The Project Gutenberg eBook of French without a master, by Tristan Bernard
Title: French without a master
A farce in one act
Author: Tristan Bernard
Translator: Barrett H. Clark
Release Date: June 3, 2023 [eBook #70884]
Language: English
Produced by: Carol Brown, Carla Foust and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
BY CELEBRATED EUROPEAN AUTHORS
BARRETT H. CLARK
GENERAL EDITOR
a Farce in One Act:
Translated by Barrett H. Clark
Samuel French: Publisher
28-30 West Thirty-eighth Street: New York
Copyright, 1915,
By SAMUEL FRENCH
Tristan Bernard stands in much the same relation to contemporary French drama as George Cohan does to that of our own country: in his comedies the most amusing types of the society of the day are set forth with a good-humor and freshness which gives them an individual charm all their own. Many of his numerous plays are broad farces, but there is a philosophical strain running throughout which raises them out of the realm of the purely theatrical. In “On nait esclave” (“Born Slaves”) and “Le Petit Café” (“The Little Café”), for example, we find a serious comment on life; this, however, never interferes with the joyous course of the comedy, but rather forms a background.
One of Bernard’s earliest plays was “L’Anglais tel qu’on le parle,” which is here (necessarily, on account of the fact that English is used in the original text as a foreign language) adapted, for the first time in English. The cleverness of the plot, the character of the interpreter, the brightness of the dialogue, have caused the little farce to be retained in the repertory of the Comédie Française, where it is performed many times every year, with ever-increasing popularity.
Chanoine-Malherbe and Séraphine should speak good French, or at least some approximation which shall sound fluent and easy to the audience. Amateurs are urged not to over-act: this play is one which can easily be over-accentuated. Percy, in particular, should behave throughout as a very quiet and phlegmatic person.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Percy | The Interpreter |
Jean-Jacques Chanoine-Malherbe | Séraphine’s Father |
Gerald Forsyth | A young Englishman |
A Police Officer | |
A Hotel Porter | |
Mlle. Séraphine Chanoine-Malherbe | |
The Cashier | An Englishwoman of about twenty-five years of age |
Scene:—A small London hotel.
Time:—The present.
Scene:—A small office in a hotel. There is a large door center, giving upon the hallway. Down-stage and up-stage to the right are doors; similar doors on the left. Half-way down-stage on the left is the Cashier’s desk, with inkstands and register. On the walls are posters and train schedules. Half-way down-stage and a little to left of center is a table covered with magazines, etc., and a telephone. As the curtain rises, the Porter is seen seated on a small stool just below the Cashier’s desk. A moment later, enter Gerald and Séraphine, each with a valise. Séraphine is typically French and wears stylish clothes of the latest cut; Gerald is equally well dressed. He goes to the Porter, lays down his valise, takes that of Séraphine and places it beside his own.
Gerald. We’d like two rooms, please.
Porter. One moment, sir; I’ll call the cashier.
Gerald. Is there a telegraph office around here?
Porter. Yes, sir, it’s just around the corner. Shall I take your message, sir?
Gerald. No, I’ll take it myself.
(The Porter goes out.)
Séraphine. Mon chéri, je voudrais une chambre exposée au soleil.
Gerald. Oui, oui, ma chère.
Séraphine. Je suis très lasse. Comment dit-on? Tired?
Gerald. Oui—yes. Dearest, you must learn to speak English all the time; we don’t want people to stare at us.
Séraphine. Oh, but I do not know well how the English speaks itself.
Gerald. Nonsense, you’re getting along splendidly.
(Enter Cashier, up-stage right.)
Cashier. How do you do? You’d like a room?
Gerald. Two, if you please.
Cashier. We have two nice rooms on the second floor.
Gerald. That’s capital!
Cashier. (Turning the register toward Gerald and handing him a pen) Just sign here, please. That’s right.
Séraphine. (Looking over Gerald’s shoulder) Ah, tu es—!
Cashier. Would you mind waiting a moment? I’ll have the rooms ready presently. (She goes out, up-stage, right.)
Séraphine. Ah, Mister Parkinson! Mrs. Parkinson! Que c’est drôle!
Gerald. Certainly; I couldn’t give our real names. It would be nice to put down “Mr. Gerald Forsyth and Mlle. Séraphine Chanoine-Malherbe”—especially as you told me yourself that your father knew of this hotel, and might come here and find us—nous surprendre ici.
