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• The Works of Voltaire
• The Dramatic Works of Voltaire Vol. X— Part I
• ZaÏre
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• An Epistle Dedicatory to Mr. Falkener, an English Merchant, Since Ambassador At Constantinople, With the Tragedy of Zaïre.
• A Second Letter to Mr. Falkener, Then Ambassador to Constantinople.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• CÆsar.
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• The Prodigal
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• Preface to Mariamne.
• Preface to Orestes.
• Preface to Catiline.
• Preface to MÉrope.
• Preface to the Prodigal.
• Preface to Nanine.
• 1 Preface to Socrates.
• Note On Mahomet.
• Preface to Julius CÆsar.
• Voltaire the Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems Vol. X— Part Ii
• Author’s Preface to the Lisbon Earthquake.
• The Lisbon Earthquake. *
• Preface to the Poem On the Law of Nature.
• The Law of Nature.
• The Temple of Taste. *
• The Temple of Friendship.
• Thoughts On the Newtonian Philosophy, Addressed to the Marchioness Du ChÂtelet.
• On the Death of Adrienne Lecouvreur, a Celebrated Actress.
• To the King of Prussia On His Accession to the Throne.
• From Love to Friendship.
• The Worldling. *
• On Calumny.
• The King of Prussia to M. Voltaire.
• The Answer.
• On the English Genius.
• What Pleases the Ladies.
• The Education of a Prince.
• The Education of a Daughter.
• The Three Manners.
• Thelema and Macareus.
• Azolan.
• The Origin of Trades.
• The Battle of Fontenoy.
• The Man of the World. *
• The Padlock. *
• In Camp Before Philippsburg, July 3, 1734.
• Answer to a Lady, Or a Person Who Wrote to Voltaire As Such. *
• Envy.
• The Nature of Virtue.
• To the King of Prussia.
• To M. De Fontenelle.
• To Count Algarotti At the Court of Saxony.
• To Cardinal Quirini.
• To Her Royal Highness, the Princess of ***.
• To M. De Cideville.
• To ****.
• Epistle XIII. *
• To the Duke of Richelieu, Marshal of France, In Whose Honor the Senate of Genoa Had Just Before Caused a Statue to Be Erected. *
• To Madam De ***, On the Manner of Living At Paris and Versailles.
• To the Prince of Vendôme.
• To Madam De Gondoin, Afterward Countess of Toulouse, On the Danger She Had Been Exposed to In Passing the Loire In 1719.
• To the Duke Delafeuillade.
• To Marshal Villars. *
• To Monsieur Genonville.
• To the Countess of Fontaine-martel. *
• Written From PlombiÉres to M. Pallu, Intendant of Lyons.
• The Nature of Pleasure.
• The Utility of Sciences to Princes. to the Prince Royal of Prussia, Since King of Prussia.
• Epistle In Answer to a Letter, With Which, Upon His Accession to the Throne, the King of Prussia Honored the Author.
• Epistle to the King, Presented to His Majesty At the Camp Before Freiburg.
• On the Death of the Emperor Charles.
• To the Queen of Hungary.
• Inscribed to the Gentlemen of the Academy of Sciences, Who Sailed to the Polar Circle and the Equator, In Order to Ascertain the Figure of the Earth.
• To M. De Gervasi, the Physician. *
• The Requisites to Happiness.
• To a Lady, Very Well Known to the Whole Town.
• Fanaticism. *
• On Peace Concluded In 1736.
• To AbbÉ Chaulieu. *
• Answer to the Foregoing.
• To President HÉnault, Author of an Excellent Work Upon the History of France.
• Canto of an Epic Poem. *
• Epistle On the Newtonian Philosophy. * to the Marchioness of ChÂtelet.

THE PRODIGAL

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Old Euphemon.

Young Euphemon.

Fierenfat, President of Cognac, second son of Euphemon.

Rondon, a Citizen of Cognac.

Lise, Daughter of Rondon.

Martha, Chambermaid to Lise.

Jasmin, Valet to young Euphemon.

Scene, Cognac.

This piece was produced in 1736, anonymously, and was a great success.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

euphemon, rondon.

rondon.

Come, come, cheer up, my old, melancholy friend, how happy will it make me to see you merry again! and merry we will be: what a pleasure it is to think my daughter will revive your drooping family! But this same son of ours, this Master Fierenfat, seems to me to behave strangely in the affair.

euphemon.

How so!

rondon.

Puffed up with his presidentship, he makes love by weight and measure: a young fellow putting on the gray beard, and dictating to us like a Cato, is, in my opinion, a mighty ridiculous animal; I would prefer a fool to a coxcomb at any time; in short, brother, he is too proud, and self-sufficient.

euphemon.

And let me tell you, brother, you are a little too hasty.

rondon.

I cannot help it; it is my nature: I love truth, I love to hear it, and I love to speak it: I love now and then to reprove my son-in-law, to rate him for his coxcombial, pedantic airs: to be sure, you acted like a wise father, to turn your elder son out of doors; that gamester, that wild rake-helly profligate, to make room for this prudent younger brother; to place all your hopes on this promising youth, and buy a presidentship for him. O ’twas a wise act no doubt: but the moment he became Mr. President, by my troth, he was stuffed up with vanity and impertinence: he goes like clock-work, walks and talks in time, and says he has a great deal more wit than I have, who, you know, brother, have a great deal more than you: he is—

euphemon.

Nay, nay, what a strange humor this is! must you always be—

rondon.

Well, well, no matter; what does it signify? all these faults are nothing when people are rich: he is, as I was going to say, covetous, and every covetous man is wise: O it is an excellent vice for a husband, a most delightful vice. Come, come, this very day he must be my son-in-law; Lise shall be his: it only remains now, my dear sorrowful friend, that you make over all your goods and chattels, hereditary or acquired, present and future, to your son, only reserving to yourself a moderate income: let everything be signed and sealed as soon as possible, that this same young gentleman of yours may throw a good fortune into our laps, without which my daughter will most certainly look another way for a husband.

euphemon.

I have promised you, sir, and I will keep my word: yes, Fierenfat shall have everything I am possessed of: the sad remainder of my unhappy life shall glide away silently in some distant retreat: but I cannot help wishing that one, for whom I design my all, was less eager to enjoy it: I have seen the mad debauchery of one son, and now behold with concern the soul of the other devoted to interest.

rondon.

So much the better, man, so much the better.

euphemon.

O my dear friend, I was born to be an unfortunate father.

rondon.

Let me have none of your lamentations, your sighs, and your groans: what! do you want your elder hopeful to come back, that prodigal spend-thrift, to spoil all our pleasure at once, and drop in like a trouble-feast on the day of marriage?

euphemon.

No, no.

rondon.

Would you have him come, and swear the house down?

euphemon.

No.

rondon.

Beat you, and run away with my daughter, with my dear Lise; my Lise, who—

euphemon.

Long may that charming maid be preserved from such wicked fellows!

rondon.

Do you want him to come again to plunder his father? Do you want to give him your estate?

euphemon.

No, no: his brother shall have it all.

rondon.

Ay! or my daughter will have none of him.

euphemon.

To-day he shall have Lise, and all my fortune: his brother will have nothing of me but the anger of a father, whom he hath grievously injured: he has deserved my hatred; an unnatural boy!

rondon.

Indeed you bore with him too long; the other at least has acted with discretion: but as for him, he was a profligate: my God, what a libertine! Do you not remember, ha! ha! that was a droll trick enough, when he robbed you of your clothes, horses, linen, and movables, to equip his little Jourdain, who left him the very next morning. Many a time have I laughed at that, I own.

euphemon.

O what pleasure can you find in repeating my misfortunes?

rondon.

And then his staking twenty rouleaux upon an ace; O dear! O dear!

euphemon.

Have done with this.

rondon.

Don’t you remember, when he was to have been betrothed to my little Lise in the face of the church, where he had hid himself, and upon whose account, too?—the debauched rogue!

euphemon.

Spare me the remembrance, good Rondon, of these unhappy circumstances, that only set his conduct in the worst light: am I not already unfortunate enough? I left my own house, the place of my nativity, on purpose to remove as far as possible from my thoughts the memory of a misfortune, which, whenever it recurs, distracts me. Your business led you to this place; we have entered into a connection with, and friendship for, each other; let me entreat you, Rondon, make the proper use of it. You are always repeating truths of some kind or other; but let me tell you, truth is not always agreeable.

rondon.

Well, well, it is agreed; I say no more; I ask pardon; but surely the devil was in you, when you knew his violent temper, to make a soldier of him.

euphemon.

Again!

rondon.

Forgive me, but really you ought—

euphemon.

I know it: I know I ought to forget everything but my younger son, and his marriage: but tell me sincerely, Rondon, think you he has been able to gain your daughter’s heart?

rondon.

O no doubt of it: my girl is a girl of honor, and will be obedient to her father: if I tell her she must fall in love, her little docile heart, which I can turn and wind just as I please, falls in love immediately, without any arguing about the matter: I know how to manage her, I warrant you.

euphemon.

I have notwithstanding some doubts about her obedience in this affair, and am greatly mistaken if she answers your expectation: my elder son had a place in her affections: I know how strong the first impressions of love are upon a tender heart; they are not worn out in a day; indeed, my friend, they are not.

rondon.

Nonsense, nonsense.

euphemon.

Say what you please, that wild fellow knew how to be agreeable.

rondon.

Not he indeed: he was nobody: a poor creature: no, no; never you fear that: after his behavior to you, I bade my daughter never to think of him any more; therefore set your heart at rest. When I say no, who shall dare to say yes? But you shall see, here she comes.

SCENE II.

euphemon, rondon, lise, martha.

rondon.

Come hither, my dear: this day, my dear, is a grand holiday for you, I am sure; for this day I intend to give you a husband: now tell me, my little Lise, be he old or young, handsome or ugly, grave or gay, rich or poor, shall you not have the strongest desire to please him? have you not already an inclination for him? are you not in love with him?

lise.

No, sir.

rondon.

How, gipsy—

euphemon.

O ho! my liege: why, your power is a little on the decline. What is become of your despotic authority!

rondon.

Ha! how is this! what, after all I said to you, have you no passion for your future husband? no inclination? no—

lise.

None in the least, sir.

rondon.

Don’t you know your duty obliges you to give him your whole heart?

lise.

