The Soup tureen and other duologues and dialogues

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The Soup Tureen, i male, 2 females 5

The Unlucky Star. 2 males 21

Scene II

Mrs. Spoon — De Honduras. [Enter De Honduras in evening dress.]

De Honduras. Madame.

Mrs. Spoon [with a little scream of surprise']. Ah ! [Aside.] The man with the eyes of a devoted pelican. This is too much ! [Aloud, pointing to the door, angrily.] I beg, sir, that

De Honduras [aside]. She recognizes me. [Aloud.] Have pity, madame

Mrs. Spoon. Go, sir — or you will compel an unprotected woman to use the stronger means that a touch of this bell will call to her aid.

De Honduras. Listen to me, madame — only one word. In the name of all that you hold most dear ! In the name of your collection ! One word !

Mrs. Spoon [aside, while De H., drawn by irresistible curiosity, stealthily examines the ornaments about the room]. The man is crazy ! and yet there's nothing very alarming about him. He is well enough dressed. The carriage has not come — but, still . . . Joseph is on the watch. Well, let him speak. [Aloud.] Sir, you have entered a private house at night ; but as you did not break in, you may speak. I will listen to you.

De Honduras. Madame, I shall not attempt to give you a complete picture of my horrible position ; I shall give a simple sketch — a mere outline.

Mrs. Spoon [pointing to chair]. Profit by your victory, sir ; sit down.

De Honduras [bows and sits]. To begin, then, I am that miserable being — that unknown intruder— that wandering Christian — who for the last week has thrown himself in your path — as disagreeable, perhaps, as orange-peel, but surely not so dangerous.

Mrs. Spoon [dryly]. To the point, if you please.

De Honduras. The unrelieved contempt you show for one of the most respectful of men, madame, will, I am sure, be softened, when you learn that my motive in calling upon you is entirely proper. Yes, madame, the sky of June is not purer than the

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depths of my heart. My name is Wilfrid de Honduras

Mrs. Spoon. I know it. If I may believe the best reports, you are a mad collector of china.

De Honduras [interrupting]. Why! I have never bitten any one

Mrs. Spoon \_sneeringly\. Ah ! I remember, now. It was you who paid five hundred pounds for a mustard pot — an old Marseille

De Honduras. The mustard is perhaps a slight exaggeration ; but I certainly did give five hundred pounds for the jar — to whatever uses it may once have been forced to submit.

Mrs. Spoon. I beg, sir, that you will come to the point.

De Honduras. Very well, madame, shall I tear aside the veil still further ?

Mrs. Spoon. Tear, sir, but tear quickly.

De Honduras [fw«]. Well, then, the event took place in London. It was on a beautiful day of last month, about noon. It rained, but only in torrents. I was at an auction sale of old china, which had been collected by an ardent lover of such things — Mr. Montague. I bid for a superb soup tureen — a most exquisite thing — nearly two hundred years old — for it dated from the time when Louis XIV., after having sent his silver service to the Mint, " was considering whether he should not take to china," according to Saint Simon. Oh ! what a tureen ! Madame, the festoons and fillets, the mantlings and foliage with which it was ornamented, would have rejoiced

IO THE SOUP TUREEN.

the heart of Bernard de Palissy himself. Moreover, it was covered with armorial bearings, a thing that is most unusual !

Mrs. Spoon [aside]. He really is stark mad ! [Aloud.] Let us be serious, sir.

De Honduras. I am as serious as Pluto himself ; but to be brief. This tureen was knocked down to me for ^1,720 and some pence, which I shall not trouble you by mentioning.

Mrs. Spoon [laughing]. Thank you, thank you !

De Honduras [sadly]. And this tureen; this dream of my youth ; this consolation of my riper years ; this tureen had been bereaved of its cover — widowed, madame !

Mrs. Spoon [coldly]. A most heart-rending story ; but I can do nothing to help it ; and, as I suppose, sir, that all this is the result of a wager, I will acknowledge that you have won. [Points to the door.]

De Honduras. Would you drive me away, most cruel of your sex ?

Mrs. Spoon [angrily]. Good heavens ! I've not got your cover !

De Honduras. A terrible mistake, madame, terrible !

Mrs. Spoon. What do you mean ?

