The existence of a woman in any way comparable with yourself may well be disputed, still, for
the sake of illustration, I may be allowed to compare you to one—like yourself, a great artist
and public benefactress. I allude to the philanthropic lady who is constantly asking us—through
the medium of The Times, if we "want luxuriant hair, whiskers, moustaches, &c."
and urging us, in case of our being so necessitated, to "use Criniline."
For the beauty you have imparted to my unobtrusive and originally "scrubby" Moustache—by a secret charm which is entirely your own, and which (to the regret of—let us hope, at the earliest—our great grandchildren) will die with you—I cannot sufficiently express my delighted gratitude.
To drop metaphor—which is troublesome—and joking—which smacks too much of "the shop," let me beg of you to accept the dedication of what was originally the merest trifle—but which you have elevated to something more than a trifle—as a slight acknowledgement of the pleasure and profit I have derived from your valuable and zealous co-operation, on this, and various former occasions, in the course of a (to me at least) truly delightful professional acquaintance—now of some years' standing.
The sincerity of people, following our artificial callings, has been frequently questioned.
We undoubtedly say many things to each other that we do not mean. When, however, I say that,
with such little successes as I have had the good fortune to obtain—no name is more intimately
or gratefully associated in my recollection than your own—and that the possibility of my having
been occasionally the means of bringing that name—not unfavourably before the public, is not
the least among the consolations that have occurred to reconcile me to an arduous and
harrassing career; I trust I may be believed—as I do mean it—in the same sincerity
with which I subscribe myself
At the risk of incurring a charge of eccentricity, ignorance of the French language, or inability to purchase a
First Performed at the Royal Adelphi Theatre, on Thursday, March 30th, 1854.
MODERN AND DESCRIBED IN THE PIECE.
*** This piece as regards the right of performing it, in and within ten miles of London, belongs to MR. BENJAMIN WEBSTER. The provincial right (beyond the circle alluded to) remains with the author, who may be applied to through the agency of the London Dramatic Authors' Society.
Butcher!
Lor, butcher, how beautifully they are coming on.
Yes'm, civilians has a chance with the military now. Don't know as I shall be able to keep 'em though.
Lor, butcher, surely your master can't be such a brute as to–
Like to catch him at it; 'taint that, mem, but they're a getting low—the tripeshops wearing of 'em already, let 'em come down to the cat's-meat and I shave.
Why I declare if you aint a wearing 'em, too, Baker.
Only as nateral respirator on account o' my health, mem. The milkman's started a tip, and
that's too revolting.
John! John! here's the express in.
Coming.
So ye'd escape me, would ye! But ye don't. Where's the lady, ye
pace-of-fairilies-desthroyin-spalpeen? Restore the orphan that you've inveigled away from her
home—to her broken-hearted father and mother.
If you please I'm the—
I know ye are—you're the man with the moustache, between twenty and thirty—of gentlemanly appearance. Do ye think I didn't take care to get your description ?
If you please sir, I'm the waiter.
The what!
The waiter.
Eh!
And if you'd please to give your orders––
Sure and why didn't ye say so ?
Hot or cold, sir ?
Hot.
Yes, sir.
Faith now and a man less cool than myself would have made a blunder. I'm before 'um. Its the
quick train I came by, and I've passed 'um.
Those confounded postboys are so seldom wanted now that there is no finding them when——
There's the other train in and the blackguard of a waiter—
What the devil do you mean, sir?
Whisky, sir, hot.
Eh!
Pray don't mention it.
But as I had just mistaken the waiter for a gentleman—
Indeed, sir.
A gentleman I am in active pursuit of–
Ha !
And do you hear, waiter? if a gentleman comes here and a lady with a moustache, you'll let me know.
Yes, sir.
It's likely her trunks will be marked Swosser.
The lady with the moustache, sir.
No, the gentleman, you bogthrotter! I'm after him, and he mustn't escape me.
One whisky, please sir, hot.
