I.

Fournichon. There ought to be a machine invented to make our work easier, ... say, some simple arrangement in which you throw in a handful of hair on one side and take out a perruque perfectionnée on the other. I shall certainly bring up my son as a mechanician, and entrust him with the invention of this indispensable machine. Let me see, whose turn is it now? Ah! Mevrouw Priddeau,—a chignon à la sauvage, of at least three kilos? ... Mille tonnerres! I am quite out of black hair! Hi! Pierre!

[He sends his assistants to purchase the necessary supplies; almost immediately after his shop is hastily entered by two students, Charles and John, who drop into chairs, as though completely exhausted.]

Fournichon (rising). How can I serve you, gentlemen?

Charles (gasping). A glass of water, if you please.

[Fournichon supplies them both, and goes on.] How you startled me, gentlemen! to rush in breathlessly like that! Yet it’s not the season for mad dogs!

Charles. If it had only been a mad dog!

Fournichon. Surely no tiger has broken loose from the Zoological Gardens?

John. If it had only been a tiger!

Fournichon. Come, come, I shall not make myself uneasy. You have been up to some mischief, haven’t you? You were pursued by the police, and you saw no other refuge but the hospitable establishment of M. Fournichon, Coiffeur des Deux Sexes. Now, am I not right?

Charles. Yes, that’s it,—the contemptible wretch ... the scoundrel! ... The same low cad who got me in for three weeks’ solitary last year. Far worse than the maddest dog, or the most savage tiger!

John. The fellow never will learn to understand that a couple of rix-dollars are worth far more than his so-called official honour, which involves him in the constant risk of incurring a thrashing.

Fournichon. But what has happened, after all? Surely, gentlemen, you did not come running here in such haste to tell me that you got into quod last year?

Charles. What has happened? Nothing, strictly speaking ... but a whole lot may happen.

John. And that must be prevented,—and that is why we have come to seek comfort, counsel, and help from the hospitable Fournichon.

Charles. I’ll tell you all about it. We were just coming quietly and comfortably from lecture together, when we passed a baker’s shop, when the servant girl was just washing the windows. John took it into his head that we might lend a hand, and I seized a pail of water, intending to throw the contents at the window, when the pail itself slipped from my hands, and flew right through the plate-glass window into the middle of the currant-buns and cakes! Unhappily, the aforesaid incorruptible policeman just happened to be in the neighbourhood, so that he caught us red-handed, and we had to make good use of our legs to escape being locked up at once.

John. You will understand that we did not intend any mischief,—it was a harmless joke, which turned out badly.

Fournichon. Of course. And not only so, but there was provocation on the baker’s part. If he had chosen another time of day to have his windows cleaned, it could not possibly have turned out so. In any case, there are plenty of extenuating circumstances, and I don’t understand why you gentlemen should have such a violent objection to a day or two under lock and key. That happens often enough, and young gentlemen don’t usually think so much of it.

John. That is true, but to-day is an extraordinary occasion. We were going to the fancy-dress ball to-night, and should be very sorry to miss it. So you see us in a fearful scrape, with a gendarme at our heels, and you must help us. [A ring at the bell.] What’s that?

Fournichon. I don’t know; we shall see in a minute. [Steps are heard coming up the stairs.]

Charles. John, get out of sight. [They hide.]

Pierre (entering). Sir, Vrouw Krullemie has just sold her hair this morning for seventy-five cents.

[The students come out again.]

John. Bother your Krullemie! Say, Fournichon, if your visitors are in the habit of dropping in unannounced after this fashion, we are not altogether safe here.

Fournichon. Well, look here, gentlemen, you suggested an idea yourselves. Your costumes for the ball must be quite ready by this time; why don’t you disguise yourselves in them?

Charles. A fine lark! In the first place they are not here....

John. That would matter less, for we might send for them, but we could scarcely show ourselves in the streets in them.

Fournichon. How so?

John. Well, I was going to appear as the Avenger of Innocence.

Charles. And I as the Four Seasons.

Fournichon. You are right, that would never do; but I have another proposal to make. I too intend going to the ball, and have had costumes made for myself and one of my friends, which will no doubt suit you better. You can have those, and give us yours.

