An apartment handsomely furnished--Commode, pictures, fauteul,
&c.-Door at the back, door on the right, window on the left.
JEN.
Lie down, will you? (the barking of a dog is heard) Confound the dog! I know
what he wants–he has bitten me once before, that is–not exactly before–and it seems to have
been so much to his taste, that he wants to renew the experiment. Oh, curse your teeth, I know
I've not been able to sit down comfortably to my dinner ever since. (fresh
barking) Be quiet, you brute! What! you won't, eh? then you shall have something to
bark at; there, you blackguard. (throws a hand-brush off, c.L.)
GRAS.
(without, c.) Hollo, hollo! what the devil's that? What do you mean, Sir?
(appears at C., with the brush) Why did you hurl this dangerous weapon at my
head?
JEN.
(aside) I'm in for it now. (aloud) Please, Sir, it wasn't at
you.
GRAS.
It wasn't at me? I beg to remark, it struck me, and rather forcibly too, that it was at
me.
JEN.
Please, Sir, it wasn't at you, it was at our dog, Bottles, he's always wanting to bite me.
""
GRAS.
Well, the dog may have some reason for his antipathy, he seems to me getting rather thin
lately. I saw you the other day admiring a gilt horse in a window, and upon that window was
inscribed, any odds upon anything–bets settled the day after the race." Now, I don't
wish to insinuate anything, but you charge me two-pence a day for that dog's food, and he
certainly looks thin.
JEN.
Sir, he gobbles up his 'lowance every day, and if you were to see the extra bit he helped
himself to out of my trousers–
GRAS.
Ha, ha, ha! Well, it is astonishing!
JEN.
What?
GRAS.
Yon are so like Augustin.
JEN.
Ah, yes, Sir, I know him–of your theatre. Augustin–what a name! he is not a very good
looking fellow. I don't see how there can be a resemblance.
GRAS.
But there is, though. You have never seen him near, have you? In the street, or– .?
JEN.
No, Sir, but I have seen him act. What a silly looking chap he is. And you too, I have seen
you play. Ha, ha, ha!
GRAS.
What are you laughing at?
JEN.
Why, every body laughs at you, Sir.
GRAS.
They have a right to laugh, Jenkins, because they pay for it–at least, they did pay for
it–but I'm not to be laughed at now, Jenkins–I've left the stage.
JEN.
Left the stage! Law, Sir, you haven't been such a fool?
GRAS.
Sir, what do you mean?–get out. (throws the broom at his head)
JEN.
I'm going, Sir. Only I hope you will not think any the worse of me because I am like
him–this Mr. Augustin.
GRAS.
The worse of you! quite the contrary; it was on account of the great likeness to him that I
engaged you. Fetch me the Times paper, –and leave Bottles alone, will you ?
JEN.
Yes, Sir.
Exit c. and L.
GRAS.
Ah, now I breath, I am at ease, I am alone! For a long, long time, the desire for solitude
has created such a positive necessity for isolation, that I shall shun all kinds of society. I
am no longer an actor. Ha, ha, ha! (he laughs) I play comedy no longer. ha, ha
! it's a load off my shoulders. I am as light as a bird. No more need of daubing my face with
vermillion, I can now appear such as I really am–with my clear, wholesome complexion–all my
own. Ah, ah! and another advantage, I am no longer forced to make the best of the cock and
bull stories, and learn the awful nonsense of those modest unassuming gentlemen the authors.
