LIBRARY 
 
 V. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 THE "UNIVERSE LlbKAKY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN DIEGO 
 
 LA JOLLA. CALIFORNIA
 

 
 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN
 
 %* The Large Paper Edition of this Volume, consisting of 
 
 175 Copies for England, 
 
 7J Copies for America, 
 
 All ef which are numbered, was printed in November iSgj. 
 
 >*T* Xt 
 This is No. Cf U
 
 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED 
 
 " A U R E V O I R " 
 
 A DRAMATIC VIGNETTE 
 
 AUSTIN DOBSON 
 
 Rien en relief " 
 
 LONDON 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO. L TD 
 
 PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD
 
 TO 
 
 MY FRIEND 
 
 CHARLES B. FOOTE 
 
 OF NEW YORK.
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 The six " Proverbs in Porcelain" here reprinted from 
 " Old- World Idylls," were first published in 1877 in a 
 collection of miscellaneous verse. To these is now added, 
 as belonging, if not to the same series, at least to the 
 same species, the dramatic vignette called " Au Revoir," 
 from "At the Sign of the Lyre." I confess that I felt 
 some misgiving whether these miniature studies, so frail 
 in structure, so slight in substance, would lend themselves 
 readily to pictorial embodiment. But this was clearly to 
 reckon without the vitalising power of Art, and the 
 accomplished pencil of Mr. BERNARD PARTRIDGE. 
 
 AUSTIN DOBSON. 
 
 September,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN 19 
 
 The Ballad a-la-Mode . . 23 
 
 The Metamorphosis 35 
 
 The Song out of Season 47 
 
 The Cap that Fits 59 
 
 The Secrets of the Heart 71 
 
 " Good Night, Babette !" 81 
 
 Epilogue . . 93 
 
 "Au REVOIR" -97 
 
 NOTES . 113
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "NINETTE! I feel so sad" Frontispiece 
 
 "Grow eloquent on glaze and classing" (Prologue) To face page 16 
 
 The Ballad a-la-Mode (half-title) ... 20 
 
 " But there's some sequel, is there not ?" . ,, 24 
 
 " And no one dreams of PERFIDY" ... ,, 28 
 
 The Metamorphosis (half-title) .... 32 
 
 " He fancies he's a LA FONTAINE ! " . . . 36 
 
 " L'ETOILE, by all the Muses ! " . . . 40 
 
 The Song out of Season (half-title) ... 44 
 
 (" No sound. I'll tap once more ") . . . ,, 48 
 
 " IT WAS THE ABBE Ti RI LI!" ... 52 
 
 The Cap that Fits (half-title) .... 56 
 
 " Not young, I think " 60 
 
 " And called (I think)' The Cap that Fits ' " . 64 
 
 The Secrets of the Heart (half-title) . ,,68 
 
 " She used to tell us, moonlight nights >: . . 72 
 
 "Good Night, Babette !'' (half-title) . 78
 
 16 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " BABETTE ! I say ! BABETTE ! BABETTE ! ! " . To face page 82 
 
 " Sing me your Norman chansonnette" . . 86 
 
 " But we, we are not always gay ! " (Epilogue) . . 90 
 
 "Au Revoir" (half-title) 94 
 
 (" How do they take it ? Can you see?") . . 100 
 
 "BEhU-vau? BEAU-z/a//0# ? REAU-manm'r?" 106 
 
 NOTES (half-title) no
 
 on qftt 
 
 /
 
 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 ASSUME that we are friends. Assume 
 A common taste for old costume, 
 
 Old pictures, books. Then dream us sitting,- 
 Us two, in some soft-lighted room. 
 
