Volume 3 — ÉMILE AUGIER

(1820-1889)

s an observer of society, a satirist, and a painter of types and characters of modern life, Émile Augier ranks among the greatest French dramatists of this century. Critics consider him in the line of direct descent from Molière and Beaumarchais. His collected works ('Theatre Complet') number twenty-seven plays, of which nine are in verse. Eight of these were written with a literary partner. Three are now called classics: 'Le Gendre de M. Poirier' (M. Poirier's Son-in-Law), 'L'Aventurière' (The Adventuress), and 'Fils de Giboyer' (Giboyer's Boy). 'Le Gendre de M. Poirier' was written with Jules Sandeau, but the admirers of Augier have proved by internal evidence that his share in its composition was the greater. It is a comedy of manners based on the old antagonism between vulgar ignorant energy and ability on the one side, and lazy empty birth and breeding on the other; embodied in Poirier, a wealthy shopkeeper, and M. de Presles, his son-in-law, an impoverished nobleman. Guillaume Victor Émile Augier was born in Valence, France, September 17th, 1820, and was intended for the law; but inheriting literary tastes from his grandfather, Pigault Lebrun the romance writer, he devoted himself to letters. When his first play, 'La Ciguë' (The Hemlock),--in the preface to which he defended his grandfather's memory,--was presented at the Odéon in 1844, it made the author famous. Théophile Gautier describes it at length in Vol. iii. of his 'Art Dramatique,' and compares it to Shakespeare's 'Timon of Athens.' It is a classic play, and the hero closes his career by a draught of hemlock.

Augier's works are:--'Un Homme de Bien' (A Good Man); 'L'Aventurière' (The Adventuress); 'Gabrielle'; 'Le Joueur de Flute' (The Flute Player); 'Diane' (Diana), a romantic play on the same theme as Victor Hugo's 'Marion Delorme,' written for and played by Rachel; 'La Pierre de Touche' (The Touchstone), with Jules Sandeau; 'Philberte,' a comedy of the last century; 'Le Mariage d'Olympe' (Olympia's Marriage); 'Le Gendre de M. Poirier' (M. Poirier's Son-in-Law); 'Ceinture Dorée' (The Golden Belt), with Edouard Foussier; 'La Jeunesse' (Youth); 'Les Lionnes Pauvres' (Ambition and Poverty),--a bold story of social life in Paris during the Second Empire, also with Foussier; 'Les Effrontés' (Brass), an attack on the worship of money; 'Le Fils de Giboyer' (Giboyer's Boy), the story of a father's devotion, ambitions, and self-sacrifice; 'Maître Guérin' (Guérin the Notary), the hero being an inventor; 'La Contagion' (Contagion), the theme of which is skepticism; 'Paul Forestier,' the story of a young artist; 'Le Post-Scriptum' (The Postscript); 'Lions et Renards' (Lions and Foxes), whose motive is love of power; 'Jean Thommeray,' the hero of which is drawn from Sandeau's novel of the same title; 'Madame Caverlet,' hinging on the divorce question; 'Les Fourchambault' (The Fourchambaults), a plea for family union; 'La Chasse au Roman' (Pursuit of a Romance), and 'L'Habit Vert' (The Green Coat), with Sandeau and Alfred de Musset; and the libretto for Gounod's opera 'Sappho.' Augier wrote one volume of verse, which he modestly called 'Pariétaire,' the name of a common little vine, the English danewort. In 1858 he was elected to the French Academy, and in 1868 became a Commander of the Legion of Honor. He died at Croissy, October 25th, 1889. An analysis of his dramas by Émile Montégut is published in the Revue de Deux Mondes for April, 1878.

A CONVERSATION WITH A PURPOSE

From 'Giboyer's Boy'

Marquis--Well, dear Baroness, what has an old bachelor like me done to deserve so charming a visit?

Baroness--That's what I wonder myself, Marquis. Now I see you I don't know why I've come, and I've a great mind to go straight back.

Marquis--Sit down, vexatious one!

Baroness--No. So you close your door for a week; your servants all look tragic; your friends put on mourning in anticipation; I, disconsolate, come to inquire--and behold, I find you at table!