De Honduras [quickly]. Not a word — I know all ! The cover is here ! You bought it a month ago, at our friend Chapman's, the china merchant's, as a hanging vase for your conservatory. Am I not right ? That cover — if it has been correctly described to me — that cover, madame, is mine ! Chap-

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man did not know your name or your address, but one day, when I was in his shop, you passed by, and he exclaimed, " There she is! the lady with the cover!" With the fleetness and accuracy of the chamois I followed your footsteps over streets and bridges. But, alas ! like the chimera of the poet, you eluded me. for a whole week, vanishing into all sorts of shops each time that I hoped to reach you and to implore you to sell me your cover, at no matter what price. At last, I have found where you live, and I appear before you, as urgent and pale as the ghost of the Commendatore.

Mrs. Spoon. This is clearly an advanced stage of insanity !

De Honduras \yiolently\. Ah, madame, it is evident that you do not collect ! You do not know this devouring passion ! While we are searching for a missing piece, we feel in us the blood of the Indian tracking his enemy along the war-path, to take his scalp and hang it proudly at the door of his wigwam ! and I have sworn to get your cover ! A tureen without its cover is like the solitary palm that sighs as the wind passes it by ; like Paul, two thousand leagues from his Virginia ; like one of the Siamese twins separated from his brother ; like a Laplander deprived of his reindeer. In heaven's name, madame, sell me your cover !

Mrs. Spoon [aside, looking alarmed]. I am horribly frightened. [Aloud.'] One moment ! [Rings j enter Servant]. Bring me the hanging flower- vase that is in the green-house. [Exit Servant. ]

THE SOUP TUREEN.

De Honduras. Oh ! is it possible [with great delight] you consent ?

Mrs. Spoon. To give up this cover ? Certainly.

De Honduras. Certainly, you say ? Ah ! how enchanting that adverb sounds to my ears. Words fail me to express the pleasure I

Mrs. Spoon. Do not try, I beg !

De Honduras. I obey. But at least, madame, tell me the price you set on this rare article ?

Mrs. Spoon. Oh, I set no price. I will give it to you.

De Honduras. You give me — a real Rouen ? A — you — [with sudden suspicion] — but perhaps the enamel is scratched ? Some hidden flaw ?

Mrs. Spoon. No, the piece is perfect. [Noise heard of broken china .] At least it was perfect a minute ago, but now, alas, I fear

De Honduras. Heavens ! What do I hear ? What a blow ? My — your — in fact our cover — I feel very ill, madame — I — real Rouen — come — I — broken into a thousand pieces— ah ! ah ! [Faints],

Mrs. Spoon [ fairly stupefied] . Good heavens ! This caps the climax ! Sir, sir ! Oh ! what a fearful adventure. Sir, I implore you to come to life again ! This is perfectly horrible ! And if he should die here ! Sir ! A corpse with me at this time of night [growing more and more excited], and when there's so little room, too. Sir ! This is a most irregular proceeding, sir ! I'll try slapping his hands ! [Administers this ancient and honorable remedy '.] Sir ! Dear Mr. de Honduras, revive once more ! For

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heaven's sake ! And the ball ! Oh, dear, the ball ! What shall I do ? and I can't unlace him either ! Ah ! at such a critical moment how useful the Colonel would have been ! [De H. makes a movement^ There ! He is coming to life ! Saved !

De Honduras [opening his eyes]. "Where am I ? Oh ! it is you, madame ! What has happened ? Oh ! I recollect ! The cover ! [Shows signs of renewed faintness. ]

Mrs. Spoon [alarmed]. Heavens ! is he going to faint again ? Sir

De Honduras. It's over — I feel better. Thanks —

Mrs. Spoon. Do you really feel better ? Would you like a glass of water ?

De Honduras. Thank you, I should. [Scornfully examines the tumbler that she brings, and mutters, " Imitation Venetian ! " then drinks .] Ah ! now I feel completely — repaired. What excuse can I make to you, madame ? But you see my nervous system has become so frightfully sensitive since— [He takes his hat and is going.]

Mrs. Spoon [with an air of curiosity]. Since when ?

De Honduras. Since the breaking of an engagement which promised to overwhelm me with happiness.

