may love you, adore you — for I love you ! Yes, I love you with all the strength of my soul. I have only known you an hour, but that has been long enough to fill my heart PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 45 with love, and now my entire happiness is in you, and you alone. Lelia. Ah ! beautiful Prince Charming, you are very susceptible ! Straw-fires do not last. Hugh. I swear to you that my love will endure with my life, and you who have the power to read our hearts should believe in our sincerity. Lelia. The heart is such a badly written book. Hugh. But you have such good eyes ! Lelia. A fairy cannot wed a mortal, I tell you, and as you refuse immortality Hugh. Will you consent to give up yours ? Lelia. I will ! on one condition. Hugh. What? Lelia. You know that the power of fairies rests in their wands. [Showing fan.] This is mine. If you take it from me, I shall only be a woman. Hugh. Then, give it to me. Lelia. No, because that would be a voluntary abdication, and consequently a thing to regret ; whereas what one is forced to renounce Hugh. Is just as much regretted. Lelia. But is submitted to with resignation. You must find some way of getting my sceptre from me. Hugh. Well, I can't use violence. Lelia. No ! Violence is the right of strength — a primitive right. Now- a- days no right is acknowl- edged but the Hugh. Legitimate. Lelia. No ! but that of cleverness. You have been attache for an hour, so prove your diplomatic 46 LELIA. powers and do something that will oblige me to offer you my fan of my own accord. Hugh. In spite of yourself ? Lelia. In spite of myself, or nearly so... Every stratagem will be allowed you. Hugh. But you can guess all my thoughts. Lelia. I cannot guess stratagems. Hugh. Do you swear it ? Lelia. Yes, but I shall fight against them. Hugh. Then I will own myself conquered in ad- vance. Lelia. Is that your diplomacy ? Hugh. No. It is frankness. Lelia. Well, never mind ; try, and perhaps you will think of one. Hugh. And if I succeed ? Lelia. The charm will be broken and you will com- mand. Hugh [aside]. What shall I do ? What means shall I employ ? [Aloud A Do you know any chil- dren's games ? Lelia. Indeed I do ! Hugh. Well, there's a very simple one, called The Pigeon Flies . . . will you play it ? Lelia. Willingly ! [Aside.] Poor fellow ! I won- der what he is trying to do ! [They sit face to face. J Hugh. I'll begin — Pigeon Flies. . . [Lelia raises her hand.] Cashier flies ... [She hesitates to raise her hand.] What ! you hesitate ? Lelia. No, no ! [Raises hand.] PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG. 47 Hugh. Fairy flies. [Lelia does not raise hand.] A forfeit ! Lelia. What ! a forfeit ? Hugh. Certainly ! and my gloves ? Lelia. Oh ! that's right ! but I have nothing I can give you as a forfeit. Hugh. Yes, you have ! Lelia. No, I haven't. Hugh. Where's your fan ? Lelia. Oh ! no, take my opera-cloak. Hugh. Well then, we'll begin again. Lelia. Now it's my turn. Pigeon flies . . . [Hugh raises hand.] Heart flies. [He does not raise hand.] Are you quite sure that hearts do not fly ? Hugh. Mine doesn't, at least, for you've cut its wings. Lelia. But wings grow again. Hugh. Then they can be cut again. Lelia. That's true ! — Lover flies. [He does not raise hand.] A forfeit, sir ! Hugh. What, Madame ? Lelia. There's my handkerchief. Hugh. But I have nothing for a forfeit. Lelia. You have my handkerchief and your gloves. Hugh. Here are my gloves. Lelia. No ; keep them. Each forfeit must be re- deemed. Hugh. You must redeem one first. Lelia. No, sir, you first, as being the most guilty. To redeem your forfeit, I order you to go to the ball. 48 LELIA. Hugh. With you ? Lelia. No — all alone, and you must go three times around the room, without saying a word to any one — above all, to Lady Emily — then you must come back here. Hugh. Ah ! to leave you is too heavy a penalty. Lelia. For you perhaps — but for me Hugh. . It is pleasing, eh ? Lelia. I did not say so. Come, sir, obey ! Hugh. What must I do after my three perambula- tions in the ball-room ? Lelia. You must come and make me redeem my forfeit. Hugh. But will you really pay the penalty ? Lelia. Why, certainly ! Hugh. Then, good-by, for a few moments. [Aside. ,] Now I shall get her fan. \Exit. SCENE VIII. Lelia. Lelia. Prince Charming is certainly delightful. Lady Emily was right — he is the hero of my imagi- nation — but just now, when I told this little occur- rence to Emily, she got very pale. My praise of the baronet seemed disagreeable to her. Poor Emily ! can I have arrived too late ? In her place I should have kept a treasure like him to myself. Ah ! Emily dear, you look back with regret. Well, so much the worse for you, my love ! I shall marry the baronet, PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG. 49 and take him to Rome far away from you. I feel sure that he loves me, and I . . . I . . . must give him my fan, because he never will be able to get it other- wise . . . and yet I cannot offer it to him. One don't mind being defeated, if the conqueror thinks he has struggled for the victory. Well, I know a way, I think, of giving him this illusion, and that is, by going away. Yes, I'll go home, and when he finds out that I have gone, he will ask Lady Emily, and tell her how he loves me. Emily will be furious, and quarrel with him for wounding her vanity — the most lasting sort of a quarrel. Beppo must have come back by this time. [Goes to door and calls Beppo. Hugh enters \ dressed in servant's hat and coat,] SCEXE IX, Lelia — Hugh. Lelia. Oh ! here he is. Beppo, give me my opera- cloak. It's cold out, isn't it ? Well, never mind, we shall soon be under our own beautiful Italian sky. [Hugh takes opera-cloak^ and as he puts it over her shoulders, she gives him her fan to hold that she may get her arms through the skrves.] Here, take my fan. Hugh [taking off hat and coat]. Thank you, Ma- dame ! Lelia [recognizing him]. Oh! Mr. Diplomat, you have played your game well. Hugh. Now, Mrs. Fairy, that I have got your 50 LELIA. power from you, I order the fulfillment of my third wish. Lelia. I am obliged to obey — so here is my hand, Sir Roger. Hugh. Sir Roger ! Lelia. Are you not Sir Roger Buford '? Hugh. Why, no ! I'm his friend, Sir Hugh Stanley. Lelia [laughs] . Sir Hugh Stanley ! Hugh. Why do you laugh ? Lelia. Because last year I refused to marry you without knowing you. Hugh. Why, then you are ? Lelia. Countess Lelia. Hugh [laughs]. The Countess Lelia ? Lelia. What are you laughing at ? Hugh. Because during the negotiations, Roger fell in love with Lady Emily, and begged me to tell her that Lelia. Ah ! your mission ! Hugh [taking note from pocket]. Oh ! then, this nomination as attache was for him ? Lelia [tearing note]. Is it necessary to be an at- tache to get to Rome ? Hugh. What, do you consent ? Lelia. As I have no wand, I'm obliged to obey. Hugh. Ah ! Madame, I will give it back to you — and your forfeit also — since you are going to re- deem it. Lelia. Will it please you ? Hugh. Can you doubt it ? Lelia. Oh ! dear ! PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. ^ Hugh. What's the matter ? Lelia. To-day is Friday the 13th. Hugh. No, it's Saturday the 14th. Lelia \joyfully\ Oh! that's true! And Zer- lina was right ; she did not put the left slipper on the right foot THE SERENADE. BY COUNT SOLLOHUE, CHARACTERS. Mercedes, a young Widow* J u anita, her Sister. The scene represents a Moorish chamber, with win- dow at the back. At the window, a large easy- chair ; at the sides, two tables and two chairs. SCENE L JUANITA. Juanita [entering from the right. She opens the window, then approaches the foot-lights}. It is very curious ! To be sure it is the custom here in Gre- nada, and very natural, that a young man should give a serenade, but this young man has been here sere- nading every evening. I feel so nervous and un- easy ! What does it mean ? Who is he ? Now he is going to begin. I'll take my seat by the window, so that I may hear better, and try to see him. [Sits in chair by window .] 52 PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 53 SCENE IL Juanita — Mercedes. Mercedes {coming in, left]. It is very curious. A young man has been singing every evening under this window. There is nothing unusual in a sere= nade, but every evening ! . . . every evening ! . . . It's a declaration. . .a proposal of marriage, perhaps. . .1 am troubled. I'll take a seat by the window. . .Ah ! there's that artful little Juanita already in the chair ! Juanita ! what are you doing there ? Juanita. Nothing ... I am only trying to get a little fresh air . . . and then I am waiting for a messenger boy ; you know when he goes by, you say, pst ! pst ! and then he comes to you, you give him a note, and he takes it ; it is so convenient ! I want tc send a note to my confessor, Father Grace. Mercedes {aside} . She is deceiving me. I'll be even with her. {Aloud.'] What do you mean by opening the window, and filling the room with musquitoes ? Oh ! good gracious ! I've got one already down my back. Look quick, Juanita ! There, there ! {Juan- ita rises.] It sets me crazy. There, on the shoulder. Higher, lower — Oh ! I feel ill ! . . . {She throws herself into Juanita s seat]. Thanks . . . I feel better ! . . , Juanita {aside]. And I never saw what she was after. Wait a moment. [Aloud.] What's that burn- ing ? did you leave your candle near the muslir curtains ? . . . I smell smoke ! . . . Mercedes. A fire ! I am more afraid of that thai? 54 THE SERENADE. anything else in the world. [S/ie rises quickly. Juanita takes her place, .] Oh ! that is it ! Juanita. Yes ! that's it ! now we are quits. Mercedes. Listen, Juanita. . .let us be serious. I am going to confess the whole truth. My happi- ness in life is at stake. Juanita. As serious as that, is it ? So much the better. Only, I'm not going to budge from this chair. Mercedes. It is a long story, a romance, a story of love. Juanita. Of love ? ... Go on, I'm listening. Mercedes. I think I shall marry again. Juanita. What ? You are not content with being a widow ? Mercedes. My feelings carry me away, so that I'm always doing foolish things. A young man, whom I do not know, has been following me for the las*: week. Juanita. Why ! it's my own story that you are tell- ing me. It is I that the unknown young man has been following for the last week. Mercedes. Every evening he sings a love song un- der my window. Juanita. Under my window. Mercedes. I am the mistress of the house. It is under my window. Juanita. I am a young, unmarried lady. I am not a widow — so it is under my window. Mercedes. Very well ! . . .We'll say our window. It doesn't make the slightest difference — the serenade is for me. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 55 Juanita. No. It is for me. Mercedes. What an obstinate little thing you are ! Juanita. What an obstinate old thing you are ! . . . Hush . . . [Prelude in the orchestra^ Mercedes. Put out the light — so that they cannot see us from outside. [Juanita puts out light.] Juanita. And we can both sit in this chair. Mercedes. Yes ! yes ! . . . but keep still. [Serenade in male voice heard outside. Any suitable song will do.] Mercedes. Well ! . . . Juanita. Well ! . . . Mercedes. There is no doubt about that ? Juanita. Not the slightest. Do you think I had better write to my uncle ? Mercedes. I have no one to consult but myself. Juanita, you are perfectly ridiculous. Juanita. Your vanity has blinded you. Mercedes. Well ! if you must know, I have met this young man. I have seen him. Juanita. Did he speak to you ? Mercedes. No . . . but he bowed to me. Yesterday, I happened to be strolling about the garden. He was at the gate . . . and bowed to me. You don't understand these things yet . . . But when a young man bows to you, you can soon see if he is in love with you. An indifferent man bows coldly, touches his hat, and passes on. But a man who loves you ! that's quite another thing. His hand trembles. He lets his hat fall. He has a troubled, beseeching 56 THE SERENADE. look, as if he had just been guilty of a crime, and was asking for pardon. When a man bows in that way, my child ! you will find it very difficult to keep perfectly cool. Juanita. And is that all ? Mercedes. Isn't that enough ? Juanita. Then I'm ahead of you. He not only bowed to me, but spoke to me. Mercedes. He spoke to you ? Juanita. Yes . . . Isn't he handsome ? Mercedes. Not so very . . . And what did he say to you ? Juanita. He is superb ! Well, I was strolling about the garden, too, when I met him ; he took off his hat, and said to me, in that beautiful voice of his : " Will you be kind enough, young lady, to show me where the fire-wood is kept ? It is very cold this year." Mercedes. And what did you reply ? Juanita. I didn't say anything. I was so frightened that I ran away. I was afraid he had lost his head. Mercedes. That was because he was thinking of me. Juanita. What ! again ? Mercedes. Certainly. Juanita. Oh ! this is too much. Mercedes. This is intolerable ! A little girl who can scarcely spell, imagining a man in love with her ! Juanita. A despairing widow, who wishes to drive remembrance from her heart, and replace it with hope ! PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. ry Mercedes. Miss ! Juanita. Well ! Madame ? Mercedes. I shall write to your uncle to take you home. Juanita. I intend to go home — and with my hus- band, too. Mercedes. Xot with that one. Juanita. Excuse me ; but just with that one. Mercedes. Never. Juanita. Immediately. Mercedes. Xo . . . Xo . . . Xo . . . Juanita. Yes . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . Both together. It is impossible to live with such a woman. We must separate — to-day — immediately. She is wicked, envious, and jealous. I will kill her rather than she should belong to him. I am furious ! you will see ! [Prelude of the orchestral] Ah ! there, he is going to begin again. \Maris voice singing. The words of the song re- proach some one for not answering. The sisters run to the table, take flowers, and throw to him. Man s voice continues .] Mercedes. He is not satisfied, he continues. Juanita. It is very strange. Voice [again]. u I am going to fly " Woman's Voice [outside] . Wait ! Mercedes. Ah ! there's a third. Juanita. Xot for her — nor for me. [ J Vo man's voice. She sings — then both sing.] 53 THE SERENADE. The Woman's Voice [loudly]. This is the fifth night you've practiced that serenade, Jos6, and you haven't got it yet — and call yourself the best tenor in the troupe ! The Man's Voice. That comes of trying it in this wretched little hole of a room, where you have to sit at the window to keep your voice from taking the roof off ! The Woman's Voice. What did you hire it for, then ? I told you when we came here a week ago The Man's Voice. I hired it, because it was the only place where they would take in two professional singers ; and even here the landlord told me we must keep it quiet, or all the people in the upper flats would give him notice. How they must enjoy the serenade by this time ! But, here goes again, for to- night's the last rehearsal. [Begins the song again, and is heard retiring from the window as he sings, until it dies away. — The two sisters, who have remained immova- ble, in an attitude of grief, during the duet, come down the stage laughing at each other. ~\ Mercedes. My poor child, I pity you with all my heart. Be reasonable ; I have done all I could to cure you of your folly. Juanita It is you, my poor, dear sister, who have need of pity. It is nothing to me. Mercedes. Good heavens ! it's the serenade of the comic opera, to be given at the theatre next w^eek Juanita. I know what I shall do. [She lights candle.'] I will write to my uncle that I consent to marry Don Gusman Fernandes Alfonso di Fuentis di Calatrava PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 59 di Biscaya Montefiore Sarragossa San Christovalto, my cousin. Mercedes. And I shall write to a friend of my late husband, the Count Jose of Brazil, that I consent to become his wife. [She writes — tuning in the orchestra. ] Why, they are going to begin again ! Juanita. That doesn't make the slightest differ- ence to me, as I am going to marry Don Gusman Fernandes Alf — Mercedes. That's enough — I know the rest. How true it is that you should never reckon without your host ! [ The singers take up the refrain of the duet again ; the sisters conti?iue writing at their separate tables .] THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. BY E. LEGOUVE AND P. MERIMEE, CHARACTERS. Lady Montgomery. Julia, her Daughter, Mademoiselle Jacques. Colonel Sackville. Mr. Smith. A handsomely furnished parlor in a country house. SCENE L Lady Montgomery. Lady Montgomery [dressed as a 7niddle-aged worn- an\. Colonel Sackville returns to-day! I shall see him once more ! Ten years ago, when, believing me cold and heartless, he in despair joined the French army in Africa as a volunteer, he little thought that I was almost broken-hearted. But I was not free ! My husband, Sir John Montgomery, was still living ... I even had the strength to hide my grief from Colonel Sackville when we parted ! But now . . . now he will find me a widow, free ! [Despairingly.] It is ten years later ! Then we were of the same age. Now 60 PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. g x ... he is still young ! Whilst I . . . Ah ! the age ot romance is past for me ! especially now that I am about to marry my daughter to his nephew. Well, I'll try to forget my past dreams and think of myself as a grandmother ! I will conceal any remains of youth under this cap ! . . . I will devote myself to works of charity, and take up a course of serious reading ! W'hen a woman of forty years of age takes to good works . . . you may be sure that such devo- tion to duty is only the remains of a past love ! [See- ing Mr. Smith, Julia, and Mademoiselle, who enter.] My daughter ! Mr. Smith ! SCENE II. Lady Montgomery — Julia — Mademoiselle Jacques — Mr. Smith. Smith. Here are the latest rules of the institution, my lady. Lady Montgomery. Very well; sit down, Mr. Smith; I am all attention. [ They all sit, Lady M. a?id Mr. S. on the left — the others on the right, with their work. ] Smith. Rule 75 : " Every boarder in this institute who shall be absent twice from morning or evening prayers, who is heard singing anything but sacred music, or who disobeys any rule of the institute ; who writes letters, or receives any from ..." Lady Montgomery. Go on to the next, Mr. Smith. Smith. H'm . . . h'm. " Or who introduces a novel into the house, shall be expelled immediately, and declared unworthy of being again admitted." (3 2 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. Lady Montgomery. Very good ! particularly the last clause. Julia, what do you say to that last rule ? Julia. Why ! that I should certainly be sent away, mamma ! Lady Montgomery. For shame ! Julia. Mademoiselle. How, mademoiselle ! what is that I hear ? Smith. You ! Miss Julia ! Julia. I should like to know what harm there is in reading novels. I never could see any. Lady Montgomery. My daughter, don't talk of things you know nothing about. Julia. I won't ; but I do know something about novels. I've read plenty of them... and hope to read a great many more. Mademoiselle. In France the jeune fille is not per- mit to read the romance, but the English is differ- ent. Sir Scott. . . Julia. English or French ... I don't care . . . Lady Montgomery. Julia ! Mr. Smith, you know her too well to believe a word she is saying. Smith. I am sure that Miss Julia. . . Julia. Mr. Smith ! if you say another word, instead of this Arabic gibberish that I am working here, I'll embroider in the best of English : " I have read all the French and English novels I could get hold of," and then I'll sign Julia Montgomery in full. Lady Montgomery. Mr. Smith, will you hand me my scissors ? thank you. [Aside to him^\ Don't push her too tar. Smith. A very appropriate record to introduce in PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 63 a piece of fancy-work. [Beginning to 1-ead again.'] I pass over the next rules, about the dress ; you have regulated that very well. Gray gown, white veil, coarse cotton apron . . . Julia. Coarse cotton ! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves ! I insist upon muslin aprons, with pockets and blue ribbons. Lady Montgomery. No, coarse cotton is much the best. It is more suitable to the condition of these poor creatures. Julia. They will look like Cinderellas. Why don't you give them glass slippers ? Smith. " The constitution is read," for in fact, my lady, it is a real constitution, a charter that you have given to the institute. The pensioners will be introduced in their new costume and marched in single file before the manager and lady patronesses. Julia. To what air ? I propose " God save the Queen." \_S/ie sings the air.] Smith. That's a very good idea, Miss Julia : a little music would have a very good effect. [To Lady Af.] Suppose they sung the beautiful hymn you composed, " Seated on a throne of clouds.'' Julia. Mamma, you ought to wind up with a lively polka. Mr. Smith, I would like to see you dance a polka. Lady Montgomery. Julia ! Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! Lady Montgomery. I am sorry to hear a daughter of mine talk in that way. \ To Julia?i Do you wish people to think you crazy ? 6 4 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. Julia. They will let me do whatever I please, if they think me crazy ? Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! Lady Montgomery. Julia ! I am ashamed of you ! Smith. No, Miss Julia, no one will ever say you are crazy ; whatever you do, you will always be lovely and witty ! Julia. Send for the clergyman and witnesses ! Mr. Smith has paid me a compliment ! Smith. There is nothing extraordinary in that. Lady Montgomery, You have a great deal of pa- tience, Mr. Smith. But, tell me, have you any news of the election yet ? My future son-in-law must be very anxious. Poor Louis ! he has set his heart on becoming a member of parliament. Julia. Poor Louis ? You pity him because he is to marry me ! Well, perhaps you're right ! Lady Montgomery. Well, he will tell us all about it soon, for I expect him to-day with his uncle, who has just returned from Africa. Smith. Oh, yes ! The one who is nicknamed Don Quixotte. Julia. Why Don Quixotte ? Lady Montgomery. Because on ten different oc- casions he showed the most chivalric courage. One day he saved his whole regiment, by defending alone the entrance to a ravine against the enemy. Smith. Like Horatius Codes ! Julia. Good gracious ! has he got but one eye ? . . . Lady Montgomery. No ! he only received six wounds. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG. 65 Julia. Six wounds ! . . . Lady Montgomery. Another day, during a retreat, a boy of twelve, belonging to the band, and son of the vivandiere, fell, struck by a ball. The Colonel, hearing him call piteously for his mother, ran to him, and brought him out from under a shower of bullets. Julia. And the child lived ? Lady Montgomery. Yes ; but the Colonel came very near dying. Julia [quickly\. He was badly wounded ? Smith. When the soldiers took his uniform off, they found on his breast a medallion with hair in it. Lady Montgomery. His mother's hair, probably! . . . Julia. I don't believe it was his mother's ! Lady Montgomery. Julia ! Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! Julia. Here is Louis's coupe. Who is the gentle- man with him ? Lady Montgomery [with emotion]. Probably his uncle ! Smith. Mr. Sackville has stopped to talk with the farmer. Julia. A voter . . . We shan't see him for an hour. Smith. Here is the Colonel ! Lady Montgomery [troubled]. Already ? [Aside.] I haven't the courage to meet him yet ! [To Julia.] Julia ! , . .Mademoiselle will receive the Colonel for me ... I have some important letters to write for the mail which leaves in an hour. [She goes out with Mr. S.] Mademoiselle. Assevez vous, mademoiselle ! C6 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. SCENE III. Julia — Mademoiselle — Colonel Sackville. Colonel [outside]. In this room ? Thank you, you needn't come any farther. [Aside, entering.] How my heart beats ! [Looking rowid the room.] She is not here. [Approaching Julia and Mademoiselle^] Excuse me, ladies. I was told that Lady Montgom- ery was here . . . Julia. She was here a few moments ago, but ran away when you were announced, Colonel Colonel. Ran away ! Julia. Only to take off her cap in honor of your arrival . . . Colonel. You think so ? Julia. I hope so ! . . . For, just fancy ! she has a mania for hiding away her beautiful hair under a frightful cap. Colonel. What ! she wears caps ! Julia. I depend upon you to make her change all that sort of thing, Colonel ! Colonel. I ! But can I believe my eyes ? that face . . .that voice . . . Julia. Why, Colonel Sackville! don't you know me ? Colonel. Julia ! Miss Julia ! [ With emotion^] See- ing and hearing you, has brought me back to ten years ago, to the moment . . . Julia. When you carried me to the opera in your arms . . . Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! for shame ! Julia. Don't be alarmed, my dear ; I was only PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG. 6] eight years old. \Introducing the Colonel to Made*. moiselle\. Mademoiselle Jacques . . . my governess . . . my guardian angel ... a very busy angel, too. Colonel [looking at her affectionately^. And this is the lovely girl who is going to be my niece ! . . . I shall have the right to call you my child . . . and to em- brace you ... if my nephew will allow me. Julia. Oh, your nephew ! I think the best thing about your nephew. . .is his uncle. Colonel. Now, don't spoil me ! Julia. But you spoiled me awfully when I was a little girl ! You frightened everybody but me with your long mustaches. . . Colonel. And you ! you pulled them. . . Julia. That's true ! And you always came with your pockets full of sugarplums. . .and dolls. . .how pretty I was, and naughty . . . ask Mademoiselle if I have improved — she has been trying to reform me. Mademoiselle. Oh, Mees Julie ! Julia. Do you remember ? it was you who made them take me to the opera. . .before I was old enough for such dissipation. Colonel. Yes, and you went to sleep before it was half over... I was obliged to carry you to the carriage. Julia. You see how precocious I was ! Well, I still go to sleep at the opera ; but I have no patient carrier now. Colonel. Where's my nephew ? Julia. Look at this embroidery, Colonel, and ad- mire it. Haven't I a great deal of talent ? 68 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. Colonel {looking at the work], A verse of the Koran . . .why, who sent you this design ? Julia. My mother had it sent from Algiers. Colonel [with emotion]. Really! Julia. Just imagine ! for the last two years. . .ever since the death of my poor father. . .everything here is Arabic. Colonel [much moved]. Really ! Julia. Yes, Arabic designs, Arabic stuffs, Arabic views. I don't know whether all this is in honor of you. . .but we live like children of the desert. Isn't it so, Mademoiselle ? Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! Julia Don't say, Oh, Mees Julie, all the time ! [To Colonel?] Well, Colonel, as my mother will not make her appearance, let me take her place ; sit down here . . . {Interrupting herself.] Do you know there is one thing that strikes me as very curious ? Colonel. What is that ? Julia. You seemed to me a great deal older ten years ago than you do now. Colonel. Really ! Mademoiselle. That is very simple, ma chere ! it is because you have ten years more Julia. Ha ! ha ! ha ! and he then . . . Mademoi- selle. . .Hasn't he ten years more ? Mademoiselle. That is true ! Julia. I should think so ! {Seriously.] It is very strange, but ten years ago I looked upon you as a sort of good angel. Colonel. And now I am a good devil, eh ? PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 69 Julia. Yes ; a good devil, whose actions are brave and chivalric ! Colonel, have you ever been wounded ? Colonel. Yes, several times, as almost every one else has. Julia. And, no doubt, under the most romantic cir- cumstances. Colonel. On the contrary, I am afraid they were very commonplace and prosaic — chance swordcuts and balls aimed at no one in particular. . .You feel a slight blow on the breast. . .a sensation of cold inside . . .that's all ! Julia. Ah ! Colonel, how old must one be to join the band? Colonel. You have passed the age. . .so I needn't answer your question. You say that everything about this house is Arabic ? Julia. Look for yourself ! there is a picture of Algiers that mamma bought a few days ago. Colonel. She bought a picture of Algiers ! {Look- ing at it with emotion^ That little white house with a veranda. . .it was there I was taken from the hospi- tal. Julia. Yes ! when you saved the little trumpet- er. . . Colonel. You have heard of that ? Julia. Yes . . . Colonel. I'll show him to you when you come to Africa, for I intend to carry you off with your mother. Julia. I would like nothing better. You must yo THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. make the Arabs bring us any quantity of ostrich feathers and dates, and perform all their feats of horsemanship we have heard so much about. We'll take Mr. Smith with us. Colonel. Who is Mr. Smith ? Julia. Mamma's right hand in all her works of charity... he is very sanctimonious. . .1 hate him. He is a hypocrite. We will take him with us to preach to the Arabs ; your nephew will study up the colonization question ; you and I will destroy an Arab village. . .and. . .we'll sell Mademoiselle to Abd-el-Kader. Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie, for shame ! Julia. Ha ! ha ! ha ! SCENE IV. The same — Mr. Smith. Smith [enters]. Colonel ! Julia. The Mr. Smith I was telling you about — Smith. Lady Montgomery has not quite finished her letters . . . She begs you will take a turn in the garden, and she will join you there as soon as she can. Colonel. They must be very important letters... very well ! Julia. Now, Colonel ! I'll carry you off. . .I'll take you out on the frog-pond that we call a lake. You will see how well I can manage a boat. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING, *j\ Mademoiselle. Mees Julie, madame your mother has forbidden you . . . Julia. You know very well, Mademoiselle, that Mees Julie does whatever madame her mother for* bids her to do. Come ! who loves me follows me ! [She goes out with Colonel, singing .] Mademoiselle. Mees Julie ! Mees Julie ! Oh ! my dear!... it is complete madness. [Goes out ; Lady Montgomery enters with Smith holding papers* ] SCENE V. Lady Montgomery — Mr. Smith. Lady Montgomery [to Smith], Here is the copy almost corrected. Smith. I hope you have changed nothing in the chapter on widows . . . Lady Montgomery. No, not in that . . . but there is something here. . .Please leave me a moment, I want to finish this passage. [Goes to table to write.] Smith. Don't make too many alterations. [Goes out.] SCENE VI. Lady Montgomery, alone. Lady Montgomery [throwing papers angrily on table]. And what do I care for books ! It is useless my reading these pages over and over again. I can- J2 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. not see what is written . . . here . . . [Putting her hand on her heart.] I only see what is written there ! I am so frightened ! I dread this interview ! I am afraid of his first look, which will tell me all . . . his love gone . . .my hopes ruined. . .he will see me changed. . . old . . . what a coward I am ! I sent him word to wait for me in the garden. Why?... just that I might see him pass by my window : and I have seen him. Ten years have told on him, too ! He doesn't carry himself as erect ... his eyes have lost their brightness. . .but I should like to have seen a few more gray hairs on his head ! To be sure I have none at all ! . . . [ With determination.] Why should I not take every advantage ? my hair is as beautiful now as it was twenty years ago... Why should I not wear it in the most becoming way ? Alas ! he knows my age too well. . .well, the more reason why I should call art and dress to my aid. I will do it ! and if I am defeated . . . well, so be it . . . but at least I will not give up my prospect of happi- ness without a struggle. SCENE VII Lady Montgomery — Julia — Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle comes in very much excited. Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! oh ! my dear ! oh ! my lady, how she will be angry when she knows it ! . . , PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 73 Lady Montgomery [advancing]. What is the mat- ter ? Mademoiselle [to Julia , who enters]. "Oh! here you are ! Heavens ! if you had been drowned ! . . . Julia. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Lady Montgomery. Drowned ! what has happened ? Julia. Nothing ! nothing at all, dear mother ! . . . I am all right. [Laughing.] But the Colonel was drenched ! Lady Montgomery. The Colonel ! Julia. He looked like Neptune with hanging mustache. . . Lady Montgomery [with impatience]. But will you tell me ?. . . Julia. Oh ! it is very simple ! You know, dear mamma, you left the Colonel to my tender mercy. . . to amuse . . . and I took him out in the boat. Lady Montgomery. You know I have forbidden you . . . Mademoiselle. I did tell her so, my lady ! Julia. Oh, I'll bear witness to that ! she did her duty ! But in spite of her we went off in the boat . . . Oh ! mamma ! it was the most ridiculous sight ! On the shore, Mademoiselle frightened to death . . . crying like a hen who has hatched a duck, and sees it take to the water for the first time. In the boat... Mr. Louis Sackville. . .my future husband . . . afraid that we would be upset . . . and get his yel- low kid gloves wet. . .The Colonel frightened, too. . . Lady Montgomery. He ! Julia. Yes ! frightened ! but on my account ! . . . 74 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. calling out to me : Miss Julia ! . . . Miss Julia ! . . . don't stand up ! as if I was going to sacrifice my grace- ful pose! Then his nephew. .. Miss Julia! Miss Julia ! you will upset us ! What cowards men are ! ...and I amused myself making the boat rock from one side to the other to frighten him still more ! Lady Montgomery. But ! Julia. Then, somehow or other, I rocked too hard, and the boat leaned to one side... and we should have gone entirely over but for the Colonel jump- ing into the water ! Lady Montgomery. Good heavens ! Julia. Then the boat came all right again, and he ... he looked just like a sea-god ... a Triton . . . Oh, it was delightful ! it was mythologic. . .he swam all the way to the shore, pushing us before him, where we landed safe and sound, thanks to our savior. Lady Montgomery. But he ! he ! what became of him ? He will be ill ! Julia. He ! he don't mind it ! He could hardly be persuaded to go to Mr. Smith's room to dry his clothes, and I only hope they will not be dry enough to put on again to-day. . .We'll lend him the cos- tume of Othello we had in the charades. What fun ! Lady Montgomery. Julia ! Julia. And, if anybody comes . . . we'll tell them that he is a Bedouin ! Oh ! I shall go mad if we don't dress him up as Othello ! Lady Montgomery I declare, Julia, you get more ridiculous every day ! Instead of sending him the PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 75 costume of Othello, I will take him some port wine . . .or tea . . . Julia. Don't be alarmed, mamma . . . Mr. Smith will take good care of him. Lady Montgomery. Sometimes I think you have no feeling. Julia [becoming very serious\. I! dearest mother? [Impulsively.] You know how much I love you ! Lady Montgomery [tenderly]. Thank you, my child. I am always afraid that those who do not know you well, will misunderstand you. [Embracing her.] There ! I'll go and do what you ought to have done. [Going away; aside.] Now to prepare for the combat. [Goes out.] SCENE VIII. Julia — Mademoiselle. Made??wiselle takes her work and sits on the left. Julia. Africa! the desert ! [Singing.] " Mon bien aime d'amour s'enivre." Is that it ? . . . Mademoiselle. Very good, Mees Julie. But why always the desert ? Now, something of Bellini . . . Julia. I love his voice. How well it would sound in the desert, under a tent, on a beautiful moonlight night. Mademoiselle. Yes . . . but Bellini ! Julia. Mademoiselle ? Mademoiselle. What, Mees Julie ? Julia. Have you been in love with any one ? Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! for shame ! , . . 7 6 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. Julia. Come now, tell me frankly ! I am sure those lovely blue eyes of yours have made them- selves felt. Confess, you have been in love. Mademoiselle. Fi done ! If my lady heard you ! Julia. I want to know how one can tell when they are in love. Mademoiselle. The symptoms of love, your poet Shakespeare defines them thus : " his doublet all unbraced. . . no hat upon his head ... his stockings fouled." Julia. Oh ! are you not ashamed, Mademoiselle ? As for me, when I shut my eyes, I see large camels covered with gold, Arab horses pawing the ground, guns firing, piles of cashmere shawls as high as the house, beautiful rugs, and a hundred thousand swarthy beings crying out . . . Mademoiselle. How can you see such strange things ? Julia. " In the mind's eye, Horatio," as Hamlet says. Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! would you really go to Algiers ? Julia. Indeed I would ! Do you know how to tell fortunes ? Mademoiselle, No ! Julia. I must see a clairvoyant, and find out if I shall really go. Mademoiselle. You can go with Mr. Louis Sack- ville, to see his uncle. Julia. I wouldn't travel ten miles with him, if I could help it. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 77 Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! he is such an amiable young man ! Julia. To his constituents. . .but his wife would get very tired of him. Mademoiselle. Oh, no ! Mees Julie ! I am sure you would not ! Julia. No, indeed, for I shall never be his wife. But, seriously, Mademoiselle, I am head over ears in love . . . Now, if you open your big eyes like that . . . and your mouth like a letter-box, I'll do something awful. I'll send a declaration of four pages to the object of my love. Do you dare me ? Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! is it possible ? How ? You do not love Mr. Louis Sackville any more ? Who then ? Julia. Who then ? who then ? Is it difficult to guess ? Are you going to pretend to be stupid, now ? Come now, dare to say that the uncle is not a thousand times better than the nephew. Say he is not, and see if I don't tear your eyes out . . . Just dare to say anything bad of the uncle. [She pinches her, and pulls her hair^\ Mademosielle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! you hurt me with your ongles. Julia. Very good ! very good ! Mademoiselle has made a pun ! ... It's too much for a French woman of so tender an age . . . But, first I want to know what you can find to say against my choice . . . Mademoiselle. First, you are engaged. Julia. Secondly, I break it off. Mademoiselle. And then, he has forty-five years, at least. 7 8 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. Julia. He doesn't look more than forty-four and a half. I like them like that. He has a beautiful mustache, which I will make him put in curl-papers, and his hair is very black still . . . fast color. Mademoiselle. But soon it will become gray. Julia. Soon ! Soon never comes. I don't know how long it will be before he turns gray — perhaps next year, perhaps this ; what do I care ? He will go to Algiers. He will be made general . . . Grand trium- phal entry ... I shall be presented with embroidered scarfs, Arab horses, bracelets ; and you ... I will marry you to a sheik. Mademoiselle. A sheik ! Julia. Yes, a sheik, and if you say a word, to a dervish ! [Giving her a shawl?