 Outside, the wind: the "ways are mire." 
 We, with our faces toward the fire, 
 Finished the feast not full but fitting, 
 
 Watch the light-leaping fiames aspire. 
 19
 
 20 PROLOGUE 
 
 Silent at first, in time we glow ; 
 Discuss ''eclectics" high and low ; 
 
 Inspect engravings, 'twixt us passing 
 The fancies <T/"DETROY, MOREAU ; 
 
 " Reveils " and " Couriers," " Balls " and " Fetes ; " 
 Anon we glide to " crocks " and plates, 
 Grow eloquent on glaze and classing, 
 And half-pathetic over "states" 
 
 Then I produce my Prize, in truth ; 
 Six groups in SEVRES, fresh as Youth, 
 
 And rare as Love. You pause, you wonder 
 (Pretend to doubt the marks, forsooth /), 
 
 And so we fall to why and how 
 The fragile figures smile and bow ; 
 
 Divine, at length, the fable under . . . 
 Thus grew the " Scenes " that follow now.
 
 THE BALLAD A-LA-MODE 
 
 " Tout vient a point a qui peut attendre" 
 
 SCENE. A Boudoir Louis-Quinze, painted with 
 Cupids shooting at Butterflies, 
 
 THE COUNTESS. THE BARON (her cousin and suitor). 
 
 THE COUNTESS (looking up from her work}. 
 Baron, you doze. 
 
 i 
 THE BARON (closing his book). 
 
 I, Madame ? No. 
 
 I wait your order Stay or Go. 
 
 23
 
 24 THE BALLAD A-LA-MODB 
 
 THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Which means, I think, that Go or Stay 
 Affects you nothing, either way. 
 
 THE BARON. 
 
 Excuse me, -By your favour graced, 
 My inclinations are effaced. 
 
 THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Or much the same. How keen you grow ! 
 You must be reading MARIVAUX. 
 
 THE BARON. 
 Nay, 'twas a song of SAINTE-AULAIRE. 
 
 THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Then read me one. We've time to spare : 
 If I can catch the clock-face there, 
 'Tis barely eight.
 
 't semetepufl, 'i nere
 
 THE BALLAD A-LA-MODE 27 
 
 THE BARON. 
 
 What shall it be, 
 A tale of woe, or perfidy ? 
 
 THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Not woes, I beg. I doubt your woes : 
 But perfidy, of course, one knows. 
 
 THE BARON (reads). 
 " ' Ah, Phillis ! cruel Phillis ! 
 
 (I heard a Shepherd say,) 
 You hold me with your Eyes, and yet 
 
 You bid me Go my Way ! ' 
 
 11 < Ah, Colin ! foolish Colin ! 
 
 (The Maiden answered so,) 
 If that be All, the III is small, 
 
 I close them You may go ! '
 
 28 THE BALLAD A-LA-MODB 
 
 11 But when her Eyes she opened 
 (Although the Sun it shone), 
 
 She found the Shepherd had not stirred 
 ' Because the Light was gone ! ' 
 
 "Ah, Cupid! wanton Cupid! 
 
 'Twas ever thus your Way : 
 When Maids would bid you ply your Wings, 
 
 You find Excuse to stay ! " 
 
 THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Famous ! He earned whate'er he got :- 
 But there's some sequel, is there not ? 
 
 THE BARON (turning the page). 
 I think not No. Unless 'tis this : 
 My fate is far more hard than his ; 
 In fact, your Eyes
 
 THE BALLAD A-LA-MODB 31 
 
 THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Now, that's a breach ! 
 Your bond is not to make a speech. 
 And we must start so call JUSTINE. 
 I know exactly what you mean ! 
 Give me your arm 
 
 THE BARON. 
 
 If, in return, 
 Countess, I could your hand but earn ! 
 
 THE COUNTESS. 
 
 I thought as much. This comes, you see, 
 Of Sentiment, and Arcady, 
 Where vows are hung on every tree . . . 
 
 THE BARON (offering his arm, with a 
 low bow). 
 
 And no one dreams of PERFIDY.
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " On s'eitrtchit quand on dort." 
 
 SCENE. A high stone Seat in an Alley of 
 clipped Lime-trees. 
 
 THE ABBE TIRILI. MONSIEUR L'ETOILE. 
 
