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The Minerva Library.
Edited by G. T. BETTANY, M.A.
1. CHARLES DARWIN'S deer ge: ,PURING A VOYAGE IN THE “‘ BEAGLE
THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. BORROW'S BIBLE IN SPAIN, EMERSON'S PROSE WORKS,
GALTON’S (FRANCIS) TRAVELS IN TROPICAL SOUTH AFRICA,
MANZONTS THE BETROTHED LOVERS.
7. GOETHE'S FAUST BSihtes oao¥ Bayard Taylor's Translation.
8 WALLACE'S (ALFRED RUSSEL) TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON.
9: DEAN STANLEYS LIFE OF DR. ARNOLD.
10 POE'S TALES OF ADVENTURE, MYSTERY, AND IMAGINATION.
11. COMEDIES BY MOLIERE,
i SM Bae
te
WARD, LOOK & Co., London, New York, & Melbourne.
Digitized by the Internet Archive © in 2007 with funding from _ Microsoft Corporation
http://Awww.archive.org/details/comediesOOmolirich
JEAN BAPTISTE POQUELIN DE MOLIERHE.
THE MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS BOOKS. Edited by G. T, BETTANY, M.A., B.Se. |
COMEDIES
BY
[MOGLLERE
THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. | THE SCHOOL FOR HUSBANDS. THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES, THE FORCED MARRIAGE. THE MISER.
THE DOCTOR BY COMPULSION, THE HYPOCHONDRIAC, SCAPIN’S ROGUERIES, THE MISANTHROPE,
THE BLUNDERER, TARTUFFE,
THE BLUE-STOCKINGS,
A NEW TRANSLATION BY CHARLES MATHEW, M.A.
THE TRANSLATION REVISED BY THE EDITOR.
WITH A PORTRAIT OF MOLIERE AND A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION.
WARD, LOCK AND CO. LONDON, NEW YORK, AND MELBOURNE. 1890.
[4il rights reserved.)
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CONTENTS.
oe
: PAGE THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN (LE BouRGEOIS GENTIL HOMME)
1670.,. at ‘ae te ae ve oan i THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES (Les PRECIEUSES RIDI-
CULES) 1659 ... ie8 sie nas ae ee» 59 THE FORCED MARRIAGE (LZ MaRIAGE FoRc£) 1664 Pte f
THE Docror By ComMPULSION (LE Mépecin MALGRE
a=
Lui) 1666 a. ids ses isl fas s+ 97 SCAPIN’S ROGUERIES (LES FOURBERIES DE SCAPIN) 1671 «.. 123 THE BLUNDERER (Z’ETouRD/) 1653 Galyte as pati SBS
THE SCHOOL FoR HusBANDS (L’ECOLE DES «MARIS) 1661 ... 215
THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES (L’ECOLE DES FEMMES) 1662... 245
THE sits (L;AVARE) 1668 soe see ae oes 289 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC (LE MALADE IMAGINAIRE) 1673 ben 443 THE MISANTHROPE (LZ MISANTROPE) 1666 3 ste as 308 TARTUFFE, 1667 ... jad ine roe w dae 435
THE BLUE STOCKINGS (LzésS FEMMES SAVANTES) 1672 wae fot
4
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INTRODUCTION.
—_—~oo
Mo.i&rReE, who is to French comedy what Shakespeare is to English drama, needs only to be read to be appreciated, and few authors appeal to a larger public. ‘To all it may be said, Read him in French if possible; but there are still many to whom a translation will always be the only accessible or the most agree- able form of Molitre.. Besides, so broad a moralist and humorist is fit for many languages and peoples, and there seems little reason for the rarity of dramatic representation of Molitre in English but the school-notion of giving him as a means solely of displaying French acquirement. ‘Thousands more could enjoy these great comedies if given in English, and it has been one of the objects of this translation to facilitate such renderings. It has been specially written and carefully revised, with a view to brisk- ness of language and suitability for speaking on the stage. Few will question that the selection given in this volume includes most of Molitre’s best work, several other masterly plays contain- ing matter which could hardly be represented in England at the present day. Some previous translations have been consulted on doubtful points, especially Mr. Van Laun’s admirable edition in six volumes (1875-6), which contains, besides an excellent English translation, all the notes and elucidations that could be desired by the student of Molitre, and which is especially full in its treat- ment of the history of each play, and the various forms in which the plays, or parts of them, have been presented by English adaptors ; but the present is an independent translation, and will,
vi INTRODUCTION.
it is believed, be found to have some merits of its own. No attempt has been made to:reproduce the style of Moliére’s time ; rather a standard style of conversational English, brisk, clear, and straightforward, has been aimed at. It is scarcely necessary.to mention that the verse-plays have been reproduced in prose. Verse, however suitable for French plays, would but injure these comedies in English. Names have been left in their French forms.
The collection in this volume, omitting any of the pastorals, early comedies, and short occasional pieces which form three of the six classes into which Mr. Van Laun divides Moliére’s plays, consists of five which he terms farces, beginning with Ze Bourgeois Gentil- homme, as perhaps the best. known, and following with four others in ofder of composition ; five comedies, ranging from Z’£tourd?, in 1653, to Le Malade Linaginaire of 1673, his last ; and three of those “plays which portray humanity in all its aspects,” Ze Misantrope, Tartuffe, and Les Femmes Savantes... Though 1 should be disposed to rank Z’Z£vtourdi among the..farces, and Le. Bourgeois Gentilhomme among the comedies, and. to link L’ Avare with the third greatest group, this matters littl. But the reader who may find in the first six plays matter less weighty than he desires, however amusing it may be, will find. the later group as full as he can wish of that profound penetration of the mask of humanity, that admirable humour, that comprehension and characterisation of men and women in general, which make Molitre as fresh nowadays as ever, and which refresh, charm, enlighten, and warn us at one and the same time. But of course the charm in reading will be most present to those who can, as Mr, Van Laun urges, call up, as they read, “‘the change of voice, the step, the smile, the gesture, the twinkle of the eye or movement of the head in the actor.” |
Jean Baptiste Poquelin, better known as Molitre, the name he assumed on becoming an actor, was born at Paris on or before Jan. 15, 1622, his father, Jean Poquelin, having been Court upholsterer in the Rue St. Honoré. ‘The youth was educated at the Collége de Clermont, the best school in Paris, where he dis- tinguished himself both in classics and philosophy, following this by a course of civil law at Orleans. He thus grew up into manhood
INTRODUCTION. vil
at the dawn of Louis XIV.’s brilliant age, in which Corneille and Racine, La Fontaine, Pascaland Bossuet, Descartes and Madame ode Sévigné flourished, and when the salon of the hotel Ram- bouillet sparkled with learned and witty women, whose affectations “Molitre so severely satirised.. Molitre, much to his father’s dis- gust, in 1643 joined a new dramatic company, termed “ L’Tllustre | Théatre,” founded by Madeleine Béjart and several well-to-do young persons of bourgeois families ; and he soon gained great influence in the company, and became responsible for considerable sums of ‘money, which led to his not infrequent arrest. ‘The company for a long time travelled in the provinces; and while it produced numerous indifferent plays, it certainly deserves the credit of being the means of bringing out Molicre’s talgnt, In 1653, LP Etourdi was played at Lyons, where its success fixed them for two or three years. Moliere was in 1658 persuaded to return to Paris, where he was introduced to Cardinal Mazarin and Philip ‘duke of Anjou, the king’s brother. This led to the “Tllustre ‘Théatre” being asked to play before the king. From this time the company took the title of the “*Comédiens de Monsieur,” and success shone on them. Moliere successively improved and brought out the plays he had already given in sketch in the pro- vinces, ‘and in 1859 made a great hit with his Précteuses Ridicules, which nevertheless made him many enemies. In 1660 Moliére was transferred from the theatre of the Petit Bourbon to the great hall of the Palais Royal. In the same year he succeeded to his father’s profitable place of Court upholsterer, and the king every- where delighted to honour him. In 1662 he married Armande Béjart, youngest sister of Madeleine. He sincerely loved his wife, who, however, was fonder of pleasure than he could have wished, and not unfrequently gave him some cause for jealousy and melancholy. Henceforth Moliere produced, in rapid succes- sion, farces, comedies, and Court pieces, interspersed with ballets. The first three acts of Zurtuffe (1664) and Le Lestin de Pierre (1665) raised such a storm of clerical and orthodox opposition by their exposure of hypocrisy, that they were interdicted by the - Church ; but the king answered this by conferring on the company the title of ** Comédiens du-Roi,” with a royal subsidy. Molitre
viii INTRODUCTION.
had disagreeable moments with his company too, who now through jealousy, now when a play was not greatly successful or a rival piece was more in favour, showed their ingratitude... The king’s household troops, who had had free admission to the theatre, were very angry with Molitre when this privilege was taken from them, and it required the king’s intervention to pacify them. . :
Whether owing to his marriage, to the difficulties and opposi- tion he met with, or to natural ill-health, Molitre in his. greatest period was often melancholy, morose, and somewhat feeble and infirm off the stage. His. spasmodic cough and weak chest com- pelled him to lead a quiet, retired life as far as. possible, and he was frequently laid up for months together towards the close of his. career. Zhe Misanthrope is the product of one of ,these. ill- nesses, wherein the dramatist has vividly depicted what he himself largely felt, while Céliméne too truthfully represents. his wife ; and when it was played in June, 1666, by the two originals who could best expound it, Paris was charmed, and it. ran a month. The Miser, when first. performed. in. the autumn of 1668, was rather coldly received, a surprising thing to. modern readers. _ It was only in February, 1669, that Zarcuffe, complete, was given, by) the. king’s express permission, notwithstanding the strong opposition of ecclesiastics, and it scored a grand success, running for several months. Ze Lourgeois Gentilhomme, still later, in 1670, gave us the masterly portrait of .M. Jourdain, which part Moliére played himself. In 1672 he produced the great comedy against Blue-Stockings and Pedants which closes this volume; while the concluding months of his life were relieved by satirising his own feelings, in the JZalade Jmaginaire, in which he acted the part of Argan, on the 17th of February, 1673, though very ill, ‘‘In the evening of the same day,” says Mr. Van Laun, “in his house.in the Rue Richelieu, he burst a blood-vessel. Two nuns who had for some time past been living in the house stood by his, bed, and to them he expressed his complete.resignation to the will of God. They sent in succession for two priests to administer the last con- solations of religion, but both refused to come. Before a third could be found, Molitre was dead. He was buried four days —
INTRODUCTION. ix
later, almost without the rites of religion, in a churchyard adjoin- ing the Rue Montmartre.” ‘The priests of that day resented unauthorised censure of hypocrisy and false appearances, and so Molitre died under their ban. The archbishop of Paris had ordered that he should be buried without any ceremony. Could Molitre awake now in France, what a welcome he would receive ! His phrases, his ideas, his characters, are part of the national life.