John. All right, if they are better suited to the purpose than ours.

Fournichon. Oh! just perfect! You shall see. [Opens two chests in the foreground, and takes out costumes. These should be so made as to be put on, on the stage, without much trouble.] We were going as an old lady and her granddaughter. The dresses are very simple, and I think they will do admirably.

Charles. Done! I accept that. Now, quick! before any one has time to surprise us.

John. Say, Charles, will you be the grandmother?

Charles. All right, and you the girl.

Fournichon. Don’t make any mistakes; the crinoline belongs to this skirt.

Charles. I am quite lost in this cap.

Fournichon. You must have a wig on first.

John. Just look here, Fournichon, this dress isn’t long enough.

Fournichon. Why, of course, you’re only in short skirts as yet.

John. Ah! is that it?

Charles. John, don’t I look charming?

John. Quite enchanting! If you were my grandmother, I should certainly fall in love with you.

Charles. Where’s my wig?

Fournichon. Here are plenty, just choose one for yourself.

John. These curls are what will suit me. [Puts on the wig, and a round straw hat on the top of it.]

Charles. This grey one will just do for me. [Puts it on, and then the cap.] Now, I’m ready! Sapristi! How hot it is. There’s the bell.

John. Good gracious, now we’ve got it!

Fournichon. Quiet now; sit down before it’s too late.

Charles. What’s the good of that? our voices will betray us.

Fournichon. You must not talk. Just you trust to me, and it will be all right.

II.

Charles and John seated at a table, with their backs to the other actors. Enter Bom de Sac, the police agent, fuming and swearing.

Bom de Sac. When I was with the First regiment, and was three times wounded in two battles.... Ah! good-morning, Mr Hairdresser ... three times wounded,—it would never have happened to me to let two scoundrels escape. Never!

Fournichon. What’s your pleasure, Mr—Mr——

Bom de Sac. Bom de Sac, if you please—with the Third regiment—in four battles, five wounds.

Fournichon. Does M. Bom de Sac want his hair cut?

Bom de Sac. Many thanks, I always do that myself. I learnt that with the Fourth ... when I was six times wounded in five battles. But, sir, that is not the point at present. I was just going to say that this morning two scoundrels——

Fournichon. Scoundrels?

Bom de Sac. Scoundrels, or students, whichever you like to call them.

Fournichon. Well, and what did they do?

Bom de Sac. Just imagine, sir. I was at the baker’s, and the maid was standing on a ladder outside cleaning the window, when two good-for-nothing vagabonds came up, took up a pail of water, and threw it at the girl, and the girl fell right through the window in among the currant-buns!

Fournichon. Not killed, I hope.

Bom de Sac. No, the buns had broken her fall. But I was out of the house in a flash, and after the fellows. Sacré nom de guerre! if I could still run as I could when I was in the Fifth ... and wounded seven times in six battles ... they would never have escaped me! But they are here!

Fournichon. Have a glass?

Bom de Sac. If you please. [Drinks.] Thank you. I am told they came into this house, and if so, they’ll have to come out, sir!

Fournichon. Here! How is it possible? You are quite free to search the room if you like. These ladies are my grandmother and my cousin.

Bom de Sac (seeing them for the first time, salutes). Ah! Honneur aux dames, as we used to say in the Sixth. I hope you won’t mind, ladies.

Fournichon. You need not give yourself the trouble of speaking to them. The old lady is stone deaf, and won’t understand a word, and she watches over her granddaughter so carefully that she cannot bear to see a gentleman speak to the girl, because she cannot hear what he is saying.

Bom de Sac. Well, where in the thunder can they have got to? I was quite certain of finding them here.

Fournichon. And I am quite certain you will do no such thing. [Looks out of window.]

Bom de Sac. But—nom de nom!—how is it possible?

Fournichon. Just look here, Monsieur Bom de Sac, could these be the gentlemen that have just passed laughing? Both of them have white hats.

Bom de Sac (rushing to the window). Where?

Fournichon. Ah! what a pity! they have just this moment gone round the corner towards the Botermarkt.

Bom de Sac. White hats, you say? The devil!—that must be they, and they shan’t escape me this time. [Exit.] It’s not for nothing that I had ten wounds in nine battles when serving with the Eighth.