No, sir; I tell you, no. I know, sir, how far a heart, obedient to the dictates of virtue, is obliged by the solemn tie of marriage. I know, sir, it is a wife’s duty to make herself as amiable as possible, and to endeavor to deserve a husband’s tenderness; to make amends by goodness for what she wants in beauty; abroad to be discreet and prudent; at home, affable and agreeable; but, as for love, it is quite another thing: it will not endure slavery: inclination can never be forced, therefore never attempt it: to my husband I shall yield up everything—but my heart, and that he must deserve before he can possess it: depend upon it, that the heart will never be taught to love by the command of a father; no, nor be argued into it by reason, nor frightened into it by a lawyer.

euphemon.

In my opinion, the girl talks sensibly, and I approve the justice of her argument: my son, I hope, will endeavor to make himself worthy of a heart so noble and so generous.

rondon.

Hold your tongue, you old doting flatterer, you corrupter of youth: without your encouragement, the girl would never have thought of prating to me in this ridiculous manner.

[To Lise.

Hark ye, miss, I have provided you a husband, perhaps he may have a little of the coxcomb, and take upon him rather too much; but it is my business to correct my son-in-law, and yours to take him, such as he is: to love one another as well as you can, and obey me in everything, that’s all you have to do: and now, brother, let us go sign and seal with my scrivener, who will give us a hundred words where four would be sufficient: come, let us away, and rattle the old brawler: then will I come back, and scold my son, and your daughter, and yourself.

euphemon.

Mighty well, sir: come along.

SCENE III.

lise, martha.

martha.

My God! what an odd mixture it is! how strangely the old gentleman jumbles his ideas together!

lise.

I am his daughter still; and his odd humors, after all, don’t alter the goodness of his heart. Under this violence of passion, and air of resentment, he has still the soul of a father; nay, sometimes, even in the midst of his freaks, and while he is scolding me, he will take my advice: to be sure, when he finds fault with the husband he has provided for me, and tells me of the hazard I run in such a marriage, he is but too much in the right: but when, at the same time, he lays his commands on me to love him, then indeed he is most miserably wrong.

martha.

How is it possible you should ever love this Monsieur Fierenfat? I’d sooner marry an old soldier, that swears, gets drunk, beats his wife, and yet loves her, than a coxcomb of the long robe, fond of nobody but himself; who, with a grave tone and pedantic air, talks to his wife as if he was examining her in a court of justice; a peacock that is always looking at his own tail, who bridles under his band, and admires himself; a wretch who has even more covetousness than pride, and makes love to you as he counts out his money.

lise.

Thou hast painted him to the life; but what can I do? I must submit to this marriage: we are not the disposers of our own fate: my parents, my fortune, my age, all conspire to force me into the bonds of wedlock. This Fierenfat, in spite of my dislike of him, is the only man here who can be my husband: he is the son of my father’s friend, and I can’t possibly shake him off. Alas! how few hearts are bestowed according to their own inclinations! I must yield: time and patience perhaps may conquer my disgust of him; I may reconcile myself to the yoke, and come at last to pass over his faults as I do my own.

martha.

Mighty well resolved indeed, my beautiful and discreet mistress: but your heart, I am afraid, is not quite so open—O if I dared—but you have forbidden my ever mentioning—

lise.

Whom?

martha.

Euphemon—who, spite of all his vices, I know, had once an interest in your heart; who loved you.

lise.

O never, never: mention no more a name which I detest.

martha.

[Going off.

Well, well, I say no more about him.

lise.

[Pulling her back.

It is true, his youth did for a little time betray me into a tenderness for him; but was he formed to make a virtuous woman happy?

martha.

[Going.

A dangerous fool indeed, madam.

lise.

[Pulling her back.

He met with too many corrupters to lead him astray, unhappy youth! he took his round of pleasures, but knew little, I believe, of love.

martha.

And yet there was a time when you seemed to think you had caught him in the toils.

lise.

If he had really loved, it might have reformed him; for, believe me, a real passion without disguise is the best curb on vice; and he who feels it, either is a worthy man, or soon will be so: but Euphemon despised his mistress, left love and tenderness for folly and debauchery. Those worthless villains, who pretended to be his friends, and drew him into the snare, after having exhausted all his mother’s fortune, robbed his unhappy father, and laid it upon him: to complete his misery, those vile seducers took him away from his father’s protection, and snatched him from me; hid him forever from these eyes, which, bathed in tears, still lament his vices and his charms. I think no more about him.

martha.

His brother, it seems, succeeds to his fortunes, and is to marry you; more’s the pity, I say: t’other had a fine face, fair hair, a good leg, danced well, sang well, in short, was born for love.

lise.

What are you talking of?

martha.

Even in the midst of all his freaks and follies, all his strange conduct, one might see a fund of honor in his heart.

lise.

There was; he seemed formed for virtue.

martha.

Don’t think, madam, I mean to flatter him: but to do him justice, he was not mean, nor servile; no railer, no sharper, no liar.

lise.

No: but—

martha.

Away: here comes his brother.

lise.

Nay: we must stay now, it is too late to get off.

SCENE IV.

lise, martha, fierenfat,the President.

fierenfat.

To be sure, madam, this augmentation of fortune must make the match more agreeable: increase of riches is increase of happiness, and, as I may say, the very soul of housekeeping: fortune, honor, and dignity will not be wanting to the wife of M. Fierenfat. At Cognac, madam, you will have the precedency of the first ladies of the beau-monde, let me tell you, madam, no little satisfaction: you will hear them whispering as you go along, “There she goes, Madame la Presidente”: really, madam, when I reflect upon my rank, my riches, the privilege of my high office, and all the good qualities I possess altogether, with my right of eldership which will be made over to me, I assure you, madam, I pay you no small compliment.

martha.

Now, for my part, I am of another opinion: always to be talking of your quality, your rank, and your riches, is extremely ridiculous: a Midas and Narcissus at once, blown up with your pride, and contracted with avarice; always looking at yourself and your money; a petit-maitre with a band on; the most unnatural of all human creatures: a young coxcomb may pass off, but a young miser is—a monster.

fierenfat.

I believe, sweetheart, it is not you whom I am to marry to-day, but this lady; therefore, you will please, madam, to trouble your head no more about us; silence will become you best.

[Turning to Lise.

You, madam, I hope, who in an hour or two are to be my wife, will, I hope, favor me so far as, before night, to dismiss this blustering body-guard of yours, who makes use of a chambermaid’s privilege to give rein to her impertinence: but I would have her know I am not a President for nothing, and may, perhaps, lock her up for her own good.

martha.

[To Lise.

Speak to him, madam, and defend me: if he locks me up, he may lock you up, too, for aught I know.

lise.

[Aside.

I augur ill from all this.

martha.

Speak to him then, and don’t mutter.

lise.

What can I say to him?

martha.

Abuse him.

lise.

No: I’ll reason with him.

martha.

That will never do, take my word for it; t’other’s the better way.

SCENE V.

rondon, fierenfat, lise.

rondon.

Upon my word, a pleasant affair this.

fierenfat.

What’s the matter?

rondon.

You shall hear. As I was tramping to your old gentleman with the parchments, I met him at the foot of this rock, talking with a traveller who had just alighted from a coach.

lise.

A young traveller?

rondon.

No: a toothless old fellow leaning on a crutch. I observed them rubbing their gray beards against each other for some time, shrugging up their humpbacks, and sighing most piteously; then they turned up the whites of their eyes, and fell to snivelling together: at last Euphemon, with a crabbed face, told me he had met with a great calamity, that at least he must have time to weep before he could sign the articles, and at that time could not talk to anybody.

fierenfat.

O I must go myself and comfort him: you know I can manage him as I please; besides, the affair is really my own concern; but as soon as he sees me with the contract in my hand, he will sign immediately. Time is precious, and my new right of eldership a matter of importance.

lise.

There is no hurry, sir, you need not be so impatient.

rondon.

But I say he shall be in a hurry: all this is your doing, madam.

lise.

How, sir! mine!

rondon.

Yes, yours, madam. All the crosses and disappointments that make families unhappy, come from undutiful daughters.

lise.

What have I done, sir, to disoblige you?

rondon.

What have you done! turned everything topsyturvy; put us all in confusion: but I’ll let these two wiseacres lay their heads together a little, and then marry you off in spite of their teeth; in spite of yourself, too, if you provoke me.

End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

lise, martha.

martha.

I see this matrimony frightens you a little: this noise and bustle of preparation has something terrible in it.

lise.

To say the truth, so it has; and the more I think on the weight of this yoke, the more this heart of mine trembles at it. Marriage, in my opinion, is the greatest good, or the greatest evil; there is no such thing as a medium in it: where hearts are united, where harmony of sentiment, taste and humor strengthen the bonds of nature, where love forms the tie, and honor gives a sanction to it, it is surely the happiest state which mortals can enjoy. What pleasure must it be to own your passion publicly, to bear the name of the dear beloved object of your wishes! your house, your servants, your livery, everything carrying with it some pleasing remembrance of the man you love; and then to see your children, those dear pledges of mutual affection, that form, as it were, another union: O such a marriage is a heaven upon earth: but to make a vile contract, to sell our name, our fortune, and our liberty, and submit them to the will of an arbitrary tyrant, and be only his first slave, an upper servant in his family; to be eternally jarring, or running away from one another, the day without joy, and the night without love; to be always afraid of doing what we should not do; to give way to our own bad inclinations, or to be continually opposing them; to be under the necessity either of deceiving an imperious husband or dragging out life in a languid state of troublesome duty and obedience; to mutter, and fret, and pine away with grief and discontent; O such a marriage is the hell of this world.

martha.

The young ladies of this age have certainly, they say, some little demon, some familiar, to inspire them! Why, what a deal of knowledge this girl has picked up in so short a time! the most expert, artful widow in Paris, that ever comforted herself with the thought of having buried three husbands, could not have talked more learnedly on this head than my young mistress here; but we must have a little éclaircissement with regard to this marriage, which it seems is so mighty disgusting: you don’t approve of Monsieur le President, pray how should you like his brother? Come, unriddle the mystery to me. Has not the elder brother supplanted the younger? Come, whom do you love, or whom do you hate? Tell me the truth at once, and speak honestly.

lise.

I know nothing about it: I cannot, dare not tell you the cause of my dislike. Why would you search for a melancholy truth at the bottom of a heart already but too deeply afflicted? We can never see ourselves in the water, whilst the tempest is howling around us; no; first let the storm be hushed, the wind calm, and the surface smooth.

martha.

Comparisons, madam, will never pass for argument: it is easy enough sometimes to see the bottom of a heart, it’s clear enough: and if the passions are now and then a little tempestuous, a young lady of understanding can generally guess from what corner the wind blows that has raised the storm. She knows well enough—

lise.