Moliére is described by Madame Poisson, who had seen him when she was very young, as rather tall, of noble figure, with a remarkably fine leg. ‘‘ He walked measuredly, had a very serious air, a large nose, anample mouth with full lips, brown complexion, and eyebrows black and thick ; while the varied motion he gave to these latter rendered his physiognomy extremely comic.” ~ His fellow-actors, as La Grange declares, “loved their chief, who united to extraordinary genius an honourable character: and charming manner.” He was fond of rich dress, splendid furni- ture, and old books. The charms of his conversation were great, and he was remarkable for gentleness, delicacy, and generosity. As an actor he was most successful in comedy and in his own characters. ‘“ He is probably,” says Mr. Lang in the “ Encyclo- pedia Britannica,” “the greatest of all comic writers within the limits of social and refined as distinguished from that of romantic comedy. He has the humour which is but a sense of the true value of life, and now takes the form of the most vivacious wit and the keenest observation, now of melancholy and pity and wonder at the fortunes of mortal men. , . . Besides his contem- plative genius, he possessed an unerring knowledge of the theatre, the knowledge of a great actor and a great manager, and hence his plays can never cease to hold the stage, and to charm, if possible, even more in the performance than in the reading.” Sir Walter Scott wrote: ‘‘ Molitre possessed, in a degree superior to all other men, the falcon’s piercing eye to detect vice under every veil, or folly in every shape, and the talent to pounce upon either, as the natural prey of the satirist. No other writer of comedy ever soared through flights so many and so various.”
GUILE,
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THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN
(LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME).
DRAMATIS PERSON.
MONS. JOURDAIN, the citizen. Music-MASTER.
MDME, JOURDAIN, Ais wife, MusIc-MASTER’S PUPIL. LUCILE, JZ. Jourdain’s daughter. | DANCING-MASTER. NICOLE, @ mazd-servant. FENCING-MASTER. CLEONTE, 77 love with Lucile. PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY. COVIELLE, servant to Cléonte. MASTER-TAILOR. DORANTE, @ Count, Doriméne’s | JOURNEYMAN-TAILOR.
lover. SERVANTS, MUSICIANS, ETC. DORIMENE, @ Marchioness.
SCENE—PARIS.
ACT I, Scene f.
Music-Master, DANcING-MASTER, Zhree Musicians, Two Violin- Players, and Four Dancers. In the middle of the scene a music-master’s pupil at a table, composing an air for a serenade which the citizen has bespoken.
Music-Master (to his musicians). Here, come into this room, and rest yourselves, till he comes.
Dancing-Master (to the dancers). And you, too, come this way.
Music-M. (to his pupil). Is it done?
Pupil. Yes, sir.
Music-M. Let me look at it. Ah! that’s good.
Dancing-M. Is that something new?
Music-M. Yes, it is an air for a serenade, which I told him to compose here, while we are waiting till our gentleman is awake.
Dancing-M. May I have a look at it?
Music-M. You will hear it, with the dialogue, when he comes. He can’t be long.
Dancing-M. We're pretty busy, you and I, just now.
Music-M. ‘That’s true. We have found a man. here who just suits us both. ‘This Monsieur Jourdain is a snug little income to
2
2 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act I.
us, with the notions of nobility and gallantry that he has got into his head. Your dancing and my music might be well content if all the world were like him.
Dancing-M. Well, not exactly ; for I should be better pleased if he knew more of the subjects on which we instruct him.
Music-M. It is true that his knowledge is bad, but his pay is good: and our arts have more need of that at present than of anything else.
Dancing-M. Well, for my part, I confess I have some little appetite for glory. Applause touches my feelings ; and I hold that in the fine arts it is mortifying enough to have to display oneself to fools, and to submit one’s compositions to the bar- barism of stupid people. There is pleasure—don’t tell me there isn’t—in working for persons who understand all the delicate points of an art; who know how to give a kind reception to the beauties of a work, and by grateful approbation to make you take a relish in your labour. Yes, the pleasantest recompense one can receive for what one does is to see that it is understood ; and to have it accepted with a kindly applause that does one honour. There is nothing, in my opinion, that pays us better for all our toils than this ; and nothing gives more exquisite pleasure than discriminating praise.
Music-M. JI quite agree with you, and I relish it as much as you do. There is certainly nothing that tickles one’s fancy more than this applause which you speak of; but one cannot exist on this incense. Mere praise will not make a man live at his ease. There must be something solid mixed with it, and the best way of praising is to hand over some coin. This man’s mental vision is indeed very limited; he speaks of everything at random, and never applauds but when he ought not ; but then, his money makes up for his judgment. He has intelligence in his purse. His praises are current coin ; and this ignorant citizen is worth more to us, as you see, than the intellectual nobleman who introduced us here.
Dancing-M. ‘There is some truth in what you say ; but I think you depend a little too much on money; and mere lucre is so base a thing, that no man of honour should ever show any attach- ment to it.
Music-M. For all that, you are willing enough to take the money that this man gives you.
Dancing-M. Certainly ; but I don’t place all my happiness in it; and I wish that with his fortune he had also some good taste.
Musitc-M. So dol, and it is what we are both working for, so far as we can. But anyhow, he gives us means of making our-
ScENE II.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 3
selves known in the world ; and he will pay instead of others for what others will praise instead of him. Dancing-M. Here he comes.
ScENE IT.
Mons. JourDAIN (i2 night-cap and dressing-gown), Mustc-Master, Dancing-Master, Violoncellists, Musicians, Dancers, and Two Footmen.
M. Jourdain. Well, gentlemen, what have you got there? Will you let me see your silly thing? .
Dancing-Master.. Eh? What silly thing ?
M. Jour. Why, the—what do you call it? Your prologue or dialogue of songs and dances.
Dancing-M. Ha! ha!
Mustic-Master. We are quite ready for you.
M. Jour. Oh, I know I kept you waiting a little; but that was because I am dressing to-day like the “upper ten,” and my hosier sent me a pair of silk stockings that I thought I never should have got on.
Music-M. We are here only to wait your leisure.
M. Jour. J beg that you will neither of you go till they have brought me my coat, that you may see me in it.
Dancing-M. Just as you please.
M. Jour. You shall see me rigged out in the best style from head to foot.
Music-M. We don’t doubt it.
M. Jour. ve had this chintz dressing-gown made for me.
Dancing-M. It’s very handsome. .
M. Jour. My tailor tells me that this is what gentlemen wear of a morning.
Music-M, It suits you wonderfully.
M. Jour. Here, you fellows, both of you!
First Footman. What’s your pleasure, sir ?
M. Jour. Oh! nothing. It was only to see whether you heard me properly. (Zo the two Masters.) What do you think of my livery ?
Dancing-M. It’s splendid.
M. Jour. (throwing his dressing-gown half open, and showing a closely-jitting pair of crimson velvet breeches, and a green velvet vest). Here, again, is a kind of morning dishabille to take exercise in.
As THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN, [Act I.
Music-M. It’s fine.
M. Jour. Footman!
First Footman. Sir?
M. Jour. No; the other fellow.
Second Footman, Sir?
M. Jour. “ere, hold my dressing-gown. Do I look well so?
Dancing-M. ¥xcellently well. You couldn’t look better.
M. Jour. Now let’s see your production.
Music-M. 1 should greatly like you first to hear an air that he (indicating his pupil) has just composed for the serenade you wanted. He is one of my pupils, who has a remarkable talent for that kind of thing.
M. Jour. Yes; but that shouldn’t have been done by a pupil. You are not too good for the work yourself.
Music-M. You must not allow yourself to be led away, sir, by the name of Pupil. Pupils of this sort know as much about this as the best masters ; and the air is as good as can be made. Only listen to it.
M. Jour. Give me my dressing-gown, that I may hear it better— ‘Stay, I think I shall do without it—No, give it me again ; that will be best.
Musician (singing)—
My pain is so extreme I languish day and night, Since you have tam’d me with your eyes so bright ; But tell me, Iris, what dire fate attends Your enemtes, tf thus you treat your friends ? M. Jour. This song seems to me rather dismal; it sends one
to sleep. I should be glad if you could enliven it a little here and there.
Mustc-M. But, sir, the air must suit the words.
M. Jour. I learnt a very pretty one some time ago. Stay-~ H’m—How did it begin ?
Dancing-M. Really, sir, I don’t know.
M. Jour. There’s something about a lamb in it.
Dancng-M. What! a lamb?
M. Jour. Yes. NowTve got it. (He sings.)
LT thought my dear Jenny was gentle and fair,
I thought my dear Jenny’s a soft, lamb-like air ; But alas ! and alas ! she’s a thousand times worse Than the tiger that lives in the woods.
There, now, isn’t that pretty ? Music-M. "Extremely pretty.
ScENE II.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 5
_ Dancing-M. And then, you sing it so well !
M. Jour. Yet I never learnt music.
Music-M. You ought to learn it, sir, as you learn dancing. They are two arts which have a close connection with one another.
Dancing-M. And which open the human mind to see all that is beautiful.
MM. Jour. Yo fashionable people learn music, too?
Musitc-M. Yes, sir.
M, Jour. Then [ll learn it. But I don’t know how T shall find time: for besides the fencing-master who teaches me, I have also engaged a Professor of Philosophy, who is to begin this morning.
Music-M. Philosophy is something ; but music, sir, music
Dancing-M. Music and dancing—music and dancing—that’s all that’s necessary.
Music-M. 'Yhere’s nothing so useful in a State as music.
Dancing-M. ‘'Yhere’s nothing so necessary for men as dancing.
Music-M, Without music a State cannot exist.
Dancing-M. Without dancing a man can do nothing.
Music-M. All the disorders, all the wars that one sees in the world, happen only from not having learnt music.
Dancing-M.. All the disasters of mankind, all the fatal mis- fortunes that history is so full of, the blunders of politicians, the failures of great commanders, all have come from want of knowing how to dance.
M. Jour. Howso?
Music-M. Does not war proceed from want of concord. be- tween men.
M. Jour. That’s true.
Music-M. And if all men learnt music, would not that be the means of keeping them in accord together, and of seeing uni- versal peace in the world.
M. Jour. You're quite right.
Dancing-M. When a man has been guilty of some slip in his conduct, whether it be in the affairs of his family, or in the govern- ment of the State, or in the command of an army, don’t we always say such a one has made a false step in such a matter ?
M. Jour. Yes, we certainly do say so.
Dancing-M. And can the making a false step proceed from anything but not knowing how to dance?
M. Jour, ‘That’s true, and you are both right.
Dancing-M. ‘This is to show you the excellence and advantage of dancing and music.
6 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act 1.
M. Jour. NowI understand it.
Music-M, Would you like now to see our two compositions ?
M. Jour. Yes.
Music-M. J have told you already that this is a slight attempt which I made some time ago to show how the various passions may be expressed by music.