So! commend me to an Irish bailiff; I should never have suspected him, but now all classes
have left off shaving there's no telling a duke from a dustman. I was warned that they were on
my track. However, I mustn't risk a second meeting with the blundering blockhead. How to warn
Eliza? I mustn't disturb the poor girl's nap after the fatigues of the journey—a few hours'
hiding somewhere or other—
Don't whistle, sir.
He be blowed. I will if I like.
Don't you see I'm writing.
What do I care ?
"Are in pursuit." Don't be impertinent, sir.
Well I like that ?
Go about your business—or, stay I shall want you to take a note.
I'll see you blowed first.
"The officers are in pursuit of me. The repulsive looking ruffian in the moustache who at
the first glance might be mistaken for a gentleman—is one"—
Who do you call waiter?
Waiter, sir,—have the kindness to look at his mustarchurs.
Eh,— I beg ten thousand pardons, but as I myself, an officer in the army, as you probably
are,
You mistake, sir,—I am not precisely in the army.
You surprise me!
And if he's not in the army, what then, sir?—I suppose he isn't obliged to shave. I'd have you to know that the time is past for the privileged classes to brand the people by the degrading imposition of presumptuary laws.
Isn't that what the lecturer said at the Institution ?
Yes—but I don't want to get into a row with a soldier.
I aint a captain, sir.
General, then–
Waiter, if you please, sir.
Oh!
And if there's anything you'd like to take ––
Well! I'm sure!—a waiter with moustache—of all things in the world !
Well, and why not a waiter, Louisa ?—Don't be illiberal. I ask you, as a milliner and with your knowledge of public life, are the perquisites of a man in his humble sphere sufficient to purchase for him exemption from those little weaknesses to which we are all more or less liable ?—I except you, for you are a pattern of your sex, and the thing is out of the question—but myself for instance ?
Anthony, don't forget yourself!—You are a lawyer's clerk, and your rank in life entitles you to wear them.
Ahem.—ahem—true—true!
And yours are such loves!
D—don't pull 'em about.
I wouldn't injure a hair of them for worlds!—For they are the load-star of my existence !
Ahem !
Oh! don't say that, Anthony—though I own it was they first won me, two months ago, when we met at the Eagle, and perhaps if you hadn't had 'em–
Oh! heavens ! Louisa! ask your heart, if supposing circumstances over which we have no
control—
No, Anthony, but go on.
If circumstances, I say, were some day to place me before your eyes, shorn of those manly
attributes—do you think—
Oh, Anthony, don't ask me.
She couldn't— I daren't break it to her.
But why need you think of such a thing—your master allows you to wear 'em, doesn't he?
Old Swosser! Yes—oh yes—he wishes it rather than otherwise.
You've often told me that all the clerks in the office wear 'em.
Fancy old Jenkins the conveyancer, under his blue specs and red nose.
And don't they ?
Oh yes—all, and the errand boy a tip.
And there's no fear of your losing such a comfortable situation, is there ?
No, Louisa, I think not—I hope not.
Secure them,I say!—secure them!
Oh, lord!
Anthony, what ails you ?
That voice!
Whose?
Old Swosser's.
Your master's ?
Yes—what the devil shall I do? Louisa—I ––
I say, secure every man with a moustache, and a young woman !—bind 'em hand and foot!
Anthony, speak—have you robbed the office ?
No—yes—that is, Louisa, this is no time for explanation—but I mustn't let him see me—I have deceived you—wronged you grossly—but give us a leg over this wall and all may yet be well, and years of penitence shall atone for months of falsehood and villainy.
Quick—he's here!
Waiter—here—landlord—boots—somebody !
No—nothing of the kind—I'll swear it!
Good heavens! my father!
A gentleman with a moustache, who came here with a young lady by the last train but one?
Went away last night—saw 'em go myself.
We are lost!
Don't trifle with me, young woman—it's a question of breaking the laws of the country—a question of crime.
I thought so.
A question perhaps of life and death—and certainly of what's of much more importance—of
money—money, young woman.
It's embezzlement—but they can't hang him.
I must find out where the nearest magistrate lives.
Hold, sir!