Charles. Bad luck to the fellow! he has made it warm for us!

John. If it had lasted any longer, I am sure I should have made some remarks on my own account. If some one else comes, we really must find some other place, for I really can’t sit still so long in these blessed skirts.

Charles. Shall we stand up then?

John. Why not. [Jumps on one of the chests.] Look here, I’ll bet you anything you like I can stand half-an-hour like this without moving. Don’t I look like a waxwork figure of summer?

Charles. The devil you are! [Gets on the other chest.] And I winter, to match.

Fournichon. Splendid, gentlemen, it couldn’t be finer. Just stand still like that. [A ring at the bell.]

Charles (getting down). Preserve us!—now we’re in for it.

John. No, Charles, stick to your post.

Charles. I can’t possibly stand still all that time.

Fournichon. It won’t be necessary. Just stand in any easy attitude, and you can change your position quietly from time to time, without our tiresome visitor becoming aware of it.

Charles. Well, I’ll see what I can do. [Climbs up again.]

Fournichon. Hush! he’s coming!

Meijer. Good-day, Monsieur Fournichon. Good-day, ladies. (To Fournichon.) Why are you laughing?

Fournichon. At your taking those waxworks for ladies. Ha! ha! ha!

Meijer. Waxworks, you say! How astonishingly lifelike! It’s true, though, it would be a queer position for living beings to stand in.

Fournichon. Well done, are they not? It is an allegorical representation of winter and summer.

Meijer. Very pretty, very pretty indeed! You hair-dressers have always something curious on hand.

Fournichon. That’s to say, sir, they are not my property. They have been sent to me to look after the coiffures, and they are to go to London,—to Madame Tousseau’s museum.

Meijer. Oh, indeed!—indeed! Well, art has made great strides.

Fournichon. Great strides, sir! You’re quite right there. Just feel now—elastic as india-rubber—quite like a human being.

Meijer. Wonderful! wonderful! But I am in a hurry—can you shave me?

Fournichon. Certainly, sir, sit down! [Gives him a chair between John and Charles, but rather more towards the back of the shop. Goes on shaving him, and talking at the same time.] Your barber, sir, does not know his business. Your skin and complexion are quite spoilt.

[John changes his position.]

Meijer (starting up). Good heavens!

Fournichon. No need to be uneasy, sir; there is nothing really dangerous.

Meijer. No, that’s not what I was thinking of,—but that doll of yours—the summer one—is moving!

Fournichon. Oh! that is nothing surprising—perhaps I stepped on the floor rather heavily. You must know these figures are full of steel springs inside, and the slightest vibration makes them move. Just look now!

[Stamps on the floor. John and Charles immediately change their positions.]

Meijer. Ah! thank you for your explanation. I really never should have understood it.

[Sits down again, and Fournichon goes on shaving him till he has finished. Meijer rises.]

Meijer. Thanks. Can you give me change?

Fournichon. I’ll go and get it.

[Exit. Meijer goes to look at the waxworks.]

Meijer. They are curious, though! I have often seen waxworks before, but never so graceful, so lifelike as these. Whenever any one stamps on the floor, they move. [Stamps—John and Charles again change their attitudes.] Just look at that! how pretty! Once more! Sublime! And that’s the way they keep on! [Stamps again, and continues to do so, faster and faster—John and Charles changing their position with every stamp; but at length they begin to grow tired of it—they jump down from their pedestals, seize Meijer, and hold him fast, saying, “You rascal! this is too much of a good thing!” They strike him, and push him out at the door—losing their wigs in the struggle—after which they burst out laughing, and drop exhausted into their chairs. Enter F.]

Fournichon. Gentlemen! what have you been up to now? Such an infernal row I never heard before! You’ll wake all the babies in the neighbourhood.

Charles (laughing). Oh! the conceited blockhead!

John. The worshipper of waxwork groups!

Fournichon. Well—where is he? What have you done with him?

Charles. We have put him out at the door as quietly and deliberately as possible.

Fournichon. Well—and why?

John. Because he bored us too much. He was so delighted with the mechanism of the figures, that we might have kept on dancing till to-morrow morning if we had not put an end to the business ourselves.

