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PLAYS 






ANNA CORA MOWATT, 

AUTHOB OF "AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ACTEESS,' 

Sic, b.G, 



NEW AND REVISED EDITION. 



BOSTON : 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 

M DCCC LV. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 

WILLIAM FOUSHEE RITCHIE, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 






fl 



AJiMAND; 



OR, 



THE PEER AND THE PEASANT. 



% IJlaj), 



IN riVE ACTS 



" Ancient Heaven 
Extends its arch o'er all, and mocks the span 
Of palaces and dimgeons ; where the heart, 
In its free beatings 'ncath the coarsest vest, 
Claims kindred mth diviner things than power 



Of kings can raise or stifle." 



Talfourd. 



TO 

MRS. JOHN H. WILKIN8, 

boston, massachusetts. 

My dear Mrs. Wilkins, 

Allow me to dedicate " Armand'^ to you — 
one of the first and dearest amongst tliose absent 
friends, of wliose love I have had such abundant 
proofs. I would say to you, as to them, that, 
highly as I prize the success with which '' Ar- 
mand^^ has been favored before a British public 
—that success can never diminish the value of 
the enthusiastic greeting the Play received in 
my own beloved land. And I beg my country- 
men to believe that the ample record of home- 
kindnesses dwells ever freshly in my memory. 

I am, 
]My dear Madam, 
Respectfully and most afiectionately 

Yours, 
Anna Cora Mowatt. 

London, Feb. 22nd, 1849. 



PREFACE TO THE LONDON EDITION. 



The play of -4nw(7«c?; or, the Peer and the Peasant, was 
produced at the Park Theatre, New York, September 27th, 
1847, and subsequently in Boston, Massachusetts. It 
was represented before a London audience, at the Theatre 
Royal, Marylebone, January ISth, 1849, and was acted 
twenty-one successive nights. 

In England, as in America, the indulgence of the 
audience towards the production of a woman, and the exer- 
tions of the actors, rendered its success unequivocal and 
even brilliant. 

Some slight liberty has been taken in portraying the 
character of Louis XV., who is not rendered so totally and 
revoltingly destitute of virtues as he is described by his- 
torians; but I trust the license is a pardonable one. 

That Richelieu had a daughter, by a secret marriage, 
who was brought up in privacy, there is some little autho- 
rity for believing, and the fact (if it be one) has already 
been made the subject of novels, &c. 

The character of Arm and has been objected to, as not 



4 INTRODUCTION. 

belonging to the reign of Louis XV., but I think historical 
records will bear me out in the conclusion, that it was 
during his reign that the seeds of the revolution were 
sown, and already began to shoot forth in the breasts of 
the lower orders. Armand's sentiments are but the fore- 
shadowing of that revolution. 

My acknowledgments are due and cheerfully paid to 
the Manager of the Marylebone Theatre, for the lib- 
erality evinced in putting the play upon the stage, and 
in all his other arrangements — to Mr. Davenport, for 
his impressive and spirited impersonation of the cha- 
racter of Armand — to the Ladies and Gentlemen of the 
company, for the heartiness with which they, one and all, 
contributed their exertions, and to the scenic Artist, for 
the admirable manner in which his labours were executed. 
I acknowledge with pleasure that to the united efforts of 
these parties the play was largely indebted for its success. 

A. C. M. 
London, February 22nd, 1849. 



PERSONS or THE DRAMA. 

Louis the Fifteenth, King of France. 

Duke de Richelieu. 

Duke D'Antin, an old Noble. 

Armand, an Ariizan. 

Le Sage, Attendant of the DuJce D'Antin. 

Victor, the King's favorite Page!^ 



Jacot, I peasants. 

!NNE, \ 



Etie; 

Male and Female Peasants. 



Blanche. 

Dame Babette. 

Jaciueline, daughter of Dame Bahette. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

NEW YORK. LONDON. 

Park, 1847. Marylebone, 1849. 

Louis the Fifteenth Mr. Hield. Mr. H. T. Craven. 
Duke de Richelieu . . — Barry. — James Johnstone. 

Duke D'Antin ... — Dougherty. — J. W. Ray. 

Armand — Davenport. — Davenport. 

Le Sage, . . . ^ . . — McDougal. — G. Cooke. 

Victor Miss Denin. Miss S. Villars. 

Jacot Mr, Rae. Mr. Green. 

Etienne — Gallot. — Bowen. 

Blanche Mrs. Mowatt. Mrs. Mowatt. 

Babette — Vernon. — Johnstone. 

jAauELiNE .... Miss Kate Horn. Miss M. Oliver. 

NOTE. 
Passages marked with inverted commas are omitted in representation. 



EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 

R. means Right; L., Left ; R. I E„ Right First Entrance i 2 E., Second 
Entra7ice; D. F., Door in the Flat. 

RELATIVE POSITIONS. 

R. means Right; L., Left ; C, Centre; R. C, Right of Centre; L. C, Lefl 
of Centre. 

•*♦ The reader is supposed to be on the Stage facing the Audience, 



COSTUMES. 

KING LOUIS. — First flipRs: Liuht bine velvet coat, and white satin long vest 
riclily trimmed with silver, lari;e cnrts, tiill shirt sleeves atul frills, white satin 
breeclies, lonij stockings, gartered below the knee, three-cornered hat, trim- 
med with lace and white feathers, while neckcloth and frills, crimson bow 
and diamond brooch, steel-hilted sword, broad white ribbon, with star over 
right shoulder, star on left breast, cane with rich tassels and cord, black shoes 
and buckles, on crimson ribbon, red heels, full powdered ringlet wig. — 
Second dress: Rich disguise, cloak and hat. — Third dress: Crimson velvet 
coat, trimmed with gold, blue ribbon over right shoulder, rest as before. 

RICHELIEU. — First dress: Dark blue velvet coat and silver, white breeches 
and frills, sleeves, shoes, hat, sword, wig, &c., all of same style as King's: 
white broad ribbon over right shoulder, blue ribbon and diamond pin. — 
Second dress: Darkei»»velvet, and gold, rest as before. 

D'ANTIN. — First dress: Moroon velvet and silver, black satin breeches, white 
stockings, frills, sleeves, shoes, hat trimmed wiih black feather, mourning 
sword, &c., all same style as King's ; purple ribbon over right shoulder, full 
powdered ringlet wig, bald front, black ribbon and pin. — Second dress : Black 
and gold, same style, rest as before. 

ARM AND. — First dress: Salmon and blue short coat and full breeches, large 
cutfs, full shirt and sleeves, collar turned over, black ribbon, blue and white 
striped stockings, black shoes and buckles, white hat, trimmed with blue, and 
pink wreath, nosegay, in left button hole, ringlet wig. — Second dress : Blue 
military coat, trimmed with gold, high military boots and spurs, broad sword, 
shoulder belt, sword to break, white neckcloth and frills, red bow and brooch, 
powdered wig and ribbon. 

VICTOR. — First dress : Salmon and silver, vest, breeches, stockings, garters, hat, 
shoes, sword, <Sjc.,&c., ail same style as King's, powdered wig. — Second dress: 
Garnet velvet and gold, rest as before. 

LE SAGE — First dress: Brown coat, plain breeches, stockings over knee, shoes 
and buckles, long salmon vest, same style as the rest, hat without trimming, 
powdered wig and bag.— Second dress: Black velvet, trimmed with dark blue 
ribbon, rest as before. « 

MALE PEASANTS.— Various colors, same style as Armand. 

OFFICER AND GUARDS.— White military coats, three-cornered hats, powder, 
while cravats, &c. 

PAGES.— Court dresses, same style as King's, powder, &c. 

BLANCHE. — First dress: White muslin cottage dress, with rows of white satin 
ribbon around the skirt, on the head a wreath of white may-flowers, shaped 
like coronet, a garland of white flowers, hung from the left shoulder. — Second 
dress: Plain white muslin slip, same wreath.— Third dress: A sober colored 
merino, made in the style of Louis XV., the boddice, trimmed with a ruche 
of pink silk and pompadour rosettes down the front, open skirt looped all 
around with same rosettes, under skirt of embroidered muslin, a band of pearls 
on the head. — Fourth dress: Silver brocade, embroidered in blue, closed in 
front, and looped all around with bunches of blue and silver leaves, the 
boddice, trimmed with ruches of white tulle and blue ribbon, under skirt of 
salmon colored satin, linings of brocade the saine, powdered hair, with a 
small wreath of blue and silver leaves on one side, diamond ornaments. 

BABETTE. — First dress : Orange colored skirt, bltie merino boddice, black velvet 
jacket, white apron, high peasant cap, high-heeled shoes, colored stockings. — 
Second dress : Red petticoat, black jacket, cap, &c., as before. 

JAQUELINE.— First dress: Striped under skirt, over dress of gay colored chintz, 
tucked up, laced boddice, cottage cap, small white apron, striped stockings. 
Second dress : Indian silk dress, made in same style as the first. 

Peasant dresses, in same style as Jaqueline, but none in white. 



A R M A N D. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

A beautiful part of the Garden of Versailles. Fountain 
of Neptune with statues. Le Sage walking about as 
thovyh musing. 

Le Sage. Solve me this problem, Le Sage, if thou canst. 
Why should the Duke d'Antin occupy his thoughts with a 
young peasant? Why so earnestly desire that his majesty 
should behold her ? Unquestionably there is a mystery ; 
indubitably a mystery ! But thou shalt solve it, Le Sage ! 
Thou hast a head, — incontestibly a head, — unqualifiedly a 
wise head, — 

[Enter Duke d'Antin, l. 1 e. 
Undoubtedly a head that sees — 

D^ Ant. Better than your eyes, I trust, Le Sage. 

Le Sage. Pardon, your Grace. Indisputably I did not 
observe you. 

D'Ant. I am all impatience to learn what took place 
last evening. 

Le Sage. Your Grace shall hear. Preparatively I need 
not inform your Grace that, obeying your orders, I made my- 
self acquainted with Dame Babette, down at the village, 
St. Denis, yonder. Instantaneously I discovered that your 
Grace had been rightly informed, and that the Duke de 
Richelieu frequently visits the dame's cottage in the garb 
of a citizen. Unsuspiciously the dame calls him Monsieur 
Antoine. 

D'Ant. All this I know ; proceed. 

Le Sage. Volimfa?'ily ! 

ly Ant. You talked to the dame and her young charge 
of these charming gardens, as 1 ordered 1 



10 ARM AND ; OR, [ACT. I. 

Le Sage. I painted the beauties of Versailles with the 
hand of an artist and the tongue of a poet ! Mam'selle 
Blanche was enchanted. Courteously I promised to obtain 
her and the dame an admission ; accordingly, yesterday 
evening at dusk, when the garden was wholly deserted, I 
conducted them to this very spot. Secretly I then dis- 
patched Victor to the King. Insinuatingly he suggested 
to his Majesty, that a miraculously lovely young peasant 
girl had, with a very talkative old woman, inexplicably ob- 
tained admission to his private gardens, and was wandering 
about in ecstatically rustic delight. 

B'Ant, Go on, go on. 

Le Sage. Immediately ! 

D'Ant. Did he come 1 Did he see her 1 

Le Sage. Certainly. His Majesty was unsusi)ectedly 
dying of ennui. Involuntarily he revived at the thonglit 
of an adventure, prudentially wrapped himself in a cloak, 
and unrejlectingly hastened to the garden. 

D' Ant. And then, — then he joined the peasants X 

Le Sage. Indubitably. 

ly Ant. They did not suspect that he was the king ? 

Le Sage. Incontestibly not. 

D'Ant. He was fascinated with Blanche ? 

Le Sage. Indescribably / 

D'Ant. He became joyous — elated — txcited ? 

Le Sage. Extraordinarily ! 

D'Ant. Blanche was gay — artless — piquante ? 

Le Sage. Superlatively ! 

D'Ant. Hush ! Victor comes this way. (crossing r.) 
Question him closely. This evening you shall have farther 
directions. Be cautious. [Exit r. 1 e. 

Le Sage. Invariably I 

Enter Victor, l. 1 e. 

Victor. Ah ! Monsieur Le Sage, we are charmed to en- 
counter you. 

Le Sage. Delightedly I salute his Majesty in miniature. 

Victor. If you reflect on our size, Monsieur Le Sage, 
we would inform you — ■ 

Le Sage. That it is immeasurably beneath my notice. 
— A particularly correct and pungently philosophical con- 
clusion. But, Monsieur Victor, a word concerning the 
young peasant, who yesterevening, — 



ScEN'K I.] THE PEER AND THE PEASANT. 1 1 

Victor. All ! you touch iis nearly wlien you talk of her! 
Our love for the *' illusive sex" — for such we deem them — 
is our Achilles' heel — our vulnerable point ! His Majesty, 
Y\\.Q,ourseIf, has been cold for a season ; but once more the 
intoxicating effect of the tender passion has overpowered us. 

Enter King and Richelieu, l. 3 e. 
In a word, his Majesty is pleased with this young piece of 
incarnate loveliness, — we may say charmed. 

King. Boy, thou art overbold to speak of this 
To other than ourselves. Away, and be 
The answer to our wish when next you seek 
Our presence. Go! You comprehend us, sir ? 

[Victor and Le Sage make a low oheisance. 
[Exeunt Victor and Le Sage, l. u. e. 
Here, Richelieu, is the consecrated spot 
Where I beheld her first. Here would I raise 
An altar, sacred, — not to love, (no rood 
Within our kingdom but were meet for that.) 
Be this to first impressions dedicated ! 

Rich. My liege ! I'm all impatience to behold 
The wondrous beauty — 

King. The wondrous beauty — nay 1 

I said not beauty — it was not what men 
Call beauty, that has thus enthralled my soul; 
It was the spirit's loftier loveliness. 
Unseen, — ethereal, and ineffable! 
Which breathed from her pure lips — gave to her step 
Its springing bound — her every movement lent 
Its airy grace — pervaded her whole being — 
Impregnated the air that kissed her robe. 
And with an atmosphere of purity 
Encircled her ! 

It was her voice whose music 
No sorrow yet had touched — her childlike prattle. 
By very artlessness made arch — ^her form, 
Untortured to its light fragility 
By court accessories of beauty's toilet — 
Her affluent tresses, flowing unprofaned 
By touch of mocking powder, which had lain 
Upon their golden light, like fleecy clouds 
Upon the sun ! 

Rich. Now, heaven be thanked, my liege ! 

b2 



12 armand; or, [^ct. I 

No rhapsody so warm hath passed your hps 

A twelvemonth ! Duhiess ends her weary reign. 

'Tis plain this young enchantress will dethrone her. 

King. In sooth, she shall ! Richelieu, my friend, be 
prompt ! 
With speed let this new constellation shine 
Upon our court. — Some noble dame select, 
Beneath her high protection place this maid. 
Nor rank, nor title shall she lack, to gild 
Her lowly origin — 

Enter Victor, l. tj. e. 
and for the rest — 
Vic. Your pardon, sire ; the old woman — 
King. What 1 is she come 1 Conduct her hither. 

[Exit Victor, l. u. e. 
Now, Richelieu, use but your wonted skill, and we are 
once more your debtor. 

Rich. Sire, you have but to speak — to wish, and 
though she were some chaste inhabitant of the moon. 
Enter Victor, ushering Dame Babette, l. u. e. 

[Exit Victor, l. u. e. 
the vestal dweller of some star, she should exchange its 
light for — (Sees the Dame and starts back greatly moved.) 
Heavens ! Babette ! 

King. Why do you stare so? You don't mistake this 
curious relic of antiquity for the fair one who holds me in 
thraldom ? 

Rich. Not exactly — that is, precisely — I thought so! 
— that is, I never thought so. If it were but my own 
fancy that had conjured up this spectre ! [half aside. 

King. Spectre 1 You are dreaming. The old lady ap- 
pears to us in a remarkably substantial condition. 

Bab. (glancing nervously at the King and away again 
while she talks) I'm all over in a flutter. I suppose its 
my place to speak first, though I never talk. I see they 
feel just as frightened as I do. Dear me ! how they stare, 
to be sure. If Blanche was only here, she'd wonder at the 
observation that some people sometimes attract. (After an 
effort)^ Gentlemen, I hope I do not confuse you. I'm 
really quite alarmed myself, before such well-dressed cava- 
liers. I was sent for here, but I say nothing, I never 
talk, as everybody knows. I was sent for, that's all — I 



Scene I.] the pker and the peasant. 13 

do'nt know why, so shall not say. (Khig retires up, shs 
crosses to Richelieu.) If you could inform me. Sir, for I'm 
but a poor woman — I live down at the vil--lage yon--der — • 
[as she is speaking the last words she looks very 
intently at Richelieu and gradually re- 
cognizes him. 
Blessed Mother! it is Monsieur Antovne ! 

Rich, (aside to her) Silence, fool ! 

Bab. Silence, forsooth ! as if I ever talk ! Ah, Monsieur 
Antoiue, to think of finding you here and dressed so grand. 

Rich. Hush! 

King, (ivho has come forward attracted hy Rahettes 
exclamation) Why, Richelieu, the old dragon seems to 
have recognized a friend ! 

Bah. Richelieu? Hey, what? Richelieu! (Richelieu 
silences her by an action.) Oh! I say nothing ! 

Rich, (crosses c.) Quite a ridiculous affair — ha, ha ! 
(trying to laugh.) The old gentlewoman — ha, ha! — she 
actually fancies she has traced a likeness between me, and 
some relation who died in the last century, sire ! 

Bab. Sire! sire? His Majesty? Oh blessed Mary? 
Holy St. Dennis ! And last night I talked in such a way — 
that is, I said nothing — I never talk — what will become of 
me? (falling on her knees.) Pardon — your Majesty — 
pardon ! I did not know you — I never suspected you ! 
And was it you last evening that — Oh, pardon ! pardon ! 

King. Nonsense, my good woman; your breach of 
decorum will not put your head in jeopardy. 

Bab. Oh! I hope not, your Majesty, (rising). Holy 
St. Anthony! My neck has grown quite stiff at the 
thought ! 

King. We leave you with the duke who will communi- 
cate our commands. [Exit, r. 2 e. 

Bah. Duke? Oh! Monsieur Antoine, are you a duke! 
and such a familiar way as I've treated you this many a 
year. If you will only condescend to pardon me ! (falling 
upon her knees again.) 

Rich. A truce to this folly. Rise and listen to me, 
Dame, for on your implicit obedience hangs your future 
welfare — perhaps your life. 

Bab. Life ! life ! Oh ! Surely you won't kill me ? 
Monsieur Antoine — I mean your Grace, consider my years 



14 ARMAND; OR, [Act I, 

— Mercy ! mercy ! Oh ! my poor neck will be stiff for a 
year. 

Rich. Be silent, and listen. You were walking last 
evening in these gardens with Blanche, — by what nnlucky 
chance you came here — by what strange means obtained 
admission, I have not time to learn. The King saw 
Blanche — is enamoured of her — desires that she shall be 
presented at court. 

Bab. Blessed Mary ! what an honor ! and I — his Ma- 
jesty saw me too — of course his most gracious Majesty 
expects me to be presented also? Oh ! I'm in such a 
flutter — how shall I live through it? 

Rich. Are you determined to distract me ? Blanche — 

Bab. I understand — I understand — she is to be pre- 
sented at court. 

Rich. She shall die first? 

Bab. Hey ? what ? die ! 

Rich. Yes, die ! 

Bab. Well, your Highness, I say nothing. — But little 
Blanche ! To see her in her grave ! And after all the 
fine learning you have given her ! And to have her miss 
being presented at court too ! — Why she always walked and 
talked — yes, when she was but two years old she walked 
like a queen — and since the King, his gracious Majesty, 
has so graciously looked upon her- — 

Rich. Ay! — he has looked on her! And that one 
look has like a flash of scathing lightning blasted her whole 
existence ! (crosses to r. h.J 

Bab. Well now I can't understand where's the harm. 

Rich. Listen, Babette. The King has commissioned 
me to conduct Blanche to the palace — to-morrow evening is 
the latest moment to which I can postpone his orders — 
she must be saved from the profanation even of his suit, 
and the energy of my will alone can savB her. You, and 
you only, can aid me — you must, you shall aid me ! To- 
morrow morning at your cottage I will communicate my 
project, and I warn you that I shall exact the most implicit 
obedience. 

Bab. And Blanche won't be presented at court ? Nor 
I neither ? My lord Duke, I to refuse such an honor! 
Au honor that would make half the village die, with envy ! 
Enter r. 2 e. King and Duke d'Antin. 



Scene I.] the peer and the peasant. 15 

Rich, (seizing her hy the arm) Fool ! 
I tell you that Blanche never — never — (sees the King— 
suddenly releases Bubette^ and changes his tone and manner) 
never should refuse such a — such a distinguishing mark of 
his Majesty's favor. 

Bab. There now, that's just what I said, your highness, 
and you would not listen to me. Just what I was telling 
him, your Majesty ! Such an honor for us both. — I am 
ready to expire at the very thought ! When Dame Barbara 
knows it — but I say nothing — nobody shall hear it from me. 

King. Why, Duke, this is a novel mode of proceeding. 
It seems you were executing our orders hy force of arms! 

Rich. Your Majesty is facetious. This droll old woman 
• — ha, ha, ha! I can't help laughing at her tenacity- 
having conscientious scruples, she refused — 

Bab. I? I refused ? Refuse such an honor? Oh! 
your jMajesty — 

Rich, (aside to her) Another word and it shall cost 
you dear ! 

Bab. Oh! dear! how fierce Monsieur Antoine has grown 
since he became a Duke ! 

King. There is some enigma here ! 

lyAntin. Which your Majesty may find diversion in 
solving, (aside to him.) 

Rich. Dame Babette, you will remember the directions 
you have received, and to-morrow — 

Bab. Then your mind is changed? — you consent? — 
and to-morrow we shall have the honor — such an honor — • 
Oh ! your Grace, when you forbade me just now, I felt — 

King. Forbade you ? Why, Richelieu, is the old wo- 
man mad ? 

Rich. I believe so, sire. — I really believe so! — There, 
you are at liberty to go. That way — that way. [trying to 
lead her towards the entrance, she takes a step 
or two and jpersists in turning back. 

Bab. Oh! I have not saluted his gracious Majesty! 

[breaks away from Richelieu^ and curtsies 
low to the King. 
I wouldn't have your Majesty think me wanting in manners 
— when I am to be presented at court too. Such an honor! 
You see. Monsieur Antoine — that is, his highness — I can't 
help calling him Monsieur Antoine, on account — 



16 armand; or, [Act I. 

Rich. On account of the likeness. His Majesty knows 
— you tire his Majesty. Go ! go ! [trying to force he)' away. 

Bab. The Ukeness ? What hkeness? I beg pardon 
for fatiguing your Majesty. I was only going to say— 

Rich, (still forcing her) His Majesty dcfes not desire 
to hear. Go, go. 

Bab, I am gone, soon as I have made my salute. 

[breaking from him, she curtsies again to 
the King, crosses, and goir^g, returns. 
The other grand-looking old gentleman — I have not made 
my reverence to him yet. Oh ! I'll shew them breeding, 
now that I am to be presented at court ! [approaches Diik 

(TAntin and curtsies low. 

Rich. Dame — 

Ki7ig. Nay, Richelieu, we are amused at her vagaries. 

Rich. Oh, Sire ! I see you are much annoyed. 
Are you coming ? [to Uabette. 

Bab. But his Majesty says he is amused, and — 

Rich. Come, come I say ! [Forcing her. 

^^''^' \ But Richelieu— 
King. ) 

Bab. His Majesty says he is amused ! 

Rich. Come ! come ! 

[King and d'Antin, r. Richelieu /omw^ out 

Babette, l. who endeavours to return. 



a, 



END OF ACT I. 



Scene I.] the PEER AND THE PE^ASANT. 17 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

Rooyn in the Cottage q/*DAME Babette, r. h. f. open door, 
L. H. F. large open window^ shewing a country scene. 
Chamber door right and left. Dame Babette with a 
letter in her hand. Jaqueline, seated on a low stool 
at window, making garlands of small green branches. 
Chair and table, jug and tin cup on table. 

Bab. "Well, well, the Duke must be obeyed — and I 
must say nothing of his being a Duke; — but no fear of 
that — I never talk. He will be here presently, and I must 
send for Blanche. Poor little Blanche, she will lose her 
May-day sport; but then the honor of receiving a Duke! 
Here, Jaqueline, child, throw down those garlands, run to 
the green, and tell Blanche she must hasten home directly. 

Jaq. Not I, indeed, mother! Bid Blanche hasten 
home on May-day? I shan't think of such a thing. Be- 
sides, Blanche begged me to weave more garlands for the 
may-pole. 

Bab. Never mind the garlands, chatterbox ; go and tell 
Blanche she cannot dance upon the green to-day. I need 
her home. 

Jaq. (still working at the garland) Just as if the villagers 
would let her go, mother ! They can do nothing without 
Blanche ! They would come and carry her away by force. 

Bab. Stop talking, nimble-tongue! "What a fondness 
these young ones have for chattering. Ah! they'll be as 
silent as I am w^hen they grow old ! There ! (snatching 
away the ^^irland,) leave the green things and go! 

Jaq. Blanche won't come — I would'nt if I were she. Oh! 
I'll go; but Blanche shall have her garlands, if I make them 
on the road, (gathers up the garlands.) "V\'ho do you sup- 
pose would disappoint our Blanche? [runs out door ^ off \^. 

Bab. How fast the child talks! Where she got her 
fondness for chattering, I can't tell; her poor father was 
as silent as a post, and I'm sure its not from me. 
Enter jAauELiNE, running^ r. d. f. 

Jaq. Didn't I tell you, mother, they would never let 



18 armand; or, [Act II. 

Blanche come? She insisted, and the villagers insisted on 
coming along with her, and they intend to carry her away 
again, (rustic music without.) Hark ! there is the music, 
they will be here in a moment. 

Bab. The villagers coming here! Oh dear. Oh dear, 
I shall be ruined if the Duke finds them. Run, tell Blanche 
that I want her alone, and they must not enter. Tell her 
my poor neck — no, no, — tell her they must not come in. 

Jaq. I'll tell her, but she wont mind; I would' nt if I 
were she. [Exit. c. of l.. r. d. f. 

Bab. (music) There they come sure enough ! Oh, 
dear, what shall I do to get rid of them! If the Duke 
finds them and gets angry, I shall die of fright ! Oh ! 
my poor neck — I shall never again be sure that I have it 
on my shoulders. Blanche ! Blanche ! Is Blanche coming? 
\_Music, piano, through speech — stop at end of it. 
Enter Blanche, r. d. f. 

Blan. Yes, Dame, here is Blanche. 

Bah. Good child ! good child ! 

Blan. Nay, Dame, pay homage to our Majesty ! 
I'm chosen Queen, dear Dame, the Queen of May! 
You do not smile — prithee, what serious thought 
Has cast its grave reflection on thy face? 

Bah. I was thinking how beautiful a crown — a real 
crown — a crown of gold and jewels — would look upon your 
head . 

Blan. A crown? Why you are dreaming, Dame, at 
mid-day ! 

Bah. And if I am, there's something, sometimes, in 
some dreams — but I say nothing — only wouldn't you like 
to dream of wearing such a crown. 

Blan. No, in good sooth, not I ! This woven band 
Of dewy wild flowers lightlier girds my head. 
And circles in its ring but happy thoughts! 
Then for my King — whom think you I have chosen! 

Bab. Wait 'till you see the King himself. 

Blan. Has he a nobler mien — a loftier look — 
A braver, truer, purer heart than Armand? 

Bab. Have you forgotten the cavalier who walked with 
us in the Gardens of Versailles? 

Blan. No, I remember him, — 'twas but last night. 

Bah. Then listen, what would you say if he were the 



Scene I.] the peer and teie peasant. 19 

King ! the true King ! Louis XV., the King of France I 
Oh dear ! what woukl you say to that? 

- Blan. Why if he were the King — in truth the King— 
I could hut say that w^ayward nature pLayed 
On fortune's favorite a most idle trick ! 
While to the humble artizan she gave 
The aspect, soul, and bearing of a king! 

Bab. Oh dear. Oh dear! w^iat a young traitor! Its 
very fine talk — yet for all that there's a great difference 
between your Armand and the King — I mean the cava- 
lier. 

Blan. I grant you that, dear Dame, difference indeed! 
How different seemed in each like attributes; 
The lightness of the cavalier to me 
Seemed senseless levity, while Armand's mirth 
Is the o'erflowing gladness of a heart 
At ease. Each had his separate pride — one pride. 
The scorn that narrow minds from narrower minds 
Inherit. But our Armand's pride looks down 
In scorn upon mean acts alone — disdains 
But falsehood — spurns but vice — rebels against 
Injustice only — while he arrogates 
No merit to his virtues ! Men may bo\v 
The knee to royalty, but there's a more 
Enduring, and more sacred homage all 
Must feel for what is better than themselves ! 