The amount ?
Yes—you said the money was of the most importance—name the figure.
What are they talking about ?
Pray, young woman, what the devil is it to you ?
Everything, sir—life and death—I'm Louisa Fitzjohnson —you don't know me—but I know you—you are Mr. Swosser—I know all—I know the person you are looking after—it's very kind of you to call him a gentleman, and I used to think him one myself. He's a wretch and a villain, he has deceived me, he confessed as much—but I love him.
What do I hear ?
Whew ! this is a pleasant discovery.
And you won't tear him from me, for the sake of a little money—for it can't be much ?
She's heard of the captain's fortune, but doesn't know the extent of it.
It isn't much, is it, sir ? but whatever it is I'll make it up to you—I'm only a milliner, but I've put by a little money, and I'll work the skin off my bones. Consider, sir, we were to have been married, and you wouldn't break a poor girl's heart when a word from you can prevent it.
My head swims.
What you tell me is really very extraordinary! Your's, I presume, is an old attachment ?
Not so very—two months.
And he's been engaged to me for six!
But if you knew the amount of love that has been made in the time!
The captain's evidently a Lothario, but I can't afford to lose a rich son-in-law!
But do tell me the amount, sir! I'll pay you at so much a week!
The girl's crazed!
It was for a heavy amount then ! What can the villain have done with it ? I never had a penny of it!
And as a rightly disposed young person, after what has occurred, you ought to see the
propriety of allowing things to take their course, and give up all thoughts of
the—
I know I ought, but I can't when I think of his youth and beauty!
True, true !
Of his talents !
Yes.
Of his gentlemanly tastes, though they have been the ruin of him!
Alas!
And above all, when I think of his heavenly moustache !
I can hear no more.
And besides, when I reflect, that he is in danger!
Ah, true ! You are aware of his danger ?
Oh, yes!
But he still lives ?
Lives! Are his days then threatened?
Why, there is reason to fear that the effects—
I see it all—they have hunted him to death! his noble spirit won't survive it!
I thought the captain's name was Altamont: but I dare say he has a name for every lady love.
But while I am standing here, the duel may take place ! If that firebrand, Cornelius, has done
him any injury, I'll never discount another bill for the villain as long as I live !
They are gone—it must have- been a terrible dream! - but no, my father stood here, and I
remember too well that horrid creature with her tears and passionate entreaties that he might
not be torn from her—Ugh!
He isn't in sight, and I haven't the heart to tell him to drag the river !
She is there again—
Oh, lord! What will become of me!
I will make the effort.
Oh, I should just think I was—oh, rather!
What expressions !
Much you know about it.
You will not say so when you know who I am ! I am Eliza Swosser !
Oh! Old Swosser's daughter?
The same.
What is the whole biling of you here after him ?
Vulgar wretch ! What does she mean ?
It don't matter, you'll be clever if you can catch him now !
The creature dares to exult!
Well, that's very kind of you though it wasn't said in the kindest way. But it won't do me no good—it won't give him back to me as I once knew him—oh dear, oh dear !
She seems to take the discovery of his perfidy very much to heart! I could almost forget my
own sufferings in hers !
Who could see him and not?
True, true!
Who could listen to his downright gentlemanly conversation–
It was.
Who could feel the soft pressure of his hand, that wasn't much too red for a nobleman.
It was perfectly white.
You've noticed it then ?
Pressed it often.
Well, that's odd; but, above all, who could gaze on the glossy twist of his heavenly moustaches ?
It was that first won me.
What! Say that again, or ––No don't, not yet.
Is it possible that you do not know ?
What? Speak! But I am prepared for anything.
That we were to have been married ?
I didn't know he was so much the gentleman as that. I thought I was dead—but it's over now.
Is it possible ? when he has lavished the most costly presents upon me.
That accounts for the largeness of the amount; then I wouldn't be you for something.
What do you mean ?
I shall think of him till my dying day; but it won't be with his head shaved, a log of wood chained to one of his legs, and his dear moustachers cut off. But, I'll beg that least––
Woman, explain yourself.