Séraphine. It is a wicked thing, this that we have done. I know too, my father, he remember this hotel, well. He know the name: Hotel Gainsborough: he has been here before. Ecoute-moi bien—listen me—to me, dear. I think I have seen his gray hat.
Gerald. But there are hundreds of gray hats in London.
Séraphine. But I am sure I have seen the—the—paternal hat.
Gerald. Nonsense, my dear!
Séraphine. Ah, mon chéri!
Gerald. Don’t say “Mon chéri!”—say “My dear.”
Séraphine. My dear! Oh, I wish I were safely married to you. Oh, how wicked to run away like this!
Gerald. But we had to! It was the only way to make him consent.
Séraphine. But if your—patron? Employer? would give you an interest in the business?
Gerald. Yes?
Séraphine. Then Papa would have let me be married with—to you?
Gerald. Yes, dear, I know. My employer, however, doesn’t see it in that light. Wait three months, he says, and then we’ll see. Well, if your Papa refused, we had to do this. And here we are.
Séraphine. You are right, dear; you always are.
Gerald. And our elopement is at the expense of the company.
Séraphine. Bad, bad boy!
Gerald. And now I must leave you for a few minutes. I must send a telegram to the chief.
Séraphine. And you will leave me all alone? What if I would wish for anything?
Gerald. Well, you can speak English.
(Enter the Cashier.)
Séraphine. No, no—or only with those who also speak the French. I’m so afraid!
Gerald. But, there must be an interpreter here—(To the Cashier) Isn’t there?
Cashier. Of course. He should be here in a moment. Meantime, the rooms are ready.
Gerald. (To Séraphine) I’ll take you up, and then run to the office.
(They go out, up-stage right.)
Cashier. (To the Porter, who enters, center) Why hasn’t our interpreter come yet?
Porter. Oh, Graham? He’s sick, but he’s sent another fellow in his place. He’s out in the hall now.
Cashier. Tell him to come in. (The Porter goes out at the back, and beckons to someone in the hall. A moment later enter Percy, a respectable tramp. His clothes are well-worn, but not ragged, and they fit him rather tightly,—his trousers also are too short. He has not had a shave for some time. He tips his hat—an old “derby”—timidly, then walks slowly to the center of the stage, looking about uneasily. The Cashier addresses him somewhat sharply) So you have come to take Mr. Graham’s place? (Percy nods) You have been told the conditions, I believe; six shillings a day. Now understand, we want a good interpreter, serious and attentive to business. All you have to do is wait here until any foreigners come, and then help them. Understand? (Percy again nods) Good. (The Cashier goes out, up-stage left)
Percy. (To the Porter, after a short pause) Many foreigners come here?
Porter. Oh, I don’t know! Few French now and then; depends on the season.
Percy. (A little disturbed) Oh—many foreigners just now?
Porter. Not so many.
Percy. (A little more at ease) Do you think any’ll come to-day?
Porter. Can’t say—Here, take your cap. (He hands Percy a cap with the words “INTERPRÈTE” written on the front. The Porter then goes out at the back)
Percy. (Hat in hand, as he reads the inscription) In-ter-preet. (Puts on the cap) Good! Hope them blarsted frog-eaters keep away. Don’t know a single word of French, er German, er I-talian, er Spanish, er any of them dialects. Good thing for an interpreter! But I’m no millionaire, and them six shillin’s! Hm! But I mightily fear conversation may languish if I meet any o’ them foreigners.
(Re-enter the Cashier.)
Cashier. I forgot to ask you something a moment ago: you know there are a great many interpreters who know all the languages of Europe and don’t know their mother tongue. You speak English well, don’t you?
Percy. Perfectly, Madam.
Cashier. Good. I wanted to be quite sure, you know. You didn’t speak when I was talking to you.
Percy. Ye can rest quiet on that point, Ma’am. I speaks English admi-rably.
Cashier. We haven’t many French people at this season. (The telephone bell rings. The Cashier runs to the table, center, and takes off the receiver. A moment later she lays it on the table) It’s from Paris. (Percy, who is comfortably leaning against the Cashier’s desk, does not move a hair. The Cashier goes to him) Someone’s telephoning from Paris. It’s in French! Are you deaf? Go to the telephone!