Bab. IIow these young ones talk to be sure ! You'll 
sing a new burden to your song before long. You must 
think no more of Armand. 

Blan. What — think no more of Armand ? is he not 
The very centre of my thoughts, round which 
A\\ feelings and all hopes alike revolve. 
As planets circle round their sun? But, Dame, 
Thou dear, mysterious and oracular Dame — - 
What boding dreams have mocked you through the night? 
Or what portentous omens have you seen ? 
Nay, speak ; prithee, what has befallen thee ? 

Bab. Oh, don't ask me. — I say nothing. — You know 
I never talk. 

CVillacjers loithout) Where is our Queen? our Queen ! 
Bring us our Queen ! [Armand and Villagers appear 

at window. 



20 armand; or, [Act II. 

Arm. (without) Patience, my friends, your patience 
while I seek her. 
And for an instant tarry where you are ! 

Enter Armand lightly and quickly^ r. d. f. 

Arm. Blanche! Blanche! Queen Blanche ! where are you 

dallying ? 
Your subjects grow rebellious to behold you ! 
Ah ! who can wonder that they cannot live 
From thy sweet sight ! And I, the least of all. 
Good-morrow Dame, they've sent me here to claim 
Our faithless sovereign, Come, thou truant queen. 

Bab. No such thing, Monsieur Armand; Mam^selle 
Blanche remains where she is. 

Arm. Hey day ! what next? il/ow5?>z<r Armand, forsooth. 
And Mam''selle Blanche! how courteous we have grown! 
You're almost too polite Madame Babette ! 

Bab. Mam'selle Blanche cannot dance upon the green 
to-day. 

Blan. Not dance, dear Dame, when I am chosen queen? 
And I, in turn, have chosen Armand king ! 
Good Dame ! dear Dame ! indeed, but I miTst dance ! 

Arm. Are you possessed, my good Madame Babette ? 
The villagers would tear your cottage down. 
Nonsense ! Come, little queen, they wait for us. 
The Dame is but our subject after all ! 
Obedience is her duty, and not ours. 
Good-day, good Dame — good-day, Madatne Babette! 

[Puts his arm around the waist of Blanche and 
is running with her to the door. Babette 
intercepts them, and leads Blanche away. 

Bab. (with great dignity) Stay where you are, Blanche, 
I order you! You are to receive a visitor. The Duke will 
be here presently. 

ill] The Duke! 

Bab. "Who said anything about a Duke? I'm sure I 
did'nt! My foolish tongue. But it's just like me — that 
is, it's not at all like me — I never talk. I mean Monsieur 
Antoine will be here, and desires to sec Blanche upon par- 
ticular business. Monsieur Armand, I must request you 
to retire. 



Scene T.] the PEER AND THE PEASANT. 21 

Arm. No; I remain to bid Monsieur Antoine 
jMake haste, and tell him we await our queen. 

- Bah. (angrily) Monsieur Armand, I tell you — 

Blan. (crosses c.) Go, dear Armand, the Dame desire 
it — go ! 
Come for me in an hour. May he, good Dame? 
Say yes — now do say yes — you smile the yes — 
You will not speak — and a consent is twice 
Consent that with a smile is given. And now 
Armand, for one short hour, we say farewell. 

Arm. Sweet sovereign, I can scarcely disregard 
Your first command, although this banishment 
Is tyranny. "Farewell, I shall return 
" Before our garlands wither, though to me 
*^ Their freshness and their beauty vanish with 
" The hands that wove them" — fare thee well, my Blanche! 
Madame Babette and dignity, good day! [Exit. r. d. f, 

Bab. Such wonders as I have to tell you! — such won- 
ders! — but I shan't say anything about it. Only suppose 
it was the King we saw at Versailles! I say suppose — and 
suppose that Monsieur Antoine was a great Lord! Only 
suppose — for I say nothing — I know how to hold my peace. 
Hark! I hear the wheels of a carriage. Go to your room, 
child, for I must speak with him alone. Go ! Go ! — 

Blan. But, Dame, I'm only queen for one short day. 
My crown may fade, my sceptre wither up 
Before I use them — so I pray thee haste 
To free me. You'll remember? will you, Dame? 

[Exit into chamber, r. 2 e. 
Enter Duke de Richelieu, r. d. f. — comes down l. h. 

Bab. Oh ! dear, if she only knew that the King him- 
self — a real King — Oh! your Highness, (brings chair down 
c.) the walls of my poor habitation are so honored by your 
presence that they — 

Rich. "Where is Blanche? 

Bab. In her chamber, your Highness, waiting your 
gracious pleasure. They were just going to dance upon 
the green when I sent for her. Shall I summon her ? 

Rich. I first must speak to you — mark well my words! 
Blanche must be saved — the King must never more 
Behold her — to remove her secretly, 
Would be impossible — yet at the risk 



22 armand; or, [Act II. 

Of life, be it her's or mine — or both — she shall 
Not breathe the court's contaminating air. 

Bab. But the honor, your Grace, the honor ! 

Rich. Be silent, woman! at your peril make 
Ready to do my bidding. 

Bab. Oh! How terrible these grand people are I Mon- 
sieur — I mean, my Lord, on my knees I swear to obey you! 

Rich. That's well — since flight then is impossible. 
Death only can protect her from the King — 

Bab. Death ! commit murder ! Monsieur Antoine, 
murder poor little Blanche? Oh! how terrible ! But I 
say nothing — what a Duke commands of course is right — 
but death — Oh ! my poor Blanche ! 

Rich. A seeming death may serve — so that the King 
Shall think it real. There are drugs which produce 
A sleep that seems the very twin of death. 
Yet do not harm the sleeper. Take this phial. 
Its contents have played servants to my wish 
Before to-day : Blanche too must prove their power. 
The liquid, look, is colorless: 'tis tasteless. 
And not immediate in its influence. 
Your part is to administer the draught. 

Bab. Oh ! no Monsieur Antoine, I dare not touch it, — 
I shall never have courage. 

Rich. You have already sworn, you shall abide 
Your oath. Take it, I say: act cautiously. 
And in your act be speedy. 

Bab. This is to deal with great persons ! What shall 
I do? What shallldo? 

Rich. Do as I command you — be quick and silent I 

Bah. Silent, indeed! your Grace, as if I ever said 
anvthina; ! 

Blan. f music) [ope7iing the door. 

May I come in? Dear Dame, the stirring sound 
Of the glad music through my casement steals — 
INIy feet dance to it of their own accord. 
And threaten shortly to dance after it ! 
I give you warning, Dame ! 

Rich. Come hither, Blanche. 

Blan. (crosses to c.) Monsieur Antoine — but is it you 
indeed ? 
Your face and vjice I know, or this rich garb 



SCKNE I.] THE PEER AND THE PEASANT. 23 

Had well clisguised you — I could half believe 
It was no jest, when Dame Babette declared 
That Monsieur Antoine was a lord ! 

Bab. Ah ! your Highness, excuse her — she will talk — ■ 
she won't learn to say nothing as I do. Blanche, control 
that little tongue of yours, lest it give offence to his Grace, 
the Duke — the Duke of Kichelieu ! 

Blan. Richelieu! Oh! no — Richelieu that bold, had man, 
Monsieur Antoine whom I have known so long — 
Have loved so well — the Duke de Richelieu — no — 
That cannot be ! — [sinks into chair. 

Rich. Who tauo;ht the child this follv? 
Bab. Oh ! indeed, your Grace, I didn't — I never said 
a word about it I'm sure. 

Rich. Blanche — ha! she faints I Bring water and take this. 
Fortune, I thank thee! Take it. 

[hands her the phial unperccived by Blanche. 

Bab. I dare not! I dare not! 
Rich. Take it ! Fool ! (imperativehj) . 
Bab. Oh! dear, I must! [fakes the phial, goes to tabhy 
pours out water and mixes the liquid ivith it. 

Rich. Child, you are ill — 

Blan. No, no, I am not ill — I was confused — 
Stunned at the thought — don't heed me. I am well ! 

[Babette hands her the glass, turning away her head. 
I do not need it, Dame. 

Rich, (taking the glass) Drink, drink ! your lips 
Are quivering — you are fainting — drink ! you must^— 
Must drink! - 

Blan. (looks with surprise in his /ace, and calmly takes 
the glass) If you desire it, certainly — [drinks. 

Rich, [aside as she is drinking. 

(laughing) Richelieu, when did thy star abandon thee! 

Blan. I do not understand — 

Rich. Ay, but you shall 1 

Go, dance, they wait you on the green — 

[crosses to Babette who stands motionless. 

Why stand 
You there as you were petrified 1 Come, rouse 
Yourself. Bid her go dance — Fool! rouse yourself! 
Sweet Blanche — go dance — light foot, and joyous heart! 



24 ARMANDJ OR, [AcT II. 

The wise man cogs the dice and laughs at fate, (aside) 

[r. d. f. exit hastily^ o^r. 

Blan. Why, Dame — why do you stand so motionless ? 
Why gaze upon me thus with that fixed look 
Of wondering terror ? Dame, — dear Dame Babette, 
Will you not speak 1 pray you — do speak to me! 

Bab. (recovering y throws herself weeping upon Blanche's 
neck) My poor, poor Blanche! 

Blan. Poor Blanche? nay Dame, I needs must laugh 
at that. 

Bab. You seemed so happy ! 

Blan. Then did I — do I seem the thing I am ! 
Seem happy — how could I seem otherwise? 
'Tis happiness to me to live — to be ! 
My very instincts — nay, the very use 
Of every separate sense by which we hold 
Communion visible with external being 
Is happiness! To gaze upon the sky 
Arched in blue glory o'er my upturned head — 
The forms of beauty, called by loving spring 
Out of the affluent bosom of the earth; 
The sun, beneath whose warm, resplendent light 
All nature teems : these simplest, daily things. 
Which custom cannot strip of loveliness. 
To look on these is to be happy ! — is 
To feel my bosom swell with gratitude 
To him who made them, to make us more blest! 

Bab. Oh! Blanche! Blanche! 

\music heard at a distance. 

Blan. Hark ! 'tis the villagers ; they come for me. 
And Armand, too, expects his queen. Good Dame, 
My subjects must not wait. Adieu! Adieu! [going. 

Bab. Blanche ! Blanche ! My child ! my kind, light- 
hearted child, embrace me. Do not go until you've said 
that you forgive me. 

Blan. (embracing her) 
Forgive you. Dame ! What crime have I to pardon. 
Except, indeed,. too doting love for me. 
What ails you? You are weeping ? What's the matter? 

Bab. No, no, I'm not — I'm not weeping. Oh, my 
darling Blanche ! [bursts into tears. 

Blan. Can I have wounded you, dear Dame ? 



Scene II.] the peer and the peasant. 25 

Bab. Wound me? Did you ever wound a fly ? I've 
seen you brush away with careful hand the very insect that 
Had stung you. {Music ivithout.) They are coming for 
you. Go to the green. Go,, go. 

Blan. First, with a kiss, let me seal up the fountains 
Of those dear eyes, where tear and smile contend, 
Like April sun and rain, they know not why. 
Now for my crown and sceptre. Dame, adieu ! 

\_As Blanche is running off Arm and 
ajppears at the door. [Exeunt r. d. f. 

Bah. Blessed mother, guard her ! That dreadful drug! 
If harm comes to her, I shall never know a happy hour ! 
Oh, this it is to deal with grand people. Yet for all that, 
he is a duke ; and to be sure, what a duke says must be 
right. How could a duke do anything wrong? 

[Exit into chamhery r. 

SCENE II. 

Village green. A maypole in the centre dressed with long 
garlands hanging to the ground. jAaxJELiNE, Eti- 
ENNE, Jacot, and Villagers busied about it. Music 
playing. Several Villagers as musicians^ with pipes 
and tabors. 

Jac. Give another look towards old Babette's cottage, 
Etieune, and tell us if you see our queen. 

Etien. I see two figures yonder, through the trees. 
They turn this way. Yes, 'tis Blanche, and Armand is 
with her. 

Jac. Then hurrah for the dance, hurrah for the king 
and the queen! Finish with your garlands, and let us 

dance. 

Enter Armand and Blanche r. u. e. 

Arm. Ay, for a dance, make ready, lads and lasses, 
And be your hearts as light as are your feet. 
In honor of the May. [Blanche puts her hand to her head 

and ajipears to be ill, 
Blanche, you are ill ! 
Your eyes are heavy, and your cheek how pale ! ^ 

Blan. Oh ! no, no, Armand ; I am well — quite well. 
And yet I think my very happiness 
Oppresses me ; a faintness steals upon 

c 



26 armand; or, [A^ci II. 

My yielding sense, as if it were the languor 
Of a content so perfect, it could wish 
For nothing on this earth it hath not now, 
But on the far-off future shuts its eyes. 

Arm. Our future, Blanche! It must indeed be bright 
To vie in promise with the present joy ! 
We live in that which is, and so defy 
What may be. Let the unknown future bring 
Us years — long years of unimagin'd woe. — 
It cannot steal the lustre from these hours, 
** Whose very memory would irradiate 
"The darkest, time and fate can hold in store!" 

JBlan. " How should the placid current of our lives 
*' Bear aught but flowers upon its laughing tide? 
*' And yet, I sometimes think to see it ruffled. 
" Thou and thy state, Armand, are not akin ; 
*' And thy ambition wakes my fear — Yet why! — 
" Why should he feel ambition to be greats 
*' AVhose nobler struggle, in a nobler strife, 
" Has made him good.'''' 

Arm. *' My nature is not cast, 

*' Sweet Blanche ! in mould so true and pure as thine 
*' Ambition winds itself about the root 
** Of every vigorous mind. Ambition gives 
" The startling impulse to its higher action ! 
" Ambition spurs it on — sustains — inspires ! 
" And, rear the better beacon which shall guide 
** Ambition's course aright, it is no more 
" A vice !" 

Blan. " Ah! when I listen to thee, Armand, 
" I tremble lest the artizan's poor garb 
*' Should hide the warrior's danger-loving heart.'* 

Arm. *'Nay, Blanche, to love my country with my soul 
" Is nor to love the warrior's perils — nor 
** His triumphs. — All men, be they high or humble, 
" Owe to the land that gives them birth a tribute ! 
" And with his talents man may pay the debt, 
" Or with his industry, or with his blood!" 

Blan. " Oh, never with the last! I could not live 
" And see thee pay it ! How is this? we both 
" Are grave, though this bright morn would bid us think 
** Of gladness only. Come, my king, be sure 



Scene II.] THE PEER AND THE PEASANT. 27 

" That I shall chide thee, if I trace a shadow 
" Upon thy brow." 

Jnn. " And shall I not chide thee 

** For that white lip and cheek, on which the rose 
" So lately bloomed?" Come,, let us dance, my queen! 
To quicken in thy veins the timid blood. 
And stain these lilies with a healthier red. 
Jacot, Etienne, are you not ready yet? 

Jac. Most excellent and worthy sovereigns! we but 
wait your pleasure. 

Ann, Now, Blanche, for thy light foot. Come, lads, a 
dance ! [JMaypole dance with garlands. Towards 

the close, B TRANCHE appears to grow 
fatigued, and falls suddenly in Ar- 
mand's arms, as if fainting, 

Blan, Armand, I cannot — I am weary — stay — 

Arm. Thou weary, Blanche; whose airy foot were match 
For the blithe humming bird's untiring wing? 
Great Heaven ! How pale thou art ! thou tremblest, too ! 

Blan. 'Tis only weariness — so — let me rest. — (falls, c.) 
My head is strangely heavy, and before 
My eyes a floating vapour spreads itself. 
Armand, I scarce can see thee. — Art thou there ? 

Arm. Blanche ! Blanche ! my own, my only love ! 
Oh, Heaven I she grows more ghastly white. Etienne! 
Quick, fly for help, — and Jaqueline bring Babette ! 

[Exeunt Jaqueline and Etienne, r. tj. e. 
How cold thou art ! Speak to me, Blanche! thou hearest me? 
Tell me thou hearest me 1 

Blan, Yes, Armand, yes, 

T hear thee, my beloved, yet I feel — 
That we are parting — death— 

Arm. We cannot part I 

This is not death ! no, no, we will not part! 

Blan. Nay, Armand, war not thou with heaven's high will ! 
Death cannot break the bond that knits our souls ! 
Shall I not be thy bride — there — where I go 
To wait thee? For awhile we needs must part ! — 
Death's icy finger chills and clogs my blood. 
Like frost it falls upon my heavy eyes — 
And yet I seem to see! A luminous mist 
Envelopes all things round me — through its veil 

c 2 



28 ARM and; or, [Act. II. 

A threshold paved with Hght appears — beyond, 
A land of flowers — and now bright forms in robes 
Of radiant white are flitting round me — ah ! 
They bear me from thee. Armand! Oh! Armand! 
I cannot see thee — though I feel thine arms 
Girdle my frozen limbs ! 

Arm. Thou wilt not leave me. 
Distract me not — but once more speak — let me 
Once more drink in the music of thy voice! 
Speak to me ! Give me one last proof of love. 

Blan. Armand — I do — this — \_raises herself ivith an 
effort, feebly kisses him and sinks back apparently dead. 

Arm. 'Twas her first kiss! 

Thou pitying heaven, — let it not be her last ! 
She is not dead! dost thou not hear me, Blanche ? 
No, no, she is not dead! It were to lose 
The sun that warms with life — to lose the li2;ht 
That tells the presence of that sun, — it were 
To lose the air we breathe, to lose thee, Blanche! 
I stifle at the thought ! My life's sole light 
Is endless darkness now — Oh! Blanche, my Blanche! 
My earth and heaven! all peace — all joys — all dreams — 
All blessings, and all hopes, are gone with thee ! 

[Flings himself upon the ground beside Blanche. Pea- 
sants group around them. Tableau. Slow Curtain. 



»ND OF ACT lU 



Scene I.] the peer and the peasant. 29 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

An Antechamher in the Palace of Versailles. 

Enter Le Sage l. and Victor r. 

Vic. Monsieur Le Sage ! our dear Monsieur Le Sage ! 
We are overwhelmed by the sight of his Majesty's affliction. 
One moment he is hke an angry child disappointed of its 
plaything, the next a very woman deluged in tears. But 
we can sympathize with him ; we know the pangs which a 
passion for th' illusive sex too surely inflicts. We have 
suffered ourselves. 

Le Sage. Possibly. 

Vic. His Majesty's new despondency will once more 
shed a gloom over the whole court. 

Le Sage. Inevitably I 

E7iter Dui^F. d'Antin, r. 1 e. 

If Ant. Be Sage ! 

lie Sage. Instantaneously , your Highness. 

Lf Ant, My words are for your ear alone. 

Vic. We shall withdraw, my Lord. \_Exit R. 

D" Ant. The young peasant is dead. 

Le Sage. Definitively 1 

jy Ant. A death so sudden, so improbable, so unac- 
countable, excites mistrust. If the report be false, — I have 
my doubts, vague and unconfirmed, still I doubt her death. 
The King must be persuaded to visit old Babette's cottage, 
and himself behold the corse, if corse there be. This 
Doyish page can at all times gain the ear of Louis. Often 
when the voices of our most powerful courtiers were un- 
heeded, his suggestions have received attention. You 
comprehend me? 

Le Sage. Distinctly ! 

D'Ant. His Majesty must cross this antechamber when 
he leaves his apartment. You will remain here and see 
that the opportunity is not lost ? 

Le Sage. Decidedly ! 

D'Ant. I shall be in the gardens an hour hence (crosses 
L.) You will join me there. [Exit l. 1 e. 



80 ARMAND ; OR, L^CT III. 

Le Sage. Punctually ! 

Re-enter r. 

Vic. We consider his Grace the Duke d'Antin the 
most sombre person of our acquaintance. 

he Sage. Incontestably and indubitably ! 

Vic. Henceforth his Majesty may prove as sombre. 
Alas ! unhappy King ! 

Le Sage. Appropriately — ^has his Majesty taken a last 
farewell of the poor little peasant 1 

Vic. We believe not. 

Le Sage. Undeniably his Majesty listens to your voice, 
when he is deajiy disposed to all others ? 

Vic. You flatter us. 

Le Sage. Had I been you I should urgently have per- 
suaded him to behold her once more. 

Vic. It never occurred to us; and you think we should 
do so? 

Le Sage. Seidously; but the Duke de Richelieu would 
inevitably object. 

Vic. Monsieur Le Sage, learn that we can overrule the 
Duke. 

Le Sage. Profoundly credulous as are my inclinations, 
I must consider that assertion incredibly dubious. 

Vic. (roused) We will give you proof, Monsieur Le 
Sage, — incontestably — incontrovertibly — indisputably — in- 
dubitably multiplied proo^". The King shall visit the Dame's 
cottage this very day, and Richelieu shall be kept in ig- 
norance of his movements. 

Le Sage. Unavoidably I shall believe when unexpectedly 
I see. But look how opportunely his Majesty approaches. 
T leave you experimentally to disprove or confirm your as- 
severations, [crosses l. 

Vic. Do you mean to doubt. Monsieur Le Sage, that 
we shall do the latter? 

Le Sage. Indubitably ^ and I trust inoffensively. 

[Exit L. H. 

Vic. We deem that a malicious aspersion upon our 
character. 

Eriter King r. 1 e., and is pensively crossing the stage. 
Your Majesty, — 

King. Victor, is it you ? I scarcely know a face, save 
yours, boy, I could to-day endure about me. 

Vic, We are com; — Your Majesty compliments me. 



Scene II.] the peer and the peasant. 3\ 

Alas ! Sire, your grief has fallen heavily upoa oiw — upon 
tny heart. 

Ki/i(/. One by one have all life's joys been snatched 
away from me, and now to lose her too, — never to see her 
more. 

Vie. Might not your Majesty find your sorrow assuaged 
by the sight of her still unchanged loveliness? Will your 
Majesty deign to listen to the humblest of your subjects? 
If you could but be persuaded to visit the Dame's cottage, 
— TT^e have a — /have a presentiment that you will find a 
Bad consolation in the effort. 

King. What matters it whither I go ? The very wind 
that blows upon me can urge me on or draw me back. I 
have lost all impulses of my own. 

Vic. Your Majesty then will grant my petition? 

King. I care not to refuse it. 

Vic. And your Majesty will permit us — that is me, to 
be your sole attendant? Your sorrow would be desecrated 
by the presence of those that did not share it. 

King. Even so. The very thought of beholding her 
once again — beholdino; her even in the frostv arms of death, 
reanimates me. Yes, we will go, — and instantly. 

[Exit R. H, 

Vic. (aside) Monsieur Le Sage, we shall convict you 
of being philosophicalhj and adverbially incorrect. We at- 
tend your Majesty. [Exit r. h. 

SCENE II. 

A chamber in Dame Babette's Cottage. Set doors, r. & l. 
1^^ E. In the centre a Couch iqwn which Blanche 
is extended apparent Ig dead. White Jloivers upon her 
brow and in her hands. A white wreath hung at the 
foot and at the head of the bed. At the head, a table 
covered with white, holding twelve candles in the form 
of a cross, eleven lighted and one extinguished. Around 
the couch, a group of Village Maidens. jAauELiNE, 
kneeling at the foot. Arm and, standing at the head. 
}M lite flowers strewed on tlie ground. 

Arm. Jaqueline, — my friends, — grant what I ask. — 
Leave me awhile alone with her. You loved her well, — 
But I — I — [^bursts into tears. 



32 ARMAND; or, [Act in. 

Jaq. Our Blanche never denied a request of yours, 
Armand, nor will we who loved her so dearly do so. 

[Exit slowly and sorroiDfully ^ followed 
by all the maidens. 

Arm. (after gazing awhile on Blanche.) 

Oh! Blanche! my own — though lost — still, still my own! 
A little while I yet may gaze on thee. 
And in the treasury of my soul may store 
The memory of each stiff'ning lineament 
"Where beauty lingers still! "It cannot be! 
*' Shall those soft eyes no more look into mine, 
" Nor veil themselves when with too bold a joy 
*' I gazed within their azure depths? shall love, 
*' With its aurora, tint thy cheek no more? 
*' The low, glad music of thy voice, no more 
" Sunder those gentle lips, with words that fell 
*' Like blessings on the cars that took them in ? 
*' My Blanche ! my other and my better self! 
^'How weary seems the path I thought to climb 
*' Thy hand in mine, — thy smile to light me on, 
*' Thy sunny presence to make glad each step ! 
'* Alone life's burden must be borne — alone 
" The struggling heart crush underneath its weight!" 
A holy smile yet hovers on thy face. 
As though the angels, when they summoned thee. 
One golden glimpse of Paradise revealed. 
And left that happy print upon thy lip. 
No, no! thou art not lost — we are not parted! 
For Heavenward as my tearful eyes I turn, 
A radiant vision meets them there, and bids 
Me guard my soul, unsullied by a deed 
That could divide us in that land of joy! 
My heart hath but one wish — my life one hope — : 
All time one joy — that of rejoining thee! 

\pinks at the head of the couch, and buries 
his head in his hands. 
JEnter Victor, ushering in the King, l. d. 1 e. 

[Exit Victor, l. d. 

King. A secret awe has paralyzed my limbs — 
I scarcely dare — (apiwoaching the couch, perceives Armand) 

Ha! what is this! a youth 
Overwhelmed with grief, kneeling beside her corse? 



Scene II.] the peer AND THE peasant. 33 

They said she had no kin. Young man, rise up : 
What sorrow bows thee thus? 
Arm. It hes before you ! 

-King. This maiden, surely was no kin of thine? 
Arm. No kin; yet more, far more, than kin could be ' 
Alike, we never knew those tender ties 
Of kinship, which link man to man — yet all — 
A father's, mother's, sister's, brother's place. 
Each in the other's soul had trebly filled 1 
King. You loved her then? 

Arm. Loved her ? the earliest page 

In memory's record held but that young love. 
From boyhood up to youth — from youth to manhood — 
Each tenderer thought- — sublimer aspiration — • 
And purer hope was woven with that love. 
Our very natures blended as we grew. 
My spirit, gentleness from her's imbibed. 
And her's its strength and vigor caught from mine ! 
Our childish tears upon each other's breast 
"Were ever shed. Our childish laughter rang 
The changes of its mingling mirth together, 
And in each other's joy all childhood's blessings 
Were mirrored — magnified — and multiplied 1 
King. Tell me thy name? 
Arm. Armand ! I have no other ! 
King. Thy parentage? 

Arm. I know it not; a foundling 

By strangers reared, I am the people's child ! 
From them I know not that I spring, yet would 
Believe so; for I ask no name save that 
]Myself shall win. I bless the generous fate 
That gave no noble blood to swell my veins. 
For had I from the hands of accident 
Nobility received, I could not prove 
My juster title to that high noblesse 
No revolutions level and destroy : 
The true noblesse of genius and of worth. 

King. Would' St thou not serve thy country? 
Arm. With my sword 

Or with my life. — She gave it — should she need it, 
'Tis hers ! 
■ King. *' Well answered.— Dost thou love thy King? 

3 



34 ARMAND ; OR, [AcT. III. 

Arm. ^* At least I love all virtues of all men ! 



ti 



Upon the loftier height the man is placed, 
" His virtues more resplendent shine — his vices 
" More hideous seem — the virtues of my King 
*' Above the virtues of more common men — 
" I prize for they have wider sphere of good. 

King. " Thy speech is something less than frank. 

Arm. *' I meant 

'' It frankly; I have never yet had cause 
" To blush for my free thoughts, why should I hide them? 

King. Thy boldness pleases me ; Armand, to day 
Thy King saddles for Fontenoye. — Join thou 
His battle line, and in the warrior ranks, 
Where sure distinction must on valour wait. 
Upon the beaten foeman's banner write 
The name thy worth shall win. 

Arm. My heart leaps up 

Even at the thought. — My choice had asked no more — - 
To die in battle for my country I — What 
Is left me on this earth to live for now ? 

Kiiig. Nay, live, that I may cancel valour's claim 
With noble meed. 

Arm. Who then art thou? 

King. Thy King ! 

Arm. (kneeling) My liege ! 

King. Aha ! thy words are free, and yet 

Thy knee can bend, it seems. 

Arm. When Duty bids 

My liege, it is as proud to bend, as when 
To all compulsion it disdains to bow. \_Pause. 

King. Arise, Armand; the King but seldom sees 
His subjects' hearts unveiled. I value thine 
Because I trust it. Hence, without delay ; 
At noon the Captain of my Guard will know 
Mv wishes — seek him at that hour thou; 
When next we meet, be it at Fontenove ! 

Arm. My liege, not with my lips, but with my sword 
JNIy gratitude shall thank thee ! \^going, returns. 

Must I leave 
Thee, Blanche? But no, I will return to take 
One last farewell. My liege, at Fontenoye 
My arm shall prove my words. AtFontenoye! [Exit l. 1 e. 