 THE ABBE" (writing). 
 " This Shepherdess Donne adored 
 
 What rhyme is next? Implored? ignored? 
 Poured? soared? -afford? That facile Dunce, 
 L'ETOILE, would cap the line at once. 
 'Twill come in time. Meanwhile, suppose 
 We take a meditative doze. 
 
 (Sleeps. By and by his paper falls.} 
 
 35
 
 36 THE METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 M. L'TOILE (approaching from the back). 
 Some one before me. What ! 'tis you, 
 Monsieur the Scholar ? Sleeping too ! 
 (Picks up the fluttering paper.) 
 More " Tales" of course. One can't refuse 
 To chase so fugitive a Muse ! 
 Verses are public, too, that fly 
 " Cum privilegio " -Zephyri ! 
 (Reads.) 
 
 " CLITANDER AND DORINE." Insane ! 
 He fancies he's a LA FONTAINE ! 
 "/ early Days, the Gods, we find, 
 Paid frequent Visits to Mankind; 
 At least, authentic Records say so 
 In Publius Ovidius Naso. 
 (Three names for one. This passes all. 
 'Tis " furiously " classical !) 
 " No doubt their Purpose oft would be 
 Some ' Nodus dignus Vindice ' ;
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS 39 
 
 ' On dit, 1 not less, these earthly Tours 
 
 Were mostly Matters of Amours. 
 
 And woe to him whose luckless Flame 
 
 Impeded that Olympic Game ; 
 
 Ere he could say an ' Ave ' o'er, 
 
 They changed him like a Lom's-d'or. 
 
 (" Aves" and current coinage ! O ! 
 
 O shade of NICHOLAS BOILEAU !) 
 
 " Bird, Beast, or River he became : 
 
 With Women it was much the same. 
 
 In Ovid Case to Case succeeds ; 
 
 But Names the Reader never reads. 
 
 (That is, Monsieur the Abbe feels 
 
 His quantities are out at heels !) 
 
 " Suffices that, for this our Tale, 
 
 There dwelt in a Thessalian Vale, 
 
 Of Talcs like this the constant Scene, 
 
 A Shepherdess, by name Dorine. 
 
 Trim Waist, ripe Lips, bright Eyes, had she :
 
 40 THE METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 In short, the whole Artillery. 
 
 Her Beauty made some local Stir; 
 
 Men marked it. So did Jupiter. 
 
 This Shepherdess Dorine adored ..." 
 
 Implored, ignored, and soared, and poured 
 
 (He's scrawled them here !) We'll sum in brief 
 
 His fable on his second leaf. 
 
 (Writes.) 
 
 There, they shall know who 'twas that wrote : 
 " L'TOILE'S is but a mock-bird's note /" [Exit. 
 
 THE ABBE (waking). 
 
 Implored '$ the word, I think. But where, 
 Where is my paper ? Ah ! 'tis there ! 
 
 Eh! what? 
 
 (Reads.) 
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS. 
 
 (Not in Ovid.) 
 
 " The Shepherdess Dorine adored 
 The Shepherd- Boy Clitander;
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS 43 
 
 But Jove himself, Olympus' Lord, 
 The Shepherdess Dorine adored. 
 Our Abbess Aid the Pair implored; 
 And changed to Goose and Gander, 
 The Shepherdess Dorine adored 
 The Shepherd-Boy Clitander ! " 
 , by all the Muses ! 
 
 Peste ! 
 
 He's off, post-haste, to tell the rest. 
 No matter. Laugh, Sir Dunce, to-day ; 
 Next time 'twill be my turn to play.
 
 THE SONG OUT OF SEASON 
 
 " Point de culte sans mystere." 
 
 SCENE. A Corridor in a Chateau, with Busts and 
 Venice chandeliers. 
 
 MONSIEUR L'ETOILE. Two VOICES. 
 
 M. L'ETOILE (carrying a Rose). 
 This is the place. MUTINE said here. 
 " Through the Mancini room, and near 
 The fifth Venetian chandelier ..." 
 The fifth ? She knew there were but four ; 
 Still, here's the busto of the Moor. 
 