[ There, make a turban of that, and put it on my head. [ While Mademoiselle puts turban on.] Then he will be obliged to join his brigade . . . What a heart-rending parting ! I shall await the bulletins with anxious impatience, as Mr. Smith would say. You will read the Times. I will recline on a divan, in a little salon lined with flowered satin, with verses of the Koran round the border. I won't receive any bores. My mother will have to leave Mr. Smith at the door, with her um- brella... You must arrange my turban better than that — put it more on one side — coquettishly. Mademoiselle. And when a bulletin comes, and you read : " The general has been killed ! " Julia. Bah ! No such bulletin would come ! This turban is really very becoming. Does one ever be- come a widow at twenty ? But look at me and tell me PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 79 if I was not born to be the wife of a pasha or an Algerian general ! I think I shall always wear turbans. Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! Do take that off, it is the hour when Mr. Louis Sackville comes. Julia. And if the uncle should come on his grand war-horse ! I would jump on behind, and gallop off with him — to the desert ! to the desert ! I hear some one coming. Mademoiselle. Oh ! Mees Julie ! It is himself ! For heaven's sake, take off that turban ! Mon Dieu, what will he think ! [T/ie Colonel enters .] SCENE IX. The same — Colonel Sackville. Julia, [going to him, and saluting him comically.] Salamalic ! Colonel. Alei'koun, Salam ! You are lovely in this costume. Your mother is not here ? Julia. No. Colonel. She is like Providence, inscrutable in her ways, and never seen. She sent enough to Mr. Smith's room to save ten drowned men, and when I look for her. . .But where is she ? Julia. She is in her room with Mr. Smith, correct- ing proof-sheets. You must be resigned, you are under my charge. Colonel. I am resigned to my fate, as I came es- pecially to see you and talk to you. But what were you doing ? Acting charades with Mademoiselle ? 80 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. Julia. Ask her what we were doing — and say- ing. Mademoiselle. For shame ! Colonel. I am afraid I disturbed you. But I must ask you to give me five minutes, for I have some- thing very particular to say to you. Julia. You look as if you had something weighing on your mind. Now, Mademoiselle, will you be kind enough to take your work over there . . . Take a seat, great mogul. Colonel. Your joyous spirits make me regret my past youth. But tell me, did you see Louis yester- day ? Julia. Yesterday ? Colonel. What ! you don't remember ? Julia. Oh ! yes ! I recollect now . . . He was on his bay horse with crooked ears. Colonel. What did you talk about ? Julia. I forget . . . Oh ! about the coming election, I think. Colonel. He is wrong ; he ought to keep all that sort of thing for his constituents ; but I was afraid you had quarreled. Julia. I ! quarrel with him ! I never could with one . . . who ... I could quarrel with you, perhaps. Colonel. I hope never to give you cause. But listen, my dear child. You will allow me to call you child ? We men accuse women of being sensi- tive and exacting, whereas we are a thousand times more so. No greater misfortune can happen to a man than to find that the woman to whom he PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 8 1 has given his entire love is untrue to him. You treat my poor Louis badly. Julia. How so ! Colonel. I can see myself. . .You have not— Julia. What have I not ? Colonel. It is not very easy to say . . . But you will excuse one who has lived so long amongst savages. You don't appear to love him as you should love the man to whom you are engaged. Julia. Does he think that I am wanting in... affection ? Colonel. He is in despair, and irritates himself, in- stead of trying to win your affection . . . now, dear Julia . . . tell me frankly ... at my age you can say what you please to me. . .although old, I love youth. . . If you do not love Louis ... it must be for one of two reasons — either you love no one yet ... I have no doubt that is the case. . .you are so young. . .and your education — Julia. Yes ! at school they forbid us falling in love, and biting our nails. Colonel. You are not speaking frankly. . .Look at me ; I am something of a physiognomist ... I see something serious behind that laugh which frightens me . . .after all, our feelings are not under our control . . . You think, perhaps, that you have found in some one else what is wanting in Louis . . . that life and enthusiasm which youth believes the proofs of a true love. . . [She nods affirmatively.] I was afraid of it ! Listen to me. You are very young, very lovely . . . without experience . . . good reasons for choosing g 2 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. badly ; but you have a good mother who loves you, who lives only for you ! Julia. She is my best friend. Colonel. You should consult her. Julia. But she is busy with her proof. Colonel. So you love some one. . .And it is not my poor Louis whom — But I won't say anything more to you about him ; I will think only of you now . . . Are you sure that he whom you love is worthy of you ? Julia. Very sure ! Colonel. One always believes what one most wishes. Look in that mirror... at that lovely face . . . Ask yourself if so much beauty, if that noble little heart, ought to belong to a coxcomb ? Julia No, never ! Colonel. You reassure me. I believe he is worthy of you . . . Does your mother know that you love him ? Julia. No ! she is revising — Colonel. Oh! stop this joking... We are talking of the happiness or misery of your whole life . . . My dear child, I tremble when I think that a man can bewitch a poor young girl because he dances well. Julia. Oh !* as for that, I am sure he dances horri- bly. Colonel. So much the better, if you judge him from more serious qualities ; but why not speak to your mother ? Julia. To tell you the truth, I don't know whether he ever thinks about me. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 83 Colonel. If he thinks about you ? . . . O ! Julia ! Julia ! Here is a romance ! You love an unknown man who has saved you from some danger by the light of the moon. Julia. Perhaps ! Colonel. Nonsense, my child, utter nonsense ! The dance was a great deal better. . .What ! he does not know that you love him ? He's a fool ! Julia. Yes... or he does not do himself jus- tice. Colonel. You are crazy, my poor child ; but now you are sad, you change color ; is that a tear I see in those lovely eyes ? Ah ! youth ! youth ! your rashness brings you many cares and regrets. Well, this handsome unknown ? Mademoiselle. Mees Julie, my lady must have finished ; I will tell her the Colonel is here. Julia. No, I will go and tell her myself.. .Tell me, Colonel : in Algiers . . . the women are veiled, so the men might as well be blind . . . What does a woman do, w T hen she wants to let a man know she is in love with him ? Colonel. Why, as you may suppose, I have had no experience. Julia. But others are more fortunate perhaps . . . or more conceited. Colonel. You put me in mind of a very curious incident. As I entered Tlemcen I had at my side an adjutant, a brave soldier and very handsome. In the main street a woman, covered with a veil, caught the bridle of his horse, and threw a bouquet in the 84 THE FLOWER OE TLEMCEN. folds of his burnous . . . [ Julia throws a flower at him a?id runs out hiding her face.} Colonel. Ah! [To Mademoiselle.] Mademoiselle, will you tell Lady Montgomery that I am obliged to return to Africa immediately ? [He goes out back, turning to the right. Mr. Smith appears on left and follows him with his eyes as he dis- appears.] SCENE X. Mademoiselle — Mr. Smith. Mademoiselle [in front, looking very much excited]. Oh ! ciel ! I have jamais. . . Smith. What is the matter with the Colonel, that he rushes off in that way, without seeing anybody ? Mademoiselle. Oh! Meester Smeeth...Si vous ... if you . . . Je ne sais pas . . . When I think . . . O ! mon Dieu ! a young girl ! Smith. Why ! good heavens ! what is the matter with you ? You speak English and French in the most promiscuous manner . . . Mademoiselle. Oh ! silence . . . My lady ! SCENE XI. The same — Lady Montgomery. [Lady Montgomery enters from the side opposite to where Julia went out. She is elega?itly dressed, and her hair arra?iged with ribbons.] PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 85 Lady Montgomery. My dear Mr. Smith, will you find the Colonel, and tell him I wish to speak with him, before he goes. Smith. With pleasure, my lady. [Goes out.] Lady Montgomery. Mademoiselle, will you send Julia to me ? Mademoiselle. Yes, my lady. \She goes out.] SCENE XII. Lady Montgomery, alone. Lady Montgomery [ picks up bouquet thrown by Ju- lia ; after a moment of silence] . Does she love him ? or was it simply fun on the part of this giddy girl ? All young girls are such children ! And she is par- ticularly so ! Has her heart spoken ? There are so many mysteries in a young girl's heart. To throw him a flower in response to his story. . .and he ! he did not even pick it up . . . he fled . . . fled ! Why ? Does he fly from her. . . Or is it I that he is afraid of ? A thousand feelings struggle within me ! Jeal- ousy . . .Yes, I am jealous of her ! Joy ! I am hap- py because he disdained this flower ! A mother's grief ! For, if my child suffers, there can be no pos- sible happiness for me ! Does he love me still ? Does she love him ? If so, I can't give her a step- father with whom she is in love. Oh ! I must get rid of this anxiety ! Here she is ! ... I will question her. 86 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. SCENE XIII. Lady Montgomery — Julia. Julia [coming in joyfully\. You sent for me, mam- ma ! [Seeing her dress.] Oh ! how pretty you are ! Lady Montgomery. You think so ? Julia. Now, this is the way I like to see you ! You look ten years younger ! . . . Oh ! how beautiful your hair is ! Lady Montgomery. Really ? Julia. If you go on this way . . . you will be more beautiful than any of us ... I forbid you . . .