Love’s Alumni: The Afterpiece
by
As Played at Ingilby, October 6, 1755
”
Though marriage be a lottery, in which there are a wondrous many blanks, yet there is one inestimable lot, in which the only heaven on earth is written. Would your kind fate but guide your hand to that, though I were wrapt in all that luxury itself could clothe me with, I still should envy you.“
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
DUKE OF ORMSKIRK.
LOUIS DE SOYECOURT, formerly GRAND DUKE OF NOUMARIA, and now a tuner of
pianofortes.
DUC DE PUYSANGE.
DAMIENS, servant to Ormskirk.
In Dumb Show are presented LORD HUMPHREY DEGGE, CAPTAIN FRANCIS AUDAINE, MR. GEORGE ERWYN, DUCHESS OF ORMSKIRK, DUCHESSE DE PUYSANGE, LADY HUMPHREY DEGGE, MRS. AUDAINE, and MRS. ERWYN.
SCENE
The library, and afterward the dining-room, of Ormskirk’s home at Ingilby, in Westmoreland.
LOVE’S ALUMNI
PROEM:-Wherein a Prince Serves His People
The Grand Duke did not return to breakfast nor to dinner, nor, in point of fact, to Noumaria. For the second occasion Louis de Soyecourt had vanished at the spiriting of boredom; and it is gratifying to record that his evasion passed without any train of turmoil.
The Grand Duchess seemed to disapprove of her bereavement, mildly, but only said, “Well, after all–!”
She saw to it that the ponds about the palace were dragged conscientiously, and held an interview with the Chief of Police, and more lately had herself declared Regent of Noumaria.
She proved a capable and popular ruler, who when she began to take lovers allowed none of them to meddle with politics: so all went well enough in Noumaria, and nobody evinced the least desire to hasten either the maturity of young Duke Anthony or the reappearance of his father.
I
Meantime had come to Ingilby, the Duke of Ormskirk’s place in Westmoreland, a smallish blue-eyed vagabond who requested audience with his Grace, and presently got it, for the Duke, since his retirement from public affairs, [Footnote: He returned to office during the following year, as is well known, immediately before the attempted assassination of the French King, in the January of 1757.] had become approachable by almost any member of the public.
The man came Into the library, smiling, “I entreat your pardon, Monsieur le Duc,” he began, “that I have not visited you sooner. But in unsettled times, you comprehend, the master of a beleaguered fortress is kept busy. This poor fortress of my body has been of late most resolutely besieged by poverty and hunger, the while that I have been tramping about Europe–in search of Gaston. Now, they tell me, he is here.”
The travesty of their five-year-old interview at Bellegarde so tickled Ormskirk’s fancy that he laughed heartily. “Damiens,” said Ormskirk, to the attendant lackey, “go fetch me a Protestant minister from Manneville, and have a gallows erected in one of the drawing-rooms. I intend to pay off an old score.” Meantime he was shaking the little vagabond’s hand, chuckling and a-beam with hospitality.
“Your Grace–!” said Damiens, bewildered.
“Well, go, in any event,” said Ormskirk. “Oh, go anywhere, man!–to the devil, for instance.”
His eyes, followed the retreating lackey. “As I suspect in the end you will,” Ormskirk said, inconsequently. “Still, you are a very serviceable fellow, my good Damiens. I have need of you.”
And with a shrug he now began, “Your Highness,–“
“Praise God, no!” observed the other, fervently.
And Ormskirk nodded his comprehension. “Monsieur de Soyecourt, then. Of course, we heard of your disappearance, I have been expecting something of the sort for years. And,–frankly, politics are often a nuisance, as both Gaston and myself will willingly attest,–especially,” he added, with a grimace, “since war between France and England became inevitable through the late happenings in India and Nova Scotia, and both our wives flatly declined to let either of us take part therein,–for fear we might catch our death of cold by sleeping in those draughty tents. Faith, you have descended, sir, like an agreeable meteor, upon two of the most scandalously henpecked husbands in all the universe. In fact, you will not find a gentleman at Ingilby–save Mr. Erwyn, perhaps–but is an abject slave to his wife, and in consequence most abjectly content.”