 47
 
 48 THE SONG OUT OF SEASON 
 
 (Humming.') 
 
 Tra-la, tra-la /If BIJOU wake, 
 He'll bark, no doubt, and spoil my shake ! 
 I'll tap, I think. One can't mistake ; 
 This surely is the door. 
 
 (Sings softly.) 
 11 When Jove, the Skies' Director, 
 
 First saw you sleep of yore, 
 He cried aloud for Nectar, 
 1 The Nectar quickly pour, 
 The Nectar, Hebe, pour ! ' " 
 
 (No sound. I'll tap once more.) 
 
 (Sings again.) 
 " Then came the Sire Apollo, 
 
 He past you where you lay; 
 1 Come, Dian, rise and follow
 
 THE SONG OUT OF SEASON 51 
 
 The dappled Hart to slay, 
 The rapid Hart to slay: " 
 
 (A rustling within.) 
 (Coquette ! She heard before.) 
 
 (Sings again.) 
 
 " And urchin Cupid after 
 Beside the Pillow curled, 
 
 He whispered you with Laughter, 
 ' Awake and witch the World, 
 O Venus, witch the World! 1 " 
 
 (Now comes the last. Tis scarcely worse, 
 I think, than Monsieur I'ABBE'S verse.) 
 
 " So waken, waken, waken, 
 O You, whom we adore ! 
 Where Gods can be mistaken.
 
 52 THE SONG OUT OF SEASON 
 
 Mere Mortals must be more, 
 Poor Mortals must be more ! " 
 
 (That merits an encore /) 
 " So waken, waken, waken ! 
 O YOU whom we adore ! " 
 
 {An energetic VOICE.) 
 Tis thou, ANTOINE ? Ah, Addle-pate ! 
 Ah, Thief of Valet, always late ! 
 Have I not told thee half-past eight 
 A thousand times ! 
 
 (Great agitation.} 
 
 But wait, but wait,- 
 
 M. L'TOILE (stupefied). 
 Just Skies ! What hideous roar !- 
 What lungs ! The infamous Soubrette ! 
 This is a turn I shan't forget :
 
 THE SONG OUT OF SEASON 55 
 
 To make me sing my chansonnette 
 
 Before old JOURDAIN'S door ! 
 
 (Retiring slowly.) 
 
 And yet, and yet, it can't be she. 
 They prompted her. Who can it be ? 
 
 (A second VOICE.) 
 IT WAS THE ABBE Ti RI LI ! 
 
 (In a mocking falsetto^) 
 " Where Gods can be mistaken, 
 Mere Poets must be more, 
 BAD POETS must be more ! "
 
 THE CAP THAT FITS 
 
 " Qni sbne tpines n'aille dechaitx.'' 
 
 SCENE. A Salon with blue and white Panels. 
 Outside, Persons pass and re-pass upon 
 a Terrace. 
 
 HORTENSE. ARMANDE. MONSIEUR LOYAL. 
 
 HORTENSE (behind her fan). 
 Not young, I think. 
 
 ARMANDE (raising her eye-glass). 
 
 And faded, too : 
 Quite faded ! Monsieur, what say you ?
 
 60 THE CAP THAT FITS 
 
 M. LOYAL. 
 
 Nay, I defer to you. In truth, 
 To me she seems all grace and youth. 
 
 HORTENSE. 
 
 Graceful ? You think it ? What, with hands 
 That hang like this (with a gesture). 
 
 ARMANDE. 
 
 And how she stands ! 
 
 M. LOYAL. 
 
 Nay, I am wrong again. I thought 
 Her air delightfully untaught ! 
 
 HORTENSE. 
 But you amuse me 
 
 M. LOYAL. 
 
 Still her dress, 
 Her dress at least, you must confess
 
 THE CAP THAT FITS 63 
 
 ARMANDE. 
 
 Is odious simply ! JACOTOT 
 Did not supply that lace, I know ; 
 And where, I ask, has mortal seen 
 A hat unfeathered ! 
 
