A Day in Paris.: TEI edition

A DAY IN PARIS. SCENE. A Public Salon at a principal Hotel in Paris, handsomely furnished in the French style, sofa, R.—chairs, tables, L., carpet, &c. entrance from C., doors R. and L. Enter WAITER, preceding EMILY and JANE, door in C., from L. Waiter.

(R.) This way, madam, this way—these are your apartments, (opening door, R.) and this is our public saloon, where many of our ladies and gentlemen meets together when they prefers company to solicitude. You'll find another entrance, madam, on the other side, which communicates with the grand staircase. Many ladies and gentlemen prefers these apartments because they are so contigerous to the public one, and they can pop in and out whenever they likes. There was a gentleman here some time ago who—

Emily.

(interrupting him) There, there, very well—the rooms will do—see my trunks conveyed into them, and—a—

Waiter.

Madam!

Emily.

You may go.

Waiter.

(aside) Oh! Exits c. door, as he goes up, winks at JANE and kisses his hand to her.

Emily.

Well, Jane, here we are safe at Meurice's, under the same roof with my runaway lover. Little does he think I am so near him; little does he imagine that the woman he left in England, disconsolate at his absence, has had spirit enough to follow him to Paris, to endeavour to prove the sincerity of his love by being an unseen observer of all his actions.

Jane.

Ah, miss, I wish you had taken my advice, and remained at home. If you had married Mr. Wyndham without a character from his last place, you might have been happy; but now, if after following him all the way from London, you should find him out in any naughty doings, you'll never have him, and we shall be obliged to return just as we came. Oh, it's quite shocking to think of it.

Emily.

Nay, Jane, I am resolved. I will see Wyndham when he least expects it. I think I possess his heart—but then he is so gay—so volatile—so fond of pleasure, and so easily captivated by a pretty face, that I sometimes doubt the sincerity of his affection. His departure, too, for Paris, had something very sudden and mysterious about it. I am determined to find out his motive for leaving me on the very eve of our marriage; I'll assume disguises and watch him narrowly. If I find him unfaithful I'll return to England and never see him more; but if he is constant and worthy of my love he will be doubly dear to me, and I will return his wife.

Jane.

Well, miss, you know best—but I am very duberous; the men are such devils, there's no trusting any of them—to one's face they are so loving, so good, and so tender—but when they are out of sight, oh dear! they are shocking creatures—quite Blue Beards, miss.

Emily.

Why, Jane, you appear to have a very bad opinion of mankind!

Jane.

Ah, miss, but not without cause—I've been crossed in love so often—nineteen times, miss—I have indeed. Now I've got a sort of a kind of a—a liking for Sam, Mr. Wyndham's own man, he's here in Paris with his master—and whilst you are looking after your lover, miss, I dare say I shall find my Sam at his tricks too; but if I do I'll tear his eyes out, an insinuating wretch—that's what I will.

Emily.

Ha, ha, ha! I hope you'll have no occasion to find fault with him. But let me prepare my plan; you must assist me. Get me my masquerade dresses, and be in readiness to second me in everything I may require. We have no time to lose—Wyndham will no doubt soon be here, and I shall make my first appearance to him without delay.

Jane.

What dress will you have first, miss?

Emily.

That I can't tell. I shall be guided by circumstances. Get everything ready, and take care that you are not seen by either Wyndham or Sam.

Jane.

(going, R.) Yes, miss. Oh dear, I know how this will end—master and man will both be found out; I shall be crossed in love again, for the twentieth time, and perhaps die an old maid; but if I do, I'm a Dutchman. Exit, R. D.

Emily.

Let me reflect on what I'm about to do; it is a bold hazard—my happiness or misery depends upon it. If I find him false I shall be most wretched; but if he pass the ordeal— if he be true, then what a happy, happy creature I shall be. Could every woman (like me) convince herself of her lover's real character and affection before marriage, how many unhappy unions would be avoided, and how many separations, elopements, divorces and broken hearts prevented. Let me hope for the best; Wyndham may be thoughtless and fond of pleasure, yet something tells me he loves me too well ever to give me real cause for uneasiness. (bell rings) Hark! should it be

Wyndham

(without, L.) Sam, Sam, you rascal!— where are you?

Emily.

'Tis he! now then for action. I declare I feel strangely agitated; no matter—courage, Emily—I am determined to go on. Farewell, Wyndham, for the present. Now for my disguises. Exit into room, R.

Wynd.

(within, ringing bell violently) Sam, Sam, why don't you come—am I to be left here all day? (rings) Sam! waiter! boots! chambermaid!—where the devil are you all? Enters from door, L., ringing violently. Confound that lazy rascal of mine; he's never in the way to assist me, and I am obliged to have the inordinate trouble of waking myself and dressing myself before he condescends to make his appearance. Egad! he shall come though. (rings bell violently) Sam—Sam, I say!

Enter SAM from door in c., putting on his coat. Sam.

Yaw! (gaping) Sir—do you want me, sir? (coming down, R.)

Wynd.

Want you sir?—to be sure I do. Why the deuce don't you get up earlier? I've been ringing for you more than an hour.

Sam.

Get up earlier, sir? why it's only between ten and eleven, and it seems like getting up in the middle of the night. You know, sir, what hours we keep, and what a racketty, rory tory life we lead. (JANE appears listening, door, c.)

Wynd.

Hold your tongue, sir, and don't be impertinent. Send for a barber to shave me, and then get the cab ready—I'm going to the Bois de Boulogne, to meet the little Countess de Crevecœur.

Jane.

(aside) That's enough—I'll go and tell my missus. Exit, door, c.

Sam.

Yes, sir! (aside) and I'll go and titivate myself, and make the amiable to the Countess's maid. Beg pardon, sir—but if somebody in England were to know of our goings on here, sir, there'd be the devil to pay, wouldn't there, sir.

Wynd.