Mrs. Spoon. I am sorry to have been the innocent cause

De Honduras [sitting] . How kind you are ! It would be a great relief to my feelings, if you would let me give you a few confidential details of my life,

THE SOUP TUREEN.

Mrs. Spoon [aside]. This is too much. The man takes too much advantage of his condition. The ball ! the ball ! [Aloud \] I am very sorry, but I have an engagement.

De Honduras. Two words will suffice. My story is simple. Several years ago, I was made most happy

Mrs. Spoon. I am very sorry, sir — I regret extremely — but I cannot wait any longer. A ball, given to celebrate the wedding

De Honduras. A wedding was just what I was coming to ; mine, by-the-by ; but which never took place, for the young lady who was ripening for me upon the family tree — if I may be allowed the simile

Mrs. Spoon. Really, sir

De Honduras. In short, Miss Morville, although she was not acquainted with me — - —

Mrs. Spoon [aside]. Who did he say? Miss Morville ! [A loud.] Did you say Miss Morville ?

De Honduras. Yes, madame — I was going to marry that young lady. Our witnesses — our parents, I mean — had arranged it for us. But before I could throw myself at her feet, breathing the tenderest expressions of affection, the dear, capricious child had given her white and precious hand to a rich foreigner

Mrs. Spoon. To a foreigner ? [Aside.] How strange ! [Aloud.] Poor Mr. de Honduras !

De Honduras. Say rather, poor Mr. de Stromberg, for Honduras is a fictitious name — I adopted it for

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IS the sake of guarding the strictest incognito in my relations with the agents of the auction rooms. Yes, madame, I am the unfortunate Hector de Stromberg.

Mrs. Spoon [aside]. Can it be possible that this is the young man ! Why, he was the Colonel's unknown rival ! he whom I refused to marry — What a coincidence !

De Honduras. I do not blame Miss Morville. She did not know me, I had never seen her. Therefore there was nothing heart-breaking, to her at least, in the rupture of our engagement,. As for me, I had built upon this marriage — a whole castle in the air. Ah ! I was sadly deceived.

Mrs. Spoon [aside]. Poor fellow ! [Aloud]. How you must hate this treacherous girl !

De Honduras. I have treasured no bitter feeling towards her. But her refusal of me, without motive, gave me such a blow as struck to the depths of my soul ! This is why I have plunged into the ceramic art in the flower of my years !

Mrs. Spoon [aside]. The Colonel himself, had he been in this young man's place, would not have grieved more for me, I am convinced. [Aloud.] Into the ceramic art, did you say ?

De Honduras. Yes, madame — and up to my neck in it — and by so doing, I have been able to preserve my deep respect for the sex of which I considered Miss Morville — until I had the pleasure of meeting you, madame — the choicest specimen. At least, I said to myself, I shall never be able to say of woman what Hamlet thought of them. In all my sorrows I will say only, " Frailty, thy name is — china."

Mrs. Spoon. And you are still — unmarried ?

De Honduras. As Paris, the shepherd

Mrs. Spoon. Ah ! then perhaps, in spite of your grief, you have distributed a few apples here and there ?

De Honduras. Seldom, madame, I assure you. Paris, in every respect, is far from Mount Ida.

Mrs. Spoon. I beg your pardon. Excuse my want of tact. Have you never heard of Miss Morville since ?

De Honduras. Never ! The rich foreigner she preferred to me, is, I am told, a colonel in the American militia — his name, I think, is — Fork.

Mrs. Spoon [laughing]. You are mistaken. His name was Spoon.

De Honduras [carelessly]. I beg pardon — Ah! the worthy Yankee's name is Spoon, eh ?

Mrs. Spoon [angrily]. Respect the memory of my husband, sir !

De Honduras [suddenly enlightened]. The memory of your husband ? Spoon was your husband ! and you are actually a widow — and — and — ah ! then — this is Miss Morville, with whom I have the frantic joy of speaking ?

Mrs. Spoon. I have betrayed myself ! Yes, you have come to Colonel Spoon's widow for a cover.

De Honduras [with intense Joy] . Oh ! miracles of the ceramic art — I see all now !

Mrs. Spoon. All ? What do you mean, Mr. Hector ?

