RODERICK (V.O.)
The ladies were passionately fond of play, and hence would often arise no small trouble to us; for the truth most be told, that the ladies loved to play, but not to pay. The point of honor is not understood by the charming sex; and it was with the greatest difficulty that we could keep them from the table, could get their money if they lost or, if they paid, prevent them from using the most furious and extraordinary means of revenge.
RODERICK (V.O.)
On this evening, the lady of high rank, after I had won a considerable sum in diamonds and pearls from her, sent her lover with a band of cutthroats to waylay me.
Roderick and the Chevalier are sound asleep in their carriage when they are awakened by a violent jolt, upon which the carriage overturns in the middle of the road.
The Chevalier is underneath, and screams from the pain in his right arm, which he thinks is broken.
Their servant forces the door open to help them out, telling them that the two postilions have fled.
Roderick easily gets out of the carriage through the door, which is above him, but the Chevalier, unable to move because of his disabled arm, has to be pulled out.
His piercing shrieks make Roderick laugh, because of the strange oaths with which he interlards his prayers.
From the carriage, Roderick takes his dueling pistols, and sword.
Roderick tells his servant to mount and to looking for armed peasants in the vicinity; money in hand, he leaves.
The Chevalier has lain down on the hard ground, groaning and in no condition to resist robbers.
Roderick makes his own preparations to sell his fortune and his life at the highest price.
His carriage is close to the ditch, and he unhitches the horses, tieing them to the wheels and the pole in a circle, and stations himself behind them with weapons.
In this predicament, Roderick cannot help laughing at the poor Chevalier, who is writhing like a dying dolphin on a seashore, and uttering the most pitiful execrations, when a mare, whose back was turned to him, take it into her empty head to empty her bladder on him. There is nothing to be done; he has to put up with the whole stinking rain, and to forgive Roderick's laughter, which he has not the strength to hold in.
The chill wind and the silence are suddenly broken by an attack, which is half-hearted and uncertain, by the lady's lover, and his hesitant band of six cut-throats.
Some falter and run away as soon as Roderick fires his pistol.
The leader and two heartier followers engage Roderick. During the fight, they mortally wound the helpless Chevalier and two of them are killed.
After they flee, Roderick kneels by the Chevalier, who utters some appropriate last words, then dies.
His servant finally arrives at full gallop, shouting at the top of his voice, and followed by a band of peasants, each with his lantern, come to his rescue. There are ten or twelve of them, all armed with muskets, and all ready to obey his orders.
Roderick's carriage arrives.
RODERICK (V.O.)
After making suitable arrangements for the Chevalier's burial, in proper accord with his church, I traveled to Spa, which was now in season, alone, to continue my profession which formerly had the support of my friend and mentor.
Crowds surround Roderick.
RODERICK (V.O.)
I was by this time one of the best-known characters in Europe; and the fame of my exploits, my duels, my courage at play, would bring crowds round me in any public society where I appeared.
Attractive women alone, while men are at the gaming table.
RODERICK (V.O.)
The passion for play is stronger than the passion for gallantry; the gamester at Spa has neither time to stop to consider the merits of a woman, nor the courage to make sacrifices for her.
The Countess of Cosgrove walks beside her husband, Sir William Cosgrove, who is in a wheelchair. They are accompanied by their young son, Lord Brookside, and two servants.
RODERICK (V.O.)
In evoking the recollections of these days, I have nothing but pleasure. I would if I could say as much of a lady who will henceforth play a considerable part in the drama of my life -- I mean the Countess of Cosgrove, whose fatal acquaintance I made at Spa, very soon after the tragic events which caused me to quit Germany.
Closer shot of the Countess.
RODERICK (V.O.)
Victoria, Countess of Cosgrove. A Countess and a Viscountess in her own right.
Closer shot of Sir William Cosgrove.
RODERICK (V.O.)
She was the wife of her cousin, the Right Honorable Sir William Reginald Cosgrove, Knight of the Bath, and Minister to George II and George III of several of the smaller courts of Europe.
Closer shot of young Lord Brookside, walking behind them in the care of his governor.
RODERICK (V.O.)
She was the mother to Viscount Brookside -- a melancholy, deserted, little boy, about whom his father was more than indifferent, and whom his mother never saw.
Shots of Sir William Cosgrove being wheeled in, and at play with Roderick, and some other gentlemen.
RODERICK (V.O.)
I made Sir William Cosgrove's acquaintance as usual at the play-table. One could not but admire the spirit and gallantry with which he pursued his favorite pastime; for, though worn out with gout and a myriad of diseases, a cripple wheeled about in a chair, and suffering pangs of agony, yet you would see him every morning, and every evening at his post behind the delightful green cloth.
SIR WILLIAM
Hang it, Mr. Roderick James, you have no more manners than a barber, and I think my black footman has been better educated than you; but you are a young fellow of originality and pluck, and I like you, sir. because you seem determined to go to the devil by a way of your own.
Laughter at the table.
RODERICK
I am obliged to observe, Sir William Cosgrove, that since you are bound for the next world much sooner than I am, I will depend on you to get comfortable quarters arranged for me.
Laughter.
SIR WILLIAM
Indeed, you are right, sir. Look at me. Marriage has added forty years to my life. I am dying, a worn-out cripple, at the age of fifty. When I took off Lady Cosgrove, there was no man of my years who looked so young as myself. Fool that I was! I had enough with my pensions, perfect freedom, the best society in Europe -- and I gave up all these, and married and was miserable. Take a warning from me, Mr. Roderick, and stick to the trumps. Do anything, but marry.
RODERICK
Would you have me spend my life all alone?
SIR WILLIAM
In truth, sir, yes, but, if you must marry, then marry a virtuous drudge.
RODERICK
(laughing)
The milkmaid's daughter?
SIR WILLIAM
Well, why not a milkmaid's daughter? No man of sense need restrict himself or deny himself a single amusement for his wife's sake; on the contrary, if he selects the animal properly, he will choose such a one as shall be no bar to his pleasure, but a comfort in his hours of annoyance. For instance, I have got the gout; who tends me? A hired valet who robs me whenever he has the power. My wife never comes near me. What friend have I? None in the wide world. Men of the world, as you and I are, don't make friends, and we are fools for our pains.