I tell you, I know nothing; and I am resolved to shut my eyes, and see nothing. I would not wish to know whether I am still weak enough to retain a passion for a wretch whom I ought to abhor, nor would I increase my disgust for one man by regretting the charms of another. No: let the false Euphemon live happy and content, if he can be so; but let him not be disinherited; never will I be so cruel and inhuman as to make myself his sister on purpose to ruin and destroy him. Now you know my heart, search into it no further, unless you mean to tear it in pieces.

SCENE II.

lise, martha,a Servant.

servant.

Madam, the baroness of Croupillac waits below.

lise.

Her visit astonishes me.

servant.

She is just arrived from Angoulême, and comes to pay her respects to you.

lise.

Upon what occasion?

martha.

O upon your marriage, no doubt.

lise.

The very subject I would wish to avoid. Am I in a condition to listen to a heap of ridiculous compliments, a register of commonplace cant, and hypocrisy, that tires one to death; where common sense is murdered by the perpetual exercise of talking without saying anything? What a task I have to go through!

SCENE III.

lise, mme. de croupillac, martha.

martha.

Here her ladyship comes.

lise.

Ay, I see her but too well.

martha.

They say she wants vastly to be married, is apt to be a little quarrelsome, and almost in her dotage.

lise.

Some chairs here. Madam, you will pardon me, if—

mme. de croupillac.

O Madam!

lise.

Madam!

mme. de croupillac.

I, madam, must likewise beg—

lise.

Pray be seated.

mme. de croupillac.

[Sitting down.

Upon my word, madam, I am quite confounded, and wish, from the bottom of my soul, it was in my power to—

lise.

Madam!

mme. de croupillac.

Yes, madam, I heartily wish I could steal your charms; it makes me weep to see you so handsome.

lise.

Pray, madam, be comforted.

mme. de croupillac.

No, madam, that’s impossible. I see, my dear, you may have as many husbands as you please. I had one, too, at least I thought so; only one, and that’s a melancholy consideration; and trouble enough I had to get him, too, and you are going to rob me of him. There is a time, madam—O dear! how soon that time comes about!—when if a lover deserts us, we lose our all, and one is quite left alone: and let me tell you, madam, it is very cruel to take away all from one, who has little or nothing left.

lise.

You must excuse me, madam, but I am really astonished both at your visit and your conversation: what accident, pray, has afflicted you so? Whom have you lost, or whom have I robbed you of?

mme. de croupillac.

My dear child, there are a great many wrinkled old fools, who fancy that, by the help of paint and a few false teeth, they can stop the course of time and pleasure, and fix wandering love; but, to my sorrow, I am a little wiser: I see too plainly that everything is running away, and I can’t bear it.

lise.

I am sorry for it, madam, if it be so; but I can’t possibly make you young again.

mme. de croupillac.

I know it; but I have still some hopes: perhaps to restore my false one to me, might, in some measure, give me fresh youth and beauty.

lise.

What false one do you mean?

mme. de croupillac.

My ungrateful, cruel husband, whom I have run after so long; and little worthy he is of all my care. The President, madam.

lise.

The President!

mme. de croupillac.

Yes, madam: when Croupillac was in her bloom, she would not have talked to presidents; their persons, their manners, their everything was my aversion, but as we grow old, we are not quite so difficult.

lise.

And so, madam—

mme. de croupillac.

And so, madam, in short, you have reduced me to a state of misery and despair.

lise.

I, madam? how? by what means?

mme. de croupillac.

I’ll tell you. I lived, you must know, at Angoulême, and, as a widow, had the free disposal of my person: there, at that very time, was Fierenfat, a student, a president’s apprentice, you understand me: he ogled me for a long time, and took it into his head to be most villainously in love with me. Villainously, I say, most horrid and abominable; for what did he make love to? my money. I got some people to write to the old gentleman, who interested themselves too far in the affair, and talked to him in my name: he returned in answer, that he would—consider it: so you see the thing was settled.

lise.

O yes.

mme. de croupillac.

For my part, I had no objection: his elder brother was at that time, so I was informed, engaged to you.

lise.

[Aside.

Cruel remembrance!

mme. de croupillac.

He was a foolish fellow, my dear; but had then the honor to be in your good graces.

lise.

[Sighing.

Ah me!

mme. de croupillac.

This silly fellow, my dear, as I was telling you, being quite out at elbows, kicked out of doors by his father, and wandering about the wide world, dead, perhaps, by this time (you seem concerned), my college hero, my President, knowing extremely well, that your fortune was, upon the whole, much better than mine, has thought fit to laugh at my disappointment, and go in quest of your superior—portion. But do you think, madam, to run in this manner from brother to brother, and engross a whole family to yourself? I do here most solemnly enter my protest against it: I forbid the banns: I’ll venture my whole estate, my dowry, and everything; in short, the cause shall be so managed, that you, his father, my children, all of us shall be dead, before ever it is put an end to.

lise.

I assure you, madam, with the utmost sincerity, I am very sorry that my marriage should make you miserable: I am sure, however, you have no reason to be angry with me; but I find we may make others jealous without being happy ourselves: look no longer, madam, I beseech you, with an eye of envy upon my condition; he is a husband I shall not quarrel with you for.

mme. de croupillac.

Not quarrel for him?

lise.

No: I’ll give him up to you with all my heart.

mme. de croupillac.

You have no taste then for his person? you don’t love him?

lise.

I see very few charms in matrimony, and none at all in a lawsuit; and so, madam—

SCENE IV.

mme. de croupillac, lise, rondon.

rondon.

So, so, daughter, here’s fine work; protests, declarations, and lawsuits, enough to make one’s hair stand on end. Ouns! shall Rondon be talked to thus? but I’ll ferret them out, the impertinent rascals.

mme. de croupillac.

Must I suffer more indignities! Hear me, M. Rondon.

rondon.

What would you have, madam?

mme. de croupillac.

Your son-in-law, sir, is a false villain, a coxcomb of a new species, a gallant, and a miser, a widow-hunter, a fellow that loves nothing but money.

rondon.

He’s in the right of it.

mme. de croupillac.

In my own house has he a thousand times vowed eternal constancy to me.

rondon.

Promises of that kind, madam, are very seldom kept.

mme. de croupillac.

And then to leave me so basely.

rondon.

I believe I should have done the same.

mme. de croupillac.

But I shall talk to his father in a proper manner.

rondon.

I’d rather you would talk to him than to me.

mme. de croupillac.

’Tis a wicked thing, so it is; and the whole sex will take my part, and cry out shame upon him.

rondon.

They can’t cry louder than yourself.

mme. de croupillac.

I’ll make the world know how they should treat a baroness.

rondon.

I’ll tell you how: laugh at her.

mme. de croupillac.

A husband, look ye, I must have; and I will take him, or his old father, or you.

rondon.

Me?

mme. de croupillac.

Yes, you.

rondon.

I defy you.

mme. de croupillac.

We’ll try it: I’ll go to law with you.

rondon.

Ridiculous.

SCENE V.

rondon, fierenfat, lise.

rondon.

[To Lise.

Pray, madam, what’s the reason you receive such visitors in my house? you are always bringing me into some scrape or other.

[To Fierenfat.

And you, sir, Mr. King of Pedants, what nonsensical demon inspired you with the thought of courting a baroness, only to laugh at and abuse her? A pretty scheme indeed, with that flat face of yours, to give yourself the airs of a flighty young coxcomb; with that grave sorrowful countenance to play the gallant: it might have become the rake your brother, but for you—fie! fie!

fierenfat.

My dear father-in-law, don’t be misled: I never was desirous of this match; I only promised her conditionally, and always reserved to myself the right of taking a richer wife, if I could get one; the disinheriting my elder brother, and coming into immediate possession of his fortune, have given me pretensions to your daughter: come, come, money makes the best matches.

rondon.

So it does, my boy; there you’re in the right.

lise.

Now that right I take to be quite wrong.

rondon.

Pshaw! pshaw! money does everything, that’s certain; let us therefore settle the affair immediately: sixty good sacks full of French crowns will set everything right, in spite of all the Croupillacs in the universe. How this Euphemon makes me wait! I’m out of all patience; but let us sign before he comes.

lise.

No, sir, there I enter my caveat: I will only submit on certain conditions.

rondon.

Conditions! impertinence! you pretend to say—

lise.

I say, sir, what I think: can we ever taste, can we enjoy that guilty happiness, which springs from another’s misery? and you, sir, [to Fierenfat] can you in your prosperity forget that you have a brother?

fierenfat.

A brother? I never saw him in my life: he was gone from home when I was at college, hard at my Cujatius and Bartole. I’ve heard indeed of his pranks since; and, if he ever comes back again, we know what we have to do, never fear that; we shall send him off to the galleys.

lise.

A brotherly and a Christian resolution! In the meantime you’ll confiscate his estate; that, I suppose, is your intention: but I tell you, sir, I detest and abhor the project.

rondon.

Heigh! heigh! very fine; but come, my dear, the contract is drawn, and the lawyer has taken care of all that.

fierenfat.

Our forefathers have determined concerning this matter; consult the written law: let me see, in Cujatius, chapter the fifth, sixth, and seventh, we read thus: “Every debauched libertine that leaves his father’s house, or pillages the same, shall, ipso facto, be dispossessed of everything, and disinherited as a bastard.”

lise.

I know nothing about laws or precedents, nor have ever read Cujatius; but will venture to pronounce, that they are a set of vile unfeeling wretches, foes to common sense and without humanity, who say a brother should let a brother perish: nature and honor have their rights to plead, that are more powerful than Cujatius and all your laws.

rondon.

Come, come, let’s have none of your codes, and your honor, and your nonsense; but do as I’d have you: what’s all this fuss about an elder brother? there should be money.

lise.

There should be virtue, sir: let him be punished: but leave him at least something to subsist on, the poor remains of an elder brother’s right: in a word, sir, I must tell you, my hand shall never be purchased at the price of his ruin: blot out, therefore, that article in the contract which I abhor, and which would be a disgrace to us all: if lucrative views induced you to draw it up thus, it is a shame and a dishonor to us, and therefore, I desire it may be expunged.

fierenfat.

How very little women know of business!

rondon.

What! you want to correct two attorneys-at-law, and make a contract void: O lud! O lud!

lise.

Why not?

rondon.

You’ll never make a good housewife; you’ll let everything go to rack and ruin.

lise.