M. Jour. Very well.
Music-M. (to his musicians), Here, come forward. (Zo M. Jour.) You must imagine that they are dressed like shepherds.
M. Jour. But why always shepherds? ‘That’s what one sees everywhere.
Music-M, When we have to introduce people speaking in music, in order to keep to probability we must have recourse to pastorals. Singing has always been appropriated to shepherds ; and it is by no means natural in dialogue that princes and towns- people should sing their passions.
M. Jour. Well, well. Now let us see it.
A MUSICAL DIALOGUE BETWEEN THREE SINGERS (ONE LADY AND Two MEN). Lady Singer.
The heart that yields to love's strong sway Must look for cares unnumbered day by day ; Sweet are love’s sighs and languishments they say: But say whateer they will, for me Nought’s so sweet as liberty. first S. Nought’s so sweet as love's soft fire, Which can two ardent hearts inspire With but one love, and one desire. Without love’s passion none can happy be, Take love from life, no pleasure more you ll see.
Second 5S.
Flow sweet beneath the law of love to live; Lf only love true constancy would give : But cruel fate ! LVo Nymph is true: The faithless sex, more worthy of our hate, To love should bid eternally adieu, First S. What pleasing heat !
ScENE I1.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 7
Lady S. What freedom blest t Second 5S. O, fatr deceit. First S. fTow I love thee. Lady §. Lapprove thee! Second S. But I detest. Lirst S. Begin to love, and leave this mortal hate. Lady §. . | I a shepherdess can find, Who will prove a faithful mate. Second S. Ah! L fear ’tis but a blind. Lady S. Our glory to retrieve, My heart I here bestow. Second S. But, Nymph, can I believe : That heart no change will know ? Lady SS. | By experience you ll see, Which can give the truest love. Second S. : And who fails in constancy Shall be punished from above. All Three.
Then let us kindle soft desire,
Let us fan the amorous fire.
Ah! how sweet it ts to love,
When hearts united constant prove.
M. Jour. Is that all? .
Musit-M. Yes.
M. Jour. I find this very well put together, and there are some pretty little aye in it.
8 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. Act Il.
Dancing-M. Now in my composition you have a little arrange- ment of the finest movements, and the most beautiful attitudes with which a dance can possibly be varied.
M. Jour. And are these shepherds too ?
Dancing-M. ‘That’s just as you please. Now begin.
(Four dancers execute all the different movements and kinds of steps which the Dancing-Master orders: ard this dance makes the Lirst Interlude.)
ACT II. Scene I.
Mons. JourDAIN, Music-MasTerR, DAncING-Mastrer, Servants.
M. Jourdain, ‘This is not amiss, and those fellows trip it right merrily.
Mustc-Master. When the dance is accompanied with music, that would have a still better effect, and you shall see of charming in the little ballet we have arranged for you.
M. Jour. Wowever, that’s for by and by, mind you; and the person for whom I have ordered all this, will do me the honour of dining with me here.
Dancing-Master. "Everything is ready.
Music-M. But this is not enough, sir; a gentleman liké your- self, who lives in such good style, ‘and has such a taste for fine things, ought to have a concert at your house every Wednesday or Thursday.
M. Jour. Do fashionable people have them then?
Misic-M. Ys, x.
M. Jour, ‘Then so will I. Will it be nice?
Mustc-M. Certainly. You must have three voices—a treble, a counter-tenor, and bass, which must be accompanied by a bass- viol, a theorbo-lute, and a harpsichord for the sustained bass, with two violins to play the symphonies.
M. Jour. You must add also a single-stringed viol, for that is an instrument which pleases me, and is extremely harmonious.
Musi-M. Leave us to manage matters.
M. Jour. Wowever, don’t forget by and by to send the musi- cians to sing during dinner.
Musu-M. You shall have everything that is necessary.
M. Jour. But, above all, let the ballet be first-rate.
ScENE Il.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 9
Music-M. You shall be quite satished with it, and among other things with certain minuets which you will find in it.
M. Jour. Ah! the minuet is my favourite dance. I should like you to see me go through one. Come, master. .
Dancing-M. A hat, sir, if you please. (JZ. Jourdain takes the hat from his footman, and puts it on the top of his night-cap. The Dancing-Master takes his hands and makes him dance to a minuet air, which he sings.) Now, Tol, lol, lol, lol, lol, lol ; Tol, lol Jol, twice ; Tol, lol, lol; tol lol. Keep time, if you please. ‘Tol, lol, lol, lol. The right leg forward. ‘Tol, lol, lol. Don’t shake your shoulders so much. ‘Tol, lol, lol, lol, lol. Your arms hang as if they were crippled. Tol, lol, lol, lol, lol. Hold up your head, and turn out your toes. ‘Tol, lol, lol. Your body upright.
MM. four. Well!
Mnsic-M. Couldn't be better.
MM. Jour. By the way, show me how I ought to make a bow on receiving a marchioness, I shall have occasion for it before long.
Dancing: M. Wow you must make a bow to a marchioness ?
M. Jour. Yes, a marchioness whose name is Ioriméne.
Dancing-M. Give me your hand.
‘ M, Jour. No. You've only got to doit. I shall remember how.
Dancing-M. Tf you would salute her with a great deal of respect you must first of all make a retiring bow, then, advancing eying her, bow three times, and the last time bow as low as her
nees.
M. Jour. Just show me how. (After the Dancing-Master has bowed three times.) ‘That'll do.
Lirst Footman. Sir, your fencing-master is here.
M. Jour. Tell him to come in, and give mea lesson. I should like you to see how I do it.
ScenE II.
Mons. Jourpatn, Fencinc-Master, Music-Master, DANCING- MASTER, and Footman carrying two foils,
Fencing-Master (after having taken two foils from the Footman, and having given one to M. Jourdain). Now, sir. ‘The salute. Your body upright, leaning slightly on the left thigh. Your legs ‘hot so far apart. Your feet both in line. Your wrist opposite
10 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr Il.
your hip. The point of your sword over against your shoulder. Your arm not stretched out quiteso much. Your left hand on a level with your eyes. Your left shoulder more squared. Hold up your head with a firm look. Advance. Your body steady. Engage my sword in carte and lunge from that position. One, two. Recover. Again, your foot firm. One, two. A step back. When you make a thrust, sir, your sword should quit first, and your body well kept back. Come, thrust. Tierce, and finish the same. Advance. Your body firm. Advance. Deliver from there. One, two. As you were. Repeat the same. One, two. A step back. Parry, sir, parry.. (Zhe Fencing-Master gives him two or three home-thrusts, saying at the same time, “ Parry.”)
M, Jourdain. Eugh—I am out of breath!
Music-Master. You do wonders.
Fencing-M. I have already told you, that the whole secret of an assault-at-arms consists in giving and not receiving ; and as I showed you the other day by demonstrative reasoning, it is impos- sible for you to be hit if you know how to turn your adversary’s sword from the line of your body, which depends only on a small motion of your wrist, either inward or outward.
M. Jour. At that rate, then, a man, without any courage, is sure to kill his man, and not be killed himself?
Fencing-M. Nodoubt. Have not you seen the demonstration of it?
M. Jour. Yes, certainly.
Fencing-M. By this you may see how highly such persons as ourselves ought to be esteemed in the State ; and how much the science of arms excels all the other useless sciences, such as music, dancing
Dancing-Master. Gently, Mr. Master-at-Arms. Don’t speak disrespectfully of dancing.
Music-M. And learn, I beg of you, to have a better apprecia- tion of the excellence of music.
Fencing-M, You're comical fellows, to pretend to compare your sciences with mine.
Music-M. 1 beg of you to notice the importance of the man.
Dancing-M. He’s a droll kind of animal, with his leathern breastplate.
Fencing-M. My little dancing-master, I'll give you something to dance for. And as for you, Mr. Musician, I’ll soon make you tune up.
Dancing-M. Mr. Tron-smith, I'll soon teach you your trade,
M. Jour. (to the Dancing-Master), Are you mad to go and
SCENE III.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. II
quarrel with a man who understands all about tierce and carte, and who knows how to kill any one by dciionstrative reasoning ?
Dancing-M. Oh! I laugh at his demonstrative reasoning and at his tierce and carte too.
M. Jour. Gently, I tell you!
Fencing-M,. What’s that? You impertinent little wretch.
M. Jour. Now, my dear Fencing-Master.
Dancing-M. Eugh, you great coach-horse.
M. Jour. Now, really, my good Dancing-Master.
Fencing-M, Let me just fall on Ou
M. Jour. Come, come!
Dancing-M. Let me only get hold of you!
M. Jour. Gently.
Lencing-M. Vil comb your hair for you in a fine fashion
M. Jour. Now, for goodness sake !
Dancing-M. Tl thrash you in such a way——
M. Jour. Let me beg of you !
Music-M. We must teach him a lesson in manners.
M. Jour. Good heavens! stop this.
Scene III.
PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY, Music-MAstTrrR, DANCING-MASTER, Mons, JOURDAIN, Servants.
M. Jourdain. Ah, Mr. Professor, you are just in time with your philosophy. Come and make peace among these good people.
Professor of Philosophy. Wow now? What’s the matter, gentlemen ?
M. Jour. ‘They have put themselves in such a passion over the superiority of their professions, that they have insulted each other and nearly come to blows.
Prof. Really, gentlemen, ought you to let yourselves be carried so far? Have you not read Seneca’s learned treatise on anger? Is there anything more base and shameful than this passion which turns a man into a wild beast? And should not reason govern all our actions ?
Dancing-Master. But, sir, he has been abusing us both, running down dancing which is my employment, and music, which is my friend’s profession.
_ Prof. A wise man is above all insults that can be offered him, and the best answer to abuse is calmness and patience.
12 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act I]
Fencing-Master. ‘They both had the insolence to compare thei professions to mine.
Prof. Why should this excite you? Men ought not to disput about rank or empty glory ; what distinguishes clearly one ma: from another is wisdom and virtue.
Dancing-M. T maintain against him that dancing is a science which cannot be too much honoured.
Music-Master. And I, that music has been held in the greates reverence in all ages.
Fencing-M. And I maintain against them both that th art of self-defence is the finest and most necessary of all th sciences.
Prof. What becomes of philosophy, then? I think you are a three of you very impertinent to speak in this way before me, an: to have the impudence to give the name of Science to things the ought not even to be honoured with the name of Art; and whic can only be described as the pitiful trade of a Gladiator, Ballac singer, and Street-dancer.
Lencing-M, Get out, you dog of a philosopher !
Mustc-M. Away with you, you pedantic scoundrel!
Dancing-M. Be off, you arrant bottlewasher !
Prof. What! you rascals——
| Zhe Philosopher falls on them, and all th move off fighting.
M. Jour. What, Mr. Philosopher !
Prof. Wretches, rogues, insolent curs!