Pretty sensible stuff they used to put into my mouth. There is one thing I do regret, though,
and that is the public. I must confess I have nothing to complain of with respect to the
public; but the stage–the stage! as Coriolanus says "I banish you." It was rather sudden, and
rather oddly too; I wish I had somebody here to relate the circumstances to; but never mind, I
will tell myself all about it. Figure to yourself, then, my dear Grassot–when I talk to myself
I always speak affectionately –figure to yourself, that one morning I was going to the theatre
to attend rehearsal; well, my good Grassot–when I speak to myself I always employ agreeable
epithets–you know very well, that at all theatres there are regulations for the actors; when
they fail in punctual attendance, either at rehearsals or performances, they come down upon
you for a fine; then there is another regulation which interdicts the actors from addressing
each other with any cutting, sarcastic, disagreeable, insulting observations. There is a
tariff upon this head, and of which I was the victim. Now, you shall see my friend
Grassot–when I address myself as a friend, I am always sincere–I was going to rehearsal. I
entered the theatre deliberately good and punctually, the rehearsal was called at twelve. I
said morning" to the hall keeper, with grace and condescension; it was twelve o'clock. I
walked straight on to the stage. I was no sooner there, than the Prompter, calls out "Mr.
Grassot, you are fined."
"Fined, for what?" "You are behind time a quarter of an hour." "I beg your pardon,
Mr. – " "Nay, here is the time–the Greenwich time––by the Electric Telegraph from the Electric
Clock, at the Electric Telegraph Office, in the Strand. Ah, you'll find, my good Sir, that
your watch is too fast." He would not allow it. I insisted –so did he. In short, I grew angry,
and I was about to favour him with a rather disagreeable epithet, when all at once I checked
myself. I thought of the regulation, and with a quiet but imposing air and manner, I asked
him, " Tell me, my good friend"–I called him my good friend, that the standers-by might remark
it–"how much would it cost me if I were to call you a muff?" "One pound one
shilling," said he. "Well then," said I, "please to observe that I have not yet called you a
muff, it is too dear. If you would take half a crown, now, perhaps I might indulge in the
truthful luxury of calling you a muff, but as it is, I can't afford it." "You shall pay the
guinea," said he. "Ah, but I won't, though," said I. "You will, though." "No." I held out, but
would you believe it, my friend Grassot? on Saturday last they stopped the guinea out of my
inadequate salary–I was obliged to pay them, and it has given me a disgust for the stage. My
engagement was just out, and I would not renew it. I am free, independent. I'll live like a
gentleman. Ha, ha, ha! It amuses me, it is a change for me–a desirable change, from the whirl
of a theatre to the repose of a quiet and respectable retirement. (sitting in chair
c.)
RAVEL rushes on the stage from c.
RAV.
Ah, this is it! (going to window L.)
GRAS.
What?
RAV.
(without turning) Don't look. Ah, it is she! Yes, angel of my life–here,
here! (he blows kisses)
GRAS.
But, Sir–
RAV.
Don't look. Oh, why does this cursed street separate my lips from thy dear cheek?
GRAS.
Yes, but–but I should like to know–
RAV.
Don't. (turning rouud) What, Grassot!
GRAS.
Ravel!
RAV.
Let me press you to my heart. (he stretches out his arms, and puts them round
GRASSOT's neck, turns him round, and places himself before the window, so as to address
himself to the opposite house as he had done before) Oh, with what delight I could
see thee precipitating thyself from the window!
GRAS.
(struggling) Not me.
RAV.
(as before) To fly the more quickly into my arms.
GRAS.
Why, I am in your arms.
RAV.
(pushing him away) No, you are not–get out of the way. She makes me a
sign–she is going out.
GRAS.
(aside) What can be the matter with him?–he is mad!
RAV.
(to GRASSOT) Never mind me, I am going down, for I am going to see her–her
whom I love. Yes, angel of my life–not you –her. Wait for me, wait for me!
He rushes out c. and L.
GRAS.
Whew! what can possess Ravel? To rush thus into one's apartments.
Enter JENKINS, C.
JEN.
A letter, Sir.
GRAS.
Ah, from New York, from the Manager of the Goahead Theatre there, who offers me an
engagement. They are surprising fellows, these American managers. I am here quiet and at ease,
and they cannot leave me alone. But I would let you know I have given up the stage, Mister
Goahead. But, Jenkins, did you meet anybody?
JEN.