Percy. (Advancing slowly to the table, and picking up the receiver) Hello? (Lays the receiver down, and faces the audience in despair) That’s it; they’re French. (Again listening, and again laying down the receiver) Don’t understand a word! (Speaking into the transmitter) Oui, oui, oui. (He is at his wits’ end)
Cashier. What do they say?
Percy. What do they say? Oh, nothing very important.
Cashier. People don’t telephone from Paris to say nothing very important!
Percy. (Again speaking into the telephone) Oui, oui.—Yes, they’re French, no doubt about it. They—they want some rooms, and so I said “Oui, oui.”
Cashier. Well, is that all they say? When? How much do they want to pay? Ask them, ask them!
Percy. (Hesitating) They want—four rooms.
Cashier. When?
Percy. For—er—next Thursday.
Cashier. What kind of rooms?
Percy. On the second floor.
Cashier. Tell them we have only two on that floor at present, but another will be vacant the day they arrive—on the fifteenth. Or else we could let them have two first-rate rooms on the third floor, if they like.
Percy. Do you want me to tell them that?
Cashier. Yes, and hurry. (Percy hesitates) What are you waiting for?
Percy. (Dumbfounded) Eh?—er—(Listening at the telephone) Sonfrancaispollyvoogrllgon—Oh! (He hangs up the receiver) Whew, that’s over with, thank Heaven!
Cashier. They must be rich—You know it costs ten shillings every three minutes to telephone from Paris.
Percy. Ten bob for three minutes? What’s that come to by the hour?
Cashier. Ten pounds.
Percy. Ten—?!
(Enter Chanoine-Malherbe, center.)
Chanoine-Malherbe. C’est ici l’Hôtel Gainsborough?
Percy. Oui, oui. (He slowly turns round his hat, hiding the word INTERPRÈTE)
Chanoine-Malherbe. Ya-t-il ici un jeune monsieur et une jeune demoiselle?
Percy. Oui, oui. (He retreats toward the lower left door, and disappears)
Chanoine-Malherbe. Qu’est-ce qu’il y a? Où est l’interprète?
Cashier. What do you wish?
Chanoine-Malherbe. Bonjour, Madame M. Forsyth, est-il ici?
Cashier. Forsyth?
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui, Forsyth.
Cashier. No, there’s no one registered here with that name. No!
Chanoine-Malherbe. Voyons, un jeune homme et une jeune demoiselle?
Cashier. I can’t understand a word you are saying. Interpreter! (Enter the Porter) Have you seen the interpreter?
Porter. He was here a moment ago.
Chanoine-Malherbe. (Taking a pocket-dictionary from his valise) Commissaire, police—here!
Porter. Wot’s ’e saying?
Cashier. I think he wants to see a police officer. (Pointing) Just around the corner.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Non,—here!
Cashier. He wants to see the officer here.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui, oui—here. (Gives the Porter a coin)
Porter. Thank you, sir. (Aside) Ten bob!
Cashier. (To Porter) Run around to the station and get an officer—then the Frenchman can tell him what he wants.
Porter. But ’e don’t know no English.
Cashier. We have an interpreter, haven’t we? Run, now.
(The Porter starts to go, but stops when the
Frenchman says to him:)
Chanoine-Malherbe. Je voudrais une chambre.
Cashier. Chambre? Chambre? Oh, I know what that means: you want a room. Very well, we’ll give you a “chambre.” (To the Porter) Here, take this gentleman to number seventeen. (She gives the Porter a key)
Chanoine-Malherbe. (To Porter) Prenez donc ma valise.
Porter. Yes, sir.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Saprelotte, ma valise!
Porter. Certainly, sir.
Chanoine-Malherbe. (Pointing to the valise) La voilà, sot!
Porter. (Taking the valise) Oh, ’is bag!
(The Porter and Chanoine-Malherbe go out,
up-stage left.)
Cashier. Where is that interpreter? (Goes out, up-stage left)
(Enter Gerald and Séraphine, up-stage right.)
Séraphine. Then you must go? You will not stay longer?
Gerald. Only to the telegraph office. I’ll be back at once.
Séraphine. Oh, I am so afraid. I thought I heard the voice of Papa.
Gerald. Imagination.—I’ll be back in no time.