M. Jour. But really, Mr. Philosopher.
Fencing-M. , Plague on the animal!
M. Jour. Gentlemen! Gentlemen !
Prof. Tmpudent villains !
M. Jour. Come, Mr. Philosopher !
Dancing-M. Deuce take the dull ass!
M. Jour. Gentlemen! Gentlemen!
Prof. Scoundrels !
M. Jour. Oh! Mr. Philosopher.
Musitc-M. ‘Yo the devil with this impudent fellow!
M. Jour. Now, gentlemen !
Prof. Rogues ! ! Ragamuffins! Traitors! Impostors! [Zxeun
M. Jour. Mr. Philosopher! Gentlemen! Mr. Philosopher Gentlemen! Oh! well then, fight away as much as you like I’m not going to spoil my dressing-gown in trying to part you. should bea great fool to push myself into the fray, and get a blo that would hurt me.
SCENE 1V.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME, sap
SCENE IV. PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY, Mons. JoURDAIN, Servants.
Professor (arranging his collar). Now let us come to our lesson: M. Jourdain. Ah! sir, I am sorry for the blows they gave you. frof. Oh! that doesn’t matter. A philosopher must take hings as they come. I will write a satire against them, in Juvenal’s style, and that will cut them up finely. But let us say 10 more about it. What would you like to learn ? ”
M. Jour. All I can, for I have a great wish to bea scholar, - und I am wild to think ‘that my father and mother never made me - study the sciences when I was young.
Prof. A very good sentiment, Mam sine doctrina vita est quasi - mortis tmago. You understand that, as of course you are ac-- quainted with Latin?
M. Jour. Yes; but go on just as if I did not know it. Explain to me what it means.
Prof. Why, it means that without learning, life is as it were the likeness of death.
M. Jour. ‘That Latin is right. |
Prof, Have you not learnt some principles or rudiments of science P
M. Jour. Oh! yes, I can read and write.
Prof, Where would you like us to begin? Shall I teach you logic P
M. Jour. What’s the meaning of logic?
Prof. tis that which teaches us the three operations of the mind.
M. Jour. And what are they ?
Prof. The first, is the power of conceiving well, by means of universals. The second, that of judging well, by means of cate- pos. The third, that of drawing a right conclusion, by means
f the figures, Barbara, Celarent, Darit, Ferio, Baralipion.
M. Jour. Your words are too repulsive. I don’t care for your logic. Let us learn something pleasanter.
Prof. Would you like to learn the science of Morals ?
M. Jour. Of morals?
Prof. Yes.
M. Jour. Well, what is morals about ?
Prof. Why it treats of happiness, shows men how to govern their passions, and
M. Jour, Qh, that'll do, I’m as headstrong as the very devil,
14 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr II.
and no morality will keep me back; I put myself into an awful rage when I choose.
Prof. Would you like to learn Physics, then ?
M. Jour. What does physics drone about ?
Prof. It explains the principles of Nature, and the properties of bodies; it treats of the nature of the elements, of metals, of minerals, stones, plants, and animals ; it teaches us the cause of all the meteors, of the rainbow, will-o’-the-wisp, comets, light- nings, thunder, thunderbolts, rain, snow, hail, winds, and whirl- winds.
M. Jour. There’s too much hubbub in this, too much confusion.
Prof. Well, what would you like me to teach you, then?
M. Jour. ‘Teach me orthography.
Prof. With all my heart.
M. Jour. ‘Then you can teach me the almanac ; when there is a moon, and when there is none.
Prof. Very well; but to carry out this idea of yours properly, and to treat the matter philosophically, we must begin according to the order of things, with an exact knowledge of the nature of the letters, and the different manner of pronouncing each. And first I must tell you that letters are divided into vowels, so called because they express the distinct sounds; and into consonants, so named because they sound with the vowels, and only mark the different articulations of the sounds. ‘There are five vowels or voices—A, E, I, O, U.
M. Jour. I understand all that.
Prof. The vowel A is pronounced by opening the mouth very wide—A.?
A, oar As A.’ Ves,
Prof. The vowel E is formed by drawing the lower jaw a little nearer to the upper—A, E.
M. Jour. A, E, A, E. Soitis. This is really quite pretty.
Prof. And the vowel I by bringing the jaws still nearer to each other, and stretching the two corners of the mouth towards the ears—A, E, I.
M. Jour. A,¥E, 1,1, 1,1. That’s true. Science for ever !
Prof. ‘The vowel O is formed by re-opening the jaws and drawing the lips together at the two corners, the upper and the lower—O. . |
M. Jour. O,O. Nothing could be more exact. A, E, I, O, I, O. This is admirable! I, O, I, O.
* The letters are of course to be pronounced ag in French.
CENE 1V.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 15
Prof. The opening of the mouth makes a perfect little ring thich resembles an OQ.
M. Jour. O, O,O. You are right. O. What a fine thing t is to know something !
Prof, The vowel U is formed by bringing the teeth close ogether, without letting them actually touch, and then, extending he lips outwards, bringing them also near together without abso- utely joining them—U.
M. Jour. U, U. Nothing can be truer than that—U.
Prof. You extend your two lips as if you were making a face. 50 if you want to do that to any one, and to laugh at him, you 1eed say nothing more than U.
M. Jour. U, U. That’s true. Ah! I wish I’d studied ooner, to have known all this.
Prof. ‘To-morrow we will consider the other letters, which are he consonants. .
M. Jour. Is there anything as curious in them, as in these?
Prof. Undoubtedly. The consonant D, for example, is pro- 10unced by placing the tip of the tongue above the upper teeth— D
M. Jour. D,D. Yes; so itis. This is quite charming !
Prof. ¥, by resting the upper teeth upon the lower lip—F.
M. Jour. ¥,¥. It’s quite true. Oh, father and mother, what 1 grudge I owe you!
Prof. And R, by carrying the tip of your tongue up to the roof of your mouth, so that being lightly touched by the air which somes out sharply, it yields to it, and, returning to the same place, makes a kind of roll—R-rrr. :
M. Jour. R,r, ra. R, 4, 4,1, 1, ra. That’s true. What a clever man you are! and how much time I’ve lost. R, r, r, ra.
Prof. 1 will explain all these curious things to you thoroughly. iM. Jour. Pray do: but now I must tell you a secret. Iam in love with a lady of high rank, and I should like you to help me to write something to her in a short billet-doux which I wish to drop at her feet.
Frof. Very well.
M. Jour. It will be very gallant, will it?
_ Prof. Certainly. Would you like to write poetry to her?
M. Jour. Oh, no. None of your poetry for me.
Prof. So, then, you only want prose.
M. Jour. No; 1 don’t want either poetry or prose.
_ Prof. But it must be one or the other. _ MM. Jour, Why so?
16 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN, fAcr I
Prof. ¥or the reason, sir, that there is no other way of expre: sing oneself except by poetry or prose.
M. Jour. Is there nothing else, then, but poetry or prose ?
Prof. No, sir. Whatever is not poetry is prose, and whateve is not prose is poetry.
M. Jour. And when one talks, what is that then ?
Prof. Prose.
M. Jour. What, when I say, “ Nicole, bring me my slipper: and give me my night-cap,” is that prose ?
ROE, A Pas SIP.
M. four. In good truth, then, I’ve been talking prose fe more than forty years without knowing it, and I am extremel obliged to you for informing me of it. Well, then I want to pu this into my note, Beautiful Marchioness, your lovely eyes make m die of love, but I should like this expressed in an extremely polit way, neatly turned, you know.
Prof. Say that the fire of her eyes has reduced your heart .t ashes ; that night and day you suffer on her account all th torments—-—
M. Jour. No, no, r.9, I don’t want all that. I'll have nothin but what I told you, Leautiful Marchioness, your lovely eyes mak me ate of love,
Prof. But you must make a little more of it than that.
M. Jour. No,I tell you; Vl only have those words in th note, but expressed properly, and arranged as they should be, beg you to do this for me, so that I may judge of the differen ways in which the words can be placed.
Prof. They can be placed as you said at first, Beautifa Marchioness, your lovely eyes make me die of love ; or, Of love to di me make, beautiful Marchioness, your lovely eyes ; or, Your lovel eyes, of love me make, beautiful Marchioness, to die; or, To die you lovely eyes, beautiful Marchioness, of love me make ; or, lastly, A make your eyes lovely to ate, beautiful Marchioness, of love.
M. Jour. But of all these ways, which is the best ?
Prof. That which you said yourself, Beautiful Marchioness your lovely eyes make me ate of love.
M. Jour. Yet I never studied it, and I made it all at once I thank you with all my heart, and I hope you will come in goox time to-morrow.
Prof. will not fail. [Lexie
M. Jour. (to a servant). What ! are not my clothes come yet
Servant. No, sir.
M. Jour. T his cursed tailor makes me wait long enough
Scene V.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 17
seeing I have so much to do to-day. Iam enraged. Plague take. this vagabond ofa tailor! If I only had him here, this dog of a tailor, this treacherous tailor, I’d——
ScENE V.
MAster-TAILor, JOURNEYMAN-TaiLor (carrying Mons. Jourdain’s suit of clothes), Mons. JouRDAIN, Servant.
M. Jourdain. Oh! There you are ; I was just getting into a frightful passion with you. .
Master-Tailor. 1 could not possibly come sooner ; I set twenty of my men to work at your clothes.
M. Jour. You sent me a pair of silk hose so tight, that I had the greatest difficulty in the world to get them on; and there are two stitches broken in them already.
Master-T. If anything, you'll find they'll get too lage:
M. Jour. Yes, if I break some stitches every day. You've had a pair of shoes made for me, too, which pinch me terribly.
Master-T. Not at all, sir.
M. Jour. What do you mean by not at all?
Master-T. I mean they don’t pinch you at all.
M. Jour. But I tell you they do.
Master-T, You fancy so.
M. Jour. I fancy so because I feel it. That’s a good reason.
Master-T. Come, here is one of the finest court suits, and well matched. It’s very clever to have invented a coat of such a quiet colour without being black ; and I’ll give the cleverest tailors six chances to beat it.
M. Jour. But what’s the meaning of this? You've put the flowers upside down.
Master-T. You didn’t tell me you wanted them the other way.
M. Jour. Was there any need to tell you that ?
Master-T. Certainly ; all gentlemen wear them this way.
M. Jour. What, gentlemen wear the flowers downwards?
Master-T. Yes, sir.
M. Jour. Oh, that will do very well then.
Master-T. Tf you like I wel put them upwards.
M. Jour. No, no.
Master-T. You have only to say the word.
M. Jour. No, I tell you, you have done quite right. Do you think my coat suits me?
3
i8 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. fAcr If.
Master-T, Wat a question! I defy an artist with his brush to draw anything that could suit you better. I have a workman at home who will turn out a “Rhingrave”* against any one in the world, and another who for the cut of a doublet is the hero of our age.
