The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson

Macaire. Modesty is for the poor: when one is rich and nobly born, ’tis but a clog. I love you. What is your name?

Aline. Guess again, and you’ll guess wrong. (Enter the other servants with wine baskets.) Here, set the wine down. No, that is the old Burgundy for the wedding party. These gentlemen must put up with a different bin. (Setting wine before Macaire and Bertrand, who are at table, L.)

Macaire (drinking). Vinegar, by the supreme Jove!

Bertrand. Sold again!

Macaire. Now, Bertrand, mark me. (Before the servants he exchanges the bottle for the one in front of Dumont’s place at the head of the other table.) Was it well done?

Bertrand. Immense.

Macaire (emptying his glass into Bertrand’s). There, Bertrand, you may finish that. Ha! music?

SCENE VII

To these, from the inn, L. U. E., Dumont, Charles, the Curate, the Notary jigging: from the inn, R. U. E., Fiddlers playing and dancing; and through door L. C., Goriot, Ernestine, Peasants, dancing likewise. Air: ‘Haste to the Wedding.’ As the parties meet, the music ceases

Dumont. Welcome, neighbours! welcome friends! Ernestine, here is my Charles, no longer mine. A thousand welcomes. O the gay day! O the auspicious wedding! (Charles, Ernestine, Dumont, Goriot, Curate, and Notary sit to the wedding feast; Peasants, Fiddlers, and Maids, grouped at back, drinking from the barrel.) O, I must have all happy around me.

Goriot. Then help the soup.

Dumont. Give me leave: I must have all happy. Shall these poor gentlemen upon a day like this drink ordinary wine? Not so: I shall drink it. (To Macaire, who is just about to fill his glass) Don’t touch it, sir! Aline, give me that gentleman’s bottle and take him mine: with old Dumont’s compliments.

Macaire. What?

Bertrand. Change the bottle?

Macaire (aside). Bitten!

Bertrand (aside). Sold again.

Dumont. Yes, all shall be happy.

Goriot. I tell ’ee, help the soup!

Dumont (begins to help soup. Then, dropping ladle.) One word: a matter of detail: Charles is not my son. (All exclaim.) O no, he is not my son. Perhaps I should have mentioned it before.

Charles. I am not your son, sir?

Dumont. O no, far from it.

Goriot. Then who the devil’s son be he?

Dumont. O, I don’t know. It’s an odd tale, a romantic tale: it may amuse you. It was twenty years ago, when I kept the Golden Head at Lyons: Charles was left upon my doorstep in a covered basket, with sufficient money to support the child till he should come of age. There was no mark upon the linen, nor any clue but one: an unsigned letter from the father of the child, which he strictly charged me to preserve. It was to prove his identity: he, of course, would know the contents, and he only; so I keep it safe in the third compartment of my cash-box, with the ten thousand francs I’ve saved for his dowry. Here is the key; it’s a patent key. To-day the poor boy is twenty-one, to-morrow to be married. I did perhaps hope the father would appear: there was a Marquis coming; he wrote me for a room; I gave him the best, Number Thirteen, which you have all heard of: I did hope it might be he, for a Marquis, you know, is always genteel. But no, you see. As for me, I take you all to witness I’m as innocent of him as the babe unborn.

Macaire. Ahem! I think you said the linen bore an M?

Dumont. Pardon me: the markings were cut off.

Macaire. True. The basket white, I think?

Dumont. Brown, brown.

Macaire. Ah! brown – a whitey-brown.

Goriot. I tell ’ee what, Dumont, this is all very well; but in that case, I’ll be danged if he gets my daater. (General consternation.)

Dumont. O Goriot, let’s have happy faces!

Goriot. Happy faces be danged! I want to marry my daater; I want your son. But who be this? I don’t know, and you don’t know, and he don’t know. He may be anybody; by Jarge, he may be nobody! (Exclamations.)

Curate. The situation is crepuscular.

Ernestine. Father, and Mr. Dumont (and you too, Charles), I wish to say one word. You gave us leave to fall in love; we fell in love; and as for me, my father, I will either marry Charles, or die a maid.

Charles. And you, sir, would you rob me in one day of both a father and a wife?

Dumont (weeping). Happy faces, happy faces!

Goriot. I know nothing about robbery; but she cannot marry without my consent, and that she cannot get.

(All speak together.

Dumont. O dear, O dear!

Aline. What spoil the wedding?

Ernestine. O father!

Charles. Sir, sir, you would not —

.. )

Goriot (exasperated). I wun’t, and what’s more I shan’t.

Notary. I donno if I make myself clear?

Dumont. Goriot, do let’s have happy faces!

Goriot. Fudge! Fudge!! Fudge!!!

Curate. Possibly on application to this conscientious jurist, light may be obtained.

All. The Notary; yes, yes; the Notary!

Dumont. Now, how about this marriage?

Notary. Marriage is a contract, to which there are two constracting parties, John Doe and Richard Roe. I donno if I make myself clear?