At present, sir, I cannot boast my knowledge of the world, or of economy; but I will maintain it, the love of money destroys more families than it supports; and if ever I have a house of my own, the foundation of it shall be laid on—justice.

rondon.

She is light-headed; but let us humor her a little: come, give him a little portion, and the business will be over.

fierenfat.

Ay, ay, well—I give to my brother—ay, I give him—come along—

rondon.

Not a single farthing.

SCENE VI.

euphemon, rondon, lise, fierenfat.

rondon.

O here comes the old gentleman. Well, I have brought my daughter to reason; we want nothing now but your hand to the contract. Come, come, let’s have no more delays, cheer up, put on your jovial countenance, your wedding looks, man; for in nine months’ time, I’ll lay my life, two thumping boys—come, come, let us laugh and sing, and cast away care: sign, my boy, sign.

euphemon.

I can’t, sir.

fierenfat.

You can’t?

rondon.

Ay, here’s another now!

fierenfat.

For what reason, pray?

rondon.

What is all this madness? Are all the world turned fools? Everybody says no. Why how is this? what’s the meaning of it?

euphemon.

To sign the contract at a time like this, would be flying in the face of nature.

rondon.

What! is my lady Croupillac at the bottom of all this?

euphemon.

No: she’s a fool, and wants to break off the match for her own sake: ’tis not from her ridiculous noise that my uneasiness arises, I assure you.

rondon.

Whence comes it then? Did that fellow out of the coach put it into your head? Are we indebted to him for all this?

euphemon.

What he told me must at least retard our happy marriage, which we were so eager upon.

lise.

What did he tell you, sir?

fierenfat.

Ay, sir, what news did he bring?

euphemon.

News that shocked me: at Bordeaux this man saw my son, naked, friendless, and in prison, dying with hunger; shame and sickness leading him to the grave: sickness and misfortunes had blasted the flower of his youth; and an obstinate fever, that had poisoned his blood, seemed to threaten that his last hour was not far off: when he saw him, he was then just expiring: alas! perhaps by this time he is no more.

rondon.

Then his pension’s paid.

lise.

Dead?

rondon.

Don’t be frightened, child, what is it to you?

fierenfat.

Ha! the blood hath forsaken her cheeks; she looks pale as death.

rondon.

The jade has a little too much sensibility about her, that’s the truth of it: but as he’s dead, I forgive thee.

fierenfat.

But after all, sir, do you mean—

euphemon.

Don’t be afraid; you shall have her; it is my desire you should: but to choose a day of mourning for a wedding-day, would be highly unbecoming. How would my griefs interrupt your mirth! how would your chaplets fade when wetted with a father’s tears! no, my son, you must put off your happiness, and give me one day to indulge my sorrow: joy so ill-timed as this would be an affront to decency.

lise.

No doubt it would: for my part, I had much rather share with you in your affliction, than think of marriage.

fierenfat.

Nay, but, my dear father—

rondon.

Why, you’re an old fool: what! put off a wedding, that has been the Lord knows how long upon the anvil, for an ungrateful young dog, who has been a hundred times disinherited: a p—x on you and your whole family!

euphemon.

At such a time a father must still be a father; his errors, his vices, and his crimes always made me unhappy; and it hurts me still more to think, that he is dead without ever repenting of them.

rondon.

Well, well, we’ll make that matter easy: ha! boy, let us give him some grandsons to make him amends: come, come, sign, and let’s have a dance: what nonsense this is!

euphemon.

But, sir—

rondon.

But—ouns! this makes me mad: to be sorry for the luckiest accident that could happen, ridiculous! Sorrow is good for nothing at the best; but to whimper and whine, because you have got rid of a burden, intolerable absurdity! This eldest son, this scourge of yours, to my knowledge, two or three times had like to have broken your heart; sooner or later he would have brought you to the grave: therefore, prithee, man, take my advice, and make yourself easy; the loss of such a son is the greatest gain.

euphemon.

True, my friend; but it is a gain that costs me more than you think: alas! I lament that he died, and I lament that ever he was born.

rondon.

[To Fierenfat.

Away, follow the old gentleman, and be as expeditious as you can; the dead, you see, has got hold of the living; so take the contract, I’ll not be haggled with any longer; take his hand, and make him sign. For you, madam [to Lise] we shall expect you to-night; everything will go well, I warrant you.

lise.

I’m in the utmost despair.

End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

euphemon,the Son,jasmin.

jasmin.

I have served you, sir, now two years, without knowing who or what you are: you were then my master; permit me now to call you my friend: you are now, like myself, thrown upon the wide world, and poverty has put us on a level: you are no longer the man of pleasure, the gallant and gay Euphemon, treated and caressed by the men, surrounded and courted by the women. Every stiver you had is gone to the devil; and you have nothing now to do but to forget you were ever worth a shilling; for surely the most insupportable of all evils is the remembrance of happiness which we no longer enjoy: for my part, I was always plain Jasmin, and therefore the less to be pitied: born as I was to suffer, I suffer contentedly; to be in want of everything is only natural to me; your old hat there, for instance, and coarse ragged waistcoat, was my usual garb; and you have great reason to be sorry that you had not always been as poor as myself.

euphemon.

How shame and ignominy attend upon misfortune! how melancholy a consideration is it to reflect, that a servant shall have it in his power to humble me! and what’s worse, I feel that he’s in the right, too; he endeavors to comfort me, after his manner; he keeps me company; and his heart, rough and unpolished as it is, is sensible, tender, and humane: born my equal—for as a fellow-creature so he was—he tried to support me under my affliction, and follows my unhappy fortune, while every friend I had, abandons me.

jasmin.

Friends, did you say, sir? Pray, my good master, who are they? how are those people made whom they call friends?

euphemon.

You have seen them, Jasmin, coming into my house whenever they pleased, troubling me forever with their importunate visits; a crowd of parasites, who lived upon my bounty, complimented my fine taste, my elegance, my delicacy; borrowed my money, then praised me before my face, and stunned me with their ridiculous flattery.

jasmin.

Ay, poor devil! you did not hear them laughing at you as they went away, and making a joke of your foolish generosity.

euphemon.

I believe it; for in the beginning of my misfortunes, when I was arrested at Bordeaux, not one of those, on whom I had lavished my all, ever came near me, or offered me his purse; and when I got out sick and friendless, I applied to one of them, in this poor ragged condition, and almost famished, for a little charitable assistance to lengthen out my wretched life, he turned away his unrelenting eye, pretended even to know nothing of me, and turned me out like a common beggar.

jasmin.

Not one to comfort or support you?

euphemon.

Not one.

jasmin.

Such wretches! friends indeed!

euphemon.

Men are made of iron.

jasmin.

And women, too.

euphemon.

Alas! from them I expected more tenderness; but met with even a thousand times greater inhumanity: one of them in particular I well remember, who openly avowed her passion for me, and seemed to take a pride in obliging me; and yet in the very lodgings, which she had furnished at my expense, and with the money I had squandered upon her, did she procure every day new gallants, and treat them with my wine, while I was perishing with hunger in the street: in short, Jasmin, if it had not been for the old man, who picked me up by chance at Bordeaux, and who, he said, knew me when I was a child, death had by this time put an end to my misfortunes: but knowest thou, Jasmin, whereabout we are?

jasmin.

Near Cognac, if I am not mistaken; where, they tell me, my old master Rondon lives.

euphemon.

Rondon! the father of—whom did you say?

jasmin.

Rondon, a blunt, odd fellow; I had the honor of belonging to his kitchen once; but being always of a roving disposition, chose to travel; and after that was an errand boy, a lackey, a clerk, a foot-soldier, and a deserter; at length in Bordeaux you took me into your service. Rondon perhaps may recollect me: who knows but in our adversity—

euphemon.

How long is it since you left him?

jasmin.

About fifteen years. He was a character; half pleasant, and half surly; but at the bottom a good honest fellow: he had a child, I remember, an only daughter, a perfect jewel; blue eyes, short nose, fresh complexion, vermilion lips; and then for sense and understanding, quite a miracle. When I lived there, she was, let me see, about six or seven years old, by my troth a sweet flower, and by this time fit to be gathered.

euphemon.

O misery!

jasmin.

But why should I talk to you about her? It can be of no service to you; I see you are concerned, and the tears trickle down your cheeks: my poor master!

euphemon.

What unhappy fate could guide me to this place! O me!

jasmin.

You seem in deep contemplation, and as if the sight of this place made you unhappy; you weep, too.

euphemon.

I have reason.

jasmin.

Do you know Rondon? Are you any way related to the family?

euphemon.

O let me alone, let me alone.

jasmin.

[Embracing him.

For pity’s sake, my dear master, my friend, tell me who you are.

euphemon.

[In tears.

I am—I am a poor unhappy wretch, a fool, a madman, a guilty abandoned criminal, whom heaven should punish, and earth detest: would I were dead!

jasmin.

No: we must live. What, die with famine while we can help ourselves! we have our hands at least, let us make use of them, and leave off complaining: look on those fellows yonder, who have no fortune but their industry, with their spades in their hands, turning up the garden; let us join them: come, work, man, and get your livelihood.

euphemon.

Alas! those poor beings, mean as they are, and approaching nearer to animal than human nature, even they taste more pleasure and satisfaction in their labors, than my false delicacy and idle follies could ever afford me; they live, at least, free from trouble, and remorse, and enjoy health of body and peace of mind.

SCENE II.

mme. de croupillac, young euphemon, jasmin.

mme. de croupillac.

What do I see? or do my eyes deceive me? the more I look on him, the more I think it must be he. [She looks steadfastly at Euphemon.] And yet surely it cannot be the same; it can never be that gallant squire of Angoulême, that played so high, and seemed to be lined with gold: it is he: [She comes forward] but the other was rich and happy, handsome, and well-made; this fellow looks poor and ugly. Sickness will spoil the finest face, and poverty makes a still more dreadful alteration.

jasmin.

What female apparition is this that haunts us with her malignant aspect?

euphemon.

If I am not mistaken, I know her well enough; she has seen me in all my pomp and splendor: how dreadful it is to appear mean and destitute in the eyes of those who have seen us in affluence and prosperity! let us be gone.

mme. de croupillac.

[Coming up to Euphemon.

What strange accident, my dear child, hath reduced thee to this pitiful plight?

euphemon.

My own folly.

mme. de croupillac.

Why, what a figure dost thou make!

euphemon.

Ay, madam, the consequence of having good friends; of being robbed, and plundered.

mme. de croupillac.

