THE HEIRS OF RABOURDIN. 
 
THE HEIRS OF RA- 
 BOURDIN. A COMEDY 
 IN THREE ACTS BY 
 EMILE ZOLA. TRANS- 
 LATED FROM THE 
 FRENCH BY A. TEIXEI- 
 RA DE MATTOS. 
 
 LONDON: HENRY AND CO. 
 BOUVERIE STREET, E.C. 1894 
 

 Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. 
 
The Editor's Preface. 
 
 r 
 
 THE production of The Heirs of Rabourdin 
 was a mistake. I own it frankly, adding 
 that I alone am the culprit. 
 But the selection of this play was not 
 a vulgar error of judgment, nor was it the result of 
 thoughtless impulse. 
 
 I had good and sound reasons for resuscitating 
 this farce, which (in so far as English people knew) 
 had been slumbering for twenty years . in well- 
 deserved oblivion. 
 
 In the first place I like the play ; I think it clever, 
 simple, direct, humorous, though much spun out 
 and harping on one string. 
 
 That is simply a matter of opinion. 
 
 Secondly: the play was not tried under favour- 
 able circumstances in France; it was produced at 
 the Theatre Beaumarchais — a, what we would call, 
 transpontine theatre. 
 
 Thirdly : the very fact that the play was demolished 
 with fury in Paris clearly proves that partiality had 
 its hand in the game. Zola had not for nothing 
 written feuilleton after feuilleton of mordant 
 theatrical criticism. They were waiting for him, and 
 when, the bold man that he is, he came forward with 
 this farce, they turned their pens into clubs and 
 struck at him. 
 
 83021.3 
 
vi The Editor's Preface. 
 
 Fourthly: twenty years later, the public of two 
 great cities of Germany and Holland, the inhabitants 
 of which are known to be as discriminating as they 
 are severe, had greeted the revival of the play with 
 genuine and ringing applause ; while critics of esta- 
 blished competence and fairness had reversed the 
 judgment of their Parisian colleagues. 
 
 Fifthly and lastly : I was curious to know whether 
 Moliere's style of play writing would meet with favour 
 here, since the very lukewarm reception extended in 
 London to his most popular play, Le Malade 
 lmaginaire, had created some -doubt in my mind. 
 
 The Heirs of Rabourdin is avowedly a play a la 
 Moliere clothed in modern garb. If it had succeeded, 
 I should have included Les Precieuses Ridicules in 
 my next year's programme. 
 
 -But &t play has foundered, and I am almost 
 convinced; that even the very best of acting would 
 fail   t6 : 6btain' for Moliere's style a decree of 
 naturalisation in England. 
 
 This is my case. 
 
 As regards the judgment passed by some of our 
 critics on the selection of the play and the perform- 
 ance, I cannot help saying that it was unnecessarily 
 harsh and vindictive. 
 
 Personally I do not mind : ever since I started 
 the Independent Theatre I have encountered such 
 cruel injustice in certain quarters that the evident 
 parti-pris rather amuses than hurts me. 
 
 But I regret that actors who have done their best 
 should have been made, in a certain sense, to serve 
 as scapegoats for my mistake. 
 
 And, after all, was there really any need for such 
 
The Editor's Preface. vii 
 
 torrents of abuse and for such rejoicings over a 
 fiasco ? 
 
 Theatrical management, pre-eminently dependent 
 upon the mood of the multitude, has never been 
 conducted without the commission of an error now 
 and again. The elements of success on the stage 
 are of so strangely composite a character that it is 
 beyond human wit to blend them harmoniously at 
 each and every attempt. 
 
 At any rate, there is this great difference between 
 my mistakes and those of the ordinary manager : 
 
 My mistakes damage me alone ; his cost many 
 people their employment. 
 
 And thus, with no pangs of conscience to torment 
 me, a failure spurs me on " Excelsior." 
 
 J. T. GREIN. 
 
 London, March $th, 1894. 
 
The 
 
 Author's Preface. 
 
 r 
 
 I HAVE read carefully all that the critics have 
 written on The Heirs of Rabourdin. I was 
 anxious for instruction. I was prepared to 
 correct myself of the faults which should be 
 pointed out to me. I hoped to receive a profitable 
 lesson, advice prompted by experience, a complete, 
 well-reasoned, and judicial analysis of my dramatic 
 case. And see, I have received the most abominable 
 drubbing imaginable. Bludgeon blows did duty for 
 arguments. One bit at me, another threw his pen 
 between my legs to bring me down, while a third 
 split open my skull with blows of his fist from behind. 
 The common-sense critics cried : u Kill him ! " and 
 the romanticist critics replied : " Knock him on the 
 head ! " Ah ! you want to know what we think 
 of you, you wish us to pronounce judgment on your 
 work, you ask us for a well-grounded opinion ! Well, 
 then ! here is a trip of the heels for you, and here is 
 a storm of thumps on the head, and here a few 
 kicks in the ribs. That is complete : I am now 
 sufficiently enlightened. 
 
 I confess that, at first, this reception dumfoundered 
 me. It was not a discussion, it was a massacre. 
 
x The Author's Preface. 
 
 Assuredly a novice, fresh from his village, landed at 
 the theatre with some dramatic prodigy, would not be 
 received with such hootings. He would be allowed, at 
 least, some small particle of talent, he would be left 
 some hope. As for me, I was seized, sentenced, and 
 executed ; nothing remained for me but to lie prone 
 upon the fragments of my play and to sham death. 
 Our great dramatic criticism, which, as everybody 
 knows, is the envy of the outside world; this school 
 which maintains public taste at so high a level, and, 
 fulfilling its part of the good counsellor, has already 
 endowed France with many a playwright of genius ; 
 this literary institution, in short, drove me from the 
 stage with one blow from its impeccable ferule. For 
 twenty-four hours I remained bruised from my 
 beating, hanging my head, very shamefaced, asking 
 myself whether I would ever dare to reappear in 
 public. 
 
 And yet, in spite of my religious respect for the 
 critics, there commenced to awaken within me a 
 desire to understand. I was smashed, pulverised, 
 done for, destroyed : that was certain ; I had neither 
 style, nor ideas, nor talent of any description : I was 
 the first to grasp that ; but, after all, I should have 
 wished for something less summary, for a word of 
 explanation, a word for future guidance. Did the 
 critics expect to close the theatre to me for ever ? I 
 fear so. I re-read the articles, I thought them over, 
 and I confess that I should be giving evidence of 
 deplorable obstinacy were I to try anew my fortune 
 on the boards. Not one extenuating circumstance 
 was put forward. I was deprived of the consolations 
 granted to the lowest of unsuccessful mimographers. 
 
The Author's Preface. xi 
 
 A hustling — nothing better. You are in the way ; 
 get out of that. And, above all, don't come back. 
 There are Pan-pipe poets, manufacturers of plays at 
 so much per act, shady authors, who are born, it 
 would seem, to write for the stage. I, no. When I 
 make an attempt, I commit so monstrous a misdeed 
 that they speak of leading me to the nearest police- 
 station. If all that has been written on The Heirs of 
 Rabourdin means anything at all, it means a formal 
 notice to quit, with a threat of sticks uplifted on the 
 day when I shall have the audacity to repeat the 
 offence. 
 
 I believe that the critics have, this time, really over- 
 shot the mark. They struck too hard to strike home. 
 I speak of the critics as a whole, for immersed 
 in the thankless trade of criticism are poets and 
 writers of talent, who have had the good grace to 
 hold out to me the hand of friendship in the midst 
 of the scuffle. I thank them for it. My other 
 judges had all brought out their holiday cudgels. 
 Passion in no way offends me, I quite approve of 
 literary fisticuffs. Only, what fills me with deepest 
 stupefaction, is the absolute innocence of these gentle- 
 men in the face of my work and of my personality. 
 Place them before a Mohican or a Laplander, bring- 
 ing some barbaric plaything from his country : they 
 could not open more ignorant eyes, nor utter more ex- 
 traordinary verdicts upon the plaything's mechanism. 
 Not one of them seems to have suspected for an 
 instant that in The Heirs of Rabourdin I made a 
 dramatic experiment of a particular kind. They did 
 not even endeavour to account to themselves for the 
 fact that my play is what it is, and not what they 
 
xii The Author's Preface. 
 
 would have wished it to be. The upshot is, that 
 they went so far as to discover that I had imitated 
 everybody. But there they stopped short, without 
 asking themselves what reasons could have infatuated 
 me into imitating everybody. Did they really think 
 me simple enough, and dunce enough, not to know 
 what subject I was selecting ? Am I in the habit o 
 plundering my colleagues ? Am I unknown ? Am 
 I a yesterday novice ? And should not the frankness 
 of my loans from Moliere, and from another comic 
 poet whom I will name later on, have put the critics 
 on their guard ? The play is what I intended it to 
 be, let them be sure of that. Bad or good work, it 
 matters little ; but deliberate work, before all things. 
 
 Since the critics have, voluntarily or involuntarily, 
 passed The Heirs of Rabourdin by without discussing 
 the point of view that I took up, I am reduced to 
 explaining here what it was that I set myself to do. 
 Indeed, I should have a good case if I merely wished 
 to defend myself for having taken as my subject the 
 eternal cupidity of mankind, the comedy of a group 
 of heirs awaiting the opening of a will. In every 
 literature, at every period, by every humorist, this 
 comedy has been, is, and will be written. I have but 
 continued a tradition which many another will con- 
 tinue after me. And is not the drama of adultery 
 equally worn out ? And are there not writers who 
 live exclusively on this drama, studied in all its 
 aspects, without being remotely subject to the 
 reproach of poverty of invention ? 
 
 But I have no need of this argument. I confess 
 that my very settled intention was to write a -pasticcio 
 — I mean a special pasticcio^ written with a certain 
 
The Author's Preface. xiii 
 
 idea of experiment. I proposed, in one word, to go 
 back to the fountain-head of our stage, to resuscitate 
 the old literary farce in the form in which our authors 
 of the sixteenth century borrowed it from the Italians. 
 So that none might be ignorant of my meaning, I 
 took from Moliere turns of phrases, slices of scenes. 
 I kept watch upon myself as I wrote each line, so 
 that my play might remain simple, primitive — naive 
 even, if you like. An intrigue as tenuous as a thread ; 
 none of the stage effects fashionable in our days ; 
 sketches of character ; a situation that developed 
 itself with its side-events until the ultimate catas- 
 trophe was reached ; and this catastrophe brought on 
 by the sheer logic of the facts, without expedients of 
 any sort. The only modernisation that I allowed 
 myself was to dress the characters like ourselves, and 
 to place them in our own surroundings. I meant to 
 make contemporary realism out of the human realism 
 of all time. 
 
 I insist on this starting-point. There is not a 
 scene, I repeat, in the play, that ought not to have 
 opened the critics' eyes, and led them to suspect that 
 they had before them a protest against the fashion in 
 which our writers of comedy fritter away Moliere's 
 inheritance. What has become of that fine laughter, 
 so simple, so deep in its frankness ; of that living 
 laughter that has tears in it ? We have in this age 
 our comedy of intrigue, a game of patience, a play- 
 thing presented to the public. It has come to be 
 the accepted model, and it has inflicted upon us a 
 dramatic code, according to which everything iC delays 
 the action." You present a character, it u delays the 
 action ; " you develop a situation, it " delays the 
 
xiv The Author's Preface. 
 
 action ; " you give way to a literary caprice, <c it 
 delays the action." And the worst is that it has 
 accustomed the public to such complicated stories 
 that the public, in fact, is bored when the stories are 
 not complicated enough. To-day Moliere would cer- 
 tainly be recommended to compress Le Misanthrope 
 into one act. Again, we have the sentimental comedy, 
 a foolish tear shed between two vaudeville couplets, 
 a bastard breed that delights the sensitive soul. But 
 above all we have the thoughtful comedy, the sermon 
 on the boards, the dramatic art devoted to the 
 amelioration of the race. There we have the triumph 
 of the period. Our authors have abandoned the 
 human side in order to see the social side alone. 
 They study particular social cases, with the result 
 that their plays, after the lapse of ten years, become 
 old-fashioned, and not to be understood of new 
 audiences. They limit themselves to mimic battles 
 with ephemeral prejudices ; they make no pretension 
 towards the absolute ; they seek only for relative 
 truths without experiencing the anguish of those 
 eternal truths that cry aloud in the works of the 
 masters. The masters never preached ; they never 
 sought to prove anything. They lived, and that 
 alone makes of their works lessons for all time. 
 
 Such is the case of Moliere's inheritance ; and that 
 is why I dreamt of tracing my steps back to that 
 glorious model. I am unworthy, I know. My 
 experiment has, if you like, no worth besides that 
 of having been attempted. None the less, it is 
 worthy, I think, of the esteem of the critics. I had 
 hoped for an analysis that should be, if not sym- 
 pathetic, at least serious and polite. And I have 
 
The Author's Preface. xv 
 
 told with what rudeness the critics hurled themselves 
 upon me and upon my play. Now, it is easy to 
 imagine what my stupor must have been. 
 
 Moreover, many of my personal friends doubted 
 whether to applaud me. A farce ! I had written a 
 farce ! Well, yes ! a farce — why not ? I feel in no 
 way compromised, I assure you. The pickle-herring's 
 platform is wider and more epic than our wretched 
 stages on which life is suffocated. The open-air 
 platform, the platform open to the skies, with a frank 
 farce, a farce violently overloaded, a farce that would 
 lend a laugh to the ugly grimace of humanity, per- 
 mitting itself every licence, " humbugging " death ! 
 That was my dream. I would have liked my farce 
 to be played in a public place, a canvas tent, with 
 a trombone and a big drum at the door. I saw it 
 played by mountebanks, amid somersaults, amid the 
 uproar of a crowd holding its sides. Then, perhaps, 
 it would have been understood. I should not have 
 been insulted by its comparison to a vaudeville. Is 
 not the farce infinite ? It is the unbounded freedom 
 of satire. Beneath the mask distorted by laughter 
 humanity is seen to weep. And therefore the farce 
 has always tempted the men with the broad shoulders : 
 Aristophanes, Shakspeare, Rabelais, Moliere. These 
 were buffoons. 
 
 I am well aware that our generation would hiss 
 these men of genius, if one fine evening they were to 
 put in an appearance on the Parisian stage. Were 
 Moliere to-morrow to produce Le Malade Imaginaire 
 or Georges Dandin, he would be spat upon by all the 
 critics. They would reproach him with having put 
 nothing but linseed-tea into the first of these master- 
 
 b 
 
xvi The Author's Preface. 
 
 pieces, and with having portrayed none but rogues 
 and she-rogues in the second. Even recently the 
 fashionable audience of the Comedie-Francaise were 
 almost revolted at a revival of Georges Dan din. All 
 their respect for tradition is wanted to make them 
 accept that superb laughter that knows no fear 
 of anything. It is impossible to play Moliere in 
 the provinces. I know of provincial bailiffs and 
 solicitors who, when they come to spend the summer 
 in Paris, take care to consult the placards before 
 taking their wives to the Comedie-Francaise, lest 
 these ladies should come into contact with the author 
 of Tartufe. Moliere remains a suspicious character. 
 And what exasperates me in all this is the hypocritical 
 respect borne for the masters. Oh, the masters ! 
 there is no one like the masters ! copy the masters ! 
 But take it into your head one day to listen to this 
 advice, make an experiment, and you shall see what 
 they will do for you. The fact is that the masters 
 scare them. A young man arrives in Paris ; he 
 dreams of acquiring renown as a playwright ; he 
 knocks at the door of one of our most conscientious 
 critics, and he says to him, " I am full of willing- 
 ness. Point out to me those plays I ought to study ; 
 I will set to work to-morrow/' You would think, 
 maybe, that the critic will reply, " Study the plays of 
 Moliere/ ' Ah, no doubt ! He will say, convinced 
 that he is giving excellent and practical advice, 
 cc Study the plays of Scribe." That is what we have 
 come to. 
 
 I would not wish to mix my personal quarrel with 
 the reflections inspired by the present state of the 
 theatre. I understand, most assuredly, that it is 
 
The Author's Preface. xvii 
 
 necessary that we should have plays for the multi- 
 tude ; nor do I deny the injustice of showing oneself 
 severe towards men who consent to manufacture 
 from day to day the so many dozen plays that Paris 
 needs to fill up its winter. This comes in the cate- 
 gory of what is known as Parisian goods. You cut 
 out, glue together, sew up, and varnish over : and 
 there you have a charming gewgaw that lasts you 
 through a season. To piece together these plays 
 a workshop is necessary. It is essential to have a 
 general manager, to acquire the ins and outs of the 
 trade, to know what pleases your customers. This 
 attained, there is a whole manual for you to consult. 
 You must know your Scribe by heart. He will 
 teach you in what proportion love may enter into a 
 comedy ; how much villainy may safely be admitted ; 
 how to unravel a catastrophe, and how to modify a 
 character with one wave of the wand. He will teach 
 you, in a word, that theatrical "trade" which Moliere 
 knew nothing of, but which the critics of to-day de- 
 clare to be essential if you aim at rousing the laughter 
 or the tears of your contemporaries. All this is 
 perfectly useful, I grant you. The public, in fact, 
 cannot endure any but the most easily digested plays. 
 It rejects everything that does not issue from the 
 workshop I spoke of above. But there are honest 
 fellows who cannot tie themselves down to the task 
 of working in stereotyped moulds. These are mad 
 enough to contemplate personal works ; they do not 
 manufacture for a fashion, they endeavour to create 
 for the ages. Their presumption is great, no doubt : 
 no doubt, too, they will never succeed in satisfying 
 themselves. Only, I consider them worthy of respect, 
 
xviii The Author's Preface. 
 
 and I think that form of criticism obnoxious that 
 makes merry over their fall, and has the malicious 
 intention to condemn them to labour at the pro- 
 duction of the ordinary commercial article. 
 
 And see the want of logic in the reproaches cast 
 at me, in the matter of The Heirs of Rabourdin. If 
 certain critics are to be credited, mine is a disordered 
 mind that refuses to acknowledge any rule ; my 
 dream is to burn the Works of Scribe ; I openly 
 despise the conventions ; I am ripening I know not 
 what project of a theatre of abominations. On the 
 other hand, there are critics who accuse me of being 
 up to the neck in convention, of being two hundred 
 years behind my time in the theatrical movement, of 
 having brought to life the old worm-eaten comedy. 
 And these latter very nearly grasped what it was that 
 I desired to do. What conclusions can be drawn in 
 the face of two statements so opposed to one another ? 
 First, that the critics do not always agree among 
 themselves ; next, that if I am a revolutionary when 
 in the presence of idiotic works, I bow with the deepest 
 respect before the works of the masters. I love the 
 masters, as we must needs love them, for their truth. 
 I love them to the extent of desiring to go straight 
 back to them, stepping over the heads of the dwarfs 
 whose capers amuse the crowd. In this matter I 
 reject the relative of talent, and accept only the 
 absolute of genius. 
 