Marquis--I'm an old flirt, and wouldn't show myself for an empire when I'm in a bad temper. You wouldn't recognize your agreeable friend when he has the gout;--that's why I hide.

Baroness--I shall rush off to reassure your friend.

Marquis--They are not so anxious as all that. Tell me something of them.

Baroness--But somebody's waiting in my carriage.

Marquis--I'll send to ask him up.

Baroness--But I'm not sure that you know him.

Marquis--His name?

Baroness--I met him by chance.

Marquis--And you brought him by chance. [He rings.] You are a mother to me. [To Dubois.] You will find an ecclesiastic in Madame's carriage. Tell him I'm much obliged for his kind alacrity, but I think I won't die this morning.

Baroness--O Marquis! what would our friends say if they heard you?

Marquis--Bah! I'm the black sheep of the party, its spoiled child; that's taken for granted. Dubois, you may say also that Madame begs the Abbé to drive home, and to send her carriage back for her.

Baroness--Allow me--

Marquis--Go along, Dubois.--Now you are my prisoner.

Baroness--But, Marquis, this is very unconventional.

Marquis [kissing her hand]--Flatterer! Now sit down, and let's talk about serious things. [Taking a newspaper from the table.] The gout hasn't kept me from reading the news. Do you know that poor Déodat's death is a serious mishap?

Baroness--What a loss to our cause!

Marquis--I have wept for him.

Baroness--Such talent! Such spirit! Such sarcasm!

Marquis--He was the hussar of orthodoxy. He will live in history as the angelic pamphleteer. And now that we have settled his noble ghost--

Baroness--You speak very lightly about it, Marquis.

Marquis--I tell you I've wept for him.--Now let's think of some one to replace him.

Baroness--Say to succeed him. Heaven doesn't create two such men at the same time.

Marquis--What if I tell you that I have found such another? Yes, Baroness, I've unearthed a wicked, cynical, virulent pen, that spits and splashes; a fellow who would lard his own father with epigrams for a consideration, and who would eat him with salt for five francs more.

Baroness--Déodat had sincere convictions.

Marquis--That's because he fought for them. There are no more mercenaries. The blows they get convince them. I'll give this fellow a week to belong to us body and soul.

Baroness--If you haven't any other proofs of his faithfulness--

Marquis--But I have.

Baroness--Where from?

Marquis--Never mind. I have it.

Baroness--And why do you wait before presenting him?

Marquis--For him in the first place, and then for his consent. He lives in Lyons, and I expect him to-day or to-morrow. As soon as he is presentable, I'll introduce him.

Baroness--Meanwhile, I'll tell the committee of your find.

Marquis--I beg you, no. With regard to the committee, dear Baroness, I wish you'd use your influence in a matter which touches me.

Baroness--I have not much influence--

Marquis--Is that modesty, or the exordium of a refusal?

Baroness--If either, it's modesty.

Marquis--Very well, my charming friend. Don't you know that these gentlemen owe you too much to refuse you anything?

Baroness--Because they meet in my parlor?

Marquis--That, yes; but the true, great, inestimable service you render every day is to possess such superb eyes.

Baroness--It's well for you to pay attention to such things!

Marquis--Well for me, but better for these Solons whose compliments don't exceed a certain romantic intensity.

Baroness--You are dreaming.

Marquis--What I say is true. That's why serious societies always rally in the parlor of a woman, sometimes clever, sometimes beautiful. You are both, Madame: judge then of your power!

Baroness--You are too complimentary: your cause must be detestable.

Marquis--If it was good I could win it for myself.

Baroness--Come, tell me, tell me.

Marquis--Well, then: we must choose an orator to the Chamber for our Campaign against the University. I want them to choose--

Baroness--Monsieur Maréchal?

Marquis--You are right.

Baroness--Do you really think so, Marquis? Monsieur Maréchal?

Marquis--Yes, I know. But we don't need a bolt of eloquence, since we'll furnish the address. Maréchal reads well enough, I assure you.

Baroness--We made him deputy on your recommendation. That was a good deal.

Marquis--Maréchal is an excellent recruit.

Baroness--So you say.