 HORTENSE. 
 
 Edged with green ! 
 
 M. LOYAL. 
 
 The words remind me. Let me say 
 A Fable that I heard to-day. 
 Have I permission ? 
 
 BOTH (with enthusiasm). 
 
 Monsieur, pray. 
 
 M. LOYAL. 
 
 Myrtilla (lest a Scandal rise, 
 The Lady's Name I thus disguise), 
 Dying of Ennui, once decided,
 
 64 THE CAP THAT FITS 
 
 Much on Resource herself she prided, 
 
 To choose a Hat. Forthwith she flies 
 
 On that momentous Enterprise. 
 
 Whether to Petit or Legros, 
 
 I know not : only this I know ; 
 
 Head-dresses then, of any Fashion, 
 
 Bore Names of Quality or Passion. 
 
 Myrtilla tried them, almost all : 
 
 "Prudence" she felt, was somewhat small , 
 
 " Retirement" seemed the Eyes to hide ; 
 
 " Content," at once, she cast aside. 
 
 " Simplicity" 'twas out of place ; 
 
 " Devotion," for an older face : 
 
 Briefly, Selection smaller grew, 
 
 " Vexatious ! odious ! " none would do ! 
 
 Then, on a sudden, she espied 
 
 One that she thought she had not tried ; 
 
 Becoming, rather, " edged with green, "- 
 
 Roses in yellow, Thorns between.
 
 THE CAP THAT FITS 67 
 
 "Quick! Bring me that!" 'Tis brought. "Complete, 
 Divine, Enchanting, Tasteful, Neat" 
 
 In all the Tones. " And this you call ? " 
 
 " ' ILL-NATURE,' Madame. It fits all" 
 
 HORTENSE. 
 
 A thousand thanks ! So naively turned ! 
 
 ARMANDE. 
 
 So useful too, to those concerned ! 
 'Tis yours ? 
 
 M. LOYAL. 
 
 Ah no, some cynic wit's ; 
 And called (I think) 
 
 (Placing his hat upon his breast.) 
 
 " The Cap that Fits."
 
 of the
 
 THE SECRETS OF THE HEART 
 
 " Le cceur mine ou il va. " 
 
 SCENE. A Chalet covered with Honeysuckle. 
 NINETTE. NINON. 
 
 NINETTE. 
 This way 
 
 NINON. 
 No, this way 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 This way, then. 
 (They enter the Chalet.} 
 
 You are as changing, Child, as Men. 
 
 71
 
 72 THE SECRETS OF THE HEART 
 
 NINON. 
 
 But are they ? Is it true, I mean ? 
 Who said it ? 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 SISTER SERAPHINE. 
 She was so pious and so good, 
 With such sad eyes beneath her hood, 
 And such poor little feet,- all bare ! 
 Her name was EUGENIE LA FERE. 
 She used to tell us, moonlight nights, 
 When I was at the Carmelites. 
 
 NINON. 
 
 Ah, then it must be right. And yet, 
 Suppose for once suppose, NINETTE 
 
 NINETTE. 
 But what ?
 
 THE SECRETS OF THE HEART 75 
 
 NINON. 
 
 Suppose it were not so ? 
 Suppose there were true men, you know ! 
 
 NINETTE. 
 And then ? 
 
 NINON. 
 
 Why, if that could occur, 
 What kind of man should you prefer ? 
 
 NINETTE. 
 What looks, you mean ? 
 
 NINON. 
 
 Looks, voice and all. 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 Well, as to that, he must be tall, 
 Or say, not " tall," of middle size ; 
 And next, he must have laughing eyes,
 
 76 THE SECRETS OF THE HEART 
 
 And a hook- nose, with, underneath, 
 
 ! what a row of sparkling teeth ! 
 
 NINON (touching her cheek suspiciously). 
 Has he a scar on this side ? 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 Hush! 
 Some one is coming. No ; a thrush : 
 
 1 see it swinging there. 
 