 I am not writing this preface in defence of my 
 work. If there is any vigour in it, it will defend 
 itself unaided later on. Nor shall I seek to reply 
 point for point to the violence which it has raised up. 
 I have but one preoccupation : to analyse my case, 
 
The Author's Preface. xix 
 
 so that 1 may draw a moral from it, if possible, for 
 the young writer who may try, as I have done, the 
 effect of truthfulness on the stage. Among the 
 reproaches addressed to me are three which will be 
 sufficient to characterise the general spirit with which 
 I have come into collision. These three reproaches 
 are : my comedy lacks gaiety ; it contains not one 
 sympathetic character ; the situation remains un- 
 changed throughout the three acts. I admit that these 
 are three serious defects from the modern dramatic 
 point of view. It is evident that, if the play be 
 compared, as has been done, with certain contem- 
 porary vaudevilles, it will be found to be na'ive, too 
 simple and too coarse at the same time. But I do not 
 accept this comparison. I repeat once again, I had 
 other ends in view. I deny that there is any gaiety 
 in Moliere — I mean gaiety such as is in demand 
 to-day. Dandin on his knees before his wife makes 
 the heart bleed ; Arnolphe's little attentions to 
 Agnes bring tears of pity to the eyes ; Alceste 
 disquiets one, and Scapin inspires fear. There is a 
 terrible undercurrent to all this laughter. I deny 
 also that Moliere ever put himself out to temper the 
 cruelty of his analysis by peopling his plays with sym- 
 pathetic characters ; apart from his eternal two lovers, 
 who are a concession to the fashion of the day, all 
 the types that he has created are human ; that is to 
 say, rather bad than good. In ZJAvare they cheat 
 and rob one another from one end to the other. In 
 Le Misanthrope all the characters are dubious, so much 
 so that the discussion is to this day continued as to 
 who is the veritable honest man of the play. I pass 
 by the farces, which contain none but fools and 
 
xx The Author's Preface. 
 
 bullies. And lastly I deny that Moliere ever sus- 
 pected a need for complicating a comedy in order to 
 make it more interesting ; his dramatic work has the 
 bare precision of a master ; a single course of events 
 is broadly, logically developed, and gathers to itself 
 the whole human interest of whatever comes in its 
 way. I am well aware that in our day the writers 
 of vaudevilles declare that Moliere knew nothing 
 of playwriting. They might push their frankness 
 further, and confess flatly that Moliere is sad, dread- 
 ful, and tiresome. They would be telling the sheer 
 truth. 
 
 It will be said that we are no longer in the 
 seventeenth century, that our civilisation has become 
 more intricate, and that the drama of to-day cannot 
 employ the same formula as that of two hundred 
 years ago. That is quite beyond doubt. There is 
 no question of imitation. It is simply a question of 
 going back to the first source of French comic genius. 
 What we should resuscitate are the broadly-drawn 
 sketches of character in which the masters of our 
 stage involved the dominant interest of their works. 
 Let us copy their fine disdain for ingenious plots ; 
 let us endeavour to create, as they did, living men, 
 types of eternal truthfulness. And let us continue to 
 abide in the realities of to-day, with our own manners, 
 costume, and surroundings. There, assuredly, is a 
 formula worth the finding. To my mind that would 
 be the naturalistic formula that I pointed out in my 
 preface to Therese Raquin. I grant that the problem 
 is no easy one. It is because the formula has not 
 yet come to me that I thought, in the meanwhile, of 
 attempting an imitation, The Heirs of Rabourdin, in 
 
The Author's Preface. xxi 
 
 the hope that the intercourse with the masters would 
 place me on the right road. For me my comedy is 
 but a study, an experiment. With the exception of 
 an occasional portion of a scene, it is outside the 
 formula which I seek. 
 
 The time has now come to say from where I took 
 The Heirs of Rabourdin. The critics, who have the 
 repertoires of the minor theatres at their fingers' 
 ends, have flung vaudevilles in my face by handfuls. 
 They unearthed astounding instances, whose very 
 titles were unknown to me ; I confess I am grossly 
 ignorant on this subject. I quite simply took the 
 original idea for my play from Volpone, a comedy 
 by Ben Jonson, a contemporary of Shakspeare. Not 
 one of the critics thought of this. It is true that 
 the thing called for some little erudition, some 
 interest in foreign literature. Now that I have 
 pointed out the source, I recommend the conscientious 
 critics to read Volpone. They will there see what 
 a comedy could be at the time of the English 
 renaissance. I know of no drama more extensive 
 in its audacity. It is a glorious crudeness, a sus- 
 tained outburst of truth, an admirable paroxysm of 
 satire. Imagine the human beast let loose, with all 
 its appetites. And when one thinks of the audiences 
 that applauded that tremendous laughter ! In sooth, 
 they had nothing in common, neither nerves nor 
 muscles, v/ith our little white-gloved cits, who come 
 to digest at their ease in an orchestra-stall. You 
 can readily believe that I expurgated Ben Jonson. 
 My comedy, to describe which every expression of 
 disgust has been exhausted, is a mere skit by the side 
 of Volpone. There is more particularly in the latter a 
 
xxii The Author's Preface. 
 
 scene, fine to a pitch of terror, which I note for the 
 delicate : one of the heirs comes and offers his wife, 
 his own wife, to the sham dying man, the doctors 
 having decided that a buxom woman was necessary 
 to cure the disease. No literature can produce such 
 a slap in the face for the passions. We are bound 
 of course to accept the refinements of our age ; but 
 what artist has not experienced a regret at the 
 thought of those fine, free, and candid centuries, 
 which witnessed the growth of all the hardy annuals 
 of the mind ? 
 
 It remains for me to insist upon my position as a 
 novelist. When the dramatic critics have said of a 
 new playwright that he is a novelist, they have said 
 everything. This phrase, coming from their pens, 
 means that the novelists are incapable of writing for 
 the stage. I look upon this disdain on the part of 
 the critics as singular. The novelists have made the 
 literary glory of this century. When one of them 
 is willing to apply his talents to the stage, the critics 
 should have nothing for him but encouragement. 
 Certainly, if the stage shed a great lustre on our 
 epoch, if the plays performed were masterpieces, if 
 the dramatic authors bestowed upon the art which 
 they represent all the splendour that could be 
 desired, if, in short, there were no room for a 
 renaissance, then I could understand that we should 
 be repulsed. But the boards are empty ; and, 
 whatever might be our failures, they could never 
 equal those of the professional playwrights! We 
 could not possibly bring the stage to a lower level 
 than it is at present. Then why not authorise all 
 our attempts? What we are striving for, in short, 
 
The Author's Preface, xxiii 
 
 is the enlargement of art. We try to bring new 
 blood to bear on it, correctness of diction, a care for 
 truth. The novelists, who are the literary princes 
 of the period, honour our degraded stage, when they 
 deign to set foot on it. 
 
 I repeat, my case is not an isolated one. I am 
 pleading now for a whole group of writers. I am 
 not so vain as to believe that my slender personality 
 has alone been sufficient to arouse so much anger. 
 I am a scapegoat, nothing more. In me a formula, 
 rather than a man, has been assailed. The critics see 
 expanding before them a group of men who struggle 
 hard, and will end by making room for themselves. 
 They don't want the group ; they deny its existence ; 
 for they would be lost men on the day when they 
 acknowledged talent. They would have to accept 
 the idea of truth that it brings with it, and this would 
 compel them to change their criterion. It is not my 
 play, I say once more, that has been gibbeted ; it is the 
 naturalistic formula on which it appears to be based. 
 And I require no further proof of the bias of the 
 critics than the reports of the first performance. Not 
 one of the critics admitted that 'The Heirs of 
 Rabourdin had been vigorously applauded. # In this 
 connection let me quote an acute observation that 
 an illustrious writer made to me as we left the theatre. 
 He pressed my hand, and added, as his tribute 
 
 * In an anti-puff preliminary in the Star newspaper a 
 writer of paragraphs went so far as to assert that at the first 
 performance in Paris Les Heritiers Rabourdin was greeted with 
 hoots and hisses. To the imagination of this fantastic person 
 I in a great measure ascribe the reception accorded to the 
 production at the Opera Comique. — A. T. 
 
xxiv The Author's Preface. 
 
 of appreciation, " To-morrow you will be a great 
 novelist." And indeed, on the next day, the 
 people who have denied me, for ten years, the 
 possession of any talent were exalting my novels in 
 order the better to pummel my play. I will add to 
 this another phrase, a terrible phrase, uttered by an 
 impenitent romanticist, who commands a largely 
 circulating publication which he has made into a 
 political and literary counting-house. He laid down 
 the doctrine of his dramatic theories, and marked me 
 out for his thunderbolts by observing calmly, in a 
 loud voice, without ceremony, " He is too talented ; 
 he is dangerous ; we must keep him down." 
 Nothing that I put into my play is more abominably 
 crude, more satirical of human villainy. 
 
 For the rest, what mattered success ? Never has 
 success been in so small a degree a proof of the merit 
 of work as to-day. One thing alone touched me. 
 One Sunday evening I went and sat right in the 
 middle of the house, filled with an unlettered holiday 
 audience. The Saint- Jacques quarter was well repre- 
 sented. The three acts were nothing but one long 
 outburst of laughter. Every word was underlined, 
 nothing escaped that great baby of an audience for 
 whose enjoyment the play, primitive and intentionally 
 naive, seemed to have been written. They were en- 
 chanted with the suggestion of overcolouring; the sim- 
 plicity of the treatment placed them, on an equal foot- 
 ing with the characters of the play. Shall I tell you ? 
 I revelled then in the first proud hour of my life. 
 # * * * # 
 
 And that is the end of the adventure. A dramatic 
 author, who knows his audiences thoroughly, said to 
 
The Author's Preface. xxv 
 
 me : "Think yourself lucky that your play was heard 
 to the end. Five years ago, no audience would have 
 consented to listen to so many truths at a time." 
 And I think myself very lucky if I have indeed 
 brought about a development in the patience of 
 audiences. I only wish still to reply to a critic, one 
 otherwise most sympathetic, who, speaking of Therese 
 Raquin and The Heirs of Rabourdin, concluded by 
 saying that this last play was a step backwards ; and 
 I reply that, at my age, at the stage of work that I 
 have reached, there are no steps backwards : there 
 are only steps in every direction, tentative steps to 
 the right, to the left, wherever it may be interesting 
 to go. 
 
 And now let me make a big parcel of all the 
 articles that have appeared on The Heirs of Rabourdin. 
 Let me tie up the parcel with string, and carry it up 
 to my lumber-room. I should not care to make any 
 capital out of this parcel of insults. Later on it may 
 be interesting to excavate it. For the moment I 
 prefer to wash my hands of it. I am accustomed to 
 expecting no immediate reward for my labours. For 
 ten years I have been publishing novels, which I fling 
 behind me, paying no attention to the noise they 
 make as they fall among the crowd. When there is 
 a heap of them, the passers-by will be compelled to 
 take note of them in spite of themselves. I recognise, 
 now, that the conflict is an identical one in the drama. 
 My play is scotched, repudiated, drowned amid the 
 racket of current criticism. What matter ? Let me 
 push my bolts, and exile myself anew in my work. 
 
 EMILE ZOLA. 
 
 December 1st, 1874. 
 
The 
 
 Translator's Note. 
 
 THE Observer , in its notice of The Heirs of 
 Rabourdin, states that mine is "a modified 
 translation;" the Globe, that my translation 
 is " exact in the main; " the Daily Telegraph 
 thinks that I, "being an experienced playgoer," might 
 have been " given a free hand — not to adapt, but to 
 curtail. No French play, be it tragedy, drama, 
 comedy, or farce, will bear a literal translation, line 
 for line, and word for word." Here, surely, is a 
 divergence of observation as quaint as that of the 
 Parisian critics. 
 
 I wish to say in reply to the Observer, that my 
 translation was in no way modified ; in reply to the 
 Globe, that my translation is exact not only in the 
 main, but in every particular ; and, in reply to 
 the Daily Telegraph, that I was given a free hand, 
 exercised my right of choice, and elected, being an 
 experienced playgoer, to make a literal translation. 
 
 A. TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS. 
 
 The Temple, March $tk, 1894. 
 
OPERA COMIQUE. 
 
 STRAND, W.C. 
 THE INDEPENDENT THEATRE. 
 
 Founder and Sole Director, J. T. GREIN. 
 
 THIRD SEASON, SIXTEENTH PERFORMANCE. 
 
 FRIDAY, 23rd February, 1894. 
 
 THE 
 
 HSI^S OF l&TBOUTfpiN, 
 
 A Comedy in Three Acts, by 
 
 EMILE ZOLA. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY A. TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Rabourdin 
 
 . Mr. James Welch. 
 
 Chapuzot . 
 
 . Mr. Harding Cox. 
 
 Dominique 
 
 . Mr. C. M. Hallard. 
 
 Ledoax 
 
 . Mr. Douglas Gordon. 
 
 Dr. Mourgue . 
 
 . Mr. Charles Goodhart. 
 
 Isaac 
 
 . Mr. F. NORREYS CONNELL 
 
 Madame Vaussard 
 
 . Mrs. Arthur Ayers. 
 
 Madame Fiquet 
 
 . Mrs. Lois Royd. 
 
 Eugenie . 
 
 . Miss Lena Dene. 
 
 Charlotte . 
 
 . Miss Mary Jocelyn. 
 
 'The Tlay produced under the direction of 
 Mr. H. De Lange. 
 
The Action of the Play takes place at Senlis, 
 at the Present Day. 
 
 Acts I. and III. In Rabourdin's sitting-room. 
 Act II. In Rabourdins bedroom. 
 
The 
 
 Heirs of Rabourdin. 
 
 r 
 
 Act I. 
 
 The dining-room of a middle-class house in a 
 small town. A garden enclosed in walls is seen 
 at the back through a large glared door. In the 
 corner, l, there is a porcelain stove, by the side of 
 which is placed a small occasional table. In the 
 middle of the wall, r, is a sideboard with shelves. 
 l u e is a door leading into Rabourdin s bedroom. 
 l, down stage, is a safe let into the wall, rue 
 is a door leading into the kitchen. There is a 
 round table in the middle of the stage, with an 
 arm-chair fronting the audience behind the table. 
 l is a chair, and r is a wicker-work sofa, with 
 two tapestried cushions. Near the safe is a little 
 flower-stand ; a barometer hangs beside the side- 
 board. On the sideboard is a liqueur-stand, a 
 tray, a goblet, cups, etc. Inhere are several chairs : 
 one is in marqueterie and stands near the stove. A 
 
2 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 cuckoo-clock hangs on wall r, down stage. It is 
 ten o clock on a spring morning. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, RABOURDIN. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 You are sure, then, Charlotte, that the safe is 
 empty ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {looking into the safe) Empty, godfather, quite 
 empty. {Crosses r, while Rabourdin looks into the 
 safe.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 That's strange. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 What ? Strange that there should be no more 
 money? {Laughing) You are quite funny, god- 
 father ! There is not often money in the safe. 
 (They both come down stage?) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 It is no laughing matter, Charlotte. It is abso- 
 lutely necessary that I should pay that jew Isaac his 
 old bill for that Louis Treize press he sold me. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 He'll wait. He need not be frightened about his 
 money, I should think. I could bring you back the 
 whole of Senlis in my basket when I go out, if I 
 wished to. I should think so ! Why, you're Old 
 Daddy Moneybags ! Monsieur Rabourdin, who 
 used to keep the draper's shop on the market-place, 
 at the sign of <c Le Grand Saint Martin." Why, he 
 
sc. i.] Rabourdin, 
 
 must have saved ten thousand francs a year at least ! 
 The good people ! they little think the safe is empty. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (startled, looking behind kirn) Hush, chatterbox ! 
 {Confidingly) My nephews and nieces haven't seemed 
 so affectionate the last few days. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 That's serious. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 They would let me die like a dog, mind you. 
 That lot, whom I've fed for ten years, and who 
 have stripped me of my last sou ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Well, they're giving it you back now. You'll 
 soon be quits. Be fair, godfather, they're decent 
 enough, your heirs. They're fighting for your 
 legacy with presents, big and small. You're in 
 clover, you are — tucked-in, kissed, tickled, and 
 worshipped. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 The rascals! They've taken all I've got, and 
 they want what's left ! If I hadn't played the 
 miser when I had hardly a farthing left, I shouldn't 
 have had a crust of bread or a glass of water from 
 them. Ah ! if they only knew, there would be no 
 more dainties, my poor Charlotte ; no more petting, 
 no more serene old age for me ! I should be " that 
 old scamp of a Rabourdin." 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You'll have to find the money for old Isaac in 
 that case. 
 
4 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Find the money ? I like that ! Where the devil 
 do you expect me to find it ? If I borrow it, all 
 Senlis will know. My poor house is crushed under 
 mortgages as it is. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Well, there are your heirs. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 What ! do you think I might ? They've given 
 me a lot lately. Well, let's see how we stand. 
 Take the ledger. {Charlotte crosses l and takes 
 out the ledger from the safe, while Rabourdin goes 
 up to the table, and sits down at it in the arm-chair, 
 which he has drawn towards him.) I might perhaps 
 get twenty francs from one, and twenty from another. 
 The great thing is not to squeeze them dry. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (brings up a chair from l and sits down on it, facing 
 Rabourdin) What you've had since the first, eh, 
 godfather ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Yes. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (opening ledger on the table) Let me see. (Reading) 
 " Boucharain, on the second, a little parcel containing 
 twelve pairs of socks, six cakes of soap, a pair of 
 razors, four scarves, and three yards of cloth for a 
 frock-coat." 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Good, good ! There's no one like these general 
 agents. I'll spare that one. Go on. 
 
SC. 1 
 
 Rabourdin, 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (reading) u The widow Guerard, on the seventh, a 
 leg of mutton." 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 And— 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 And — nothing more ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (springing up) What, nothing ! Is my niece 
 Guerard making a fool of me ? A leg of mutton 
 on the seventh, and to-day is the eighteenth ! At 
 that rate I can have as many nieces as I like. To 
 be a niece of Rabourdin's puts you in the Senlis set ! 
 It means expectations to the tune of a hundred 
 thousand francs. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (continuing) " Lehudier, on the ninth " 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (interrupting her) Oh, skip the tradespeople, and 
 let's get to the legatees who mean business, to those 
 whom I see every day. (He sits down on the sofa,) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (reading) " Doctor Mourgue " 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (interrupting) That dear, good doctor! There's 
 a man who understands his patients ! And what 
 has he contributed ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 u Three pots of jam on the seventh, and two 
 quarts of syrup on the thirteenth." 
 
6 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah, well, but that's nice, that's decent of him, 
 is it not, Charlotte? He's not a relation ; one can't 
 expect more than that. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (continuing) " Chapuzot " {Interrupting her- 
 self) Your former partner ; he is not a member 
 of the family either. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {lowering his voice with a frightened look) Oh, that 
 one ! A coughing old corpse, with a whole string 
 of incurable complaints. Chapuzot is eighty. I 
 am only sixty, thank God ! And it's my house he's 
 after; it's my freehold he's been after these thirty 
 years. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 He gave a lot of raspberry bushes for the garden, 
 three pear trees, and some flowers and vegetables 
 for planting. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 By Jove ! he's fixing up his garden, he thinks it's 
 his already. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {reading) " Madame Vaussard " 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Oh, that dear old Olympe ! What has she given ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {reading) u On the fifth, a silver napkin-ring ; on 
 the fifteenth a goblet." 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 That's true, I had forgotten all about that. That's 
 
SC. I 
 
 Rabourdin 
 
 like my luck. That dear Olympe spends all her 
 money on her dress. It's no use asking anything 
 from the husband, a great ass of an architect, who 
 works himself to death, and never has a sou. And 
 to think that not long ago I lent them any amount 
 of money. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 And then there's Madame Fiquet, who gave you 
 two hundred francs on the sixth. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {rising) That poor Lisbeth ! She is the only one 
 who knows how to find any money. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (rising) I like that ! The widow of a sherifPs 
 officer ! I should like to have all the thousand-franc 
 notes that she's had out of you ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 She has too many irons in the fire. But she's 
 a woman who knows her way about, and who'd 
 raise a crop of five-franc pieces on the paving stones. 
 And so that's all, Charlotte ? Isn't there a nephew, 
 or a niece, or any one ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (taking the ledger from the table) There's only 
 Monsieur Ledoux, the young man who is to marry 
 your little niece Eugenie. {Showing the ledger to 
 Rabourdin) Ledoux — a bunch of flowers — a bunch 
 of flowers — and a bunch of flowers. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Yes, flowers, nothing but flowers ! (Crossing l) 
 So there's nobody ! Great Heavens ! what am I to 
 
8 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 do ? Isaac will come just at breakfast-time, when 
 they will all be there. I shall be a ruined man if 
 they suspect the least thing. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Don't distress yourself like that. How much is 
 it you want ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Two hundred and seventy-two francs. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Well, then, take it out of my aunt's three thousand 
 francs that you hold in trust for me. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {nervously) Out of your dowry ? Never, never ! 
 I would rather dig the earth with my finger-nails. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 How excited you get ! I hope you have not been 
 playing any of your tricks here, godfather ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {with a forced laugh) You make me laugh ! The 
 scrip is in a little corner to itself. Do you wish to 
 see it ? No, do not press me, my mind's made up. 
 That money is sacred. Never mind, I'll find some 
 means. Isn't breakfast ready ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Yes, I am going to lay the cloth. {Goes to the 
 sideboard, and from it takes a tablecloth, which she 
 lays on the table?) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {going to the cuckoo clock, r, and looking at the time) 
 Nearly ten. They will be here soon. {Turns, 
 and observes the safe.) The devil ! It's silly to 
 
sc. i.] Rabourdin. 9 
 
 leave the safe open. (In passing by the table he takes 
 the ledger from it, and hides it at the bottom of the 
 safe, which he closes and locks, slips the key into his 
 waistcoat pocket, and then comes down stage.) Two 
 hundred and seventy-two francs ! That will be a 
 job. I will go and put on my yellow dressing-gown ; 
 it makes me look like a corpse. (He goes towards the 
 door of his bedroom, l, and comes back to Charlotte?) 
 Do I look well this morning ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Wonderfully well. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 So much the worse. And my eyes ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Your eyes are in excellent condition. They laugh 
 and sparkle like live coals. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Worse and worse. Then I don't look like a man 
 at death's door ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 You ! No one would think you were twenty. 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 That's terrible. You feed me too well, Charlotte. 
 I am growing young ! I shall be ruined. And I 
 have such an appetite that I feel capable of eating 
 like a wolf in front of them ! I shan't get anything, 
 not a sou, not one sou ! (He goes out by door l. 
 Charlotte puts the arm-chair back in its place, and 
 takes back the chair to l. Dominique comes in quietly. 
 He carries a little parcel at the end of a stick, which 
 he lets fall behind the sofa. At the sound Charlotte 
 turns round and throws herself into his arms?) 
 
io The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, DOMINIQUE. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (with a suppressed cry) Dominique ! [They embrace) 
 You, at Senlis ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 (holding her hands) Ah, isn't it a fine surprise ? I 
 would not write to you. (They separate and look at 
 one another ', with amazement) How handsome you've 
 grown, and how big and strong ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 How handsome you've grown, and how big and 
 strong ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 Five years since we last saw one another. But I 
 thought of you. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Yes, five years. And I — I waited for you. 
 
