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قراءة كتاب The Romance of a Poor Young Man A Drama Adapted from the French of Octave Feuillet
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The Romance of a Poor Young Man A Drama Adapted from the French of Octave Feuillet
THE STANDARD DRAMA.
The Acting Edition.
No. CCXXV.
THE ROMANCE OF
A POOR YOUNG MAN.
A Drama, adapted from the French of
OCTAVE FEUILLET,
BY MESSRS. PIERREPONT EDWARDS AND LESTER WALLACK.
TO WHICH ARE ADDED
A Description of the Costume—Cast of the Characters—Entrances and Exits—
Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and
the whole of the Stage Business
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by Lester Wallack, in the
Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York.
NEW YORK:
SAMUEL FRENCH, PUBLISHER,
122 Nassau Street, (Up Stairs.)
CHARACTERS REPRESENTED.
| Manuel, Marquis de Champcey, | Mr. Lester Wallack. |
| Doctor Desmarets,—formerly of the French Army, | Mr. Brougham. |
| M. de Bevannes—a man of the world, | Mr. Walcot. |
| Gaspar Laroque—an aged man, formerly Captain of a Privateer, | Mr. Dyott. |
| Alain—a confidential domestic, | Mr. Young. |
| M. Nouret—a Notary, | Mr. Levere. |
| Yvonnet—a Breton Shepherd, | Mr. Baker. |
| Henri, | Mr. Oliver. |
| Louis, | Mr. Coburn. |
| Madame Laroque—Daughter-in-Law to Gaspar, | Mrs. Vernon. |
| Marguerite—her daughter, | Mrs. Hoey. |
| Mlle Helouin—a Governess, | |
| Madame Aubrey—a relative of the Laroque family, | Miss Mary Gannon. |
| Louise Vauberger—formerly nurse to Manuel, now keeper of a lodging house, | Mrs. Walcot. |
| Christine—a Breton peasant girl, | Miss Fanny Reeves. |
Guests, Servants, Peasantry, &c., &c.
The events of the Drama take place (during the 1st Act) in Paris, afterward in the Province of Britanny.
Costumes of the present day.
The Overture, incidental Music, and Choruses composed and arranged by Mr. Robert Stoepel.
A POOR YOUNG MAN.
TABLEAU I.
A Room, simply furnished—Table, Chairs, Arm Chair, Secretaire, Side Table—Door C.
Madame Vauberger peeps in L.
Madame Vauberger. No; he has not yet returned. [Enters.] Things cannot go on in this manner much longer—I shall have to speak out, and plainly too. And why not? Surely he won't take it ill from me—ah, no. I, who loved his poor mother so, could never—What's this? A purse! empty! And this key, left carelessly lying about; that's a bad sign. [Opens Secretaire.] No, not one solitary sous—his last coin came yesterday to pay me the rent. In the drawer, perhaps—
Dr. Desmarets looks in.
Dr. Desmarets. Hallo! [She starts.] What are you at there?
Mad. V. Me, sir? I was just—I was just—
Des. Poking your nose into that drawer—that what you call just?
Mad. V. I was dusting and putting the things in order, sir.
Des. I'll tell you what, Madame V., you're an extraordinary woman. Yesterday, when I called, you were dusting—half-an-hour ago when I called, you were dusting—and now, when I call again, you're dusting. Where the devil you find so much dust to dust, I can't think.
Mad. V. Ah, sir, look into this drawer.
Des. What for?
Mad. V. Is it not the place where, if one had money, one would naturally keep it?
Des. I suppose so. What of that?
Mad. V. See, sir, it is empty.
Des. What's that to me?
Mad. V. And his purse, also.
Des. What's that to you?
[Goes up and puts hat on table.
Mad. V. [Aside.] I dare not tell him that Manuel is without a meal—starving—I should never be forgiven. His pride would be wounded, and nothing could excuse that.
Des. Well, what are you cogitating about? Looking for something to dust?
Mad. V. I'm thinking of the Marquis, sir.
Des. Well, what of him?
Mad. V. Is it not dreadful? Brought up as he has been—surrounded by every luxury—and now reduced to want even. Oh! it is too hard—too hard!
Des. Well, it's his own fault, isn't it? There was enough left from the wreck of his father's property, to give him a sort of a living, and he must needs go and settle it all upon his little sister Helen.
Mad. V. And for what? To give her the education befitting her rank.
Des. Fudge!
Mad. V. Doctor Desmarets, your're very unfeeling.
Des. Oh, of course, of course. I give him good advice, he rejects it. I withdraw my sympathy, and then I'm unfeeling. If he can't manage better with the little that's left him, egad! he may think himself lucky that he can get his daily meals.
Mad. V. Sir, he can't even—[Aside.] Oh, if I dared—
Des. Can't even what? Send for his coupe, I suppose, or drink Chateau margaux—terrible hardships, truly. When there's nothing else in a man's pocket, he had better put his pride there, and button it up tight.
Mad. V. Some day, sir, we shall find that he has taken poison, or cut his throat.
Des. Ah! and then there'll be nothing to dust.
Mad. V. Monsieur, I repeat it—you're unfeeling. But I, who loved and served his dear mother, whom he so much resembles—
Des. Not a bit—hasn't a look of her. The father, the father all over.
Mad. V. Of course. So you always say, and everybody knows why. You loved the poor Marchioness, offered her your hand, and she preferred the Marquis.
Des. Madame!
Mad. V. I don't care. I will speak my mind. And because she refused you, you have no regard for her son.
Des. Madame!
Mad. V. But if he has his father's face, he has his mother's heart.
Des. Much you know about it.
Mad. V. And who should know if I don't? Havn't I attended him since he was an infant?
Des. Well, and havn't I attended him since he was an infant?
Mad. V. Wasn't I with him during every sickness?
Des. Wasn't I with him too?
Mad. V. Didn't I nurse him?
Des. Didn't I cure him?