 NINON. 
 
 Go on. 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 Then he must fence (ah, look, 'tis gone !) 
 And dance like Monseigneur, and sing 
 " Love was a Shepherd " : everything 
 That men do. Tell me yours, NINON. 
 
 NINON. 
 Shall I ? Then mine has black, black hair,-
 
 THE SECRETS OF THE HEART 77 
 
 I mean he should have ; then an 'air 
 
 Half-sad, half-noble ; features thin ; 
 
 A little royale on the chin ; 
 
 And such a pale, high brow. And then, 
 
 He is a prince of gentlemen ; 
 
 He, too, can ride and fence, and write 
 
 Sonnets and madrigals, yet fight 
 
 No worse for that 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 I know your man. 
 
 NINON. 
 
 And I know yours. But you'll not tell, 
 Swear it ! 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 I swear upon this fan, 
 My Grandmother's !
 
 78 THE SECRETS OF THE HEART 
 
 NINON. 
 
 And I, I swear 
 
 On this old turquoise reliquaire, 
 My great, great Grandmother's ! 
 {After a pause?) 
 
 NINETTE ! 
 I feel so sad. 
 
 NINETTE. 
 I too. But why.? 
 
 NINON. 
 Alas, I know not ! 
 
 NINETTE (with a sigh). 
 Nor do I.
 
 ' tie/e/e 
 
 o'C'
 
 "GOOD NIGHT, BABETTE!" 
 
 " Si vieillesse pouvait ! ' 
 
 SCENE. A small neat Room. In a high Voltaire 
 Chair sits a white-haired old Gentleman. 
 
 MONSIEUR VIEUXBOIS. BABETTE. 
 
 M. VIEUXBOIS (turning querulously}. 
 Day of my life ! Where can she get ? 
 BABETTE ! I say ! BABETTE ! BABETTE ! ! 
 
 BABETTE (entering hurriedly). 
 Coining, M'sieu' ! If M'sieu' speaks 
 
 So loud, he won't be well for weeks ! 
 81
 
 82 "GOOD NIGHT, BABETTE/" 
 
 M. VIEUXBOIS. 
 Where have you been ? 
 
 BABETTE. 
 
 Why M'sieu' knows : 
 April ! . . . Ville-d'Avray ! . . . Ma'am'selle ROSE ! 
 
 M. VIEUXBOIS. 
 
 Ah ! I am old, and I forget. 
 Was the place growing green, BABETTE ? 
 
 BABETTE. 
 
 But of a greenness ! yes, M'sieu' ! 
 And then the sky so blue ! so blue ! 
 And when 1 dropped my immortelle, 
 How the birds sang ! 
 
 (Lifting her apron to her eyes.} 
 
 This poor Ma'am'selle ! 
 
 M. VIEUXBOIS. 
 You're a good girl, BABETTE, but she,
 
 "GOOD NIGHT, BABETTE.'" 85 
 
 She was an Angel, verily. 
 
 Sometimes I think I see her yet 
 
 Stand smiling by the cabinet ; 
 
 And once, I know, she peeped and laughed 
 
 Betwixt the curtains . . . 
 
 Where's the draught ? 
 (She gives him a cup.) 
 Now I shall sleep, I think, BABETTE ; 
 Sing me your Norman chansonnette, 
 
 BABETTE (sings). 
 " Once at the Angelus 
 
 (Ere I was dead], 
 Angels all glorious 
 
 Came to my Bed ; 
 Angels in blue and white 
 
 Crowned on the Head." 
 
 M. VIEUXBOIS (drowsily). 
 
 " She was an Angel," ..." Once she laughed " .
 
 86 "GOOD NIGHT, BABETTE/" 
 
 What, was I dreaming ! 
 
 Where's the draught ? 
 
 BABETTE (showing the empty cup). 
 The draught, M'sieu' ? 
 
 V 
 M. VlEUXBOIS. 
 