Séraphine. Good-bye, chéri.
Gerald. Say “Dearest!”
Séraphine. Dearest! (Séraphine goes out up-stage right, Gerald center.)
(Re-enter Percy, on tip-toe.)
Percy. Nobody here! Half-past ten, and this has got to last till midnight. (He goes up-stage and examines the train-schedules) No train from Paris till seven. Nine hours of peace and quiet. (He sits down on the stool by the desk and takes a cigar from his pocket.)
(Re-enter Cashier.)
Cashier. Interpreter, where have you been all this time?
Percy. All what time?
Cashier. I told you to stay here.
Percy. Well, I—I—I just stepped out—because—I heard someone crying for help—in Spanish!
Cashier. You stepped out so quickly that you turned your hat all the way around!
Percy. Yes—yes.
Cashier. Well, are you going to fix it? (Percy does so) Sit down. (Percy sits down) Now stay right here. There’s a Frenchman here who doesn’t understand a word of English. He has sent for a police officer. I don’t know what he wants.
Percy. Neither do I.
Chanoine-Malherbe. (Outside) Apportez-moi du vin. Garçon, garçon!
Percy. Listen to it! Whew!
(Enter Chanoine-Malherbe, down-stage left, at the moment when the Officer appears in the door center.)
Chanoine-Malherbe. Ce commissaire—? Ah!
Officer. Well, what is it? Is this the gentleman who wanted me? Why couldn’t you have called at the station yourself?
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui.
Officer. No “Oui” about it. That’s the way we do things in our country.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui.
Officer. I can see you’re a foreigner, only next time you’ll know what to do.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui.
Cashier. He doesn’t understand a word of English.
Officer. And I don’t understand a word of French. We’ll get on fine together!
Cashier. (To Percy, who has been trying to escape) Interpreter!
Percy. (Coming down-stage) Ye-es?
Officer. (To Percy) Find out what he wants?
Chanoine-Malherbe. (To Harry) Ah, M. l’Interprète!
Percy. Oui, oui.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Dites-lui que je me nomme Jean-Jacques Chanoine-Malherbe, que je viens de Paris pour trouver ma fille qui s’en est allée de chez moi avec un jeune homme, et——
Officer. What’s he say?
Percy. It’s a long story. Very complicated—hm—this gentleman before you is a—Frenchman.
Officer. I know that!
Percy. He came to London—just—just as Frenchmen do come to London.
Officer. But why does he need an officer?
Percy. Wait, wait, I must have time to translate.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Dites-lui que——
Percy. Exactly. (To the Officer) Do you want to know why this Frenchman wants an officer? Well—he’s been robbed. A pocket-book. Now this gentleman got off—got off—the express——
Chanoine-Malherbe. Dites-lui——
Percy. Wait! (To Officer) Got off the express at Victoria, when a mysterious-looking individual came up—and took his pocket-book.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Très bien!
Percy. Oui, oui. (He tries to get away again, when Chanoine-Malherbe takes out his pocket-book)
Officer. He’s got two pocket-books!
Percy. Didn’t you know that? All Frenchmen have two pocket-books.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Voici sa photographie.
Officer. The thief’s photograph?!
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui, oui.
Officer. These Frenchmen! How did he get the thief’s picture?
Percy. I forgot to tell you, but the man who stole the pocket-book was an old acquaintance.
Officer. What name? Ask him.
Percy. The name? Hm—Why his name is—er—Gaston——
Officer. How do you spell it?
Percy. Why do you want me to spell it?—G-e-s-t-n-n——
Officer. How do you pronounce it?
Percy. Gás-ton. (Emphasis on the first syllable)
Officer. Very good. I’ll start an investigation.
Percy. Yes, you’d better go at once. Besides, this gentleman is rather tired.
Officer. Good-morning, sir. (He goes out, center)
Chanoine-Malherbe. Qu’est-ce qu’il a dit?—Qu’est-ce qu’il a dit?
Percy. Oui, oui.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui, oui, oui—la paix!
Cashier. What’s he saying?
Percy. Nothing at all.
Cashier. He seems to be disturbed about something.
Percy. We shouldn’t bother him. He says to let him alone.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Quel mauvais interprète!
Cashier. Now what’s he saying?
Chanoine-Malherbe. (Looking at his dictionary) Ig-no-rant In-ter-pre-ter!