 Dominique. 
 Well, that's all over. I am a man now. I told 
 them that I was going back to the country. And I 
 have come to fetch you, my dear wife. [During this 
 speech he has given her his arm y and they walk slowly 
 r, returning to the middle of the stage while Charlotte 
 is speaking?) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 My dear husband. Do you remember my Aunt 
 
 Nanon's mill? The kind old thing, God rest her 
 
 soul ! When I used to come down, all white with 
 
 flour, I would find you on the bank of the mill-stream. 
 
sc. 2.] Rabourdin. n 
 
 You would walk three miles to come and help me 
 pull down the magpies' nests. Ah, those rascals of 
 magpies ! They were right at the top of the poplar- 
 trees. I used to fasten up my petticoats with string 
 before climbing. I had no fear, I climbed as high 
 as you did ; and we used to say good-day to one 
 another from one tree to the other, right up in the 
 air. And down below, at the bottom of the great 
 pit, the mill went tick-tack. 
 
 Dominique. 
 {kissing her hand) Yes, I remember, I remember. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 And the day we went for a ride on La Noiraude, 
 the old mare of the mill. We went along the high 
 road, quite far. When we came to the hill, you 
 remember, you left me alone on La Noiraude, and I 
 began to kick her in the stomach with my heels, and 
 she ran off like a wild beast. You screamed out, 
 you were afraid that she would pitch me into the 
 ditch. And that made me laugh so much that I 
 caught the mare round the neck, so that I might 
 laugh comfortably. It was dark before we heard 
 the tick-tack of the mill at the other end of the 
 meadows. {Dominique, who has taken her in his 
 arms, kisses her in the neck.) You remember, you 
 remember ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 Yes, you were a scapegrace. Your Aunt Nanon 
 used to cry, "She's a boy, that girl!" And I, I 
 loved you because you used to climb the trees and 
 were not afraid of La Noiraude. You're a fine, 
 buxom woman now. 
 
12 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You don't look delicate, either. 
 
 Dominique. 
 And how studious you were with all that ! You 
 used to throw stones at me when I tried to make 
 you play truant. If you had only cared to become 
 a young lady, you could have become a young lady 
 with any of them. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 That would have bored me to a certainty. I 
 would rather be your wife. I swore that, to begin 
 with. 
 
 Dominique. 
 Yes, we swore it. We swore to get married, one 
 morning in the sunshine, behind a hedge. When 
 shall it be — now ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Oh, at once, as soon as the priest is ready. Aunt 
 Nanon left me three thousand francs when she died. 
 I will ask my godfather to give me my dowry, and 
 then we'll get married. 
 
 Dominique. 
 Three thousand francs ! Why, you're a rich 
 woman, Charlotte ! I felt quite conceited when I 
 came here. But now, I dare not tell you. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 What is it ? 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 I have saved a little money. Three hundred 
 francs, a poor three hundred francs, scraped together 
 sou by sou. I have it with me, in my pocket. 
 
sc. 2.] Rabourdin. 13 
 
 Charlotte. 
 My dear Dominique ! That will be for my chain 
 and my wedding ring. What a lovely day it is, and 
 how pleasant life is ! {She takes his arm.) Listen, this 
 is my dream. I believe Aunt Nanon's mill is to let. 
 When we are married we will go and see, we will 
 put our money into it, and I shall be the happy 
 miller's wife, all white with flour, as in the days 
 when I used to find you sitting by the mill-stream. 
 We will have a mare, and our urchins will pull 
 down the magpies' nests. Are you willing ? We 
 shall love each other always, always, to the sound of 
 the tick-tack of the mill. 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 (kissing her again in the neck) Am I willing ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {escaping from him, and going up to the sideboard) 
 Do stop, you prevent me from laying the table. 
 My godfather's nieces will be here presently. 
 
 Dominique. 
 I'll stay ; so much the worse for them ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {coming down stage with a plate, which she wipes) 
 The thing is, those gossips chatter. I should have 
 preferred not to say who you are until later on, when 
 things are over. {She puts the plate on the table.) 
 There is one way out of it. Listen. When they 
 are all there, you must come in boldly, and say to 
 my godfather, who has never seen you, " Good-day y , 
 uncle." 
 
 Dominique. 
 But he is not my uncle. 
 
14 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 That makes no difference. 
 
 Dominique. 
 He will ask me where I come from, who my 
 father is, and what I have come to Senlis for. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 If he asks that, tell him whatever you like : the 
 first thing that comes into your head. 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 And will that story satisfy him ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Perfectly. Quick, go to the kitchen, and come 
 back in a few minutes. Here come the troop of 
 them. {She lets him out by the door r, and goes on 
 laying the table. 'The heirs enter one after the other.) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, CHAPUZOT, DOCTOR MOURGUE,then 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, MADAME FIQUET, 
 EUGENIE, LEDOUX. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {entering on the arm of the doctor, and coming down the 
 stage r) So the small-pox is claiming many victims 
 in Senlis, doctor? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Out of thirty patients, I have twenty infected by 
 the epidemic. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 That's a fine number. And what is the proportion 
 of fatal cases ? 
 
sc. 3.] Rabourdin. 15 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Fifteen out of twenty, I should say. Have you 
 been vaccinated, Chapuzot ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Not I. I don't need that. They tried to vacci- 
 nate me. It wouldn't take — I am too strong. [He 
 is seized with a fit of coughing which throws him 
 back on the sofa.) 
 
 Mourgue. 
 You ought to look after that cough of yours. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {rising furiously) I am not coughing. I have 
 something in my throat. I never swallowed a drug 
 in my life, doctor, and here I am, and sound too ! 
 I'll outlive you all. Hee-hee ! {He crosses l) I've 
 seen a good few off as it is. Senlis is being cleared 
 out. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Pooh ! You'll die like the rest, my friend. 
 People die from a mere nothing, without thinking 
 about it. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {lowering his voice, and pointing to door l) Hush ! 
 Suppose that poor Rabourdin were to hear you ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 He has had a bad night ! He got up late, he is 
 dressing. {She goes into Rabourdin s room, l.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 It's a bad symptom, at his age, when you get up 
 late. However, we must be sensible about it. {He 
 sits down on chair l) He would be much happier 
 if he were dead. 
 
1 6 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 {who has gone up stage ', near the door, to place his hat 
 on a chair) Ah ! here is the beautiful Madame 
 Vaussard. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {entering) Always gallant, doctor. {She takes off 
 her hat, and hangs it up near the stove.) 
 Mourgue. 
 And you, Madame, are always young, always 
 elegant, the Queen of Senlis ! {Kisses her hand.) 
 And how is our excellent Monsieur Vaussard ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Thanks, he is at home, he is working. {Coming 
 down stage) I herald the coming of my cousin 
 Fiquet with her boarding-school. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 How do you mean, her boarding-school ? 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {laughing, crossing r) Why, her daughter Eugenie 
 and young Ledoux. {The doctor sits down on the 
 sofa, takes a newspaper from his pocket, and reads it 
 attentively^ 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {enters briskly with a basket on her arm, and takes off 
 her bonnet and shawl, which she places on a chair near 
 the sideboard?) Well ! and hasn't our uncle begun 
 his breakfast yet ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 It seems that Rabourdin has not had a wink of 
 sleep all night. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {coming down stage) It must be his gout. {Places 
 
sc. 3.] Rabourdin. 17 
 
 her basket on the table, and goes up to Madame 
 Vaussard.) I beg your pardon, cousin: good- morning. 
 I am quite out of sorts. I have been running about 
 all the morning for one of my friends ; it's a divorce- 
 case in which I am interesting myself a little : the 
 poor woman is almost off her head. I have all the 
 documents in my basket. That's a pretty dress you 
 have on, cousin. What did you pay for it ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 The material ? I don't know exactly. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I should have liked to make a comparison. I 
 have some patterns of stuff here. (Shewing her 
 basket) It's a bankrupt stock. I am selling dress- 
 lengths, just to oblige them. (Sits down in the arm- 
 chair, behind the table.) Ah, my dear friends, if you 
 knew how difficult it is to carry the most trifling bit 
 of business through ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (sitting down on a chair by the sofa) And shan't I 
 be able to give a kiss to my dear Eugenie ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (surprised) What, Eugenie ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Yes, your daughter ; I thought she was with you. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 My daughter? That's true, she was with me. 
 (rising and calling out) Minette ! Minette ! 
 
 Eugenie. 
 (enters with Ledoux.) Here we are, mamma. We 
 were in the arbour, enjoying the breeze. Good 
 
1 8 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 morning, aunt. [Comes down stage, and kisses 
 Madame Vans sard, who has risen from her chair.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (to LedouXy who has come and shaken hands with him) 
 Ah ! youth, youth ! You should be more careful. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 I am quite well, I assure you. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 You never know, you never know. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Come, children, go back to the garden, and pick 
 a nosegay for your uncle. (Eugenie and Ledoux go 
 out. Madame Fiquet and Madame Vaussard sit down 
 again, one in the arm-chair, the other on the chair.) 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 MADAME FIQUET, MADAME VAUSSARD, 
 MOURGUE, CHAPUZOT. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (still on the sofa, reading his paper) I see Turks are 
 down one franc. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I believe our uncle has some money invested in 
 that stock. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Monsieur Chapuzot, do you know if our uncle has 
 any Turkish bonds ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Yes, he is sure to have some. (Rises and takes the 
 centre of the stage) Rabourdin has never been lucky 
 
sc. 4.] Rabourdin. 19 
 
 with his investments. He is not clever. (The women 
 both rise, seized with anxiety.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 He has made a nice little fortune, nevertheless. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Certainly, I don't say not. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 One of the handsomest fortunes in Senlis. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 Yes, yes. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Why do you shake your head ? Say what you 
 mean. Has he lost it all ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 No, no, he's not clever, that's all ! When we 
 were in business together he used to drive me to 
 despair. I don't know where the firm would have 
 been without me. There would have been no 
 business done at all. I made all the money. Ah, 
 Rabourdin is very much indebted to me. ( Goes up 
 stage and crosses l.) Why, it's like that safe. Do 
 you see, it's not in its right place ? He only kept 
 it and had it built in there to annoy me. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (coming up to the safe) It looks a respectable safe, 
 that. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (examining the lock) It's a good make. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (laughing) What should you say there was inside ? 
 
20 The Heirs of act i. 
 
 I'll bet it is all in five- franc pieces. (Goes up stage , 
 and sits down in the arm-chair?) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Pooh ! our uncle is quite right to like money, and 
 the safe looks very well there. (Taps on the safe.} 
 It's a good safe, a lucky safe, a faithful safe. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (who has remained up stage, grinning, walking up 
 and down with short steps) As to the enjoyment 
 that Rabourdin is able to get out of his money now 
 — what do you say, doctor ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 (without raising his head from his paper) Yes ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I was afraid some loss might have upset him. 
 (She rummages in her basket, takes a little packet 
 out of it, and goes towards the kitchen r.) Ah ! I 
 was forgetting, I have brought him some digestive 
 food. I will go and make him some gruel of it. It 
 is very strengthening, and delicious to taste. (On 
 the threshold of the door, turning hack) You ought 
 to eat a little plateful of it every morning, cousin, 
 you who like keeping a clear complexion. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 CHAPUZOT, MADAME VAUSSARD, MOURGUE. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (rising brusquely, and watching Madame Fiquet go 
 out) That artful woman ! She won't be happy 
 until she takes to washing up the crockery in this 
 house ! 
 
sc. 5.] Rabourdin. 21 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {still up stage \ sniffing about) Hee, hee ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {crossing r) She would choke our uncle with her 
 gruel, if she could. Besides, a milk diet is no good 
 for old men. Isn't that so, doctor ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 {still reading his paper) Yes. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {crossing l) A woman of no position, who makes 
 her living nobody knows how. Always shabbily 
 dressed, her hair all tangled, and her face hardly 
 washed. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {who has come down to the table r) The good lady 
 carries an inexhaustible basket. {Lifting the basket) 
 The devil ! It's no light weight ! {Rummaging in 
 the basket) Pots of pomade, protested bills, samples 
 of wine. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {taking up the rummaging) Photographs, a dentist's 
 prospectus, a parcel of old lace, a bundle of letters 
 done up in pink tape, an address of a midwife, a gold 
 bracelet. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {continuing) And a specimen of the indiarubber 
 corset of which she has been talking all the last 
 week. She could open a bazaar. {Crosses l.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 It's a disgrace ! If one only chose to talk ! {To 
 Chapuzot) See here, it was she who set the school- 
 
22 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 master against his wife. {To Mourgue) And then 
 it was she again who married that poor Mademoiselle 
 Reverchon to that brute of an apothecary, whom 
 she was obliged to leave within a week. (To both 
 Chapuzot and Mourgue) She would throw Senlis 
 into a turmoil if she were allowed to have her way. 
 She will never benefit by our uncle's will, in spite of 
 the baseness of her flattery. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 I believe, on the contrary, that he will leave her 
 everything. She is reckoning on that in order to 
 marry her daughter. The little one is much run 
 after. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 What nonsense ! Our uncle would never be such 
 a fool. Don't you think so, doctor ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 {still absorbed in his paper) Yes. {Chapuzot returns 
 to his chair, l, grinning, and sits down.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Ah, everybody is not like me ! I am too proud 
 for that. I keep my station. You will never see 
 me going down on my knees. I would rather not 
 receive the least remembrance of my uncle than 
 lower myself to one of those self-interested services 
 which degrade the hand that performs them. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {returning, and taking a plate from the sideboard?) 
 And now I am going to gather some strawberries. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (running up quickly, and snatching the plate from her) 
 Don't trouble, Til pick the strawberries ! ( Goes out c.) 
 
sc. 6.] Rabourdin. 23 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 CHAPUZOT, MADAME FIQUET, MOURGUE. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (thunderstruck, following Madame Vaussard with her 
 eyes) Eh ! What does she mean ? Can't I pick 
 strawberries as well as she ? The artful woman ! 
 {Comes down stage.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (grinning) Damme, she's making herself useful ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 A respectable woman who plays all kinds of tricks 
 on her great booby of a husband! The beautiful 
 Madame Vaussard ! She is thirty-five, and is as 
 matured as an over-ripe pear. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (rising, and coming toward her) No, be fair, she is 
 very nice-looking still, and just the build that pleases 
 a man. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 A man ! You should have said the whole town. 
 Everybody knows of it. She has young men in each 
 of her cupboards. I tell you she wears false hair 
 and paints her face ! Isn't it true, doctor, she paints 
 her face ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (still reading his paper) Yes, yes, she paints her 
 face. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 And you give her hints about face-washes and 
 pomades ? 
 
24 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 Yes, just so, face- washes and pomades. 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 Besides, those dresses she wears always give her 
 a look of I don't know what. They must cost her 
 a good deal, her dresses ! So much the better, so 
 much the better : we shall see what sort of end 
 the beautiful Madame Vaussard will come to ! Ah, 
 madame gives dinner-parties, lives as well as the 
 sous-prefet, wears a new dress every week, has nice 
 young men to tea ! That's right ! The day will 
 come when she won't have bread to eat. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Unless Rabourdin leaves her his money. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 You're jesting. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Not a bit. Her creditors show patience. She 
 has all the credit she wants. She need only mention 
 her uncle's name to find a lender. 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 That's just it — pure swindling ! She has all sorts 
 of shady transactions with that usurer of an Isaac, 
 the furniture- dealer, who lends out money by the 
 week, and who beats the country-side to pick up 
 antiquities. Come, come, the beautiful Madame 
 Vaussard does not make me at all uneasy. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Just as you please. If you refuse to see things as 
 they are. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 You know something then ? 
 
sc. 7.] Rabourdin. 25 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 What ! haven't you guessed that she wants to 
 prevent the marriage of your daughter with Monsieur 
 Ledoux ? She was on particularly good terms with 
 Monsieur Ledoux last winter. She used to stuff 
 him with cakes in her dressing-room. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 If I thought that were true ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (going up stage) It's so true, that there she is at 
 this moment picking strawberries with the young 
 man. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (going up stage) Thank you, Monsieur Chapuzot. 
 To take away Monsieur Ledoux from my poor 
 Minette ! {Looking into the garden) I really believe 
 she is making him kiss her hand. Wait, I will go 
 and watch them through the kitchen-window. {She 
 goes out hurriedly r.) 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 CHAPUZOT, MOURGUE. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 (to Chapuzot, who laughs, as he sits down on the chair 
 l) You will end by setting them by the ears. {He 
 folds up his paper and rises.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 Well, it amuses me ! They are comical when 
 they are angry. One must laugh a little. 
 
26 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 To sum up, which of them will be the heiress, in 
 your opinion ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {rising) Which of them ? Neither one nor the 
 other ! What ! do you still believe that Rabourdin 
 would leave his money to those two gossips ? He's 
 an ass, but not such an ass as that. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 They are his nieces. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 A stout woman with the appetite of an ogress, 
 whose pretensions would become unendurable if she 
 had any money in her pocket. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 She is his niece. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 A shady old hag, who is mixed up in all the dirty 
 transactions of Senlis, and who would swallow up the 
 fortunes of ten people without the chink of a single 
 crown being heard. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 But, damme, she's his niece ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (exasperated, crossing r) His niece ! his niece! 
 what has that to do with it ? Who leaves his money 
 to his nieces ? (Lowering his voice) What is the 
 good of nieces, when Rabourdin is surrounded by 
 devoted friends, friends of his heart, who don't let 
 a single day pass without coming to see him ? 
 
sc. 7.] Rabourdin. 27 
 
 Mourgue. 
 {confidentially) You think then that our poor 
 Rabourdin — ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 It has all been arranged long ago. Think ! we 
 have known one another forty years. I shall have 
 the house. I expect to take possession in the 
 autumn. (He is seized with a fit of coughing which 
 throws him back on the sofa.) 
 