Will you be quiet, sir, and do as I ordered you;— what is it to you what I do? Don't let me hear you make any more impertinent remarks on my conduct, or I shall discharge you. What have you to do with my little arrangements? If I make love to fifty women, what is it to you?

Sam.

A great deal, sir—because I'm obliged to make love to their pretty maids—and it's too much for me, sir. You have so many little arrangements, more than the delicate susceptibility of my nature can endure.

Wynd.

Ha, ha, ha! poor fellow! but I thought you were a very moral character; I thought you were going to marry Jane, Miss Grenville's maid, and had determined never to be attentive to any other woman?

Sam.

Why, so I had, sir—but then your bad example, sir— I mean your good example; besides, one must be polite to the women—and you know what the French women are, sir—they require a great deal of politeness from us foreigners; it's very odd to be called a foreigner, isn't it, sir? If we don't make love to them, they call us bates, and ross-biffs, and biff-steaks and cochons, and all manner of names; so, sir, while you are making the amiable to the mistresses, I can't help being civil to the maids; it's quite natural, sir—it's quite necessaire. Now I look at Jane, sir, in this way: she's a very nice girl, and loves me, and I love her; she's like a fine sirloin of roast beef—a good substantial article; and these French women are like French dishes, all flummery. One soon gets tired of them, and returns with fresh appetite to the beef; you know what I mean, sir?

Wynd.

Oh, yes, perfectly well; but now, sir, go for the barber, and get up the cab.

Sam.

Yes, sir; beg pardon, sir, for being so late—couldn't help it, upon my word, sir. I'll go for the barber directly, and order the cab to be at the door tout-sweet as the French say. (going)

Wynd.

And while you are out go to the post-office, and inquire for letters.

Sam.

Yes, sir; (aside) and then I'll have a fowl and some stewed kidneys for breakfast; I'm quite peckish with getting up so early. Exit, door, c.

Wynd.

I expect to hear from Emily. Poor creature! I dare say she is moping herself to death on my account. Rather too bad to leave her so suddenly—but couldn't help it. I thought I should like to have a frisk in Paris before I was tied up—and so here I have been for the last month at Meurice's and a fine rattling life I've had, what with the gaming-houses, play-houses, club-houses, balls, and parties, I've never had a moment to myself; and then the women, the dear delightful bewitching creatures, they too have contributed to make my time pass pleasantly. I've found out a new and expeditious method of learning French. Instead of conjugating verbs, and concocting sentences with an old prig of an Abbé or veteran schoolmaster! I make love to a pretty French woman, speak as much of her language as I can think of and when I am at a loss for words, make up the deficiencies with my eyes and lips. It's astonishing how well I get on, and how easily I make myself understood. I call it the kissological system.

Emily.

(without) C'est bien, c'est bien—je sais un Monsieur Anglais—au premier c'est ici.

Enter EMILY, C., disguised as Madame de la Barbe, a female barber, with a basket containing a shaving basin, soap box, brush, razor strop, large cloth, comb, &c. Emily.

Pardon, monsieur, ne vous deranger pas—you are de Anglais— the English gentlemans, I suppose?

Wynd.

Oh, yes, I am the Englishman—what do you want with me?

Emily.

I want to shave you, sare.

Wynd.

What?

Emily.

Shave you, sare.

Wynd.

The devil you do! You are joking.

Emily.

No, monsieur, no joke—mon mari—my husband, Monsieur St. George Victor Frederick Napoleon de la Barbe, is engage at anoder hotel. Your domestic say you want to be shaved tout suite, immediately; ainsi, so I come to shave you myself. Asseyez vous, monsieur. (gives a chair) Set a you down, sare. (places basket on a table, L., and takes out the shaving things)

Wynd.

Well, this is very odd—they wouldn't believe it in England. Female barbers, ha, ha ha! (laughing)

Emily.

(at the table) What you laugh at, monsieur?

Wynd.

Nothing, my dear—ha, ha, ha! Egad, she's in earnest I see. I never was shaved in this way before; I've a good mind to try, if it's only for the novelty of the thing.

Emily.

Now, monsieur, sit a you down—make a haste— because I have to shave a great many gentlemans dis morning —sit a you down.

Wynd.

Well, here goes. (sits down) Ha, ha, ha! (looks at her, laughs, and gets up—she forces him down, &c.)

Emily.

Sit you down, monsieur, and shut a your mouse soyez tranquille donc —I never see such a gentlemans. (goes to table and gets strop and razor)

Wynd.

Ha, ha, ha! I can't sit still. Rather a pretty shaver, upon my life. (she places the strop under her foot, which is a long piece of leather with a loop at the end, and sharpens the razor) Zounds, I hope she won't cut my throat! My dear, are you sure you understand all about the (makes action of shaving) Eh?

Emily.

Oh, oui—oh, yes tres bien, monsieur—sans doute. Now, monsieur. (ties a large cloth round his neck—gives him the basin to hold he puts it on his head) No, no, monsieur, under your shin.

Wynd.

Under my shin—oh, very well. (holds it under his leg)

Emily.

No, no, no, under your shin—la, (puts it under his chin) la, la—take a hold. (prepares the lather)

Wynd.

Here's an interesting situation to have one's picture taken in, ha, ha, ha! I mustn't laugh, or she'll dab the soap in my mouth. EMILY puts down the soap box, and takes up a razor, sharpens it on her hand, and flourishes it about. Come, I say—doucement—take care what you are about; don't make a mistake and cut my nose off.

Emily.

Non, monsieur, pas peur—don't be afraid I never cut a man's nose off, never but once in my life.

Wynd.

The devil! (gets up) Then I'm sure you shan't practise on me you may make the same mistake again; no, no—pas couper comme ca. (holding his nose) Here, untie the cloth—put my head in order. (sits)

Emily.

Oui, monsieur, I will put your head in order. (dresses his hair and sings)

Wynd.