And when he does get his ticket of leave for good behaviour, and begins murdering and robbing the gold diggers in the bush, as is usual in such cases, he won't have me to thank for bringing him to it.
Would you drive me mad ?
I shan't hear myself cried about in the streets as the young woman, to satisfy
whose frivolous vanity, the young man was induced to commit the robbery.
The what ? Oh no, it cannot be, unsay that horrible word. I knew he had been extravagant, reckless, but not criminal—not criminal.
My dear, the extent of his crimes I fear we shall never know.
Then the officers that are in pursuit of him–
Who told you that the officers were in pursuit of him ?
Himself?
Where?
Here—this morning.
What, you have seen him ?
We were to have left in a postchaise together in half an hour.
What is it ?
I saw him.
Where ?
There!
A—a—ah!
Did you see him ?
Yes.
Is he pursued?
Yes.
By a repulsive-looking ruffian ?
Very.
In a moustache ?
Yes.
It is the officer, as you described him to me.
See if he's after him still.
I scarcely dare.
To see him taken before our eyes ?
And yet there is a terrible fascination that I cannot resist.
Nor I—and he may escape. Shall we venture.
Captured!
Took!
I have not the pleasure of knowing you, sir.
You are a total stranger to me, sir.
But as there is an individual I am anxious to avoid.
But as there is a party I can't meet without getting into a precious mess,
Good heavens—Eliza insensible!
Merciful powers—Louisa inanimate!
This is most unfortunate.
This is d—d annoying !
I was about to ask you if you would oblige me by taking charge of this young lady who has fainted, for a few minutes.
I was about to trespass on your good nature to lend a hand for a minute or two to this utterly senseless young person.
I say the gentleman has arrived, sir, he has been seen.
I must really trouble you.
Then I say, Loo, don't be a d—d fool!
They have not torn him from me—he still lives for his Louisa alone, and with all his
falsehood,
I say, Loo—if you took anything at the station that's got into your head you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
The idiots have fastened the glass door. For heaven's sake, Eliza––
All I have to say is scour the country.
I must really avail myself of your kind offer.
Inhuman wretch—Eliza look up !
In the hour of danger, he thinks of me, me only !
Eliza, if your breakfast has disagreed with you to such an extent as to make you talk nonsense, you ought to have gone to bed.
There's old Swosser on the other side.
Thank you, sir !
Pitiful dastard !
I have 'em.
Here, I say, you couple of fools, come to your senses do.
Ah !
They've had a row—fear nothing, Eliza—I am here to protect you.
Who's this I wonder ?
Cornelius !
Yes, your cousin Cornelius, come to restore you to the arms of your aged parent, that you'd
send to an early grave in the prime of his life, and to punish the perfidious partner of your
flight,
They're going to shoot him now—what next I wonder.
And may I ask what is your business ?
He mistakes the horrid constable for Altamont— if I could keep up the deception.
I am this lady's nearest living relative, and the intimate friend of her father.
And what the devil do I care if you are.
He'll fight, he's capable of it—but he shan't have blood on his head, if I can prevent it.
Faith, I can't have made a mistake,
I !
It's no use brazening it out, Anthony, I know all.
Louisa, I'm willing to hope it's only the weather has affected you.
Every moment is of importance. Yes, Cornelius, that is the gentleman.
I—why I never saw her before in my life.
Oh ! Altamont, can you be so heartless.
So you can be Altamont to her, and plain Anthony was good enough for me.
As soon as I get Louisa back to town, I shall
There's no knowing what his name is, he's one entire alias.
This cruelty is more than I can bear.
What do I see—good heavens !
Now, have you done ?
You shall not leave me ; no, false—cruel as he has been, they shall not injure him while I
am near.
You'll excuse me, miss—but this is a little too strong in my presence.
Excellent, keep it up.
Keep it up, what does she mean ?
Enough, sir. I parsave that to the moral terpitude of the dhirty blackguard, ye add the pusillanimity of the cowardly spalpeen.
You're driving me mad amongst you. I'm not going to stand any bullying.