M. Jour. Tow about the wig, and the feathers? Are they all right ?
Master-T,. Everything is perfectly rights,» 1 1 |
M. Jour. (looking closely at the Tailor’s own clothes). Why, Mr. Tailor, this is the same stuff as you made my last suit of. I know it at once.
Master-T. The cloth seemed to me so handsome, that I thought I could not do better than cut a coat out of it for myself.
M. Jour. Yes; but you should not have cabbaged it out of mine,
Master-T,. Will you try on your suit ?
M. Jour. Yes, give it to me.
Master-T. Stop a minute. We can’t do business like that. I have brought my men with me, who will dress you to an appro- priate tune; for this kind of suit must be put on with ceremony. Here, come in (40 his men). Now put on this gentleman’s suit as you do with people of rank. :
(Four Journeyman-Tailors, dancing, approach M. Jourdain. Two take off the close-fitting breeches, two others his jacket ; then they put on his new suit, and M. Jourdain walks about to see how it fits him. All this és done to the accompaniment of music.)
Journeyman-Tailor. Squire, will you kindly give the tailors something to drink your health with ?
M. Jour, What did you call me?
Journeyman-T, Squire. —
_ M. Jour. See what it is to dress like people of quality! You may go all your life clothed like a citizen, and no one will ever call you Squire. Stay ; here’s something for you from the squire (gives them some nioney). ;
Journeyman-T, My lord, we’re extremely obliged to you.
M. Jour. What! My lord! Here, stay, friend. “ My lord” deserves something, and * My lord” is not an everyday word. Here, that’s what ‘‘ My lord” gives you.
Journeyman- si My lord, we shall all 80 and drink ator Grace’ s health, :
2 Laie wide Seis: decked with ribbons, 7
ScENE V.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 19
M. Jour. Your Grace! Here, stop, don’t go away. Only fancy “Your Grace” to me! (Aside.) Upon my word, if he goes as far as ‘“‘ Your Highness,” he shall have the whole purse. Here, this is from His Grace.
Journeyman-T, My lord, we thank your Grace most humbly for your generosity.
M. Jour. ‘That’s all right. Iwas going to give him everything.
(The four Tailors dance a merry dance, which forms the second Luteriude.)
ACT III. Scene I. Mons. JourRDAIN, avd Two Footmen.
M. Jourdain. Yoilow me; I am going to take a walk through the town, just to show my suit ; and take particular care, both of you, to walk close behind me, so that people may see that you belong to me.
_ Footmen. Certainly, sir.
M. Jour. Call Nicole, as I have some orders to give her. No,
don’t go; here she comes.
’
| Scrne II. NicoLtr, Mons. JourpDAIN, and Two Servanis.
M. Jourdain. Nicole.
LVicole. Your pleasure, sir ?
M. Jour. Listen.
Nic. (laughing). a, ha, ha, ha, ha! 3
M. Jour. What are you laughing at?
Vic. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! |
M. Jour. What does the hussy mean by this?
Vic. Ha, ha, ha! How you are rigged out! Ha, ha, ha! M. Jour. Come now, this won’t do.
Nic. Oh, my stars! Ha, ha, ha!
M. Jour. You jade, are you laughing at me ?
Nic. Oh, no, sir! I should be very sorry todo so, Ha, ha,
ha!
20, THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act Ill.
M. Jour. shall give you a slap on the face, ifeyou laugh any more. | |
LVic. Really, sir, I can’t help it. Ha, ha, ha!
MM. Jour. Won't you leave off?
Vic. I beg your pardon, sir; but you are so droll that I can- not help laughing. Ha, ha, ha!
M. Jour. Was there ever such impertinence ?
Vic, But you are so very funny like that. Ha, ha!
M. Jour. J shall——-
Vic. Oh, please excuse me. Ha,-ha, ha!
M. Jour. Now, I tell you, if you laugh again, ever so little, T’ll give you such a box on the ear as you never had before in your life,
Nic. Very well, sir, now I’ve done. I won’t laugh any more.
M. Jour. ‘Take care you don’t. You must clean out
Vic. Ha, ha!
M. Jour. You must clean out properly——
Nic. Ha, ha!
M. Jour. Tsay you must clean out the hall—
Vic. Ha, ha!
M. Jour. What, again !
Vic. Sir, I would rather you gave me a good beating, and let me have my laugh out; that will do me more good, Ha, ha, ha!
M. Jour. Tam enraged.
Vic. For goodness sake, sir, I beg of you let me laugh. Ha, ha, ha!
M. Jour. TfI do take you in hand——
Nic. Si-ir, I shall bu-urst if I. do-on’t laugh. Ha, ha, ha!
Mf. Jour. Did any one ever see such a wench as this, who laughs impudently in my face, instead of taking my orders.
Vic. What do you want me to do, sir?
M. Jour. Why, take care and get the house ready for the company that I’m expecting by and by.
Nic. Ah! I can tell you.I don’t,want to laugh any more; for your company always make such a litter here, that the word is enough to put me in a bad temper.
M. Jour. And am I to shut my door, then, against everybedy?
Vic. You ought at least to shut it against certain people,
ScENE III.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 21
ScENE III. Mons. JouRDAIN, MpME. JOURDAIN, NICOLE, and Servants.
Mame. Jourdain. Now then. Here’s a new tale. What’s the meaning, husband, of this get-up? Do you despise the world, that you go and deck yourself out in this fashion? Do you want to make yourself a laughing-stock to every one?
M. Jourdain, Only foolish men and women, wife, will laugh at me.
Mame. Jour. People haven’t waited till now to do that ; all the world has been laughing at your goings-on for a long time ‘past.
M. Jour. And pray who is this world of yours ?
Mdme. Jour. It is a world that is right and is much wiser than you are. For my part, I am quite ashamed of the life you are leading. I don’t know what’s come to our house. One would say that there was a constant carnival going on here ; and from the first thing in the morning, in order to keep it up, there’s nothing to be heard but an uproar of fiddlers and singers, who disturb the whole neighbourhood.
Nicole. What madame says is quite true. I shall never be able to get the place in order again, after all this heap of people you bring to the house. Their feet go all over the town and collect mud, in order to bring it here; and poor Francoise is almost worn off her feet with polishing the floors, which your fine ** masters ’’ come and dirty every day.
M. Jour. So, so! Maid Nicole, you’ve a pretty nimble tongue of your own, for a country wench.
Madme. Jour. Nicole is quite right, and she has more sel than you have. I should like to know what you want with a dancing-master at your age. _
Nic. And with a great big fencing-master, who comes here stamping about so as to shake the whole house, and tear up all the pavement of the hall.
M. Jour. That will do, wife and servant.
Madme. Jour. Do you want to learn to dance against the time when you have no legs left P
Vic. Do you want to kill some one?
M. Jour. Be quiet, I tell you, you are ignorant creatures both of you, and don’t know the advantage of all this.
Mdme. Jour. You ought to think much more about getting your daughter married, since she is of an age now to be settled.
M. Jour. I shall think of marriage for my daughter when a
22 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. © [Act Ih,
good match presents itself; but at the same time I mean to devote myself to polite studies.
Nic. ve heard say, to crown all, he has engaged a professor of. philosophy to-day.
M, Jour. Quite right.. I desire to have some wit, and to be able to reason with persons of intelligence.
Mdme. Jour. Won't you go to school one of these days and get flogged, at your age?
M. Jour. Why not ? I would be flogged this very moment, and in sight of all the world, if only I knew what they learn at school.
Mame. Jour. Yes, forsooth ; I suppose that would improve the shape of your legs.
M. Jour. No doubt.
Madme. Jour, ‘That is very necessary for the management of your house ! |
M. Jour. Certainly. You both of you talk like idiots, and I am ashamed of your ignorance. (Zo Mdme. Jourdain. ) For example, do you know what you are speaking at this moment? ,
Mdme. Jour. Yes, I know that what I am speaking is quite right, and that you ought to live in a very different fashion.
M. Jour. Tam not talking about that. I ask you what the words are which you are uttering ?
Madme. Jour. ‘They are very sensible words, more than your conduct is.
M. Jour. T'm not talking about that, I tell you. I ask, what is it that I am speaking to you, and saying to you this very instant ?
Mdme. Jour. Nonsense.
M. Jour. No, it is not that. What are we both saying? what is the language we are speaking now?
Mame. Jour. Well, what is it?
M. Jour. What is it called ?
Madme. Jour. It is called just whatever we please to call it,
M. Jour. Itis called Prose, you ignorant woman.
Mame. Jour. Prose?
M. Jour. Yes, prose. Whatever is prose is not poetry, and whatever is not poetry is prose. See what it is tostudy. And you (/o WVicole), do you know what you must do to say UP
Nic. What do you mean?
M. Jour. What is it you do when you say U?
Nic. What? .
M. Jour. Just say U now, to see.
SCENE III.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 23
Nic. Well, U.
M. Jour. What is it you do?
_ Nic. Why, I say. U.
MM. Jour. Yes, but when you say U, what do you do?
_ Vic. I doas you tell me. ~ M. Jour. What a strange thing it is to have to do with stupid people. You extend your lips outwards, you bring your under- jaw near your upper one—U ; do yousee? I make a mouth, U,
Vic. Yes, that’s all very fine.
Mame. Jour. Quite wonderful !
M. Jour. It is quite different, if you had seen O, and D, and F.
_ Mame. Jour. What’s the meaning of all this rubbish a
| Mic. What are we the better for it all?
M. Jour. It makes me wild to listen to these ignorant women.
Mame. Jour. Come, come, you should send all these folks about their business, with their rigmaroles.
' Wic. Yes; and above all that great pabring fone masters who fills all the place with dust.
M. Jour. Ha, ha! This fencing-master seems to stick in your gizzard. I'll show you your impertinence presently. (He orders the foils to be brought, and gives one to Nicole.) Now reason demonstrative ; the line of the body. When one thrusts in Carte, one has only to do so; and when one thrusts in Tierce, one has only to do so. That is the way never to be killed. Is not that clever, to be safe when you are fighting a duel with any one? There now, thrust a little at me; just try.
Nic. What, so? (Micole gives him several thrusts.)
M. Jour. Allright. Ah, gently. Deuce take the hussy!
NVic. You told me to thrust.
M. Jour. Yes, but you thrust at me in Tierce before you do in Carte ; and you have not patience to wait while I parry.
Mame. Jour. You're out of your mind, husband, with all your fantastic notions ; and all this has come to you because you have chosen to keep company with the nobility.
M. Jour. And because I do so I show my good sense. I am sure it is much better than herding with your citizens.
Mdme. Jour. Oh dear, yes. ‘There’s a great deal to be got by keeping company with the nobility, isn’t there? And a fine job you've made of it with that Count you are so taken up with! |
M. Jour. Silence! Take care what you are saying. Are you aware, wife, that you do not know of whom you are speaking when you mention him? He’s a more important person that you think.