Plundered? by whom? how? when? where?

jasmin.

O from mere goodness of heart: our thieves were mighty honest creatures, persons that figured in the beau-monde, amiable triflers, gamesters, bottle-companions, agreeable story-tellers, men of wit, and women of beauty.

mme. de croupillac.

I understand you: you have squandered away all you had in eating and drinking: but you will think this nothing when you come to know the distresses I have undergone, and the losses I have suffered with regard to—matrimony.

euphemon.

Your humble servant, madam.

mme. de croupillac.

[Stopping him.

Your servant indeed; no, no, positively you shall stay, and hear my misfortunes; you shall be sorry for me.

euphemon.

Well, well, I am sorry for you; good by to you.

mme. de croupillac.

Nay, now I vow and swear you shall hear the whole story. One Monsieur Fierenfat, a lawyer by profession, got acquainted with me at Angoulême, about [she runs after him] the time when you beat the four bailiffs, and ran away; this Monsieur Fierenfat, you must know, lives not far from hence, with his father, Euphemon.

euphemon.

[Coming back.

Euphemon!

mme. de croupillac.

Yes.

euphemon.

For heaven’s sake, madam, that Euphemon mean you, so celebrated for his virtues, the honor of his race, could he—

mme. de croupillac.

Yes, sir.

euphemon.

And does he live here?

mme. de croupillac.

He does.

euphemon.

And may I ask you, madam, how is he? how does he?

mme. de croupillac.

Very well, I believe, sir: what the deuce ails him?

euphemon.

And pray, madam, what do they say—

mme. de croupillac.

Of whom, sir?

euphemon.

Of an elder son he had formerly.

mme. de croupillac.

O an ill-begotten rogue, a rake, a rattle-pate, an arrant sot, a madman, a fellow given up to every vice; hanged, I suppose, by this time.

euphemon.

Indeed, madam—but I am ashamed of interrupting you in this manner.

mme. de croupillac.

To proceed then: this Monsieur Fierenfat, as I was telling you, his younger brother, made strong love to me, and was to have been married to me.

euphemon.

And is he so happy? have you got him?

mme. de croupillac.

No: would you think it, sir, this fool, puffed up with the thoughts of stepping in to all his mad brother’s fortune, growing rich, and wanting to be more so, breaks off this match, which would have been so honorable to him, and now wants to lay hold of the daughter of one Rondon, a vulgar cit, the cock of the village here.

euphemon.

Going to marry her, say you?

mme. de croupillac.

And here am I most dreadfully jealous of her.

euphemon.

That beautiful creature—Jasmin here was just now giving me a picture of her—would she throw herself away—

jasmin.

[Aside to Euphemon.

What are you about, sir? this husband is as good as another for her, I think: but my master’s a strange man, everything afflicts him.

euphemon.

[Aside.

This is beyond all bearing.

[Aloud to Mme. de Croupillac.

My heart, madam, is deeply sensible of the injury you have received; this Lise should never be his, if I could prevent it.

mme. de croupillac.

You take it rightly, sir; you lament my unhappy fate; the poor are always compassionate; you had not half the good nature when you rolled in money; but mind what I have to say, in this life we may always help one another.

jasmin.

Help us then, dear madam, I beseech you.

mme. de croupillac.

You must act for me in this affair.

euphemon.

I, madam! how is it possible for me to serve you?

mme. de croupillac.

O in a thousand ways! you shall take my cause in hand: another dress and a little finery will make you still look tolerably handsome: you have a polite, insinuating, address, and know how to wheedle a young girl: introduce yourself into the family, play the flatterer with Fierenfat, compliment him on his riches, his wit, his dress, everything about him, get into his good graces, and while I enter my protest against the unlawful procedure, you will do all the rest; by this means I shall at least gain time.

euphemon.

[Seeing his father at a distance.

What do I see? O heaven!

[He runs off.

mme. de croupillac.

Hai! hai! the fellow’s mad sure.

jasmin.

He’s afraid of you, ma’am, that’s all.

mme. de croupillac.

A blockhead! here, you, stop, hark ye, hark ye. I must follow him.

SCENE III.

old euphemon, jasmin.

euphemon.

Even the imperfect glance I had of that poor wretch, whoever he is, has, I know not why, filled my heart with anguish and disquietude: he had a noble air, and a turn of features that, somehow or other, affected me: alas! I never see a poor creature of that age, but the sad image of my unhappy son recurs to me; I have still a father’s tenderness for him: but he is dead, or only lives with infamy to disgrace me: both my children make me miserable: one by his vice and debauchery is my eternal punishment, while the other abuses my indulgence, and knows but too well that he is the only support of my old age: life is a burden to me, and I must soon sink beneath it. Who art thou, friend?

[Perceiving Jasmin, who bows to him.

jasmin.

Honored sir, noble and generous Euphemon, don’t you remember poor Jasmin, sir, who lived with Rondon?

euphemon.

Ah, Jasmin, is it you? time alters our faces, as you see by mine: when you lived here I had a good fresh complexion, was hearty and well; but age comes on, my time is almost over: and so, Jasmin, you are come back to your own country at last?

jasmin.

Yes, sir: I grew weary of such a fatiguing life, of rambling about like a wandering Jew, so I even came home. Happiness is a fugitive being, I am sure it has been so to me. The Devil took me out, I believe, led me a long walk, and now has brought me back again.

euphemon.

Well, I may assist you perhaps, if you behave yourself well: but who was that other poor wretch you were talking with, he that ran off just now?

jasmin.

A comrade of mine, a poor wretch, half-starved like myself, without a farthing; he’s in search of employment as well as I.

euphemon.

Perhaps I may find some for you both: is he sober and sensible?

jasmin.

He ought to be so: he has very good parts, I know; can write, and read, understands arithmetic, draws a little, knows music; he was very well brought up.

euphemon.

If so, I have a place ready for him: as for you, Jasmin, my son shall hire you; he is going to be married, to-night perhaps: as his fortune is increased, he’ll want more servants; and one of his is going away, too, and you may step into his place: to-night I’ll present you both; you shall see him at my neighbor Rondon’s; I’ll talk to him there about it; so fare thee well, Jasmin; in the meantime, here’s something for you to drink.

SCENE IV.

jasmin.

[Alone.

The good man! blessings on him! Could I ever have thought in this vile age to meet with so good a heart? his air, his demeanor, his benevolent soul, form together a speaking picture of the integrity of former ages.

SCENE V.

young euphemon, jasmin.

jasmin.

[Embracing him.

Well, I have got a place for you; we are both to serve Euphemon.

euphemon.

Ay! Euphemon!

jasmin.

Yes, if you like it: you seem surprised: why are your eyes turned up in this manner, as if you were going to be exorcised? what is the meaning of those deep sighs, that will not let you speak?

euphemon.

O Jasmin, I can no longer contain myself; tenderness, pain, remorse, all press upon me.

jasmin.

What! has my lady there said anything to you? what has she told you?

euphemon.

She told me nothing.

jasmin.

What’s the matter then?

euphemon.

My heart will no longer suffer me to conceal it from you: in short, that Euphemon—

jasmin.

Well, what of him?

euphemon.

O he is—my father.

jasmin.

Your father? sir?

euphemon.

Yes, Jasmin; I am that elder son, that criminal, that unfortunate, who has ruined his unhappy family. O how my heart fluttered at the sight of him, and offered up its humble prayers! O with what joy could I have fallen down at his feet!

jasmin.

Thou, Euphemon’s son! forgive me, sir, forgive my rude familiarity.

euphemon.

O Jasmin, thinkest thou a heart, oppressed as mine is, can be offended?

jasmin.

You are the son of a man whom all the world admires; a man of a million: to say the truth, the reputation of his son shows to no great advantage when placed near his father’s.

euphemon.

’Tis that which gives me most uneasiness. But tell me, what did my father say?

jasmin.

I told him, sir, we were two unfortunate youths, very poor, but well educated, and would be glad to serve him: he lamented our fate, and consented to take us. This evening he will introduce you to his son, the President, who, it seems, is to marry Lise; that fortunate brother, to whom my old master Rondon is to be father-in-law.

euphemon.

And now, Jasmin, I will unfold my heart to you: hear the history of my misfortunes, and think how wretched I must be, to draw upon myself, by a variety of follies, the just indignation of a beloved parent; to be hated, despised, disinherited; to feel all the horrors of beggary and want; to see my fortune given to my younger brother, and forced after all, in my state of ignominy, to serve the very man who has robbed me of everything: this is my fate, a fate I have but too well deserved. But would you believe it, Jasmin, in the midst of all my calamities, dead as I am to pleasures, and dead to every hope, hated by the world, despised by all, and expecting nothing, I yet dare to be—jealous.

jasmin.

Jealous! of whom?

euphemon.

Of my brother; of Lise.

jasmin.

So, you are in love with your sister! well, that’s a stroke worthy of you, the only sin you had never yet committed.

euphemon.

You are to know, Jasmin—for I believe you had then left Rondon—that we were no sooner out of our infancy, than our parents promised us to each other: our hearts readily obeyed, and were united: the conformity of our ages, our taste, our manners, our situation, everything conspired to strengthen the tie; like two young trees, we grew up together, and were to have joined our branches: time, that heightened her charms, improved her tenderness, and love made her every day more lovely: the world at that blest time might have envied me; but I was young, foolish, and blind; linked in with a set of wretches, who seduced my innocence; intoxicated with folly and extravagance, I made a merit of despising her passion for me, nay, even affronted her: O I reflect on it with horror. The crowd of vices, that rushed in upon me, carried me away from my father and my friends; what was my fate after this I need not inform you. Everything is gone; and heaven, which tore me from her, has left me nothing but a heart to punish me.

jasmin.

If so it be, and you really love her still, notwithstanding all your distress, Mme. de Croupillac’s advice was good, to insinuate yourself, if possible, into Rondon’s family. Your purse is empty, and love perhaps may find means to fill it again.

euphemon.

Could I ever dare to look upon her, to come in her sight, after what I have done, and in this miserable condition? No. I must avoid a father and a mistress; I have abused the goodness of them both and know not—but it is too late to repent—which should hate me most.

SCENE VI.

young euphemon, fierenfat, jasmin.

jasmin.

O here comes our wise President.

euphemon.

Is it he? I never saw his face before; my brother, and my rival!

fierenfat.

Come, come, this does not go amiss. I have pressed, and rated the old gentleman in such a manner, that I believe we shall be able to finish the affair in spite of him. But where are these fellows who are to serve me?

jasmin.