Cashier. He means “ignorant.” You are an ignorant interpreter! But I thought——
Percy. No, no, no—Ig-no-rant in French means—Oh, if you only knew what that meant!
Chanoine-Malherbe. (To Cashier as he goes out, center) Oh, là, là! Un pareil hôtel, et un pareil interprète!
Cashier. He is disturbed, isn’t he?
Percy. Not at all, he’s charmed. That’s the way with the French.
Cashier. Wait a moment. Stay here while I’m gone. (She goes out, up-stage right)
(Enter Séraphine up-stage right.)
Séraphine. M. l’Interprète!
Percy. (Pretending to have a sore throat) Sore throat—can’t talk.
Séraphine. Ah, then you cannot speak?
Percy. (Forgetting about his throat) Oh, you can speak English! Why didn’t you say so at first?
Séraphine. Now you can speak. Eh bien, parlez——
Percy. (Coughs) Not at all well. It’s a little better. Don’t mention it.
Séraphine. Ya-t-il un bureau de télégraphes près d’ici?
Percy. What’s the good of talking French when you can speak English so well? That’s no way to learn a language.
Séraphine. I cannot speak well the English.
Percy. All the more reason why you shouldn’t speak French. I warn you, I refuse to answer when you speak French.
Séraphine. All right. I tell you—(She catches sight of her father’s hat on the table) Oh!
Percy. What’s the matter?
Séraphine. Who is that gray hat?
Percy. A Frenchman left it here a moment ago.
Séraphine. (Examining the hat) Oh, c’est le chapeau de mon père!
Percy. Certainly.
Séraphine. I’m going to my room.
Percy. That’s a good idea.
(Séraphine goes out, up-stage right. Enter
Gerald, center.)
Gerald. Interprète.
Percy. This is getting a bit too warm for me! (He turns to Gerald with an air of defiance) You frog-eating beggar——
Gerald. Frog-eater yourself, you blasted bloke from Clerkenwall——
Percy. (Effusively, to Gerald as he hastens to shake hands with him) Ah, you speak English! You know I’m a little shaky on my French, though of course I know German, Russian, Chinese, Turkish, Spanish——
Gerald. You know Spanish?—Que hora son?
Percy. (Laughs) Well, I was saying——
Gerald. But I asked you a question. Que hora son? Well?
Percy. Do you want an immediate answer?
Gerald. How long does it take you to let me know what time it is?
Percy. Oh, it’s eleven o’clock—that’s easy. Listen to me: I have a favor to ask you. There’s a Frenchman here and I don’t understand his dialect.
Gerald. Where is he?
Percy. We’ll find him. Very good of you to help me. He must be in the smoking-room now. Here’s my cap. (He places his cap on Gerald’s head) Mister! (He calls out through the door down-stage right) Mister!
Gerald. Say “Monsieur.”
Percy. Mushir, mushir. (To Gerald) I want to tell him that there’s a good interpreter here.
Gerald. “Un bon interprète.”
Percy. Bone interpreet. Mushir, bone interpreet.
Chanoine-Malherbe. (Outside) Un bon interprète? Bien! (Enter Chanoine-Malherbe, down-stage right. Gerald recognizes Séraphine’s father and pulls his hat over his eyes) Ah, celui-ci? Je voudrais qu’on me serve mon déjeuner tout de suite. (Gerald makes his escape) Hein? Quoi?
Percy. He’s the one, not me! Good-bye.
Chanoine-Malherbe. Seigneur! (He goes out, down-stage right)
(There come sounds of a scuffle out in the hallway. Enter Officer followed by another officer who holds Gerald tight by the collar.)
Officer. Here’s your thief. Just as I was walking past I saw him, and the minute I looked into his face I recognized him from the photograph. Bring the Frenchman here. We’ll show these foreigners what Scotland Yard can do! And come back yourself, we’ll need you later.
(Percy goes out, up-stage right.)
Gerald. What do you mean by this? What’s the charge? You’ll hear from this! Do you know I’m related to——
Officer. Just keep calm, young fellow. (He refers to his note-book) Your name is Gas-tnnn—
(Enter Séraphine, up-stage right.)
Séraphine. Oh, dearest, dearest!
Officer. Arrest that woman, she’s an accomplice.