24 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act ITT.
He’s a nobleman of consideration at Court, who speaks to the King just as I speak to you. Is it not a great honour to me to see a person of his position come often to my house, call me his friend, and treat me as his equal? He has shown me more kind- ness than you can conceive ; and he embraces me before all the world, till I feel quite ashamed.
Mdme. Jour. Oh, yes, he has a great regard for you, and
mbraces you ; but he borrows money of you
M. Jour. Well, and is it not a grea ur to lend money to any one in his position? Can I do less for a lord who calls me his dear friend ?
Mdme. Jour. And what does this lord do for you ?
M. Jour, Things that would astonish you, if you. only knew them.
Mame. Jour. And what may they be ?
M. Jour. That will do. I can’t explain myself. It is suffi- cient that if I have lent him money he will pay it honourably, and before long.
Madame. Jour. Yes! and so you really expect that ? ~ MM. Jour. Certainly. Did he not tell me so?
Mime. Jour. Yes, yes; and he will not fail to disappoint you.
M. Jour. He swore to me on the faith of a gentleman.
Mame. Jour. Rubbish!
M. Jour. Ah! my good wife, you’re very obstinate ; but I tell you that he will’keep his word with me—I’m sure of it.
Mdme. Jour. And Iam sure he will not; and all the fuss he makes with you is only to take you in.
M. Jour. Will you hold your tongue ? Here he comes.
Mame. Jour. We've had quite enough of him. I dare say he has come to borrow some more money of you. ‘The very sight of him takes my appetite away.
M. Jour, Hold your tongue, I tell you.
ScENE IV. DorANTE, Mons. JOURDAIN, MDME. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.
Dorante. My dear friend, Monsieur Jourdain, how do you do ?.
M. Jourdain. Quite well enough, sir, to render you any little service I can. | - Dor. And Madame Jourdain there, how is she ?
ScENE IV.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 25
Méme. Jourdain. Madame Jourdain is as well as she can be.
- Dor. ‘Ab, Monsieur Jourdain, you’re dressed in first-rate style.’
M. Jour. As you see.
Dor. Your appearance is charming in that suit. I can assure you there are no young fellows about Court better got up than you are.
M. Jour. Ah, ha!
Mdme. Jour. He scratches him where he itches.
Dor.. Turn round. Ah, that’s very fine!
Mame. Jour. Yes ; as foolish behind as before.
Dor. Indeed, Monsieur Jourdain, I was strangely impatient to see you. I have the greatest possible esteem for you, and I was only talking of you this morning at the King’s Levee.
M. Jour. You do me too much honour, sir. (Aside to Mdme. Jourdain.) At the King’s Levée !
Dor. Pray put your hat on.
M. Jour. Sir, I know the respect that I owe you.
Dor. Come, come, put on your hat. No ceremony, I beg, between us.
M. Jour. Really, sir ——
Dor. T insist on your putting on your hat, Monsieur Jourdain ; you're my friend.
M. Jour. Sir, Tam your humble servant.
Dor. Iwon’t keep my hat on if you won’t.
_M. Jour. Vd rather be unmannerly than presuming.
Dor. Yam your debtor, as you know.
Mame. Jour.. Yes, we know that only too well.
Dor. You have generously lent me money on several occasions, and have obliged me with the utmost grace.
M. Jour. Oh, sir, you’re laughing at me.
Dor. But I know how to repay what is lent me, and to be grateful for favours.
M. Jour. 1 don’t doubt it, sir.
Dor. Iwant to get out of your debt, and came here to have a settlement with you.
M. Jour. Now then, wife, you see your impertinence.
Dor. Yama man who likes to be out of debt as soon as I can.
M. Jour. (to Mdme. Jour.). ‘There, I told you so.
Dor. Just let us see what I owe you.
M. Jour. (to Mdme. Jour.). low much now for your absurd suspicions ? f
Dor. Wo you remember perfectly all the moncy you have
lent me? |
es
26 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr III. —
M. Jour. Yes, I Athink so.’ I have made a little memorandum of it. Here it is. Given you on one occasion, two hundred louis d’ors.
Dor. That is right. )
M. Jour. Another time, a hundred and twenty.
Dor. Just so.
M. Jour. And another time, a hundred and forty.
Por. Quite correct.
M. Jour. ‘These three sums make up four hundred and sixty louis d’ors, or five thousand and sixty livres.
Dor. Your account is quite right—five thousand and sixty livres,
M. Jour. Then, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-two
livres to your plume-maker, Dor. Right.
M. Jour. Two thousand seven hundred and eighty livres to’
your tailor. Dor. ‘Vhat’s true.
M. Jour. Your thousand three hundred and _ seventy-nine
livres, twelve sols, and eight deniers to your merchant. _ _ Dor. ‘Twelve sols and eight deniers. The account is quite correct.
M. Jour. And one thousand seven hundred and forty-eight
livres, seven sols, four deniers to your saddler.
Dor. ‘That’s perfectly right. Now what does it all come to?
M. Jour. Total, fifteen thousand eight hundred livres.
Dor. That’s exactly the sum—fifteen thousand and eight hundred livres. Add to this the two hundred pistoles which you are going to give me, and that will make just eighteen thousand francs, which I will pay you on the first opportunity,
Mame. Jour. (aside to her husband). Well now, didn’t I guess
well ? M. Jour. Silence. Dor. Will it inconvenience you to give me what I ask for? M. Jour. Oh, no; not at all. Mame, Jour. This man is making a satel cow of you. M. Jour, Will you hold your tongue! Dor. Tf it will inconvenience you, I will go elsewhere for it, M. Jour. Oh, no, sir. Mame. Jour. He will never be content until he has ruined you. M. Jour. TJ tell you to be quiet. Dor. Tf it embarrasses you, you have only to say so.
Scene V.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 27
M. Jour. Not at all, sir.
Mime. Jour. He is a regular wheedler.
M. Jour. Won't you hold your tongue ?
Mdme. Jour, "He'll drain the last farthing out of you.
M. Jour. Will you be quiet !
Dor. ‘There are plenty of people who would be glad enough to lend it to me, but as you are my best friend I thought I should do you wrong if I asked any one else for it.
M. Jour. It is too great an honour that you do me, sir, I will go and get what you want.’
Mame. Jour. What! are you going to lend him still more ?
M. Jour, What can I do? Would you have me refuse a man of his rank, who spoke about me this morning at the King’s Levée.
Mdmez. Jor. Go}; you are completely duped.
< SCENE V. DorANTE, MbDME, JOURDAIN, NICOLE,
Dorante. You seem to me very melancholy. What is the matter, Madame Jourdain?
Mame. Jour. My head is bigger than my fist, and yet it is not Swollen, ;
Dor. Ido not see your daughter; where is she?
Mame. Jour. My daughter is very well where she is -
Dor. How does she get on?
Madme. Jour. She goes on her two legs.
Dor. Won’t you come with her one of these days to see the’ ballet and the comedy that are being acted at Court ?
Mime. Jour. Yes, indeed, we have a great wish to laugh ; great wish to laugh have we.
Dor. 1 fancy, Madame Jourdain, that you must have had plenty of admirers when you were young, as I am sure you were handsome and good-humoured.
Mdme. Jour. By our Lady! Pray, has Madame Jourdain grown decrepit, and does her head shake with the palsy ?
Dor, Oh, really, Madame Jourdain, I beg your pardon. I did not remember that you are still young; and Iam often absent- minded. I pray you to excuse my impertinence,
28 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr III.
ScENE VI. Mons. JouRDAIN, MDME, JOURDAIN, DORANTE, NICOLE.
M. Jourdain. Frere are the two hundred louis, hard cash.
Dorante, I assure yet Monsieur Jourdain, that I am your devoted servant, and I am longing to be of some use to you at Court.
M. Jour. Tam extremely obliged to you.
Dor. If Madame Jourdain would like to see the royal diver- ‘ sions, I will get her the best place in the ballroom,
Madme. four. Madame Jourdain kisses your hand.
Dor. (whispering to Mons. Jourdain). Our pretty Marchioness, as I informed you by letter, will be here by and by for your ballet and collation. I got her consent at last to come to the entertain- ment you mean to give her.
M. Jour. Let us move a little farther off. I have my reasons.
Dor. It is a week since I saw you last, and I have sent you no news of the diamond you entrusted to me to present to her from you. But I had the greatest difficulty in the world to get over her scruples, and it is only to-day that she has decided to accept it.
M. Jour. How did she like it ?
Dor. Wonderfully; and I am very much mistaken if the beauty of the diamond will not produce an excellent effect upon her. |
M. Jour. Ueaven grant it ! |
Mame. Jour. When he’s once with him, there’s no getting rid of him.
Dor. I made her value as she ought the richness of the present, and the strength of your passion,
M. Jour. Sir, these kindnesses quite overwhelm me; and I am in the greatest confusion to see a person of your rank lower himself to do for me what you do.
Dor. Why, you're laughing at me! Does one stop at such sort of scruples between friends? And would not you do as much for me if the occasion offered ?
M. Jour. Yes, certainly, with all my heart.
Mame. Jour. How his presence weighs on my mind.
Dor. For my part, I never mind anything when I can serve a friend ; and when you confided to me your ardent passion for this charming Marchioness, with whom I am acquainted, you saw that I at once offered to further your interests.
ScENE VII.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 29
M. Jour. Ttistrue. This goodness overcomes me.
Mdme. Jour. Will he never be gone?
Nic. ‘They seem wonderfully thick together.
Dor. You have taken the right way to reach her heart. Women like above everything the expense we are at on their account ; and your frequent serenades, and continual bouquets, that magnificent display of fireworks which you arranged for her upon the water, the diamond ring which she received from you, and the entertainment which you are preparing for her—all this speaks much more in favour of your love for her than all the words you could have spoken to her yourself.
M. Jour. There is no expense I would not gladly be at, if only I could find the way to her heart. A woman of rank has the most engaging charms for me, and it is an honour that I would purchase at any price.
Mdme. Jour, (aside, to Nicole). What on earth can they have to talk about together? Go quietly and listen.
Dor. Presently you will enjoy the sight of her at your ease ; _ your eyes will have full time to be satisfied.
M. Jour. In order to be quite free, I have arranged for my wife to go and dine with my sister, where she will——
Dor. You have acted with great prucence ; your wife might have been in the way. I have given proper orders to the cook for you, and for all things necessary for the ballet. It is one of my own invention; and if the execution is only equal to the idea I am sure it will be found to be——
(Mons. Jourdain perceives that Nicole ts listening, and gives
. her a box on the ear.)
M. Jour. You are very impertinent, (Zo Dorante.) Let us
walk out, if you please.
’
Scene VII. MADAME JouURDAIN, NICOLE.
Nicole. Well, madame, my curiosity has cost, me something ; but I think there’s a snake in the grass, for they were talking about some affair that they didn’t want you to be present at.