Fournichon. And what about your coiffures?

Charles. Why, that’s true! What can have become of them!

Fournichon. Oh! good heavens! here they are, lying on the ground like any old rubbish! [Picks them up, along with the hat and cap.] Just look!—they are not worth a cent now!

John. Oh! just put the things away—we don’t want them any more,—and if they’re spoilt, we’ll pay for them.

Fournichon. In that case, sir, it doesn’t matter. [Lays everything on a table. The bell rings.] Hé! who’s that now?

Charles. It doesn’t matter to me who it is. Any one may come who likes—I’m not going to act in this farce any longer.

Fournichon (looks through the door). Look out, gentlemen—it’s the agent—Bom de Sac!

John and Charles (springing up). That fellow! No! that will never do! [They sit down at the table, as before, and put on their headdresses, but without seeing that they have taken the wrong ones, John putting on the grey wig and cap,—Charles, the curls and round straw hat. Bom de Sac heard speaking outside the door:]—No, sacré nom de nom! Mijnheer Meyer has lent me a hand. What are people thinking of? It was not for nothing I was wounded eleven times in ten battles, with the 9th Regiment. They are here—I’m certain of that! [Enters.]

Fournichon. Search as much as you like, sir, but remember, if you please, that, in the presence of ladies....

Bom de Sac. Of course, of course! I always said, “Honneur aux dames.” [Looks at the ladies and salutes, then takes a step backward in amazement.] Sacré nom de guerre!

Fournichon. What’s the matter?

Bom de Sac. Have I come to my age—not to speak of twelve wounds in eleven battles—to let myself be fooled like this?

Fournichon. I don’t understand you.

Bom de Sac. No, perhaps not. But I understand how it is possible for these ladies to have changed heads at a moment’s notice. Look here! [He takes off the wigs.] The young lady is getting grey, and the grandmother is going backwards to her childhood. Come with me, now, gentlemen—I arrest you both!

Fournichon. Your own fault, gentlemen. I wash my hands of the whole business.

Charles. We have a word to say to that, John.

John. Certainly.

Bom de Sac. Gentlemen, conspiracies or plots in which more than one person are concerned are forbidden by law. Will you come with me, or not?

Charles. I suppose we shall have to.

John. Do you want us to come with you as we are?

Bom de Sac. Just as you like, gentlemen. I arrest you, and that is all my share in the business. The rest does not concern me.

Charles (whispers to John, then continues aloud). Just listen, Monsieur Bom de Sac,—though we find it very unpleasant to have fallen into your hands, we are not children, and we are quite capable of understanding that there is nothing for it but to give in. But just let us change our clothes first—we’ll give you our word of honour not to go out of the door without letting you know.

Bom de Sac. Very good! We have been young, too, you see. Just go on, gentlemen. If you give me your word, that is enough. [While he goes on talking to Fournichon, John and Charles take off their costumes and tie Bom de Sac’s coattails to the table.] Yes, Mr Hairdresser, when I was with the 11th, and had been wounded thirteen times in twelve battles, then I thought to myself,—it’s quite enough, Bom de Sac, you have done quite enough for your country; you’re growing old—and a soldier may be too old. I was then brigadier, and understood that it was getting time for me to make room for another. So I came home to my old mother ... I married a young wife....

Charles. ... and received, in thirteen battles....

Bom de Sac. Ah!—are you ready, gentlemen?

John. At your service, my worthy sergeant of police! We are quite ready, and now warn you that we are about to leave. [Charles and John go out by the door at the back of the stage, arm in arm, saying, as they go.]—Bon soir.

Bom de Sac. Wait—I’m coming with you! [Tries to go, but finds himself fastened to the table.] Bad luck to them! are they going to give me the slip after all?

Fournichon. I see a good chance of it. Look here, Monsieur Bom de Sac, you have, in far too many battles received more than too many wounds to be anything like a match for these young fellows. They have been sharper than you,—so you’ll have to acknowledge yourself beaten, and e’en let them alone. By the time you get outside the door they will be far beyond your reach.

Bom de Sac. You’re right enough there, so I shall keep the whole matter to myself, and wish them a pleasant evening.