[Seeing her flower in her mothers hand, aside, troubled.]. My flower ! Lady Montgomery. What is the matter ? You seem troubled . . . Julia. I? Lady Montgomery. Yes . . . one would think that the sight of this flower . . . Julia. Of that flower ! Lady Montgomery. Yes ! isn't it lovely ! Julia. Certainly . . . very pretty ! . . . Isn't the Colo- nel here ? Lady Montgomery. When I came in ? . . . He — Julia. Did he speak to you ? Lady Montgomery. Speak ... of what ? Julia. Of anything ... of his nephew . . . perhaps it was he who gave you that flower ? Lady Montgomery. No ! I found it there ... on the floor. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 8/ Julia. On the floor ! . . . [Aside.] He would not even pick it up ! Lady Montgomery. What is the matter with you ? This flower seems to interest you very much. Julia [bursting out laughing\. Ha ! ha ! ha ! They are all alike ! . . . men are such coxcombs ! Lady Montgomery. What are you talking about ? Julia. I see, you know it all ! The Colonel has told you everything ; and, by your serious manner and severe expression, I know you believe that your daughter — {laughing again] ... And he never un- derstood . . . Lady Montgomery. Understood what ? Julia. That I was joking. . .that I was acting an Algerian play. Lady Montgomery. But — Julia [laughing louder]. And he took my flower for a declaration ? . . . ha ! ha ! I wish ... ha ! ha ! ha! [Suddenly stops laughing.] Well, it's true... I never could tell a lie ... I threw the flower at him, be- cause I love him. Lady Montgomery. You love him ? Julia. Yes ! Lady Montgomery. At his age ! Julia. Heroes have no age ! Lady Montgomery. A man you never knew be- fore to-day ! Julia. There are men you can know in an hour, as there are others whom it takes years to know. Lady Montgomery. This is folly ! Julia. It may be folly ! I know I am wild and 33 THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. capricious. . .but my heart is brave and true — I take that from you. [Lady M. makes a sudden movement.] This language from me astonishes you ... I am aston- ished myself. The words I speak seem to come in- voluntarily from my heart. . .it is my heart itself that speaks. Yes, you will find in this wild, capricious girl a woman ! Lady Montgomery. A woman who pretends to love a man she does not know. Julia. I have known him for the last three years — three years I have waited for him. Lady Montgomery, You have waited for him ! Julia. Yes ! I have foreseen. . .divined. . .the dis- gust I have felt for every young man who has paid me any attention shows it... If you knew how I detest the sight of these fops, with little waxed mustaches, with hands in such pretty gloves, and little hearts. . .Your Mr. Smith is a hypocrite ! Mr. Louis Sackville is a coward ! You were not there just now in the boat ! If you had seen him. . .pale and trembling. . .clinging ridiculously to the sides of the boat, frightened by a girl, not being ashamed to show his cowardice before the woman that he loved! But he i he ! there is a heart ! I don't speak of his cour- age ... it was a natural act on his part to throw him- self into the water to save a woman ! . . . but with w T hat presence of mind he jumped from the boat to relieve it ! With what skill and grace he pushed it to the shore ! And just now, with what affection he spoke to me of his nephew ! How tender and lovingly he spoke — he, so accustomed to command PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 89 ... I could almost see the tears in his eyes ... I am sure he has loved ! what I call loving ! I am even sure he has suffered. Yes ! I could see that he had a hidden sorrow, some sad remembrance which draws me still more to him \tenderly\. Oh ! to console a great heart like his ! And I think I could. I see clearly within me. I must be proud of the man whose name I bear ! I must never be able to utter his name but with respect. In my husband's ab- sence I must be able to think of the noble deeds he has performed ! When I am out with him I must see all eyes follow me with envy. I am proud ! I cannot marry any but a man superior to all others ... by what right or title I do not know . . . but I cannot love any one below this standard. Lady Montgomery. But if he does not love you ? Julia. That is impossible. Lady Montgomery. And this flower ? — which he did not even pick up. Julia. This flower ? My flower ! Oh ! I am mise- rable ! . . . I had forgotten \with deteri7iinatio)i\ . "Well, I must know ! This neglected flower may not mean anything ... a coxcomb would have boasted of it, a fool would have laughed over it, an honest man might pretend not to understand it. I am younger than he, richer . . . this seeming contempt may be only delicacy .. .but contempt or reserve, I must know ! . . . I want you to offer him my hand for me . . . and if he refuses it, I know what remains for me to do ! . . . [Lady M. rings.] What are you doing ? \M r aid enters .] go THE FLOWER OF TLEMCEN. Lady Montgomery. Bring me my shawl and my cap. You will find them in that room. Julia. Oh, mamma, are you going to put on that horrid cap ? Lady Montgomery. Yes ! I feel chilled through. We try in vain to escape from age. [Maid enters ; Lady M. puts on cap and wraps shawl around her. Colonel enters.] SCENE XIV. The same — Colonel Sackville. Julia [to her mother]. He ! Lady Montgomery. Thank you, Colonel, for re- turning. [Colonel, seeing her, makes a gesture of sur- prised] Lady Montgomery. Ah ! I see you are not changed . . . the same frankness. Colonel. How, my lady ? Lady Montgomery. Yes ! for in meeting me again . . .you were not able to restrain a gesture, . „a look ... of surprise ... at finding me so . . . changed, Colonel. I ! Lady Montgomery [showing her daughter], But here I am ... at twenty years of age ... as you re- member me. She is like me ... is she not ? Colonel. Very. Lady Montgomery [offering him the flower] . Prove it to me ... by accepting this flower from my hand. PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. g l Colonel. Certainly, my lady. Lady Montgomery. Thank you. Julia [throwing herself on her mother's hand\ Mother ! Lady Montgomery. Poor child ! what joy ! [Aside. \ Well, it is not as hard as I thought it would be. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. BY ANDRE THEURIE'i. CHARACTERS. M. Gilbert, age 60. Roger, age 30. AliiNE des Aulnois, cousin of M. Gilbert \ age 18. Susan, old Nurse of Aline s, age 50. Scene — A country house. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. A study on the ground-floor of a house belonging to Aline s mother. At the back of the stage a door leading towards the court-yard,. Front of stage, to the left, a table with books, and an arm-chair, a screen on one side of them, back of them, a door leading to the rest of the house. Front of stage, to the right, a window looking on the garden, near the window a sofa and work-table, back of the??i a long window opening on the garden. Old furniture, old stuffs, old china, suggesting the last century. 92 PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. ^3 SCENE L Aline. Aline [sitting on the sofa, with embroidery ; urs ine work fall, and sits pensive — sings.] Song — Robin Adair, " What's this dull town to me ? " etc. etc. etc. Susan [the door at the bottom of the stage opens, and enter Susan, laden with parcels']. Here I am ! How are you, my child ? Aline [surprised]. Why! is it you? We didn't expect you till this afternoon. Susan. That's true ; but I was so homesick up there ; in the daytime I kept thinking about the old house, and the orchard, and the cows ; and at night I dreamed of them ; I saw the cat at the window, and the pigeons on the roof, and they looked so lonely — poor dear things — it made me downright melancholy. My sorrows ! I couldn't stand it ; so I hopped off to the railroad — found a carryall at the station — and here I am. [Puts down her parcels, and sits dozen.] How nice it is to ge; Lack ! Ah ! my child, as the old song says, " There's no place like heme." Aline. How is mamma ? Susan. Very well. Ycu should just see her run- ning about Paris, from morning till night, bargaining with the shopkeepers, arguing with the lawyers, visit- 94 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. ing her friends. We have had a busy time, I can tell you ? Aline. And Paris ? Is it very delightful, Susan ? Susan. H'm ! Yes — and no. I expected some- thing better. I thought the streets would be silver, the houses gold, the people splendid, and everything shiny and beautiful — but my gracious ! the mud was worse than ours, the houses black and dirty, the people haggard and pale, as if they were getting a fever ! and, worst of all, a smoky sun ! Ah ! give me our own bright sun at home ! Aline [giving a weary sigfi]. It is easy to talk! but the sun doesn't shine here ; the house is like a tomb — yes, a tomb; and they may bury me in it, if I stay here much longer. I am dying of dullness. Susan. Oh ! my darling ! how can you say such things ! At your age. Only eighteen ! Aline. What good do I get out of my youth ! What's this dull town to me ? The people walk the grass-grown streets as if they were asleep. Every morning I wake with a vague hope that something will happen ; something to break the solitude — the monotony — something — I don't know what ! I spring up, saying to myself, perhaps it will be to-day, to- day ! to-day ! ! — but no — no — nothing happens — nothing comes. Susan {smiling with a knowing took]. Something will happen. Aline. I don't believe it. I'm weary of waiting. Ah ! Paris ! Paris ! how I wish I were there ! Susan. Patience, my child ; you will be there sooner PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 95 than you thfink for. Listen : your mother has a plan to sell this house, and live in Paris. Aline [_joyous, but incredulous]. What, really ? — truly ? Who told you ? Susan. No one. But I've a quick pair of ears, and when I found they were