Mame. Jourdain. ‘This is not the first time, Nicole, that I’ve had suspicions of my husband. Unless I am greatly deceived, there is some intrigue in hand, and it shall be my business to find it out. But I must think of my daughter. You know how deeply
30 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. fAcr IIf.
Cléonte is in love with her. He is a man that I have a liking for, and I shall be glad to forward his suit, and to help him with Lucile, if I can.
Mic. Indeed, madame, you cannot conceive how delighted I am to hear your sentiments ; for if the master suits your taste, tlte valet suits mine equally well, and I could wish that our marriage could be concluded under the wing of theirs.
Mame. Jour. Go and talk to him about it, as from me; and tell him to come to me directly, that we may go together to ‘iy husband to ask for my daughter’s hand. |
Nic. 1 shall fly, madame, for I could not have received a more agreeable commission. (A/ove.) I am going, I believe, to give them a great deal of happiness.
ScenE VIII. CLEONTE, CoviELLe, NICOLE.
Nicole. Ah, most luckily met! I am an ambassadress of joy, — and I come——
Cléonte. Begone, you perfidious creature, and don’t come to © amuse me with your treacherous speeches,
NVic. Is it thus you receive—— :
C7é. Begone, I say, and go and tell your faithless mistress that never again as long as she lives shall she take advantage of | the too simple Cléonte. |
Nic. What infatuation is this? My dear Covielle, tell me a little what this means.
Cov. Your dear Covielle! you little wretch. Be off out of my sight at once, you hussy, and leave me alone.
Nic. What! are you too going to——
Cov. Out of my sight, I tell you, and don’t talk to me ever again.
Vic. Dear, dear! What bee has stung them both? Well, I must go and tell this fine tale to my mistress.
ScENE 1X.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. Si
Scene IX. CLYONTE, COVIELLE.
Cltonte. What! treat a lover in this fashion! and that lover the most faithful and impassioned possible.
Cov. It is a frightful trick that they have played us both.
Cl, -1.show a lady all the ardour of love and all the tender- ness imaginable ; I love nothing in the world but her, and have nothing in my thoughts besides her. She is the cause of all my cares, of all my desires, of all my joy. I speak but of her, think but of her, dream but of her, breathe only for her, my heart lives wholly in her ; ; and now see the worthy recompense for such love. I am two days without seeing her, which seems to me two terrible ages. I meet her by chance ; at the sight of her my heart feels transported with joy, my face beams with happiness. I fly to her in an ecstasy; and the faithless creature turns away her eyes, and brushes hastily by me as if she had never seen me in her life !
Cov. I can say just the same as you.
C7. Is it possible, Covielle, to conceive any perfidy equal to that of this ungrateful Lucile?
- Cov. Or to that, sir, of the hussy Nicole?
Cz. After so many ‘ardent sacrifices of sighs and vows that I made to her charms!
_ Cov. After such constant homage, attentions and services that I have rendered her in the kitchen!
_Clé, So many tears that I have shed at her feet! ©
Cov. So many buckets of water that I have drawn from the well for her!
C/é, Such ardour as I have shown in loving her more than myself!
' oe Such heat as I have borne in turning the spit in her stead !
CZ. She flies from me with disdain.
Cov. She turns her back on me with impudence.
Cle, It is a perfidy deserving the severest punishment.
Cov. It isa treachery that ought to receive a thousand boxes on the ear,
-Clé. Now TI beg of you never to speak to me again on her behalf. Ri ; r
Cov. I,sir? Heaven forbid!
32 THE WOULD-BE GCENTLEMAN. [Act lft.
C#é. And never try to excuse the action of this perfidious woman.
Cov. You need not fear my doing so.
Clé. No, for all discourse in her favour will be useless,
Cov. Who dreams of such a thing?
Cl. I am determined to keep up my resentment against her, and to break off all intercourse.
Cov, Ihave no objection.
CZé. ‘This same Count that visits her perhaps pleases her eye, and I see plainly that her fancy is dazzled by his rank. But I must, for my own honour, forestall the open exposure of her in- constancy. I will make as much haste as she can do towards the change which I see she is hurrying to, and will not leave her all the glory of giving me up. .
Cov. ‘That is very well said; and for my part I quite enter into all your sentiments.
C/é. Deepen my resentment and support my resolution against all the remains of love that may still plead for her. ‘Tell me, I entreat you, all the ill you can against her. Paint me her person so as to make her despicable; and, to disgust me, point out well to me all the faults that you can find in her.
Cov. She, sir! Why, she’s a mass of affectation, a showily dressed doll to be so much enamoured about! I see nothing in her but what is very ordinary, and you will find a hundred others more worthy of your notice. First of all, she has small eyes.
Cié. Itis true that she has small eyes ; but they are full of fire, the most sparkling, the. most piercing in the world; the most melting that one can see.
Cov. She has a wide mouth.
.Clé. Yes, but there is a grace in it not to be seen in other mouths, and the sight of it inspires love ; it is the most attractive © and charming mouth in the world. :
Cov. ‘Then as to her height—she is not tall.
Clé. No, but she is graceful and well shaped.
Cov. She affects a certain carelessness in all her words and actions.
C/é. ‘That is true, but she does it in such an easy way, and her manner is so attractive, that it has an unspeakable charm, and finds its way into the heart of every one.
Cov. As to her mind |
CZ. Oh, Covielle, she has the most delicate and refined ins telligence.
Cov. Her conversation—— |
+
ScENE X.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME., 33
C7é, Is charming.
Cov. But she is always grave.
Cl. Would you have extravagant pleasantry, and constant outbreaks of mirth? Can you find anything more unpleasant than those women who are always giggling at everything?
Cov. But, in short, she is the most capricious creature in the world.
- Clé. Yes, I grant you she is capricious; but everything be- comes a. beautiful woman—we can put up with anything from her.
Cov. Since that is the case, I see plainly that you mean to love her always. ;
Clé. I! Vd rather die; and I am going ‘now to hate her as much as ever I loved her.
Cov. But how can you, if you think her so perfect ?
Clé. ‘That will make my revenge all the more striking, and I shall thereby the better show the strength of my resolution in hating her, by quitting her, most beautiful as she is, most charm- ing and amiable as I think her. Here she comes.
SCENE X. CLEONTE, LUCILE, COVIELLE, NICOLE.
Nicole. For my part, I was perfectly shocked at it. Lucile, It can benothing but what I say. There he comes. Cléonte (to Covielle). I won’t so much as speak to her. Covielle. I will follow your example. Luc. What is it, Cléonte? What is the matter with you? Nic. What ails you, Covielle ? Luc. What grief possesses you ? NVic. What ill-temper has got hold of you? _ Luc. Are you dumb, Cléonte ? _ Vic. Have you lost your speech, Covielle ? _ Clé, Oh, the wretch! Cov. How Judas-like! Luc. I see that our late meeting has troubled your mind. Clé. (to Covielle). Ah! she sees what she has done. _ Vic. ‘The reception of this morning has put you in a huff. Cov. (to Cléonte). She has guessed the sore. Luc, Is it not true, Cléonte, that this is the reason of your being out of temper ? _ Cle, Yes, perfidious girl, if I must speak, it is so; and I can tell you that you shall not triumph, as you think you will do, by 4
34 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr Il.
your unfaithfulness, for I shall be beforehand in breaking off with you, so that you shall not have the chance of discarding me. I dare say I shall have some trouble in getting over the love which I feel for you ; it will cause me some sorrow, and I shall suffer for a time, but I shall gain my point, and I would rather stab myself to the heart than have the weakness to return to you.
Cov. (to Nicole). Ditto, ditto.
Luc. Here’s much ado about nothing. I want to tell you, Cléonte, what made me avoid joining you this morning,
Clé. (makes as uf he would go, but returns on the stage). No, Vil hear nothing.
Nic. (to Covielle). ll tell you the reascn which made us pass you so quickly.
Cov. ( follows Lucile). 1 will hear nothing.
Luc, (follows Cléonte). You must know that this morning
Clé. No, I tell you.
Nic. ( follows Covielle). Learn, then—— Cov. No, traitress. Luc. Hear me. Cle. Nota bit.
Nic. Let me speak. Cov. Iam deaf.
Luc. Cléonte! Cle. No.
Nic. Covielle! Cov. No.
Luc. Stay. Clé. Rubbish.
Nic. Hear me. Cov. Idle talk.
Luc. One moment. Clé. Not one.
Nic. A little patience. Cov. Fiddlesticks,
Luc. ‘Two words. Cle. No, there’s an end of it. Nic. One word. Cov. I’veno more to do with you,
Luc. (stopping). Very well, since you won't listen to me, keep your opinion, and do what you like.
Nic. (stopping also). Since you act in this way, take it as you will. |
Cli. (turning towards Lucile). Let us know, then, the cause of this fine reception.
Luc. (going off in her turn to avoid Cléonte). I don’t care to tell it now.
Cov. (turning towards Nicole). ‘Tell us a little about this business.
Nic. (going off also to avoid Covielle), No, I don’t choose to now.
Cle. ( following Lucile). Tell me.
Luc. (walking on without looking at Cltonte). No, Vl tell you nothing.
Cov. (following Nicole). ‘Tell me,
SceNE X.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 35
Nic. (walking also without looking at Covielle). No, 1 tell
nothing. Clé. For goodness sake. uc. No, I tell you. Cov. For charity. | Nic. Nota bit. Clé. I beg of you. Luc. Let me alone. Cov. TI entreat you. Nic. Be off. Clé. Lucile! _Luc. No. Cov. Nicole! Nic. Not at all. Clé. For heaven’ssake. Luc. I will not. Cov. Speak to me. Nic. Nota word.
C7é. Clear up my doubts. Zac. No, I’lldo nothing towards it.
Cov. Set my mind at rest. /Vic. No, I don’t choose to.
Clé. Well, since you care so little about easing me of my pain, and justifying the unworthy treatment my ardent love has received from you, ungrateful creature, you see me for the last time ; I shall go far from you, and die of grief and love,
Cov. And I am going to follow his steps. Luc. Cléonte!
Nic. Covielle!
Clé. (stopping). What?
Cov. (also stopping). Your pleasure ?
Luc. Where are you going?
Clé. Where I told you.
Cov. Weare going to die.
Luc. What? Are you going to die, Cléonte? _ Cle. Yes, cruel one, since you will have it so. _ Luc. I! I want you to die?
Cle. Yes, you wish it.
_ Luc. Who told you so?
C7é. Don’t you wish it, when you will not clear up my suspicions | ?
Luc. Is that my fault? If you had only listened to me, I should have told you that the affair you make such a fuss about was caused this morning by the presence of an old aunt, who will have it that the very approach of a man is.a disgrace toa girl, and who i is always preaching to us on that text, and represents men as io many devils that one ought to avoid.