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*7

De Honduras. You call me Hector ? Ah ! that name from your pretty lips effaces years of sorrow. Yes, I understand it all, now. While I was in ardent pursuit of that Golden Fleece in china, which now lies broken into a thousand bits, while I followed you persistently night and day — in the streets, at the theatre — Ah ! madame, the sweetest, tenderest feelings gradually entered my soul ! After three days of vain pursuit, my heart no longer held a tureen, but your adored image only !

Mrs. Spoon. Mr. Hector !

De Honduras. Every look that you gave me showed but too plainly your utter contempt for me, and from the madly enthusiastic collector I became the ardent but despairing lover. Ah ! how happy I am to have found in the fascinating unknown, towards whom I was so irresistibly drawn, the widow Spoon !

Mrs. Spoon. Mr. Hector !

De Honduras. Yes, I reproached myself with my infidelity to the memory of Miss Morville, and if the collector had not often whispered to the lover " Courage," I firmly believe that neither the one nor the other would ever have the happiness that they now have, of throwing themselves at your feet, imploring you to give them

Mrs. Spoon. My dear friend

De Honduras {much excited\ Pardon my boldness ! Look favorably upon this strange adventure, and deign — to complete my collection. Oh ! forgive me, I've lost my head — deign to reward my long constancy. Yes, one word from you will efface the remembrance of all that I have suffered. I ask you, with tears of joy, madame, and smiles of hope, to give me youi cover — your charming hand, I mean.

Mrs. Spoon. My dear friend ! After my servant's carelessness just now, in breaking so valuable a piece, what can I reply to the collector ?

De Honduras. Devil take the collection ! What is china to me now ? I love you !

Mrs. Spoon. This earnest appeal deserves an honest reward ; but my poor friend, what am I — a sad widow ! I bring you a broken heart

De Honduras [ perfectly beside himself]. I'll have it riveted !

Mrs. Spoon. My heart !

De Honduras. No, cruel woman. I don't know what I'm saying.

Mrs. Spoon. I should think not, when your beautiful dream is in pieces. Do you no longer think of it ? What could repay you for it ?

De Honduras [in transport]* I will console it

Mrs. Spoon. My cover ?

De Honduras. No, no, your heart. The pieces are good.

Mrs. Spoon [laughing]. Of my heart ?

De Honduras. Oh ! for heaven's sake, let us stop these cross purposes. The day is won — the cover has fallen, the collector has vanished, and the lover remains ! I adore you !

Mrs. Spoon [wickedly]. Even without the cover?

De Honduras [rises]. With all my tureen ! [Knock at the door. ]

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Mrs. Spoon. Well ? What is it? [Enter Servant.]

Servant. The cover that you bought the other day, ma'am, has been taken to the jeweler to be mounted, ma'am.

Mrs. Spoon. What was that noise then that I heard just now ?

Servant. A jardiniere, that your dog, ma'am, knocked over. Your carriage is ready, ma'am. [Exit.]

Mrs. Spoon. Well, Mr. Hector — what do you say to that ? Your cover is not broken.

De Honduras. I am sorry for it ! For now I suppose you will send us both away, one in the arms of the other, and then I shall certainly die.

Mrs. Spoon. "Certainly" — you have returned my "enchanting adverb." No, Hector, I shall not send you away ; but I must leave you, until to-morrow. This evening I am going to a ball given to celebrate the wedding of my friend Jemima Doughty, a compatriot of the — late Colonel.

De Honduras. Miss Jemima, who is to be married to Sir Robert Gravesend ?

Mrs. Spoon. The same.

De Honduras. That being the case, I shall beg for a seat in your carriage. [Draws from his pocket a wedding invitation.) My invitation (pointing to his dress suit) and my evening dress must emphatically prove to you that I too am going to a ball — that ball is given by my friend, Sir Robert Gravesend.

Mrs. Spoon. What a delightful coincidence ! Are you well acquainted with him ?

De Honduras. Intimately. We were both sick together on the same boat, from Calais to Dover. Such things create a life-long tie, and besides he is a collector of china. His wife will be very happy.

Mrs. Spoon. That we shall see ! In the meantime, I will give you with pleasure a seat in my carriage or coach, Mr. Hector. And the cover? What orders shall I give about that ?