Marquis--How disgusted you are! An old subscriber to the Constitutionnel, a liberal, a Voltairean, who comes over to the enemy bag and baggage. What would you have? Monsieur Maréchal is not a man, my dear: it's the stout bourgeoisie itself coming over to us. I love this honest bourgeoisie, which hates the revolution, since there is no more to be gotten out of it; which wants to stem the tide which brought it, and make over a little feudal France to its own profit. Let it draw our chestnuts from the fire if it wants to. This pleasant sight makes me enjoy politics. Long live Monsieur Maréchal and his likes, bourgeois of the right divine. Let us heap these precious allies with honor and glory until our triumph ships them off to their mills again.

Baroness--Several of our deputies are birds of the same feather. Why choose the least capable for orator?

Marquis--It's not a question of capacity.

Baroness--You're a warm patron of Monsieur Maréchal!

Marquis--I regard him as a kind of family protégé. His grandfather was farmer to mine. I'm his daughter's guardian. These are bonds.

Baroness--You don't tell everything.

Marquis--All that I know.

Baroness--Then let me complete your information. They say that in old times you fell in love with the first Madame Maréchal.

Marquis--I hope you don't believe this silly story?

Baroness--Faith, you do so much to please Monsieur Maréchal--

Marquis--That it seems as if I must have injured him? Good heavens! Who is safe from malice? Nobody. Not even you, dear Baroness.

Baroness--I'd like to know what they can say of me.

Marquis--Foolish things that I certainly won't repeat.

Baroness--Then you believe them?

Marquis--God forbid! That your dead husband married his mother's companion? It made me so angry!

Baroness--Too much honor for such wretched gossip.

Marquis--I answered strongly enough, I can tell you.

Baroness--I don't doubt it.

Marquis--But you are right in wanting to marry again.

Baroness--Who says I want to?

Marquis--Ah! you don't treat me as a friend. I deserve your confidence all the more for understanding you as if you had given it. The aid of a sorcerer is not to be despised, Baroness.

Baroness [sitting down by the table]--Prove your sorcery.

Marquis [sitting down opposite]--Willingly! Give me your hand.

Baroness [removing her glove]--You'll give it back again.

Marquis--And help you dispose of it, which is more. [Examining her hand.] You are beautiful, rich, and a widow.

Baroness--I could believe myself at Mademoiselle Lenormand's!

Marquis--While it is so easy, not to say tempting, for you to lead a brilliant, frivolous life, you have chosen a rôle almost austere with its irreproachable morals.

Baroness--If it was a rôle, you'll admit that it was much like a penitence.

Marquis--Not for you.

Baroness--What do you know about it?

Marquis--I read it in your hand. I even see that the contrary would cost you more, for nature has gifted your heart with unalterable calmness.

Baroness [drawing away her hand]--Say at once that I'm a monster.

Marquis--Time enough! The credulous think you a saint; the skeptics say you desire power; I, Guy François Condorier, Marquis d'Auberive, think you a clever little German, trying to build a throne for yourself in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. You have conquered the men, but the women resist you: your reputation offends them; and for want of a better weapon they use this miserable rumor I've just repeated. In short, your flag's inadequate and you're looking for a larger one. Henry IV. said that Paris was worth a mass. You think so too.

Baroness--They say sleep-walkers shouldn't be contradicted. However, do let me say that if I really wanted a husband--with my money and my social position, I might already have found twenty.

Marquis--Twenty, yes; but not one. You forget this little devil of a rumor.

Baroness [rising]--Only fools believe that.

Marquis [rising]--There's the hic. It's only very clever men, too clever, who court you, and you want a fool.

Baroness--Why?

Marquis--Because you don't want a master. You want a husband whom you can keep in your parlor, like a family portrait, nothing more.

Baroness--Have you finished, dear diviner? What you have just said lacks common-sense, but you are amusing, and I can refuse you nothing.

Marquis--Maréchal shall have the oration?

Baroness--Or I'll lose my name.

Marquis--And you shall lose your name--I promise you.

A SEVERE YOUNG JUDGE

From 'The Adventuress'

Clorinde [softly]--Here's Célie. Look at her clear eyes. I love her, innocent child!

Annibal--Yes, yes, yes! [He sits down in a corner.]