 Mourgue. 
 [aside) Yes, when the leaves fall. (Aloud) Take 
 care of that cough — do you hear ? It will play you 
 some nasty trick or other. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (rising, in a rage) Leave off! Something has only 
 gone the wrong way. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (lowering his voice) Listen ! Between ourselves, I 
 may as well warn you that Madame Fiquet has had 
 a promise from her uncle. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 A promise ? Does Rabourdin make promises to 
 all the world, then ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 Damme, he gets himself petted ; he's quite right. 
 The house will go to the kindest, to the most loving 
 one. Be loving, Chapuzot. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 You're making fun of me ! You don't suppose I 
 am going to stir soups or gather strawberries, do 
 you ? Ah no, doctor ; I have too much self-respect 
 for that. [Changing his tone little by little) The 
 
28 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 fact is that I have never been able to endure the sight 
 of suffering. Rabourdin would have been dead by 
 now, but for me. Look, the table is not even laid ! 
 There's no salt, no pepper, no bread, no napkin. 
 (He removes Madame Fiquefs basket, and finishes 
 laying the cloth.) 
 
 Mourgue. 
 {aside, laughing) Upon my honour, they're all 
 equally funny ! (Sits down on chair l.) I shan't 
 stir a foot. I have a formal promise from Rabourdin. 
 They won't catch me performing menial offices. (He 
 observes Charlotte coming in, and taking one of the 
 cushions from the sofa ; he rises and snatches it from 
 her hands.) Give that here, that is the doctor's duty. 
 You always put it too low down. (He arranges the 
 cushions in the arm-chair.) There, that will be 
 comfortable. (At this moment, Rabourdin appears at 
 the door l, bent and broken like a dying man. Mourgue 
 pats the cushion. Chapuzot cuts bread. 'The other 
 characters enter as follows : Madame Fiquet, r, carry- 
 ing a basin of soup ; Madame Vaussard, c, with a 
 plate of strawberries ; Eugenie and Ledoux, also c, 
 with nosegays.) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHARLOTTE, MOURGUE, EUGENIE, 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, LEDOUX, CHAPUZOT, 
 MADAME FIQUET. 
 
 All. 
 
 Ah ! here he is ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard and Madame Fiquet. 
 Our dear uncle ! 
 
sc. 8.] Rabourdin. 29 
 
 Chapuzot and Mourgue. 
 Our dear old friend ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Thank you, thank you, my children. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 {goes to bring him in) There, come and sit down. I 
 have arranged the cushions, you will be as comfort- 
 able as though you were in bed. [Presses him into 
 the arm-chair) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {coming nearer ', to the r of the table) And you will 
 eat your gruel, won't you ? semolina with milk and 
 sugar — a real dainty. I made it for you myself. 
 {She puts the gruel on the table.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {coming near, to l of the table) There, I picked them 
 for you. They are delicious. {She places the straw- 
 berries on the table.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {coming near> facing the table) I have been cutting 
 you some bread, the crust, from the brown end. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Thank you, thank you, my children. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 
 {coming down stage with Ledoux, while Madame 
 Vaussard and Madame Fiquet stand a little aside) 
 Will you allow us to offer you these flowers ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {standing up) Oh, flowers ! (Jitters a cry of pain) 
 Ah ! My back aches ! 
 
jo The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 (rushing up> pushing Eugenie and Ledoux aside) 
 You tire him. {To Rabourdin) I am holding the 
 cushions, do not be afraid. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (supporting him on the left) Lean on my arm. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 [supporting him on the right) Gently, gently. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (who has gone up behind the chair) Lower him very 
 slowly, don't shake him. That's right. {Rabourdin 
 sits down.) 
 
 All. 
 Ah, there he is ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet and Madame Vaussard. 
 Our dear uncle ! 
 
 Chapuzot and Mourgue. 
 Our dear old friend ! {Eugenie and Ledoux return 
 slyly to the garden, Madame Vaussard hands the 
 bouquets to Charlotte^ who goes and places them on the 
 stove y and goes out afterwards by door r.) 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, MOURGUE, RABOURDIN, 
 MADAME FIQUET, CHAPUZOT. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (seated) I breathe again. My legs feel so heavy. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Upon my soul, we look very ill this morning. 
 (Takes his pulse.) 
 
sc. 9.] Rabourdin. 31 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Don't I, doctor ? Very ill indeed. I have spent 
 a horrid night. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 The pulse says nothing. Let us see the tongue. 
 The tongue says nothing either. I don't like this 
 absence of symptoms. That is always very serious. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Is it not, doctor ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 I will write you a little prescription. (Goes up 
 stage and writes the -prescription on the occasional table 
 near the stove.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {standing near Rabourdin) Pooh ! our uncle will live 
 another hundred years. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {sitting on the *ofa) A hundred years is a long time. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 {sitting on chair l) The Rabourdins have their lives 
 screwed in to their bodies. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (getting angry , and rising) What ? what nonsense ! 
 He knows how ill he is as well as you do. Don't 
 you, Rabourdin ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (in a voice of suffering) Yes, yes, my friend. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 And then he is always laid up, always doctoring 
 himself. I think there is something the matter with 
 his blood. 
 
32 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (nervously) My friend, my dear friend 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 I am not saying this to frighten you. But there, 
 you're not a strong man. The least thing might 
 carry you off. You know what you're in for, 
 damme ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 [growing angry) I beg your pardon, Chapuzot, I 
 am not dead yet. You're unendurable ! {Chapuzot 
 returns to the sofa, and sits down again.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Why, our uncle is in wonderful health. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 He will outlive us all yet. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (resuming his suffering voice) No no ; Chapuzot is 
 right, I am very weak. Ah, my poor children, you 
 will not have me among you long. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 {who has finished writing his prescription^ coming down 
 stage) There. You must take a table-spoonful of 
 the mixture once an hour ; then, after each meal, 
 one of the powders ; three of the pills every morning; 
 and besides, an alkali bath every other day. If the 
 pain grows worse, send for me this afternoon. (Goes 
 and fetches his hat near the door.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (raising his voice) Doctor, I may eat, may I not ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (returning) A little, my friend, a very little. Good- 
 
sc. 10.] Rabourdin. 33 
 
 bye. (He goes out. Madame Vaussard brings her 
 chair up to the table, and begins picking the straw- 
 berries. Madame Fiquet ties the napkin round Rabour- 
 din 's neck. Chapuzot remains seated on the sofa.) 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, RABOURDIN, MADAME 
 FIQUET, CHAPUZOT, later CHARLOTTE, 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 The gruel will get cold. Come, uncle, make an 
 effort. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 He would do better not to eat. Eh, my poor 
 Rabourdin, you have not much appetite to-day ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Ugh! Ugh! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Only just a spoonful, to please us. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {rising) Ah no ; leave him alone, if he's not hungry. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 And yet 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 His bed is what he wants, that is evident. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Excuse me ! I'm not hungry. Only I seem to 
 have — a sort of hollow feeling in my inside. [Chapu- 
 zot sits down.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Yes, yes, make an effort. Eat what you can. 
 
 3 
 
34 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (eating) Just a little, just a little. It's all over, 
 this time. Soon I shan't put you out any more, 
 I shall make room for you. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Oh, uncle, how can you talk like that? (Pours 
 him out some wine.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (eating gluttonously) No, don't make a mistake. I 
 feel I am sinking fast. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (rushing up to take away the basin from him) Rabour- 
 din, you will do yourself harm. I have been watching 
 you. (Rabourdin pushes him aside, and drinks up the 
 remainder of the gruel.) Just look, he has emptied 
 the basin. (He returns to his seat.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 That is because he thought my gruel good. 
 There's not a drop left. Now, drink up your glass 
 of wine, and I will call Charlotte to clear away. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (rising up quickly, holding the plate of strawberries) 
 Ah, excuse me, I want my uncle to taste my straw- 
 berries. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (bitterly) But he can't choke himself in order to 
 please you. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (growing angry) I let him stuff himself with your 
 gruel, did I not ? It is very indigestible, that mess ! 
 
sc* 10.] Rabourdin. 35 
 
 You're going to eat my strawberries, are you not, 
 uncle ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 [pushing at the plate) We shall see. I will not 
 allow him to be forced to upset himself. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Lisbeth, Olympe ! I beg of you. (Madame 
 Vaussard places the strawberries before him.) I 
 thought that before the strawberries 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Before the strawberries 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Yes, Charlotte had promised me 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 What ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 A little cutlet. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 A cutlet ! But he'll have indigestion ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Oh, quite a little one, only the lean, just to nibble 
 at. I have that hollow feeling in my inside, you 
 know ; not the least hunger, but a horrid hollow 
 feeling. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {entering r with the cutlet) Godfather, here is your 
 cutlet, nice and underdone. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Come along, child. Another piece of bread, 
 Chapuzot. 
 
36 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {taking up the bread, which he has rested on end 
 against the sofa, and cutting off an enormous chunk. 
 Aside) There, if that does not choke him ! {Sits 
 down again.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {passing the piece of bread to Rabourdin) And now, 
 godfather, shall I fry you a couple of eggs ? 
 
 All. 
 Ah, no, no ! what an idea ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Eh ? And yet, fried eggs ; not too well done, 
 with a little pepper ; that's light, that's easily digested. 
 
 All. 
 
 {strenuously) No ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {resigning himself) Well then, no, Charlotte. They 
 love me, they feel that I could never get them down. 
 {Falls to at his cutlet?) I should never be able to 
 get them down. I am so weak, so weak ! {Charlotte 
 goes out c. Madame Vaussard goes and sits down on 
 the chair l. Madame Fiquet sits on the chair by the 
 sofa.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {aside) That will finish him off. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 It comes from seeing you there, my children. I 
 forget my pain, in talking ; I eat without thinking 
 about it. Did not Eugenie come this morning ? I 
 thought I had seen her. 
 
sc. 10.] Rabourdin. 37 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (surprised) What ! Eugenie ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Your daughter. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (rising) Ah yes, my daughter. She was here just 
 now. Where can she have got to? (Goes up stage) 
 
 Minette ! Minette ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (grinning) Minette went back to the arbour long 
 ago with Monsieur Ledoux. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Let her be, Lisbeth. (Madame Fiquet comes back 
 and leans on his chair,) I am glad that the little 
 pet comes and gets herself courted in my garden ! 
 Ah! family, family! One is only happy in one's 
 family ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (entering r) Godfather, there is a young man who 
 is asking for you. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Do you know him ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 I have never seen him before. He has a basket 
 with him. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 A basket ? Let him come in. (Charlotte beckons 
 to Dominique, who enters r and walks straight up to 
 Rabourdin, with outstretched hand. Charlotte crosses 
 up stage, and comes down l, laughing and waiting?) 
 
38 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 THE FORMER, DOMINIQUE. 
 
 Dominique. 
 Good morning, uncle. (Madame Vaussard springs 
 up and runs towards her uncle, whom Madame Fiquet 
 covers with her body. Chapuzot rises also, very 
 anxiously.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (surprised) Eh ? (Letting him take his hand) 
 Good-morning, my boy. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (pushing Dominique aside) You are at Monsieur 
 Rabourdins. 
 
 Dominique. 
 (putting down his basket by the footlights) I should 
 think I was ! At my uncle Rabourdin's, one of the 
 worthiest men in Senlis. (Pushing Madame Fiquet 
 aside in turn) And are you in good health, uncle ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (still surprised, and hesitating) I'm very well indeed, 
 my boy. I mean to say, I'm so-so — very so-so. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (bending forward, lowering her voice) It's some 
 adventurer ! Do you know him ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (lowering his voice) Not precisely. I am trying 
 to recollect his face. 
 
 Dominique. 
 I am Dominique, the son of Long Lucas. 
 
sc. ii.] Rabourdin. 39 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Dominique — Long Lucas. Yes ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 You know, Long Lucas, of the farm, at Pressac. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 The farm — at Pressac. Yes, yes. 
 
 Dominique. 
 And I am going to Paris to buy seeds. And so 
 my father said to me, cc Go and say good-day to your 
 uncle Rabourdin, as you pass through Senlis. You 
 shall take him a pair of ducks." Wait a moment, 
 the ducks are in my basket. (He takes out the ducks, 
 and puts them on the table) They're fine, fat ducks, 
 uncle. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (striking his forehead) Why, of course, Long Lucas, 
 of the farm at Pressac, he married — he married 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 Mathurine Taillandier, the daughter of Jerome 
 Bonnardel. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 That's it ! (He rises and shakes hands with Domi- 
 nique. Charlotte stifles a laugh, and goes out c) 
 Ah, my nephew, how pleased I am to see you ! 
 And I said to myself, mind you, cc You have seen 
 that face before." You are the very image of one 
 of my poor aunts. And are they all flourishing 
 at the farm ? 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 Yes, thanks. And they send you their very kind 
 regards. (He takes his basket, and goes and sits down 
 on the sofa, next to Chapuzot.) 
 
40 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Consider yourself at home, make yourself com- 
 fortable. We are quite among ourselves here, all 
 relations and friends. I am never happy till my 
 house is full of people. (He sits down again at the 
 table y and resumes his sick mans voice) I have 
 much to comfort me in my last moments. Chapuzot, 
 a piece of bread, please ; I am going to eat my 
 strawberries. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {rising) With pleasure. (He cuts a huge piece of 
 bread. Aside) Choke, old fellow, choke. (Sits 
 down again.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (who has taken Madame Vaussard aside, up stage) 
 Mathurine Taillandier, Jerome Bonnardel : do you 
 know those names ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (low) Never heard them. The young man's eyes 
 glow like coals. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (low) We must watch him. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (entering c) Godfather, here is Monsieur Isaac 
 coming in through the garden. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (very anxiously) How unpleasant! We were so 
 happy, all friends together. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Here he is. (She goes out r, Isaac enters c, 
 Madame Fiquet moves away from the table.) 
 
sc. 
 
 12.] Rabourdin. 41 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, RABOURDIN, MADAME 
 FIQUET, ISAAC, CHAPUZOT, DOMINIQUE. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {while Madame Fiquet removes the napkin from his 
 neck) Ah, there's that excellent Monsieur Isaac! 
 I'm very bad, very bad, my poor Monsieur Isaac. 
 You're as strong as a Turk, you are ! 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 You're very kind. I'm pretty well, thank you. 
 I called about a little bill ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 A little bill ? 
 
 Isaac. 
 An outstanding account, two hundred and seventy- 
 two francs, for a press. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 What ! Haven't you been paid for that press yet ? 
 Really, if you did not know me 
 
 Isaac. 
 Oh, I was in no way alarmed about it, Monsieur 
 Rabourdin. We know that you're good enough. 
 I only wish you owed me a hundred times as much. 
 {Hands him the bill.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Two hundred and seventy-two francs. (He rises. 
 Madame Vaussard has gone up stage and is sitting 
 before the occasional table> turning over the leaves of 
 an album. Madame Fiquet is finishing her clearing 
 
42 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 away, Chapuzot is talking to Dominique.) I don't 
 know if I have any change. [He feels in his pockets , 
 and goes towards the safe.) I felt sure I had taken 
 the key of the safe from under my pillow. (Getting 
 angry) It must be that scatterbrain of a Charlotte ! 
 I never know where to find anything in this house. 
 (Calling out) Charlotte ! Charlotte ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (coming nearer to him, stretching out her hand to feel 
 in his waistcoat pocket) Perhaps the key is in your 
 waistcoat pocket. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (folding his dressing-gown closely about him) Ah, 
 no, I remember. It must have dropped out of my 
 pocket yesterday, and I fear they will have swept 
 it away, and thrown it into the street. (Calling) 
 Charlotte ! Charlotte ! ( Fumbling on his person 
 again) Dear me, dear me, how annoying ! (To 
 Isaac) Are you in a hurry? Because otherwise I 
 could send it you this afternoon. 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 I have plenty of time. (The heirs, scenting a loan, 
 turn their backs on Rabourdin. Madame Fiquet, who 
 has carried the table behind the sofa, goes back to before 
 the sideboard. Madame Vaussard puts the flowers 
 into vases on the stove. Chapuzot continues to talk 
 with Dominique \ side by side on the sofa.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 That's right. That's right! When one can't 
 find a thing, you know, one loses one's head. (Con- 
 sidering) Not the slightest recollection. Everything 
 seems muddled. Hang it all. Chapuzot ! 
 
sc. 12.] Rabourdin. 43 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {turning round regretfully) What is it, my friend ? 
 Rabourdin. 
 You don't happen to have so much as that on 
 you, I suppose ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 No. (Looking into his purse) I have thirty-seven 
 sous. I never carry any money. It's only in the 
 way. {Resumes his conversation with Dominique.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 You're very wise. I just asked you on chance, 
 to have done with it. Pray sit down, Monsieur 
 Isaac. I may be some time. 
 
 Isaac. 
 Thank you. Don't mind about me. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 We must try and find the money, damme I 
 Thirty-seven sous, you said, Chapuzot ? {Chapuzot 
 puts up his back without turning round.) It's not 
 thirty-seven francs ? No : so much the worse. My 
 dear Olympe, have you a few louis on you ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 {coming down stage looking vexed) No, uncle, not so 
 much as ten francs. I paid my dressmaker on my 
 way here, and I have next to nothing left. {Returns 
 up stage.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Two hundred and seventy-two francs. We shall 
 never get it together. And you, Lisbeth ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {coming down stage with her basket) Wait. I was 
 
44 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 just looking to see. Sometimes I have a little money 
 hanging about. Money always drops down to the 
 bottom, among the crumbs. No, there are only 
 three four-sou pieces and a few centimes that the 
 baker gave me in change. {Returns up stage.) 
 
 Isaac. 
 {coming forward) I am bound to tell you that I 
 have a small payment to make this morning. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 A small payment ! I know what that means, 
 a small payment! I simply must find that key. 
 Dear, oh dear, oh dear ! {Goes up stage, holding his 
 head in his hands.) 
 
 Dominique. 
 {aside) I feel sorry for the old boy ! {Aloud > rising 
 from the sofa) It is two hundred and seventy-two 
 francs, you say, uncle ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {surprised) Yes, my boy. 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 (handing him three bank-notes) Here are three 
 hundred francs. {All the heirs come down stage, 
 thunderstruck^) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {holding the notes in his hand) Ah, my dear nephew ! 
 my worthy nephew ! He has three hundred francs, 
 at his age ! I call that fine, that's very fine ! That 
 makes older people look small. Embrace me, my 
 boy ! You're a true Rabourdin ! Take it out of 
 that, Monsieur Isaac. 
 
sc. 12.] Rabourdin. 45 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (jabbering, in an undertone) What fools young men 
 are ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (to Madame Fiquet, low) I don't like that lad ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (low) Some scamp or other. 
 
 Isaac. 
 Hee, hee ! ready money makes ready friends. 
 There are your twenty-eight francs, Monsieur 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Thanks, thanks. (He presses the hand which 
 Dominique holds out for the change^ and puts the 
 money in his pocket.) We'll settle that, my boy. I 
 remember things in my heart. My family, that's 
 my life. [Growing affectionate) My poor children, 
 it shall all be repaid you at my death. ('The heirs, 
 who have come up to him^ lower their heads y and go 
 back.) 
 
 Isaac. 
 It was not for that trifle I came. I wanted to 
 show you some clocks. You said you wanted one 
 for your bedroom. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 A mere fancy. 
 
 Isaac. 
 (handing him some photographs): I have some 
 photographs here. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Let's see. {Holding the photographs) Yes, indeed.. 
 
46 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 those are handsome clocks. We might go and have 
 a look at the chimney-piece. Come, all of you, and 
 give me your opinion. (He goes out on Dominique s 
 arm. All follow him. As Isaac is about to go into 
 the bedroom, he is held back by Madame Vaussard.) 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, ISAAC. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (holding Isaac back) I beg your pardon, Monsieur 
 Isaac. Are you still as hard-hearted as yesterday? 
 You can't refuse to renew those bills for me. 
 