Scene II.] the PEER AND THE PEASANT. 35 

King. (a-pproacJiing the couch^ and gazing at Blanche) 
How potent is the sight of thee, O death! 
In quelhng ruder passions; Had she lived 
I_should have crushed this man, her lover, like 
A worm beneath my foot ! Bereft of Blanche, 
His woe, is mine — and sympathy would seem 
To level me half-way to him, or raise 

Him to half-fellowship with me ! \_ffoes to couch. 

How passing fair ! The hand of death itself 
Hath only robed her in new loveliness ! 

Enter Richelieu, l. 1 e. 

\after advancing a step in the roomy 
he starts at beholding the King. 

Rich, (aside) His Majesty ! great heaven, how came 
he hither ? 
The hour of her reviving must be near. 
Nay, at this very moment animation 
May to her dormant form return.^ — All's lost 
Unless — Your Majesty — [approaching him. 

King. Ah ! Richelieu, look ! 

Rich. This vain indulgence of your sorrow, sire, 
Is to yourself injurious. 

King. Richelieu — no — 

Look — death itself hath lost its w^onted terrors, 
Touchino; her beauty but to borrow it ! 
Death, did I say ? It doth not seem like death ! 

Rich, (much agitated) Not seem like death 1 I pray 
your Majesty, 
Permit me, sire — let me conduct you hence. 

King. Not yet — not yet. 

Rich. I do implore you, sire — 

King. How came the scythe to mow this lily down 
So soon — so suddenly — so timelessly ! 
How know I, but the same unholv means 
That robbed me of the beauteous Chateauroux, 
Again have snatched away the thing I loved ? 
If 'twere so, my rage — 

Rich. Nay, good my liege. 

Poison had left its blackening trace. 

King. True, true. 

It could not be. Oh, holy Powers! what's this? 
Her lifeless hand — is it the warmth of mine 



36 armand; or, [Act III, 

That lends it thus a heat unnatural ? 

No death-like ice is here — 'tis scarcely cold! 

Rich. Confusion! she revives! (aside) My liege, my liege. 
These cheating phantasies — Your fevered brain — 
Pardon — but you must hence ! 

King. Surely a tinge 

Of faintest rose is spreading o'er her cheek ! 
llich. Sire, for the love of Heaven — 
King. Saw you not that 1 

Her spotless drapery stirs — her bosom heaves — 

Rich. \_passing between the King and Blanche so 
as to iirevent his seeing her. 
There is no warmth — no tint of red — no breath — 
It was the air that dallied with her robe ! 
She's dead ! Your reason, sire — pardon this force 
Which love emboldens me to use. — I fear 
To see your reason by these phantasies 
Unsettled ! 

King. Ay, it is, or will be soon ! 

I cannot think her dead. — I saw her move — 
Look ! look ! she breathes ! 

Rich. Nay, sire, your reason wanders. 

\Jiurries him to the door. 
King. I cannot leave her thus. — But one last look ! 

\tuvning hack. 
Rich. My liege, not for the universe — not one ! 

\Exit, forcing out ^/ze King, l. 1 e. 
Rlan. (gradually reviving) 
They part — they leave me — further, further still 
They softly float, — dimmer and dimmer grow 
The bright celestial forms. — Sing on, sing on. — 
Close not my ears to those seraphic strains ! 
They cease — the angel visions fade — all's hushed ! 

Sjgazing round her surprised. ' 
'Tis our own cottage ! all the rest has vanished ! 
The tuneful voices — and the flitting shapes. 
Where are they ? Flowers upon my brow — spring flowers 
Within my hand ? Ah ! I remember now, 
*Twas May-day — 1 was chosen queen — we danced, 
And then — Armand — in Arm.and's arms I swooned ! 
Where is he ? (rising.) I am weary — and how feeble ! 
Could I but see Armand I where lingers he ? 



Scene IL] the peer and the peasant. 37 

Enter Richelieu, l. 1 e. 

Monsieur /Vntoiiie — Monsieur — but no — what was't 
They told me / all my thoughts are so confused — 
THese flowers recall — 'Tis May-day, is it not ? 

Rich. It was so yesterday.' May-day is past ! 

Blan. *Tis strange ! how could the hours so swiftly fly ? 
Did they not tell me you were now a Duke? 

Rich. The Duke of Richelieu, and 'tis even so ! 

Blan. Ah ! were it any other Duke — 

Rich. Enough ! 

Your lips should be the last to breathe my name 
In other tone than that of reverent love ! 
With calmness hear me — four and twenty hours. 
Nay more, you've lain upon that couch in sleep 
So silent and profound that all but I 
And Dame Babette believe you dead ! 

Blan. [turning and gazing in astonishment at the 

couch, ^'c. 
Dead ! dead ! 

Rich. Aye, dead ! and dead to all but ns 

You must remain, for reasons that demand 
And justify the harmless cheat ! 

Blan. No cheat 

Is harmless, and — * 

Rich. Of that not thou, but I 

Am judge. All is prepared for flight — this hour 
You will be borne to a far-distant home. 

Blan. My lord, I own I have been used to bow 
With reverence to your words. — I knew you then 
But as an humble citizen, the friend 
And guardian of a child, who had, alas ! 
No guardian else but heaven ! I loved you — 
I obeyed you — for, ray lord, you never asked 
What in obeying I obeyed not heaven ! 
1 know you now as — Richelieu ! And your first 
Request should make me shrink from you ! My lord. 
You bid me stoop to falsehood — I refuse ! 

Rich. No more — thy words as little move my will 
As winds the rocks. Prepare thou to obey ! 

Blan. Not that command which in my conscience finds 
No quick response. I know your power, my lord, 
I also know the strength of a resolve 



38 armand; or, [Act III. 

Which mine own heart approves. Nay — spare your threats— 
They fright me not — I never learnt to fear ! 

Rich. Learn then my right to claim and to enforce 
Compliance to my wish — it is the right 
Of a determined /«^Aer o'er a child ! 

Blan. A father? 

Rich. This very day completes the weary round 
Of twenty years, since from her friends and kin 
Thy mother fled. — In secret we were wed. 
Two years she lived unknown, — and died the hour 
Thy infant head was pillowed on her breast! 
My child ! the sins of Richelieu are not few, 
" And every eye is quick to magnify, 
" And every voice is loud to trumpet them." 
Yet one — one ray of virtue, like a beam 
Of sunshine steahng in a lazar-house, 
Amongst them dwells ; it is his love for thee ! 

Blan. (throiving herself in his arms) My father! 

Rich. Ah, though Kichelieu claims that title,— 

Richelieu from whom so late you trembling shrank, 
My child, thou wilt not banish from thy lips 
That tender name. 

Blan. "No, father! it is not 

For me, even were I not thy child, to judge thee. 
But Armand, dear Armand, knows he not this? 

Rich. Armand is henceforth nought to Richelieu's 
daughter. 

Blan. My father, oh! my father, leave me still 
My poverty — leave me my humble state — 
Take back a father's name — a father's lovCt 
For lack of which, the first warm tears that scorched 
My infant eyes were shed ; — but rob me not 
Of Armand. Hark! it is his step. He comes. 

[as she is springing to meet him Richeliet) 
siezes her. 

Rich. Hush! not a word. This folly must end here. 

Arm. (without) Babette! Babette! 'tis I. 

Blan. Armand! Armand! 

Rich. Obey my will, — this way with me — no cry ! 

\Jmrrying her to her chamber, r. 
Resistance would be useless. — Girl, bethink thee, 
It is ihyv^ather that commands. [at the last wordi> 



Scene II.] the pekr and the peasant. 39 

he releases her army Blanche hows her head 
and 'passes be/ore him. Exeunt R. 2 E. 
Enter Armand, l. 
Arm. One more 

Farewell, — the last, and all is over ! Gone! — 
Why have they borne her hence? It was the sole 
Sad pleasure which I craved, but once again 
To look upon her. — It is better thus. 
I would not be unmanned anew! 

Jjlan. (in a faint voice within) Armand ! 
Arm. It was her voice ! Oh, Heaven ! the voice of 
Blanche ! 
Angelic spirit, didst thou breathe my name ? 
Or is it thou — vain torturer. Fancy — thou — 
Her voice ! henceforth each wind that sweeps the earth 
Will w-aft it to my ear — rock, wood, and glen 
Repeat the sound, and all melodious tones 
Those well-known accents imitate I *' Her form 
*' Will paint itself upon the empty air, 
" The iieecy clouds will *ake no other shape, 
" And all things beauteous in that mould divine 
*' Seem cast." My thoughts will madden me 1 and yet 
I cannot tear myself away. Each dear 
Familiar object, by her touch so hallowed — 
The casement where she watched till I should come — 
Yon couch where last she lay in dreamless slumber — 
And these — (gathering up the Jlowers which 

Blanche has dropped. 
these flowers that in unconscious sweetness 
Bloomed in her death-cold hand, and that shall now 
Whither upon my breast as she has withered. 
But dwell there as she dwells in spite of death. 
All, all, with blended voices, strangely real. 
Would seem to bid me stay I would chain me here. 
As though with cords invisible they bound 
Me still to hope and her! Away! away I 
My nature grows too soft. Farewell for aye 
My early dreams — farewell my ideal world. 
Peopled by joy and hope — farewell for ever ! \Exit l. 1 e. 
(as he rushes out, the door o/ Blanche's cham- 
ber opens, and she breaks from Richelieu, 
who is endeavouring to withhold her. 



40 ARMAND; or, [Act III, 

Blan. Armand, come back. 'Tis Blanche. She lives' 

Rich. My child ! 

Hold, I command thee ! 

Blan. Call me not thy child ! 

Oh ! what to me are nature's chance-knit ties 
To those that with rude hand thou sunderest now? 
It is the spirifs purer, stronger bonds 
Throu2,h life — throu";h death — to all eternity 
Unchanging, holy, indestructible, — 
That join my soul to Armand ! Part us not I 
My father — Oh, my father, part us not. 

[falls at the feet q/ Richelieu. 
Quick curtain. 



BKD OV ACT III* 



Scene I.] the PEER AND fliE peasant. 41 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. 
Room in an Hotel in Paris. Babette and Jaqxjeline, 

Bab. Well, here we are in Paris again. Out of that 
old gloomy convent at last ! 

Jaq. Only to think of Mam'selle Blanche managing to 
get us all free, though she did take five years about it. 
Now hosv did she contrive to do that? 

Bab. By talking, child; it was all done by talking. 
Ah ! she has a tongue could wheedle an angel out of its 
wings ; though, for my part, I think it best to be silent. 

Jaq. Why would she come to Paris? Vm sure I 
wouldn't have. 

Bab. That's her affair. You know she will have her 
own way, and does with us all just what she pleases. She 
heard that the King was holding his court in Paris, and 
thought that her father, the Duke de Richelieu — Oh, dear, 
to think that the father of our little Blanche should be a 
Duke ! what an honor, though he did shut her up in a 
convent, and made all the villagers believe that she was 
dead — well, she thought the Buke, her father, must be in 
Paris too, so she chose to come here. And do you know 
that Blanche has written twice to the Duke and told him 
where we are. 

Jaq. Perhaps the letters won't reach him ! I hope they 
won't. 

Bab. Won't they though ? One of them will reach 
him sure enough, for whom do you think I gave it to this 
very morning ? — But no matter, I shan't say anything 
about it. 

Jaq. Well don't, mother, for its all one, if the letter is 
sure to reach him. That's the very way to make her tell 
all about it [aside. 

Bah. Reach him ? Why, Monsieur Le Sage said he'd 
put it in the Duke's own hands. I came upon our old friend, 
Le Sage, all of a sudden, just in front of this very house. 
And. Low glad the good man was to see me ! so I told him 
all our adventures. 

D 



^2 armand; or, [Act IV. 

Jaq. What! You told him everything ? 

Bab. That is, I told him nothing. He asked me au 
hundred questions — but I never talk, so I said nothing. 

Jaq. Hark ! There is a knock. 

Bab. Oh, dear! oh, dear! it is the Duke himself. 
What shall I do ? My neck grows so stiff again, just as it 
always does when I think of him. 

Jaq. Nonsense, mother — don't be afraid of him — I 
wouldn't. And I'm sure he can't alarm Mam'selle Blanche 
very easily. 

Bab. That's true, send her here, for I shall never have 
courage to face him. 

Jaq. But I would! so w^ould Mam'selle Blanche; you'll 
see how quietly she'll look at him. I'll w^arrant he'll be 
glad enough to look away — just wait till she comes! 

[Exit Jaqueline, r. 1 e. 
Enter Duke of Richelieu, l. I e., Babette curtsies 
very low and looks much frightened. 

Rich. So! it is indeed you, and you are here in Paris, 
in spite of all my precautions. 

Bab. W^ell I believe it is I, your eminence — and I be- 
lieve I am here — but it was all Mam'selle Blanche; vou 
see, your highness, she can do what she pleases with 
everybody. I hope you won't blame me, for indeed — 

Rich. Enough of this — how does Blanche? 

Bab. Ah, very badly indeed — she pines for Armand 
night and day — but I forget, your highness does not know 
who Armand is. 

Rich. Know him? I would to heaven I knew him not! 
The peasant-colonel! Villiers' aid de camp! 
The king's new favorite! fortune's chosen minion! 
No battle but Distinction and Success, 
Like unseen genii, wait upon his steps; 
Upon the field he saved his monarch's life. 
And when the king, too weakly generous, 
Would have ennobled him, the nameless peasant 
Refused in scorn all title save the one 
His sword had won him. — Let him rise awhile; 
The higher pinnacle, the greater fall! 

Bah. O dear, O dear! what will Mam'selle Blanche say 
to all this? 

Rich. Blanche say? Dare thou to breathe a simple word 



ScKNli I.] THE V^ER AND THE PEASANT. 43 

Of that my thoughtless folly has revealed. 
And ill a dungeon's, not a convent's, walls, 
Siiall your next tale be told, (crosses r.) She's here, retire! 

[L\rii Babette, l. 1 e.; enter Jaque- 
LiNE, ivho exits with Babette. 
£'«^er Blanche, r. 

JBlan. My lord Duke ! [Pauses and looks at him. 

Nay, mv father ! can I choose 
But call thee by that name ? though in thy face 
Too little of a father's fondness greets me ! 

Rich. Yield thou the meet obedience of a child. 
And all a father's fondness will requite it I 

Blan. Command thou what a child's pure heart must leap 
To execute, and I will yield a child's 
Obedience, with the meekness of a child. 

Rich. What I have done was for thy surest good. 
Ay ! for thy souVs best good ! 

Blan. My soul's best good ! 

Was't for my soul's best good my tongue should mock 
The consecrated altar with a lie? 
"Was't for my soul's best good my lips should breath 
A vow mv heart refused 1 the holy oath 
W'hich gave the thought, the hope, the love to heaven, 
Which were no longer mine to give ! 

Rich. Daughter ! 

Thy will opposed to mine is powerless ! 

Blan. My father, tempt me not to evil — think 
Before you act ! young blood is warm — young heads 
Are rash — young hearts, convulsed like mine, are stubborn ! 
When love— the soul's first love and last — the love 
No absence changes, and which time and sorrow 
Chastise to strengthen — is too fiercely curbed. 
Its passion breaks all other ties — defies 
All chances and all perils — leaps all barriers. 
That hold or part it from its idol — or 
Dragged by a chain too mighty to the earth. 
The iron eats its slow and silent way 
Into the soul — and then — we die — my father ! 

Rich. I know thy sex too well, girl, at its tears 
Or wrath to change my pttirpose, — woman's grief 
Is wind and rain one summer hour will end. 

Bhm. And canst thou thus the name of woman scorn, 

D 2 



44 armand; or, [A.CT IV 

Her holy mission lightly look upon ; 

Nor think that thy first sighs were soothed by her? 

Thy first tears kissed away by woman's lips — 

Thy first prayer taught thee at a woman's knee — 

Thy childhood's blessings shower' d from woman's hand — 

Thy manhood brightened by her watching smile — 

Thy age must in her tenderness find prop — 

And life's last murmurs may perchance burst forth 

Where they began — upon a woman's breast? 

Rich. I nor deny her virtues, nor her power 
To gild them with her tongue. But one word more 
Of Armand. Woman may be constant — when 
Was man? what wouldst thou think? how wouldst thou act 
If Armand' s troth were plighted to another? 

Blan. Another 1 Armand love and Armand wed 
Another? No! the present could not thus . 
Belie the past! Yet is it true he thought — 
Still thinks me dead ; but death could ouXj party 
Not disunite us 1 Armand love another — 
Oh wretch ! to wrong his memory with the thought ! 
Armand has not forgotten me — 'tis false ! 
Tell me 'tis false ! and for the life you give 
Me back, I'll bless thee more than for the life 
I had at first from thee ! 

Rich. In calmer tone 

One question I would have thee answer — listen. 
If I could give thee proof unquestionable, 
Would' st thou the cloister seek of thy free will? 

Blan. I would. 

Rich, Swear that thou wilt ! 

Blan. There needs no oath. 

I know not falsehood, father. 

Rich. I believe thee. 

To night I will return — remember thou 
Thy words — to night ! Exit l. I.e. 

Blan. Armand ! was it for this 

For five long years I hoped — for this I bore 
With patient trust the ills fate heaped upon me ! 
For this I v^^ould not wrong thee by a doubt ! 
All — all — for this — this hour of agony I 

[j^inJcs loeepiny irpon a couch, and 
after a pause rises calmly. 



Scene I.] the peer and the peasant. 45 

Let me not murmur at thy high decrees. 
All-wise, all-watching, and all-guarding Heaven I 
I know no withered leaflet falls to earth — 
No hlade of grass bursts from its sheath of green ; — 
No grain of sand is swallowed by the wave — 
Unnoted by that rulins; Providence 
That guides the universe, yet stoops to clothe 
The flower with beauty ! And from seeming ills 
Works out our truest, most enduring good ! 
" Oh ! then while grass, and sand, and leaf are cared for, 
" How shall a mortal doubt thy guardianship!'^ 
Then break not heart ! the will of Heaven be thine ! 
Enter Jaqueline, l. 1 e. 

Jaq. Oh! Mademoiselle Blanche ! there's such a hand- 
some young man waiting to speak to you — he has a letter 
to deliver, and he says, he will only give it into your own 
hands- — I hope you'll see him — I'm sure 1 would! 

Blan. A letter, and for me, yes, let him enter ? 

Jaq. Oh ! I'm so glad you will see him — that's just 
what I would have done — and he's such a charming little 
creature. [Exit l. 1 e. 

Blan. Whence should he come? I have no friends in Paris. 
Enter Jaqueline with Victor, l. 1 e. 

Jaq. Oh ! the beautiful little fellow ! I hope she'll 
listen to him! I know I would! [Exit l. 1 e. 

Vic. Most lovely recluse, pardon our intrusion, and 
pardon us, that we rejoice in this opportunity of performing 
our m.ission with becoming privacy. 

Blan. I think you have a letter for me, Sir? 

Vic. We have a letter to deliver and a reply to learn. 

Blan. Will't please you. Sir, to let me see the letter ? 

Vic. We intend to do so forthwith — but haste is most 
uncourtierlike — and you perceive that ive are of the Court ! 

Blan. I should like much to see the letter. Sir. 

Vic. It never yet has been our study to gainsay the 
wishes of the "illusive sex," of which owr judgment now 
pronounces you the fairest, and your impatience thus we 
gratify. [venj pompously presents letter, 

Blan. (reading aside.) 
One who would serve you — one who learnt hy chance 
Your history, writes these lines — p)erils unseen 
Are threat' ninr/ you — the King alone can save you I 



46 



ARMANSk; OR, [Act IV, 



Consent to meet the page who brings you this — 

At sunset at the Tuilleries eastern gate. 

It is the custom of his Majestij 

To walk within his garden at that hour. 

The page will bring you to his presence — all 

The rest lies with yourself. — A Friend. The King 

Yes, he alone can save me from the cloister, 

Can give me back to Armand — Armand — whom 

I still think, true ! young Sir, I prav j^ou thank 

The writer of these lines — I'll do his bidding. 

Vic. We congratulate you on this wise decision^ and 
with regret must now take our hasty leave. [Exit bowing 

very low, L. 1 e. 

Blan. All thanks to thee, kind Heaven ! for once again 
My path is clear! the King, the King, shall guard me"! 

{Exit L,. H. 1 E. 

SCENE II. 

Garden of the Tuilleries, at sunset. Enter Kmo followed 

by Victor, r. u. e. 
King. Well, boy, what would'st thou from our bounty 
now? 

Vic. My Liege, the boon I crave — [trumpet without. 

King. What trumpet's that? 

Vic. News from the seat of war, methinks; the bearer — 

King. Armand himself! 
Enter Armand hastily, l. u. e., kneels to the King, and 

presents disjjatches. 

Arm. Pardon, my gracious Liege, 

That I appear thus hastily before thee! 
Good tidings should have wings, to race the wind. 
Another victory! 

King. Which could not wait 

For form thou think'st? Armand, our favor gives thee 
A license few would dare to use ! 

(^0 Victor) Retire! [Exit Yictor, j.. v. e. 

(reading despatches) Brave news — most glorious news ! my 

gallant soldier! 
The victory was thine — the Marshal, says so — 
It earns thee once again the rank and title 
Thou hast refused before! 

ylr?n. My Liege, my sword 



Scene II.] the peer AND THE peasant. 47 

Ilatli won me all I covet or deserve ! 

I would not that your favor — but mij deeds 

Should of my tbrtunes be the artizau! 

King. But wherefore, Armand, wilt thou coldly spurn 
What others as their dearest birth-right prize? 

Arm. " And why, the trappings and the adjuncts vain 
'* With which the great enshroud themselves, to aw-e 
*' A gaping multitude, should I not scorn? 
" Free thought — free will — the birth-right true of all — 
*' Manhood, the universal heritage — 
*' For them, nor for a million times their worth, 
*' I would not barter!" 

King. " Must thou scorn for this," 

The rank and name which proud posterity 
Might carve upon some lofty monument? 

Arm. I ask no monument, save that which lives 
Within the bosoms of my fellow men ! 
No epitaph, save that which love inscribes 
Upon their memories; no chronicle. 
Save that the annals of my country show; 
Which, if I serve it, will enroll my name 
Upon the page of honored history, where. 
Alone, I could be proud to see it blazoned ! 

King. Well, be it so; and yet one wish I have 
Thou need'st must grant, De Rohan's daughter loves thee; 
She's fair and rich, and virtuous. Seek her hand. 
Nor be a courtier since thou likest it not, 
Yet hold an honored station in our court. 

Arm. My liege, I cannot wed — once hath my heart 
In all the glow of its first warmth been given ! 
Years have rolled by since Blanche hath pass'd away — 
In life's arena I have stood alone — 
And wrestled on — and welcomed each new day 
That led me closer to the grave — that porch 
Which opens on the palace of my joy! 

King. Beware! our patience is not made of stuff 
Too lasting — try it not beyond its strength — 
Marry De Rohan's daughter! 'Tis thy King 
Commands! 

Arm. My gracious liege, no King can tear 
The land-marks from the honest path of Truth. 
Marry! call'st tl.ou that marriage which but joins 



48 armand; ok, [ajtJV 

Two hands with iron bonds? that yokes, but not 
Unites, two hearts whose pulses never beat 
In unison? The legal crime that mocks 
The very name of marriage — that invades — 
Profanes — destroys its inner holiness? 
No! 'tis the spirit that alone can wed, 
When with spontaneous joy it seeks and finds, 
And with its kindred spirit blends itself! 
My liege, there is no other marriage tie! 

[Enter Victor with Blanche veiled, 
and J AQ,VEJ.JNB /ollowinff, r. u. e. 
King. This daring is beyond endurance — nay. 
Beyond belief. Since you reject our grace 
Beware our wrath ! retire. 

[x^lRmand exits L. 1 e. 
This stubborn boy no more shall thwart our wishes! 

[Victor advances ivith Blanche, r. h. 

Vic. Sire, we should not — I should not have dared thus 

to intrude upon your privacy, but for the fair excuse I 

bring. Your Majesty has but to behold it, and we are — 

that is, / am secure of pardon. 

King. Excuse, that takes so soft a s^iape brings with it 
The pardon that it asks. Leave us. 

[Victor pompously present^ his arm to 
Jaqueline, exeunt l. 2. e. 
Now lady. 
We pray thee speak — what wouldst thou have of Louis ? 

Blan. Perchance too much, my liege, for you to grant. 
Too little, it may be, for my great wants! 

King. Speak freely then — what wouldst thou ask? 
Blan. Protection! 

Protection aeainst one of rank so hi";h 
No hand but thine could reach him — could save me ! 
King. His name? 

Blan. llichelieu, thy favorite, and my father! 

King. Thy father ! can it be ! has Richelieu then 
A child ! I pray thee, let ray hand remove 
'> he jealous veil that clouds thy brow. 

\_Blanche raises her veil. 
Great heaven ! 
What sorcery is this? I know tiiat face. 
Or it hath visited my dreams, — or else 



SCENK II.] THE PEER AND THE PEASANT. 49 

It is — must be— bow like, bow cbanged! — and yet 
How like ! Wbat spell bath conjured up the dead ? 

Blan. Chance words, that strangely suit this stranger 
chance ! 
For she who with these warm and living lips 
Pleads to thee here, is dead to all who loved 
Her best. Within a village churchyard lies 
An humble stone that bears her name — and yet 
Sbe stands before you ! 

Kmg. And that name was — 

Blan. Blanche. 

King. Oh ! cheat me not enraptured eyes ! deceive 
Me not too happy ears! 'tis Blanche herself! 
Blancbe w^iom I saw — Blanche whom I mourned as dead i 
Ah ! Richelieu hath wrought this, and bitterly 
Shall Bichelieu rue it ! Bknche is mine, and mine 
In spite of fate ! (aside.) Lady, this is no time, 
No place to hear or to redress thy wrongs. 
The Duke de Rohan's chateau yonder stands, 
There will I place thee underneath the care 
Of his most gentle duchess — let us haste. 

[As the King advances impetuously to seize 
the hand of Blanche, she draws hack. 
Blan. My liege, I follow thee. 

[King recovers himself ^ crosses and bows. 

Exeunt r. I.e. 
Enter Jaqueline, Babette, and Richelieu, hastily^ 

L. U. E. 

Rich. Where is she ? 

Jaq. This is the very place, but I don't see her at all ! 
Armand rushes in. 

Arm. She lives ! she lives ! she walks the earth ! I may 
Behold her — once more clasp her to my heart ! 
Alive ! Oh ! let me not grow mad with joy ! [crosses r. 

Rich. Thy frenzy may have bitterer cause ere long ! 
Where is she 1 Woman, speak. Where is my child? 

Bah. Oh, your eminence! I knew nothing about it. It 
was all Jaqueline. 

Arm. Jaqueline, good girl, speak thou — where is my 
Blanche ? 

Jaq. Oh! I'll speak, Monsieur Armand; I'll tell you 
everything, for Blanche never loved any body as she loves 
you, and so I love you too. A beautiful little page brought 



50 armand; or, [Act. IV. 

her here, and she made me come with her ; then she was 
talking with a spendidly- dressed cavaHer, and the page 
said, it was the King ! 

Pdch. The King ! Ah then indeed, all's lost ! 

A7'm. All's gained! 

She lives ! and let Fate hide her where it will. 
The ample earth is all too small to part us ! 

[Crosses r. and up c. 

Bab. Ah! my lord Duke, it's all right, his Majesty — 

Rich. Woman, away. 

Bab. Oh, my poor neck ! 

{Exit hastily with Jaqxjejltne, l. 2 f. 

Bich. (after pausing and looking at Armand,) 
Armand, I hated thee — had planned thy ruin- 
But yet I loved my child, and would have sold 
Myself to slavery to have shielded her 
From Louis. Now, all feelings merge in one. 
That one the last ! She lives — may live for thee. 
Find her, and she is thine ! or if, when found. 
Thou canst not from the royal libertine 
Defend her, save her as a Roman would. 

Arm. Fear not — the King is but a man ! A man 
"With no more rights than I, when on my rights 
He dares to trench ! And by that righteous heaven. 
Which frowns upon this deed of infamy, 
I swear to snatch her taintless from his arms ! 

Rich. Find her, she's thine. 

Arm. I will, or lose myself! 

[Exeunt hastily^ Richelieu l., Armand k 



END OF act IV. 



SCEJT* I.] THE PEER AND THE PEASANT. CA 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. 

An antechamber in the Palace of the Tuilleries. 

Enter Richelieu and Le Sage, r. h. 

Rich. How learnt you this? the truth — the truth — 
concealment now were vain — I overheard thee talking with 
the page — you spoke of Blanche, last night, again to-day, 
the King refused me audience — tell me, is Blanche then in 
his power? 

Le Sage. Assuredly! 

Rich. The Duke d'Antin~did I not hear you say, his 
hand had dealt this blow ? 

Le Sage. Unfortunately! 

Rich. Where ? Where is Blanche ? Answer ! dost 
thou not see my agony ? 