Well, I never felt so queer in my life—a-la-mode de Paris—it's by no means unpleasant; I must have a French lesson—try my new system; I'll give her a touch of the kiss-ological. I say, my dear—I mean ma chere, combien de temps—(winking his eye)—a-a—I say, my dear, how long have you been at this sort of thing, eh?

Emily.

Plait'il, monsieur, sort of ting? I no know—Je ne comprend pas—what you mean, sare?

Wynd.

Why, I mean the barbaric art—the shaving business.

Emily.

Ha, ha! now I understand; pas long temps—not very long time—two year, monsieur.

Wynd.

Two years! and pray how came you to turn shaver?

Emily.

Because—because I have lover—because I have a jeune homme who love me. He is, par profession, a barber—il n'est pas riche—he is not rich. He say to me, "Janette, ma chere, I love you; will you be Madame St. George Victor Frederick Napoleon de la Barbe; I have no money, ne vous, non plus—no more have you—and you must work for your living—you must assist me in my business—you must learn to shave, dress hair, and get your own bread and cheese." Eh? bien je dis mon enfant je suis à toi—"I am yours—you are bon garçon—a good boy; you love me always, never love any oder, and I will love you and work for you to de last hour of my life." We were marry, monsieur, and I have never regret that I am de wife of a poor barbere.

Wynd.

Upon my soul she interests me; I'm getting very sentimental: this girl was never intended for a shaver. (gets up) And so the barber loves you, and you love him; he's a happy fellow! (sighing) I wish I were a barber—I do indeed.

Emily.

Pourquoi—why for, sare?

Wynd.

(taking her hand) Because, my dear, you might, perhaps, smile upon me. You might say, "Thomas Tomkins," (she looks at him) that's my name, my dear—Thomas Tomkins, or Tommy Tomkins, as I'm familiarly called—I am a good boy, a very good boy—I love you, upon my life and soul I do; now do love me a little, there's a dear. (trying to kiss her)

Emily.

(resisting) No, no, tank you, Tomme Tommekins, you no do for me you have left your love en Angleterre—in England. Ah, you naughty boy I know—oh, Tomme Tommekins fi donc, you Anglis all de same you leave your wife in England, and come here to France to steal away de heart of de French girl en garçon as one bachelor. Oh, fi donc!

Song. EMILY. —Air, "La Niege." You, Monsieur Anglais, come over here, And leave your love behind you; Poor ting, she pine and drop a tear, And send a sigh to find you. All your vows, naughty man, you have broken, For to each demoiselle, You pretty tings tell, And swear dat to part, Vould break, would break your poor heart. Oh, fie, Tomme, Tomme Tommekins, you very bad boy, You're a wicked gay deceiver, With every lady you kiss and you toy, But in me you'll not find a believer. Pray Tomme, Tomme Tommekins, where were you last night? Aha, you see I have caught you! De Countess Crevecœur will be in a fright, You'll forget all the French she has taught you. But be wise, and from me take this warning— Your lady at home, To Paris may come, And if she finds out What you've been about, Oh den Tomme, Tomme Tommekins, oh den have a care. If you are such a rover, Your lady who lives en Angleterre, Vill get another lover. (takes basket from table, curtseys, and exit, door c.) Wynd.

What the deuce does she mean? It's very odd—that little shaver must deal with the old gentleman, or how could she know about Emily and my system of learning French—I'll call her back and question her. Here! (calls) madame, madame!—what the devil's her name? Madame Thingame! Madame Barber—she's off. Confound it! I feel quite uneasy—there was a knowing look about her eyes that seemed to penetrate my inmost thoughts. How she quizzed me about Tomme Tommekins—oh, she's a deep one, I'm sure she is.

I must find out how she came to know so much about me, though. She shall shave me to-morrow, and I'll make her explain. Deuce take her she has quite upset me for the whole day. How could she know? Can Sam have been talking and exposing my affairs?—I must question him on the subject. But, egad! I must finish my toilet, or I shall be too late for my appointment with the Countess. After to-day I will reform—I will—I am determined.

Enter SAM, door C. from L. Sam.

The cab is at the door, sir—there are no letters. I saw a certain carriage going towards the Bois de Boulogne, and if you are ready I am.

Wynd.

Give me my coat and hat.

Sam.

Yes, sir, tout sweet—directly. (goes to sofa, R., and brings down coat, hat, and whip)

Wynd.

(musing) I must keep my appointment with the Countess; but after to-day I'll never see her again—I'll put on—

Sam.

Your coat, sir.

Wynd.

A Parthian valour, and leave her.

Sam.

Your hat, sir. (giving it)

Wynd.

Yes, yes, I've been to blame. I must reform—I must break off the affair at once. Situated as I am, the betrothed husband of Emily, should I continue my attentions to the Countess, I should deserve—

Sam.

The whip, sir. (giving it)

Wynd.

Eh! (looking at him) What—the whip?—oh, yes—I—Sam, I am going to meet the Countess for the last time—I'm going to reform, Sam, and lead a new life.

Sam.

Glad of it, sir—I'm getting very tired of the old one; so much knocking about. But, sir, are you really serious—or are you only going to do it in the old way—promise everything—perform nothing; bad now—worse another time.

Wynd.

Oh, no, Sam, now I am serious—I am, indeed. Don't I look so? I've had a warning, Sam.

Sam.

What! Have you seen a ghost, sir?

Wynd.

No, Sam, I've seen a barber.

Sam.

A barber, sir?

Wynd.

Yes, Sam, a she barber. She told me of my affair with the Countess, and hinted that Emily might pop in some day and surprise me.

Sam.

Did she, indeed? Why, how should she know anything about you?

Wynd.

That's what astonishes me, Sam. You have not been blabbing, you rascal, have you?

Sam.

Who—I, sir? How can you think of such a thing, sir? I blab? Why, sir, I'm the discreetest fellow what is—I never speak of family affairs. Besides, ain't I as much in for it as you? If Miss Emily finds you out, won't Jane find me out? So, you see, sir, for my own sake, I must hold my tongue.

Wynd.