De Honduras. Let it be placed upon the sideboard in your dining-room, and perhaps some day my tureen will join it, with your consent.

Mrs. Spoon. I shall expect you to cultivate my taste for the ceramic art, Hector.

J

THE UNLUCKY STAR.

BY JULES GUILLEMOT,

CHARACTERS.

Pastorel.

Marius Cabassol.

SCENE I.

Room in a hotel.

Pastorel [alone, seated at a table preparing to write], I must write to my relations in the south. They'll be surprised to hear of my return, after not hearing from me for so many years. — What a draught ! [Goes to window, looks out, and then shuts it.] That gentleman opposite is still at his window ; he can't have much to do. [He sits down and is about to commence his letter.] The... what is the day of the month? [Looks at almanac hanging on the wall.] Havre, July 17, 1877 — [Loud knocking. ]

SCENE II.

Pastorel — Marius Cabassol.

Cabassol [entering excitedly]. Excuse me, sir, hut was it you who slammed the window so violently ?

Pastorel [calmly], I shut my window just now, but I am not aware that I slammed it violently.

Cabassol. Excuse me, sir, excuse me, but you did slam it violently. I was at my window. [Points to window.] There, sir ! opposite ; you're on the second floor of this hotel, I on the third. You look out on the street and on the court-yard, whereas my lookout is only on the court-yard. Life is full of injustice. For want of something better to do, I thought I would amuse myself [with a sarcastic smile] by looking on the court-yard of a hotel (if that can be called amusement) ; I happened to look in this direction, and saw you writing — why, there is the very letter. [Points to letter, and knocks on table.] I was looking at you very innocently — I don't think there is any rudeness in looking at a person writing thirty feet off — it was then you got up and slammed the window violently . . .1 am not sensitive, and am naturally good-tempered, but your proceeding appeared to me most insulting, and I come to ask you if it was intentional on your part.

Pastorel. Not at all, sir — I did it to avoid a draught ! and because the wind blew my paper away. [Aside.] What a queer fellow this is ! He is very annoying.

Cabassol. You assure me you had no other motive ?

Pastorel. I assure you.

Cabassol. On your honor ?

Pastorel [smiling in spite of himself]. On my honor.

Cabassol [to himself]. Then I suppose / must apologize. That's very disgusting ! — [Aloud.] Sir ! I bid you good morning — I leave you without the slightest ill feeling. [Starts to go out.]

Pastorel [calling him back]. Sir !

Cabassol [returning instantly]. No, sir, no ! I'm perfectly satisfied — I avoid quarrels as much as I can, being of a peaceful disposition — notwithstanding which I am constantly embroiling myself. I can't help thinking that I was born under an unlucky star — Oh ! if I were to tell you the history of my life ! . . .

Pastorel. Oh ! I will not detain you, and I, you see. . . [Shows his half-written letter^]

Cabassol. That's nothing, I've plenty of time. \He sits.]

Pastorel [aside] . This is too much — he has settled himself for the day !

Cabassol. I am from the south !

Pastorel. I can see that, sir.

Cabassol [irritably]. How can you see that, sir ?

Pastorel. No offence ! I am from the south myself.

Cabassol. I should never have supposed it.

Pastorel. But, I have been away thirty years.

2 4

THE UNLUCKY STAR.

Cabassol. And I, sir, have scarcely ever been away from there.

Pastorel. And yet, you are here in Havre.

Cabassol. Do you want me to remain in one spot forever ?

Pastorel. I had no idea. . .

Cabassol. I accept your apologies ... As I told you, I was born in the south — I will not go back beyond my birth . . .

Pastorel [aside]. I hope not.

Cabassol. I will speak but briefly of my infancy . . . my first tooth . . .

Pastorel [appalled]. Suppose we go to the second ?

Cabassol [irritably]. Excuse me, sir ! If I weary you, say so.

Pastorel. On the contrary, you amuse me.

Cabassol. What do you mean ?

Pastorel. I mean, that you do not weary me.

Cabassol. Then, you should not look as if I did ! Where was I ? Oh ! the teeth. Are you a father of a family ?

Pastorel. Alas ! no !