 How I forget ! 
 I- am so old ! But sing, BABETTE 1 
 
 BABETTE (sings). 
 " One was the Friend I left 
 
 Stark in the Snow ; 
 One was the Wife that died 
 
 Long, long ago; 
 One was the Love I lost . . . 
 
 How could she know ? " 
 
 M. VIEUXBOIS (murmuring). 
 Ah, PAUL ! ... old PAUL ! . . . EULALIE too ! 
 And ROSE ! . . And O ! " the sky so blue ! " .
 
 <J>/a-me 
 
 >/ag-mejc>ar
 
 "GOOD NIGHT, BABBTTE/" 89 
 
 BABETTE (sings}. 
 11 One had my Mother's eyes, 
 
 Wistful and mild ; 
 One had my Father's face ; 
 
 One was a Child : 
 All of them bent to me, 
 
 Bent down and smiled ! " 
 (He is asleep !) 
 
 M. VIEUXBOIS (almost inaudibly). 
 " How I forget ! " 
 " I am so old " . . . " Good night, BABETTE ! "
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Heigho ! how chill the evenings get ! 
 Good night, NINON ! good night, NINETTE ! 
 Your little Play is played and finished ; 
 Go back, then, to your Cabinet ! 
 
 LOYAL, L'ETOILE ! no more to-day ! 
 Alas / they heed not what we say : 
 
 They smile with ardour undiminished ; 
 But we, we are not always gay !
 
 "AU REVOIR" 
 
 A DRAMATIC VIGNETTE. 
 
 SCENE. The Fountain in the Garden of the Luxembourg. 
 It is surrounded by Promenaders. 
 
 MONSIEUR JOLICCEUR. A LADY (unknown}. 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 Tis she, no doubt. Brunette, and tall : 
 A charming figure, above all ! 
 This promises. Ahem ! 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 Monsieur ? 
 
 Ah ! it is three. Then Monsieur's name 
 Is JOLICXEUR ? . . .
 
 98 "AU REVOIR" 
 
 M. JOLIOEUR. 
 
 Madame, the same. 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 And Monsieur's goodness has to say ? . . . 
 Your note ? . . . 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 Your note. 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 Forgive me. Nay. 
 (Reads.) 
 
 " If Madame [I omit] will be 
 Beside the Fountain-rail at Three, 
 Then Madame possibly may hear 
 News of her Spaniel. JOLICCEUR." 
 Monsieur denies his note ?
 
 "AU RBVOIR" 99 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 I do. 
 
 Now let me read the one from you. 
 " If Monsieur Jolic&ur will be 
 Beside the Fountain-rail at Three, 
 Then Monsieur possibly may meet 
 An old Acquaintance. ' INDISCREET.' ' 
 
 THE LADY (scandalised). 
 
 Ah, what a folly ! Tis not true. 
 I never met Monsieur. And you ? 
 
 M. JOLICOEUR (ivith gallantry}. 
 
 Have lived in vain till now. But see 
 We are observed. 
 
 THE LADY (looking round). 
 I comprehend .
 
 ioo AU REVOIR r 
 
 {After a pause.} 
 
 Monsieur, malicious brains combine 
 For your discomfiture, and mine. 
 Let us defeat that ill design. 
 If Monsieur but . . . (hesitating). 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR (bowing], 
 Rely on me. 
 
 THE LADY (still hesitating). 
 Monsieur, I know, will understand . . 
 
 M. JOLIOEUR. 
 Madame, I wait but your command. 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 You are too good. Then condescend 
 At once to be a new-found Friend !
 
 "AU REVOIR" 103 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR (entering upon the part forthwith}. 
 How ? ' I am charmed, enchanted. Ah ! 
 What ages since we met ... at Spa ? 
 
 THE LADY (a little disconcerted). 
 At Ems, I think. Monsieur, maybe, 
 Will recollect the Orangery ? 
 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 At Ems, of course. But Madame's face 
 Might make one well forget a place. 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 It seems so. Still, Monsieur recalls 
 The Kilrhaus, and the concert-balls ? 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 Assuredly. Though there again 
 'Tis Madame's image I retain.
 