Why, certainly, there is something in that. I'll fathom the mystery to-morrow morning, I am determined—I'll make the little shaver explain. Egad! I'm regularly blue-devil'd—I must shake them off. (sings) "My pretty Jane," &c.

Sam.

That's my song, sir. That's what I sing to my Jane when I am at home—she says it's such an insinevating one. (sings affectedly) "My pretty Jane—my dearest Jane"—four notes, you see, sir—Ja-a-a-ne—shake upon Jane, sir—"Ah, never look so shy; but meet me in the clo-oh-oh-oh-ver"—shake again, sir. It's a pretty idea—meeting a woman in the clover—isn't it, sir?

Wynd.

Be quiet, sir; cease your howling! You interrupt the chain of my ideas. (sits down at table, L.)

Sam.

(aside) Calls my singing howling. Now, that's ungrateful—he's jealous of my vocal abilities; if there is anything I can do, it is singing. (to WYNDHAM) You should hear me sing "The Death of Nelson," or "The Storm"—I can come it above a bit, I flatter myself. And as for love songs, like "Meet me by Moonlight," " My own Blue Bell," or "Pretty Jane," or the "Mountain's Brow," I'll bet a crown there isn't a man in England can sing them better. (sings in a most outrageously affected manner) "Away, away," &c. (whistles symphony)

Wynd.

What the devil's that, sir?

Sam.

It's the sympathy, sir.

Wynd.

Will you be quiet, sir, and follow me—the Countess will be waiting. Come, sir.

going towards c. door, meets EMILY disguised as LA FLEUR, the Countess's tiger, dressed in a green frock coat, top boots, leather breeches, black hat, &c. superbly laced Emily.

Beg pardon, sir. (touching her hat) Is your name Wyndham?

Wynd.

Yes, Wyndham is my name — what is your business with me?

Emily.

I have a pacquet and a letter to deliver to you from the Countess de Crevecœur.

Wynd.

From the Countess?—give them to me. (takes them and sits at table, L.—EMILY goes up to SAM—bows ridiculously to him—shakes hands—SAM offers snuff)

Sam.

Vouley vous—snuffey un pu.

Wynd.

(who during this time has read the letter, in great agitation) So, so—(goes down, c.) here's a pretty business. (reads) "Perfide, monstre, ingrat"—pleasant! —"to what have you reduced me? Four weeks I have listened to your perfidious addresses, supposing you to be free as myself. You have trifled, cruelly trifled, with a heart devoted to you. Base man, I have discovered all. You are the betrothed husband of another—Emily Grenville, whom you have left in England. I have done with you, sir. Never attempt to see me more, or expect to hear again from the too susceptible, too affectionate, despairing Crevecœur. P.S.—Oblige me by wearing the accompanying bagatelle during your stay in Paris. Let it remind you of one who, as your poet says, 'Loved not wisely, but too well.' Adieu, for ever." Upon my word, this is pleasant. I must have some damn'd good-natured friend, who takes delight in exposing and tormenting me. I'll search all Paris, but I'll find him; and when I do, I'll teach him to interfere in my affairs. Perhaps this servant can give me some clue—I'll question him. (to EMILY—EMILY goes down, L., and SAM, R.) Have you anything further to say to me from the Countess?

Emily.

(L.) Only to tell you, sir, that if ever you attempt to enter her house again, I am to turn you out; and if you don't go quietly, I am to use force.

Wynd.

Force?

Emily.

Yes, sir. (touching her hat) I am to throw you out of the window.

Wynd.

Throw me out of the window? Why, you little insignificant tom-tit, you couldn't do it you'd be afraid.

Emily.

Afraid! I never was afraid of a man yet and I'm sure I'm not of you, big as you are.

Wynd.

Hark you, sir—you are an impertinent little rascal—and I've a great mind to horsewhip you; but as you are only a boy, and don't know how to behave yourself, I'll forgive you. There! (gives money) there's something to buy a riband for your sweetheart.

Emily.

Thank you, sir; (touching her hat) I am sure I didn't intend to be impudent; but when you talked about being afraid, I thought you wouldn't think me a man if I didn't resent it:

Wynd.

Well, well, say no more about it; I suppose you know all the persons who visit your mistress, the Countess—do you not?

Emily.

(aside) Oh, oh! I see what he's driving at. (aloud) Yes, sir, all of them.

Wynd.

Pray did any stranger call on her this morning?

Emily.

Stranger! let me see a stranger call this morning? There was the Duc de Courtville, the Baron Pontoise, Abbe Blancbec, General Duval, and five or six young officers, but no stranger.

Wynd.

(gives more money) Now, recollect, are you sure there was no stranger?

Emily.

Oh, yes; (looking at money) I recollect now. (aside) I'll bring master Sam into a scrape. (aloud) Oh, yes, an English gentleman's servant, but he was no stranger; (looking pointedly at SAM, who is in R. corner) he was with my mistress more than an hour; and when he went away she was in such a passion—she stamped and raved, and rang the bell like a mad woman—then ordered me to bring you to her instantly—then called me back, sat down, wrote a note—then tore it up and threw it in the fire—then wrote a dozen more, served them all the same; at last she finished one, gave it to me, with that packet, and sent me instantly to you—telling me, at the same time, what I told you about the window. Why she got into such a passion I can't tell—but, perhaps (looking pointedly at SAM) you can, sir?

Wynd.

(rushing at SAM and shaking him) You infernal rascal, I'll shake you to atoms; it's to you then that I am indebted for all this you rascal, I'll murder you! (shaking him violently)

Sam.

Don't, sir, you'll be hung for it if you do. It's false, sir—false, sir—it's a lie, sir—I'll take my oath I was not there this morning—I never spoke a word about you, sir. (working himself into a rage) I never—I—I—I—(to EMILY) Oh, you little villain! (goes up R. in a great rage)

Emily.