Le Sage. Perceptibly! 

Rich. Dotard! I would not do thee violence! ha! the 
Duke himself approaches — begone! 

Le Sage. Voluntarily! {bowsj and speedily! (aside.) 

[Exit R. H, 

Enter Duke d'Antin, l. h. 

Rich. I would have sought thee, Duke — ^pardon this haste, 
A father injured cannot wait on form. 
Where is my Blanche? 

UAnt. What should I know of Blanche ? 

Rich. Answer, old man, I charge thee! Where's my child? 

B'Ant. Oh ! rather, Duke de Richelieu, answer thou ! 
Where is my Child ? 

, Rich. Speak not of her — ^'tis more 

Than twenty years, since thou hast called her daughter I 

jyAnt. And if it be, think'st thou that twenty years 
Are lethe for a father's memory ? 
Be witness these white locks, whose every hair 
Have been the record of a separate woe ! 
Thou thought' st my child's destroyer was unknown, 
I knew the subtle Richelieu's arts too well 



52 armand; or, [ActV- 

To doubt what name the heartless villain bore. 

I did not brand thee as a libertine. 

The Court, who knew thee, had but smiled. — Redress 

I sought not — to proclaim thy treachery 

Had only been to publish D'Antin's shame! 

But on my knees, I swore to dedicate. 

All that remained of life to my revenge. 

I swore that thou shouldst taste the self-same cup 

Which thou hadst poisoned for my lip. — Richelieu, 

It is fulfilled — my hour of triumph's come! 

Rich. Oh ! wretched man, hadst thou but known — 

jy Ant. I knew 

Plnough 1 as thou shalt learn too late ! the ruin 
That waits thy child is sure as that of mine — 
I watched her from her earliest hour — through me 
The King beheld her first — her seeming death 
I never credited — I tracked thy steps. 
And through a venal priest, I set her free ! 
I brought her to the King, and wove the snare 
That makes her his I — Now writhe as I have writhed! 
Now tear thine hair as I tore mine! — Now cast 
Thyself in maniac fury on the earth — 
Feel all a father's agony! and pray 
As I have prayed, the living earth might yawn 
To yield a grave for a dishonored child! 

Rich. Madman! what hast thou done ? thy Adelaide 
Ne'er knew the blush of shame ! Her weal and mine 
Forbade the court should know Richelieu had wed; 
And yet she was my wife! — Blanche was her child ! 

jy Ant. (much moved) Her child! the child of Adelaide? 
Just Heaven! 
I snatched the vengeance which is thine alone. 
Its gathered fury bursts upon my head! 

Rich. Lose not the moments thus in bootless anguish, 
Where is she now ? 

D'Ant. Alas, I know not ! 

Rich. Haste and learn, thy spies. 

For spies thou must have used, can surely tell! 

jyAnt. Oh ! Adelaide ! my Adelaide ! is Blanche 
Indeed thy child ? 

Rich. No more, — thou wilt have time 

Enough for tears when there is none for action. 



Scene IL] the peer and the peasant. 53 

(crosses rJ Let us but find her! should we then have cause 
To weep— be each fierce tear of blood alone ! 

[Exeunt r. h. 1 e. 

SCENE II. 

A sumptuous apartment in the Chateau of theBuke deRohan. 

Enter Blanche, splendidly attired, through centre doors, 
followed by Jaqueline. 

Jaq. Dear Mam'selle Blanche, to think that I should 
have found you at last! and through that beautiful Uttle 
page! 

Blan. But, Armand! Oh! my best Jaqueline, my friend. 
Thou hast seen Armand — and he knows I live- 
He spoke of me as in our early days — 

Jaq, Ay, that he did, Mam'selle, and I am sure he 
loves you as much as ever. 

Blan. Bless thee, Jaqueline ! (embracing her fervently) 
Oh! how one hour of joy 
Can brighten a whole age of agony ! 
The weary years that sundered us so long 
Have vanished — every pang that wrung my soul 
Is blotted out from memory! — The past. 
Is one of sunbeam only — and the future 
Seems something brighter still — I am too blest ! 

Jaq. So will Monsieur Armand be — but you will scarcely 
know him, he looks so altered, for he is a great soldier 
now — and I think he will hardly know you in this grand 
dress. 

Blan. They said the king would visit me to-day. 
And to receive him decked me in these robes. 

Jaq. Would you not like me to seek Monsieur Armand, 
Mam'selle Blanche? 

Blan. Do ! if thou cans' t, my kind Jaqueline. 

Jaq. Oh ! I'll fiud him if he's within the walls of Paris, 
be sure of that ! I do so like to bring lovers together. 

[Exit R. 1 E. 

Blan What thronging thoughts in quick succession chase 
Each other through my brain ! I pace these halls 
As one who walks them in a dream — and Fear 
By turns, convulses every trembling limb, 
By turns, thine azure eyes, immortal Hope ! 



54 armand; or, [Act V, 

In visioned beauty smile upon my doubts ! 
"While in thy cheating glass, whose magic brings 
The wished for object near, my spell-bound sight 
Sees Armand only! — Thus — 

Enter Victor, c. d. 

Vic* His Majesty! 

Enter King, c. d. 

[Exit Victor, c. d. 

King, My Blanche! (pauses and looks at her.) 

Why, this is well — this rich attire 
Befits thy beauty royally — the emblem 
Of greater change that waits thee! 

Blan. 'Twas the Duchess 

That willed it, and not I, my liege. — 

King. Thy tone. 

Fair Blanche, is grave, yet should no sadness mar 
Its music! Now thy life shall be one pageant 
Of long delight! Thine every hour a joy 
Newer and gladder, and thine every wish 
Fulfilment. 

Blan. Sire, I have but one — restore 
Me to mv childhood's home, to him, without 
Whose presence even that home were joyless! 

King. A fate more bright awaits thee; hast thou not 
Divined it? Knowest thou not thou art beloved? 

Blan. I do, my liege. 

King. And by thy King ! 

Blan. Oh, heaven! 

King. Fair Blanche, look not so like the startled fawn 
By friendly echoes frighted. Listen, love, 
A splendid fate its golden page unrols 
Before thee. In our court the proudest place 
Is thine. The queen shall yield thee her protection — 
All men shall bow to her whom Louis loves. 

Blan. Just heaven! can such things be ! or doth seme 
demon 
Whisper these horrors in my dreaming ear ! 

King. Sweet Blanche, the splendors that I proffer — 

Blan. Peace! 

Thou King — by passions vile unkinged! Thy words 
Have scorched my brain, and should have seared thy lips 
In passing them. My liege, my liege, was it 



Scene II.] the peer and the peasant. 55 

A kingly deed to snare a being helpless — 
And friendless— 3-oung as I — thus to profane 
Her ears, and seek bv virtue of thv crown 
To rob her of the brightest diadem 
That can encircle woman's brow! 

King. Nay, Blanche, 

ISIar not thy beauty with this frigid bearing. 
Frowns do not suit those gentle eyes, nor fierceness 
Thy timid nature — weak thou art — 

Blan. Not weak, 

l\Iy liege, when roused by insult and by wrong! 
I tell thee, haughty king — presumptuous man ! 
That like the unshorn locks the Nazarene 
Vowed to his God — the purity of woman 
Becomes at once her glory and her might ! 

King. Ah, Blanche! and is there no excuse for love? 

Blan. Thy love is but self-love! that first and worst 
Of passions — poisoned spring of every crime — 
Which hath no attribute of perfect love! 

King. This to thy King? 

Blan. Art kingly in thy deeds? 

The star that shines so brightly on thy breast 
Is worthless if it shed no light within! 
The throne that lifts thee o'er thy fellow men 
Should teach the virtues which alone can raise 
Thee 'bove them! 

King. At thy feet let me implore — 

Blan. Stand off ! approach me not ! 

King. Thou fearest me then? 

Blan. Fear thee? Danger should be where fear is — I 
See none! 

King. Woman! thou shalt not brave me thus ! 
(seizes her) No human power can save thee — thou art mine! 
What are thy feeble struggles in my grasp ? 

Blan. (sinJdng on her knees) Spare me, my liege, spare 

me! 

King. It is thy turn 
To sue, and all in vain ! thou hast forgot 
That I am King, and thou hast no protector ! 

Blan. (starting vp) I have! I have! One who for 
sakes me not ! 
One whom thou darest not brave! unloose thy hold 



56 armand; or, [Act V. 

Or dread his fury ! Heaven protects me still ! 

[The King releases her, awed by her manner. 
Thou art my sovereign — I a friendless subject — 
I woman, and thou man! — my helplessness 
"Was of itself a claim to thy protection — 
A claim thou hast rejected! Answer, King! 
Hast thou done right? Man, was it well to use 
Thy strength against my weakness? Thou art dumb! 
Thou canst not answer ! King of France, I scorn thee ! 

[Exit L. 1 L. 

King. Why should I shrink from one so powerless? 
And can it be that Virtue's presence awes 
Me thus? That Virtue which no weapon needs 
Except its own resistless dignity ! 

She speaks, I'm hushed — she spurns me, and I cower — 
She leaves me, and I dare not follow her ! 

Enter Armand hastili/y r. 1 e. 
You here? 

Arm. My lips, my liege, might echo back 
The question ! 

Ki7ig. Sir, it is thy monarch's right 
To tarry where he will. 

Arm. It is my right 

To seek what I am robbed of where I may ! 

King. Darest thou? 

Arm. Hadst thou not dared to wrong me — I 

Had never dared to stand before thee thus. 

King. " A monarch's state may sometimes sanction 
what — 

Ar}7i. "A monarch's state that sanctions what would 
shame 
" A subject, doubly shames itself! when Wrong 
*' And Crime usurp the garments of that state, 
" They grow more hideous in those glittering robes 
" Than when they wear the branded felon's garb." 

King. Armand ! I thought thee loyal — 

Arm. So I was. 

When loyalty was virtue — Oh! my liege. 
Because my heart 'neath ruder vesture once 
Hath beat, than e'er thine own hath throbbed a2;ainst, 
Think'st thou its feeling is less keen? Its sense 
Of injury less delicate? thinkest thou 



Scene IL] the PEER AND THE PEASANT. 5/ 

It v,'\\[ not leap as readily to kindness? 
Will not revolt as quickly at oppression ? 
How then shall I be loyal, when my King 
Would do me the worst injury that mau ^ 

Cau do to man? 

Ki)}(/. What injury, rash youth? 

A?'7)i. Of my affianced bride would' st thou not rob me? 
Would' st thou not rob her of — how shall I keep 
My senses at the thought ! — Is Blanche not here ? 

King. This passes bearing. 

Arm. Hear me, my gracious liege, I am too bold. 
Wrong has rough words, and anguish maddened me ! 
Bethink thee,— on the battle field I saved 
Thy life. Remembering that, oh. Sire ! forget 
Thy passion for this maid — my promised bride. 
Let it be as a cloud which dimmed the sun 
But for a moment, that its after light 
Might show more glorious. Do a royal act. 
And do it royally, that men may see 
Thy soul is royal too. She does not love 
Thee, give her back to me ! 

King. I'll hear no more ! 

Ann. Ha ! 

King. Not another word ! 

Arm, Pause yet a moment. 

King. Enough! 

Arm. I am no more the suppliant ! 
My private injury grows public ivrong. 
The saviour or the avenger stands before thee. 
Choose thou. 

King. Is this the faithful soldier — 

Arm. No, 

It is the injured lover thou hast wronged. 
The man his monarch's crimes exasperate. 
Restore my Blanche, and I am what I was ! 
Withhold her, and I know not what I may be! 
" Each sigh of hers shall to a whirlwind swell, 
" And, in its fury, dash thee on the rocks 
" Of Public Hate. — Each prayer she breathes shall turn 
" To thunderbolts placed in thy people's hands! 
" Woe — woe to him on whom a nation's rage 
"With Perseus-weapons, such as these, shall burst!" 

£ 



58 ARMAND; OR, [AcT V. 

King, Within there ! ho ! my guards ! 

Enter Guards c.from r. h. ivith Pages. 

[Guards advance to receive the 
sword o/" Armand. 

King. Yield up your sword. 

Arm. Pardon, my Hege, but never sliall its edge 
Flash upon battle field again. You gave it, 
Take back the gift unstained, but worthless. 

[Breaks the sword, retires c. 

Enter Richelieu and d'Antin hastihf, r. 1 e. 

King. Sirs, 

Your ceremonial is but scanty with us 
That ye intrude upon our presence thus, 
XJnushered and mibidden. 

Rich. Pardon, Sire, 

The courtier was forgotten in the father. 
I seek my child. 

King. Hast thou some new deceit 

To hide her from the world ? Another stone 
To lay upon an empty grave ? 

Rich. My Liege, 

A father's fears — a father's fondness urged me ! 
Be these my plea. 

jy Ant. (crossing c.) Grant me a w^ord, my king 
This head has whitened, and this frame grown old 
In serving France and thee. Blanche is my child 
No less than his — the child of Adelaide, 
Sole daughter of my house. Deny me not 
My first and only prayer. Restore her to us. 

King. The warring elements of good and ill 
"With fearful strife are battling in my soul j 
But Policy with Virtue sides, and makes 
The victory hers. — Richelieu, a word with thee. 
Blanche is beneath this roof. Go, bring her hither. 

Rich. More gladly have I never flown to do 
My sovereign's will. [Exit l. h. 

King. Armand, d'Antin, draw near. 

Harsh thoughts are written on the brow of each. 
And yet, I think ye true, I know ye brave. 
And would believe ye loyal, — nay, will make 
Some effort so to hold ye. 



Scene II.] the peer and the peasant. 59 

Ar7n, Oh, my King ! 

Hast thou, indeed, relented? 

King. See who comes. 

JEnter Richelieu, l. 1 e., leading Blanche, her eyes 
are bent upon the ground, she does not perceive Armand. 

Arm. Blanche ! 

Blan. Armand, is it thou? \with an ex- 

clamation of joy she rushes into his arms. 

Arm. My own, my Blanche ! 

Is it no phantom dupes as it hath duped 
So oft my willing sense? Is it thyself? 
If joy could kill, this hour so richly blest 
That ecstacy seems pain, would be our last. 

Blan. Ah ! if it were we would not murmur. Life 
Hath not another moment such as this. 

Rich. Mv child ! remember thou art not thine own 
To give. 

Blan. My dearest father, — 

Rich. Nay, I know 

"What thou wouldst say. First bow thy knee to one 
"Who claims thy reverence and love. Behold 
Thy mother's sire. [Blanche kneels to d'Antin, 

he raises and embraces her. 

D'Ant. My child ! [Blanche returns to c. 

King. Blanche, {crossing to her) shrink no more. 
I was thy lover — I am now thy King ! 
We claim the right to wed thee as we will. 
Nay, traitress — no rebellion, for thy sire 
Sanctions our choice. Armand, more chary hold 
Our second gift than thou hast done the first. 

[points to the sword. 
No more of that. — We pardon, — Blanche is thine. 

[joins their hands and crosses to n. yl. 

Arm. My cup is brimming over, — speak thou my 
Blanche, 
My long lost bride, — tell me thy happiness 
Hath reached the blessed zenith of mine own ? 

Blan. My happiness ? [to the audience. 

Its bounds are fixed by these. 
Who've made so light our earnest task to please. 
By lenient eyes, that only beauties seek. 



60 ARMAND, ETC. [AcT V. 

And lenient lips, that mildest judgment speal< ! 

Who, if some passing good they chance to find. 

Seem to all else so kindly, gently blind ! 

Our faces are of yours the mirrors true. 

Cloud 'neath your frown — grow bright at smiles from you. 

What fiat then to-night may we expect ? 

Shall we your censure, or your smiles reflect ? 



DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF CURTAIN. 

R. King. Armand. Blanche. Richelieu. jyAntin. L. 
Guards and pages in the hack ground. 



THE END. 



FASHION; 



OR, 



LIEE IN NEW YORK. 



2. €ome^2» 



IN FIVE ACTS 



" Howe'er it be — it seems to me 
'Tis only noble to be good ; 
Kind hearts axe more than coronets, 
And simple faith than Norman blood." 

Tennyson. 



PREFACE 

TO THE LONDON EDITION. 



The Comedy of Fashion was intended as a good-natured 
satire upon some of the follies incident to a new country, 
where foreign dross sometimes passes for gold, where 
the vanities rather than the virtues of other lands are too 
often imitated, and where the stamp o^ fashion gives cur- 
rency even to the coinage of vice. 

The reception with which the Comedy was favoured 
proves that the picture represented was not a highly 
exaggerated one. -k 

It was first produced at the Park Theatre, New York, 
in March, 1845. 

The splendid manner in which the play was put upon 
the stage, and the combined efforts of an extremely talented 
company, ensured it a long continued success. It was 
afterwards received with the same indulgence in all the 
principal cities of the United States, for which the au- 
thoress is doubtless indebted to the proverbial gallantry 
of Americans to a countrywoman. 

A. C. M. 

London, January, 1850. 



COSTUMES. 

ADAM TRUEMAN.— First Dress : A fanner's rough overcmt, roarse blue 
trousers, heavy boots, broad-brimmed liat, dark coloured neckerchief, stout 
walking stick, large bandanna tied loosely around his neck. — Second dress : 
Dark grey old-fashioned coat, black and yellow waistcoat, trousers as be- 
fore.— Third dress : Black old-fashioned dress coat, black trousers, white 
vest, white cravat. 

COUNT JOLIMAITRE.— First dress: Dark frock coat, li{:ht blue trousers, 
patent leather boots, gay coloured vest and scarf, profusion of jewellery, 
light overcoat. — Second dross : Full evening dress ; last scene, travelling cap 
and cloak. 

MR. TIFFAXY.— First dress: Dark coat, vest, and trousers.— Second dress: 
FhU evening dress. 

MR. TWINKLE.— First dress : Green frock coat, white vest and trousers, green 
and white scarf.— Second dress : Full evening dress. 

MR. FOGG,— First dress : Entire black suit.— Second dress : Full evening dress, 
same colour. 

SNOBSON.— First dress : Blue Albert coat with brass buttons, yellow vest, red 
and black cravat, broad plaid trousers.- Second dress: Evening dross. 

COL. HOWARD,— First dress: Blue undress frock coat and cap, white trou- 
sers. — Second dress : Full military uniform. 

ZEKE.— Red and blue livery, cocked hat, &:c. 



MRS. TIFFANY.— First dress: Extravagant modern dress.— Second dress: 
Hat, feathers, and mantle, with the above.— Third dress : Morning dress.— 
Fourth dress: Rich ball dress, 

SERAPHINA.-^irst dross: Rich modern dress, lady's tarpaulin on one side of 
head.— Second dress : Morning dress.— Third dress : Handsome ball dress, 
profusion of ornaments and flowers.— Fourth dress : Bonnet and mantle. 

GERTRUDE.— First dress : White muslin.— Second dress : Ball dress, very 
simple. 

MILLINETTE.— Lady's Maid's dress, very gay. 

PRUDENCE.— Black satin, very narrow in the skirt, tight sleeves, white 
muslin apron, neckerchief of the same, folded over bosom, old-fashioned 
cap, high top and broad frill, and red ribbons. 



DEAMATIS PESSON/E. 

As produced at the Royal Olympic Theatre, January 9, 1850, under the direction 
of Mr. Oeorge Ellis, Stage Manager. 

Adam Trueman, a Farmer from Catteraugus. - ? t/w S^ (3 SaAa, . 
Count Jolimaitre, a fashionable European Importation. 
Colonel Howard, an Officer in the U. S. Army. 
Mr. Tiffany, a New York Merchant. 
T. Tennyson Twinkle, a Modern Poet. 
Augustus Fogg, a Drawing Room Appendage. 
Snobson, a rare species of Confidential Clerk. 
Zeke, a colored Servant. 

Mrs. Tiffany, a Lady ivho imagines herself fashionable. 
Prudence, a Maiden Lady of a certain age. 
MiLLiNETTE, a French Lady''s Maid. 
Gertrude, a Governess. 
Seraphina Tiffany, a Belle. 

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Ball Room. 

CAST OF CHAKACTEES. 

Adam Trueman Mr. Davenport. 

Count Jolimaitre — A. Wigan. 

Colonel Howard — Belton. 

Mr. Tiffany — J. Johnstone. 

Twinkle — Kinloch. 

Fogg — J. Howard. 

Snobson — H. Schavf. 

Zeke — J, Herbert. 

Mrs. Tiffany Mrs. H. Marston. 

Prudence — Parkeji, 

MiLLiNETTE — A. Wigan. 

Gertrude Miss F. Vining. 

Seraphina — Gousrenheim. 



EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 

R. means Hight; L., Left; R. 1 E., Right First Entrance; 2 E., Second 
Entrance ; D. F., Dour in the Flat. 

RELATIVE POSITIONS, 

R. means Right; L.,Lcft: C, Centre; R. C, Right of Centre: L. C, Left 
of Centre. 

*4.* The render is supposed to be on the Stage facing the Audience. 



FASHION. 

ACTL 

SCENE I. 

d sjilendid Drawing Boom in the House of Mrs. Tiffany. 
Open folding doors c. f., discovering a Conservatory . 
On either side glass windows down to the ground. 
Doors on r. and l. u. e. Mirror^ couches, ottomans^ 
a table with albums, ^r., beside it an arm chair. 
MiLLiNETTE R. dusting furniture, ^r. Zeke l. in 
a dashing livery, scarlet coat, ^'C. 

Zeke. Dere's a coat to take de eyes ob all Broadway ! 
Ah ! jNIissy, it am de fixins dat make de natural born gem- 
man. A libery for ever ! Dere's a pair ob insuppressibles 
to 'stonish de colored population. 

Millinette. Oh, oui. Monsieur Zeke (very politely). 
I not comprend one word he say ! (aside.) 

Zeke. I tell 'ee what. Missy, I'm 'stordinary glad to 
find dis a bery 'spectabul like situation ! Now as you've 
made de acquaintance ob dis here family, and dere you've 
had a supernumerary advantage ob me — seeing dat I only 
rcceibed my appointmicnt dis morning. What I wants to 
know is your publicated opinion, privately expressed, ob 
de domestic circle. 

Mil. You mean vat espece, vat kind of personnes are 
IMonsieur and Madame Tiffany ? Ah ! Monsieur is not de 
same ting as Madame, — not at all. 

Zeke. Well, I s'pose he aint altogether. 

Mil. Monsieur is man of business, — Madame is lady of 

fashion. IMonsieur make de money, — Madame spend it. 

Monsieur nobody at all, — Madame everybody altogether. 

\h 1 Monsieur Zeke, de money is all dat is necessaire m 

6 



2 FASHION. [Act I. 

dis country to make one lady of fashion. Oh ! it is quite 
anoder ting in la belle Finance ! 

Zeke. A bery lucifer explanation. Well, now we've 
disposed ob de beads ob de family, who come next ? 

Mil. First, dcre is Mademoiselle Seraphina Tiffany. 
Mademoiselle is not at all one proper j^er^o^^ze-. Mademoi- 
selle Seraphina is one coquette. Dat is not de mode in la 
belle France ; de ladies, dere, never learn la coquetrie until 
dev do get one husband. 

Zeke. I tell 'ee what. Missy, I disreprobate dat pro- 
ceeding altogeder ! 

Mil. Vait! I have not tell you all /«/(7mz7/eyet. Dere 
is Ma'mselle Prudence — Madame's sister, one very bizarre 
personne. Den dere is Ma'mselle Gertrude, but she not 
anybody at all ; she only teach Mademoiselle Seraphina la 
musique. 

Zeke. Well now^. Missy, what's your own special de- 
functions ? 

Mil. I not understand. Monsieur Zeke. 

Zeke. Den I'll amplify. What's de nature ob your ex- 
clusive services ? 

Mil. Ah^ oui ! je comprend. I am Madame's /e>w we de 
chambre — her lady's maid, Monsieur Zeke. I teach Ma- 
dame les modes de Paris, and Madame set de fashion for 
all New York. You see, Monsieur Zeke, dat it is me, 
moi-?ncme, dat do lead de fashion for all de American beau 
trionde ! 

Zeke. Yah ! yah ! yah I I hab de idea by de heel. 
Well now, p'raps you can 'lustrify my officials? 

Mil, Vat you will have to do ? Oh I much tings, 
much tings. You vait on de table, — you tend de door, — • 
you clean de boots, — you run de errands, — you drive de 
carriage, — you rub de horses, — you take care of de flowers, 
— you carry de water, — you help cook de dinner, — you 
wash de dishes, — and den you always remember to do 
every ting I tell you to ! 

Zeke. Wheugh, am dat all ? 

Mil. All I can tink of now. To-day is Madame's day 
of reception, and all her grand friends do make her one 
petite visit. You mind run fast ven de bell do ring. 

Zeke. Run? If it was'nt for desc superfluminous trim- 
mings, I tell 'ee what, Missy, I'd run — 



Scene L] FASHION. 3 

Mrs. Tiffany, (outside) Millinette ! 

Mil. Here comes Madame ! You better go. Monsieur 
Zeke. 

Zeke. Look ahea, Massa Zeke, does'nt dis open rich ! 
(aside). [Exit Zeke, l. 

Enter Mrs. Tiffany r. 3 e. dressed in the most extravagant 

height of fashion. 

Mrs. Tif. Is everything in order, INIilliuette ? Ah ! 
very elegant, very elegant indeed ! There is a jenny-say s- 
ipioi look about this furniture, — an air of fashion and gen- 
tility perfectly bewitching. Is there not, Millinette ? 

Mil. Oh, oui, Madame! 

Mrs. Tif. But where is jMiss Seraphina ? It is twelve 
o'clock ; our visitors will be pouring in, and she has not 
made her appearance. But I hear that nothing is more 
fashionable than to keep people waiting. — None but vulgar 
persons pay any attention to punctuality. Is it not so, 
Millinette ? 

Mil. Quite comme il faut. — Great personnes always do 
make little personnes wait, Madame. 

Mrs. Tif. This mode of receiving visitors only upon 
one specified day of the week is a most convenient custom ! 
It saves the trouble of keeping the house continually in 
order and of being always dressed. I flatter myself that / 
W'as the first to introduce it amongst the New York ee-light. 
You are quite sure that it is strictly a Parisian mode, Mil- 
linette? 

Mil. Oh, Old, Madame ; entirely 7node de Paris. 

Mrs. Tif This girl is worth her weight in gold (aside). 
Millinette, how do vou sav arm-chair in French 1 

Mil. Fauteuil, Madame. 

Mi's. Fo-tool ! That has a foreign — an out-of-the- 
wayish sound that is perfectly charming — and so genteel ; 
There is something about our American words decidedly 
vulgar. Foivtool ! how refined. Fowtool ! Arm-chair I 
what a difference ! 

Mil. Madame have one charmante pronunciation. Fow- 
tool ! (mimicking aside) charmante, Madame ! 

Mrs. Tif. Do you think so, Millinette ? Well, I believe 
I have. But a woman of refinement and of fashion can 
always accommodate herself to everything foreign ! And 
a week's study of that invaluable work — " French without 



B 2 



4 FASHION. [A-CT I. 

a Master^'* has made me quite at home in the court lan- 
guage of, Europe ! But where is the new valet 1 I'm rather 
sorry that he is black, but to obtain a white American 
for a domestic is almost impossible ; and they call this a 
free country ! What did you say was the name of this 
new servant, Millinette ? 

Mil. He do say his name is Monsieur Zeke. 

Mrs. Tif. Ezekiel, I suppose. Zeke ! Dear me, such 
a vulgar name will compromise the dignity of the whole 
family. Can you not suggest something more aristocratic, 
Millinette ? Something French ! 

Mil. Oh, oui, Madame ; Adolph is one very fine name. 

Mrs. Tif. A-dolph ! Charming ! Ring the bell, Mil- 
linette ! (Millinette rings the bell). I will change his 
name immediately, besides giving him a few directions. 

Enter Zeke, l. u. h. Mrs. Tiffany addresses him with 

great dignity. 
Your name, I hear, is Ezekiel. — I consider it too plebeian 
an appellation to be uttered in my presence. In future you 
are called A-dolph. Don't reply, — never interrupt me when 
I am speaking. A-dolph, as my guests arrive, I desire 
that you will inquire the name of every person, and then 
announce it in a loud, clear tone. That is the fashion in 
Paris. [Millinette retires up the stage. 

Zeke. Consider de office discharged. Missus. 

[speaking nery loudly. 
Mrs. Tif. Silence ! Your business is to obey and not 
to talk. 

Zeke. I'm dumb. Missus ! 

Mrs. Tif. (pointing up stage) A-dolph, place i\idXfow- 
tool behind me. 

Zeke. (looking about him) I hab'nt got dat far in de 
dictionary yet. No matter, a genus gets his learning by 
nature. [takes up the table and places it behind Mrs. 

Tiffany, then expresses in dumb show 

great satisfaction. Mrs. Tiffany, «s 5^e 

goes to sit, discovers the mistake. 