Yes, Sir, I knew him very well, he is an actor, Mr. Ravel; he recognised me too–he also took
me for Mr. Augustin. It's too much of a joke, Sir; if he was a handsome man I should not care;
but to compare me, it is frightful. It will hinder me from getting married.
GRAS.
Did he say nothing to you?
JEN.
Yes, yes! He called out "Get out of the way stupid, I shall miss her." I looked round to see
who he meant by stupid, but he rushed by me, nearly knocked off my equilibrium, and off he
went, but–
GRAS.
But what?
JEN.
I must tell you that before, this morning, I saw Mr. Ravel wandering up and down, and
looking about in our street.
GRAS.
Well?
JEN.
And then I saw him make signs, to that little lady who has just come to live there, yonder,
where you see the window open, opposite.
GRAS.
I see.
JEN.
I believe be is smitten with her–he is in love. (sighing) Ah, I was so myself
once.
GRAS.
(to himself) He is not very particular, however, to come here, and without
saying a word, take my window for an observatory. Aye, aye! but no, Mr. Ravel. Listen,
Jenkins.
JEN.
Yes, Sir.
GRAS.
If Mr. Ravel should come again, tell him I am not at home.
JEN.
Not at home–where then?
GRAS.
That I am not here.
JEN.
Where shall you be, then?
GRAS.
Ha, ha! well, you are an ass. I shall be here, but not for him–do you understand? I do not
want to see him again.
JEN.
Oh, now I understand, very well. (a barking heard) But I hear Bottles
barking.
GRAS.
Shut the door.
JEN.
(shutting the door) Yes, Sir.
Exit c. and L.
GRAS.
How can it be? This Ravel, who was here just now–the fellow has produced a very strange
effect upon me. But I am determined I will see no more of my old comrades, they revive ideas
of the stage, and I don't want to hear anything more about it, and I wont. I don't like the
stage any longer–I–
JEN.
(without) Mr. Grassot is out, Sir.
RAV.
(without) I will wait for him then.
GRAS.
That man again!
JEN.
But, Sir–
RAV.
Get out of the way. (he enters, followed by JENKINS) Ha, you here! What did
this stupid fellow mean? You told me your master was not at home–you take the liberty of
playing tricks with me, do you? (he takes him by the ear)
JEN.
It is you that play, Sir; I paid sixpence last week to see you do it.
RAV.
R. You joke, too, do you?
JEN.
(c.) You don't joke with my ear; let it go, I will tell you – it was
master.
GRAS.
L. There, hold your tongue.
JEN.
It was Monsieur who told me–
GRAS.
(giving him a kick) There, that's enough.
JEN.
Oh, that's where Bottles
RAV.
Come here (seizes him) Augustin–your name is Augustin? –you
are Augustin?
JEN.
No, Sir, I am not, I am myself, Sir, I am a respectable man, Sir, I am not a play actor, and
its too bad, and I can't bear the caparison.
GRAS.
Before you go out, listen to me, here.
JEN.
I'll listen to you here. (keeping at a distance)
GRAS.
I wish to go to the Opera this evening, to divert myself a little.
JEN.
You are quite right, Sir.
GRAS.
Go–go to the Library, and see what is played to–night.
JEN.
Yes, Sir.
GRAS.
Mind you don't mistake–the bill is outside.
JEN.
I know, I know, Sir, I am not a fool.
Going meets RAVEL, who says "Make haste, Augustin," JENKINS goes off in a rage,
c.
RAV.
Oh, my dear Grassot, you see before you the happiest man–– I have just seen her.
GRAS.
Seen her–whom?
RAV.
Her.
GRAS.
Well, but what her?
RAV.
Her I love.
GRAS.
But what her, her that you love?
RAV.
Your opposite neighbour. I am trying to win her. She has a guardian–I have contrived to slip
a billet into her hand–not into her guardian's, but Eulalie's–her name is Eulalie; she will
answer me, I am sure–but can you guess where?