(aside) Ha, ha, ha! poor Sam! I think I have punished him. (to WYNDHAM) It's very true, nevertheless, sir—he was always at our house, making love to the maids. (to SAM) You know you were. He said you obliged him to do it, sir; that he was a very moral young man—but that you wouldn't have a servant who wasn't as great a rake as yourself. (to SAM) You know you said so. And so he was obliged to follow your bad example, for fear he should lose his place, Now, sir, as you have found him out in betraying your secrets, of course you will discharge him; and if you want a clever, active lad, who knows how to hold his tongue—can carry letters and messages to ladies, and perfectly understands the business of a single gentleman's gentleman, I'm your man. (slapping the top of his hat)

Sam.

(astonished—aside) I'm blowed if he doesn't want to get my place. I'll serve you out for this, Mr. Green; only let me catch you by yourself, that's all.

Emily.

Any commands for me, sir?

Wynd.

Yes; wait here a few minutes, and I will give you a letter for your mistress. (to EMILY) Oh, Sam, Sam, how could you be such a damned scoundrel?

Exit, L. door. SAM shuts the door, puts his hands in his pockets, and swaggers up to EMILY. Sam.

Now, you little grasshopper, how came you to tell such lies about me?

Emily.

Lies, indeed! why you know it's all true—ain't you and your master two of the greatest rogues in Paris and haven't you been making love to my sweetheart, little Louise, the Countess's maid. By-the-bye, I shall have satisfaction for that—I'll call you out, damme!—you must fight me.

Sam.

Ah, I see how it is—I must floor this chap—I'll pitch into him at once. (turns up his sleeves) You'll fight me, will you?—that's your sort—come on, my young 'un! (squares)

Emily.

I shall be murdered here. Help, help, Mr. Wyndham, help!

runs round the stage followed by SAM—WYNDHAM enters, L., and holds SAM's arms while EMILY thumps him, calling out, "Come on, sir—come on!"—in the struggle SAM breaks away and seizes EMILY. After several attempts, WYNDHAM separates them. Wynd.

Hollo, hollo!—what's the matter? Be quiet, Sam—be quiet, you young rascal! (holding EMILY, L.) What are you about, Sam?

Sam.

(R. sulkily) Thanking this fellow for the lies he told about me.

Wynd.

(C.) Leave the room, sir! (retires up and sits at table, L.)

Sam.

(shaking his fist at EMILY, and aside to her) Only let me catch you out in the street, young boots, won't I serve you out—won't I give you a smeller.

Exit, door L. Emily.

(aside) It was fortunate Wyndham was so near at hand, or my friend, Sam, would have demolished me. (to WYNDHAM) Any commands for me, sir?

Wynd.

Merely give this to the Countess. (gives a letter) Tell her that I am sorry for my conduct—that her letter has restored me to a sense of duty that I have left a lady in England, who loves me, whom I have been a villain to forget, even for an instant. Tell her, also, that I leave Paris to-morrow. (sits at table)

Emily.

(going) The noble fellow! he loves me still. I will prove him a little further, and hope—fondly hope, to turn him from his follies, and make him confess that the true and lasting love of a devoted wife, is far, far beyond the false and fickle attachment of a mistress!

Exit, C. D. Wynd.

Yes, to-morrow I am determined to start for England, where I hope to find my dear Emily as kind and as good as ever. What is it the Countess has sent me? let me see. (opens packet) Upon my life, a superb gold chain! Countess, I will oblige you—I will wear it for your sake. I've often sported my figure in "lady's chain," and why shouldn't I again? (puts it on) And now, Countess, adieu; your billet has saved me a world of trouble; I wanted to cut with you, and you have, in the kindest manner, anticipated my wishes. I think I must forgive Sam for getting me out of the scrape so cleverly. Sam, Sam, come here!

Enter SAM, L. door. Sam.

(sulkily) Did you call, Sir?

Wynd.

(imitating) Did you call, sir? Yes, I did call. Although, Sam, you were a great rascal to expose me to the Countess; yet, as I think you did it from a good motive, I will forgive you, and say no more about the matter, provided you are more discreet in future.

Sam.

You're very good, sir; but you are deceived. I never said a word to the Countess about Miss Emily! I never said a word, sir, and I'm quite astounded about it, I am, indeed.

Wynd.

Come, come, Sam, that won't do; it's of no use denying the thing—you know you are lying—you know you are!

Sam.

(half crying) No, sir, I am not doing any such thing; it's the action of a vile hincendery!

Wynd.

A what?

Sam.

A hincendery, sir. I'm a belied young man, sir; I never said nothing. I am as innocent of the charge as an unborn babby. I say again it's the work of a hincendery!

Wynd.

Well, Sam, I shall take measures to find out the truth, and if you have deceived me, you quit my service on the instant. I shall leave Paris to-morrow morning—go and pack up immediately.

Sam.

Very well, sir; I'm glad we're going—I'm getting quite home sick. I should like to see Jane again, sir; I'm tired of French dishes, and long for roast beef. I suppose you'll take leave of all your friends before you go, sir?

Wynd.

Why, yes, I must for form sake; but I shan't stay a moment anywhere.

Sam.

Of course not, sir. (aside) If he leaves Paris to-morrow morning, I'm a Dutchman. He'll never settle his little arrangements, as he calls 'em, in so short a time.

Wynd.

Sam, you may leave out my mask and domino, I shall go to the Opera to-night. I may as well amuse myself a little as it is my last time.

Sam.

There, I knew how it would be. (aside) He'll go to the opera and get inwiggled again. (aloud) Ah, sir, I wish I could see you leading Miss Emily to the yimeneal altar.

Wynd.

(laughing) What?

Sam.

The yimeneneal altar, sir—it's a dictionary word—(with mock dignity) instead of gallivanting it in Paris. Mind what you are at, sir, when you are at the Opera, for I'll be bound that hincendery will be watching you, and if you should go astray, it will be all up with us in England.

Wynd.

