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                          THE STANDARD DRAMA.

                          The Acting Edition.

                              NO. CCXXV.


                            THE ROMANCE OF
                           A POOR YOUNG MAN.

                  A Drama, adapted from the French of
                           OCTAVE FEUILLET,

           BY MESSRS. PIERREPONT EDWARDS AND LESTER WALLACK.

                          TO WHICH ARE ADDED

    A Description of the Costume--Cast of the Characters--Entrances
    and Exits--Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and
    the whole of the Stage Business

    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by LESTER
    WALLACK, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the
    Southern District of New York.

                               NEW YORK:
                       SAMUEL FRENCH, PUBLISHER,
                    122 NASSAU STREET, (UP STAIRS.)




CHARACTERS REPRESENTED.


    _Manuel, Marquis de Champcey_, Mr. Lester Wallack.

    _Doctor Desmarets,--formerly of the French Army_, Mr. Brougham.

    _M. de Bevannes--a man of the world_, Mr. Walcot.

    _Gaspar Laroque--an aged man, formerly Captain of a Privateer_,
          Mr. Dyott.

    _Alain--a confidential domestic_, Mr. Young.

    _M. Nouret--a Notary_, Mr. Levere.

    _Yvonnet--a Breton Shepherd_, Mr. Baker.

    _Henri_, Mr. Oliver.

    _Louis_, Mr. Coburn.

    _Madame Laroque--Daughter-in-Law to Gaspar_, Mrs. Vernon.

    _Marguerite--her daughter_, Mrs. Hoey.

    _Mlle Helouin--a Governess_,

    _Madame Aubrey--a relative of the Laroque family_,
          Miss Mary Gannon.

  _Louise Vauberger--formerly nurse to Manuel, now keeper of a lodging
          house_, Mrs. Walcot.

  _Christine--a Breton peasant girl_, Miss Fanny Reeves.

  _Guests, Servants, Peasantry, &c., &c._


The events of the Drama take place (during the 1st Act) in Paris,
afterward in the Province of Britanny.

Costumes of the present day.

The Overture, incidental Music, and Choruses composed and arranged by
Mr. Robert Stoepel.




A POOR YOUNG MAN.




TABLEAU I.


    _A Room, simply furnished--Table, Chairs, Arm Chair, Secretaire,
    Side Table--Door C._

    _MADAME VAUBERGER peeps in L._

_Madame Vauberger._ No; he has not yet returned. [_Enters._] Things
cannot go on in this manner much longer--I shall have to speak out, and
plainly too. And why not? Surely he won't take it ill from me--ah, no.
I, who loved his poor mother so, could never--What's this? A purse!
empty! And this key, left carelessly lying about; that's a bad sign.
[_Opens Secretaire._] No, not one solitary sous--his last coin came
yesterday to pay me the rent. In the drawer, perhaps--

    _DR. DESMARETS looks in._

_Dr. Desmarets._ Hallo! [_She starts._] What are you at there?

_Mad. V._ Me, sir? I was just--I was just--

_Des._ Poking your nose into that drawer--that what you call just?

_Mad. V._ I was dusting and putting the things in order, sir.

_Des._ I'll tell you what, Madame V., you're an extraordinary woman.
Yesterday, when I called, you were dusting--half-an-hour ago when I
called, you were dusting--and now, when I call again, you're dusting.
Where the devil you find so much dust to dust, _I_ can't think.

_Mad. V._ Ah, sir, look into this drawer.

_Des._ What for?

_Mad. V._ Is it not the place where, if one had money, one would
naturally keep it?

_Des._ I suppose so. What of that?

_Mad. V._ See, sir, it is empty.

_Des._ What's that to me?

_Mad. V._ And his purse, also.

_Des._ What's that to you?             [_Goes up and puts hat on table._

_Mad. V._ [_Aside._] I dare not tell him that Manuel is without a
meal--starving--I should never be forgiven. His _pride_ would be
wounded, and nothing could excuse that.