 Isaac. 
 I am very sorry, really. But you have already 
 renewed them five times. Why don't you get your 
 uncle to pay me, as he is so fond of you ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {quickly) Not a word of this to my uncle ! (In a 
 tone of conviction) The reason I spoke to you again 
 about these bills is that I thought that after having 
 seen my poor uncle 
 
 Isaac. 
 Hee, hee ! he's full of life still. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Pooh! full of life! 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 Bless my soul, if I felt certain about it, I would 
 
 not mind renewing once more. I would even let 
 
 you have the three thousand francs you asked me 
 
 for yesterday. You know I am not a hard man. 
 
sc. 14.] Rabourdin. 47 
 
 {Crossing l) Only, as far as Daddy Rabourdin is 
 concerned — hee, hee ! — I think you will have to kill 
 him with kindness, as the saying goes. He is a 
 sturdy patient. {Rabourdin cries off: " Monsieur Isaac I 
 Monsieur Isaac ! ") Excuse me, he is calling me. (He 
 goes out l.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {following him) What a wretch, that Isaac ! To 
 wait like that for an old man's last breath. 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 
 MADAME FIOUET, LEDOUX. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {behind) Stay in the arbour, Minette ! {Enters, 
 pushing Ledoux in before her.) There is no reason 
 why the poor darling should hear. {To Ledoux) 
 Yes, my cousin was letting you kiss her hand. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 I assure you, Madame 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 You're a fool, see how you're blushing now! I 
 am talking about this solely from the point of view 
 of our arrangements. Yes or no, are you still 
 willing to marry my daughter Eugenie? 
 
 Ledoux. 
 I love Mademoiselle Eugenie, and if the hopes that 
 you have held out to me are realised 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Oh, not so many fine phrases. I will give Eugenie 
 a hundred thousand francs to her dowry. Besides, 
 
48 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 if you are both of you very good, I will leave you 
 the house. You would be comfortable here. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 I will take the liberty of observing to you, 
 Madame, that we have not got so far yet. Monsieur 
 Rabourdin 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 He is as bad as he can be, my dear. And for the 
 rest, my poor Minette can't wait any longer, or her 
 uncle will understand. There are two matches 
 already he has made her lose, and she is not far short 
 of twenty-two. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 However, I think it would be as well to wait. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 The marriage shall take place in September, at 
 the latest. You must see if that suits you. We are 
 worth, at least, a hundred thousand francs. Every 
 marrying man in Senlis knows that. Oh, break it 
 off, if you like. It's we who shall be the winners, 
 Monsieur. {Going up stage, and pointing to her 
 basket) I have memoranda there of a few husbands ; 
 one has eighty thousand francs, another two hundred 
 and twenty thousand, another two hundred thousand. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 No, stop, stop ! Til marry her. The thing is 
 settled. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 You'll marry her. The thing is settled. Shake 
 hands on it. You can go back to Eugenie in the 
 arbour. {Ledoux goes out, c.) Dear, oh dear, what 
 
sc. 15.] Rabourdin. 49 
 
 a trouble those children are to me ! {She sits down 
 on the sofa.) 
 
 SCENE XV. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHAPUZOT, MADAME FIQUET, 
 
 Dominique ; later isaac and madame 
 
 VAUSSARD. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {entering l with Chapuzot y still examining the photo- 
 graphs^ while Dominique crosses and comes down stage 
 r) I think the Empire clock is a little too large. 
 What do you say, Chapuzot ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 H'm, yes, I should prefer to have the Louis Seize 
 clock on my mantelshelf. Take the Louis Seize 
 clock, Rabourdin. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {rising) No, indeed ! I say the Louis Quinze 
 clock ! A beautiful ornament for a bride's bed- 
 room, if ever you want to make a present to one of 
 your grandnieces. ( Goes up stage r, and puts on her 
 bonnet and shawl.) 
 
 Isaac. 
 {entering with Madame Vaussard, who stays up stage 
 l, -putting on her hat) The Louis Quinze style is 
 the dearest. Twelve hundred francs. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Good heavens ! {Gives back the photographs to 
 Isaac.) Twelve hundred francs ! If I were to 
 commit such an extravagance, I should think I 
 was ruining my heirs. 
 
 4 
 
50 The Heirs of [act i. 
 
 Madame Fiquet and Madame Vaussard. 
 Oh, uncle ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {reaching the door with Isaac) And is your lowest 
 price really twelve hundred francs ? (They go into 
 the garden.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (near the door, low) He is madly anxious to have it. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (low) No, no, he would become too exacting ! We 
 must swear to one another not to run and buy it 
 for him when we leave this. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (low) Let us swear : I am willing. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (low) Oh, there is no need for me to swear. Be- 
 ware of the little nephew. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (from the garden) Are you coming, my children ? 
 (They all three go out. Just as Dominique is about to 
 follow them, he is stored by Charlotte, who enters r.) 
 
 SCENE XVI. 
 
 DOMINIQUE, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Good-day, uncle ! Good-day, nephew ! Eh ? 
 What did I tell you ? You were very comical, 
 both of you. 
 
 Dominique. 
 Ah, I like your godfather. The poor old man 
 appears to be so innocently preyed upon by those 
 
sc. 16.] Rabourdin. 51 
 
 people. He was very embarrassed just now, when 
 that Isaac came. He had lost the key of his safe. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Oh, he had lost the key of his safe, had he ? 
 
 Dominique. 
 You should have seen the faces of the others ! 
 They had not a sou amongst them. So then I 
 played the swell, and brought out my three hundred 
 francs. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You lent my godfather three hundred francs ? 
 
 Dominique. 
 Yes. He said he would settle it with me. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (bursting out) Ah! no, no, godfather! I won't 
 allow that ! (To Dominique) And you, too, you're 
 a fool ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 But since he had lost the key of his safe ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 The key, the key ! Hold your tongue ! Look 
 here, this is more than I can stand. 
 
 Dominique. 
 He will pay me back my money. I am quite 
 sure of that. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You have been robbed. There — now do you under- 
 stand ? It was my fault, I ought to have explained 
 to you at once. But he will have to find you those 
 three hundred francs, as sure as I'm born ! And I 
 
52 The Heirs of Rabourdin. [act i. 
 
 want my dowry, my three thousand francs, this very 
 evening ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 Hush ! Not before the people. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {behind) No, certainly not, Monsieur Isaac : you 
 must not reckon on me. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {who has gone to fetch him, and who drags him in 
 violently by his wrist across the stage towards his 
 bedroom) And now a word with you, godfather ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
Act II. 
 
 Rabourdin s bedroom. At the back is a door 
 leading into the dining-room ; L of the door is a 
 cupboard; r a bed hung with curtains, lue 
 is a window looking into the garden, l down 
 stage is a door, r down stage is a chimneypiece 
 decorated only with two candlesticks. There is 
 the usual bedroom furniture, a night-table at the 
 head of the bed, etc. Down stage l is an arm- 
 chair, by the side of an occasional table ; r 
 another arm-chair. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 {Charlotte opening the door c and dragging Rabourdin 
 in violently by his wrist.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Are you not ashamed, godfather, to take that poor 
 boy's three hundred francs ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Could I know ? Put yourself in my place. He 
 walks in, he says, " Good day, uncle." Naturally I 
 concluded that he was my nephew. 
 
54 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 And you accepted the three hundred francs ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Well, since he was my nephew. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You even kept the change. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Of course, since he was my nephew ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 But you knew all the time that you would never 
 pay him that money back. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 But, since he was my nephew ! That will teach 
 him to deceive people ! You exposed your lover to 
 all sorts of unpleasantnesses. Why, good gracious, 
 I might have asked him for the clock. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Don't let us lose our tempers. . . . You must at 
 least give me my dowry. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (nervously) Your dowry ? Do you want your 
 dowry ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Of course, to get married with. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 To get married with. Yes, yes, I see. My dear 
 child, marriage is a very serious thing. You should 
 reflect. You are too young, you know. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 I'm twenty. 
 
sc. i.] Rabourdin. 55 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 How quickly little girls grow up ! Twenty years 
 old already ! Besides, between ourselves, I don't 
 like your intended. He looks a rake. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Why, you thought him charming just now. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Pooh, charming. I am always prejudiced, you 
 know, in my nephews' favour. But so soon as it 
 concerns you, and your happiness There is some- 
 thing in his look that I distrust. He would make 
 you unhappy. {Goes and sits down on the arm- 
 chair r.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 I, unhappy with Dominique ! Look here, god- 
 father, don't make fun of me ! I want my dowry. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Very well, I will give it you — the day you're 
 married. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 I want my dowry at once. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {pretending to laugh) At once, do you hear that ? 
 Ah, no, mademoiselle, you can't have it at once. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Godfather 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (rising and crossing l) You are absurd ! You are 
 so impulsive about all you do. Damme ! you can't 
 take back your money like that. I don't know what 
 
56 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 I'm about — and suppose I had got rid of your 
 money ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Godfather ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {pretending to cry) They have taken everything 
 from me, my poor Charlotte ; they have stripped me 
 bare, my scoundrelly heirs ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {shaking him) My dowry, my dowry ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 It was they, I swear to you. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 That money was sacred, was it not ? You would 
 rather have dug the earth, you said, with your finger- 
 nails. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Yes, yes, dug the earth. Oh, the rogues ! (Sits 
 down in the arm-chair l.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 So that is over, we have not a sou left. Dominique's 
 three hundred francs juggled away ! My aunt's 
 three thousand francs flown away ! And you think 
 I am going to accept that quietly ? No, indeed, I 
 would rouse all Senlis first. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 You would be quite justified. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 I did not ruin you : I am not one of your nieces, 
 that you should revenge yourself on me by taking 
 my three thousand francs. {Going to door c and 
 
sc. 2.] Rabourdin. 57 
 
 calling out) Dominique ! {Dominique enters.) And 
 we thought of taking the mill. All our dreams were 
 bound up in that money. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHARLOTTE, DOMINIQUE. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {rising) There, there, my children, don't be so 
 distressed. Money does not make happiness. What 
 a couple of cherubims you will make ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {to Dominique) Do you hear that ? Pah ! I had 
 guessed it. Not a sou. (To Rabourdin) And now, 
 godfather, I want to know everything. 
 
 Dominique. 
 Speak to him gently. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Yes, she is bullying me. When any one bullies 
 me, I always lose my head. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No joking, please. To whom did you give my 
 three thousand francs ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 To whom ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Yes, to which niece — to which nephew? Out of 
 whose pocket am I to go and get it, that's what I 
 want to know ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah, if I could remember that. 
 
58 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Old Chapuzot, may be ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Yes, may be. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 That old nanny-goat of a Madame Fiquet ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Possibly. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Or that shrew of a Madame Vaussard ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Well, well, I couldn't swear to it. {Crosses ', and 
 goes up stage.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 But tell me plainly, yes or no ! (To Dominique) 
 Do you see how he tries my patience ? 
 
 Dominique. 
 You are getting excited, you will do yourself harm. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 ^coming down stage) Well, I don't know : how can 
 I know ? Five francs to one, five to the other, I 
 suppose. The money went, without my guessing 
 where it went to ! They had all combined to borrow 
 from me, to suck me dry, to rob me. What I 
 do know is, that they have drained me to my last 
 farthing. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 There ! That pays us back, does it not ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 If I had your three thousand francs, I would give 
 ihem back to you at once. I have never had any- 
 
sc. 2.] Rabourdin. 59 
 
 thing for myself. You will have this money sooner 
 or later. {Growing touching) All will be found there 
 after my death. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Ah, no, that game won't do with me ! I know 
 what will be found. So this money went amongst 
 the lot of them ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 My poor children ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Weil, then, the lot of them will have to pay. As 
 sure as I'm born, they shall disgorge, or my name is 
 not Charlotte. {Pushing Rabourdin violently into the 
 arm-chair l) You — to begin with — just lie down 
 in that chair, and don't move from it. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Don't push me about. Why may I not move ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (To Dominique) You next, you run to the friends, 
 the nephews, the nieces, and send them to me at 
 once. Tell them that Uncle Rabourdin is dying. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (frightened) Dying ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Yes, dying ! Tell them that he is spitting blood, 
 that he is delirious, that he can't hear nor see. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 But no ! No ! I want to know 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Oh, no explanations, do you hear? You will 
 
60 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 just give up the ghost, that is what you ha^ve to do. 
 (To T>ominique) You understand ? 
 
 Dominique. 
 Yes, I wish you luck. (Goes towards the door c.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No, go that way. (Pointing to the door l) And 
 don't forget anybody, I want them all. 
 
 Dominique. 
 They shall be here within a quarter of an hour. 
 (Goes out by door r.) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {suiting the action to the word) And now to arrange 
 the room. It wants a little disorder. The bed- 
 clothes turned down, and dragging on the ground. 
 Clothes thrown about anyhow. Ah, a chair upset 
 near the door. That looks very well. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (who has been watching these preparations^ beseeching 
 her) If you would only tell me ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Presently. I am first going to light the fire. 
 (She lays and lights the fire.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Fire, in June ! But I am too warm as it is, I 
 shall be suffocated. You will make me ill. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 That's all right. 
 
sc. 3.] Rabourdin. 61 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 What do you mean, that's all right? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 If you could have a nice fever, it would help us 
 along splendidly. There now, let us see to the 
 linseed tea. (She takes a saucepan from the hearth^ 
 and puts it on the fire.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (rising) I won't drink any linseed tea. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Leave off, you will drink it. (Goes and looks on 
 the night-table.) What is this? Dandelion, the 
 very thing ! (She empties the packet of dandelion into 
 the saucepan). 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 No, no — no dandelion ! It's ridiculous, to take 
 dandelion when one has eaten a good breakfast ! It 
 will swamp my inside. Besides, I am not going to 
 drink it, in any case. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You shall drink it, I tell you ! (Looking about 
 her) The room wants something more. There 
 should be bottles, draughts, powders. Wait, I put 
 the doctor's prescription in the drawer here. (She 
 takes the prescription from the drawer of the night - 
 table.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 You shall not go to the chemist. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Certainly, I don't want to go. You have always 
 a heap of filth in your cupboard. The first 
 
62 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 medicine that comes to hand will do. (She goes to 
 the cupboard l, climbs on a chair, and consults the 
 prescription) Let us see. A mixture ! Here is one. 
 Powders ! Here are a dozen untouched among your 
 pocket-handkerchiefs. Pills ! Where on earth do 
 you keep your pills ? Ah, I see a box under your 
 vests. (She springs off the chair.) And a bath ! 
 What a pity we haven't a bath. (She places the 
 medicines on the occasional table) In the meanwhile, 
 you must take all this. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (coming nearer) I ! Never ! Do you mean to 
 poison me ? Medicines that you pick up in a 
 cupboard ! (He crosses l.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 They are none the worse for that. You began 
 them ; you can very well finish them, I should 
 imagine. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 No, I protest. You are abusing the situation. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (pushing him back into the arm-chair) Will you sit 
 down again ! And now, your shirt collar must look 
 a little crumpled. That's it ! I am going to fetch 
 you the quilt from your bed. (She goes and fetches 
 the quilt.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 But I am suffocating, I tell you, I am suffocating ! 
 I shall have an apoplectic stroke, I know. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (returning) I can't help that, the quilt is essential. 
 
sc. 3.] Rabourdin. 63 
 
 (She wraps him up.) There, now, lie out straight. 
 [Kneeling before him) Don't you care to get back 
 your money, to make your heirs keep you ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Yes, yes ! The rogues, I will take the last shirt 
 off their backs. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Well, then, I will begin by making them give youi 
 that clock that you so long to have. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Really, shall I have the clock ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You have only to die properly, I will look after 
 the rest. The clock, the money — I want everything. 
 I mean to make your nieces remember me a long 
 time. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah, spare my heirs ! Don't skin them. I leave 
 them in your hands. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Don't be afraid ! Put back your head a little, half 
 open your lips, shut your eyes, pretend you can 
 neither see nor hear. Very good, very good ! 
 [Stepping back and examining him) Oh, what a 
 fine dying man you make ! You look beautifully 
 ugly, godfather. Take care ! (Goes to the window, .) 
 It's Chapuzot. 
 
 Rabourdin.. 
 The scamp ! Won't he be pleased ! 
 
64 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHARLOTTE, CHAPUZOT. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {stopping Chapuzot, and throwing herself into his 
 arms) Oh dear, monsieur, it's ail over ; hee, hee, 
 hee ! {She weeps.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Calm yourself, my child ! You see I am calm ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {stopping him again) I was all alone, I was terribly 
 frightened. I had to carry him here, and arrange 
 him. And he has been there for half-an-hour — hee, 
 hee, hee ! {She weeps.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {ridding himself of her, and going to look at Rabourdin) 
 Eh ! He is still breathing ! {Leading Charlotte r, 
 lowering his voice) Well, and how did it happen ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 It took him suddenly, after breakfast. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Yes, he ate like a wolf — huge chunks of bread. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Then he turned quite pale. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Good ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You could see the whites of his eyes. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Good ! 
 
sc. 4.] Rabourdin. 65 
 
 Charlotte. 
 His cheeks turned cold, his tongue hung out. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Good, good ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 And he looked like a drowned cat, saving your 
 presence. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Very good ! But did he not bring up blood ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Blood, good heaven ! I thought he would not 
 have a drop of blood left in him. He is not able 
 to move his little finger 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Capital ! (After a glance at Rabourdin) And his 
 voice ? How was his voice . p Very weak, was it not ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Alas, my dear monsieur, he never spoke again ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {delighted, very loudly) Is that so ? {Lowering his 
 
 voice) My voice is so loud, do you think I disturb 
 
 him? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No, pray don't mind, he has lost his hearing and 
 his eyesight. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {approaching Rabourdin) He can't hear, he can't 
 see ! Ah, the worthy man, the excellent man ! 
 {Returning to Charlotte) And my ears are so acute, 
 my sight so sharp ! Hee, hee ! And nevertheless I 
 am his elder ! 
 
 5 
 
66 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Don't compare yourself to my godfather. You 
 could bury ten such as he. Eighty years old, what 
 is that ? It's when one is sixty that the serious 
 illnesses show themselves, and that they carry you off. 
 {She crosses and places herself between Rabourdin and 
 Chapuzot.) Look at him in his arm-chair, and look 
 at you, how straight you hold yourself, how firmly 
 you stand, how your whole body glows with health 
 and vigour ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 You are right, my girl, I am in fine health. It is 
 good to be well and strong ! That old Rabourdin ! 
 How foolish of him to allow himself to drop so low ! 
 {Lowering his voice) This time, after such symptoms 
 
 as those, I fear 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Say rather that it is quite certain. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Eh ? We need not fear to give ourselves up to 
 our grief ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No, we need not fear. Ah me ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {coming up to Rabourdin and examining him) His 
 eyes are dead, he has not a drop of blood. {Moving 
 away, with his back turned, shivering) He is cold 
 already. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (between his teeth) You rascal of a Chapuzot ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {turning round, alarmed) Eh, didn't he speak ? 
 
sc. 4.] Rabourdin. 67 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {bringing him quickly before the footlights) Monsieur, 
 we never found that wretched key ; I am embarrassed 
 for the small expenses. Besides, I should not dare 
 to open the safe. The money is yours now. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {radiant) Mine ! That's true, the money is mine ! 
 You dear girl ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 So I thought, instead of forcing the safe 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {violently) I wont have my safe touched ! {In a 
 hesitating voice, and going up stage, towards the 
 door c) I will give you something, if necessary. 
 Put the bills on one side, I will pay them ; yes, I will 
 pay them — later on. {Coming down stage again, and 
 taking Charlotte aside) Do you think he will last 
 till to-night ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {between his teeth) You scoundrelly Chapuzot ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {turning round, terrified) I will swear he moved. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No, no, it was the quilt that slipped down. 
 {Raising the quilt, low to Rabourdin) Keep quiet, 
 will you? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {low) I'll fly at his throat, if you don't turn him 
 out! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 What is he saying to you ? 
 