hiding something from me, I just listened at the door, and heard all. Your mamma will be here to-morrow. She wants to talk it over with you and M. Gilbert. Aline. Poor cousin Gilbert ! I wonder how he will like it. Susan. Not at all, poor dear man ! He is not like you, he loves the old homestead. Remember, child, he has lived here fifty years. He came with your grandfather, when your mother was a little girl, and from that day to this he has not slept out of his own room. When your mamma married and left home, M. Gilbert staid on in the old house ; when she re- turned — a widow, with a dear little daughter, (that's you,) she found her old cousin waiting for her on the steps of the portico — faithful at his post like the fam- ily watch-dog ! Poor man, he hoped to die here. It will break his heart to leave the old home. Aline. Nonsense. We will take him with us. We will make a bright, new home for him. Presently, when he comes in, / // talk him into it. Susan. You will have hard work to do that. At his age, my child, old men are like cats — they love their garret, and they are not happy elsewhere. But try — try by all means — though I'm afraid you won't succeed. There he is now, coming in from his daily g6 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. walk in the orchard, with his hands behind his back, and his face glowing with peace and contentment. Ah ! my poor, dear man ! you don't know what's before you ! . . . While you are talking with him, Aline, I will go and put things to rights upstairs. [Picks up her parcels and exit, left.] SCENE II. Aline. Aline [joyfully]. To get away from here! to live in Paris ! the mere thought of it makes me as lively as a cricket, as light as a bird. [Foils up her work, and sings some gay song — anything — -four lines with a refrain.] [M. Gilbert enters from the garden, and stands list- ening?^ SCENE III. Aline — M. Gilbert. M. Gilbert. Bravo, my darling ! That's a pretty song ! I like your gay voice better than the doleful looks I saw this morning. Isn't it a beautiful even- ing, and are we not happy to live here and enjoy it ? I have been watching the old house, as I stood there, under the apple trees ; the setting sun brought out the noble lines of the facade, and the pointed tower, Plays for private acting. 97 and my mind went back over the years — the many years — when I have watched it at the same hour : it seemed to me, that from every glowing window, my youth smiled upon me with all its hopes — its pas- sions — its delights. Aline [tfjzite]. Poor cousin . How shall I tell him the news ? [Aloud.] You love the old house very much, cousin Gilbert ? M. Gilbert. Do I love it ! For fifty years it has held my heart, my dreams, my aspirations. My life itself is here — andyou ask me if I love in It seems as though I had created it in my own image ; as if it were a part of my being, and I a part of its very walls. Aline. So that if you had to leave it M. Gilbert [interrupting]. To leave it ! ! How could you think it ! Could I leave so dear a spot, made doubly dear by the presence of an old friend like your mother, and a darling child like you ? Aline [persisting]. But if mamma took a fancy to live in a city, and were to sell this house ? M. Gilbert [annoyed]. Oh ! come, come, this is nonsense. My darling, don't play these cruel jokes, they make me shudder. See [holding out his hand\ you have only said two or three idle words, and yet I tremble ! Think, therefore, how I should feel if this were true. . .eh ! What ?. . . why do you look at me so ?. . .so grieved ?. . .so mysterious ? . . . Oh ! it is all a joke — is it not ? [Aline shahs her head.] Xo ! The house is to be sold ? [Aline nods.] Xo ! no ! it is impossible ! How did you hear it ? g$ THE OLD HOMESTEAD. Aline. Susan came home just now. She heard it all. We are to live in Paris. M. Gilbert [horror-struck] . And I ? Aline. You, dear cousin ? oh, that's all settled, you'll live with us. We will make you a charming little nest, very still and quiet, and furnished just to your fancy. M. Gilbert [bitterly]. Nests are not built in old age. This was my nest, my shelter, my home ! If I am torn from it I'll find a hole to hide in. Aline [caressingly]. You feel so because you have never left this house, even for a day. But you'll change your mind. Oh ! there is nothing so de- lightful as novelty. M. Gilbert. Ah J you don't understand. . . Aline [interrupting hint with a hiss, and putting her hand over his mouth]. Hush ! hush ! Think of Paris and its marvels. Do you count them nothing? [Coaxing \ Come, it's all settled, dear old cousin, you will go with us ? M. Gilbert. No, no, a thousand times no ! . . . Oh it can't be settled yet ! I'll write to your mother. She will listen to reason — she will give up this foolish sale — this insane whim of a spoiled child Aline [pouting]. Ah, now you are cross. I am sorry I told you anything about it. Keep calm. I'll tell mamma myself that she must give up her charming prospects . . . I'll try to bear this dreadful prison-life . . .Ah, me ! I'll try— that's all. M. Gilbert. My dear child, listen to me. Aline. No, no ; what's the use ? I can resign my- PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. 99 self to die of dullness . . . Good by, cousin. [Turns away her head and exit, left.] SCENE IV, M. Gilbert, alone. M. Gilbert. Aline ! . . . she won't hear me ! But my arguments — an old man's wishes — what power have they to influence her ? Oh, youth ! youth ! smiling, yet cruel ! — which knows no anguish and can pity none — I am powerless against you. Her mother will yield to these girlish fancies — and // — [Si/s down at left, and looks sadly about him .] Old home ! I shall see you pass into the hands of strangers. Dear walls ! you shall hold me no longer. Friends, friends, we are to part ! — but — I will not go far. I will keep you within the line of my horizon. I know an attic room near by from whence I could see you still. I will live there — and watch, day after day, for the smoke of the old chimneys in winter — and for the glowing windows I loved so well in the summer eve- nings. Yes ! yes ! — but all my tender memories in every nook and corner within these walls — must I part from them? And the sweet joy of living with two angels, who have given to the old house and the old belongings the charm of freshness and grace ! All — all is lost — lost forever. [Puts his hands before his eyes.] What ! a tear ! . . .When it is all over and I am alone — in my garret — what will remain to Ufa IOO THE OLD HOMESTEAD. me — but tears. [Rises ?\ Oh ! I am weak — this fright- ful news, flung into my peaceful life, has convulsed me. I must take courage. [ Walks about in agitation.] Come, this is not courage ! I will be strong. I will be hopeful. What the devil! — things are not hopeless — they shan't be hopeless. After all, it is only the tattle of a servant. Susan is such a gossip. Who knows ! I dare say she meant to tease Aline, and the silly child believed her — it is so easy to believe what the heart wishes ! Bah ! the whole thing is an invention. How could I be so easily taken in ? [A rap at the door.] Hey ! some one knocked. [Opens the door.] Come in. SCENE V. M. Gilbert— Roger, in traveling dress. Roger [rather cavalierly]. Beg pardon. Is Ma- dame des Aulnois at home ? M. Gilbert [surprised]. She will not be at home for several days — but I am her cousin, and if I Roger [interrupting] . I believe this house is for sale ? M. Gilbert [aside — shocked] . 7/ was true ! Roger. I should like to go over it. M. Gilbert [aside]. Already ! [Aloud.] Am I in- discreet in asking a few questions ? Roger. Go on, sir. M. Gilbert. First, who informed you so quickly of the intentions of the owner ? PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. I0I Roger. The lawyer of Madame des Aulnois. M. Gilbert [muck moved]. He is right . , . And your name, sir ? Roger. Roger. M. Gilbert [repeating mechanically], Roger — Roger — ah, indeed ! Thank you, and pray pardon me. You understand that in so serious a matter some precautions are necessary. Roger [smiling]. I understand. You are afraid I am only here for curiosity. Don't be alarmed — My object is bona fide ; and I am very prompt in business matters. As soon as the bargain is made, I intend to pay the purchase-money into the hands of the agent. Now that this is all made clear, I hope you will permit me to walk over the house, the offices, the garden, and the stables. The first look of the place is charming. I admire the general character of the house. M. Gilbert [flattered]. Oh, do you really ! [Checks himself]. You are easily pleased — for the street is dull, and the house inconvenient, and badly lighted, and very old-fashioned. Roger. So much the better. I hate new houses, all built on one pattern ; ten stone-fronts all of a row — and the partitions so thin you can hear your neighbors sneeze. Give me the good old-fashioned walls — strong, massive, fit to inclose a home, and lasting for a lifetime. M.Gilbert [eagerly]. For centuries — [Checks him- self]. But not always. The wall of our orchard is crumbling to pieces. As to the garden, it is in a 102 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. pitiable state — damp, sodden, the trees all covered with green moss, weeds in the borders, and the grass a field of snails. Roger. Ah, charming ! I have always dreamed of those old-time gardens ; not cultivated, raked and spaded, and filled for three months by some florist at so much a bed : but a true pleasure-ground, where, as the light fades, we may fancy the beings of a past age gliding through the shrubberies, and meeting under the ancient trees. M. Gilbert [with emotion, and coming close to Roger]. Ah! yes, yes. . . [Aside.] He is full of good sense and good feeling. [Aloud.] The garden may be well enough — for those who like it — but the house ! My dear sir, you will find it gloomy and cold — the stairs are of stone, and the windows have miserable little leaded panes, which keep out the light, and let in the wind and rain. Roger [good - humoredly] . Pooh ! nonsense ! — There's charm in the murmur of the breeze through the corridors when we are sitting in a warm chimney corner round the glowing logs. M. Gilbert [shaking his head]. That is all very well when the chimneys are good — every one of ours smokes. [Aside.] Fine fellow ! his ideas delight- but terrify me. What chance have I against him ! Roger [aside]. Singular old man! A queer way of attracting purchasers. [Aloud and laughing.] You are very frank, sir. No one can accuse you of over- valuing your property. So you hate this house ? M.Gilbert [shocked and enthusiastic] If I love it PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. . IQ * with my whole heart ! [Checks himself.] That is to say. . .Ah ! I'm too old to play a part — I can't de- ceive. My young friend, I will tell you all. You have a good heart, and sound sense — you will under- stand me. Listen. This ancient house has nurtured me ; it has witnessed my childish joys, my youthful hopes, my earliest love — my first, my last, my only love ! I loved a young relation. I had known her from her infancy. I loved her in silence — I dared not speak. I saw her day by day, growing into all beauty within these walls, beneath those ancient trees. I was happy as the days went by, [Pauses, sighing.] But — ah ! timidity is criminal. When, at last, I dared to speak, her heart was gone — she was betrothed to another. I saw her leave these steps one morning with a husband ... I remained behind ! Here, within these walls, she was still my own. I remained ; I have spent my life here — happy, yes happy with my thoughts, my memories of her. Fi- nally — in brief — the owner of this house, Madame des Aulnois, came to occupy it with her little daugh- ter — a sweet little child, whom we have brought up together amid the tender silences of the old home. But the child has become a girl — she stands on the verge of womanhood — and lo ! there is in her the dawn of the emotions which were once my all ! Such is life ! Ah-! my bird ! her wings are growing — the nest is too narrow for her — she longs to fly. It is to please her, that her mother talks of selling the house. . .Sell it ! Oh ! — the thought is agony. [He holds his hands toward Roger, who grasps them^\ You io4 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. understand me ! you feel for me ! you know and re- spect the memories of the past. You spoke just now with reverence for old and venerable things. You will pity my trouble — and help me to escape it ? Roger. I desire nothing better — but how ? If I were to resign the purchase the house would still be for sale. M. Gilbert [sadly]. Ah ! true — true. Roger. It is not the purchasers you must manage ; it is Mademoiselle des Aulnois. M. Gilbert. Aline ! Yes, you are right. But, how can I do it ? I have tried already, and — failed. [Re- flects.] There is a way, however — perhaps you will laugh at it — plead my cause with her. Roger. I, how could I ? What influence should I have ? M. Gilbert. The influence of youth. I am old, and alas ! alas ! it is like that influences like. She thinks me an old fogy — she can see none of my thoughts or meanings — but you are young ; she may listen to you, she may be touched — if you are only eloquent — as you can be. Roger. Ah ! but can I ? I have lived half my life at sea — I don't know how to talk to young ladies. M. Gilbert. Well, first your wish to purchase the house will serve as an introduction. . Then, gently and insinuatingly, you must say to her all that you said to me just now. And, oh ! you will say it even better than you did before — / know thai. Do this for me, and receive the grateful blessing of an old PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING, 105 man. [Takes him by both hands.'] I hear her coming. Here she is — I will present you. SCENE VI. The same — Aline. [She enters left, and stops surprised on seeing a stranger^] M. Gilbert. Dear Aline, your wishes are fulfilled. Here is a purchaser for the old home. [Presents Roger.] M.Roger. [Aside to Aline.] He wishes to look over the house. I've not the heart to go with him ; will you go, and spare me the sad office ? [Aloud to Roger.] I leave you with Mademoiselle des Aulnois. She will be a better guide than I could be. [Aside to Roger.] Now, be firm, be persuasive — or my old age must sink to grief and desolation. I'll wait for you in the orchard. [Goes out by garden door. Aline follows him to the threshold.] SCENE VII. Roger — Aline. Roger [glancing furtively at Aline while she follows M. Gilbert], She is lovely indeed ! I am touched and moved before I even speak to her. [ When M. Gilbert goes out, Aline returns slowly to the front, glancing quickly at the neiu-co?ner.] 106 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. Aline [aside]. He is not handsome; but he looks sincere and frank. [She comes nearer to Roger — they look at each other as if each expected the other to speak first.] Aline [smiling, to Roger]. Would you rather see the house, or the garden, first ? Roger. I will glance at the garden — just for form's sake — for the truth is, I am — charmed — and my mind is made up. Aline. Then it is you who wish to live here ? Roger. Yes, mademoiselle, I — myself — with my dog, and my books. Aline [with naive pity] . Ah ! so young ! Roger [with a comic air of resignation]. Only thirty years old ! It is too early to become an actual her- mit. But I long for the country ; the flimsy, rest- less life of a great city bores me. Sometimes, as I return to Paris in beautiful autumn weather, I look out from the windows of the railway carriage, and see some fine old house — like this — on the outskirts of a country town ; and as it flits away and disap- pears behind its ancient poplar trees, I watch the blue smoke curling upward from its mossy roof, I catch the last glint of its vine-embowered windows, and I say to myself : Oh, if there is such a thing in life as pure romance, it is there that I must look for it. Aline [slmvly\. And you think you will find ro- mance in coming to live here ? Roger. I am sure of it. Aline [laughing]. Ah, my conscience won't al- PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTING. I07 low me to let you think so. I know better. I live here, and I know too well there is no romance — only weary dullness. Roger [aside]. What a sweet voice ! What a charming, ingenuous manner ! [Aloud.] That is be- cause you have no patience, mademoiselle. The lark sings in the fields — not in the cities — I will prove it to you, if — I — may. Aline [apart]. How original he is ! [Aloud.] Tell me. I am listening. [She leans against the back of a chair and looks up at Roger. ] Roger [looking at her with fra?ik admiratiojt]. Well, I will give you an example . . . You, yourself — if you will permit it. You are very lovely . . . Aline [confused]. Ah ! no ! I Roger [continuing]. You were seventeen last April. Aline [astonished] . That is true . . . Hoav did you know it ? Roger [coming a little nearer]. I read it in your violet eyes — the violets bloom in April . . . With your youth, and your beauty, it cannot be that you have never thought of marriage. . . of a marriage where . . . Love is king ? Aline [aside and agitated]. Oh ! what is he going to say ! [Aloud.] It is getting late — ought we not to see the garden ? Roger. Listen to me one moment longer. Has the first word of love alarmed you ? . . . yet the whole life of a young girl is but the dawn of love. Tell me, has the thought of a betrothal never stirred your heart with soft emotion ? . . , Have you never io 8 THE 0LD HOMESTEAD. dreamed of a moment — a moment fraught with all the mystery of life . . . the moment of your first meet- ing with the one you are to love . . . the one who . . . loves . . . you ? Well, in a great city the first sacri- fice you will have to make is the sacrifice of such emotion. Aline. Why ? Roger. Because in the great world fashion and conventionality have robbed marriage of its mystery and its poetry. All is ticketed and taxed like a railway journey : the wedding gifts are ordered by the bushel : the wedding dress must be in the latest style. Everything is commonplace — from the gap- ing crowd in the church to the suite of rooms at a hotel where the honeymoon is passed. Husband and wife, as yet scarcely known to each other, are flung together amid the commonest and vulgarest scenes of every-day life . . . the sweet fragrance of early love ... so pure ... so fresh ... so evanescent — can it live in such an atmosphere ?. . . But here ... ah ! here /. . . Aline, [regretfully]. What you say is all so sad — so very sad. Still, you don't know how dull and monotonous a country life is . . . No, indeed you don't. We pine in solitude, and dry up at the roots, like plants in the depths of a forest. Roger. Oh ! you are mistaken. While the wild flower is only in its bud, the breeze, the sky, the sun are its sole companions ; but when, on a bright sum- mer's morning, the bud opens into a flower, see how the bees and the butterflies come murmuring around it ! Whence do they come ? Why do they come ? PLAYS FOR PRIVATE ACTIXG. 109 This venerable homestead . . . how few people have known of it . . . the grass grows in its alleys, as you say. But lo ! a young girl opens into womanhood, and those . . . who . . . would love her — come to her . . . the romance of which I told you has begun. Do you know the story of the Sleeping Beauty ? Aline [smiling]. I can guess what you mean ! This old house is the palace of the princess. . .but — [sigh- ing\ — alas ! where is the prince ! [She moves away, and sits o?i the sofa,] Roger. Ah ! who knows ! Perhaps you will hear him at the door. . . when you least expect him. Some lovely evening. . .like this ... an unknown young man may arrive . . . Aline [thoughtlessly]. Just as you have done ! Roger [continuing]. And will sit beside you. [Sits beside Aline. ] And will look out . . . with you . . . upon this sweet old garden, and naturally as the flowers bloom, he will speak to you of \o\