Mrs. Tif. You dolt ! Where have you lived not to 

know that /b?(;-^ooZ is the French for arm-chair? What 

isrnorance ! Leave the room this instant. 

[Mrs. T IFF A'NY draws forward an arm-chair and 



Scene L] FASHION. 5 

sits. MiLLiNETTE couies fovward sup- 
pressing her merriment at Zeke's mistake 
and removes the table. 

Zeke. Dem's de defects ob not having a libery education. 

[Exit L. 3. E. 
Prudence peeps in, r. u. e. 

Pru. I wonder if any of the fine folks have come yet. 
Not a soul, — I knew they hadn't. There's Betsy all alone 
(ivalJis in) . Sister Betsy ! 

Mrs, Tif. c. Prudence ! how many times have I desired 
you to call me Elizabeth ? Betsy is the height of vul- 
garity. 

Pru. L. Oh ! I forgot. Dear me, how spruce we do look 
here, to be sure, — everything in first rate style now, Betsy. 

[Mrs. T. looks at her angrily. 
Elizabeth I mean. Who would have thought, when you 
and I were sitting behind that little mahogany-colored 
counter, in Canal Street, making up fiashy hats and caps — 

Mrs. Tif. Prudence, what do you mean ? Millinette, 
leave the room. 

Mil. R. Oui, Madame. 

[Millinette pretends to arrange the books 
upon a side table, but lingers to listen. 

Pru. But I always predicted it, — I always told you so, 
Betsy, — I always said you were destined to rise above your 
station ! 

Mrs, Tif. Prudence ! Prudence ! have I not told you 
that— 

Pru. No, Betsy, it was I that told you, when we used 
to buy our silks and ribbons of Mr. Antony Tiffany — ^^ talk- 
ing Tony,^' you know we used to call him, and when you 
always put on the finest bonnet in our shop to go to his, — 
and when you staid so long smiling and chattering with him, 
I alwavs told you that something would grow out of it — and 
didn't "it? 

Mrs. Tif. Millinette, send Seraphina here instantly. 
Leave the room. 

Mil. Oui, Madame. So dis Americaine ladi of fashion 
vas one milliner ? Oh, vat a fine countrv for les merchandes 
des modes ! I shall send for all my relation by de next 
packet ! (aside). [Exit Millinette r. w. u. e. 

Mrs. Tif. Prudence ! never let me hear you mention 



FA^riHION. 



[Act ^' 



this subject again. Forget what we haveheen, it is enough 
to remember that we are of the upper ten thousand f 

[Prudence ffoes up l. c. and sits down. 
Enter Seraphina r. u. e., veri/ extravagantly dressed. 

Mrs. Tif. How bevvitchingly you look, my dear ! Does 
MiHinette say that that head dress is strictly Parisian ? 

Seraphina r. Oh yes, Mamma, all the rage ! They 
call it a ladifs tarpaulin, and it is the exact pattern of one 
worn by the Princess Clementina at the last court ball. 

Mrs. Tif. L. Now, Seraphina my dear, don't be too 
particular in your atten^ons to gentlemen not eligible. 
There is Count Jolimaitre, decidedly the most fashionable 
foreigner in town, — and so refined, — so much accustomed, 
to associate with the first nobility in his own country that 
he can hardly tolerate the vulgarity of Americans in general. 
You may devote yourself to him. Mrs. Proudacre is dying 
to become acquainted with him. By the by, if she or her 
daughters should happen to drop in, be sure you don't 
introduce them to the Count. It is not the fashion in 
Paris to introduce — MiHinette told me so. 

Enter Zeke, l. u. e. 
Zeke. (in a very loud voice) Mister T. Tennyson 
Twinkle ! 

Mrs. Tif. Show him up. 

\Exit Zeke l. 

Pru. I must be running away ! [ffoing. 

Mrs. Tif. Mr. T. Tennyson Twinkle — a very literary 

young man and a sweet poet ! It is all the rage to patronize 

poets ! Quick, Seraphina, hand me that magazine. — Mr. 

Twinkle whites for it. 

[Seraphina hands the magazine, Mrs. T. seats 
herself in an arm-chair and opens the book. 
Pru. (returning l.) There's Betsy trying to make out 
that reading without her spectacles. 

[takes a pair of spectacles out of her pocket 
and hands them to Mrs. Tiffany. 
There, Betsy, I knew you were going to ask for them. 
Ah! they're a blessing when one is growing old ! 

Mrs. Tif What do you mean. Prudence ? A woman 

of fashion 7iever grows old ! Age is always out of fashion. 

Pru. Oh, dear ! what a delightful thing it is to be 



Scene I,] FASHION 7 

fashionable. [Exit Prudence, r. u e. Mrs. Tiffany 

resumes her seat. 

Enter Twinkle, l. u. e. {salutes Seraphina.) 

Twin. Fair Serapliina ! the sun itself grows dim, 
Unless you aid his light and shine on him ! 

Sera. Ah ! Mr. Twinkle, there is no such thing as 
ansvverino; vou. 

Twin, (loo/is around and perceives INIrs. Tiffany) The 
*' New Mosithly Vernal Galaxy." Reading my verses by 
all that's charming ! Sensible woman ! I wo'nt interrupt 
her. (aside). * 

Mrs. Tif. (rising and coming forward) Ah ! Mr. Twin- 
kle, is that you? I was perfectly ahime at the perusal of 
your very distingue verses. 

Twin, I am overwhelmed, Madam. Permit me (taking 
the magazine). Yes, they do read tolerably. And you 
must take into consideration, ladies, the rapidity with which 
they were written. Four minutes and a half by the stop 
watch ! The true test of a poet is the velocity with which 
he composes. Really they do look very prettily, and they 
read tolerably — quite tolerably — very tolerably, — especially 
the first verse, (reads) " To Seraphina T ." 

Sera. Oh ! IMr. T^N^inkle ! 

Twin, (reads) " Around my heart" — 

Mrs. Tif. How touching ! Really, Mr. Twinkle, quite 
tender ! 

Twin, (recommencing) " Around my heart" — 

Mrs. Tif. Oh, I must tell you, Mr. Twinkle ! I heard 
the other day that poets w^ere the aristocrats of literature. 
That's one reason I Hke them, for I do dote on all aris- 
tocracy ! 

Twin. Oh, Madam, how flattering ! Now pray lend 
me your ears ! (reads) 

"Around my heart thou weavest"-^ 

Sera. r. That is such a sweet commencement, Mr. 
Twinkle ! 

Twin. L. I wish she wouldn't interrupt me !^^ (aside) 
(reads) " Arouud my heart thou weavest a spell" — 

Mrs. Tif. c. Beautiful ! But excuse me one moment, 
while I say a word to Seraphina ! Don't be too affable, 
my dear ! Poets are very ornamental appendages to the 



8 FASHION. [Act I. 

drawing room, but they are always as poor as their own 
verses. They don't make ehgible husbands ! 

(aside to Seraphina). 

Twin. Confound their interruptions ! (aside) My dear 

Madam, unless you pay the utmost attention you cannot 

catch the ideas. Are you ready ? Well, now you shall 

hear it to the end! (reads) — 

" Around my heart thou w^avest a spell 
« Whose"— 

Enter Zeke, l. 
Zeke. Mister Augustus Fogg ! A bery misty lookin 
young gemman ? (aside). 

Mrs. Tif. Show him up, Adolph ! 

[Exit Zeke l. 
Twin. This is too much ! 

Sera. Exquisite verses, Mr. Twinkle, — exquisite ! 
Twin. Ah, lovely Seraphina ! your smile of approval 
transports me to the summit of Olympus. 

Sera. Then I must frown, for I would not send you so 
far away. 

Twin. Enchantress ! Its all over with her. (aside) 

[Retire up r. and converse, 
Mrs. Tif. Mr. Fogg belongs to one of our oldest fami- 
lies, — to be sure he is the most difficult person in the world 
to entertain, for he never takes the trouble to talk, and 
never notices anything or anybody, — ^but then I hear that 
nothing is considered so vulgar as to betray any emotion, 
or to attempt to render oneself agreeable ! 
Enter Mr. Fogg, l., fashionably attired hut in very dark 

clothes. 
Fogg, (bowing stiffly) Mrs. Tiffany, your most obedient. 
Miss Seraphina, yours. How d'ye do Twinkle ? 

Mrs. Tif. Mr. Fogg, how do you do ? Fine weather, 
— delightful, isn't it ? 

Fogg. I am indifferent to weather. Madam. 
Mrs. Tif. Been to the opera, Mr. Fogg ? I hear that 
the bow monde make their debutt there every evening. 
Fogg. I consider operas a bore. Madam. 
Sera, (advancing) You must hear Mr. Twinkle's verses, 
Mr. Fogg ! 

Fogg. I am indifferent to verses. Miss Seraphina. 
Sera, But Mr. Twinkle's verses are addressed to me ! 



Scene I.] FASHION. 9 

Tivin. Now pay attention, Fogg ! (reads) — 
"Around my heart thou weavest a spell 
"Whose magic 1" — 

Enter Zeke l.,u. e. 

Zeke. Mister — No, he say he aint no Mister — 

Tivin. " Around my heart thou weavest a spell 
"Whose masic I can never tell !" 

Mis. Tif. Speak in a loud, clear tone, A-dolph ! 

Twin, This is terrible ! 

Zeke. Mister Count Jolly-made-her ! 

Mrs. Tif. Count Jolimaitre ! Good gracious ! Zeke, 
Zeke- — A-dolph I mean. — Dear me, what a mistake ! (aside) 
Set that chair out of the way, — put that table back. Sera- 
phina, my dear, are you all in order ? Dear me ! dear 
me ! Your dress is so tumbled ! (arranges her dress) 
What are you grinning at ? (to Zeke) Beg the Count to 
honor us by walking up ! \Exit Zeke, l. 

Seraphina, my dear (aside to her), remember now what I 
told you about the Count. He is a man of the highest, — 
good gracious ! I am so flurried ; and nothing is so ungen- 
teel as agitation ! what will the Count think ! Mr. Twin- 
kle, pray stand out of the way ! Seraphina, my dear, 
place yourself on my right ! Mr. Fogg, the conservatory 
— beautiful flowers, — pray amuse yourself in the conser- 
vatory. 

Fogg. I am indifferent to flowers, Madam. 

Mrs. Tif. Dear me ! the man stands right in the way, 
— just where the Count must make his entray ! [aside, 
Mr. Fogg, — pray — 

Enter Count Jolimaitre, L.u.E.verij dashingly dressed, 

icears a moustache. 

Mrs. Tif. Oh, Count, this unexpected honor — 

Sera. Count, this inexpressible pleasure — 

Count. Beg you won't mention it, !Madam ! Miss Sera- 
phina, your most devoted ! (crosses to c.) 

Mrs. Tif. What condescension ! (aside) Count may 
I take the Hberty to introduce — Good gracious ! I forgot. 
(aside) Count, I was about to remark that we never intro- 
duce in America. All our fashions are foreign, Count. 

[Twinkle, tvho has stepped forward to he 
introduced, shows great indignation. 

Count, c. Excuse me, Madam, our fashions have grown 



10 FASHION. [-^CT I. 

antideluvian before you Americans discover their existence. 
You are lamentably behind the age — lamentably ! 'Pon 
my honor, a foreigner of refinement finds great difficulty 
in existing in this provincial atmosphere. 

Mrs. Tif. How dreadful, Count ! I am very much 
concerned. If there is anything which I can do, Count — 

Sera. r. Or I, Count, to render your situation less de- 
plorable — 

Count. Ah ! I find but one redeeming charm in America 
— the superlative loveliness of the feminine portion of crea- 
tion, — and the wealth of their obliging papas, (aside) 

3Irs. Tif. How flattering ! Ah ! Count, I am afraid 
you will turn the head of my simple girl here. She is a 
perfect child of nature, Count. 

Cou7it. Very possibly, for though you American women 
are quite charming, yet, demme, there's a deal of native 
rust to rub off ! 

3Trs. Tif. Rust.? Good gracious, Ct»unt ! where do 
you find any rust ? \lookimj about the room. 

Count. How very unsophisticated ! 

Mrs. Tif. Count, I am so much ashamed, — pray ex- 
cuse me ! Although a iady of large fortune, and one. 
Count, who can boast of the highest connections, I blush 
to confess that I have never travelled, — while you. Count, 
I presume are at home in all the courts of Europe. 

Count. Courts ? Eh ? Oh, yes, Madam, very true. 
I believe I am pretty well known in some of the courts of 
Europe — police courts, (aside^ crossing, l..) In a word. 
Madam, I had seen enough of civilized life — wanted to 
refresh myself by a sight of barbarous countries and cus- 
toms — had my choice between the Sandwich Islands and 
New York — chose New York ! 

Mrs. Tif. How complimentary to our country ! And, 
Count, I have no doubt you speak every conceivable lan- 
guage 1 You talk English like a native. 

Count. Eh, what ? Like a native ? Oh, ah, demme, 
yes, I am something of an Englishman. Passed one year 
and eight months with the Duke of Wellington, six months 
"with Lord Brougham, two and a half with Count d'Orsay 
■ — knew them all more intimately than their best friends — 
no heroes to me — hadn't a secret from me, I assure you, — 
esjpecially of the toilet, (aside). 



Scene!,] FASHION. 11 

Mrs. Tif. Think of that, my dear ! Lord Wellington 
and Duke Broom ! [aside to Seraphina. 

Sera. And only think of Count d'Orsay, Mamma ! 
{aside to Mrs. Tiffany) I am so wild to see Count d'Or- 
say ! 

Count L. Oh ! a mere man milliner. Very little refine- 
ment out of Paris ? Why at the very last dinner siven at 
Lord — Lord Kuowswho, would you believe it. Madam, 
there was an individual present who wore a black cravat 
and took soup twice ! 

Mrs. Tif. c. How shocking! the sight of him would 
have spoilt my appetite ! Think what a great man he 
must be, my dear, to despise lords and counts in that way. 
(aside to Seraphina.) I must leave them together, (aside.) 
Mr. Twinkle, your arm. I have some really \&Yy foreign 
exotics to show you. 

Twin. I fly at your command. I wish all her exotics 
were blooming in their native soil ! 

[aside^ and glancing at the Count. 

Mrs. Tif. Mr. Fogg, will you accompany us ? My 
conservatory is well worthy a visit. It cost an immense 
sum of money. 

Fogg. I am indifferent to conservatories. Madam ; 
flowers are such a bore ! 

Mrs. Tif. I shall take no refusal. Conservatories are 
all the rage, — I could not exist without mine ! Let me 
show you, — let me show you. 

\_places her arm through Mr. Fogg's, without 
his consent. Exeunt Mrs. Tiffany, Fogg, 
and Twinkle into the conservatory^ where 
they are seen walking ahout. 

Sera. America, then, has no charms for you. Count 1 

Count. Excuse me, — some exceptions. I find you, for 
instance, particularly charming ! Can't say I admire your 
country. Ah ! if you had ever breathed the exhilarating 
air of Paris, ate creams at Tortoni's, dined at the Cafe 
Royale, or if you had lived in London — felt at home at St. 
James's, and every afternoon driven a couple of Lords and 
a Duchess through Hyde Park, you would find America 
— where you have no kings, queens, lords, nor ladies — in- 
supportable 1 

Sera. Not while there was a Count in it ? 



12. FASHION. [Act 1. 

Miter Zeke, l. u. e. veri/ indignant. 

Zeke. Where's de Missus ? 
Enter Mrs. Tiffany, Fogg, and Twinkle, fi^om the 

conservatory. 

3frs. Tif. Whom do you come to announce, A-dolph ? 

Zeke. He said he wouldn't trust me — no, not eben wid 
so much as his name; so I wouldn't trust him up stairs, 
den he ups wid his stick and I cuts mine. 

3Irs. Tif. Some of Mr. Tiffany's vulgar acquaintances. 
I shall die with shame, (aside) A-dolph, inform him that 
I am not at home. [Exit Zeke, l.. u. e. 

My nerves are so shattered, I am ready to sink. Mr. 
Twinkle, that/ow; tool, if you please ! 

Twin. What ? What do you wish. Madam ? 

Mrs. Tif. The ignorance of these Americans ! (aside) 
Count, ma}'^ I trouble you ? That/bz^; tool, if you please! 

Count. She's not talking English, nor French, but I 
suppose it's American, (aside.) 

True, (outside.) Not at home! 

Zeke. No, Sar — Missus say she's not at home. 

True. Out of the way you grinning nigger! 

Enter Adam Trueman, l. u. e., dressed as a farmer, 
a stout cane in his hand, his boots covered with dust. 
Zeke jum^s out of his way as he enters. 

[Exit Zeke, l. 

True. Where's this woman that's not at home in her 
own house? May I be shot! if 1 wonder at it! I should' nt 
think she'd ever feel at home in such a show-box as this! 

(looking round.) 

Mrs. Tif. What a plebeian looking old farmer! I wonder 
who he is ? (aside.) Sir — {advancing very agitatedly) what 
do you mean. Sir, by this oii^dacious conduct? How dare 
you intrude yourself into my parlor? Do you know who 
I am, Sir ? (with great dignity) You are in the presence 
of Mrs. Tiffany, Sir' 

True. Antony's wife, eh? Well now, I might have 
guessed that — ha! ha! ha! for I see you make it a point 
to carry half your husband's shop upon your back! No 
matter; that's being a good helpmate — for he carried the 
whole of it once in a pack on his own shoulders — now you 
bear a share! 



Scenic I.] FASHION. 13 

Mrs. Tif. How dare you, you impertinent, o^^dacious, 
ignorant old man ! Its all an invention. You're talking 
of somebody else. What will the Count think ! (aside) 

True. Why, I thoue-ht folks had better manners in the 
city ! This is a civil welcome for your husband's old friend, 
and after my coming all the way from Catterangus to see 
you and yours ! First a grinning nigger tricked out in 
scarlet resiimentals — 

Mi-s. Tif. Let me tell you. Sir, that liveries are all the 
fashion ! 

True. The fashion, are they 1 To make men wear the 
bndfje df servitude in a free land, — that's the fashion, is it? 
Hurrah, for republican simplicity ! I will venture to say 
novv, that you have your coat of arms too ! 

Mrs. Tif. Certainly, Sir ; you can see it on the panels 
of my voyture. 

True. Oh ! no need of that. I know what your es- 
cutcheon must be ! A bandbox rampant with a bonnet 
couchanti and a pedlar's pack passant ! Ha, ha, ha ! that 
shows both houses united ! 

Mrs. Tif. Sir ! you are most profoundly ignorant, — 
what do you mean by this insolence. Sir ? How shall I 
get rid of him ? (aside) 

True. {looJdng at Seraphina) I hope that is not Ger- 
trude ! (aside) 

Mrs. Tif. Sir, I'd have you know that — Seraphina, 
my child, walk with the gentlemen into the conservatory. 
\_Fxeimt Seraphina, Twinkle, Fogg i?ito 
conservatoi'y. 

Count Jolimaitre, pray make due allowances for the errors 
of this rustic ! I do assure you. Count — {whispers to him) 

True. Count ! She calls that critter with a shoe brush 
over his mouth. Count ! To look at him, I should have 
thought he was a tailor's walking advertisement! (aside) 

Count, (addressing Trueman ivhom he has been in- 
specting through his eije-glass) Where did you say you 
belonged, my friend 1 Dug out of the ruins of Pompeii, 
eh? 

True. I belong to a land in which I rejoice to find that 
you are a foreigner. 

Count. What a barbarian ! He doesn't see the honor 
I'm doing his country ! Pra}', Madam, is it one of the 



14 FASHION. [Act I. 

aboriginal inhabitants of the soil ? To what tribe of Indians 
does he belong — the Pawnee or Choctaw ? Does he carry 
a tomahawk ? 

True. Something quite as useful, — do you see that ? 

[Shaking his stick. Count imns to r. h. 
behind Mrs. Tiffany. 
Mrs. Tif. Oh, dear ! I shall faint ! Millinette ! {ajp- 
'groaching r. d.) Millinette ! 

Enter Millinette, r. d., without advancing into the room. 

Milli. Oui, Madame. 

Mrs. Tif. A glass of water ! [Exit Millinette, r. 
Sir, {crossing l. to Trueman) I am shocked at your ple- 
beian conduct ! This is a gentleman of the highest stand- 
ing, Sir ! He is a County Sir ! 

Enter Millinette, r., hearing a salver with a glass of 
water. In advancing towards Mrs. Tiffany, she passes 
in front of the Count, starts and screams. The Count, 
after a start of sur 'prise, regains his composure^ plays with 
his eye glass i and looks perfectly unconcerned. 

Mrs. Tif What is the matter? What is the matter? 

Milli. Noting, noting, — only — {looks at Count and 
turns away her eyes again) only — noting at all ! 

True. Don't be afraid, girl ! Why, did you never see 
a live Count before ? He's tame, — I dare say your mistress 
there leads him about by the ears. 

Mrs. Tif. This is too much ! MiUinette, send for Mr. 
Tiffany instantly ! 

[crosses to Millinette, who is going, 3 e. l. 

Milli. He just come in, Madame ! 

True. My old friend ! Where is he ? Take me to 
him, — I long to have one more hearty shake of tlje hand ! 
Mrs. Tif. {crosses to Mm.) Count, honor me by join- 
ing my daughter in the conservatory, I will return imme- 
diately. 

[Count bows and walks towards conservatoj'y. 
Mrs. T IFF AisiY following part of the way 
and then returning to Trueman. 

True. What a Jezebel ! These women always play the 
very devil with a man, and yet I don't believe such a 



Scene I.] FASHION. 15 

damaged bale of goods as that {looldng at Mrs. Tiffany) 
has smothered the heart of httle Antony ! 
Mrs. T'lf. This way. Sir, sal vous plait. 

\Tlxit L. with great dignity. 

True. Sal voifs jjlait. Ha, ha, ha ! We'll see what 
Fashion has done for hira. 

[Exit L. 



EN1> OF ACT I. 



16 FASHION. [Act II. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I. 

Inner apartment q/*Mr. Tiffany's Counting House. Mr. 
Tiffany, r. c, seated at a desk looking over papers. 
Mr. Snobson, l. c, on a high stool at another desk, 
with a pen behind his ear. 

Snobson. (rising l., advances L. to the front of the 
stage, regards Tiffany and shrugs his shoulders) Ho\\ 
the old boy frets and fumes over those papers, to be sure ! 
He's working himself into a perfect fever — ex-actiy, — there- 
fore bleeding's the prescription ! So here goes ! (aside) 
Mr. Tiffany, a word with you, if jou please, Sir ? 

Tif. (sitting still) Speak on, Mr. Snobson, I attend. 

Snob. What I have to say. Sir, is a matter of the first 
importance to the credit of the concern — the credit of the 
concern, Mr. Tiffany ! 

Tif. Proceed, Mr. Snobson. 

Snob. Sir you've a handsome house — fine carriage — 
nigger in livery — feed on the fat of the land— everything 
first rate — 

Tif Well, Sir? 

Snob. My salary, Mr. Tiffany ! 

Tif. It has been raised three times within the last year. 

Snob. Still it is insufficient for the necessities of an * 
honest man, — mark me, an honest man, Mr. Tiffany. 

Tif. (crossing l.) What a weapon he has made of that 
word ! (aside) Enough — another hundred shall be added. 
Does that content you ? 

Snob. There is one other subject which I have before 
mentioned, Mr. Tiffany, — your daughter, — w-hat's the rea- 
son you can't let the folks at home know at once that I'm 
to bo the man ? 

Tif. Villain ! And must the only seal upon this scoun- 
drel's lips be placed there by the hand of my daughter 1 
(aside) Well, Sir, it shall be as you d(5Sire. 

Snob. x\nd Mrs. Tiffany shall be informed of your re- 
solution ? 

Tif. Yes. 



Scene I.] fashion. 



17 



Snob. Enough said ! That's the ticket ! The credit 
of the concern! s safe, Sir ! 

[^returns to his seat. 
JTif. How low have I howeJ to this insolent rascal ! 
To rise himself he mounts upon my shoulders, and unless 
I can shake him olf he must crush me ! (aside) 
Unter Trueman, c, doivn on l. h. 
True. Here I am, Antony, man 1 I told you I'd pay 
you a visit in your money-making quarters, (loo/cs around) 
But it looks as dismal here as a cell in the States' prison ! 
^i/"- {forcing a laugh) Ha, ha, ha ! States' prison ! 
You are so facetious ! Ha, ha, ha ! 

True. Well, for the life of me I can't see anything so 
amusing in that ! I should think the States' prison plaguy 
uncomfortable lodgings. And you laugh, man, as though 
you fancied yourself there already. 
Tif. Ha, ha, ha ! 

True, (imitating him) Ha, ha, ha ! "What on earth 
do you mean by that ill-sounding laugh, that has nothing 
of a laugh about it ! This fashioii-worship has made hea- 
thens and hypocrites of you all ! Deception is your house- 
hold God ! A man laughs as if he were crying, and cries 
as if he were laughing in his sleeve. Everything is some- 
thing else from what it seems to be. I have lived in your 
house only three days, and I've heard more lies than were 
ever invented during a Presidential election ! First your 
fine lady of a wife sends me word that she's not at home — 
I walk up stairs, and she takes good care that I shall not 
be at home — wants to turn me out of doors. Then gou 
come in — take your old friend by the hand — whisper, the 
deuce knows what, in your wife's ear, and the tables are 
turned in a tangent ! Madam curtsies — says she's enchanted 
to see me — and orders her grinning nigger to show me a 
room. 

Tif. We were exceedingly happy to welcome you as 
our guest ! 

True. Happy ? You happy ? Ah ! Antony ! Antony ! 
that hatchet face of your's, and those criss-cross furrows 
tell quite another story ! It's many a long day since you 
were happg at anything ! You look as if you'd melted 
down your flesh into dollars, and mortgaged your soul in 
the bargain ! Your warm heart has grown cold over your 



18 FASHION. [Act II. 

ledger — your light spirits heavy "with calculation ! You 
have traded away your youth — your hopes — your tastes for 
wealth ! and now you have the wealth you coveted, what 
does it profit you? Pleasure it cannot buy ; for you have 
lost your capacity for enjoyment — Ease it will not bring ; 
for the love of gain is never satisfied ! It has made your 
counting-house a penitentiary, and your home a fashionable 
museum where there is no niche for you ! You have spent 
so m.uch time ciphering in the one, that you find yourself 
at last a very cipher in the other ! See me, man ! seventy- 
two last August! — strong as a hickory and every whit as 
sound ! 

Tif. I take the greatest pleasure in remarking your 
superiority. Sir. 

True. Bah ! no man takes pleasure in remarking the 
superiority of another? Why the deuce, can't you speak 
the truth, man? But it's not the fashion I suppose! I 
have not seen one frank, open face since — no, no, I can't 
say that either, though lying is catching ! There's that 
girl, Gertrude, who is trying to teach your daughter music 
— but Gertrude was bred in the country ! 

Tif. A good girl ; my wife and daughter find her very 
useful. 

True. Useful ? Well I must say you have queer no- 
tions of use ! — But come, cheer up, man ! I'd rather see 
one of your old smiles, than- know you'd realized another 
thousand ! I hear you are making money on the true, 
American, high pressure system — better go slow and sure 
— the more steam, the greater danger of the boiler's burst- 
ing ! All sound, I hope ? Nothing rotten at the core ? 

Tif. Oh, sound — quite sound ! 

True. Well that's pleasant — though I must say you 
do'nt look very pleasant about it ! 

Tif. My good friend, although I am solvent, I may say, 
perfectly solvent — yet you — the fact is, you can be of some 
assistance to me ! 

True. That's the fact is it? I'm glad we've hit upon 
onQfact at last ! Well — 

[Snobson, who during this conversation has 
been employed in writing^ but stops occa- 
sionally to listen^ now gives vent to a dry 
chuckling laugh» 



Scene II.] fashion. 19 

True. Hey ? What's that ? Another of those deuced 
ill-sounding, city laughs ! {sees Snobson) Who's that perched 
up on the stool of repentance — eh, Antony ? 

'Siiob. The old bov has missed his text there — that^s 
the stool of repentance ! 

[aside and looking at Tiffany's seat. 
Tif. One of my clerks — my confidential clerk ! 
True. Confidential? Why he looks for all the world 
like a spy — the most inquisitorial, hang-dog face — ngh ! 
the sight of it makes ray blood run cold ! Come, {crosses 
R.) let us talk over matters where this critter can't give us 
the benefit of his opinion ! Antony, the next time you 
choose a confidential clerk, take one that carries his cre- 
dentials in his face — those in his pocket are not worth 
much without ! 