68 The Heirs of [act ii„ 
 
 Charlotte. 
 He is not saying anything, my dear monsieur. It's 
 the death-rattle in his throat, poor man. (Returning) 
 I was going to beg you, therefore, to lend me a few 
 hundred francs. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {making for the door) No, no, don't let us talk of 
 money, I feel too sad ; I am going to run for the 
 doctor, so that he may reassure us. Later on, later 
 on. (He gets away, pursued by Charlotte,) 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (bounding up and opening wide the door which Charlotte 
 has just closed) Ah, you beast ! you beggar ! you 
 blackguard ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (closing the door) Be quiet, he is still in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Let me relieve my feelings. (Re-opening the door) 
 You good-for-nothing ! you scoundrel ! you cut- 
 throat ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (closing the door again) Take care, you will spoil 
 all. There you are, as red as a peony. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (coming down stage, gravely) Have I any blood 
 under my skin : are you sure ? 
 
sc. 5.] Rabourdin. 69 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Certainly. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 And are my eyes alive ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Quite alive. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 And is my tongue in its place ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You seem well able to use it ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {shaking his fist at the door) You scum of the earth ! 
 (To Charlotte) Just touch me, to see. How do I 
 feel? Am I cold? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You are nice and warm, godfather. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (relieved, letting himself go) Ah, you do me good, 
 I breathe again. That highwayman of a Chapuzot 
 has such a self- convinced way of believing you dead 
 and buried ! I was dying under that quilt, I had 
 pains all over me. He said, " My safe," that ghoul ! 
 You will never get a sou out of that atrocious 
 carcase. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (who is looking out of the window) Yes, yes, if you 
 will only have patience. (She returns quickly, and 
 makes him sit down in the arm-chair, r.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 I won't play the dead man any more, it makes 
 me too melancholy. 
 
v/ 
 
 70 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Very well. Sigh a little, godfather. {Rabourdin 
 sighs agreeably.) That's not it, that's a young lady's 
 sigh you're making! Listen — harder, in this style. 
 {She gives a mournful sigh) A rattle, a good rattle. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, MADAME FIQUET, LEDOUX, 
 RABOURDIN, EUGENIE. 
 
 L Rabourdin. 
 {with his eyes on the door) Oh dear, oh ! how I 
 suffer ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {coming down stage quickly r , followed by the two young 
 people) So, it's true! Poor uncle! And we who 
 were just going out on business ! {She keeps the 
 centre of the stage, after having put down her basket. 
 Ledoux and Eugenie lean over the back of Rabourdin s 
 chair, one l, the other r.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah ! Oh dear ! 
 
 Eugenie. 
 Where does it pain you ? 
 
 Ledoux. 
 Is it in your chest ? Is it in your inside ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Oh! oh! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 That is how he has been answering me the last 
 half-hour. He utters nothing but that one cry. 
 You see the state the room is in. It was a terrible 
 
sc. 6.] Rabourdin. 71 
 
 attack. I thought I should go mad. I am worn 
 out. (Sits down in the arm-chair l.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Oh! oh! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 But we can't let him give over like this ! We 
 must bustle about. (To Charlotte) Have you 
 nothing made hot — bricks, poultices, linseed-tea ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 There is some linseed-tea before the fire. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Quick then. Eugenie, give a cup of linseed-tea. 
 {Eugenie takes a cup from the fireplace, and fills it with 
 linseed- tea.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Oh ! oh ! No, nothing, I am suffering too much. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 {handing the cup to her mother) Mother, it is 
 boiling hot. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 So much the better. Open your mouth, uncle. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {tightening his lips) No, I can't take it, I am 
 choking. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 He must drink it all the same. {She makes him 
 drink it in spite of himself) That is true, it was a 
 little hot. (To Rabourdin) Well, does that warm 
 you ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Oh! oh! 
 
72 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Another cupful, Eugenie. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {dismayed) I shall choke. No more linseed-tea, I 
 implore you ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Sick people all talk like that. {Going to the occa- 
 sional tabled) And his mixture ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 It is more than an hour since he took it. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Good. {Fours out the mixture into a spoon.) 
 There's a draught that does not smell nice. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {to Ledoux) Hold his head, Monsieur Ledoux. 
 {Turns to Rabourdin and shoves the spoon into his 
 mouth.) There! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 This is the time for his pills too. You can give 
 him three. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {going hack to the occasional table) Capital ! {To 
 Ledoux) Don't let go his head. {Slips the pills 
 into her hand.) There are four of them. That will 
 only do him so much the more good. {Returns to 
 Rabourdin, and makes him swallow the pills.) He 
 swallows them like an angel. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Pah ! I'm choking ! {Coughs violently.) 
 
r. 6.] Rabourdin. 73 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 The linseed-tea, the linseed-tea ! What are you 
 about, Eugenie ? 
 
 Eugenie. 
 (handing her a cup of linseed-tea) Here it is, 
 mother. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 (looking at the occasional table) There are some 
 
 powders here 
 
 Charlotte. 
 The powders are to put in the linseed-tea. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 Capital ! (Ledoux empties a powder into the cup,) 
 What a funny colour. It won't be sweet enough. 
 Look into my basket. Don't you see some sugar 
 there ? 
 
 Ledoux. 
 (going towards the night table) Two lumps, Madame 
 Fiquet. (He brings them to her.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (with a friendly smile) It is the sugar from the 
 coffee you gave us on Sunday. (She puts the two 
 lumps into the cup.) Eugenie, help Monsieur Ledoux 
 to hold him. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (struggling) I'm better, I'm quite well — let me be ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (after compelling him to drink) Ah, there's room for 
 ten more like that. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah ! Oh dear ! Ah ! Ah ! I'm killed ! (He 
 
74 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 lets his head drop. 'Then he falls asleep little by 
 little.) 
 
 Eugenie. 
 I think he has fainted. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 He has taken enough. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {rising) Yes, he seems to have had enough. His 
 fainting-fit will relieve him. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Without doubt. The linseed-tea has done him 
 an immense deal of good. You see, he has left off 
 breathing. That is what I wanted to bring about. 
 (To Eugenie and Ledoux) Look after him, my 
 children, and if he complains again, don't hesitate — 
 I linseed-tea \^{The two lovers go up stage, slowly, 
 towards the bed, without giving any further attention 
 to Rabourdin. Madame Fiquet takes Charlotte l.) 
 When he saw himself approaching so near to his 
 end, did he say nothing important to you ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 No. Only, he never ceased talking of that clock. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 The Louis Quinze clock ? And what did he say 
 about it? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 He spoke of it as though it were a friend, a real 
 person whom he would have longed to see by his 
 death-bed. It would stand there, by his bed. He 
 would watch the hands moving, he would feel less 
 alone in the world. 
 
sc. 6.] Rabourdin. 75 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Yes. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 He doted thus like a lover, madame — I tell you 
 these things because you are one of the family. It 
 is one of those intimate details 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Go on, my child. There is no passion that I do 
 not understand. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (very greatly overcome) And then, he wanted it to 
 strike his last hour. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 His last hour 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Alas, madame, his last hour ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 And will he leave his fortune to the one who 
 gives him the clock ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Clearly he will leave his fortune to the person 
 
 who Ah ! upon my word, you are sharper than 
 
 I am. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 It comes from being used to business. A word 
 is enough for me. (Calling) Monsieur Ledoux ! 
 
 Ledoux. 
 Madame. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (taking him on one side, in the centre of the stage y 
 
76 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 while Charlotte goes up towards the cupboard, and 
 Eugenie remains in front of the bed) You have that 
 money with you that you were going to invest, have 
 you not ? Lend me twelve hundred francs. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 (uneasily) But 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 It is for something that I will explain later, which 
 will make your marriage a certainty. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 
 (hesitating, looking towards Rabourdin) Then, you 
 
 think 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (pointing to Rabourdin) But, my dear, just look 
 at him. The thing is obvious, the cash is ours — 
 you must see that my daughter is able to choose for 
 herself now. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 Here are the twelve hundred francs. {Hands her 
 the money.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Good. (To Eugenie and Ledoux) My dears, 
 look after your uncle, I shall be back presently. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (stopping her, up stage, in an undertone) Are you 
 going to fetch the clock ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Not yet. I want to make sure. I will run round 
 to the doctor's. (Exit.) 
 
sc, 
 
 7.] Rabourdin. 77 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, LEDOUX, EUGENIE, RABOURDIN. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 
 How warm it is here ! 
 
 Ledoux. 
 It is stifling, Mademoiselle. Suppose we opened 
 the window. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 [crossing and going towards the window) Yes, yes. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No, I won't have a draught ! 
 
 Ledoux. 
 
 (approaching Eugenie, in an undertone) We might 
 go to the garden, Mademoiselle. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 {looking out of the window) No, I don't want to, I 
 don't want to. At last, there is Mamma going down 
 the street. Let us go into the garden, Monsieur 
 Ledoux. (They go out, smiling to one another.) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, RABOURDIN. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 They give no trouble, those lovers ! One is never 
 driven to show them the door. (Going up to Ra- 
 bourdin) Eh, godfather ? See ! he does not move. 
 Could he be dead in earnest? [Stepping back) I 
 say, no joking — we were only in fun. Answer me, 
 godfather — you know I am afraid of the dead. 
 
 
y8 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 {Rabourdin gives a great snore. She comes nearer, 
 laughing?) My word ! he has fallen asleep. He 
 is snoring like a smith's bellows. Hi, godfather ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {starting awake) Eh, what ? No linseed-tea ! 
 Look here, I am growing tired of this, I am as 
 strong as a lion. {Rises and passes l.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {laughing) My poor godfather ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah, you are alone, mischief. And you made me 
 swallow all that filth ! Bah ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {running to the window) Be quiet ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {returning r) That sleep has livened me up ; I 
 should have liked to take a little walk. 
 
 Charlotte: 
 Be quiet. {She makes him sit down again) Here 
 they are with the doctor. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, MADAME FIQUET, MOURGUE, 
 RABOURDIN, MADAME VAUSSARD. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 {running up to Rabourdin, followed by the two women) 
 How now, my dear old friend ? You were in pain, 
 and I was not there ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah, doctor ! 
 
sc. 9.] Rabourdin. 79 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Make yourself easy, I am here now, damme ! 
 Your good health is my only concern. (He takes 
 his pulse,) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 For goodness' sake, doctor, reassure us. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (gallantly) I am at the orders of the Queen of 
 Senlis. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Give us some hope. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 In a minute. (After a pause) But he is as bad 
 as can be, I fear. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Worse than ever. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Yes, very bad indeed. (To the two women) Calm 
 yourselves. (Madame Fiquet , pondering, moves away 
 l, while Madame Vaussard stays near Rabourdin?) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (coming nearer, to the doctor) Shall I tell you, 
 monsieur, what symptoms showed themselves ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 It is not necessary, my dear. So long as you took 
 care that my prescription of this morning was well 
 carried out. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Certainly, monsieur, he took them all. And it 
 was then that the crisis took place. 
 
80 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 Naturally. The remedies always shake the patient 
 up. Have you a pen and a sheet of paper ? (Char- 
 lotte takes from the occasional table a pen and a blotting- 
 book, and brings them to the doctor?) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Another prescription, doctor ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 {writing) Oh, a mere nothing. Some syrup, a few- 
 lozenges, some mineral water, some ointment, and 
 leeches. I lay stress upon the leeches — twenty-five, 
 do you hear ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {uneasily') No, no. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Twenty-five leeches ? One would say he has them 
 as it is. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (returning to Rabourdin) There, my good friend, 
 you are looking better already. There is nothing 
 that cheers a sick man like a little prescription. By 
 the way, they told me that Chapuzot was running 
 after me. I caught sight of him, on my road here, 
 going bare-headed in the sun, looking wild, laughing 
 and singing like a drunken man. His condition 
 makes me feel very uneasy. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 That good Chapuzot. It is his grief at seeing me 
 in such a bad way. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {to Rabourdin) You would do much better to go 
 to bed, uncle. 
 
sc. 10.] Rabourdin. 81 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (low, to Madame Fiquet) Madame, I believe that 
 
 nephew, that Dominique — the clock 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (low) I had * forgotten it ! And he is not here, 
 that's true ! I fly. Not a word. (Goes out by the 
 door r, so as not to be seen.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (asidi) And now for the next one. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, CHAPUZOT, MOURGUE, RABOUR- 
 DIN, MADAME VAUSSARD. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 (running towards Chapuzot, who staggers in, looking 
 wild, and muttering) Ah ! what did I say? (To 
 Charlotte) Help me, my dear. (They lead Chapuzot 
 to the arm-chair l.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 Nothing. It is nothing — the sun — ah ! that dear 
 Rabourdin ! It affected me so ! Everything seemed 
 to dance before my eyes. (Sits down.) 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Let me take you back and put you to bed. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Me ? Get out ! I have never felt so lively. Let 
 me be, close his eyes, don't mind about me. Oof! 
 the excitement, the heat of the sun ! (Faints away!) 
 
 Mourgue. 
 I expected that. Quick, some water, a wet towel. 
 (Goes up stage, looking for what he wants*) 
 
 6 
 
82 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (between his teeth) If he could just perish before 
 my eyes ! [Groaning) Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (near Rabourdin r) Good heavens, doctor, my uncle 
 is dying ! 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (going to Rabourdin) He should have a mustard 
 poultice. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (near Chapuzot l) Doctor, he does not breathe, I 
 believe he is being suffocated. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (going to Chapuzot) I will bleed him. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 But, doctor, you can't let him die like this. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (going to Rabourdin) I am at his service, fair lady- 
 Charlotte. 
 At least tell me what I am to do, doctor. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 (going to Chapuzot) This instant, my dear. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 Doctor 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Doctor 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (stopping in the centre, and wiping his forehead) 
 Spare me ! Science is powerless. I cannot save 
 more than one at a time. 
 
sc. ii.] Rabourdin. 83 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {sighing) Ah ! ah ! He so robust ! To go before 
 
 me ! {Mourgue busies himself about Rabourdin, 
 Madame Vaussard goes up towards the bed.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (recovering from his swoon) Eh! he speaks! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 You have the shivers coming on. Would you 
 like to be taken home ? {She goes up stage, watching 
 Madame Vaussard.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 No, I am very comfortable on this sofa. {Glancing 
 at Rabourdin, aside) I will wait. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {up stage, low, to Madame Vaussard) Madame, I 
 
 think Madame Fiquet — the clock 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 She has left the room, that's true ! And here am 
 I doing nothing ! {Goes out quickly c.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {aside) That one of the two who returns empty- 
 handed shall pay back my dowry. 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 CHAPUZOT, CHARLOTTE, MOURGUE, RABOURDIN, 
 
 later madame fiquet, later isaac. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 {going from Chapuzot to Rabourdin) As for me, I 
 love the sick. Chapuzot, my friend, you are 
 threatened, I tell you once again. Would you like 
 to be covered up a little more, Rabourdin ? You 
 
84 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 can't imagine how happy I am like this between my 
 two dearest patients. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Poor Chapuzot! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Poor Rabourdin ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {off stage) Wait there for a minute, I will call you 
 in. (To Rabourdin) Uncle dear, will you be very 
 good, very quiet ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 I am as quiet as a lamb, my dear niece. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Will you be grateful to me, will you remember 
 your Lisbeth later on ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Certainly. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Good news that I am afraid to tell you suddenly. 
 (To Mourgue) Can my uncle endure a great ex- 
 citement, doctor? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 A great excitement — I should like to study the 
 effect of a great excitement on him. (He takes his 
 'pulse.) Go on, Madame. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (going near Chapuzot) Wait, I will stand by the 
 side of Monsieur Chapuzot, in case he should be 
 overcome by the excitement. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (up stage, on the threshold of the door c) Good, I 
 
sc. ii.] Rabourdin. 85 
 
 may proceed, may I not? {Off stage) Monsieur 
 Isaac, pray come in. {Enter Isaac, carrying the 
 clock. He stops in the centre of the stage.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah, the clock, the lovely clock! {Looks at it 
 delightedly.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (between his teeth) It will give him a stroke. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (to Chapuzot) Take care of yourself, turn your 
 head away. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {his eye still fixed on the clock) And it is mine, it 
 will live in my room ! Monsieur Isaac, I beg of 
 you, don't stir. 
 
 Isaac. 
 But it's breaking my arms. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 How beautifully chased it is ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {behind the chair, low) Well, doctor ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (very seriously, still holding Rabourdin 9 s pulse) His 
 pulse is quick, he is gaining strength. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 What perfection in the smallest detail ! 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Capital ! the muscles are coming into play again, 
 his life is returning to him. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {aside) What ! Could he be recovering ! {Aloud) 
 
86 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Put the clock on the chimney, Monsieur Isaac. 
 (Isaac crosses in front of Rabourdin, who follows the 
 clock with his eyes.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {between his teeth) He looks as rosy as a young 
 girl. Plague take him ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (after Isaac has placed the clock on the mantel) 
 Near, oh ! near — it is still more delightful ! 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 (still holding Rabourdin s pulse) The fever is all 
 gone — only a little quivering, like the heart of a girl 
 of fifteen beating for the first time. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (turning to Madame Fiquet) Thank you, Lisbeth. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Wait! (With great intensity) It strikes, uncle, 
 it strikes ! 
 
 Isaac. 
 (who is regulating the clock) Yes, the mechanism is 
 in good order. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Alas ! my poor uncle ! (The clock strikes.) A 
 melancholy sound — oh dear ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 It has a voice like a bird. (The clock strikes 
 again.) It is like the music of spring-time. It 
 strikes for life. Wait, let me wind it up myself. 
 (He forgets himself and runs to the mantel?) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (dumfoundered) Now he is on his legs ! 
 
sc. 12.] Rabourdin. 87 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {thunderstruck) On his legs ! (He has a jit, 
 Charlotte beats his hands.) 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Very good. That is the pills beginning to act. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (very much, embarrassed, pretending to stagger) For- 
 give me — the sudden joy — I thought I should be 
 able. Take me to bed. The effort has been too 
 great for me. (Madame Fiquet and Mourgue lead him 
 to the bed, and stay by his side.) 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 THE SAME, MADAME VAUSSARD. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (on the threshold, aside) That's it, the clock is on 
 the chimney-piece. What a trollop ! (She stops Isaac 
 as he is going off.) I hope that, in the face of the 
 profound affliction with which I am threatened, you 
 will no longer make any difficulty about renewing 
 these bills. 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 None at all, madame. We will add the customary 
 little interest. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 And you will lend me the additional three thousand 
 francs ? 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 Yes, I think I shall be able to lend them to you. 
 I will go and see your husband. 
 
88 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Do not trouble, he is at work, you would disturb 
 him. Return here in an hour's time, I will have 
 the necessary papers with me. [Goes up stage and 
 accompanies him to the door. Exit Isaac.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (who has heard everything, while pretending to be busy 
 with Chapuzot) Three thousand francs — the exact 
 amount of my dowry ! 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (still before the bed) Yes, my friend, turn round to 
 the wall, endeavour to sleep. (Comes down stage. 
 Madame Vaussard comes nearer?) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (coming down stage, low to Mourgue) A false hope, 
 is it not ? The last flicker of the lamp that is about 
 to expire ? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 No doubt. I will return in the evening, if neces- 
 sary. (Goes up stage, takes his hat and comes down 
 again towards Chapuzot. Charlotte is in front of the 
 bed. Madame Vaussard and Madame Fiquet are 
 standing r down stage, exchanging ferocious glances.) 
 Chapuzot, you ought to go to bed. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Eh, what ? No, damme ! you shan't get me away. 
 I consent to take a little air in the garden, but that 
 is all. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 Well, come to the garden. (Offers him his arm.) 
 
sc. 13.] Rabourdin. 89 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 {struggling) Let me be ; I could carry you on my 
 back, if I liked. {He has a fit, and falls into the 
 arms of Mourgue, who drags him off.) 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, MADAME FIQUET, CHAR- 
 LOTTE, in front of the bed, rabourdin, 
 lying on the bed. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {furiously and very loud) We ought not to make 
 him such presents as that. It was you who proposed 
 
 to swear 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (placing herself between them) Gently, gently, ladies, 
 my godfather is dozing. {Returns to the bed and 
 draws the curtains?) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {continuing in a lower voice) It was just a trap, 
 neither more nor less. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {low) I was quicker than the others, that is all. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Say, rather, you had less delicacy. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Bah, you were close upon my heels! Each one 
 for himself. So much the worse for you if your 
 fal-lals prevented you from running. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 {raising her voice little by little) My fal-lals ! Now 
 
go The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 you are going to insult me ! I wont follow you on 
 that ground. I will find another present for my uncle. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (raising her voice little by little) That's right. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 A handsomer present than yours — less absurd, and 
 in better taste. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 As you please. I will buy him a dearer one. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 And I, one dearer than that. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 And I one dearer still. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {very loud) Madame ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (very loud) Madame ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (placing herself between them again) For goodness' 
 sake, go into the garden. He is asleep. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (taking Charlotte aside) It's that hypocrite ! I 
 shan't go if she stays. (Low) Influence your god- 
 father in my favour, and your fortune is made. 
 (Goes up stage.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {taking Charlotte aside) The shameless woman! I 
 refuse to go till she does. (Low) I reckon on you, 
 child ; I will reward you. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (before the door) Pray go first, Madame. 
 
sc. 14.] Rabourdin. 91 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {same business) Madame, after you. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 [pushing them both out) Oh, get out, the two of 
 you ! 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, RABOURDIN, later DOMINIQUE. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 One can't breathe with two gossips like those on 
 one's hands. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 [putting his head cautiously between the curtains) 
 Nobody ! Eh, Charlotte ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 What, godfather ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 No nieces left; are you sure? Eh, behind the 
 chairs, under the furniture ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No, they are all in the garden. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Then — [He jumps off the bed.) Wait, the bolt, to 
 make sure. {Tushes the bolt, and comes back pirouet- 
 ting) Houp-la, houp-la ! that does me good. 
 Houp-la ! my legs are quite stiff, on my word. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Take care, they will hear you ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 What do I care ? I've got the clock. (He takes 
 
92 The Heirs of [act ii. 
 
 her by the waist and forces her to waltz with him, 
 humming) I've got the clock ! IVe got the clock ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Do stop — I haven't got my dowry yet ! Chapu- 
 zot and Madame Vaussard will have to disburse. 
 