Don't be alarmed, Sam, I shall merely take leave of my friends, and return early; besides, you know when my resolution is once fixed, nothing can turn me. (crosses to L.)

Sam.

Nothing, sir, (aside) but a pretty face, and that will make you turn like a weathercock.

Wynd.

Now I'll go and write a letter to my Emily, and prepare her for my arrival. Don't be out of the way, Sam, I may want you.

Exit, L. door. Sam.

Very well, sir. Oh, master of mine, you are a deep one; you pretend a great deal about reforming, but you'll never keep your good resolutions for more than a day at farthest. He'll be going it again—I know he will. This Paris is such a place for jeune homme, as the French say; one gets inwiggled before one's aware of it. Last Monday I got inwiggled out of five francs at nouge and roar; and as I came home through the Pallay Royal, the ladies wanted to inwiggle me, but I wouldn't let 'em. "Pas comprehend," says I. "You jolly garsong," says they. "Pas de largong," says I. "Hallez au devil," says they. Ha, ha, ha! I know how to gammon the natives—they cannot do me; but master is such a flat, he comprehends everything, and has always plenty of largong. I wish we were safe in England. I'll bet a crown we shall get into a precious scrape along of this Paris lark, I know we shall—master will lose Miss Emily, and I shall lose my Jane. They'll bring an action against us in the Prognostical Court.

Exit, L. Wynd.

(within) Pack up everything, Sam, and be ready to start early in the morning.

Enter WYNDHAM, L. door.

I think I have arranged my affairs in pretty quick time. I have written a circular to my female friends, lamenting the hard fate that tears me from them—have informed Emily of my intended departure—and now am ready for anything. Enter EMILY, C. door, disguised as MISS SNOWDROP, dressed in the extreme of fashion, a thick white veil entirely covering her face—she trips across the stage with an affected French gait, and is about to enter Wyndham's apartment. Yes, for anything. (sees EMILY) Eh! a lady!

Emily.

(L., starting affectedly) Oh, dear! what a mistake! How could I be so foolish? I beg pardon, sir; I was on the point of entering your apartment, mistaking it for my own. I'm ready to sink with confusion—don't look at me, or I shall faint. (crosses to R.) Pray, forgive me, Mr. Wyndham. (in a drawling affected tone)

Wynd.

(aside) She knows my name—very strange! (aloud) Madam, don't make yourself uneasy—I can readily imagine such a mistake in a strange hotel. It is I who ought to apologize for the fright I have so unintentionally given you. You know my name—pray, madam, where have you seen me?

Emily.

Oh, everywhere—at the theatres—at the balls— the masquerades in this house, and everywhere. (sighs) Oh—o—o—my poor heart!

Wynd.

I think she's smitten. I'll get up a sigh myself. (sighs) Oh—o—o. That's pretty fair for a beginning. We'll have a sighing duet. (sighs)

Emily.

Heigho! (sighs deeply) Were you ever in love, Mr. Wyndham?

Wynd.

(aside) That's a plain question, at all events. (aloud) Oh, never. I certainly have sometimes felt a kind of fluttering sensation, but never regularly over head and ears—never really in love.

Emily.

(aside) So, so I'll make you pay for this. (aloud) Heigho! (sighs) Do you think you ever will be? (sighs)

Wynd.

(aside) Another plumper—she's decidedly smitten. I think I'm relapsing—I must say a few soft things to comfort her—there can't be any harm as I'm going away to-morrow. I'll begin with a sigh. (sighs—aloud) Why, yes, I think I shall, very soon. (sighs—EMILY echoes it—aside) That last sigh has brought her down like a shot. (aloud) You are a charming creature—may I venture to ask your name?

Emily.

My name, sir, is Susannah Sophia Sophonisba Snowdrop.

Wynd.

Susannah Sophia Sophonisba Snowdrop! What a delightful name! How beautifully alliterative—how mellifluent! How much more it touches the heart than the baker and butcher-like appellations of Sarah, Mary, or Betsy! And have you been long in Paris, Miss Snowdrop?

Emily.

Not long, Mr. Wyndham. My papa brought me here to perfect me in French, music, and dancing. I hope you are fond of dancing—I love it to distraction! I go to all the balls—I have been to seven this week, and never sat down one set.

Wynd.

(aside) Poor creature! how tired she must be.

Emily.

I am so passionately fond of dancing, I could dance for ever.

Wynd.

That's a long while.

Emily.

'Twas at a ball I first saw you, Mr. Wyndham.

Wynd.

Indeed; I'm sure I was not aware of the circumstance.

Emily.

Don't you remember?

Song.—EMILY.—Air, "Gentle Zitella." 'Twas at a ball where we first met. You asked me to dance with you the first set; I blushed and I faltered, and would have said no, But you made me say yes, for you squeezed my hand so. Oh, don't you remember those moments so gay, When with hearts and feet light we tript it away? Next in a waltz we gaily did twine, Your arm round my waist, your eyes meeting mine. Oh, how my heart beat when you look'd and you sigh'd, "Dearest, I love you, and none else beside." Oh, don't you remember those moments so gay, When with hearts and feet light we tripp'd it away. We danc'd until daylight obliged us to part, You lost your hat— Wynd.

(speaking) Did I?

Emily. And I lost my heart. But never since then have you e'er thought of me, Your looks and your sighs were all fiddle-de dee; Oh! don't you remember those moments so gay, When with hearts and feet light we tripp'd it away? Wynd.

Upon my soul she's very fascinating, and waltzes divinely. I am smitten — I feel all the old symptoms returning. Confound that thick veil, I can't get even a glimpse of her face. Such a charming accomplished creature as you are, Miss Snowdrop, must have great many admirers. You asked me, just now, if I were ever in love—now let me ask you a plain question—who stole your heart?

Emily.

Oh, sir, don't ask me I am a victim, sir!

Wynd.

A victim?

Emily.

A victim !— a victim to the tender passion.

Wynd.

(aside) Poor creature! I must console her—I was always very partial to victims.