GRAS.
What consequence is it to me?
RAV.
What consequence is it to you! Why it is here–here that she will address her dear words of
love.
GRAS.
Here –in my house–to make love to a young girl!
RAV.
Don't trouble yourself, I don't mean to marry her. Come, now, tell me, I don't inconvénience
you, do I? No, that's right–
that's agreed, I install myself here, and I don't mean to slip my cable.
GRAS.
But, an instant, an instant !—
RAV.
An instant–many instants! So, it's all arranged. Ah, my friend, ever day I shall behold
her–in this spot I shall pass all my time in looking at her. But, stop, I'm deuced hungry,
have you got anything to give me to eat? (he seats himself on the right) But
what is the matter with you? you seem dull.
GRAS.
I am–I am!
RAV.
Oh, I know!–you are vexed at having quitted the stage. Well, you are wrong, see me.
GRAS.
What?
RAV.
Why, don't you know? (here RAVEL, sitting astride upon a chair, in order to get
nearer to GRASSOT, jumps with the chair between his legs–GRASSOT, in fear of seeing him breah
the chair, follows all his movements with the greatest anxiety) I, also, I was so
hurt at your treatment at the theatre, that I gave it them right and left, and have left the
stage, too.
GRAS.
What, you abandoned the stage?
RAV.
Yes, as well as you; besides, it was a principle of friendship and good fellowship. I said
to myself—(sings) "That Grassot's a very good fellow–
GRAS.
(stopping him) Why do you sing? "
RAV.
For practice–if I can't get an engagement anywhere else, I shall try the opera–sing in
sounds nobody understands, and shall become popular and fashionable. (sings a mock
bravura, to GRASSOT's awful annoyance)
GRAS.
Be quiet, will you, and tell me how you feel at the prospect of quitting the stage, and what
you really intend to do?
RAV.
Oh, I'm all right. Do you know I have had a legacy?
GRAS.
Indeed! I am glad to hear that.
RAV.
Allow me to tell you all about it. (here RAVEL, who is still astride upon the chair,
making with it all sorts of evolutions, rises) I had an uncle!
GRAS.
Oh, "my prophetic soul!" What, a pawnbroker?
RAV.
No, a real uncle! Well, this uncle, who was very much attached to me–(he pulls a
button off GRASSOT's coat, who endeavours to get away from him) What's the
matter?
GRAS.
Go on.
RAV.
But you won't be quiet, how can I get on if you keep rushing off? (pulls a fresh
button) This uncle, as we say on the stage, had just made his exit. (another
button) Don't move about so, it puts me out when I am telling anything. This uncle,
an old doctor–
GRAS.
Of law, divinity, or medicine?
RAV.
No, cow–a cow doctor–carried on besides, before his death, a trade, profitably.
(pulls off button)
GRAS.
What, in buttous?
RAV.
(another button) Well, then–he is defunct, and, as I said, left me a legacy.
I go (expecting to touch the money), to the man of business, and what do you think is his
answer?
GRAS.
I don't know.
RAV.
Instead of handing over the money, he said very coolly
"There is no legacy for you, we've put it into Chancery." Then I lay hold of my
man in this manner. (he takes GRASSOT by the two arms)
GRAS.
Be quiet, you hurt me.
RAV.
I shake him well–(crying out loud) and I say to him–
GRAS.
People will hear you.
RAV.
(continuing) Sir, you shall pay me, or you shall tell me why.
GRAS.
We have neighbours–don't speak so loud.
RAV.
Then I added—(clasping him still tighter)
GRAS.
Not so hard.
RAV.
(the same) Sir, you are a rogue!
GRAS.
Hold your tongue, I say.
RAV.
But if I did not restrain myself–
GRAS.
Well, pray do restrain yourself–pray do be quiet! (tries to draw back)
Enter JENKINS, C. from L.
JEN.
(aside) Holloa!
RAV.
(the same play) You are nothing but a scoundrel–do you understand me?