[Uxemit Trueman atid Tiffany, r. 1 e. 
Snob, {jumping from his stool and advancing c.) The 
old prig has got the tin, or Tiff would never be so civil ! 
All right — Tiff will work every shiner into the concern — 
all the better for me ! Now I'll go and make love to 
Seraphina. The old woman needn't try to knock me down 
with any of her French lingo ! Six months from to-day if 
aint drivino; mv two footmen tandem, down Broadway — 
and as fashionable as Mrs. Tiffany herself, then I aint the 
trump I thought I was! that's all. {looks at his watch) 
Bless me! eleven o'clock and I haven't had my julep yet? 
Snobson, I'm ashamed of you! 

[Exity L. 

SCENE II. 

The intej'ior of a beautiful conservatory ; walk through the 
centre ; stands of flower pots iii bloom; a couple of 
rustic seats. Gertrude, r. c, attired in whitCy 
with a ivhite rose in her hair; watering the flowers. 
Colonel Howard, l., regarding her. 

How.y L. c. I am afraid you lead a sad life here, Miss 
Gertrude? 

Ger., r. c. {turning round gaily) What ! amongst the 
flowers ? {continues her occupation) 

How. No, amongst the thistles, with which Mrs. Tif- 
fany surrounds you ; the tempests, which her temper raises ! 

Ger. They never harm me. Flowers and herbs are 

c 2 



20 FASHION. [A^CT II. 

excellent tutors. I learn prudence from the reed, and bend 
until the storm has swept over me ! 

How. Admirable philosophy I But still this frigid at- 
mospbere of fashion must be uncongenial to you? Accus- 
tomed to the pleasant companionship of your kind friends 
in Geneva, surely you must regret this cold exchange ? 

Ger. Do you think so? Can you suppose that 1 could 
possibly prefer a ramble in the woods to a promenade in 
Broadway ? A wreath of scented wild flowers to a bouquet 
of these sickly exotics ? The odour of new-mown hay to 
the heated air of this crowded conservatory ? Or can you 
imagine that I could enjoy the quiet conversation of my 
Geneva friends, more than the edifying chit-chat of a 
fashionable drawing room? But I see you think me totally 
destitute of taste? 

How. You have a merry spirit to jest thus at your 
grievances ! 

Ger. I have my mania, — as some wise person declares 
that all mankind have, — and mine is a love of independ- 
ence ! In Geneva, my wants were supplied by two kind old 
maiden ladies, upon whom I know not that I have any J 

claim. I had abilities, and desired to use them. I came 
here at my own request ; for here I am no longer depend- 
ent! Voila tout, as Mrs. Tiffany would say. 

How. Believe me, I appreciate the confidence you re- 
pose in me ! 

Ger. Confidence ! Truly, Colonel Howard, the confi- 
dence is entirely on your part, in supposing that I confide 
that which I have no reason to conceal ! I think I informed 
you that Mrs. Tiffany only received visitors on her reception 
day — she is therefore not prepared to see you. Zeke — Oh! 
I beg his pardon — Adolph, made some mistake in admitting 
you. 

How. Nay, Gertrude, it was not Mrs. Tiffany, nor 
Miss Tiffany, whom I came to see ; it — it was — 

Ger. The conservatory perhaps ? I will leave you to 
examine the flowers at leisure ! (crosses i..) 

How. Gertrude — listen to me. If I only dared to 
give utterance to what is hovering upon my lips! (aside) 
Gertrude ! 

Ger. Colonel Howard ! 

How. Gertrude, I must — must — 



Scene II.] fashion, 21 

Ger. Yes, indeed you 7;w5^, must leave me! I think 
I hear somebody coming — Mrs. Tiffany would not be well 
pleased to find you here — pray, pray leave me — that door 
will lead you into the street. 

[Hurries him out tJirovgh door, c. f. ; takes up 
her watering pot, and commences watering 
jiowers, tying up branches, ^^c. 

What a strange being is man! Why should he hesitate 
to say — nay, why should I prevent his saying, what I 
would most delight to hear? Truly man is strange — but 
woman is quite as incomprehensible ! 

{walks about gathering flowers^ 

Enter Count Jolimaitre, l. u. e. 

Count. There she is — the bewitching little creature ! 
Mrs. Tiffany and her daughter are out of ear-shot. I caught 
a glimpse of their feathers floating down Broadway, not ten 
minutes ago. Just the opportunity I have been looking 
for ! Now for an engagement with this captivating little 
piece of prudery! 'Pon honor, I am almost afraid she 
will not resist a Count long enough to give value to the 
conquest, {approaches her) Ma belle petite, were you ga- 
thering roses for me ? 

Ger. {starts on first perceiving him, but instantly re- 
gains her self-possession) The roses here. Sir, are carefully 
guarded with thorns — if you have the right to gather, pluck 
for yourself! 

Count. Sharp as ever, little Gertrude ! But now that 
we are alone, throw off this frigidity, and be at your ease. 

Ger. Permit me to be alone, Sir, that I may be at my 
ease ! 

Count. Very good, ma belle, well said ! {applauding her 
with his hands) Never yield too soon, even to a title! But, 
as the old girl may find her way back before long, we may 
as well come to particulars at once. I love you ; but that 
you know already, {rubbing his eye-glass unconcernedly with 
his handkerchief) Before long I shall make Mademoiselle 
Seraphina my wife, and, of course, you shall remain in 
the family ! 

Ger. {indignantly) Sir — 

Count. 'Pon my honor you shall! In France we arrange 
these' little matters without difficulty ! 



22 FASHION. [A.CT1I. 

Ger. But I am an American! Your conduct proves 
that you are not one ! [[/oiny, crosses, r. h. 

Count, (preventing her) Don't run away, my immacu- 
late petite Americaine! Demme, you've quite overlooked 
my condescension — the difference of our stations — you a 
species of upper servant — an orphan — no friends. 

Enter Trueman unj)e7'ceived, r. u. e. 

Ger. And therefore more entitled to the respect and 
protection of every true gentleman ! Had you been one, 
3^ou would not have insulted me ! 

Count. My charming little orator, patriotism and decla- 
mation become you particularly ! {approaches her) I feel 
quite tempted to taste — 

True, {thrusting him aside) An American hickory switch! 
(strikes him) Well, how do you like it ? 

Count. Old matter-of-fact! {aside) Sir, how dare you? 

True. My stick has answered that question ! 

Ger. Oh ! now I am quite safe ! 

True. Safe ! not a bit safer than before ! All women 
would be safe, if they knew how virtue became them ! As 
for you, Mr. Count, what have you to say for yourself? 
Come, speak out! 

Count. Sir, — aw — aw — you don't understand these 
matters ! 

True. That's a fact ! Not having had your experience, 
I don't believe I do understand them! 

Count. A piece of pleasantry — a mere joke — 

True. A joke was it? I'll show you a joke worth two 
of that ! I'll teach you the way we natives joke with a 
puppy who don't respect an honest woman! (seizing him) 

Count. Oh ! oh ! demme — ^y ou old ruffian 1 let me go. 
What do you mean? 

True. Oh! a piece of pleasantry — a mere joke — very 
pleasant isn't it? 

[Attempts to strike him again ; Count strug-^ 
gles with him. £'?2^er Mrs. Tiffany Aas- 
tily, L 2 E., in her bonnet and shawl. 

3Irs. Tif. What is the matter? I am perfectly aUm6 
with terror. Mr. Trueman, what has happened? 
True. Oh ! we have been joking I 
Mrs. Tif. {to Count, who is re-arranging his dress) 



Scene II.] FASHION. 23 

My dear Count, I did not expect to find jou here — how 
kind of you ! 

True. Your dear Count, has been showing his kindness 
in'a xtxy foreign manner. Too foreign I think, he found 
it to be relished by an U7i fashionable native! What do you 
think of a puppy, who insults an innocent girl all in the 
way of kindness? This Count of your' s — this importation 
of — 

Count, My dear Madam, demme, permit me to explain. 
It would be unbecoming — demme — particularly unbecoming 
of you — aw — aw — to pay any attention to this ignorant 
person, (crosses to Trueman.) Anything that he says 
concerning a man of my standing — aw — the truth is, 
Madam — 

True. Let us have the truth by all means, — if it is only 
for the novelty's sake! 

Count, (turning his hack to Trueman) You see, madam, 
hoping to obtain a few moments' private conversation with 
Miss Seraphina — with 3Iiss Seraphina I say — and — aw — 
and knowing her passion for flowers, I found my way to 
your very tasteful and recherche conservatory, (looks about 
him approvingly) Very beautifully arranged — does you great 
credit, madam! Here I encountered this young person. 
She was inclined to be talkative ; and I indulged her with 
— with a — aw — demme — a few commonplaces! What passed 
between us was mere harmless badinage — on my part. You, 
madam, you — so conversant with our European manners — 
you are aware that when a man of fashion — that is, when 
a woman — a man is bound — amongst noblemen, you know — 

Mrs. Tif I comprehend you perfectly — parjittement, 
my dear Count. 

Count. 'Pon my honor, that's very obliging of her. 

(aside) 

Mrs Tif. I am shocked at the plebeian forwardness of 
this conceited girl ! 

True, (walking up to Count) Did you ever keep a 
reckoning of the lies you tell in an hour? 

Mrs Tif 'Mx. Trueman, I blush for you! 

(crosses c, to Trueman) 

True. Don't do that — you have no blushes to spare ! 
Mrs. Tif, It is a man of rank whom you are addressing, 






24: FASHION. [Act II. 

True. A rank villain, Mrs. Antony Tiffany ! A rich 
one he would be, had he as much (/old as brass! 

Mrs. Tif. Pray pardon him, Count ; he knows nothing 
of how ton! 

Count. Demme, he's beneath my notice. I tell you 
what, old fellow — (Trueman raises his stick as Count 
approaches, the latter starts back) the sight of him discom- 
poses me — aw — I feel quite uncomfortable — aw — let us join 
vour charming daughter? I can't do you the honor to 
shoot you, Sir — {to Trueman) you are beneath me — a 
nobleman can't xight a commoner! Good bye, old True- 
penny! I — aw — I'm insensible to your insolence! 

[Exeunt Count and Mrs. Tiffany, r. h. u. e. 

True. You won't be insensible to a cow hide in spite of 
your nobility! The next time he practises any of his foreign 
fashions on you, Gertrude, vou'll see how I'll wake up his 
sensibilities! 

Ger. I do not know what I should have done without 
you, sir. 

True. Yes, you do — you know that you would have done 
well enough! Never tell a lie, girl! not even for the sake 
of pleasing an old man ! When you open your lips let 
your heart speak. Never tell a lie! Let your face be the 
looking-glass of your soul — your heart its clock — while 
your tongue rings the hours! But the glass must be clear, 
the clock true, and then there's no fear but the tongue will 
do its duty in a woman's head! 

Ger. You are very good. Sir ! 

True. That's as it may be ! — How my heart warms to- 
wards her ! {aside) Gertrude, I hear that you have no 
mother ? 

Ger. Ah ! no. Sir ; I wish I had. 

True. So do I ! Heaven knows, so do I ! {aside, and 
with emotion) And you have no father, Gertrude ? 

Ger. No, Sir — I often wish I had ! 

True, {hui'riedly) Don't do that, girl! don't do that ! 
"Wish you had a mother — but never wish that you had a 
father again ! Perhaps the one you had did not deserve 
such a child ! 

Enter Prudence, r. u. e., down l. h. 

Pru. Seraphina is looking for you, Gertrude. 

Ger. I will go to her. {crosses to r. h.) Mr. Trueman, 



Scene II.] fashion. 25 

you will not permit me to thank you, but you cannot pre- 
vent my gratitude ! [^Exit, r, u. e. 
True, (looking after her) If falsehood harbours there, 
I'll give up searching after truth ! 

[ci'osses R., retires up the stage musingly, and 
commences examining the fowers. 
Pru. What a nice old man he is to be sure ! I wish 
he would say something ! (aside) 

[crosses r., ivalks after him^ turning when he 
turns — after a j^ause. 
Don't mind me, INlr. Trueman ! 

True. Mind you ? Oh ! no, don't be afraid (crosses l.) 
— I was'nt minding you. Nobody seems to mind you much ! 
[continues walking and examining the flowers — 
Prudence follows. 

Pru, Very pretty flowers, aint they? Gertrude takes 
care of them. 

True. Gertrude ? So I hear — (advancing l. c.) I sup- 
pose you can tell me now who this Gertrude — 

Pru. Who she's in love with? I kneio you were going 
to say that ! I'll tell you all about it ! Gertrude, she's 
in love with — Mr. Twinkle ! and he's in love with her. 
And Seraphina she's in love with Count Jolly — what-d'ye- 
call-it : but Count Jolly don't take to her at all— but Colonel 
Howard — he's the man — he's desperate about her! 

True. Why you feminine newspaper ! Howard in love 
with that quintessence of affectation ! Howard — the only, 
frank, straightforward fellow that I've met since — I'll tell 
him my mind on the subject ! And Gertrude hunting for 
happiness in a rhyming dictionary! The girl's a greater 
fool than I took her for ? [crosses r. 

Pru. So she is — you see I know all about them ! 

True. I see you do ! You've a wonderful knowledge — 
wonderful — of other people s concerns! It may do here, 
but take my word for it, in the county of Catteraugus you'd 
get the name of a great husy-hody. But perhaps you know 
that too ? 

Pru. Oh! I always know what's coming. I feel it be- 
forehand all over me. I knew something was going to 
happen the day you came here — and what's more I can 
ahvavs tell a married man from a single —I felt right off 
that you were a bachelor? 



26 FASHION. [Act II. 

True. Felt right off I was a bachelor did you ? you were 
sure of it — sure? — quite sure? (Prudence assents de- 
lightedly) Then you felt wrong! — a bachelor and a wi- 
dower are not the same thing! 

Pr'u. Oh I but it all comes to the same thing — a wi- 
dower's as good as a bachelor any day ! And besides I 
knew that you were a farmer right of. 

True. On the spot, eh? I suppose you saw cabbages 
and green peas growing out of my hat? 

Pru. No, I did'nt — but I knew all about you. And I 
knew — (looking down and fidgetting with her ajyron) I knew 
you were for getting married soon ! For last night I 
dream't I saw your funeral going along the streets, and 
the mourners all dressed in white. And a funeral is a sure 
sign of a wedding you know ! (nudging him with her elbow) 

True, (imitating her voice). Well I can't say that I 
know any such thing I you know ! (nudging her back) 

Pru. Oh ! it does, and there's no getting over it ! For 
my part, I like farmers — and I know all about setting hens 
and turkeys, and feeding chickens, and laying eggs, and all 
that sort of thing ! 

True. May I be shot ! if mistress newspaper is not put- 
ting in an advertisement for herself! This is your city 
mode of courting I suppose, ha, ha, ha ! (aside) 

Pru. I've been west, a little ; but I never was in the 
county of Catteraugus, myself. 

True. Oh ! you were not ? And you have taken a par- 
ticular fancy to go there, eh ? 

Pru. Perhaps I should' nt object — 

T7'ue. Oh! — ah!— so I suppose. Now pay attention 
to what I am going to say, for it is a matter of great im- 
portance to yourself. 

Pru. Now it's coming — I know what he's going to say ! 
(aside) . 

Time. The next time you want to tie a man for life to 
your apron-strings, pick out one that don't come from the 
county of Catteraugus — for green horns are scarce in those 
parts, and modest women plenty ! [Exit, r. 

Pirn. Now who'd have thought lie was going to say 
that ! But I won't give him up yet — I won't give liim up. 

[JEjcitj R. 

END OF ACT II. 



Scene I.] fashion. 27 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

Mrs. Tiffany's Parlor. Enter Mrs. Tiffany, r. 1 e., 
followed by Mr. Tiffany. 

Tif. *' Your extravagance will ruin me, Mrs. Tiffany i" 

Mrs. Tif. " And your stinginess ■v^'ill ruin me, Mr. 
*^ Tiffany I It is totaUy and toot a fate impossible to con- 
*' vince you of the necessity of keeping up appearances. 
** There is a certain display which every woman of fashion 
" is forced to make!" 

Tif. " And pray who made you a woman of fashion ?" 

Mrs. Tif. " What a vulgar question ! Ail women of 
" fashion, Mr. Tiffany—" 

Tif '* In this land are self-constituted, like you, INIadam 
" — 2in(\. fashion is the cloak for more sins than charity ever 
" covered ! It was iov fashion's sake that you insisted upon 
** my purchasing this expensive house — it was for fashion's 
*' sake that you ran me in debt at every exorbitant uphol- 
*• sterer's and extravagant furniture warehouse in the city — 
" it was for fashion's sake that you built that ruinous con- 
** servatory — hired more servants than they have persons 
" to wait upon — and dressed your footman like a har- 
*'lequin!" 

Mrs. Tif. *' Mr. Tiffany, you are thoroughly plebeian, 
" and insufferably American, in your grovelling ideas ! 
** And, pray, what was the occasion of these very mal-ap- 
*^ 2wo-2)os remarks'? Merely because I requested a paltry 
*' fifty dollars to purchase a new style of head-dress — a Lijou 
*' of an article just introduced in France." 

Tif. " Time was, Mrs. Tiffany, when you manufactured 
" your own French head-dresses — took off their first gloss 
" at the public balls, and then sold them to your shortest- 
*' sio-hted customers. And all you knew about France, or 
" French either, was what you spelt out at the bottom of 
" your fashion plates — but now you have grown so fashion- 
*' able, forsooth, that you have forgotten how to speak your 
** mother tongue !" 

Mrs. Tif " Mr. Tiffany, Mr. Tiffany ! Nothing is more 



28 FASHION. [Act III. 

" positively vulgarian — more unaristocratic than any allu- 
" sion to the past !" 

Tif. " Why I thought, my dear, that aristocrats lived 
" principally upon the past — and traded in the market of 
" fashion with the bones of their ancestors for capital?" 

Mrs. Tif. Mr. Tiffany, such vulgar remarks are only 
suitable to the counting house, in my drawing room you 
should — 

Tif. Vary my sentiments with my locality, as you 
change your manners with your dress! 

Mrs. Tif Mr. Tiffany, I desire that you will purchase 
Count d'Orsay's " Science of Etiquette," and learn how to 
conduct yourself — especially before you appear at the grand 
ball, which I shall give on Friday ! 

Tif Confound your balls. Madam ; they make foot- 
balls of my money, while you dance away all that I am 
worth ! A pretty time to give a ball when you know that 
I am on the very brink of bankruptcy ! 

Mrs. Tif So much the greater reason that nobody 
should suspect your circumstances, or you would lose your 
credit at once. Just at this crisis a ball is absolutely ne- 
cessary to save your reputation ! There is Mrs. Adolphus 
Dashaway — she gave the most splendid fete of the season — 
and I hear on verv eood authority that her husband has 
not paid his baker's bill in three months. Then there was 
Mrs. Honeywood — 

Tif Gave a ball the night before her husband shot 
himself — perhaps you wish to drive me to follow his ex- 
ample? [crosses r. l. h. 

Mrs. Tif Good gracious ! Mr. Tiffany, how you talk ! 
I beg you won't mention anything of the kind. I consider 
black the most unbecoming color, I'm sure I've done all 
that I could to gratify you. There is that vulgar old tor- 
ment, Trueman, who gives one the lie fifty times a day — 
have'nt I been very civil to him ? 

Tif Civil to his wealth, Mrs. Tiffany ! I told you that 
he was a rich, old farmer — the early friend of my father — 
my own benefactor — and that I had reason to think he 
might assist me in my present embarrassments. Your ci- 
vility was bought — and like most of your own purchases 
has yet to be paid for. [crosses to r. h. 

Mrs. Tif. And will be, no doubt ! The condescension 



Scene 1.1 FASHION. 29 

of a woman of fiisliion should command any price. Mr. 
Trueman is insupportablj indecorous — he has insulted 
Count Jolimaitre in the most outrageous manner. If the 
Count was not so deeply interested — so ahime with Sera- 
phina, I am sure he would never honor us by his visits 
again ! 

Tif. So much the better — he shall never marry my 
daughter! — I am resolved on that. Why, Madam, I am 
told there is in Paris a regular matrimonial stock company, 
who fit out indigent dandies for this market. How do I 
know but this fellow is one of its creatures, and that he has 
come here to increase its dividends by marrying a fortune ? 

Mrs. Tif. Nonsense, Mr. Tiffany. The Count, the 
most fashionable young man in all New York — the intimate 
friend of all the dukes and lords in Europe — not marry my 
daughter? Not permit Seraphina to become a Countess? 
Mr. Tiffany, you are out of your senses! 

Tif. That would not be very wonderful, considering how 
many years I have been united to you, my dear. Modern 
physicians pronounce lunacy infectious! 

Mrs. Tif. Mr. Tiffany, he is a man of fashion — 
- Tif. Fashion makes fools, but cannot feed them. By 
the bye, I have a request, — since you are bent upon ruining 
me by this ball, and there is no help for it, — I desire that 
you will send an invitation to my confidential clerk, Mr. 
Snobson. 

Mrs. Tif Mr. Snobson! Was there ever such an 
you-nick demand! Mr. Snobson would cut a pretty figure 
amon^jst my fashionable friends! I shall do no such thing, 

Mr. Tiffany. 

Tif. Then, Madam, the ball shall not take place. Have 
I not told you that I am in the power of this man? That 
there are circumstances which it is happy for you that you 
do not know— which you cannot comprehend, — but which 
render it essential that you should be civil to Mr. Snobson? 
Not you merely, but Seraphina also? He is a more appro- 
priate match for her than your foreign favorite. 

Mrs. Tif. A match for Seraphina, indeed! {crosses) Mr. 
Tiffany, you are determined to make ?ijjgw pas. 

Tif, Mr. Snobson intends calhng this morning. 

\crosses to l. h. 



30 FASHION. [Act III. 

Mrs Tif. But, Mr. Tiffany, this is not reception clay — 
my drawing-rooms are in the most terrible disorder — 

Tif. Mr. Suobson is not particular — he must be admitted. 

Enter Zeke, l. 
Zeke, Mr. Snobson. 

Enter Snobson, l,.; exit Zeke, l. 

Snob. How dye do, Marm ? (crosses to c.) How are 
you? Mr. Tiffany, your most! — 

Mrs. Tif. (formally) Bung jure. Comment vow porte 
vow, Monsur Snobson ? 

Snob. Oh, to be sure — very good of you — fine day. 

Mrs. Tif. (pointing to a chair with great dignity) Sas- 
soyez vow, Monsur Snobson. 

Snob. I wonder what she's driving at? I aint up to 
the fashionable lingo yet! {aside) Eh? what? Speak a 
little louder, Marm? 

Mrs. Tif. What ignorance! (aside) 

Tif. I presume Mrs. Tiffany means that you are to take 
a seat. 

Snob. Ex-actly — very obliging of her — so I will, (sits) 
No ceremony amonst friends, you know — and likely to be 
nearer — you understand? O. K., all correct. How is 
Seraphina? 

Mrs. Tif. Miss Tiffany is not visible this morning. 

[7'etires vp. 

Snob. Not visible? (jumping up, crosses, r.) I suppose 
that's the English for can't see her? Mr. Tiffany, Sir — 
(ivalking up to him) what am I to understand by this de- 
jfal-ca-tion, Sir? I expected your word to be as good as 
your bond — beg pardon. Sir — I mean better — considerably 
better — no humbug about it, Sir. 

Tif Have patience, Mr. Snobson. (rings bell) 

Enter Zeke, l,. 
Zeke, desire mv dauo-hter to come here. 

Mrs. Tif (coming down, c.) Adolpli — I say, Adolph — 
[Zeke straightens himself and assumes f>p pish 
airs, as he tmms to Mrs. Tiffany, 
Tif. Zeke. 

Zeke. Don't kn^w any such uigga, Boss. 
Tif. Do as I bid you instantly, or off with your livery 
and quit the house! * 



Scene I.] FASHION. 31 

Zehe. Wheugh! I' se all dismission! \exity-R.. 

Mrs. Tif. A-dolph, A-doIph ! (calling after him) 

Snob. I brought the old boy to his bearings, didn't I 
though ! Pull that string, and he is sure to work right. 
(aside) Don't make any stranger of me, Marm — I'm quite 
at home. If you've got any odd jobs about the house to 
do up, I sha'nt miss you. I'll amuse myself with Sera- 
phina when she comes — we'll get along very cosily by our- 
selves. 

Mrs. Tif. Permit me to inform you, Mr. Snobson, that 
a French mother never leaves her daughter alone with a 
young man — she knows your sex too well for that! 

S?iob. Very <:;?i>-obliging of her — but as we're none 
French — 

Mrs. Tif, You have yet to learn, Mr. Snobson, that the 
American ee-liglit — the aristocracy — the how-ton — as a mat- 
ter of conscience, scrupulously follow the foreign fashions. 

Snoh. Not when they are foreign to their interests, 
Marm — for instance — {enter Seraphina, r.) There you 
are at last, eh. Miss? How dye do? Ma said you weren't 
visible. Managed to get a peep at her, eh, Mr. Tiffany ? 

Sera. I heard you were here, Mr. Snobson, and came 
Tvithout even arranging my toilette; you will excuse my 
negligence? 

Snob. Of everything but me^ Miss. 

Sera. I shall never have to ask your pardon for that^ 
Mr. Snobson. 

Mrs. Tif. Seraphina — child — really — 

\as she is approaching Seraphina, Mr. Tit- 
T ANY plants himself i7i front of his wife. 

Tif. Walk this way. Madam, if you please. To see 
that she fancies the surly fellow takes a weight from my 
heart, (aside) 

Mrs. Tif. Mr. Tiifany, it is highly improper and not 
at all distingue to leave a young girl — 

Enter Zeke, l. 

Zeke. Mr. Count Jollv-made-her ! 

Mrs. Tif. Good gracious ! The Count— Oh, dear ! — 
Seraphina, run and change your dress, — no there's not 
time ! A-dolph, admit him. [Exit Zeke, j.. 

Mr. Snobson, get out of the way, will you ? Mr. Tiffany, 
what are you doing at home at this hour ? 
7 



32 FASHION. ~ [Act III. 

Enter Count Jolimaitre, l., ushered hy Zeke. 
Zeke. Dat's de genuine article ob a gemman. (aside) 

\_Exit, L. 
Mrs. Tif, My dear Count, I am overjoyed at the very 
sight of you. 

Count. Flattered myself you'd be glad to see me. Madam 
— knew it v/'as not '^ouv jour de reception. 
Mrs. Tif. But for you. Count, all days — 
Count. I thought so. Ah, Miss Tiffany, on my honor 
you're looking beautiful. [crosses r. 

Sera. Count, flattery from you — 
Snob. What ? Eh ? What's that you say ? 
Sera. Nothing but what etiquette requires. 

[aside to him. 

Count, (regarding Mr. Tiffany through his eye glass) 
Your worthy Papa, I believe? Sir, your most obedient. 

[Mr. Tiffany hows coldly ; Count regards 
Snobson through his glass, shrugs his 
shoulders and turns away. 

Snob, (to Mrs. Tiffany) Introduce me, will you? I 
never knew a Count in all my life — what a strange-looking 
animal ! 

Mrs. Tif. Mr. Snobson, it is not the fashion to intro- 
duce in France ! 

Snob. But, Marm, we're in America. (Mrs. T. crosses 
to Count, R.) The woman thinks she's somewhere else than 
where she is — she wants to make an alibi? (aside) 

' Mrs. Tif. I hope that we shall have the pleasure of 
seeing you on Friday evening. Count? 

Count. Really, madam, my invitations — my engage- 
ments — so numerous — I can hardly answer for myself: 
and you Americans take offence so easily — 

Mrs. Tif. But, Count, everybody expects you at our 
ball — you are the principal attraction — 

Sera. Count, you must come! 

Count. Since you insist — aw — aw — there's no resisting 
you. Miss Tiffany. 

Mrs. Tif. I am so thankful. How can I repay your 
condescension! (Count and Seraphina converse) Mr. 
Snobson, will you walk this -way? — I have such a cactus in 
full bloom — remarkable flower I Mr. Tiffany, pray come 
here — I have something particular to say. 



SCEXE I.] FASHION. 23 

Tif. Then speak out, my dear — T thought it was highly 
improper just now to leave a girl with a young man? 

[(iside to her, 

2I?'s. Tif. Oh, hut the Count — that is different ! 

Tif. I suppose you mean to say there's nothing of Ihe 
man about him ? 

Enter MiLLiNETTE, L., witk a scarf in her hand. 

Mil. Adolph tell me he vas here, (aside) Pardon, 
Madame, I bring dis scarf for Mademoiselle. 

Mrs. Tif. Very well, Millinette ; you know best what 
IS proper for her to wear. 

[Mr. and Mrs. Tiffany and Snobson retire 
up ; she engages the attention of both 
gentlemen. 

[Millinette crosses,!.., towards Seraphina, 
gives the Count a threatening look, and 
commences arranging the scarf over Sera- 
phina's shoidders. 