We are come, please your honor, to offer ourselves—

fierenfat.

Which of you two can read?

jasmin.

He, sir.

fierenfat.

And write, too, I suppose?

jasmin.

O yes, sir, and cipher, and cast accounts.

fierenfat.

Ay, but he must know how to talk, too.

jasmin.

He’s a little modest, sir, and but just recovered from a fit of sickness.

fierenfat.

He looks bold enough, I think, and as if he knew his own merit. Well, sir, what wages do you expect?

euphemon.

None, sir.

jasmin.

O sir, we have a most heroic soul.

fierenfat.

Well, upon those conditions I take you into my service: come, I’ll present you to my wife.

euphemon.

Your wife, sir?

fierenfat.

Yes, I’m going to be married.

euphemon.

When, pray?

fierenfat.

To-night.

euphemon.

O heaven! pray, sir, forgive me, but are you deeply in love with her, sir?

fierenfat.

Certainly.

euphemon.

Indeed?

fierenfat.

Yes.

euphemon.

And are you beloved?

fierenfat.

I hope so. A droll fellow, this! You seem extremely curious, sir.

euphemon.

[Aside.

How I wish to contradict him, and punish him for his excess of happiness!

fierenfat.

[To Jasmin.

What does he say?

jasmin.

He says, he wishes with all his heart he was like you, formed to please.

fierenfat.

The ambition of the coxcomb! but come, follow me: be diligent, sober, prudent, careful, clever, and respectful. What, ho! la Fleur, la Brie, you rascals, where are you all? follow me.

[He goes out.

euphemon.

Now could I like to salute him with two good boxes on the ear, to make that lawyer’s face of his twinge again.

jasmin.

I find, my friend, you are not mended much.

euphemon.

I’m sure it is time to be so; and I assure you, I intend to be wiser for the future: from all my errors I shall at least reap this advantage, to know how to suffer.

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

mme. de croupillac, young euphemon, jasmin.

mme. de croupillac.

I have taken care, my friend, by way of precaution, to bring two sergeants from Angoulême; have you performed your part as well, and done as I desired you? Shall you be able, think you, to put on an air of consequence, and sow a little dissension in the family? Have you flattered the old gentleman? Have you looked forward a little?

euphemon.

No.

mme. de croupillac.

How?

euphemon.

Believe me, madam, I long to throw myself at her feet.

mme. de croupillac.

Pray then make haste and do it; begin your attack as soon as possible, and restore my ungrateful seducer. I’ll go to law for you, and you shall make love for me: cheer up, man, put on your best looks; assume that air of importance and self-sufficiency, which is sure to conquer every heart, which baffles wit, and triumphs over wisdom: to be happy in love, you must be bold; resume your wonted courage.

euphemon.

O I have lost it all.

mme. de croupillac.

How so, man? what’s the matter?

euphemon.

I had courage enough when I was not in love; but at present—

jasmin.

There may be other reasons why he should be rather bashful; this Fierenfat, you must know, is our lord and master, and has taken us both into his service.

mme. de croupillac.

So much the better; a lucky circumstance: to be a domestic in your mistress’ family, let me tell you, is a singular happiness: make your advantage of it.

jasmin.

Yonder’s something pretty, and coming this way, too, to take the air, I suppose: she seems to come out of Rondon’s house.

mme. de croupillac.

’Tis she: come, my dear lover, make haste, now’s your time: pluck up your courage, and speak to her: what! sighing and trembling, and pretend to love her, too? O, fie, fie!

euphemon.

O if you knew the situation of my heart, you would not wonder at my trembling and confusion!

jasmin.

[Seeing Lise at a distance.

Sweet creature! how beautiful she looks!

euphemon.

’Tis she: O heaven! I die with love, with remorse, with jealousy, and despair.

mme. de croupillac.

Adieu: I will endeavor to return the obligation.

euphemon.

All I ask of you is, if possible, to put off this cruel marriage.

mme. de croupillac.

That’s what I shall immediately set about.

euphemon.

Alas! I tremble.

jasmin.

We must try to get her by herself; let us retire a little.

euphemon.

I’ll follow you: I scarce know what I have done, or what I am going to do. I shall never be able to face her.

SCENE II.

lise, martha, jasmin,at the farther end of the stage, andyoung euphemonbehind him.

lise.

In vain do I go in and out, backwards, and forwards, endeavoring, if possible, to hide myself from myself; in vain do I seek for solitude, and examine my own heart: alas! the more I look into it, the more am I convinced that happiness was never made for me. If I do at any time enjoy a momentary comfort, it is from that old ridiculous creature Croupillac, and the thought of her preventing this detested match; but then all my apprehensions return, when Fierenfat and my father urge it upon me with repeated importunities: they have gained over the good Euphemon.

martha.

In troth, the old man is too good-natured, and Fierenfat governs him most tyrannically.

lise.

I pardon him, he’s fond of an only child; his elder, poor man, gave him a great deal of uneasiness, and now he relies entirely upon the other.

martha.

But after all, madam, notwithstanding everything that has been reported, it is not clear that the other is yet dead.

lise.

Alas! if dead, I must lament; if living, I must hate him: cruel alternatives!

martha.

The news of his danger, however, seemed to have a powerful effect upon you.

lise.

One might be sorry for his misfortunes without loving him, you know.

martha.

But one may as well be dead as not be loved: and so you are really to be married to his brother?

lise.

My dear child, I am distracted at the thought of it: you have long known my indifference for Fierenfat; it is now changed to horror and detestation: marriage with him is a potion most dreadfully bitter, which, in my present desperate case, I must swallow much against my will, I assure you; though my hand, at the same time, rejects it with horror and indignation.

jasmin.

[Pulling Martha by the sleeve.

Hark’ee, fair lady, will you give me leave to whisper a word or two in your ear?

martha.

[To Jasmin.

Most willingly, sir.

lise.

[Aside.

O cruel fate! why didst thou prolong a life, which an ungrateful, guilty lover has made so truly miserable?

martha.

[To Lise.

One of the President’s servants, madam, but just now hired to him: he says, he should be glad to speak to you.

lise.

Let him wait.

martha.

[To Jasmin.

Friend, my lady desires you would wait a little.

lise.

Always teasing me thus! even when he is absent I can have no peace for him. O dear! how weary am I of this marriage already!

jasmin.

[To Martha.

My dear girl, procure us this favor, if you can.

martha.

[Coming back.

Madam, he says he must speak with you.

lise.

So! I see I must go.

martha.

There is a person, it seems, who is very desirous of seeing you; he must speak to you, he says, or die.

lise.

I find I must go in and hide myself.

SCENE III.

lise, martha, young euphemonleaning onjasmin.

euphemon.

I can neither walk nor speak; my sight, too, fails me.

jasmin.

Give me your hand; we’ll cross her as she comes.

euphemon.

O I feel a deadly coldness at my heart [to Lise] will you permit—

lise.

[Without looking at him.

What would you, sir?

euphemon.

[Throwing himself on his knees.

What would I? that death which I deserve.

lise.

What do I see? O heaven!

martha.

Amazing! Euphemon! good God, how changed!

euphemon.

Changed indeed: yes, Lise, you are avenged of me. Well may you wonder, for I am changed in everything: no longer do you behold in me that madman, that false wretch, so feared and detested here; he who betrayed the cause of nature and of love: young and thoughtless as I was, I fell a prey to every passion, and adopted every vice from my loose companions: but O the worst of all my crimes, which never can be blotted out, never atoned for, was my offending you: but here I swear, by thee, and by that virtue, which, though I have forsaken, I yet adore, I have found my error. Vice, though I admitted it, was a stranger to this heart, which is now no longer stained with those guilty blemishes that obscured its native lustre; that pure, that sacred passion, which is still reserved for you, hath refined it; that tender passion, and that alone, brought me hither, not to break off your new engagements, or oppose your happiness, that would ill become a poor abandoned wretch like me: but since the misfortunes, which I so well deserved, have brought me, even in the prime of life, to the brink of the grave, I could not help seeking you, to be a witness of my last moments; and happy, thrice happy shall I be, if he, who was once destined to be your husband, at length shall die, and not be hated by you.

lise.

I am scarce myself: can it be Euphemon? can it be you? O heaven! in what a condition too, and what a time is this: wretch as thou art, what cruel injuries hast thou done to both of us!

euphemon.

I know it: at sight of thee, every folly I have been guilty of appears doubly inexcusable: they were dreadful, and you know they were, that is some punishment, but not so much as I deserve.

lise.

And is it true, unhappy man, that thou hast at last repented of thy follies; that your rebellious heart is at length subdued, and misfortune hath pointed out to you the road of virtue?

euphemon.

Alas! what will it avail, that my eyes are opened, when it is too late! In vain is that heart subdued, in vain is my return to virtue, since I have lost in you its best, its only valuable reward.

lise.

Yet, answer me, Euphemon; may I believe you have indeed gained this glorious victory? consult your own breast, and do not again deceive me: can you yet be prudent and virtuous?

euphemon.

I am so; for still my heart adores you.

lise.

And dost thou still love, Euphemon?

euphemon.

Do I love? by that I live, that alone has supported me. I have borne everything, even infamy itself; and a thousand times I would have put an end to my wretched life, but that still I loved it, because it belonged to you: yes, to you I owe my present sentiments, my being, and that new life which now dawns upon me: to you I owe the return of my reason: with love like mine, would to heaven I may be able to preserve it! O do not hide from me that charming face: look at me: see how changed I am: see the cruel effect of care and sorrow: the roses of youth are withered by remorse and misery: there was a time when Euphemon would not thus have affrighted you: do but look on me, ’tis all I ask.

lise.

If I see the thinking, the reformed, the constant Euphemon, it is enough: in my eyes he is but too amiable.

euphemon.

What says my Lise? gracious heaven! she weeps.

lise.

[To Martha.

O support me, my senses fail. Can I ever be the wife of Euphemon’s brother?

[Turning to Euphemon.

But tell me, have you yet seen your father?

euphemon.

O I blush to appear before that good old man, whom I have so dishonored: hated as I am, and banished from his presence, I love and reverence, but dare not look upon him.

lise.

What then is your design?

euphemon.

If heaven should graciously prolong my days, if you must be my brother’s happy lot, I propose to change my name and profession, serve as a soldier, and seek for death in the field of honor; perhaps success in arms may acquire me some glory, and even you may hereafter shed a tear over the unhappy Euphemon. My honor at least will never suffer by the employment; Rose and Fabert set out as I shall do.

lise.