_Des._ Well, what are you cogitating about? Looking for something to
dust?

_Mad. V._ I'm thinking of the Marquis, sir.

_Des._ Well, what of him?

_Mad. V._ Is it not dreadful? Brought up as he has been--surrounded by
every luxury--and now reduced to want even. Oh! it is too hard--too
hard!

_Des._ Well, it's his own fault, isn't it? There was enough left from
the wreck of his father's property, to give him a sort of a living, and
he must needs go and settle it all upon his little sister Helen.

_Mad. V._ And for what? To give her the education befitting her rank.

_Des._ Fudge!

_Mad. V._ Doctor Desmarets, your're very unfeeling.

_Des._ Oh, of course, of course. I give him good advice, he rejects it.
I withdraw my sympathy, and then I'm unfeeling. If he can't manage
better with the little that's left him, egad! he may think himself lucky
that he can get his daily meals.

_Mad. V._ Sir, he can't even--[_Aside._] Oh, if I dared--

_Des._ Can't even what? Send for his coupe, I suppose, or drink Chateau
margaux--terrible hardships, truly. When there's nothing else in a man's
pocket, he had better put his pride there, and button it up tight.

_Mad. V._ Some day, sir, we shall find that he has taken poison, or cut
his throat.

_Des._ Ah! and then there'll be nothing to dust.

_Mad. V._ Monsieur, I repeat it--you're unfeeling. But I, who loved and
served his dear mother, whom he so much resembles--

_Des._ Not a bit--hasn't a look of her. The father, the father all over.

_Mad. V._ Of course. So you always say, and everybody knows why. You
loved the poor Marchioness, offered her your hand, and she preferred the
Marquis.

_Des._ Madame!

_Mad. V._ I don't care. I _will_ speak my mind. And because she refused
you, you have no regard for her son.

_Des._ Madame!

_Mad. V._ But if he has his father's face, he has his mother's heart.

_Des._ Much you know about it.

_Mad. V._ And who _should_ know if I don't? Havn't I attended him since
he was an infant?

_Des._ Well, and havn't _I_ attended him since he was an infant?

_Mad. V._ Wasn't I with him during every sickness?

_Des._ Wasn't I with him too?

_Mad. V._ Didn't I nurse him?

_Des._ Didn't I cure him?

_Mad. V._ Wouldn't I follow him through the world?

_Des._ Didn't I bring him _into_ it?

_Mad. V._ Yes, and if things go on at this rate, he won't have much to
thank you for.

_Des._ How do _you_ know? How do _you_ know, you foolish old woman you.

    _MANUEL appears._

_Man._ Heyday! the only two friends I have in the world at high words?
What can have caused this?

_Mad. V._ My lord, the Doctor says you--

_Man._ Me! my dear Doctor, you never were quarrelling about so
unimportant a person, surely?

_Des._ No matter for that. But I have some business with the Marquis, if
this very positive old lady will allow me the luxury of an interview
with him--a _private_ interview. Pray, ma'am, _may_ I trespass on your
indulgence?

_Mad. V._ Truly, Doctor, your campaign in the Crimea has improved
neither your manners, or your beauty.                      [_Exit L. H._

_Des._ Confound her impudence! The attack on my manners I could forgive,
but my beauty--that's a tender point.

_Man._ Ah, Doctor, you must pardon her brusque manner. If she's poor in
courtesy, she's rich in a rarer gift--fidelity.

_Des._ Oh! hang her! let her go. And now to your affairs. Your father's
death occurred while I was with the army, in the Crimea. Rumors reached
me there, but I have never heard the full particulars. I would not
willingly revive a painful theme, but as an old friend--

_Man._ Nay, I shall be more satisfied when you know the facts. When you
left France you know what our position was, and what our style of
living.

_Des._ All the luxuries that money could procure--a mansion in Paris, an
ancestral chateau, and a stable that could