Mil. Mademoiselle, permettez-moi. Perfide ! (aside to 
Count) If Mademoiselle vil stand trampdlle one petit 
moment. (^z<n?5 Seraphina's hack to ^Ae Count, and pre- 
tends to arrange the scarf) I must speak vid you to-day, 
or I tell all — you find me at de foot of de stair ven you 
go. Prend garde! (aside to Count) 

Sera. What is that yoil say, Millinette? 

Mil. Dis scarf make you so very beautiful, Mademoiselle 
— Je vous salue, mes dames, (curtsies) [exit l. 

Count. Not a moment to lose! (aside) Miss Tiffany, 
I have an unpleasant — a particularly unpleasant piece of 
intelligence — ^you see, I have just received a letter from my 
friend — the — aw — the Earl of Airshire ; the truth is, the 
Earl's daughter — beg you won't mention it — has distin- 
guished me by a tender penchant. 

Sera. I understand — and they wish you to return and 
marry the young lady ; but surely you will not leave us. 
Count? 

Count. If you bid me stay — I shouldn't have the con- 
science — I couldn't afford to tear myself away. I'm sure 
that's honest (aside) 

Sera'. Oh, Count! 

Count, Say but one word — say that you shouldn't mind 

D 



34 FASHION. ' [Act III. 

being made a Countess — and I'll break witb the Earl to- 
morrow. 

Sera. Count, this surprise — ^but don't think of leaving 
the country, Count — we could not pass the time without 
you! I — yes — yes, Count — I do consent! 

Count. I thought she would ! (aside, while he embraces 
her) Enchanted, rapture, bliss, ecstacy, and all that sort of 
thing — words can't express it, but you understand. But it 
must be kept a secret — positively it iniist ! If the rumour 
of our engagement were whispered abroad — the Earl's daugh- 
ter — the delicacy of my situation, aw — you comprehend ? 
It is even possible that our nuptials, my charming Miss 
Tiffany, our nuptials must take place in private ! 

Sera. Oh, that is quite impossible ! 

Count. It's the latest fashion abroad — the very latest! 
Ah, I knew that would determine you. Can I depend on 
your secrecy ? 

Sera. Oh, yes ! Believe me. 

Snob, (coming forward in spite of Mrs. Tiffany's 
efforts to detain him) Why Seraphina, havn't you a word 
to throw to a dog ? 

Tif. I shouldn't think she had after wasting so many 
upon a puppy, (aside) 

Enter Zeke, l., wearing a three-cornered hat. 

Zeke. Missus, de bran new carriage am below. 
Mrs. Tif. Show it up, — I mean, Very well, A-dolph. 

\Exit Zeke, l. 

Count, my daughter and I are about to take an airing in 
our new voyture, — will you honor us with your company ? 

Count. Madam, I — I have a most pressing engagement. 
A letter to write to the Earl of Airshire — who is at present 
residing in the Isle of Skye. I must bid you good morning. 

Mrs. Tif. Good morning, Count. 

[Exit Count, L. 

Snob. Tm quite at leisure, (crosses to Mrs. T.) Marm. 
Books balanced — ledger closed — nothing to do all the after- 
noon, — I'm for you 

Mrs. Tif. (without noticing him) Come, Seraphina, 
come ! \_as they ai'e going SsoBsoiyi follows them. 

Snob. But Marm — I was saying, Marm, I am quite at 
leisure — not a thing to do ; have I, Mr. Tiffany ? 



Scene II.] FASHION. 35 

Mrs. Tif. Serajihina, child — your red shawl — remember 
— Mr. Suobson, ho)i swear ! 

[Exit, L., leading Seraphina. 

Snob. Swear ! INIr. Tiffany, Sir, am I to be fobbed off 
with a Ijo}i swear ? D — n it, I will swear ! 

Tif. Have patience, Mr. Snobson, if you will accom- 
pany me to the counting liouse — 

Snob. Don't count too much on me. Sir. I'll make 
up no more accounts until these are settled! I'll run down 
and jump into the carriage in spite of her bon swear. 

\_Exit, L. 

Tif. You'll jump into a hornet's nest, if you do ! Mr. 
Snobson, Mr. Snobson ! [Exit after him. 

SCENE II. 

HouseJieeper^ s Boom. Enter INIillinette, r. 

Mil. I have set dat bete, Adolph, to vatch for him. He 
say he would come back so soon as Madame's voiture drive 
from, de door. If he not come — but he vill — he vill — he 
bien etourdi, but he have bon coeur. 

Enter Count, l. 

Count. Ah ! Millinette, my dear, you see what a good- 
natured dog I am to fly at your bidding — 

Mil. Fly ? Ah ! trompeur ! Yat for you fly from Paris ? 
Vat for vou leave me — and I love vou so much 1 Ven you 
sick — you almost die — did I not stay by you — take care of 
you — and you have no else friend 1 Vat for you leave 
Paris ? 

Count. Never allude to disagreeable subjects, mon en- 
fant ! I was forced by uncontrollable circumstances to fly 
to the land of liberty — 

Mil. Vat you do vid all de money I give you? The 
last sou I had — did I not give you ? 

Count. I dare say you did, ma petite — wish you'd been 
better supplied I (aside) Don't ask any questions here — 
can't explain now — the next time we meet — 

Mil. But, ah ! ven shall ve meet — ven ? You not de- 
ceive me, not any more. 

Count. Deceive you ! I'd rather deceive myself — I wish 
I could ! I'd persuade myself you were once more wash- 
ing linen in the Seine ! (aside) 



36 FASHION. [Act III. 

Mil. I vil tell you ven ve shall meet — On Friday night 
Madame give one grand ball — -you come sans doute — den 
Ten de supper is served — de Americans tink of noting else 
ven de supper come — den you steal out of de room, and 
you find, me here — and you give me one grand explanation ! 

Enter Gertrude, r., imperceived. 

Count. Friday night — while supper is serving — parole 
d''honneur I will be here — I will explain every thing — my 
sudden departure from Paris — my — demme, my countship 
— every thing ! Now let me go — if any of the family 
should discover us — 

Ger. (who during the last speech has gradually ad' 
vanced, l.) They might discover more than you think it 
advisable for them to know ! 

Comit. The devil ! 

3Iil. Mon Bieu ! Mademoiselle Gertrude ! 

Count, (recovering himself J My dear Miss Gertrude, 
let me explain — aw — aw — nothing is more natural than the 
situation in which you find me — 

Ger. I am inclined to believe that, Sir. 

Count. Now — 'pon my honor, that's not fair. Here is 
Millinette will bear witness to what I am about to say — 

Ger. Oh, I have not the slightest doubt of that, Sir. 

Count. You see, Millinette happened to be lady's-maid 
in the family of — of — the Duchess Chateau D'Espagne — 
and I chanced to be a particular friend of the Duchess — 
vem/ particidar I assure you ! Of course I saw Millinette, 
and she, demme, she saw me! Didn't you, Millinette? 

Win. Oh ! oui — Mademoiselle I knew him ver veil. 

Count. Well, it is a remarkable fact that — being in cor- 
respondence with this very Duchess — at this very time — 

Ger. That is suflScient, Sir — I am already so well ac- 
quainted with your extraordinary talents for improvisation, 
that I will not further tax your invention — 

Mil. Ah ! Mademoiselle Gertrude do not betray us — 
have pity! 

Count, (assufning an air of dignity) Silence, Millinette! 
My word has been doubted — the word of a nobleman! I 
will inform my friend, Mrs. Tiffany, of this young person's 
audacity. Q/oing) 

Ger. His own weapons alone can foil this villfi*'^ ! (aside) 



Scene II.] FASHION. 37 

Sir — Sir — Count! (at the last word the Count turns) Per- 
haps, Sir, the least said about this matter the better! 

. Count, {(Mi<jhtcdly) The least said? ^Ve won't say 
anything at all. She's coming round — couldn't resist me! 
(aside) Charming Gertrude — 

Mil. Quoi ? Vat that you say ? 

Count. My sweet, adorable Millinette, hold your tongue, 
♦ill you ? (aside to her) 

Mil. (aloud) No, I vill not ! If you do look so from 
out your eyes at her again, I vill tell all ! 

Count. Oh, I never could manage two women at once, 
— jealousy makes the dear creatures so spiteful. The only 
valor is in flight ! (aside) Miss Gertrude, I wish you 
good morning. Millinette, mon enfant^ adieu. 

'[Exit, L. 

Mil. But I have one word more to say. Stop, Stop ! 

[exit after him. 

Ger. (musingly) Friday night, while supper is serving, 
he is to meet Millinette here and explain — what ? This 
man is an impostor ! Ilis insulting me — his familiarity 
with Millinette — his whole conduct — prove it. If I tell 
Mrs. Tiffany this she will disbelieve me, *and one word may 
place this so-called Count on his guard. To convince Sera- 
phina would be equally difficult, and her rashness and in- 
fatuation may render her miserable for life. No — she shall 
be saved ! I must devise some plan for opening their eyes. 
Truly, if I cannot invent one, I shall be the first woman 
■who was ever at a loss for a stratagem — especially to punish 
a villain or to shield a friend. [Exit, r. 



END OF ACT III, 



38 FASHION. [Act IV. 

ACT IV. 

SCENE I. 

Ball Rooin splendidly illuminated, A curtain hung at the 
further end. Mr. and Mrs. Tiffany, Seraph ina, 
Gertrude, Fogg, Twinkle, Count, Snobson, 
Colonel Howard, a number of guests — some seate<i, 
some standing. As the curtain rises, a cotillion is 
danced J Gertrude dancing with Howard, Sera- 
PHiNA with Count. 

Count, (advancing with Seraphina to the front of the 
stage) To-morrow then — to-morrow — I may salute you as 
my bride — demme, my Countess ! 

JEnter Zeke, l., with refreshments. 
Sera. Yes, to morrow. 

[as the Count is about to reply, Snobson 
thrusts himself in front q/ Seraphina. 
Snob. You said you'd dance with me. Miss — now take 
my fin, and we'll walk about and see what's going on. 

[Count raises his eye-glass, regards Snobson, 
and leads Seraphina away ; Snobson 
follows, endeavoring to attract her atten- 
tion, but encounters, on l.h., Zeke, bear- 
ing a waiter of refreshments ; stops, helps 
himself, and puts some in his pockets. 
Here's the treat ! get my to-morrow's luncheon out of Tiff. 

Enter Trueman, r, yawning and rubbing his eyes. 

True. What a nap I've had, to be sure! (looks at his 
watch) Eleven o'clock, as I'm alive! Just the time when 
country folks are comfortably turned in, and here your 
grand turn-out has hardly begun yet! 

[to Tiffany, who apiwoaches. 

Ger. (advancing r.) I was just coming to look for you, 
Mr. Trueman. I began to fancy that you were paying a 
visit to dream-land. 

True. So I was child — so I was — and I saw a face — 
— like your' s — but brighter! — even brighter, (^o Tiffany) 
There's a smile for you, man I It makes one feel that the 
world has something worth living for in it yet ! Do you re- 



Scene I.] FASHION. 39 

member a smile like that, Anthony ? Ah ! I see you don't 
— but I do — I do! {much moved) 

How. (advancing c.) Good evenings Mr. Trueman. 

[offers his hand. 
True. That's right man ; give me your whole hand ! 
When a man offers me the tips of his fingers, I know at 
once there's nothing in him worth seeking beyond his fin- 
gers ends. 

[Trueman and Howard, Gertrude and 
Tiffany converse. 
Mrs. Tif. {advancing c.) I'm in such a fidget lest that 
vulgar old fellow should disgrace us by some of his ple- 
beian remarks ! What it is to give a ball, when one is 
forced to invite vulgar people ! 

[Mrs. Tiffany advances towards Trueman ; 
Seraph iNA stands conversing Jiippantly 
with the gentlemen who surround her ; 
amongst them is Twinkle, who having 
taken a magazine from his 'pockety is read- 
ing to her, much to the undisguised annoy- 
ance*of Snobson. 
Dear me, Mr. Trueman, you are very late — quite in the 
fashion I declare ! 

True. Fashion! And pray what \s fashion, madam? 
An agreement between certain persons to live without using 
their souls ! to substitute etiquette for virtue — decorum for 
purity — manners for morals ! to affect a shame for the 
works of their Creator ! and expend all their rapture upon 
the works of their tailors and dressmakers! 

Mrs. Tif. You have the most ow-tray ideas, Mr. True- 
man — quite rustic, and deplorably American I But pray 
walk this way. [Mrs. Tiffany and Trueman go up. 

Count, {advancing l., to Gertrude, who stands c, 
Howard r., a short distance behind her) Miss Gertrude- — ■ 
uo opportunity of speaking to you before — in demand you 
know! 

Ger. I have no choice, I must be civil to liim. (aside.) 
What were you remarking, Sir? 

Count. Miss Gertrude — chantiing Ger — aw — aw — 1 
never found it so difficult to speak to a woman before, {aside) 
. Ger. Yes, a very charming ball — many beautiful faces 
here. 



40 FASHiOxN. [Act IV. 

Coant. Only one! — aw — aw — one — the fact is — 

\talks to her in dumb show, up C. 
How. What could old Trueman have meant by saying 
she fancied that puppy of a Count — that paste jewel thrust 
upon the little fing-er of society. 

Count. Miss Gertrude — aw — 'pon my honor — you don't 
understand — really — aw — aw — will you dance the polka 
with me ? 

[Gertrude hoivs and gives him her hand ; he 

leads her to the set forming ; Howard 

remains looJdng after them. 

How. Going to dance with him too ! A few days ago 

she would hardly bow to him civilly — could old Trueman 

have had reasons for what he said ? \i'etires up. 

\JDance, the polka ; Seraphina, after having 

distributed her bouquet, vinaigrette and 

fan amongst the gentlemen, dances with 

Snobson. 

Pru. (peeping in l., as dance concludes) I don't like 

dancing on Friday ; something strange is always sure to 

happen! I'll be on the look out. 

[remains peeping and concealing herself when 

any of the company approach. 

Ger. {^advancing hastily c.) They are preparing the 

supper — now if I can only dispose of Millinette while I 

unmask this insolent pretender! \_Exit r. 

Fru. (peeping) What's that she said? Its conjing! 

Re-enter Gertrude, r., hearing a small basket filled with 
bompiets ; approaches Mrs. Tiffany; they walk to the 

front of the stage. 

Ger. Excuse me. Madam — I believe this is just the 
hour at which you ordered supper? 

Mrs. Tif Well, what's that to you ! So you've been 
dancing with the Count — how dare you dance with a 
nobleman — you ? 

Ger. I will answer that question half an hour hence. 
At present I have souictliing to propose, which I tliink 
will gratify you and yjlease your guests. I have heard that 
at the most elegant balls in Paris, it is customary — 

Mrs. Tif. What? what? 

Ger. To station a servant at the door with a basket of 



Scene I ] FASHION. 41 

flowers. A bouquet is then presented to every lady as she 
passes in — I prepared this basket a short time ago. As 
the company walk in to supper, might not the flowers be 
distributed to advantage? 

M?-s. Tif. How distingue! You are a good creature, 
Gertrude — there, run and hand the boketfes to them your- 
self ! You shall have the whole credit of the thing. 

Ger. Caught in my own net! (aside) But, madam, I 
know so little of fashions — Millinette, being French, herself 
will do it with so much more grace. I am sure Millinette — 

Mrs. Tif. So am I. She will do it a thousand times 
better than you — there go call her. 

Ger. (giviny basket) But madam, pray order Millinette 
not to leave her station till supper is ended — as the com- 
pany pass out of the supper room she may find that some 
of the ladies have been overlooked. 

Mrs. Tif. That is true — very thoughtful of you, Ger- 
trude. [j^o^zY Gertrude, r. 
What a recherche idea! 

Enter Millinette, r. 
Here Millinette, take this basket. Place yourself there, 
(c") and distribute these bokettes as the company pass 
ni to supper ; but remember not to stir from the spot until 
suj)per is over. It is a French fashion you know, Milli- 
nette. I am so deli2;hted to be the first to introduce it — it 
will be all the rage in the bow-monde ! 

Mil. Mon Dieu ! dis vill ruin all ! (aside) Madame, 
Madame, let me tell you, Madame, dat in France, in Paris, 
it is de custom to present les bouquets ven every body first 
come — long before de supper. Dis vould be outre! bar- 
bare ! not at all la mode ! Ven dey do come in dat is de 
fashion in Paris ! 

3Irs. Tif. Dear me! Millinette what is the difference? 
besides I'd have you to knov/ that Americans always im- 
prove upon French fashions ! here, take the basket, and let 
me see that you do it in the most you-nick and genteel 
manner. 

[Millinette poutinyly takes the basket and 
retires np stage, l. A march. Curtain 
hung at the further end of the room is 
drawn back, and discloses a room^ in the 
centre of which stands a supper table,* 



42 FASHION. [Act IV. 

heautifally decorated and illmninated ; the 
comi)any 'promenade two by two into the sup- 
per room; Millinette ^jre^e/z^* bouquets as 
they pass ; Count leads Mrs. Tiffany. 
True, {encountering Fogg, ivho is hurrying alone to the 
supper room) Mr. Fogg, never mind the supper, man ! 
Ha, ha, ba ! Of course you are indifferent to suppers ! 

Fogg. Indifferent ! suppers — oh, ah — no, Sir — suppers ? 
no — no — Fm not indifferent to suppers ! 

[hurries away towards table. 
True. Ha, ha, ha! Here's a new discovery I've made 
in the fashionable world ! Fashion don't permit the critter 
to have heads or hearts, but it allows them stomachs ! {to 
Tiffany, who advances) So it's not fashionable to feel, 
but it's fashionable to feed, eh, Anthony? ha, ha, ha! 

[Trueman a?ic? Tiffany retire towards snipper 
room. Enter Gertrude, followed by 
Zeke, r. 
Ger. Zeke, go to the supper room instantly, — whisper 
to Count Jolimaitre that all is ready, and that he must keep 
his appointment without delay, — then watch him, and as 
he passes out of the room, place yourself in front of Milli- 
nette in such a manner, that the Count cannot see her nor 
she him. Be sure that they do not see each other — every 
thing depends upon that. \crosses ^o r. h. 

Zeke. Missey, consider dat business brought to a sci- 
entific conclusion. 

\Exit into supper room. Exit. Gertrude, r. h. 
Pru. {who has been listening ^ What can she want of 
the Count? I always suspected that Gertrude, because 
she is so merry and busy ! Mr. Trueman thinks so much 
of her too — I'll tell him this! There's something wrong — ■ 
but it all comes of giving a ball on a Friday ! How asto- 
nished the dear old man will be when he finds out how 
much I know ! 

[advances timidly towards the sup)per room. 

SCENE II. 

Housekeeper's room ; dark stage : table, two chairs. Enter 
Gertrude, ivith a lighted candle in her hand. 

Ger. So far the scheme prospers ! and yet this impru- 



Scene 11/ FASHION. 43 

dence — if I fail 1 Fail ! to lack courage in a difficultyj or 
ingenuity in a dilemma, are not woman's failings I 

JtjTiier Zeke, r., ivith a napkin over his arm, and a bottle 
of champuyne in his hand. 

Well Zeke— Adolph ! 

Zeke. Dat's right, Missey ; I feels just now as if dat 
was my legitimate title; dis here's de stuff to make a nigger 
feel like a gemmani 

Ger. But is he coming? 

Zeke. He's coming! {sound of a champagne co7'k heard) 
Do you hear dat, Missey? Don't it put you all in a froth, 
and make you feel as light as a cork? Dere's nothing like 
the luiion brandy to wake up de harmonies ob de heart. 

[drinks from bottle. 

Ger. Remember to keep watch upon the outside — do 
not stir from the spot ; when I call you, come in quickly 
with a light — now, will you be gone ! 

Zeke. I'm off, Missey, like a champagne cork wid de 
strings cut. [Exit r. 

Ger. I think I hear the Count's step, (crosses l., stage 
dark ; she blows out candle) Now if I can but disguise my 
voice, and make the best of my French. 

Enter Count, r. h. 

Count. Millinette, where are vou? How am I to see 
you in the dark ? 

Ger. (imitating Millinette's voice in a whisper) 
Hush ! parte bas. 

Count. Come here and give me a kiss. 

Ger. Non — non — (retreating alarmed, Covi<iT follovjs) 
make haste, I must know all. 

Count. You did not use to be so deuced particular. 

Zeke. (ivithout) No admission, gemman ! Box office 
closed, tickets stopped ! 

True, (without) Out of my way; do you want me to 
try if your head is as hard as my stick ? 

Ger. What shall I do I Ruined, ruined ! 

[she stands luith her hand clasped in speechless 
despair. 

Count. Halloa ! they are coming here, Millmette ! 
Millinette, why don't you speak ? Where can I hide my- 
self? (runrdng' about stage, feeling for a door) Where are 



44 FASHION. [^"^CT IV. 

all your closets ? If I could only get out—or get in some- 
where ; may I be smothered in a clothes' basket, if you 
ever catch me in such a scrape again I {his hand accidental /'i/ 
touches the knob of a door opening into a closet, l. f.) For- 
tune's favorite yet ! I'm safe ! 

[_gets into closet and closes door. Enter Pru- 
dence, Trueman, Mrs. Tiffany, and 
Colonel Howard, r., followed by Zeke, 
hearing a light ; lights up. 
Pru. Here they are, the Count and Gertrude ! I told 
you so ! [sto2)s iti surprise on seeing only Gertrude. 

True. And you see what a lie you told ! 
Mrs. Tif. Prudence, how dare you create this disturb- 
ance in my house 1 To suspect the Count too — a nobleman ! 
How. My sweet Gertrude, this foolish old woman 
would — 

Pru. Oh! you needn't talk — I heard her make the 
appointment — I know he's here — or he's been here. I 
wonder if she hasn't hid him away ! 

[runs peeping about the room. 

True, (following her angrily) You're what I call a con- 

fi;umded — troublesome — meddling — old — prying — {as he 

says the last word, Prudence openc closet where the 

Count is concealed) Thunder and lightning ! 

Pru. I told you so ! 

[they all stand aghast; Mrs. Tiffany, r., 
with her hands lifted in sii?'p7'ise and anger ; 
Trueman, r. c, clutching his stick ; 
Howard, l. c, looking with a7i expres- 
sion of bewildered horror from the Count 
to Gertrude. 
Mrs. Tif. {shaking her fst at Gertrude) You de- 
praved little minx ! this is the meaning of your dancing 
with the Count I 

Count, {stepping from the closet and advancing l. h.) 
I don't know what to make of it ! Millinette not here ! 
Miss Gertrude — oh! I see — a disguise — the girl's desperate 
about me — the way with them all. (aside) 

True. I'm choking — I can't speak — Gertrude — no — no 
— it is some horrid mistake! (partly aside, changes his tone 
suddenly) The villain ! I'll hunt the truth out of him, if 
there's any in — {crosses l., approaches Count threatening hj) 



Scene II.] FASHION. 45 

do you see this stick ? You made it's first acquaintance a 
few days ago ; it is time you were better known to each 
other. 

[as Trueman attempts to seize him, Count escapes, 

crosses r., and shields himself behind Mrs. 

Tiffany, Trueman following. 

Count. You ruffian ! would you strike a woman ? — 
Madam — my dear Madam — keep off that barbarous old 
man, and I will explain! Madam, with — aw — your natural 
hon gout — aw — your fashionable refinement — aw — ^your — 
aw — your knowledge of foreign customs — 

Mrs. Tif Oh ! Count, I hope it aint a foreign custom 
for the nobility to shut themselves up in the dark with 
young women 1 We think such things dreadful in America. 

Count. Demme — aw — hear what I have to sav. Madam 
—1 11 satisfy all sides — I am perfectly innocent in this affair 
— 'pon my honor I am ! That young lady shall inform you 
that I am so herself !^ — can't help it, sorry for her. Old 
matter-of-fact won't be convinced any other way, — that 
club of his is so particularly unpleasant ! (aside) Madam, 
I was summoned here malgre moi, and not knowing whom 
I was to meet — Miss Gertrude, favor this company by say- 
ing whether or not you directed — that — aw — aw — that 
colored individual to conduct me here ? 

Ger. Sir, you well know — 

Count. A simple yes or no wull suffice. 

Mrs. Tif Answer the Count's question instantly, Miss. 

Ger. I did — but — ■ 

Count. You hear, Madam — 

True. I won't believe it — I can't! Here you nigger, 
stop rolling up your eyes, and let us know whether she 
told you to bring that critter here ? 

Zeke. I'se refuse to gib ebidence ; dat's de device ob de 
skilfuUest counsels ob de day ! Can't answer^ Boss — neber 
git a word out ob dis child — Yah! yah! [Exit. 

Ger. Mrs. Tiffany, — Mr. Trueman, if you will but have 
patience — 

True. Patience ! Oh, Gertrude, you've taken from an 
old man something better and dearer than his patience — the 
one bright hope of nineteen years of self-denial — of nineteen 
yea.rs of — ■ 

[throws himself upon a chair, his head leaning on table. 



46 FASHION. [Act IV. 

Mrs. Tif. Get out of my house, you o2(7clacious — you 
ruined — you «ime young woman! You will corrupt all my 
family. Good gracious ! don't touch me, — don't come near 
me. Never let me see your face after to-morrow. Pack. 

\j;oes up. 

How. Gertrude, I have striven to find some excuse for 
you — to doubt — to disbelieve — but this is beyond all en- 
durance ! [Exit, R. H. 

JEnter Millinette in haste, r. 

Mil. I could not come before — (stops in sm'p7'ise at 
seeing the persons assembled) Mon Die a ! vat does dis 
mean 1 

Count. Hold your tongue, fool ! You will ruin every- 
thing, I will explain to-morrow, {aside to her) Mrs. Tif- 
fany — Madam — my dear Madam, let me conduct you back 
to the ball-room, (she takes his arm) You see I am quite 
innocent in this matter ; a man of my standing, you know, 
— aw, aw — you comprehend the whole affair. 

[Exit Count leading Mrs. T., r. h. 

Mil. I vill say to him von vord, 1 will ! 

[Exit, R. 

Ger. Mr. Trueman, I beseech you — I insist upon being 
heard, — I claim it as a right ! 

True. Right ? How dare you have the face, girl, to 
talk of rights ? (comes down) You had more rights than 
you thought for, but you have forfeited them all ! All 
right to love, respect, protection, and to not a little else 
that you don't dream of. Go, go ! I'll start for Catter- 
augus to-morrow, — I've seen enough of what fashion can 
do ! [Exit, R. H, 

Pru. (Wiping her eyes) Dear old man, how he takes 
on ! I'll go and console him ! [Exit, r. h. 

Ger. This is too much ! How heavy a penalty has my 
imprudence cost me ! — his esteem, and that of one dearer 
— my home — my — (burst of lively music from ball-room) 
They are dancing, and I — I should be weeping, if pride 
had not sealed up my tears. 

[She sinks into a chair. Band plays the polka 
behind till Curtain falls. 

END OF ACT IV. 



Scene I.] fashion. 47 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. 

Mrs. Tiffany's Draiving Room — same Scene as Act 1st.. 
Gertrude *e«^ec^, r. at a table, with her head leaniny 
on her hand ; in the other hand she holds a i^en. A 
sheet of 2^aper and an inkstand before her. 
Ger. How shall I write to them ? What shall I say ? 
Prevaricate I cannot — {rises and comes forward) and yet 
if I write the truth — simple souls ! how can they compre- 
hend the motives for my conduct 1 Nay — the truly pure 
see no imaginary evil in others ! It is only vice, that re- 
flecting its own image, suspects even the innocent. I have 
no time to lose — I must prepare them for my return, {re- 
sumes her seat and writes) What a true pleasure there is 
in daring to be frank ! {after writing a few lines more 
pauses) Not so frank either, — there is one name that I 
cannot mention. Ah ! that he should suspect — should 
despise me. {writes) 

Enter Trueman, l. 

True. There she is ! If this girl's soul had only been 
as fair as her face, — yet she dared to speak the truth, — I'll 
not forget that ! A woman who refuses to tell a lie has one 
spark of heaven in her still, {approaches her) Gertrude, 

[Gertrude starts and looks up. 
What are you writing there ? Plotting more mischief, eh, 

Ger. I was writing a few lines to some friends in Geneva. 

True. The Wilsons, eh ? 

Ger. {surprisedy rising) Are you acquainted with them, 
Sir? 

Ti'ue. I shouldn't wonder if I was. I suppose you have 
taken good care not to mention the dark room — that foreign 
puppy in the closet — the pleasant surprise — and all that 
sort of thing, eh ? 

Ger. I have no reason for concealment. Sir ! for I have 
done nothing of which I am ashamed ! 

True. Then I can't sav much for your modesty. 

Gpr. I should not wish you to say more than I deserve. 

Irae. Tliere's a bold minx ! [aside) 

8 



48 FASHION. [Act V. 

Ger. Since my affairs seem to have excited your interest 
— I will not say curiosity, perliaps you even feel a desire 
to inspect my correspondence ? There, (Jianding the letter^ 
I pride myself upon my good nature, — you may like to take 
advantage of it ? 