Clorinde [approaching Célie, who has paused in the doorway]--My child, you would not avoid me to-day if you knew how happy you make me!

Célie--My father has ordered me to come to you.

Clorinde--Ordered you? Did you need an order? Are we really on such terms? Tell me, do you think I do not love you, that you should look upon me as your enemy? Dear, if you could read my heart you would find there the tenderest attachment.

Célie--I do not know whether you are sincere, Madame. I hope that you are not, for it distresses one to be loved by those--

Clorinde--Whom one does not love? They must have painted me black indeed, that you are so reluctant to believe in my friendship.

Célie--They have told me--what I have heard, thanks to you, Madame, was not fit for my young ears. This interview is cruel--Please let me--

Clorinde--No, no! Stay, Mademoiselle. For this interview, painful to us both, nevertheless concerns us both.

Célie--I am not your judge, Madame.

Clorinde--Nevertheless you do judge me, and severely! Yes, my life has been blameworthy; I confess it. But you know nothing of its temptations. How should you know, sweet soul, to whom life is happy and goodness easy? Child, you have your family to guard you. You have happiness to keep watch and ward for you. How should you know what poverty whispers to young ears on cold evenings! You, who have never been hungry, how should you understand the price that is asked for a mouthful of bread?

Célie--I don't know the pleadings of poverty, but one need not listen to them. There are many poor girls who go hungry and cold and keep from harm.

Clorinde--Child, their courage is sublime. Honor them if you will, but pity the cowards.

Célie--Yes, for choosing infamy rather than work, hunger, or death! Yes, for losing the respect of all honest souls! Yes, I can pity them for not being worthier of pity.

Clorinde--So that's your Christian charity! So nothing in the world--bitter repentance or agonies of suffering, or vows of sanctity for all time to come--may obliterate the past?

Célie--You force me to speak without knowledge. But--since I must give judgment--who really hates a fault will hate the fruit of it. If you keep this place, Madame, you will not expect me to believe in the genuineness of your renunciations.

Clorinde--I do not dishonor it. There is no reason why I should leave it. I have already proved my sincerity by high-minded and generous acts. I bear myself as my place demands. My conscience is at rest.

Célie--Your good action--for I believe you--is only the beginning of expiation. Virtue seems to me like a holy temple. You may leave it by a door with a single step, but to enter again you must climb up a hundred on your knees, beating your breast.

Clorinde--How rigid you all are, and how your parents train their first-born never to open the ranks! Oh, fortunate race! impenetrable phalanx of respectability, who make it impossible for the sinner to reform! You keep the way of repentance so rough that the foot of poor humanity cannot tread it. God will demand from you the lost souls whom your hardness has driven back to sin.

Célie--God, do you say? When good people forgive they betray his justice. For punishment is not retribution only, but the acknowledgment and recompense of those fighting ones that brave hunger and cold in a garret, Madame, yet do not surrender.

Clorinde--Go, child! I cannot bear more--

Célie--I have said more than I meant to say. Good-by. This is the first and last time that I shall ever speak of this.

[She goes.]

A CONTENTED IDLER

From 'M. Poirier's Son-in-Law'

[The party are leaving the dining-room.]

Gaston--Well, Hector! What do you think of it? The house is just as you see it now, every day in the year. Do you believe there is a happier man in the world than I?

Duke--Faith! I envy you; you reconcile me to marriage.

Antoinette [in a low voice to Verdelet]--Monsieur de Montmeyran is a charming young man!

Verdelet [in a low voice]--He pleases me.

Gaston [to Poirier, who comes in last]--Monsieur Poirier, I must tell you once for all how much I esteem you. Don't think I'm ungrateful.

Poirier--Oh! Monsieur!

Gaston--Why the devil don't you call me Gaston? And you, too, dear Monsieur Verdelet, I'm very glad to see you.

Antoinette--He is one of the family, Gaston.

Gaston--Shake hands then, Uncle.

Verdelet [aside, giving him his hand]--He's not a bad fellow.

Gaston--Agree, Hector, that I've been lucky. Monsieur Poirier, I feel guilty. You make my life one long fête and never give me a chance in return. Try to think of something I can do for you.

Poirier--Very well, if that's the way you feel, give me a quarter of an hour. I should like to have a serious talk with you.