JEN.
(interposing) Sir, Sir, a scoundrel!
GRAS.
Ravel!
RAV.
(letting him loose, and in a mournful tranquil tone) But I ask your pardon,
here is your servant, who seems to have something to say to you. I will resume my story
presently. (he sits down on the left)
GRAS.
(sitting down on the R.) I can bear it no longer!
RAV.
(to JENKINS) Well, what are you doing there like an idiot?
JEN.
Who, I?
RAV.
(rising) Ha, ha! What do you want, Augustin?
JEN.
(aside) These players have nothing but disagreeable things to say to
people.
GRAS.
Now, then, what had you to say to me?
JEN.
I came to tell you, Sir, that I have been to the Library, where you sent me to know what was
put up.
GRAS.
(rising) Oh, yes!–well, what is it?
JEN.
Stop a minute. Oh, now I know–well, that's odd–it was, well, it was–'pon my word, Sir, I've
quite forgot the name.
GRAS.
What a stupid fellow !
RAV.
What a donkey!
GRAS.
What a goose!
RAV.
What a ninny!
JEN.
Pleasant people, these actors!
RAV.
Come, stir, and bring up lunch.
GRAS.
What, are you going to lunch here!
RAV.
Oh, any little thing, a paté, some cutlets, fowl, oysters, anything–be off. Exit JENKINS. –Confess, now, Grassot, that you are very happy I am come
to keep you company; but I ought to have told you, I plant myself here.
GRAS.
Many thanks.
RAV.
I shall stick–
JENKINS enters with a covered tray, which he places near the window on the left.
JEN.
Here is the lunch, gentlemen.
Exit JENKINS.
RAV.
(sings)
"Around this plenteous board
With richest dainties stored."
GRAS.
(stopping him) Now, don't sing.
RAV.
(seating himself) I don't invite you, but if you are hungry, help yourself.
(he helps himself and eats–GRASSOT seats himself on the R.) To return to my
legacy. (he helps himself again, and instead of changing the plate, he throws it, when
empty, over his shoulder, and it goes out at the window)
GRAS.
Somebody knocks.
RAV.
No, I was telling you then–(drinks, and serves the bottle as he had served the
plate–a loud knocking heard)
GRAS.
Somebody knocks!
RAV.
I tell you they don't, then–
GRAS.
I cannot imagine what noise I have in my ears, to–day.
Enter JENKINS, C. from L.
JEN.
(running) Sir, Sir, you will be fined.
GRAS.
(rising) Fined! what do you mean by that, you scoundrel ?
JEN.
Well, Sir, the Policeman swears he saw you throw two decanters and six plates out of the
window, upon the heads of the passengers.
GRAS.
What?
JEN.
Out of the window.
RAV.
Oh, dear, oh, dear! that's a mania I have.
GRAS.
Was it you, then?
RAV.
(rising) Lord, yes!—it's all right—you shall be paid–your crockery, your fine
and all.
Exit JENKINS, C. L.
GRAS.
(aside) I am choking, and I dare not say anything. I boil, I foam! to think
of quitting the stage for the sake of living peaceably and quietly. Oh, oh!
RAV.
You are speaking to yourself–if I am any restraint upon you, pray say so. I am going to
smoke a cigar in the bed room.
GRAS.
In my bed room? no, if you please, smoke here.
RAV.
(lighting a cigar) Will you have one?
GRAS.
No, I never smoke.
RAV.
You are right, it is a vile habit. Ah, ah! but I did not observe, your lodging is charming,
your furniture elegant,
GRAS.
Yes, pretty well.
RAV.
Only, if I had been in your place, I should have placed the sofa on this side. (he
drags the sofa to the opposite side)
GRAS.
But, if you will be kind enough–
RAV.
And your table should be here.
(ke brings the table to the place where the sofa stood)
GHAS.
Come, Ravel, Ravel!
RAV.
As to these pictures–(he changes their places)
GRAS.