Then, you will understand, there is but one way in which our difference can be arranged. I have weapons here.
Anthony, you shan't do it.
Shan't do what ? Louisa, your eccentricities are becoming unbearable.
You shan't add manslaughter to your numerous crimes. Police !
Will you be quiet, Louisa ?
No—police! murder! duels! thieves!
Stop that madwoman, or she'll do mischief.
I begin to think there's some mistake.
You parsave, sir, that we are liable to interruption at any moment—so,
There they are—there's one, and there's the other—bind 'em hand and foot.
Cornelius, if you hurt a hair of his head, it will be impossible for me to arrange that little money affair for you.
Old Swosser !
And now I've saved his life, you may transport him for it as soon as you like.
Transport—who ?
Who? why——
This is Captain Kidd, isn't it ? the young man whose acquaintance I've so long wished to
make—whom I've burned to call my son-in-law
What can this change mean ? Papa, that is not Captain Kidd.
No; then where is the dear Captain ? Let me press him to my heart.
Faith, there's no Captain in the case—that's the man she was running away with.
No, it isn't.
Well, of all the young brazen-faced
There is some mistake, papa, I never saw that person before in the whole course of my life.
Then, bedad, ye'd got mighty intimate on a short acquaintance.
What do I hear ?
Sure, I saw her kiss him.
What ?
And fall on his bosom, and spake of the sacrifices she'd made for 'un.
She did; and it's all true.
The abandoned hussey, to run away with another man, and Captain Kidd's uncle just dead, and
left him ten thousand a year. Who are you, sir ?
If I do it's all up.
Why don't you show your face ?
What, don't you know him ?
Well, the face seems familiar; but I can't positively say I ever saw him before.
Excuse the interruption of a stranger, sir, but was the uncle of the Captain Kidd you alluded to named Higgins ?
It was—he was my client.
And there was no will?
There was one executed an hour before his death in the Captain's favour.
Then, sir, do your worst—I am Captain Kidd.
What the devil is that to me ?
Why, sir, as by your own stupidity, you let out this morning that you were a bailiff in pursuit of me.
Stupidity—bailiff, choose your weapon !
Cornelius, if ever you expect me to help you through the Insolvent Court
Pardon me, after the discovery that has just been made.
And pardon me, as I happened to have heard something this morning of the Captain's moral character.
Madam.
I resign the Captain to one who has superior claims upon him, and who has expressed her
willingness to beg for his moustache even in the hour of trial.
It can't be ! No, Louisa, your passion for moustachers cannot have led you to such an
excess!—say that it is false !
Anthony—can you believe it ? As if I would beg for anybody's moustache but yours!
Then fate, and old Swosser! I defy you both!
Where have I heard that voice ?
Louisa, my love, come here!
Don't crimimate yourself in the eyes of the law, Anthony!
In the eyes of the law
Oh, Anthony, can you doubt it!
No—no, you have stood by me through danger and suspicion, you have said you would beg for my moustache in the hour of trial.
Yes, Anthony, if you were in trouble and obliged to part with it!
Such devotion should not go unrewarded ! I am not in any serious trouble, Louisa, but if you
would like it—
My clerk, Soskins, in moustache !
And was this the extent of your falsehood, Anthony ?
All that was false about me!
I will never part with it.
Eliza!
Altamont!
Louisa!
If it be true, that a good face needs no whiskers, 'tis true that a good farce needs no tag— yet to good faces they do use good bushes, and good farces prove the better by the help of good tags. What a fix am I in then— that cannot offer you a good tag, which is the very tip and imperial of a piece; to insinuate with you in behalf of a barefaced farce. My way is to conjure you, and I'll begin with the women—I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to moustaches, to like this play as an advocate for their growing—and I charge you, O men, for the anxiety you have to grow moustaches, and I perceive by your simpering none of you have any objection, that on the hundredth night I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, moustaches that liked me, and whiskers that were dyed not; and I am sure as many as can grow beards, or good whiskers, or sweet moustache, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsey, bid me farewell!