Emily.

It is my fate, sir, to love—love with an ardent ever-lasting passion; but the object of my affection is insensible— nor do think he ever guesses how much he is beloved.

Wynd.

(aside) It's plain she is in love with me—what a fool I must have been not to have found it out before. I'm afraid I shan't go away to-morrow. (approaching EMILY and putting his arm round her waist) Divine Miss Snowdrop, he is not insensible he does guess.

Enter SAM, hastily, door L. Sam.

Do you want your (sees them he starts) He's at it again.

Wynd.

Leave the room, sir! how dare you enter thus abruptly?

Sam.

(shaking his head reproachfully) Oh, sir! oh, sir! I'm surprised at you—I am, indeed. Exit, door L.

Wynd.

Now I recollect, I have often observed your charming figure, but I cannot call to mind your face; suffer me to— (endeavouring to lift her veil)

Emily.

No, no, you must not see my face—I should faint if you did; if you love me, it must be without seeing my face.

Wynd.

Not see your face—what cruelty! if you don't shew it to me, I shall positively think you old and ugly! (aside) she'll shew it now, or the devil's in it.

Emily.

Perhaps I am, (seriously) and therefore seek concealment. (crosses to L.)

Wynd.

Eh? (in doubt) No, no, impossible your voice, your gait, your figure—all denote a young woman; and I'll swear, or I'm much mistaken, a handsome one! Come, come, remove the envious veil, and enchant me with your beauty.

Emily.

No, I will not; if you cannot love me without seeing my face, your love is only skin deep, and not worth having— good-bye. (going)

Wynd.

Stay! Stay, charming creature! (gently detaining her—aside) I'm buying a pig in a poke, perhaps—but no matter—here goes. (kneeling) Lovely creature —for I'm sure you must be lovely—behold me at your feet! believe me while I swear to you that you are a —(SAM puts his head from L. door, and hastily draws it back again)—infernal rascal! Hear me vow to you that I'll —(SAM puts his head out as before) I'll cut your throat!

Emily.

You'll cut my throat! Upon my word, sir, your love is of a very singular nature.

Wynd.

(R.) No, no, I don't mean that. I mean that I love—I adore you! that I'll fly to the world's end for you, and I'll shoot myself if you don't take pity on me.

Emily.

Poor fellow! (laughing at him) Now don't do that. I believe I must—a—

Wynd.

(in ecstacy) Charming divine creature! Now do shew me your face. (trying to remove her veil)

Emily.

(faintly struggling) No, don't—I won't—you shan't—

Wynd.

But I will you must—you shall

Emily.

I won't—(affectedly) —it will frighten you—no, don't—

Wynd.

Nonsense! impossible! You must you must be an angel! (takes off her veil and discovers that she is a black) The devil! (starts back with horror and surprise)

Emily.

Wyndham! my own Wyndham! (tries to embrace him—he runs away)

Wynd.

(in agony) Oh, go away—go away—go away! (she follows him round the stage and drives him to L. D. At this moment SAM puts his head out again—WYNDHAM seizes him and turns him over to EMILY, who embraces him—SAM struggles to get away) Here, here, have Sam. (throws himself on the sofa, R.)

Sam.

Oh, dear; murder! murder !

Exit EMILY, R. (WYNDHAM kicks about on the sofa, and SAM laughs, sits on the arm fronting the Audience, and falls over on his master—WYNDHAM throws him into R. corner) Wynd.

(walking up and down the stage) What an escape!

Sam.

What a devil!

Wynd.

What a take in!

Sam.

Yes, sir—what a fool she made of you! There you were on your knees vowing and swearing you loved her, and that she was an angel. Pretty angel! Day and Martin—ha, ha, ha! I can't help it, sir—I can't help laughing, sir, to think that you should fall in love with a blackamore. What's her name, sir?

Wynd.

Snowdrop.

Sam.

Ha, ha, ha! Lily white! Excuse my laughing, sir. (sings) "Lilies and roses her cheeks disclose." Ha, ha, ha!

Wynd.

You may laugh at me, Sam—I deserve it. I am rightly served. I ought to have remembered my determination never to think of any other woman but Emily, You may pack up my mask and domino—I shan't go to the masquerade. This infernal affair of the black woman will get afloat, and I shall become a laughing stock. Order post horses—I'll leave Paris immediately. I can never shew my face here again!

Sam.

Never, sir—unless you wear a veil, like Miss Snowdrop.

Wynd.

Come, come, sir—no more of that; you presume on my good nature. Order the horses, pay the bill, and let us be off immediately. I shall be miserable until I'm out of this confounded house.

Sam.

Yes, sir; it's a devil of a place. (WYNDHAM looks angry) Beg pardon, sir—

Sam.

Not go to-day, sir! then take my word for it you'll never go at all. (picks up chain and puts it round his neck)

Wynd.

I'm afraid I shan’t, Sam. Sam, I’m going to the Bois de Boulogne to-morrow morning.

Sam.

To meet the Countess, sir ?

Wynd.

No, Sam—to be shot.

Sam.

(astonished) Shot?

Wynd.

Yes, Sam, and you must go with me.

Sam.

I'll be shot if I do. But what’s the matter, sir? what’s the row ?

Wynd.

Why, Sam, an officer has been here who has challenged me on account of my affair with the Countess. She made him promise to kill the man who has that chain in his possession.

Sam.

(hastily throwing it down) Oh, what a cannibal! What a hincendery !

Wynd.

So, you see, Sam, I am to pay pretty dearly for my Paris amusements; but my case will not be singular—many of my countrymen have done the same.

Sam.

Ah, sir! you should have taken my advice. But it’s no use talking now, sir—you must not sacrifice yourself for a countess, sir. I’ll go to the police, and have you taken up. You shan’t be shot, sir—I’m blowed if you shall!

Wynd.

No, Sam. I am resolved; I must meet the man—my honour requires it. I insist on your obeying my commands! (very seriously) Perhaps they are the last I may ever give you. Mind, no interference. If I fall—

Sam.