’Tis a noble resolution; and the heart that was capable of making it must be above guilt and meanness: sentiments like these affect me much more even than the tears you shed at my feet. No, Euphemon, if I am left at liberty to dispose of myself, and can possibly avoid a hateful match proposed for me, if it is in my power to determine your fate, you shall not go so far to change your condition.

euphemon.

O heaven! and does thy generous heart melt at my misfortunes?

lise.

They affect me most deeply: but your repentance hath secured me.

euphemon.

And will those dear eyes, that looked on me so long with indignation, will they soften into love and tenderness? O thou hast revived a flame in the breast of Euphemon, which his follies had almost extinguished. Fond as my brother is of riches, though my father has given him all that inheritance which nature had designed for me, he still must envy my happiness. I am dear to you; he alone, and not Euphemon, is disinherited. O I shall die with joy.

martha.

Deuce on him, here he comes.

lise.

Be upon your guard, Euphemon; keep in those struggling sighs, and dissemble.

euphemon.

Why should I, if you love me?

lise.

Consider my relations, consider your own father. Your brother saw us together, saw you at my feet; and all that we can now do is, not to let him know who you are.

martha.

I can’t help laughing, to think what a passion his gravity will be in.

SCENE IV.

lise, martha, jasmin, fierenfat,at the farther end of the stage,young euphemonturning his back to him.

fierenfat.

Either some devil has impaired these eyes of mine; or, if I see clear, I most certainly beheld—O yes—it is so—it’s all over with me.

[Coming forward towards Euphemon.

O it is you, sir, is it? traitor, rascal, forger.

euphemon.

[Enraged.

I, I could—

jasmin.

[Placing himself between them.

Sir, sir, this—this is an affair of importance that was going forward, and you interrupt it, sir; an affair of love, sir, tenderness, respect, gratitude, and virtue—for my part I’m distracted when I think of it.

fierenfat.

An affair of virtue! O yes, and kissing her hand, too! call you that virtue? rascal, slave.

euphemon.

O Jasmin, if I dared—

fierenfat.

No: this is a gallant indeed with a witness: had he been a gentleman, but a servant, a beggar—if I was to sue him in a court of justice, it would be only so much money flung away.

lise.

[To Euphemon.

Be calm; if you have any regard for me, I beg you will.

fierenfat.

The traitor! I’ll have you hanged, you dog.

[To Martha.

You laugh, mistress.

martha.

I do, to be sure, sir.

fierenfat.

And why do you? what do you laugh at?

martha.

Lord, sir, ’tis such a comical affair.

fierenfat.

You don’t know, madam, the danger you are in: you little think, my good friend, what the law inflicts on such delinquents as you, and how often you may be—

martha.

Pardon me, sir, I know it mighty well.

fierenfat.

[To Lise.

You, madam, seem to be deaf to all this, faithless woman! with that air of innocence, too, to play me such a trick: your inconstancy is a little premature on our very wedding-day, and just before we are married: ’tis a wonderful mark of your chastity.

lise.

Don’t be in a passion, sir, nor lightly condemn innocence on bare appearances only.

fierenfat.

Innocence indeed!

lise.

Yes, sir: when you know my sentiments, you will esteem me for them.

fierenfat.

You go an excellent way to gain esteem.

euphemon.

This is too much.

lise.

[To Euphemon.

What madness! for heaven’s sake be calm, restrain—

euphemon.

No: I will never suffer him to cast reproach on you.

fierenfat.

Do you know, madam, that you lose your jointure, your estate, your portion, everything, as soon as—

euphemon.

[In a passion and putting his hand on his sword.

Do you know, sir, how to hold your tongue?

lise.

O forbear.

euphemon.

Come, come, Mr. President, lay aside your assuming airs, be a little less fierce, and haughty: a little less of the judge, if you please: this lady has not yet the honor to be your wife, nor is she even your mistress, sir: what right have you then to complain? your claim is void: you should have known how to please, before you had a right to be angry: such charms were never made for you, and therefore jealousy sits but ill upon you. You see she’s kind, and forgives my warmth; it will become you, sir, to follow her example.

fierenfat.

[In a posture of defence.

I’ll bear no more: where are my servants? help here.

euphemon.

How’s this!

fierenfat.

Fetch me a constable here.

lise.

[To Euphemon.

Retire, I beseech you.

fierenfat.

I’ll make you know, sir, the respect that’s due to my rank and profession.

euphemon.

Observe, sir, what you owe to this lady: as to myself, however things may now appear, the respect perhaps is due to me.

fierenfat.

You, sir, you?

euphemon.

Yes, sir, me, me.

fierenfat.

This is a pure impudent fellow: some lover, I suppose, in the disguise of a servant. Who are you, sir? answer me.

euphemon.

I know not who I am, nor what will be my fate: my rank, condition, fortune, happiness, my very being, all depend on her heart, her kind looks, and her propitious bounty.

fierenfat.

They may soon depend upon a court of justice, that I assure you. I’ll go this instant, prepare my records, and hasten to sign the instrument. Begone, ungrateful woman, and dread my resentment; I’ll bring your relatives, and your father; then your innocence will appear in its proper light, and they will esteem you accordingly.

SCENE V.

lise, young euphemon, martha.

lise.

For heaven’s sake, conceal yourself; let us go in immediately; I tremble at the consequence of this. If your father should find out it was you, nothing will appease him: he will conclude that some new extravagance brought you back here on purpose to insult him, and to sow division between our families; and then you will be confined perhaps, even without being so much as heard in your own defence.

martha.

Let me conceal him, and I’ll warrant they shan’t easily find him out.

lise.

Come, come, you must away; I must endeavor to reconcile your father: the return of nature shall, if possible, be the work of love: you must be concealed awhile—take you care [to Martha] he does not appear: begone immediately.

SCENE VI.

rondon, lise.

rondon.

Well, my Lise, how is it? I was in search of you and your husband.

lise.

[Aside.

Thank God! he is not so yet.

rondon.

Where are you going?

lise.

Decency, sir, at present obliges me to avoid him.

[She goes out.

rondon.

This President is a dangerous man, I find: now should I like to be incog. in some place close to them, only to see how two lovers look when they are just going to be married.

SCENE VII.

fierenfat, rondon,Constables, etc.

fierenfat.

Where are they, where are they? ha! gone; the subtle villains have escaped me: where have the rascals hid themselves?

rondon.

Your reverence seems out of breath? what are you in such a hurry about? whom are you hunting after? what have they done to you?

fierenfat.

Made a cuckold of me, that’s all.

rondon.

Ha! ha! a cuckold! ha! how! what is all this?

fierenfat.

Yes, yes, my wife, heaven preserve me from ever giving her that name! Yes, sir, a cuckold I am, in spite of all the laws in the kingdom.

rondon.

My son-in-law!

fierenfat.

Yes, my father-in-law, ’tis but too true.

rondon.

Well, but the affair—

fierenfat.

Is as clear as possible.

rondon.

You try my patience too far.

fierenfat.

I’m sure they have mine.

rondon.

If I could believe—

fierenfat.

You may believe it all, sir, I assure you.

rondon.

But the more I hear, the less I understand.

fierenfat.

And yet it’s very easy to comprehend.

rondon.

If I were once convinced of it, the world should be a witness of my resentment, I would strangle her with my own hands.

fierenfat.

Strangle her then by all means, for the thing is fairly proved.

rondon.

Something no doubt is wrong, by my finding her here in that condition; she hung down her head, and could scarce speak to me; seemed frightened, and embarrassed too. Come, my son, let us in, and surprise her. This is a case of honor, and where that is concerned, Rondon listens no longer to reason. Away.

End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

lise, martha.

lise.

What a desperate situation is mine! scarce can I believe myself safe, even with you. Think what it must be for a soul so pure, so delicate, as mine, to suffer even for a moment such injurious suspicions: Euphemon, thou dear but fatal lover, thou wert born but to afflict me; thy absence was worse than death to me, and now thy return exposes me to infamy: [turning to Martha] for heaven’s sake, take care of him, for they are making the strictest inquiry.

martha.

O never fear; I shall put them to their trumps, I warrant you: I defy all their search-warrants: I have some certain little cunning holes in my cabinet which these ferrets can never get at; there, madam, your lover lies snug, safely concealed from the inquisitive eyes of long-robed pedants. I have led the hounds a pretty good chase, and now the whole pack is at fault.

SCENE II.

lise, martha, jasmin.

lise.

Well, Jasmin, how stand our affairs?

jasmin.

O I have passed my examination most gloriously, gone through it like an old offender, grown gray in the profession, and answered every question without fear or trembling. One of them drawled out his words with all the solemnity of a pedagogue; another put on a haughty air, and would have brow-beaten me; a third, in a pretty, silvery tone, cried out: “Child, tell us the truth:” while I, with most laconic brevity, and unalterable firmness, fairly routed the whole group of pedants.

lise.

They know nothing then.

jasmin.

Nothing: to-morrow perhaps they may know all: time, you know, brings everything to light.

lise.

I hope at least Fierenfat will not have time to prejudice his father against me: I have a thousand fears about it: I tremble for him, and for my own honor: in love alone I have placed my hopes, that will assist me—

martha.

For my part, I’m in a sad quandary about it, and wish everything may not go wrong: consider, madam, we have against us two old fathers, and a president, besides scolds, and prudes innumerable: if you knew what haughty airs they give themselves, what a supercilious sneer, and severe tone, their proud virtue puts on upon this occasion, with what insolent acrimony they have persecuted your innocence, believe me, madam, their clamors, with their affected zeal, and most religious fury, would raise your laughter, perhaps even make you tremble.

jasmin.

I have travelled, madam, and seen noise and bustle enough, but never before was I witness to such a hubbub; the whole house is turned topsy-turvy; they are all knaves, fools, or madmen; whispering lies against you, and adding one untruth to another; telling the story a hundred different ways; the poor fiddles are sent back without receiving a farthing, or a drop of drink: six tables prepared for the wedding feast, full of the finest delicacies, overset in the confusion: the people run backwards and forwards; the footmen drink and laugh; Rondon swears, and Fierenfat is employed in writing the case out.

lise.

And what does the worthy father of Euphemon do amidst all this bustle?

martha.

O madam, in his dejected aspect we may read the sorrow of afflicted virtue: he lifts up his eyes to heaven, and cannot bring himself to believe that you have stained the honor of your spotless youth with so black a crime: he defends you to your friends by the strongest arguments: and when at length he is staggered by the proofs they bring against you, he sighs, and says, if you are guilty, he will never again depend on any mortal breathing.

lise.