Séraphine. (As the other officer takes her by the arm) Qu’y-a-t-il?
Gerald. You were right this morning. There’s the gray hat!
Officer. Silence! No communication between the prisoners! They may be part of a dangerous band.
(Enter Chanoine-Malherbe, down-stage right.)
Chanoine-Malherbe. Ma fille, ma fille! (To the Officer) Mon ami, voici la demoiselle dont je vous ai parlé tout à l’heure, et——
Officer. All right, all right. But is this the man who stole your pocket-book?
Chanoine-Malherbe. Oui.
Gerald. Does he say I stole his pocket-book? (To Chanoine-Malherbe) Vous lui avez dit que j’ai volé votre portefeuille?
Chanoine-Malherbe. Jamais de la vie!
Gerald. You see, he says he never said anything of the sort.
Officer. I don’t understand French. Come on to the station.
Gerald. (To Chanoine-Malherbe) Votre fille va au commissariat!
Chanoine-Malherbe. Jamais. (Takes Séraphine by the arm)
(Enter Cashier, up-stage right.)
Cashier. What is the trouble?
Séraphine. But I am his daughter!
Officer. What’s that to me?
(The telephone bell rings. The Cashier takes the
receiver and says:)
Cashier. It’s Paris. They want M. Gerald Forsyth. (Into the telephone) There’s no one——
Gerald. Here I am!
Cashier. But your name is Parkinson!
Gerald. It’s also Forsyth!
Officer. And also Gas-nnn——
(Gerald goes to the telephone.)
Gerald. Allô! (Pause) It’s my chief in Paris—oui, oui. (Another pause) It seems he telephoned here a little while ago and thought he was connected with a lunatic asylum.—Merci, merci bien!—He is going to give me an interest in the business.
Séraphine. Ah, Papa, Papa! Gerald va entrer dans la Maison!
(Enter Percy.)
Chanoine-Malherbe. C’est vrai? Alors, je vous donne ma fille! (He goes down-stage. The Officer starts to conduct the prisoners out)
Officer. You’ll have to come along now.
Percy. Stop, Officer! You don’t understand. The Frenchman says he has found his pocketbook. He told me it was all a mistake. (To Chanoine-Malherbe) Oui, oui?
Chanoine-Malherbe. (Good-naturedly) Oui, oui, mon ami.
Percy. See there?
Officer. Then there’s nothing more to be done? (The prisoners are released) You’re free!
CURTAIN.
A NEW SERIES OF AMATEUR PLAYS BY THE BEST
AUTHORS, ANCIENT AND MODERN, ESPECIALLY
TRANSLATED WITH HISTORICAL NOTES, SUGGESTIONS
FOR STAGING, Etc., FOR THE
USE OF SCHOOLS, COLLEGES, AND
DRAMATIC CLUBS
General Editor
ith the immensely increased demand for new plays for purposes of production by amateurs comes a correspondingly great demand for a careful selection of those plays which can be easily and well presented by clubs and colleges. The plays in the present series have been chosen with regard to their intrinsic value as drama and literature, and at the same time to their adaptability to the needs and limitations of such organizations.
The Series, under the personal supervision of Mr. Barrett H. Clark, instructor in the department of Dramatic Literature at Chautauqua, New York, assistant stage manager and actor with Mrs. Fiske (season 1912-1913), now comprises ten volumes, and fifteen more will make their appearance during the year. Eventually there will be plays from ancient Greece and Rome, Italy, Spain, France, Russia, Germany, and the Scandinavian countries, representative of some of the best drama of all ages and lands.
Each volume is prefaced by a concise historical note by Mr. Clark, and with a few suggestions for staging.
INDIAN SUMMER, a comedy in one act by Meilhac and Halevy. This little play, by two of the most famous writers of comedy of the last century, has been played at the Comédie Française at Paris for upwards of forty years, and remains one of the brightest and most popular works of the period. Price 25 Cents.
ROSALIE, by Max Maurey. A “Grand Guignol” comedy in one act, full of verve and clever dialogue. Rosalie, the stubborn maid, leads her none too amiable master and mistress into uncomfortable complications by refusing to open the front door to a supposed guest of wealth and influence. Price 25 Cents.
MODESTY, by Paul Hervieu. A delightful trifle by one of the most celebrated of living dramatists. Price 25 Cents.