 {She hears a knock at door r.) There is Dominique. 
 She goes and opens the door, and admits Dominique.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (who has gone to admire the clock) Charming ! It 
 is true I deserve it after all I have gone through 
 this morning. 
 
 Dominique. 
 (quietly) It is not yours yet. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 (turning round, very uneasily) What's that ? What 
 does my nephew say ? 
 
 Dominique. 
 I say that I know the bargain that was concluded 
 between your niece Fiquet and Master Isaac. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 Well ! She bought the clock for twelve hundred 
 francs. 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 No, she hired it, till this evening, for ten francs. 
 You understand, uncle — this evening you will be 
 dead. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (dumfoundered) This evening I shall be dead. ( Under- 
 standing) Ah, the trickster ! I recognise her by that 
 touch ! 
 
sc. 14.] Rabourdin. 93 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (laughing) My poor godfather ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (exasperated) I am robbed, I am murdered. (Cross- 
 ing and sitting down r) Listen, Charlotte : torture 
 them, ruin them, give them some illness that shall 
 carry them off with fury. I will make you a present 
 of the clock if you get it out of them. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 It's a bargain. But we must first satisfy your 
 excellent relations. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Satisfy them ! No bad jokes, do you hear ? (The 
 clock strikes.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (stretching her hand towards the clock) It is striking 
 your last hour, godfather. (Rabourdin springs up 
 with an air of alarm. Then all are seized with a fit 
 of mad laughter!) 
 
 CURTAIN, 
 
Act III. 
 
 The Scene is the same as in Act 1. When 
 the curtain rises, Madame Fiquet and Madame 
 Vaussard are discovered seated at the two sides of 
 the round table, the first l, the other r. Madame 
 Fiquet is sorting papers, which she draws from 
 her basket ; Madame Vaussard is engaged in 
 writing ; Chapuzot leans against the safe l, and 
 talks with Dominique ; Ledoux and Eugenie, seated 
 side by side on the sofa r, whisper to one another, 
 smiling. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 CHAPUZOT, DOMINIQUE, MADAME FIQUET, 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, LEDOUX, and EUGENIE. 
 
 This whole Scene is spoken in an undertone. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {stopping in her work, in order to listen) I thought 
 I heard a deep sigh. 
 
 All. 
 (looking towards the door of the bedroom, which is 
 standing wide open) A deep sigh ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Yes, like a breeze passing over my back. Wait ! 
 
sc. i.] The Heirs of Rabourdin. 95 
 
 (She rises and goes to the door l ; she calls softly) 
 Charlotte ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {appearing on the threshold) Hush! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 Nothing new ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (in a very low voice) Ah, Lord ! It is nearly 
 over. Do not come in, the least noise irritates him. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Is the doctor still there ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Yes, yes. Hush ! (All the heirs shrug their 
 shoulders, and turn their backs to the door.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (bitterly to Madame Fiquet, who returns to her seat) 
 That is the fourth time that you have excited us for 
 nothing. (They both resume their occupations.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 It is enough to give me a stroke — it's absurd. 
 
 Dominique. 
 Let us sit down. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 No, the air has brought me to, I am very com- 
 fortable, leaning like this. (He caresses the safe 
 with his hand as he speaks.) I was telling you that 
 
 the house (Dominique signs to him to speak lower.) 
 
 Yes, yes ; the house (He continues in a whisper) 
 
 Ledoux. 
 
 (tenderly) This day, mademoiselle, is the happiest of 
 my life. 
 
96 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 {simpering) Ah, Monsieur Ledoux, really. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 
 I have passed the whole of it in your company, 
 and you have graciously confessed that you love me. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 Mamma allowed me to make that avowal. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {without raising her head) Listen, she is giving 
 him something to drink. I can hear the sound of 
 the spoon in the cup. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {without looking towards the door) It is something 
 with sugar in it. She has taken the sugar-bowl from 
 the night-table. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {without ceasing to write) No, from the cupboard. 
 The cupboard-door creaked. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 {continuing, to Ledoux) Mamma gave me leave to 
 grant you my hand, since my poor uncle 
 
 Ledoux. 
 You are an angel. [He kisses her hand.) 
 
 Eugenie. 
 Mamma assures me that between the two of us we 
 shall have nearly twenty thousand francs a year. I 
 have such plans — oh ! such plans. I want a drawing- 
 room much finer than my aunt Vaussard' s; I want a 
 lady's maid; I want six new dresses every year, a 
 little carriage, a little horse, a little country-house. 
 
sc. i.] Rabourdin. 97 
 
 Ledoux. 
 
 Of course, everything that will give you pleasure, 
 my adorable Eugenie. Jewels, laces 
 
 Eugenie. 
 {very joyously) Yes, yes ; jewels, laces. {Changing 
 her voice) Mamma said you might kiss me on the 
 forehead. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {raising her head quickly) This time. 
 
 All. 
 
 {turning towards the door) What ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {listening) No, no, it is Charlotte blowing the fire. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {springing in, crossing up stage) Warm towels ! warm 
 towels! I have let the fire out. The poor man is 
 frozen ! {She goes into the kitchen r.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {after hesitating) I have only a few lines more to 
 write. {She resumes her work.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {same business) I should like just to finish putting 
 this basket in order. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 {to Eugenie) Your forehead is as pure as a spring 
 morning. {He kisses her again.) 
 
 Eugenie. 
 Gently — kiss me gently, so that we may not 
 disturb anybody. {They continue to whisper together.) 
 
 7 
 
98 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 (raising his voice slightly, and coming down stage with 
 Dominique) No, iron borders are very ugjy. I 
 prefer box. I will put box everywhere, I will have 
 those walks that want it sanded, and I will trim the 
 lilac bushes here and there. In that way I shall have 
 a pretty garden. 
 
 Dominique. 
 A very charming garden. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Rabourdin never had any taste. (They go up stage.) 
 Look, you can see from here, on the right, at the 
 end of the pathway, that big elm, in whose shadow 
 nothing can grow. Well, I shall have it cut down. 
 To-morrow it will be gone. I want to be able to 
 enjoy my garden in the sunshine. (They come down 
 stage). Then, behind the house, I mean to plant a 
 large orchard. In ten years' time I shall be eating 
 the finest fruit in Senlis. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (crossing the stage, and going into the bedroom l with 
 a towel folded over her hands) It burns me. Warm 
 some towels. I have lit three fires. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (in a vexed voice) I wish, my dear, you would stop 
 going to and fro. You make such a draught with 
 your petticoats ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Or at least shut the door. (She rises and shuts 
 the kitchen door r.) We are right in a draught, we 
 shall all catch cold. (Goes and sits down again.) 
 
sc. 2.] Rabourdin. 99 
 
 Eugenie. 
 
 (smiling, her hand in both Ledoux') My dream is a 
 room in blue satin, with lace embroidery. Flowers 
 everywhere. 
 
 Ledoux. 
 You shall have everything you like, my adorable 
 Eugenie. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (continuing the inventory of her basket •, between her 
 teeth) I shall never get done. I was saying, the 
 register of that little woman, the protested bill of 
 that young man, the petition of the gentleman who 
 
 discovered his wife 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (to Dominique, with whom he goes up stage) You see, 
 the walls are sound, the woodwork is in good con- 
 dition. ('They go out into the garden, after Isaac has 
 entered.) 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 MADAME FIQUET, ISAAC, MADAME VAUSSARD, 
 LEDOUX, EUGENIE ; CHAPUZOT and DOMI- 
 NIQUE, whom one sees for a moment at a 
 time in the garden. 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 (coming up to Madame Vaussard, who is still writing) 
 Madame ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 One moment, Monsieur Isaac. I am just finishing 
 our little business. (She continues to write.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (tumbling all her papers back into her bag) Bother ! 
 
ioo The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 I must try to get them straight some other day. 
 (Taking Isaac aside l) You can come and fetch the 
 clock away this evening. 
 
 Isaac. 
 Very well, madame. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 Or if you care to wait You know I am marrying 
 
 my daughter. The dear child ! (She looks at Eugenie 
 just as Ledoux is kissing her,) Your hands and fore- 
 head only, Eugenie. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (offstage) Somebody! 
 
 All. 
 (looking towards the bedroom door) Eh ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (coming on) Somebody, quick ! Run to the chemist 
 for a mixture ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 How you startled us ! (The heirs put on an air of 
 annoyance, Chapuzot and Dominique return to the 
 garden, Ledoux ', who has risen, stands leaning against 
 the back of the sofa, Madame Fiquet continues, 
 lowering her voiced) Eh ! you need not disturb any- 
 body. In the position where our uncle now is — 
 (taking the medicine bottle, and filling it with water 
 from a water-bottle standing on the sideboard) — what 
 is the use of spending money, eh ? This is just 
 as good. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Give it here. (She takes the water-bottle, and 
 returns to the bedroom,) 
 
sc. 2.] Rabourdin. 101 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 If one listened to sick people, they would swallow- 
 down a whole chemist's shop. (She goes up stage, 
 and talks to Chapuzot and Dominique.} 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (rising, leading Isaac down to the footlights) Here. 
 My husband was busy. I made him sign the blank 
 bills, and I filled them up myself. 
 
 Isaac. 
 You see, I have not yet quite decided. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 What do you mean ? You gave me your word ! 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 No doubt, I did promise. (Looking towards the 
 door of the bedroom) But there are so many risks to 
 be run. (Crosses r.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Well, keep your money, I shall have no difficulty 
 now. I will find another money-lender. The 
 interest is good enough. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 (on the threshold of the bedroom door) There is 
 nothing more to be done, my child, nothing but 
 to await the end. 
 
 Isaac. 
 (holding Madame Vaussard back) Madame, here 
 are the three thousand francs. (Hands them to her 
 in bank-notes, and goes out c. Chapuzot, Dominique 
 and Madame Fiquet come down stage with Mourgue. 
 
102 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 CHAPUZOT, MADAME FIQUET, MOURGUE, 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, LEDOUX, EUGENIE, 
 
 and Dominique up stage l, hiding , so as to 
 be able to laugh. 
 
 All. 
 Well? 
 
 Mourgue. 
 A most curious case, an inexplicable illness. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Really. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 An insidious complaint affecting every part at the 
 same time, and yet I cannot catch the nature of it. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Good gracious ! 
 
 Mourgue. 
 An extraordinary disease which baffles me, old 
 practitioner as I am. It is very serious, very serious, 
 very serious ! 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (coming up to the doctor) Old age, doctor. I have 
 heard that at Rabourdins age one's limbs swell, and 
 one dies of suffocation. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 Very serious, very serious, very serious. (Chapuzot 
 goes up stage.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Then, doctor 
 
sc. 4.] Rabourdin. 103 
 
 Mourgue. 
 I am nonplussed. Science has such depths. (He 
 looks at his watch.) Egad ! it's six o'clock, I must 
 go to dinner. Mesdames, and everybody, good 
 evening. (He goes out bowing, and kissing the hand 
 of Madame Faussard.) 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 CHAPUZOT, DOMINIQJJE, MADAME FIQUET, 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, EUGENIE, LEDOUX. 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 Are you not going to dinner. Monsieur Chapuzot ? 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 No, I shall be brave to the end. (Returns and 
 leans with his hack against the safe.) I confess, 
 nevertheless, that my inside 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 presuming her seat at the table l, whilst Madame 
 Vaussard returns to hers r) No doubt it is dinner- 
 time. Are you hungry, Minette ? 
 
 Eugenie. 
 A little, mamma. I would like something. If 
 there were only some cakes ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (off stage) Oh dear ! oh dear ! 
 
 All. 
 
 (rising) What ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (offstage) He is dead ! 
 
104 The Heirs of [act iil 
 
 All. 
 
 {without moving, as though transfixed) Dead ! (A 
 long pause.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (uttering three sobs, which she stifles in her pocket- 
 handkerchief) Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I can't cry. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 No more can I. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 My tears are all inside. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 So are mine. It shows that one suffers much 
 more. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (turning to Eugenie). Cry, Minette, cry, it will 
 relieve you. 
 
 Eugenie. 
 (crying) Hee ! hee ! hee ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 How I envy you being able to cry ! (To Ledoux) 
 Take her into the garden, Monsieur Ledoux, try to 
 distract her thoughts. (Madame Vaussard has 
 crossed r, Madame Fiquet recalls Eugenie) Eugenie, 
 you poor child, you have no longer an uncle. 
 (Lower) You may let him kiss your cheek. 
 (Ledoux and Eugenie go out.) 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 (removing the chair that stands at the head of the 
 
sc. 4.] Rabourdin. 105 
 
 table) There are certain formalities to be gone 
 through. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Such a kind-hearted man ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {coming down stage) Such a good business head 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 A friend of forty years' standing ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 We ought to go to the Mayor's. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 And do you remember how lively he was, before 
 his illness made him unbearable ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 He had such touching fancies. I seem still to 
 hear him talking of his approaching end ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 And he expired as he said he would — that great, 
 generous, noble heart ! 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 {removing the table, which he places behind the sofa) 
 We ought also to think of sending out the notices. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {fulling a face) Ah, tears, here come my tears ! 
 The three heirs weep, spreading out their pocket-hand- 
 kerchiefs.) 
 
 Dominique. 
 {coming down stage) Ah, calm yourselves. He is 
 dead now, it is all over. Let us be business-like. 
 
106 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (wiping her eyes ; in a deliberate voice) You are 
 right, let us be business-like. (They all three replace 
 their pocket-handkerchiefs in their pockets.) 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 We are not a pack of children. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Our tears will not bring him back to us. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 No, indeed. I will look after the letters to be 
 sent out. (Goes up stage , and stops near the side- 
 board?) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (to 'Dominique) You, young man, had better go and 
 notify the death at the Mayor's. 
 
 Dominique. 
 
 Very well, madame. (He goes out c.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 My mourning is quite ready, I will run and put 
 it on. (Goes out c.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I will go and see to the kitchen. We shall want 
 some mulled wine for the watching. (Goes out 
 through the kitchen.) 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 chapuzot, later charlotte. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (by the sideboard) Did they want to get rid of me ? 
 They are capable of putting my house in their 
 
sc. 5.] Rabourdin. 107 
 
 pockets, those gossips ! (Taking a tray from the 
 sideboard) See, here is the silver tray I gave 
 Rabourdin. I don't see why I should leave it 
 about. (He slips the tray into his -pocket?) I must 
 keep an eye on Fiquet's basket ; she might take 
 away things in it. (Looking about him.) And the 
 gold-knobbed stick, where is it ? I can't see it. 
 Ah, here it is. (He goes and fetches it from near 
 the safe, and returns with short steps.) It cost me 
 sixty francs. (Charlotte enters laughing, while he 
 endeavours to hide it under his coat.) Damn ! the 
 end sticks out ! I'll take the knob off, at least. 
 (While he is trying to force off the knob, Charlotte 
 touches him on the shoulder. He starts, frightened, 
 and turns round, quaking!) Eh, Rabourdin ! — Ah, 
 it is you, my dear ! What do you want ? (Makes 
 vain efforts to hide the cane?) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Now that everything is yours, monsieur, I thought 
 you might like to give me that money of which I 
 spoke to you, rather than force open the safe. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Very well, very well. Would fifty francs be 
 enough ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Oh, no, there are all kinds of expenses. Give 
 me three hundred francs. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 Goodness gracious ! Three hundred francs ! 1 
 should have to go home to fetch it. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Well ? 
 
io8 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 Why, if I were to go away from here they 
 might steal all my things. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Am I not here ? I will keep good watch, I 
 promise you. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 You won't stir from the safe ? (He pushes her 
 against the safe) You will stay there ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 I swear. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (stroking the safe) Ah, how soft and warm it is! 
 I will run and come back at once. (He hurries off 
 and stumbles as he goes.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Take care, come back whole. (Charlotte drops 
 into the chair l, seized with a wild fit of laughter) 
 Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Charlotte, Madame Fiquet. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 What's that? I heard laughter. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {crying) Hee, hee, hee. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Was it you crying? Tears sound strange at a 
 distance. The kitchen is topsy-turvy. We shall 
 want some soup, some coffee, something hot. (She 
 
sc. 6.] Rabourdin. 109 
 
 fumbles about in the sideboard and brings out a bottle?), 
 What is this ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Rum, madame. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 H'm, I'll take a drop ! I feel a wreck. (She 
 fours out and drinks a drop, and then goes towards 
 the bedroom.) And now it is time to attend to 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {rising and crossing r) Go in, madame. You owe 
 him those last offices. He has left you everything. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (on the threshold) Really ? (She returns towards 
 Charlotte.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 As true as that the poor dear man is no more- 
 He made his will just now, while you were in the 
 garden. I dipped the pen into the ink for him 
 myself. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 And do I get everything — the furniture, the 
 house, the money? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Everything, madame. I said a good word for 
 you. You promised you would not forget me if I 
 did. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Ah, so now the requests for money are commencing, 
 eh ? As soon as people know that I have money 
 they want to put their hands into my pockets. (She- 
 crosses r.) Well, I won't have it. I suppose you. 
 
no The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 thought that I was going to keep you for the rest 
 of your life ? Listen : if you are of any further use 
 to me, I will give you six fine linen chemises. That's 
 a bargain. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Thank you, madame. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {crossing, and going once more towards the bedroom) 
 And now you can help me carry away the clock. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {following her) The clock! But why carry it 
 away ? Surely you bought it ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {conceitedly) Of course ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {turning as though to go into the bedroom) Oh, I 
 have no objection. It is your own look-out. Let 
 us fetch the clock. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 You say that in an odd voice. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {returning r) No ! no ! You pay too badly for 
 what one does for you. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Look here, I like being generous in business — I 
 will make it a dozen. What is it ? Tell me all. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 No ! a thousand times no ! It makes no difference 
 to me if you pitch your inheritance out of the 
 window ! 
 
sc. 6.] Rabourdin. in 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Eh? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 What do I care if the will is made invalid ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 How invalid ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 The clause says distinctly the inheritance belongs 
 to the person who bought the clock. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 But that clause is idiotic ! My uncle has always 
 had a weak head ; all Senlis can bear witness to that, 
 if wanted. I shall go to law ! Yes, I shall go to 
 law ! That Rabourdin was a spiteful creature. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Well, he had his strange periods. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Wicked, obstinate, hypocritical! What shall I 
 do? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Well, it's all over. You won't get a sou ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (furiously) Hold your tongue, you fool ! When 
 
 one is used to business (Reflecting) Of course, 
 
 that's the thing. Wait for me here. You've got 
 the sense to wait for me, at least? {Going out c) 
 Dear me, what a fool that girl is ! 
 
ii2 The Heirs of [act in. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, MADAME VAUSSARD. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (in a very handsome black dress, following Madame 
 Fiquet with her eyes) Where is my cousin running 
 so fast ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (looking at her dress, pretending to be very deeply 
 moved) Forgive me — the emotion of seeing you in 
 
 mourning (Changing her voice) Dear me! how 
 
 well black suits you ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (displaying herself) Do you think so ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 And what an exquisite dress ! These little flounces 
 are so sweet ! (She turns round her,) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (crossing r) I thought I would have silk ; stuff 
 would have looked rather sad. And the lace ? You 
 don't think there is too much lace ? (She returns l.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 No, not at all. One does not go into mourning 
 to make oneself look a fright. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (mournfully) Ah, the real mourning is that which 
 we wear in our hearts. (Changing her voice) I 
 have been closeted with my dressmaker for more 
 than a fortnight. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (clapping her hands) It's lovely ! lovely ! What a 
 
sc. 7.] Rabourdin. 113 
 
 sensation that dress will make at the funeral. 
 [Sniffling) At the funeral, madame, the funeral ; 
 ah me ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (drawing out a splendid embroidered handkerchief to 
 dry her eyes) At the funeral, my poor dear ! 
 (Changing her voice) But where was my cousin 
 running off to ? She seemed very excited. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 I should think she had reason to be uneasy. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 So our kind uncle ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (confidentially) I promised to do my best for you. 
 He declared in his will that he would leave all his 
 fortune to that one of his heirs who would have the 
 generous thought to bury him with all possible 
 magnificence. Have you that generous thought, 
 madame ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Of course, since years. (In an undertone) That 
 will cost me a deal of money. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Ah, but, you know, he expects the very finest 
 funeral to be had for money — everything perfect : 
 mass at the high altar, three hundred francs for 
 candles. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (crossing r) Three hundred francs, great heavens 
 One hundred will be enough. 
 