I'll pick you up again.

Wynd.

See me properly packed up and directed. Explain everything to Emily. I'll write a few lines to her myself, and settle my affairs, for fear of the worst. Oh, what a fool I was to come to Paris! But for my cursed folly I should have been a happy man. If get out of this last scrape I will be steady, and never give anybody a chance of packing me up and directing me. Exit, L. door.

Sam.

My master is in a devil of a mess! I'll get him out of it—I’ll go for the police! I'll prevent him from making a suicide of himself ! We will go to England to-morrow ! JANE enters C. door, and quietly gets down on R. And when I meet my dear Jane, I'll say———(sees JANE and eagerly embraces her) Oh, my dear Jane—my dear Jane! (embraces her again) How are you! (embraces again) Roast beef for ever! My dear Jane! (embraces again)

Jane.

My dear Sam, how are you? I’m so glad to see you.

Sam.

And so amI to see you. But I say, Jane— (sings) “ My pretty Jane” —I say, Jane, what wind brought you here Where’s Miss Emily ? come, tell us all the news.

Jane.

Miss Emily is here, Sam. We have just arrived—I only left missus to find out your room. Ill go and fetch her— she’ll be so glad to see your master. (going, he brings her back)

Sam.

Oh, I dare say she will; but, I say, Jane, tell me what was it brought you to Paris?

Jane.

Why the railway, to be sure (going)

Sam.

No, no, I don't mean that. I mean what brought you from England ?

Jane.

Why, the steam boat to be sure. (going)

Sam.

No, no; I mean why did you leave England.

Jane.

Why we came to look after you. You've been away a long time, and as my missus thought you were after no good, we've come to see what you've been about all this while; and if you've been parjury villains, my missus and I are going back again, and we are going to be two nuns, that's what we are.

Sam.

Oh, no, that will never do—you'll never do for a nun. That's all gammon, Jane. We have been very steady fellows— we have, indeed. (JANE looks at him) Oh, honour bright! upon my say-so! but I must tell my master. Sir, sir—here's Jane, sir! My Jane and Miss Emily is here, sir !

Enter WYNDHAM, door, L. Wynd.

What do I hear? What do I see? Jane!

Jane.

Yes, sir; it’s me sure enough.

Wynd.

And where is your mistress ?

Jane.

I'll go and fetch her, sir. Come along, Sam. (runs off door c., SAM following and trying to kiss her)

Wynd.

Emily here! astonishing! What can have brought her to Paris? Egad, I’m so overjoyed | Dear—dear Emily, how glad I shall be to see you! I was never so happy in my life! Oh, dear, I forget—I’m to be shot to-morrow morning. Oh what a fool I have been!

Enter Sam, door, C. Sam.

Here she is, sir,—she’s coming up stairs.

Emily.

(without) Come along, Jane—is this the room?

Enter Emily, followed by Jane, door, C. Wynd.

Emily! my dear Emily! (embracing, R.)

Emily.

(C.) Charles! my dear Charles !

Sam.

Jane! my dear Jane! (embracing, L.C.)

Jane.

Sam! my dear Sam!

Wynd.

My dear Emily! this is indeed kind. But to what am I to attribute this unexpected pleasure!

Emily.

Ask your own heart, Wyndham. You have been absent more than a month, and have never once written to me. I felt alarmed lest some Parisian belle might have supplied my place, and here I am to call you to a severe account of yourself.

Wynd.

Mercy! mercy! I have been a very bad boy—I'll never do so again!

Emily.

Come, sir, confess—have you not been flirting with the French ladies? Come, now you are on your trial.

Wynd.

Never—never! I hate French ladies, ask Sam.

Sam.

(catching WYNDHAM'S eye, and looking at the chain) Oh, never—never! (aside) What a lie!

Jane.

Oh, you'll bear witness to anything, Mr. Impudence.

Emily.

Are you sure, Wyndham? no little fluttering, Wyndham, eh? Ah, you see I have found you out. (as French woman) "Oh, Tomme Tommekins, you very naughty boy!"

Wynd.

The she-shaver!

Emily.

" If you attempt to enter the house again, I'll throw you out of the window. I'm not afraid of you, big as you are."

Sam.

(aside) Young boots and breeches! Well, I'm dashed!

Emily.

"My name is Susannah Sophia Sophonisba Snowdrop!"

Wynd.

(hides his face) Can I believe my senses?

Sam.

Day and Martin, too! Miss Snowdrop! Black Sal!

Wynd.

Mercy! mercy!

Emily.

"I know exactly where to hit you! I'll see you properly packed up and directed."

Wynd.

Fairly caught, I confess. But be merciful? I'm not very bad—and you know the old proverb—"A reformed rake"

Emily.

"Makes the best of husbands." Well, as I have punished you for your follies, I'll make the experiment, although tis a bold one. There's my hand!

Wynd.

Oh, rapture! happiness! (hisses her hand and retires with her)

Jane.

I'll make the experiment too. Sam, there's my hand. You've been a wild young youth, but I forgive you.

Sam.

That's right, Jane. (embracing her) I say, sir, there is nothing like English roast beef after all, is there ? Here's my sirloin !

Emily.

And now, my dear Wyndham, since you have been tried and honorably acquitted, we will leave Paris immediately ; but first let me ask here—(to Audience)—A few questions. (steps forward) Ladies, I address myself to you, because I know your influence over the men. In following my lover, and assuming disguises to turn him from his follies, and fix his wavering heart, have I done wrong? If you pronounce me guilty I must fall—but from your. pretty smiles and twinkling eyes, I trust your hands will feelingly acquit me. (curtseys) Gentlemen! married men and single men—you are too gallant to contradict the ladies, or pronounce them wrong, therefore I think I’m sure of you, and if you will condescend to appland our humble efforts to amuse you, uniting my five characters in one, permit me to wish you tenfold happiness.

CURTAIN.