The good old man, how his tenderness affects me!

martha.

Here comes another, of a different kind, Master Rondon; let us avoid him, madam.

lise.

By no means; my heart is innocent, and should be afraid of nothing.

jasmin.

But I am, I assure you.

SCENE III.

lise, martha, rondon.

rondon.

O thou subtle gypsy, thou forward, thou unnatural girl! O Lise, Lise. But come, madam, I must know the bottom of this vile proceeding: how long have you been acquainted with this robber, this pirate? Tell me his name, his rank, his profession; how got he into your heart? Whence comes he, and where is he? Answer me, madam, answer me. You contemn me, madam, and laugh at my resentment; are not you ashamed?

lise.

No, sir.

rondon.

Always no, no, to me: am I never to hear anything but no? It increases my suspicion: when I am injured, I expect at least to be treated with respect. I will be feared, madam, and obeyed, too.

lise.

And so you shall, sir. I will discover everything to you.

rondon.

Well, that’s saying something at least: when I begin to threaten, people will mind me a little, and—

lise.

I have only one favor to beg of you—that, before I say anything to you, Euphemon will be so obliging as to let me speak a few words to him.

rondon.

Euphemon! why, what has he to do with it? I think I am the proper person to be spoken to.

lise.

My dear father, I have a secret to intrust to him: let me beg you, for the sake of your own honor, to send him to me: permit me—but I can tell you no more.

rondon.

I must even yield to her request; she wants to explain herself to my good old friend, and I think I may safely trust her alone with him; and then to a nunnery with the little hussy immediately.

SCENE IV.

lise, martha.

lise.

O that I may be able to melt the good Euphemon! How my heart flutters and leaps within me! my life or death depends on this important moment. He comes. Hark’ee, Martha.

[Whispers to her.

martha.

I’ll take care, madam.

SCENE V.

old euphemon, lise.

lise.

A chair here—pray, sir, be seated. Oh! [Sighs] permit me, sir, on my knees—

euphemon.

[Raising her up.

You mean to affront me, madam.

lise.

Far from it, sir; my heart esteems and reveres you; I have ever looked on you as a father.

euphemon.

Are you my daughter?

lise.

Yes, sir. I flatter myself I have not been unworthy of that name.

euphemon.

After the unhappy affair, madam, that has broken off our connection, I must own—

lise.

Be you my judge, sir, and look into my heart; that judge, I doubt not, will one day be my protector: but hear me, sir, I will speak my own sentiments, perhaps they may be yours also.

[She takes a chair and sits by him.

And now, sir, tell me; if your heart had for a long time been bound by the purest and most tender regard to an object, whose early years gave the fairest promise of all that is amiable, who every day advanced in beauty, merit, and accomplishments; if, after all, his easy and deluded youth gave way to inclination, and sacrificed duty, friendship, everything, to unbridled licentiousness—

euphemon.

Well, madam.

lise.

If fatal experience should teach him what false happiness he had so long pursued, should teach him that the vain objects of his search sprang but from error, and were followed by remorse; if at length, ashamed of his follies, his reason, instructed by misfortune, should again light up his virtues, and give him a new heart; if, restored to his natural form, he should become faithful, just, and honest, would you, sir, could you then shut up that heart which once was open to receive him?

euphemon.

What am I to conclude from this picture, or what has it to do with our affair, and the injury I have received from your conduct? The wretch who was seen at your feet is a young man, utterly unknown to everybody here: the widow says indeed she remembers him six months at Angouleme: another tells me he is a hardy profligate, with a head full of dark intrigues, and every kind of debauchery; a character which doubles my astonishment: I shudder with horror at it.

lise.

O sir, when I have told you all, you will be much more astonished; for heaven’s sake, hear me then: I know you have a noble and a generous heart, that never was formed for cruelty; let me then ask you, was not your son Euphemon once most dear to you?

euphemon.

He was, I own to you, he was, and therefore it is that his ingratitude calls for a severer vengeance: I have wept his misfortunes and his death; but nature, in the midst of all my anguish, left my reason but the more sensible of my injuries, and more resolved to punish them.

lise.

And could you punish him forever? could you still be so unhappy, so miserable, as to hate him? could you throw from you a repenting child, an altered son, whose change would bring back to you the image of yourself? could you repulse this son were he now in tears at your feet?

euphemon.

Alas! you have forgotten, you should not thus open a wound that bleeds too fresh, and inflict new torments on me: my son is dead, or far hence remains still hardened in his follies. O if he had returned to virtue, would he not come, and ask forgiveness of me?

lise.

Yes, and he will come to ask it; you shall hear him; and hear him with compassion, too, indeed you shall.

euphemon.

What say you?

lise.

Yes, sir: if death has not already put an end to his shame and grief, you may perhaps see him dying at your feet with excess of sorrow and repentance.

euphemon.

You see too well how deeply I am affected: my son alive!

lise.

If he yet lives, he lives to love and honor you.

euphemon.

To love and honor me! impossible! how can I ever know it? from whom must I learn that?

lise.

From his own heart.

euphemon.

But, do you think—

lise.

With regard to everything I have said concerning him, you may depend on my veracity.

euphemon.

Come, you have kept me in suspense too long; have pity on my declining years. Alas! I am full of hopes and fears: I did indeed love my son, these tears speak for me: I loved him tenderly. O if he yet lives! if he is returned to virtue! explain, I beseech you, speak to me, tell me all.

lise.

I will: it is time now, and you shall be satisfied.

[She comes forward a little, and speaks to young Euphemon behind the scene.

Come forth.

SCENE VI.

old euphemon, young euphemon, lise.

old euphemon.

Good heaven! what do I see?

young euphemon.

[Kneeling.

My father! O sir, know me, acknowledge me, decide my fate, for life or death depends upon a word.

old euphemon.

What could bring you hither at this time?

young euphemon.

Repentance, love, and nature.

lise.

[Kneeling with young Euphemon.

At your feet behold your children. Yes, sir, we have the same sentiments, the same heart.

young euphemon.

[Pointing to Lise.

Alas! her tender kindness has pardoned all my offences: O gracious sir, follow the example which love has set, and forgive your unhappy son; driven as I was to despair, all I hoped for was to die beloved by her and you; and if I live, I will live to deserve it. You turn away from me; what is it, sir, that transports you thus? I see your heart is moved: is it with hatred? is your wretched son condemned—

old euphemon.

[Raising up his son, and embracing him.

’Tis love; ’tis tenderness: I forgive thee: if thou art restored to virtue, I am still thy father.

lise.

And I thy wife. O sir, long since our hearts were united; permit us at your feet to renew our vows: it is not your riches he asks of you, he brings you now a heart too pure for such a wish; he wants nothing: if he is virtuous, I have enough for both, and he shall have it all.

SCENE VII.

To themrondon, mme. de croupillac, fierenfat,Bailiff’s Follower, Attendants.

fierenfat.

Yonder he is, talking to her still; let us show ourselves men of courage, and take him by surprise.

rondon.

Ay, let us be bold, we are six to one.

lise.

[To Rondon.

Now, sir, open your eyes, and see who it is I love.

rondon.

’Tis he.

fierenfat.

Who?

lise.

Your brother.

old euphemon.

The same, sir.

fierenfat.

You are pleased to jest, sir: this scoundrel my brother?

lise.

Yes, sir.

mme. de croupillac.

Upon my honor! I am very glad to hear it.

rondon.

What wonderful metamorphosis; why, this is my droll valet.

fierenfat.

So, so, I play a pretty extraordinary part here: why, what brother is this? ha!

old euphemon.

He is your brother, sir; I had lost him; but heaven and repentance have restored him to me.

mme. de croupillac.

And luckily enough for me.

fierenfat.

The rascal is come back only to take away my wife from me.

young euphemon.

[To Fierenfat.

’Tis fit, sir, that you know me; and let me tell you, sir, ’twas you took her from me, not I from you. In better days I had her heart: the folly of rash and unexperienced youth deprived me of a treasure which I did not know the value of: but on this happy day I have found again my virtue, my mistress, and my father: the rights of blood and the rights of love are at once restored to me, and perhaps you envy me the sudden, the unexpected blessings. But take my inheritance; I give it you freely: you are fond of riches, and I of her: thus shall both be happy; you in your possessions, and I in my Lise’s heart.

old euphemon.

His disinterested goodness shall not be thus rewarded. No, Euphemon, thou shalt not be so unworthy of her.

rondon.

Very good; very fine indeed!

mme. de croupillac.

For my part, I’m astonished, and yet not displeased: ’tis a comfort to me to think the gentleman is come on purpose to avenge, as it were, my charms.

[To Euphemon.

Quick, quick, sir; marry her as soon as possible; heaven is on your side, and, to be sure, made that lady on purpose for you; you were born for each other; and, by this lucky accident, ’tis ten to one if I don’t recover my President.

lise.

[To Rondon.

With all my heart. You, my dear father, will permit my faithful heart, which can be given but to one, to return to its right owner.

rondon.

Why—if his brain is not quite so much turned, and—

lise.

O I’ll answer for him.

rondon.

If he loves you; if he is prudent—

lise.

O doubt it not.

rondon.

And if Euphemon will give him a good fortune, why—I agree.

fierenfat.

To be sure, I am a great gainer in this affair, by finding a new brother; but then I lose my wedding expenses, my fortune, and a wife into the bargain.

mme. de croupillac.

For shame, thou sordid wretch, forever in pursuit of riches! have I not, in notes, bonds, and houses, enough to live upon, and more, much more, than you deserve? Am I not your first love? Didst thou not swear fidelity to me? Have I not it all under your own hand? your madrigals without sense, your songs without wit, your promises without meaning? But we’ll try it at law, sir: I’ll produce them in a court of justice; and the parliament, in such a case, I am sure, ought to make an act on purpose to punish ingratitude.

rondon.

My good friend, take care of yourself, and tremble at her resentment: let me advise you to marry, if it be only to get shut of her.

old euphemon.

[To Mme. de Croupillac.

I am surprised at the passion you express for my son; methinks even the suit you threaten him with must soothe his vanity; the cause of your anger does him too much honor: but permit me to address myself to the dear object that has restored my son. Be united, my children, and embrace as brothers: and you, my friend, [turning to Rondon] must return thanks to heaven, whose goodness hath done all for the best. And henceforth,

• Of youth misguided, let us learn, whate’er
• Their follies threaten, never to despair.

End of the Fifth and Last Act.