Cabassol. You do not realize how happy you are ! / do ! but as you are not a father, I will pass the teeth. [Pastorel shows signs of being pleased — Cabassol sees them.] When I say I will pass

Pastorel. He is decidedly original, but very disagreeable.

Cabassol. I come to my examination in elocution. Now you will see my bad luck ! I competed for the prize of honor, and I got it.

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Pastorel. I can't say that I see-

Cabassol. You'll see, you'll see ! They gave me the works of Moliere, beautifully bound.

Pastorel. Well ?

Cabassol. Wait ! and the works of Masillon. Well, sir, I had the works of Masillon in my library ! Wasn't that bad luck, eh ? . . . and that's nothing. When I was eighteen years old . . . [Stops suddenly, and says, pointing to letter on table.'] But put that away !

Pastorel. What for ?

Cabassol. It bothers me, I can't go on with my story comfortably. It seems to say to me : Aren't you ever going to get through with that story ? [Pastorel puts letter in drawer. Cabassol continues.] When I was eighteen, I went up for my examination . . .

Pastorel. And you were rejected ?

Cabassol. No ! I passed with the greatest ease.

Pastorel. But then ? . . .

Cabassol. Wait ! I passed easily ; but I had only four white balls, and my friend Balthazar had five ! It's always that way ! At twenty-eight, I was married . . . Oh ! if it was only to do over again ! . . . well, I married a lovely woman ! . . .

Pastorel. Good !

Cabassol. I should say a woman whom all the world called lovely. I . . . well, you know she was my wife ! Besides which, she had two hundred thousand francs.

Pastorel. Well ?

Cabassol. But wait ! Six months after, Balthazar married a woman with two hundred and fifty thousand francs. I ought to have had that, oughtn't I ? . . . Well, no — it was for Balthazar ! Always my luck, my infernal bad luck ! [Breaks paper-knife while gesticulating. ]

Pastorel. Take care, sir, you have broken my paper-knife.

Cabassol. There's nothing to be surprised at in that ; my hand's unlucky. . .everything about me is unlucky

Pastorel. If it belonged to me!... But it belongs to the hotel.

Cabassol. That's all right ; they'll put it in your bill . . « Ah ! I forgot the most astonishing proof of my bad luck. My wife had some tickets in the grand lottery ; one of them came out a prize of ten thousand francs.

Pastorel. That was superb.

Cabassol. You think that superb, do you ? Well, listen ! I had 340,600. Now, what do you think drew the great prize, 100,000 francs ? No. 340,601 ! Yes, sir ! Yes, sir ! it's incredible ! . . .1 ought to be used to it ; it has been the same thing since my childhood

Pastorel. Since your first tooth ?

Cabassol. Yes, since my first tooth. When I take an umbrella it is sure to be a fine day ; if I go out with my cane it rains in torrents. Now, you never heard of such things happening to any one but me —

Pastorel [with an incredulous air] . Oh !

Cabassol. If I run after an omnibus, it's sure to be

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full ; and I have observed that this has happened most frequently on rainy days. It's a fatality ! If I were invited to see an eclipse at the Observatory, I might just as well stay at home — it would certainly be all over before I could get there.

Pastorel. And they wouldn't do it over again for you !

Cabassol [thoughtlessly and with rage]. Do it over again ! [Seeing his mistake ?\ Ah ! you are laughing at me, sir ! If that's the case, I'll say no more ; but I'll see you again, sir. [He starts to go out.]

Pastorel. Sir !

Cabassol [aside]. He seems delighted to get rid of me. I'll stay. [Aloud.] I have made up my mind ; I can't fight with you. With my luck, if you were the worst swordsman in the world, you would run me through immediately, and I have no wish to have my property divided amongst my heirs. I had rather live to get my share of other people's estates.

Pastorel. What a beast !

Cabassol. There's my bad luck again ! Balthazar had two aunts and two cousins, he buried them all . . . They were only forty-five years old. There's luck. Now, I have neither uncle nor aunt, nor cousin nor . . .Stop though [thinking]. Yes ! I have an uncle in America.

Pastorel. Oh ! oh !

Cabassol. Yes, I know people laugh at uncles in America. But still there are some, and some of these have come back, too. But mine never has come back, and never will. No, sir ! he never will.