No, no, I tell you.
RAV.
And if this commode were––ah, yonder!
GRAS.
Don't touch it, I tell you.
RAV.
Push, push! I'll pull. (he pulls the commode, in spite of GRASSOT) Now, the
clock, the lamp, this fauteuil, and these chairs. (whilst he details all these objects
he displaces them; he puts a fauteuil close to the foot-lights, with the back turned to the
audience, and a chair at some distance from the fauteuil–GRASSOT follows him out of breath,
and endeavouring to prevent him) Oh, lord, I am so tired! (he sits down in the
fauteuil)
GRAS.
(sitting down in the chair, with his face to the audience) And I, too; but
this cannot be endured any longer. Listen to me, Ravel. Who is that coming?
Enter JENKINS.
JEN.
It's only me, Sir. (looking about) Why, master. how you have been pulling the
furniture about, but I suppose it's all right— the landlord has given you notice to quit.
GRAS.
Notice to quit? Ah, I thought so–I must speak out!
RAV.
What's the matter with you, Grassot?
GRAS.
The matter with me! I tell you I won't endure this any longer, I'll not submit to be made a
fool of–yes, to be made a fool of one in my own house, in my own home.
RAV.
Grassot!
GRAS.
Not a word! you have taken possession here, in spite of me, you could not understand, being
ill–bred, that you annoyed me; but now, Sir, I yield up the place to you,–and so I hope you're
satisfied, Sir.
He goes out furiously c.
RAV.
(laughing) Ha, ha, ha! poor fellow. Now he is seriously angry, quite in a
rage. If he knew why I have acted so! Ah, what, are you there, Augustin?
JEN.
Now, don't, Sir.
RAV.
Tell me, now–do you love your master?
JEN.
(warmly) Do I love him? (coolly) No, I idolise him, he's a
brick!
RAV.
That's right! Will you, then, in order to do him a service, blindly do all I shall tell
you?
JEN.
Yes, Sir.
GRAS.
(without) It is all very well; we will be gone, then.
VOICE.
The sooner the better, Sir. (dog barks)
RAV.
Here he comes, listen to me.
He whispers to JENKINS whilst GRASSOT enters, and then exit JENKINS.
Enter GRASSOT C.
GRAS.
My reputation compromised, on account of that girl opposite –set down by the neighbours as a
riotous person–barked at by my dog–turned out by my landlord. (perceiving
RAVEL) Ah, you are there still! I have to thank you–you have procured me a pretty
character.
RAV.
(opens his mouth and pretends to speak
GRAS.
What do you say? (the same play on the part of RAVEL) But, I can't hear
you–speak louder. RAVEL pretends to speak very loudly, GRASSOT rubs his ears
Come, come! let us see what this means–this is a very poor joke. Jenkins, Jenkins!
Enter JENKINS C. from L.
JEN.
(L., opens his mouth, as if to say, "Here I am, Sir," but utters nothing)
GRAS.
Can't you hear me?
JEN.
(same play as if to say "Yes, Sir")
GRAS.
Answer me, say. And you, too, Ravel, for I can't comprehend what this means.
RAVEL and JENKINS both appear to converse earnestly, their mouths working
furiously.
GRAS.
Good heavens!–can I have become deaf? Oh, no, that is impossible! Deaf–oh, but that is
frightful! Ah, Jenkins, ah, Ravel, I am as deaf as a post–as deaf as two posts! (a Dog
is heard to bark) Ah, that voice!—that's my dog. I can hear that, and I can't hear
yours–how is that? Can they have– (to JENKINS) Tell me, you ugly cub
–(pursues JENKINS)
JEN.
(getting out of the way) It was Mr. Ravel ordered me.
Exit, c.
GRAS.
How, what!–you, Ravel?
RAV.
Oh, it was only a joke, old fellow.
GRAS.