Duke--I'll withdraw.

Poirier--No, stay, Monsieur. We are going to hold a kind of family council. Neither you nor Verdelet will be in the way.

Gaston--The deuce, my dear father-in-law. A family council! You embarrass me!

Poirier--Not at all, dear Gaston. Let us sit down.

[They seat themselves around the fireplace.]

Gaston--Begin, Monsieur Poirier.

Poirier--You say you are happy, dear Gaston, and that is my greatest recompense.

Gaston--I'm willing to double your gratification.

Poirier--But now that three months have been given to the joys of the honeymoon, I think that there has been romance enough, and that it's time to think about history.

Gaston--You talk like a book. Certainly, we'll think about history if you wish. I'm willing.

Poirier--What do you intend to do?

Gaston--To-day?

Poirier--And to-morrow, and in the future. You must have some idea.

Gaston--True, my plans are made. I expect to do to-day what I did yesterday, and to-morrow what I shall do to-day. I'm not versatile, in spite of my light air; and if the future is only like the present I'll be satisfied.

Poirier--But you are too sensible to think that the honeymoon can last forever.

Gaston--Too sensible, and too good an astronomer. But you've probably read Heine?

Poirier--You must have read that, Verdelet?

Verdelet--Yes; I've read him.

Poirier--Perhaps he spent his life at playing truant.

Gaston--Well, Heine, when he was asked what became of the old full moons, said that they were broken up to make the stars.

Poirier--I don't understand.

Gaston--When our honeymoon is old, we'll break it up and there'll be enough to make a whole Milky Way.

Poirier--That is a clever idea, of course.

Gaston--Its only merit is simplicity.

Poirier--But seriously, don't you think that the idle life you lead may jeopardize the happiness of a young household?

Gaston--Not at all.

Verdelet--A man of your capacity can't mean to idle all his life.

Gaston--With resignation.

Antoinette--Don't you think you'll find it dull after a time, Gaston?

Gaston--You calumniate yourself, my dear.

Antoinette--I'm not vain enough to suppose that I can fill your whole existence, and I admit that I'd like to see you follow the example of Monsieur de Montmeyran.

Gaston [rising and leaning against the mantelpiece]--Perhaps you want me to fight?

Antoinette--No, of course not.

Gaston--What then?

Poirier--We want you to take a position worthy of your name.

Gaston--There are only three positions which my name permits me: soldier, bishop, or husbandman. Choose.

Poirier--We owe everything to France. France is our mother.

Verdelet--I understand the vexation of a son whose mother remarries; I understand why he doesn't go to the wedding: but if he has the right kind of heart he won't turn sulky. If the second husband makes her happy, he'll soon offer him a friendly hand.

Poirier--The nobility cannot always hold itself aloof, as it begins to perceive. More than one illustrious name has set the example: Monsieur de Valcherrière, Monsieur de Chazerolles, Monsieur de Mont Louis--

Gaston--These men have done as they thought best. I don't judge them, but I cannot imitate them.

Antoinette--Why not, Gaston?

Gaston--Ask Montmeyran.

Verdelet--The Duke's uniform answers for him.

Duke--Excuse me, a soldier has but one opinion--his duty; but one adversary--the enemy.

Poirier--However, Monsieur--

Gaston--Enough, it isn't a matter of politics, Monsieur Poirier. One may discuss opinions, but not sentiments. I am bound by gratitude. My fidelity is that of a servant and of a friend. Not another word. [To the Duke.] I beg your pardon, my dear fellow. This is the first time we've talked politics here, and I promise you it shall be the last.

The Duke [in a low voice to Antoinette]--You've been forced into making a mistake, Madame.

Antoinette--I know it, now that it's too late.

Verdelet [softly, to Poirier]--Now you're in a fine fix.

Poirier [in same tone]--He's repulsed the first assault, but I don't raise the siege.

Gaston--I'm not resentful, Monsieur Poirier. Perhaps I spoke a little too strongly, but this is a tender point with me, and unintentionally you wounded me. Shake hands.

Poirier--You are very kind.

A Servant--There are some people in the little parlor who say they have an appointment with Monsieur Poirier.

