The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1875-04-09
AN UNFORTUNATE MAN.
A STORY OF A FRENCH DRAmAr1sr

STORY OF A FRENCH DRAMATIsT.
One cold morning in February, 1910,
ashort stout, commonplace looking man,
about sixty years old, entered the gar
den of an inn situated in the suburbs of
Paris. Although the air was sharp and
frosty, he seated himself near one of the
tables placed out of doors, and, taking
off his hat passed his fingers through his
long gray hair.
His hands contrasted strangely with
the remainder of his person; they were
small, white, and terminated in such del
icately formed pink nails as might excite
the envy of many young lady. Pres
emily one of the walters came up, and
placed before him bottle of wine.
''Not any to-day, thank you, he said,
'T feel fatigued, and will just rest a mo-
ment."
'HThe best way to rest, monsieur" re-
piled the waiter, sis to drink glass of
good wine." 81
He drew the cork and poured out some
OF the wine.
The old man arose and walked away
The waiter was young lad, and it was
with confused and embarrassed air he
ran after the guest and said:
"Sir; there is credit for you at the
Lion dor; if you have forgotten your
purse, that's no reason you should lose
your breakfast Tomorrow or whenev-
er you like, you can ask for your bill. f"
The old man turned, looked at the
youth, and tear sparkled in his eye.
"Thou art right, JEAN" he replied;
"poverty must not be proud. accept
thy kindness as frankly as it is offered,
Help thyself to a glass of wine"
81 drink to your good health, mon
sieur," said the waiter; and, having
emptied his glass, he went and obtained
some spieed meat, bread, cheese, fruit,
and everything necessary for tempting
and nourishing repast: then with native
politeness in order to lessen the sense of
obligation to guest, he said: "When
next one of your pieces is played, will
you give me ticket"
"Thou shalt have two this very even
ing,my goodlad. I will go and get them
from Burnet, and bring them back to
thee.
"The walk would be too much for
your strength, monsieur; some other day
when you happen to pass by, will do as
we'll"
'Thou shalt have ticket to-day, for
they are going to perform one of my
pieces, lie Desespoirde Jocrisse, at the
Theatre des Varieties, and it may amuse
thee" Hs
"Ah, thank you, monsieur. What
laughing L shall haveI"
eyes; the poor old man, who but for
thy charity would not have had a NOR
sci to eat to-day, will this evening enter
tain a numerous assembly. They will
applaud his pleasantly, they will laugh
at his wit, but none of them will inquire
about his destiny"
"But, monsieur, do not your pieces
bring you money!"
''Not now, my friend. In order to
support life during the past month, 1
was obliged to forestall the resources of
the present one, These are only slender
returns for my earlier productions, for
now age and misfortune have robbed me
of my former powers Ino longer offer
any vaudevilles to the managers; for,
although they accept them and pay me,
they never have them played. I per
ceive they only take them from motives
of compassion, and as pretext for Civ
ing me aims. Now, my friend, thou art
the first from whom 1 have accepted
charity, and thou shalt be the last, The
son of Louis Quinze may have descend
ed to write in the character of a buffoon,
and, as it were, TO set his wit dancing
on the tight rope of a vaudeville, but he
will not become beggar, we're he ex-
piring Of hunger. You look as if you
think l have lost my senses; but it is not
80. Louis Dorvigny is the son of a king
My mother, the young orphan daughter
of Count d'Archambaud, died in giving
me birth. My father was Louis Quinze.
During my childhood and youth an in
visible protector watched over me, and
provided amply for my support and ed
ueation. Suddenly the fostering hand