A joke–very well!–you shall see how I will take yonr joke. You have annoyed me with your
jokes, all the day––and I have said nothing. You have compromised me in the eyes of the whole
neighbourhood–I have said nothing. And you, you said quietly to yourself, Grassot is a good
natured fellow, he plays the simpletons, and the noodles–he can't be angry. Well, but
I am angry! Oh, he may be be-fooled, and be-mystified–he won't be savage.
But, I am savage–I must have satisfaction–we must fight!
RAV.
What, we, us two fight!
GRAS.
Your hour?
RAV.
Yours!
GRAS.
The place?
RAV.
Yours!
GRAS.
Weapons?
RAV.
Yours!
GRAS.
Come on, then. (he is going out, but returns) But we have not quite arranged
it–
RAV.
That's true–your hour?
GRAS.
Yours!
RAV.
The place?
GRAS.
Yours!
RAV.
Your weapons?
GRAS.
Yours!
RAV.
Come on, then! (returning)
GRAS.
All–that–but, come, we'll put an end to this. (he is going to shut the door)
JEN.
(without) Mr. Grassot, somebody wants you.
GRAS.
(opening the door) Who is it?
JEN.
(without) It is that gentleman–who is so like me––you know who I mean–Mr.
Augustin.
GRAS.
Show him in.
JEN.
(without) Yes, Sir.
GRAS.
Augustin! Ah, there now is a true friend. He would not, as you have done, have taken
advantage of my retirement to torment me, he puts himself out of the way on purpose to oblige
me. I know what he comes for–he comes from the Theatre to press me to sign a new
engagement–he will be happy to see me again form part of the company.
RAV.
You are going to sign, then–to re-engage yourself?
GRAS.
Ah, that would displease you, would it?
RAV.
Me! what consequence can it be to me? you know I don't row in that boat any longer?
GRAS.
You don't belong to them!–you don't belong to them! I should have hesitated, but that
determines me. Come in, Augustin –come in!
Enter AUGUSTIN, C.
AUG.
(to the side) Is the servant lad a fool, to stare me in the face in that
fashion?
GRAS.
What's the matter?
AUG.
Oh, nothing! Only your servant, quarrelling with a dog, and then staring me rudely in the
face. Well, good day to you, you know what I come for. Ah, is that you, Ravel? Pretty well,
eh? (to GRASSOT) There, there's the engagement–what can I say to persuade you
to sign?
GRAS.
(taking a pen) Nothing! I sign willingly. (he signs)
AUG.
That's capital! Oh, won't they all be glad, yonder. I will go and tell them the good news.
Adieu, my good fellow! Adieu, Ravel!
RAV.
Wait a minute, I will pair off with you.
AUG.
No, no! besides, I have an early rehearsal to attend.
Exit.
RAV.
Zounds, it's late! I, too, have to attend rehearsal. (he is going out)
GRAS.
Rehearsal! I thought you had left the stage. (bewildered) What, do you belong
to them still?
RAV.
(with feeling) Yes, my dear old comrade, I belong to them, and have never
quitted them–it was an imposition–it is a trick I have played you; but see why–I took it into
my head that you would come back to us. I even made a vow to bring you back. I have not only
endeavoured to make sulky solitude disagreeable to you; but have tried to convince you how
highly we valued you, by the pains I have taken. Little Augustin, too; why you didn't even
know him, when he came to be hired as a servant to you, rather than give you up. So your good
feeling must pardon our stratagem.
GRAS.
(agitated) Can all this be true? I am affected–I have a tear ready to start.
RAV.
That's the vein–the social vein. I vowed to drag you from your solitary life, and prevent
the blue devils that would have made you their victim, and having done so, I am happy.
RAV.
Man had far better die than have nothing to do;
Should an actor e'er look for repose?
'Tis his hope and his pride to be favoured by you,
And he lives or your hearty bravoes.
GRAS.
While your laughter thus warms us, we never can tire,
Our duty becomes a delight;
With smiles, and with hands, then, express your desire,
To repeat your applause of to–night.
Curtain.