Poirier--Very well, ask them to wait a moment. [The servant goes out.] Your creditors, son-in-law.

Gaston--Yours, my dear father-in-law. I've turned them over to you.

Duke--As a wedding present.

THE FEELINGS OF AN ARTIST

From 'M. Poirier's Son-in-Law'

Poirier [alone]--How vexatious he is, that son-in-law of mine! and there's no way to get rid of him. He'll die a nobleman, for he will do nothing and he is good for nothing.--There's no end to the money he costs me.--He is master of my house.--I'll put a stop to it. [He rings. Enter a servant.] Send up the porter and the cook. We shall see my son-in-law! I have set up my back. I've unsheathed my velvet paws. You will make no concessions, eh, my fine gentleman? Take your comfort! I will not yield either: you may remain marquis, and I will again become a bourgeois. At least I'll have the pleasure of living to my fancy.

The Porter--Monsieur has sent for me?

Poirier--Yes, François, Monsieur has sent for you. You can put the sign on the door at once.

The Porter--The sign?

Poirier--"To let immediately, a magnificent apartment on the first floor, with stables and carriage houses."

The Porter--The apartment of Monsieur le Marquis?

Poirier--You have said it, François.

The Porter--But Monsieur le Marquis has not given the order.

Poirier--Who is the master here, donkey? Who owns this mansion?

The Porter--You, Monsieur.

Poirier--Then do what I tell you without arguing.

The Porter--Yes, Monsieur. [Enter Vatel.]

Poirier--Go, François. [Exit Porter.] Come in, Monsieur Vatel: you are getting up a big dinner for to-morrow?

Vatel--Yes, Monsieur, and I venture to say that the menu would not be disowned by my illustrious ancestor himself. It is really a work of art, and Monsieur Poirier will be astonished.

Poirier--Have you the menu with you?

Vatel--No, Monsieur, it is being copied; but I know it by heart.

Poirier--Then recite it to me.

Vatel--Le potage aux ravioles à l'Italienne et le potage à l'orge à la Marie Stuart.

Poirier--You will replace these unknown concoctions by a good meat soup, with some vegetables on a plate.

Vatel--What, Monsieur?

Poirier--I mean it. Go on.

Vatel--Relevé. La carpe du Rhin à la Lithuanienne, les poulardes à la Godard--le filet de boeuf braisé aux raisins à la Napolitaine, le jambon de Westphalie, rotie madère.

Poirier--Here is a simpler and far more sensible fish course: brill with caper sauce--then Bayonne ham with spinach, and a savory stew of bird, with well-browned rabbit.

Vatel--But, Monsieur Poirier--I will never consent.

Poirier--I am master--do you hear? Go on.

Vatel--Entrées. Les filets de volaille à la concordat--les croustades de truffe garniés de foies à la royale, le faison étoffe à la Montpensier, les perdreaux rouges farcis à la bohemienne.

Poirier--In place of these side dishes we will have nothing at all, and we will go at once to the roast,--that is the only essential.

Vatel--That is against the precepts of art.

Poirier--I'll take the blame of that: let us have your roasts.

Vatel--It is not worth while, Monsieur: my ancestor would have run his sword through his body for a less affront. I offer my resignation.

Poirier--And I was about to ask for it, my good friend; but as one has eight days to replace a servant--

Vatel--A servant, Monsieur? I am an artist!

Poirier--I will fill your place by a woman. But in the mean time, as you still have eight days in my service, I wish you to prepare my menu.

Vatel--I will blow my brains out before I dishonor my name.

Poirier [aside]--Another fellow who adores his name! [Aloud.] You may burn your brains, Monsieur Vatel, but don't burn your sauces.--Well, bon jour! [Exit Vatel.] And now to write invitations to my old cronies of the Rue des Bourdonnais. Monsieur le Marquis de Presles, I'll soon take the starch out of you.

[He goes out whistling the first couplet of 'Monsieur and Madame Denis.']

A CONTEST OF WILLS

From 'The Fourchambaults'

Madame Fourchambault--Why do you follow me?

Fourchambault--I'm not following you: I'm accompanying you.

Madame Fourchambault--I despise you; let me alone. Oh! my poor mother little thought what a life of privation would be mine when she gave me to you with a dowry of eight hundred thousand francs!