THE ART OF BEING BORED, (Le Monde où l’on s’Ennuie), a comedy in three acts by Edouard Pailleron. Probably the best-known and most frequently acted comedy of manners in the realm of nineteenth century French drama. It is replete with wit and comic situations. For nearly forty years it has held the stage, while countless imitators have endeavored to reproduce its freshness and charm. Price 25 Cents.
A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL, by Anton Tchekhoff, a comedy in one act, by one of the greatest of modern Russian writers. This little farce is very popular in Russia, and satirizes the peasants of that country in an amusing manner. Price 25 Cents.
THE GREEN COAT, by Alfred de Musset and Emile Augier. A slight and comic character sketch of the life of Bohemian artists in Paris, written by one of France’s greatest poets and one of her best-known dramatists. Price 25 Cents.
THE WAGER, by Giuseppe Giacosa. This one act poetic comedy, written by the most celebrated dramatist of modern Italy, was the author’s first work. It treats of a wager made by a proud young page, who risks his life on the outcome of a game of chess. Price 25 Cents.
THE LITTLE SHEPHERDESS, a poetic comedy in one act, by Andre Rivoire. A charming pastoral sketch by a well-known French poet and dramatist. Played with success at the Comédie Française. Price 25 Cents.
PHORMIO, a Latin comedy by Terence. An up-to-date version of the famous comedy. One of the masterpieces of Latin drama; the story of a father who returns to find that his son has married a slave girl. Phormio, the parasite-villain who causes the numerous comic complications, succeeds in unraveling the difficulties, and all ends happily. Price 25 Cents.
THE TWINS, a Latin farce by Plautus, upon which Shakespeare founded his Comedy of Errors. Price 25 Cents.
THE BOOR, by Anton Tchekoff. A well-known farce by the celebrated Russian master; it is concerned with Russian peasants, and portrays with masterly skill the comic side of country life. Price 25 Cents.
THE BLACK PEARL, by Victorien Sardou. One of Sardou’s most famous comedies of intrigue. A house has, it is thought, been robbed. But through skilful investigation it is found that the havoc wrought has been done by lightning. Price 25 Cents.
CHARMING LEANDRE, by Theodore de Banville. The author of “Gringoire” is here seen in a poetic vein, yet the Frenchman’s innate sense of humor recalls, in this satirical little play, the genius of Moliere. Price 25 Cents.
THE POST-SCRIPTUM, by Emile Augier. Of this one-act comedy Professor Brander Matthews writes: “... one of the brightest and most brilliant little one-act comedies in any language, and to be warmly recommended to American readers.” Price 25 Cents.
THE HOUSE OF FOURCHAMBAULT, by Emile Augier. One of the greatest of recent French family dramas. Although the play is serious in tone, it contains touches which entitle it to a position among the best comedies of manners of the times. Price 25 Cents.
THE DOCTOR IN SPITE OF HIMSELF, by Moliière. A famous farce by the greatest of French dramatists. Sganarelle has to be beaten before he will acknowledge that he is a doctor, which he is not. He then works apparently miraculous cures. The play is a sharp satire on the medical profession in the 17th Century. Price 25 Cents.
BRIGNOL AND HIS DAUGHTER, by Capus. The first comedy in English of the most sprightly and satirical of present-day French dramatists. Price 25 Cents.
CHOOSING A CAREER, by G. A. de Caillavet. Written by one of the authors of “Love Watches.” A farce of mistaken identity, full of humorous situations and bright lines. Price 25 Cents.
FRENCH WITHOUT A MASTER, by Tristan Bernard. A clever farce by one of the most successful of French dramatists. It is concerned with the difficulties of a bogus-interpreter who does not know a word of French. Price 25 Cents.
PATER NOSTER, a poetic play in one act, by François Coppée. A pathetic incident of the time of the Paris Commune, in 1871. Price 25 Cents.
ADDENDA
CORRECTION:—The price of “The House of Fourchambault” and “Brignol and His Daughter” is 50 cents a copy.
Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged. Dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings were left unchanged.
Where a stage note in parentheses precedes an actor’s line, ending punctuation is omitted in the stage note in the original. This anomaly is replicated as printed. Otherwise, stops missing at end of sentences were added. Missing accents in French were added. One hyphen was replaced with an apostrophe in French.
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