 104 "AU REVOIR 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 Monsieur is skilled in ... repartee. 
 (How do they take it ? Can you see ?) 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 Nay, Madame furnishes the wit. 
 (They don't know what to make of it !) 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 And Monsieur's friend who sometimes came ? 
 That clever ... I forget the name. 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 The BARON ? ... It escapes me, too. 
 'Twas doubtless he that Madame knew ? 
 
 THE LADY (archly}. 
 Precisely. But, my carriage waits. 
 Monsieur will see me to the gates ?
 
 "AU REVOIR" 105 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR (offering his arm). 
 
 I shall be charmed. (Your stratagem 
 Bids fair, I think, to conquer them.) 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 (Who is she ? I must find that out.) 
 And Madame's husband thrives, no doubt ? 
 
 THE LADY (off her guard). 
 Monsieur de BEAU ? . . . He died at Dole ! 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 Truly. How sad ! 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 (Yet, on the whole, 
 
 How fortunate ! BEA.u-pre? ~BEA\j-vau ? 
 Which can it be ? Ah, there they go !) 
 Madame, your enemies retreat 
 With all the honours of . . . defeat.
 
 106 "AU REVOIR 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 Thanks to Monsieur. Monsieur has shown 
 A skill PREVILLE could not disown. 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR. 
 
 You flatter me. We need no skill 
 To act so nearly what we will. 
 Nay, what may come to pass, if Fate 
 And Madame bid me cultivate . . . 
 
 THE LADY (anticipating). 
 
 Alas ! no farther than the gate. 
 Monsieur, besides, is too polite 
 To profit by a jest so slight. 
 
 M. JOLICOZUR. 
 
 Distinctly. Still, I did but glance 
 At possibilities ... of Chance.
 
 1 AU REVOIR" 109 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 Which must not serve Monsieur, I fear, 
 Beyond the little grating here. 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR (aside). 
 (She's perfect. One may push too far. 
 Piano, sano.) 
 
 (They reach the gates.) 
 
 Here we are. 
 Permit me, then . . . 
 
 (Placing her in the carriage.) 
 And Madame goes ? . . . 
 Your coachman ? . . . Can I ? . . . 
 
 THE LADY (smiling). 
 
 Thanks ! he knows. 
 Thanks ! Thanks ! 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR (insidiously). 
 
 And shall we not renew 
 Our ..." Ems acquaintanceship ? "
 
 no "AU REVOIR 
 
 THE LADY (still smiling). 
 
 Adieu ! 
 My thanks instead ! 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR (with pathos). 
 
 It is too hard ! 
 
 (Laying his hand on the grating.) 
 To find one's Paradise is barred ! ! 
 
 THE LADY. 
 
 Nay. " Virtue is her own reward ! " 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 M. JOLICXEUR (solus). 
 
 J$EAU-vau ? BEAU-val/on ? EEAV-manotr? 
 But that's a detail ! 
 
 ( Waving his hand after the carriage.) 
 Au REVOIR !
 
 NOTES 
 
 NOTE i, PAGE 24. 
 ' ' Nay, 'twas a song of Sainte-Aulaire. '' 
 
 It is but just to the octogenarian Marquis, whom the Duchess of 
 Maine surnamed her ' vieux bergerj to say that he is guiltless of 
 the song here ascribed to him. For it, and the similar pieces in 
 these Proverbs, the author is alone responsible. In the Secrets of 
 the Heart, however, he has, without attempting to revive the 
 persons, borrowed the names of the charming heroines of A quoi 
 revent les feunes Filles. 
 
 NOTE 2, PAGE 105. 
 " A skill Preville could not disown." 
 
 Preville was the French Foote, circa 1760. His gifts as a comedian 
 were of the highest order, and he had an extraordinary faculty for 
 identifying himself with the parts he played. Sterne, in a letter to 
 Garrick, from Paris, in 1762. calls him ' Mercury himself.'
 
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