Fourchambault--A life of privation--because I refuse you a yacht!

Madame Fourchambault--I thought my dowry permitted me to indulge a few whims, but it seems I was wrong.

Fourchambault--A whim costing eight thousand francs!

Madame Fourchambault--Would you have to pay for it?

Fourchambault--That's the kind of reasoning that's ruining me.

Madame Fourchambault--Now he says I'm ruining him! His whole fortune comes from me.

Fourchambault--Now don't get angry, my dear. I want you to have everything in reason, but you must understand the situation.

Madame Fourchambault--The situation?

Fourchambault--I ought to be a rich man; but thanks to the continual expenses you incur in the name of your dowry, I can barely rub along from day to day. If there should be a sudden fall in stocks, I have no reserve with which to meet it.

Madame Fourchambault--That can't be true! Tell me at once that it isn't true, for if it were so you would be without excuse.

Fourchambault--I or you?

Madame Fourchambault--This is too much! Is it my fault that you don't understand business? If you haven't had the wit to make the best use of your way of living and your family connections--any one else--

Fourchambault--Quite likely! But I am petty enough to be a scrupulous man, and to wish to remain one.

Madame Fourchambault--Pooh! That's the excuse of all the dolts who can't succeed. They set up to be the only honest fellows in business. In my opinion, Monsieur, a timid and mediocre man should not insist upon remaining at the head of a bank, but should turn the position over to his son.

Fourchambault--You are still harping on that? But, my dear, you might as well bury me alive! Already I'm a mere cipher in my family.

Madame Fourchambault--You do not choose your time well to pose as a victim, when like a tyrant you are refusing me a mere trifle.

Fourchambault--I refuse you nothing. I merely explain my position. Now do as you like. It is useless to expostulate.

Madame Fourchambault--At last! But you have wounded me to the heart, Adrien, and just when I had a surprise for you--

Fourchambault--What is your surprise? [Aside: It makes me tremble.]

Madame Fourchambault--Thanks to me, the Fourchambaults are going to triumph over the Duhamels.

Fourchambault--How?

Madame Fourchambault--Madame Duhamel has been determined this long time to marry her daughter to the son of the prefect.

Fourchambault--I knew it. What about it?

Madame Fourchambault--While she was making a goose of herself so publicly, I was quietly negotiating, and Baron Rastiboulois is coming to ask our daughter's hand.

Fourchambault--That will never do! I'm planning quite a different match for her.

Madame Fourchambault--You? I should like to know--

Fourchambault--He's a fine fellow of our own set, who loves Blanche, and whom she loves if I'm not mistaken.

Madame Fourchambault--You are entirely mistaken. You mean Victor Chauvet, Monsieur Bernard's clerk?

Fourchambault--His right arm, rather. His alter ego.

Madame Fourchambault--Blanche did think of him at one time. But her fancy was just a morning mist, which I easily dispelled. She has forgotten all about him, and I advise you to follow her example.

Fourchambault--What fault can you find with this young man?

Madame Fourchambault--Nothing and everything. Even his name is absurd. I never would have consented to be called Madame Chauvet, and Blanche is as proud as I was. But that is only a detail; the truth is, I won't have her marry a clerk.

Fourchambault--You won't have! You won't have! But there are two of us.

Madame Fourchambault--Are you going to portion Blanche?

Fourchambault--I? No.

Madame Fourchambault--Then you see there are not two of us. As I am going to portion her, it is my privilege to choose my son-in-law.

Fourchambault--And mine to refuse him. I tell you I won't have your little baron at any price.

Madame Fourchambault--Now it is your turn. What fault can you find with him, except his title?

Fourchambault--He's fast, a gambler, worn out by dissipation.

Madame Fourchambault--Blanche likes him just as he is.

Fourchambault--Heavens! He's not even handsome.

Madame Fourchambault--What does that matter? Haven't I been the happiest of wives?

Fourchambault--What? One word is as good as a hundred. I won't have him. Blanche need not take Chauvet, but she shan't marry Rastiboulois either. That's all I have to say.

Madame Fourchambault--But, Monsieur--

Fourchambault--That's all I have to say.

[He goes out.]