True. With what an air she carries it off ! (aside) Take 
advantage of it ? So I will, {reads) What'^ this ? *' French 
chambermaid — Count — impostor — infatuation — Seraphina 
Millinette — disguised myself — expose him." Thunder and 
lightning! I see it all! Come and kiss me, girl! (Ger- 
trude evinces surprise) No, no — I forgot — it won't do 
to come to that yet ! She's a rare girl! I'm out of my 
senses with joy ! I don't know what to do with myself! 
Tol, de rol, de rol, de ra ! [capers and sings. 

Ger. What a remarkable old man! (aside) Then you 
do me justice, Mr. Trueman? 

True. I say I don't 1 Justice? You're above all depend- 
ence upon justice ! Hurrah ! I've found one true woman 
at last? True ? (pauses thoughtfully) Humph! I didn't 
think of that flaw! Plotting and mancEuvering — not much 
truth in that? An honest girl should be above stratagems ! 
Ger. But my motive. Sir, was good. 

True. That's not enough — your actions must be good 
as well as your motives ! Why could you not tell the silly 
girl that the man was an impostor ? 

Ger. I did inform her of my suspicions — she ridiculed 
them ; the plan I chose was an imprudent one, but I could 
not devise — 

True. I hate devising ! Give me a woman with the 
firmness to he; frank ! But no matter — I had no right to 
look for an angel out of Paradise ; and I am as happy — as 
ha})py as a Lord ! that is, ten times happier than any Lord 
ever was! Tol, de rol, de rol! Oh! you — you — I'll thrash 
every fellow that says a word against you ! 

Ger. You will have plenty of employment then. Sir, 
for I do not know of one just now who would speak in my 
favor ! 

True. Not one, eh? W^hy, where's your dear Mr. 
Twinkle ? I know all about it — can't say that I admire 
your choice of a husband ! But there's no accounting for 
a girl's taste. 

Ger. Mr. Twinkle 1 Indeed you arc quite mistaken ! 



Scene I.] FASHION. 49 

True. No — reallv? Then you're not taken with him, eh? 

Ger. Not even with his rhymes. 

True. Hang that old mother meddle-mnch ! What a 
fool she has made of me. And so you're quite free, and I 
may choose a husband for you myself? Heart-whole, eh ? 

Ger. I — I — I trust there is nothing unsound about my 
heart. 

True. There it is again. Don't prevaricate, girl ! I 
tell you an evasion is a lie in contemplation, and I hate 
lying ! Out with the truth ! Is your heart /ree or not ? 

Ger. Nay, Sir, since you demand an answer, permit 
me to demand by what right you ask the question ? 

Enter Howard, l. 
Colonel Howard here ! 

True. I'm out again ! What's the Colonel to her? 

Sj'etires up. 

How. (crosses to lie?') I have come, Gertrude, to bid 
you farewell. To-morrow I resign my commission and 
leave this city, perhaps for ever. You, Gertrude, it is you 
who have exiled me ! After last evening — 

True, (coming forward c. Howard) What the plague 
have you got to say about last evening ? 

How. Mr. Trueman ! 

True. What have you got to say about last evening ? 
and what have you to say to that little girl at all ? Its 
Tiffany's precious daughtei* you're in love w'ith. 

Hoio. i\liss Tiffany ? Never ! I never had the slightest 
pretension — 

True. That lying old woman ! But I'm glad of it ! 
Oh! Ah! Um ! (looking significantly at Gertrude «??f/ 
then at Howard) I see how it is. So you don't choose to 
marry Seraphina, eh ? Well now, whom do you choose 
to marry? [^glancing at Gertrude. 

How. I shall not marrv at all ! 

True. You won't? (looking at them both again) Why 
you don't mean to say that you don't like — 

[jpoints with his thumb to Gertrude. 

Ger. Mr. Trueman, I may have been wrong to boast of 
my good nature, but do not presume too far upon it. 

How. You like frankness, Mr. Trueman, therefore I 
will speak plainly. I have long cherished a dream from 
which I was last night rndelv awakened. 



60 FASHION. [Act v. 

True. And that's what you call speaking plainly 1 
Well, I differ with you ! But I can guess what you mean. 
Last night you suspected Gertrude there of — (angrily) of 
what no man shall ever suspect her again while I'm above 
ground! You did her injustice, — it was a mistake ! There, 
now that matter's settled. Go, and ask her to forgive you, 
— she's woman enough to do it ! Go, go ! 

IIoiv. Mr. Trueman, you have forgotten to whom you 
dictate. 

True. Then you won't do it ? you won't ask her pardon? 
Hoiv. Most undoubtedly I will not — not at any man's 
bidding. I must first know — 

True. You won't do it ? Then if I don't give you a 
lesson in politeness — 

How. It will be because you fin(J me your tutor in the 
same science. I am not a man to brook an insult, Mr. 
Trueman ! but we'll not quarrel in presence of the lady. 
True. Won't we ? I don't know that — 

[crosses r. h. 

Ger. Pray, Mr. Trueman — Colonel Howard, {crosses 

to c.) pray desist, Mr. Trueman, for my sake ! {taking 

hold of his arm to hold him back) Colonel Howard, if you 

will read this letter it will explain everything. 

[Iiands letter to Howard, who reads. 
True. He don't deserve an explanation ! Did'nt I tell 
him that it was a mistake ? Refuse to beg' your pardon ! 
I'll teach him, I'll teach him ! 

How. (after reading) Gertrude, how have I wronged 
you ! 

True. Oh, you'll beg her pardon now ? 

\hetween them. 

How. Her's, Sir, and your's I Gertrude, I fear — 

True. You needn't, — she'll forgive you. You don't 

know these women as well as I do, — they're always ready 

to pardon ; its their nature, and they can't help it. Come 

along, I loft Antony and his wife in the dining room ; we'll 

go and find them. I've a story of my own to tell ! As for 

you, Colonel, yon may follow. Come along, Come along! 

\_Leads out Gertrude, r., followed hy How^ard. 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Tiffany, l. u. e. Mr. Tiffany with 
a bundle of bills in his hand. 
Mrs» Tf. I beg you won't mention the subject again. 



SCKNE I.] FASHION. 51 

Mr. Tiffany. Nothing is more plebeian than a discussion 
upon economy — nothing more ungenteel than looking over 
and fretting over one's bills ! 

Tif. Then I suppose, my dear, it is quite as ungenteel 
to 2^(iy one's bills? 

Mrs. Tif. Certainly! I hear the ee-light never con- 
descend to do anything of the kind. The honor of their 
invaluable patronage is sufficient for the persons they em- 
ploy ! 

Tif. Patronage then is a newly invented food upon 
which the working classes fatten? What convenient appe- 
tites poor people must have ! Now listen to what I am 
going to say. As soon as my daughter marries Mr. Snob- 
son — 
Enter Prudence, r., a three-cornered note in her hand. 

Pru. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall we do! Such a 
misfortune! Such a disaster! Oh, dear! oh, dear! 

Mrs. Tif. Prudence, you are the most tiresome creature! 
What is the matter ? 

■Pin(. (pacing up and doiv7i the stage) Such a disgrace 
to the whole family! But I always expected it. Oh, dear! 
oh, dear! 

Mrs. Tif. (following her up and down the stage) What 
are you talking about. Prudence? Will you tell me what 
has happened? 

Pra. {still pacing, Mrs. Tiffany folloivi)ig) Oh! I 
can't, I can't ! You'll feel so dreadfully ! How could she 
do such a thing ! But I expected nothing else I I never 
did, I never did ! 

Mrs. Tif. (still following) Good gracious ! what do you 
mean, Prudence ? Tell me, will you tell me ? I shall 
get into such a passion ! What is the matter ? 

Pru. (still pacing) Oh, Betsy, Betsy ! That your 
daughter should have come to that ! Dear me, dear me ! 

Tif. Seraphina ? Did you say Seraphina ? What has 
happened to her ? what has she done ? 

I following Prudence up and down the staga 
on the opposite side from J\Irs. Tiffany, 

Mrs Tif (still following) What has she done ? what 
has she done ? 

. Pru. Oh ! something dreadful — dreadful — shocking ! 

Tif. (si III folio wing) Speak quickly and plainly — you 

E 2 



52 FASHION. [Act V. 

torture me by this delay, — Prudeoce, be calm, and speak ! 
What is it ? 

Pru, (stopping) Zeke just told rae — he carried her 
travelling trunk himself — she gave him a whole dollar ! 
Oh, my! 

Tif. Her trunk? where? where? 

Pru. Round the corner! 

Mrs. Tif. What did she want with her trunk? You 
are the most vexatious creature. Prudence ! There is no 
bearing your ridiculous conduct! 

Pru. Oh, you will have worse to bear — worse! Sera- 
phina's gone! 

Tif. Gone ! where? 

Pi'u. Off! — eloped — eloped with the Count! Dear me, 
dear me! I always told you she would! 

Tif. Then I am ruined! 

[stands with his face buried in his hands. 

Mrs. Tif. Oh, what a ridiculous girl ! And she might 
have had such a splendid wedding ! What could have 
possessed her ? 

Tif The devil himself possessed her, for she has ruined 
me past all redemption ! Gone, Prudence, did you say 
gone ? Are you sure they are gone ? 

Pru. Didn't I tell you so ! Just look at this note — one 
might know by the very fold of it— 

Tif. (snatching the note) Let me see it ! {opens the note 
and reads) " My dear Ma, — When you receive this I 
shall be a countess ! Isn't it a sweet title ? The Count 
and I were forced to be married privately, for reasons which 
I will explain in my next. You must pacify Pa, and put 
him in a good humour before I come back, though now 
I'm to be a countess I suppose I shouldn't care !" Un- 
dutiful huzzy ! " We are going to make a little excursion 
and will be back in a week 

"Your dutiful daughter — Seraphina." 

A man's curse is sure to spring up at his own hearth, — here 
is mine ! The sole curb upon that villain gone, I am 
wholly in his power ! Oh ! the first downward step from 
honor — he who takes it cannot j)ause in his mad descent 
and is sure to be hurried on to ruin ! 

Mrs, Tif, Why, Mr. Tiffany, how you do take on ! 



Scene I.] FASHION. 53 

And I dare say to elope was the most fashionable way 
after all ! 

Enter Trueman, r., leading Gertrude, and followed 

by Howard. 

True. Where are all the folks ? Here, Antony, you are 
the man I want. We've been hunting for you all over the 
house. Why — what's the matter 1 There's a face for a 
thriving city merchant ! Ah ! Antony, you never wore such 
a hang-dog look as that when you trotted about the country 
with your pack upon your back ! Your shoulders are no 
broader now — but they've a heavier load to carry — that's 
plain ! 

Mj's. Tif. INIr. Trueman, such allusions are highly im- 
proper ! What would my daughter, the Countess, say ! 

Ger. The Countess ? Oh ! Madam ! 

Mrs. Tif. Yes, the Countess ! My daughter Seraphina, 
the Countess dee Joliraaitre ! What have you to say to 
that? No wonder you are surprised after your recherche, 
ahime conduct ! I have told you already. Miss Gertrude, 
that you were not a proper person to enjoy the inestimable 
advantages of my patronage. You are dismissed — do you 
understand ? Discharged ! 

True. Have you done? Very well, it's my turn now. 
Antony, perhaps what I have to say don't concern you as 
much as some others — but I want you to listen to me. You 
remember, Antony, {his tone becomes serious), a blue-eyed, 
smiling girl — 

Tif. Your daughter. Sir? I remember her well. 

True. None ever saw her to forget her! Give me your 
hand, man. There — that will do ! Now let me go on. I 
never coveted wealth — yet twenty years a2:o I found mvsclf 
the richest farmer in Catteraugus. This cursed money 
made my girl an object of speculation. Every idle fellow 
that wanted to feather his nest was sure to come courting 
Ruth. There was one — my heart misgave me the instant 
I laid eyes upon him — for he was a city chap, and not over 
fond of the truth. But Ruth — ah ! she was too pure her- 
self to look for guile ! His fine words and his fair looks — 
the old storv — she^vas taken with him — I said, **uo'' — 
but the girl liked her own way better than her old father's 
—girls always do ! and one morning — the rascal robbed me 



54 FASHION. [Act V. 

— not of my money, he would have been welcome to that 
— but of the only treasure I cherished — my daughter ! 

Tif. But you forgave her ! 

True. I did 1 I knew she would never forgive herself 
— that was punishment enough ! The scoundrel thought 
he was marrying my gold with my daughter — he was mis- 
taken ! I took care that they should never want ; but that 
was all. She loved him — what will not woman love? The 
villain broke her heart — mine was tougher, or it wouldn't 
have stood what it did. A year after they were married, 
he forsook her ! She came back to her old home — her old 
father ! It could' nt last long — she pined — and pined — and 
— then — she died ! Don't think me an old fool — though I am 
one — for grieving won't bring her back, (bursts into tears.) 

Tif. It was a heavy loss ! 

True. So heavy, that I should not have cared how soon 
I followed her, but for the child she left ! As I pressed 
that child in my arms, I swore that my unlucky wealth 
should never curse it, as it had cursed its mother ! It was 
all I had to love — but I sent it away — and the neighbors 
thought it was dead. The girl was brought up tenderly 
but humbly by my wife's relatives in Geneva. I had her 
taught true independence — she had hands — capacities — and 
should use them ! Money should never buy her a husband ! 
for I resolved not to claim her until she had made her 
choice, and found the man who was willing to take her 
for herself alone. She turned out a rare girl! and it's 
time her old grandfather claimed her. Here he is to do it! 
And there stands Ruth's child! Old Adam's heiress! 
Gertrude, Gertrude ! — my child 1 

[Gertrude rushes into his ar7ns. 

Pru. (After a pause) Do tell; I want to know! But 
I knew it ! I always said Gertrude would turn out some- 
bod v, after all! 

Mrs. Tif. Dear me! Gertrude an heiress! My dear 
Gertrude, I always thought you a very charming girl — ■ 
quite You-NICK — an heiress ! I must give her a ball! I'll 
introduce her into society myself — of course an heiress 
must make a sensation ! {aside) 

How. I am too bewildered even to^'ish her joy. Ah! 
there will be plenty to do that now — but the gulf between 
us is wider tlian ever, {aside) 



Scene I.] FASHION. 55 

True. Step forward, young man, and let us know what 
you are muttering about. I said I would never claim her 
until she had found the man who loved her for herself. I 
have claimed her — yet I never break my word — I think I 
have found that man ! and here he is. (strikes Howard 
on the shoulder) Gertrude's your's! There — never say a 
word, man — don't bore me with your thanks — you can 
cancel all obligations by making that child happy 1 There 
• — take her ! — Well, girl, and what do you say ? 

Ger. That I rejoice too much at having found a parent 
for mv first act to be one of disobedience! 

\_gives her hand to Howard. 

True. How very dutiful! and how disinterested! 

[Tiffany retires up — and paces the stage, 
exhibiting great agitation, 

Pru. (to Trtjeman) All the single folks are getting 
married ! 

True. No they are not. You and I are single folks, 
and we're not likely to get married. 

Mrs. Tif. My dear Mr. Trueman — my sweet Gertrude, 
when my daughter, the Countess, returns, she will be de- 
lighted to hear of this deenooment! I assure you that the 
Countess will be quite charmed! 

Ger. The Countess ? Pray Madam where is Seraphina? 

Mrs. Tif. The Countess dee Jolimaitre, my dear, is at 
this moment on her way to — to AVashington! Where after 
visiting all the fashionable curiosities of the day — including 
the President — she will return to grace her native city 1 

Ger. I hope you are only jesting, Madam ? Seraphina 
is not married ? 

Mrs. Tif. Excuse me, my dear, my daughter had this 
morning the honor of being united to the Count dee Joli- 
maitre ! 

Ger. Madam! He is an impostor! 

Mrs. Tif. Good gracious ! Gertrude, how can you talk 
m that disrespectful way of a. man of rank ? An heiress, 
my dear, should have better manners! The Count — 

Enter Millinette, r., crying. 
Mil. Oh! Madame! I will tell every ting — oh! dat mon- 
stre ! He break my heart ! 



56 FASHION. [Act V. 

Mrs. Tif. IMillinette, what is the matter ? 

Mil. Oh ! he promise to marry me — I love him much 
— and now Zeke say he run away vid Mademoiselle Sera- 
phina ! 

Mrs. Tif. What insolence! The girl is mad! Comit 
Jolimaitre marry my femmy de chamber ! 

Mil. Oh ! Madame, he is not one Count, not at all ! 
Dat is only de title he go by in dis country. De foreigners 
always take de large title ven dey do come here. His name 
h Paris vas Gustave Tread-mill. But he not one Frenchman 
at all, but he do live one long time « Paris. First he live 
vid Monsieur Vermicelle — dere he vas de head cook ! Den 
he live vid Monsieur Tire-nez, de barber ! After dat he 
live vid Monsieur le Comte Frippon-fin — and dere he vas le , 
Comte's valet ! Dere, now I tell everyting I feel one great 
deal better! 

3Irs. Tif. Oh ! good gracious ! I shall faint ! Not a 
Count ! What will every body say ? It's no such thing 1 
I say he is a Count ! One can see the foreign jenny says 
quoi in his face ! Don't you think I can tell a Count when 
I see one ? I say he is a Count ! 

Enter Snobson, l., his hat on — his hands thrust in his 
pocket — evidently a little intoxicated. 

Snob. I won't stand it ! I say I won't ! 

Tif (rushing up to him) Mr. Snobson, for heaven's 
sake — (aside) 

Snob. Keep off! I'm a hard customer to get the better 
of! You'll see if I don't come out strong! 

True, (quietly knocking off Snobson's hat with his 
stick) Where are your manners, man? 

Snob. My business aint with you, Catteraugus ; you've 
"waked up the wrong passenger I — Now the way I'll put it 
into Tiff will be a caution. I'll make him wince ! That 
extra mint julep has put the true pluck in me. Now for 
it? (aside) Mr. Tiffany, Sir — you needn't think to come 
over me. Sir — you'll have to get up a little earlier in the 
morning before you do that. Sir! I'd like to know. Sir, 
how you came to assist your daughter in running away 
with that foreign loafer 1 It was a downright swindle, -Sir. 
After the conversation I and you had on that subject she 
wasn't }our property, Sir. 



Scene I.] FASHION. 57 

True. What, Antony, is that the way your city clerk 
bulhes his boss? 

Snob. You're drunk, Cattcraugus — don't expose your- 
seh' — you're drunk ! Taken a Httle too much toddy, my old 
boy! Be quiet! I'll look after you, and tliey won't* find 
it out. If you want to be busy, you may take care of my 
hat — I feel so deuced weak in the chest, I don't think I 
could pick it up myself. — Now to put the screws to TiflP. 
(aside) Mr. Tifiany, Sir — you have broken your word, as 
no virtuous individual — no honorable member— of — the — 
com — mu — ni — ty — 

Tif. Have some pity, Mr. Snobson, I beseech you ! I 
had nothing to do with my daughter's elopement! I will 
agree to anything you desire — your salary shall be doubled 
— trebled — [aside to him. 

Snob, {aloud) No you don't. No bribery and corruption. 

Tif. I implore you to be silent. You shall become 
partner of the concern, if you please — only do not speak. 
You are not yourself at this moment. [aside to him. 

Snob. Aint I thouo;h. I feel twice myself. I feel like 
two Snobsons rolled into one, and I'm chock full of the 
spunk of a dozen! Now INIr. Tiffany, Sir — 

Tif. I shall go distracted ! Mr. Snobson, if you have 
one spark of manly feeling — [aside to him. 

T'rue. Antony, why do you stand disputing with that 
drunken jackass 1 AVhere's your nigger ? Let him kick 
the critter out, and be of use for once in his life. 

Snob. Better be quiet, Catteraugus. This aint your 
hash, so keep your spoon out of the dish. Don't expose 
yourself, old boy. 

True. Turn him out, Anthony! 

Snob. He daren't do it! Aint I up to him? Aint he 
in mv power? Can't I knock him into a cocked hat with a 
word ? And now he's got my steam up — I vjill do it! 

Tif. {beseechingly) Mr. Snobson — my friend — 

Snob. It's no go — steam's up — and I don't stand at 
anything! 

* True. You won't starid here long unless you mend your 
manners — you're not the first man I've upset because he 
did'nt know his place. 

Snob. I know where Tiff's place is, and that's in the 



58 FASHION. [ActV. 

States^ Prison ! It's bespoke already. He would have it! 
He wouldn't take pattern of me, and behave like a gentle- 
man! He's a/or^er, Sir! 

[Tiffany throws himself into a chair in an 
attitude of despair ; the others stand trans- 
fixed with astonishment. 

He's been forging Dick Anderson's endorsements of his 
notes these ten months. He's got a couple in the bank 
that will send him to the wall any how — if he can't make 
a raise. I took them there myself! Now you know what 
he's worth. I said I'd expose him, and I have done it! 

Mrs. Tif. Get out of the house ! You ugly, little, 
drunken brute, get out ! It's not true. Mr. Trueman, 
f u' ±i\m. out; you have got a stick — put him out! 

Enter Seraphina, l., in her bonnet and shawl — a parasol 

in her hand. 

Sera. I hope Zeke hasn't delivered my note. 

\stops in surprise at seeing the persons assembled. 

Mrs. Tif. Oh, here is the Countess ! 

[advances to embrace her. 

Tif. {starting from his seat^ and seizing Seraphina 
violently by the arm) Are — you — married ? 

Sera. Goodness, Pa, how you frighten me ! No, I'm 
not married, quite. 

Tif. Thank heaven. 

Mrs. Tif. [drawing Seraphina aside^ l.) What's the 
matter? Why did you come back? 

Sera. The clergyman wasn't at home — I came back for 
my jewels — the Count said nobility couldn't get on without 
them. 

Tif. I may be saved yet J Seraphina, my child, you 
will not see me disgraced — ruined ! I have been a kind 
father to you — at least I have tried to be one — although 
your mother's extravagance made a madman of me ! The 
Count is an impostor — you seemed to like him — (pointing 
to Snobson) Heaven forgive me ! {aside) Marry him and 
save me. You, Mr. Trueman, you will be my friend in 
this hour of extreme need — you will advance the sum which 
I require — I pledge myself to return it. My wife — ray child 
' — who will support them were I — the thought makes me 
frantic ! You will aid me ? You had a child yourself. 



Scene I.] FASHION. 59 

True, But I did not sell her — it was her own doings. 
Shame on you, Antony ! Put a price on your own flesh 
and blood ! Shame on such foul traffic ! 

Tif. Save me — I conjure you — for my father's sake. 

True. For your father s son's sake I will not aid you 
in becoming a greater villain than you are ! 

Ger. (c-) Mr. Trueman — Father, I should say — save 
him — do not embitter our happiness by permitting this 
calamity to fall upon another — 

True. Enough — I did not need your voice, child. I 
am going to settle this matter my own way. 

[Goes up to Snobson — who has seated himself 
and fallen asleep — tilts him out of the chair. 

Snob, (waking up) Eh? Where's the fire? Oh! it's 
you, Cateraugus. 

True. If 1 comprehend aright, you have been for some 
time aware of your principal's forgeries? 

[as he says this, he beckons to Howard, c, 
who advances as witness. 

Snob. You*ve hit the nail, Catteraugus ! Old chap saw 
that I was up to him six months ago j left oflf throwing dust 
into my eyes — 

True. Oh, he did ! 

Snob. Made no bones of forging Anderson's name at 
my elbow. 

True. Forged at your elbow? You saw him do it? 

Snob. I did. 

True. Repeatedly? 

Snob. Re — pea — ted — ly 

True. Then you, Rattlesnake, if he goes to the States* 
Prison, you'll take up your quarters there too. You are 
an accomplice, an accessory ! 

[Trueman walks away and seats himself r. 
Howard rejoins Gertrude. Snobson 
stands for some time bewildered. 

Snob. The deuce, so I am ! I never thought of that! 
I must make myself scarce. I'll be off! Tif, I say Tif! 
{going up to him and speaking confidentially) that drunken 
old rip has got us in his power. Let's give him the slip 
and be off. They want men of genius at the West, — we're 
sure to get on ! You — you can set up for a writing master, 
and teach copying signatures ; and I — I'll give lectures on 



60 FASHION. [A-CT V. 

temperance ! You won't come, eh ? Then I'm off with- 
out you. Good bye, Catteraugus ! Which is the way to 
Cahfornia ? [steals off^ l. 

True. There's one debt your city owes me. And now 
let us see what other nuisances we can abate. Antony, 
I'm not given to preaching, therefore I shall not say much 
about what you have done. Your face speaks for itself, — 
the crime has brought its punishment along with it. 

Tif. Indeed it has. Sir ! In one year I have lived a 
century of misery. 

Trae. I believe you, and upon one condition I will assist 
you— 

Tif. My friend — my first, ever kind friend, — only name 
it! 

True. You must sell your house and all these gew gaws, 
and bundle your wife and daughter off to the country. 
There let them learn economy, true independence, and 
home virtues, instead of foreign follies. As for yourself, 
continue your business — but let moderation, in future, be 
your counsellor, and let honesty be your confidential clerk. 

Tif. Mr. Trueman, you have made existence once more 
precious to me ! My wife and daughter shall quit the city 
to-morrow, and — 

Pru. It's all coming right ! Its all coming right ! 
We'll go to the county of Catteraugus. 

[walking up to Trueman. 

True. No you won't, — I make that a stipulation, An- 
tony ; keep clear of Catteraugus, None of your fashionable 
examples there ! 

JoLiMAiTRE appears, l,. h. 3 e., in the Conservatory and 
peeps into the room unperceived. 

Count, What can detain Seraphina ? We ought to be 
off! 

Mil. {turns rounds perceives him, runs and forces him 
into the room) Here he is ! Ah, Gustave, mon cher Gus- 
tave ! I have you now and we never part no m.orc. Don't 
frown, Gustave, don't frown — 

True. Come forward, Mr. Count ! and for the edifi- 
cation of fashionable society confess that you're an impostor. 

Count. An impostor? Why, you abominable old — 

True. Oh, your feminine friend has told us all about it. 



Scene I.] FASHION. 51 

the cook — the valet — barber and all that sort of thing. 
Come, confess, and something may be done for you. 

£ount. Well then, I do confess I am no count ; but 
really, ladies and gentlemen, I may recommend myself as 
the most capital cook. 

Mrs, Tif. Oh, Seraphiua ! 

Sera. Oh, Ma ! [they embrace and retire up. 

True. Promise me to call upon the whole circle of your 
fashionable acquaintances with your own advertisements 
and in your cook's attire, and I will set you up in business 
to-morrow. Better turn stomachs than turn heads ! 

Mil. But you will marry me ? 

Count. Give us your hand, Millinette ! Sir, command 
me for the most delicate pate — the daintiest ci-oquette a la 
royale — the most transcendent omelette soujflee that ever 
issued from a French pastry-cook's oven. I hope you will 
pardon my conduct, but I heard that in America, where 
you pay homage to titles while you profess to scorn them 
— where Fashion makes the basest coin current — where 
you have no kings, no princes, no nobility — 

True. Stop there ! I object to your use of that word. 
"When justice is found only among lawyers — health among 
physicians — and patriotism among politicians, then may 
you say that there is no nobility where there are no titles ! 
But we have kings, princes, and nobles in abundance- — of 
Natuj'e''s stamp, if not of Fashion's, — we have honest mien, 
warm hearted and brave, and we have women — gentle, fair, 
and true, to whom no title could add nobility. 



EPILOGUE. 



Pru. I told you so ! And now you hear and see. 
I told you Fashion would the fashion be ! 

True. Then both its point and moral I distrust. 

Count. Sir, is that liberal ? 

How. Or is it just ? 

True. The guilty have escaped ! 

Tif. ^ Is, therefore, sin 

INIade charming ? Ah ! there's punishment within ! 
Guilt ever carries his own scourge along. 



b2 FASHION. 

Ger. Virtue her own reward ! 

True. You're right, I'm wrong. 

Mrs. Tif. How we have been deceived ! 

Pru. I told you so. 

Sera. To lose at once a title and a beau ! 

Count. A count no more, I'm no more oi account. 

True. But to a nobler title you may mount. 
And be in time — who knows ? — an honest man ! 

Count. Eh, Millinette ? 

Mil. Oh, oui, — I know you can ! 

Ger. (to audience) But, ere we close the scene, a word 
with you, — 
We charge you answer, — Is this picture true ? 
Some little mercy to our efforts show. 
Then let the world your honest verdict know. 
Here let it see portrayed its ruling passion, 
And learn to prize at its just value — Fashion. 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 

L. Count. Millinette. Howard. Gertrude. Trueman, 
Mrs. Tiffany. Tiffany. Seraphina. Prudence. 



THE END. 



<w 



J 



Plays. BOSS 



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^ 171^ 00413 4,30 '