 8 
 
ii4 The Heirs of [act in. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Five hundred francs to the poor. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 That is madness ! He will ruin me. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Then the embalming. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {crossing l) Have him embalmed ! Never ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 The embalming. Three thousand francs in all. 
 The will says three thousand francs. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (thunderstruck) Three thousand francs! I would 
 rather not inherit. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 In that case, madame, I think you will be satisfied. 
 That young man, that nephew from nobody knows 
 
 where 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 He told me he was going to the registrar's, the 
 little wretch ! (In despair) But then I am robbed. 
 
 He might possibly, on his road (Taking a paper 
 
 from her pocket) Help me in this, I beg you. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 It has only to be ordered. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 No, I want to pay for it now. The nephew might 
 be before me otherwise. It is shocking, to have to 
 spend so much money on a dead man ! 
 
sc. 8.] Rabourdin. 115 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {eyeing the bank-notes which Madame Vaussard holds 
 in her hand) And Senlis, madame — Senlis will be 
 talking of your generosity ten years hence. Senlis 
 will never have seen such a funeral. You will be 
 greeted, respected, renowned. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (self-satisfied, crossing r) Yes, I shall deserve some 
 esteem. I shall be overwhelmed with visits. I am 
 sure the wife of the notary and the town-clerk's two 
 daughters will die of envy. {Charlotte snatches the 
 hank-notes from her.) Take care you don't lose those 
 three thousand francs. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {slipping the notes into her dress) Have no fear, they 
 will stay there. {She makes as though she would go 
 out, when Madame Fiquet comes in, and takes her 
 aside.) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 MADAME FIQUET, CHARLOTTE, MADAME 
 VAUSSARD. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {taking Charlotte r, in an undertone) I've bought 
 the clock. It was so simple! But this is more 
 ingenious. {She puts a piece of paper into her hand) 
 Take it. You must slip this in among your uncle's 
 papers. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 {with the paper in her hand) This ? 
 
n6 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Oh dear, how stupid you are! The bill, don't 
 you see? An antedated bill, in Rabourdin's name. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Oh, madame, how clever that is — (aside) cleverer 
 than you yourself imagine. Have no fear, the bill is 
 safe here. (She slips the bill into her dress.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Good ! (Looking towards Madame Vaussard) And 
 what does my cousin say ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 She is radiant. She thinks she is the heiress. (She 
 goes towards the door c.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (stopping her and lowering her voice) What was my 
 cousin saying to you ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 She fancies herself the heiress. The good lady is 
 
 so happy about it ! (She goes once more towards the 
 
 door; then she returns ', and stands between the two 
 
 women.) I beseech you, ladies, not to leave this room. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Ah ! And why ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Promise me not to tell. The will is in here. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 In here ! Where ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 In the safe. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 But the key was lost. 
 
sc. 9.] Rabourdin. 117 
 
 Charlotte. 
 The key has been found. I tell you all this out 
 of kindness — I know you will not make a bad use 
 of it. The key is still under my poor godfather's 
 pillow. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Under the head of the 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {echoing her) Under the head 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Yes, silence and respect ! (She goes up stage. 
 The two women turn round to follow her with their 
 eyes ; and when she is on the threshold, before going 
 out, she lifts her hand y with a burlesque gesture of 
 authority!) 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, MADAME FIQUET. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (r, aside) That vixen of an Olympe, who reckons 
 on her legacy ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (l, aside) That old shrew of a Lisbeth, who flatters 
 herself that she is the heiress ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {stepping forward; aloud, ironically) My dear 
 cousin, accept my congratulations. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (coming forward, same business) My dear cousin, I 
 offer you mine. 
 
n8 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I am delighted that our uncle has known how to 
 reward your rare good qualities. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 I am charmed that he made up his mind to repay 
 your long devotion. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 But no, cousin, it is you who are the heiress. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 No, cousin, you are the legatee — there is no doubt 
 about that. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {crossing r, aside) She irritates me. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (l, aside) She is too tiresome. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {returning, growing angry by degrees) I will admit 
 for the moment that I am the legatee. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {returning, same business) You are too modest — 
 but I will admit with you that the will is in my 
 favour. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Perhaps I might find in myself sufficient merit to 
 justify our uncle's choice. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 I might discover, without too much trouble, the 
 good qualities which I have to thank for this flatter- 
 ing distinction. 
 
sc. 9.] Rabourdin. 119 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 The money is left to me — do you understand, 
 cousin ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {crossing r, in a fury) You understand as well as I 
 do, cousin, that it comes to me ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 To you ? Leave off! I have had the will read 
 to me, word for word. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 You ? That's a fine story ! I know the will by 
 heart ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {■pointing to the door of the bedroom) Do you want 
 proofs ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 [following her) I was about to offer them to you. 
 {Madame Fiquet quickly goes into the room, while 
 Madame Vaussard waits at the door, 'The first comes 
 out again almost immediately, looking terrified, holding 
 the key in her hand.) Well ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {leaning against the door) Nothing, only the shock. 
 {Recovering) How childish ! {Approaching the 
 safe) I know how it works. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {getting behind her) There are often loaded pistols 
 in those safes. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 If you are afraid, go away. {Turns the key in the 
 lock.) Ah ! there ! {She pushes away Madame 
 
120 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Vaussard, who stretches out her hands') Gently. 
 We must swear not to touch a franc, whatever may 
 be the contents of the will. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {feverishly) Yes, yes, I swear — anything you like. 
 {Religiously) What radiancy awaits our eyes! 
 What glorious splendour! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {Passionately , holding the safe in her arms) My god, 
 my good, my all ! {She gently rolls open the door of 
 the safe. Both stand silent an instant , in an attitude 
 of profound devotion. Then, little by little, they take 
 alarm.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Eh? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 What is it ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Am I struck blind ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I see nothing ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 No ray of light ! A pit of darkness ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 A cavern as dark as an oven. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {fumbling with her hands) But the safe is empty ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {same business) Empty ! The safe is empty ! 
 
sc. 9.] Rabourdin. 121 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (same business) Nothing on the shelves ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (same business) Nothing in the corners ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (crossing the stage r) Swept clean ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Robbed ! (She searches again, and utters a cry as 
 she finds the ledger?) Ah! (She returns up stage.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (going after her, and stopping her) Show me. Don't 
 put a thing in your pocket, or I shall call out murder ! 
 
 (She brings her down to the footlights?) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Let me be, I don't wish to rob myself. It must 
 be all in bank-notes. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 In bank-notes and title-deeds. Let me look ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 Don't push me like that ! There, we will look at 
 it quietly. (Madame Fiquet opens the ledger. Madame 
 Vaussard stands on tiptoe behind her in order to see 
 better?) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 There is some writing on the first page. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (reading) " This is my will " 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (repeating after her) " My will " 
 
I 
 
 122 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {continuing) " I die deeply touched by the devoted 
 cares that have been lavished upon me by the hands 
 of my friends." [Interrupting herself) That is 
 meant for me. That good uncle ! Well, cousin, 
 are you satisfied ? The legacy is mine ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 {snatching the ledger from her, and reading in her 
 turn) " I cannot feel too grateful for the atmosphere 
 of good company which their amiable society has 
 thrown about my death-bed." {Interrupting herself) 
 That worthy uncle! That is intended for me, I 
 should think. What did I tell you, cousin ? The 
 legacy is mine. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 {grasping the ledger, which Madame Vaussard continues 
 to hold by one corner) " And as I propose in no way 
 to wrong my heirs, I have drawn up here the exact 
 list of their presents." Is he making fun of us ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 {drawing the ledger to her, while Madame Fiquet 
 keeps hold of one corner of it) " In order to show the 
 balance between what they took from me and what 
 I was able to get back from them " Oh Lord ! 
 
 Both. 
 
 {each holding the ledger at one side, reading together) 
 "lam ruined, and I leave them what they still owe 
 
 me." 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Taken in like a child ! {Going towards the door of 
 the bedroom) You deceitful uncle! {Comes down 
 stage, and takes the ledger from Madame Fiquet.) 
 
sc. 10.] Rabourdin. 123 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 Duped ! That I should be duped ! (Going to the 
 door of the bedroom) You wretched uncle ! (She 
 comes down stage.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 (turning the leaves of the ledger) What extravagance ! 
 How I regret it ! My name everywhere ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (glancing over the ledger) My name on every page ! 
 (Going to the door of the bedroom, while Madame 
 Vaussard throws the ledger on the sofa) And he waited 
 till he was dead before he spoke, the coward ! Ah, 
 if I had him here ! (A violent sneeze is heard in the 
 next room. 'The two women, very frightened, huddle 
 together.) Eh ? What was that ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 A strange noise. Somebody sneezed. (Another 
 and still louder sneeze.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 But he is not even dead! Let us go in. (She 
 rushes into the room, followed by Madame Vaussard. 
 They both return holding Rabourdin by one hand. He 
 is dressed only in a -pair of trousers falling over his 
 feet, and with a handkerchief on his head.) 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 MADAME VAUSSARD, RABOURDIN, MADAME 
 FIC^UET. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (drawing him to her) Ah ! So that is all we were 
 to find after your death ! 
 
124 The Heirs of [act hi, 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {out of breathy beseechingly) My kind Lisbeth 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (pulling him to her) Ah ! So the safe was empty, 
 and you were making fools of us ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 My dear Olympe 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (same business) You allow yourself to be petted for 
 ten long years ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Listen td me ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {same business) We load you with presents ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Let me explain 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 How do you think I am going to marry my 
 daughter now ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 How do you mean me to pay my debts ? 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 For the love of heaven — Lisbeth ! Olympe ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 No, no. Ah ! you want Louis Quinze clocks ! — 
 and I pay for them, like a fool ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Ah ! you want a fine funeral — three hundred 
 francs for candles, five hundred francs for the poor ! 
 
sc. 10.] Rabourdin. 125 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 No, not at all. If you knew— 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 You wanted the clock to strike your last hour ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 You have had yourself embalmed at my expense I 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (growing angry) But not a bit. Damme ! let me 
 
 speak 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (leaving go of his hand and pushing Mm away) Hold 
 your tongue ! You have been promising us to die 
 too long. You're dead ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (pushing him away) Our uncle is dead — we have no 
 uncle ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (beseeching them in turns) Come, make friends, my 
 kind nieces. The little presents 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 No more presents, do you understand I 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 The little presents 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 Never again, never again ! 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 I'm going to take away what belongs to me. (She 
 crosses and goes up stage l.) Wait, all that I can 
 find. 
 
126 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 I too. [She crosses and goes up stage r.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 First the corkscrew and the box of tea-spoons. 
 {She takes them from the occasional table and puts 
 them in her pocket.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {running after her) Lisbeth ! Ah ! no, I say ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 {before the sideboard) The napkin-ring — the plated 
 dish. {She puts them in her pocket?) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {leaving Madame Fiquet to run after Madame Vaussard) 
 Olympe, will you leave that alone ? Presents are 
 sacred. {She crosses r.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 {who has come down stage y crossing l, going towards 
 the sofa) The cushion, under my arm. {Going to 
 the sideboard) The liqueur-stand, under the other 
 arm. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 {leaving Madame Vaussard to run after Madame 
 Fiquet) Have done, Lisbeth ! I will not let you 
 go. {He bars the door with his body.) 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 
 {loading herself with objects) The tray, the chair, 
 and the flower-stand. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {pursuing her) No stupid jokes, Olympe! You 
 will end by breaking something. 
 
sc. ii.] Rabourdin. 127 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (r) Let me see, I have still one hand free. 
 (Looking about her, and 'perceiving the barometer 
 hanging on the wall) Ah ! the barometer ! {She 
 takes it down.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (pursuing her) My barometer ! 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (escaping) Good-bye, uncle ! (Rabourdin spins 
 round without being able to catch her.) 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (escaping) Good-bye, uncle ! (Same business on the 
 part of Rabourdin.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (on the threshold) Thieves ! thieves ! Help ! stop 
 them ! (He returns staggering) Ah ! wretch that I 
 am, they are ruining me ! I am ruined, ruined, 
 ruined ! I have no heirs left ! (He lets himself fall 
 into a chair r, lamenting. Charlotte , who has wit- 
 nessed the end of this scene from the kitchen door, 
 enters screaming with laughter.) 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 RABOURDIN, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ruined ! It's you, you little vixen, who have 
 ruined me ! 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (letting herself fall into a chair near the sofa, seizea 
 with a violent fit of laughter) Let me laugh ! It is 
 so good to laugh ! 
 
128 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 No more presents, no more petting, nothing. 
 Ah! I did not give you leave to ill-treat them so 
 badly as that ! You have torn my heirs to pieces. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Laugh, godfather ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 I have lost everything. They will never come 
 back. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (rising) What, they ? That's a fine story ! I will 
 bring them back to you, humble, penitent, and 
 fond. 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (rising) You ? 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Yes, and at once, if you like. Bless my soul, 
 what would become of them, your heirs, if they were 
 no longer the heirs of Rabourdin ? Senlis would 
 point its finger at them ; no one would take off his 
 hat to them, no one would respect them, no one 
 would trust them. Don't you see that their only 
 social position lies in their expectations from you? 
 Why, they can't go and put themselves into the 
 streets ! 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 My niece Vaussard was very furious. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 Bah ! she won't know what to say to her creditors 
 You are her only security. 
 
sc. 12.] Rabourdin. 129 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 I have never seen my niece Fiquet in such a 
 rage. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 And how does she expect to marry her daughter ? 
 You are that child's dowry. (Going up stage) They 
 are not far off. They don't know how to come 
 back. I will bring them back to you, I tell you. 
 {She beckons to them.) Here they are ! 
 Rabourdin. 
 Ah ! I want to be spoilt a little. {He puts on a 
 dressing-gown which lies thrown over a chair ', and 
 sits down r.) 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 THE FORMER, MADAME FIQUET, MADAME 
 
 vaussard, later eugenie, ledoux, and isaac 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {low to Madame Vaussard, who comes in awkwardly 
 and ill at ease, helping her to put down the things she 
 is carrying) You were wrong, madame. Monsieur 
 Isaac is there. Take care — I would swear that your 
 cousin is preparing to eat up your uncle with caresses 
 before five minutes are over. 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 I dare say I am as clever as she is. {She goes and 
 fetches a cushion from the sofa.) 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 {low to Madame Fiquet, who comes in : same business) 
 What, madame, a woman with your genius ! Don't 
 let anything get about. Think of your little girl. 
 
 9 
 
130 The Heirs of [act hi. 
 
 Monsieur Ledoux is there. {Pointing to Madame 
 Vaussara\ who is going up to Rabourdin with a cushion 
 in her hand.) There, look at your cousin. She has 
 started codling him already. 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 
 (looking at the cushion which Charlotte is taking from 
 her) Well, well. I never ceased to love our dear 
 uncle. {Rushes towards Rabourdin, and reaches him 
 just in time to place the cushion which she has brought 
 back behind his back. Madame Vaussard looks about 
 to see what she can do with the one she is holding in 
 her hand, and ends by placing it under her uncle j feet .) 
 
 Isaac. 
 (entering) What ! is he up ? (Madame Vaussard, 
 ill at ease, leads him aside r.) You will at least keep 
 up your payments regularly ? 
 
 Madame Vaussard. 
 (low) Hush ! Fie ! to talk of that when you see 
 that I am still in tears. Later on ! 
 
 Ledoux. 
 
 (entering with Eugenie) Getting better already ! 
 (Madame Fiquet, frightened, keeps him back, up stage l.) 
 And the wedding, and my twelve hundred francs ? 
 
 Madame Fiquet. 
 (low) Hush ! It's disgraceful, when our uncle, 
 whom we love so dearly, is restored to us by a 
 miracle. Later on. (Madame Vaussard returns to 
 Rabourdin, behind whom stand Madame Fiquet and 
 Eugenie. Ledoux and Isaac are up stage, one r, the 
 other l. Charlotte, leaning against the sofa, smiles as 
 she observes the scene.) 
 
sc. 13.] Rabourdin. 131 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 (stammering) I am touched, very deeply touched, 
 my children. 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 THE FORMER, MOURGUE, DOMINIQUE, 
 CHAPUZOT. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 
 (holding a toothpick, which he uses between each sentence) 
 Dear ! dear ! dear ! That rogue of a Rabourdin. 
 Nature is a wonderful doctor. She has such depths. 
 I dined like a god this evening. {Goes up to 
 Rabourdin?) 
 
 Dominique. 
 (to Charlotte, low) Here comes Chapuzot. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (going towards Chapuzot, who comes forward painfully 
 on two sticks, and leading him r, preventing him from 
 seeing Rabourdin) What has happened to you, dear 
 monsieur ? 
 
 Chapuzot, 
 Nothing, nothing. A false step. I fell down. 
 They carried me home. I would have crawled back 
 on my knees rather than stay away. Here are the 
 three hundred francs. Put them away. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 (taking the notes, and putting them into her dress) 
 They are quite safe. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 (going up to Rabourdin) What do I see ? He has 
 
132 The Heirs of Rabourdin. [act hi. 
 
 come to life again ! [Runs after Charlotte) Give 
 me my three hundred francs. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 (low) Hush ! How troublesome you are. Later 
 on. 
 
 Mourgue. 
 {holding Rabourdin s pulse) Capital ! The quieting 
 medicine was no good : we must try a black draught. 
 
 Chapuzot. 
 
 {seated on the sofa, aside) I will wait. {Aloud) 
 When the hulk is worth nothing, doctor, it is better 
 that it should go down without delay — eh, Rabourdin? 
 {He rises and joins the group standing about Rabourdin.) 
 
 Rabourdin. 
 
 {rising, coming down to the footlights, followed by the 
 heirs) Yes, old friend, yes. I ask for nothing 
 better than to pass away, on a peaceful evening, 
 surrounded by you all, in the bosom of my family. 
 
 Charlotte, 
 
 {showing the money to Dominique, r, where they make 
 a separate couple) And now, as soon as the priest 
 is ready ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. 
 
OVERDUE. 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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