Vic. ‘There’s the secret of the whole affair. _ Clé. Aren't you deceiving me, Lucile ?
_ Cov. Is not this a trick you’re playing ?
_ Luc. Nothing can be more true.
_ Vic. That’s just what’s the matter,
_ Cov. Shall we give in on this?
36 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr III,
CZ. Ah, Lucile, a word from your mouth can calm all the tumult of my heart! And how easily we allow ourselves to bé persuaded by those we love !
Cov. How easily one is coaxed by these artful creatures ee |
ScENE XI, Mpme. JouRDAIN, CLEONTE, LUCILE, CovIELLE, NICOLE,
Mame. Jourdain. 1 am very glad to see you, Cléonte, and you have come just at the right time. _My husband is coming, so lose no time in asking for the hand of Lucile.
Cléonte. Oh, madame, what a kindly word ; and how it flatters my wishes ! Could I receive a more charming order or a more valued favour !
t
ScENE XII.
Mons. JourpDAIn, MpME. JouRDAIN, CLEONTE, LUCILE, | NICOLE.
Clionte (to M. Jourdain). I have been unwilling to employ any one else to ask of you a favour which I have long meditated asking. It concerns me so much that I must undertake it my- self ; and without further preface, I will tell you that the honour of being your son-in-law is a distinguished favour which I beg you to grant me.
M. Jourdain. Before giving you an answer, sir, I must ask you to tell me whether you are of noble birth.
Clé. Most people would answer such a question without hesi- tation. One can say the word easily. People make no scruple about using it, and custom seems to authorise the assumption. For my part, I must confess that I have more delicate sentiments on the matter. I consider imposture unworthy of an honour- able man, and that it is cowardly to deny the birth that Heaven has given us, to trick ourselves out in the eyes of the world with stolen title, to wish to pass ourselves off for what we are not. 1 was born of parents who unquestionably held an honourable posi- tion. I served in the army for six years with credit, and I fin myself well enough off to hold a fair rank in the world; but for all that, I do not choose to give myself a description which others in my place might think they had a right tO, and SO I will tell you frankly that I am not of noble birth.
ScENE XII.] LE BOURGEOLS GENTILHOMME. 37
- M. Jour. Then, sir, my daughter is no wife for you. Cle. Why not? - M. Jour. You are not of noble family ; you shall not have my
M. Jour. Hold your tongue, wife. I see what you’re coming to. Mame. Jour. Are not we both descended from plain citizens ? M. Jour. There’s a pretty statement for you!
Mame. Jour. Was not your father a tradesman as well as mine ? ;
M. Jour. Plague take the woman! She'll never have done with it. If your father was a tradesman, so much the worse for him ; but as for mine, they are mistaken who say he was one, All I have to say to you is that I choose to have a gentleman for my son-in-law.
Mame. Jour. Your daughter should have a suitable husband ; and a honest man who is rich and well-made is much better for her than a gentleman who is deformed and a beggar.
_ Nic. That’s true. We have the son of a squire in our village who is the greatest gawky and the stupidest booby I ever set eyes on.
_ M. Jour. Will you hold your tongue, you impertinent creature ? You are always thrusting yourself into the conversation. I have sufficient fortune for my daughter, so I want nothing but rank for her, and I choose her to be a marchioness.
Mame. Jour. A marchioness ?
M. Jour. Yes, a marchioness.
Mame. Jour. Heaven forbid!
- M. Jour. It’s what I’ve made up my mind to. _ Mdme. Jour. ‘Then it's what I shall never consent to. Matches ‘with people above one always cause unpleasantness. I don’t want ‘to have a son-in-law who could reproach my daughter with her parents, or that her children should be ashamed to call me grand- ‘mama. If she should come and pay me a visit with the equip- age of a grand lady, and if from inadvertence she did not notice “some one of the neighbours, there would be a hundred disagree- able things said at once. ‘‘ Oh,” they would say, “look at this -marchioness who gives herself such airs! Why, she’s only the daughter of Mons. Jourdain ; she was glad enough when she was little to play at ladies and gentlemen with us. She was not always | so stuck-up as she is now ; and both her grandfathers were drapers
38 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act Il.
near St. Innocent’s Gate. They managed to get a fortune for their children, and perhaps are now paying dear enough for it in another world. And honest people don’t generally become so rich.” I don’t choose to have all this tittle-tattle, and I want a man who shall be beholden to me for my daughter, and to whom I can say, “ Son-in-law, come and dine with me, and sit there.” M. Jour. Those are the ideas of a small mind, which desires always to continue in an inferior condition. I want no more words. My daughter shall be a marchioness in spite of all the world, and if you put me in a passion I'll make her a duchess, Madame. Jour. Cléonte, don’t lose heart, for all this. Follow me, my daughter, and tell your father boldly that if you can’t have him you won’t marry anybody at all. .
ScENE XITI. CLEONTE, COVIELLE.
a
Covielle. You’ve made a nice piece of work of it with your fine sentiments.
Cléonte. What would you have medo? I have scruples in the matter that no precedents can overcome.
Cov. Are you jesting, that you talk seriously to a man like that? Don’t you see that he’s off his head? And what would it cost you to accommodate yourself to his fancies ?
Cl. You're right. But I never dreamt that it would be necessary to bring proofs of noble birth to be son-in-law to Mons, Jourdain. |
Cov. Ha, ha, ha!
Clé, What are you laughing at?
Cov. At a thought that came into my head to have a game with our good man, and help you to obtain what you wish for.
Cle. How?
Cov. It’s a most amusing idea.
Clé, What is it, then ?
Cov. A short time ago there was a. certain masquerade per- formed which will come in excellently now, and which I mean to turn to account as a means of playing off a joke on our coxcomb. It will be a bit of a comedy; but we can risk anything with him, and we need not be too’ particular, for he’s a man who'll play his part wonderfully well, and will easily take in all the absurdi- ties we may choose to put before him. I have the actors and dresses all ready ; only leave it to me.
ScENE XV.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME., 39
Cz. But let me know of it. Cov. I will tell you all about it. Let us withdraw. Here he comes.
ScENE XIV. Mons. JOURDAIN, Servant.
M. Jourdain. What the deuce does this mean? They do nothing but reproach me about great lords; and for my part I know nothing better than keeping company with the nobility. There’s nothing but honour and civility among them, and I would cut off two fingers of my hand to have been born a count ora marquis,
Servant. Sir, here’s the Count, and a lady whom he is handing in.
M. Jour. Good gracious! and I have some orders to give. _ Tell them I’m coming in a minute.
SCENE XV, DorIMENE, DorRante, Servant.
Servant. My master says as how he’s a-coming in a minute.
Dorante. All right.
Doriméene. I don’t know, Dorante, but it seems to me that I am taking a strange step in allowing you to bring me to a house where I know no one. )
Dor, What place, then, would you choose for your lover t entertain you in, since to avoid scandal you will not use your own _ house or mine?
Dori. But you forget that every day I am gradually being led on to receive too great proofs of your devotion to me. It is of no use for me to refuse things ; you weary me out of resisting, and you have a civil kind of obstinacy which forces me gently to yield to all you wish. “Frequent visits came first, declarations next, followed by serenades and entertainments, ending with pre- sents. I opposed all this, but you do not give way; and step by step you overcome my resolutions. For my part, I cannot answer for the consequences, and I believe in the end you will bring me to marriage, which I have kept off for so long,
Dor. Indeed, madame, you ought to have reached it already. You are a widow, and independent. I am my own master, and
40 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr III,
love you more than my life. What hinders you, then, from com- pleting my happiness from this day forward ?
Dori. But, Dorante, there must be a great many qualities on both sides for people to live together happily ; and the most reasonable people in the world often have much difficulty in arrahging a union to their mutual satisfaction.
Dor. You jest, madame, in representing so many difficulties in the way ; and the experience you have had has nothing to do with the rest of the world.
Dori. However, I must always come back to this point. The expense to which you put yourself on my account disturbs me for two reasons ; one is that it compromises me more than I wish, and the other is that I am sure, without offence, that you must put yourself to’ great inconvenience, which I do not wish.
Dor. Oh, madame, these are but trifles, and it is not by that
Dort. J know what I am saying; and among other things, the diamond which you forced me to accept is of a value
Dor. Oh, madame, pray do not «make so much of a thing which my love finds unworthy of you; and allow me Here is the master of the house.
ScenE XVI. Mons. JourDAIN, DoRIMENE, DoranTE, Servant.
M. Jourdain (after having made two bows, finding himself too close to Doriméne). A little “farther off, madame.
Dorimine. What? |
M. Jour. One step, if you please.
Dorit, What then ?
M. Jour. Fall back a little for the third.
Dor, Madame, Mons. Jourdain knows his manners.
M. Jour, Madame, it is a very great honour for me to see myself fortunate enough, happy enough, to have the felicity, that you should have had the goodness to do me the honour, to honour me with the favour of your presence ; and had I also the merit to merit a merit like yours, and that Heaven—envious of my happiness—had granted me—the advantage of seeing myself worthy—of——
Dor. ‘That will do, Mons. Jourdain; madame does not like too many compliments, and she knows you are a man of in-
ScENE XVI.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 41
telligence (Whispers to Dorimine.) He is only a citizen, absurd enough, as you see, in all his behaviour.
Dori. It is easy enough to perceive that.
Dor. Madame, this is one of my best friends,
M. Jour. tis too much honour that you do me.
Dor. A thoroughly gallant man.
Dori. Ihave avery great esteem for him.
M. Jour. J have done nothing yet to deserve this favour.
Dor. (whispering to M. Jourdain). ‘Take good care, however, not to speak to her of the diamond you gave her.
M. Jour. Mayn’t I just ask her how she likes it?
Dor. What? On noaccount. It would be very mean on your part, and if you wish to act gallantly, you must seem as if you had not given it to her, Madame, Mons, Jourdain says that
he is delighted to see you at his house.
Dorit. He does me a great deal of honour.
M. Jour. Yam under great obligation, sir, to you for having
spoken to her in that manner on my account. Dor. I had the greatest difficulty in getting her to come here.
M. Jour. 1 do not know how to thank you enough for it.
Dor. He says, madame, that’he thinks you the most charming person in the world.
_ Dori, It is very good of him.
_ MM: Jour. Madame, it is you who do favours, and _ Dor. Let us think of eating.
_ Servant. Everything is ready, sir.
Dor. Come, then, let us sit down to table; and send for the musicians.
(Six Cooks who have prepared the feast dance together, and perform . the third Interlude; after which they bring in a table covered , with various dishes.)
ACT IV. Scene I.
DoranTE, Doriminge, Mons. Jourpain, Ziree Musicians, Servant,
Dorimene. Why, Dorante! MHere’s a most magnificent repast. M. Jourdain, You are joking, madame, I only wish it were more worthy of you. . (They sit down to the table, the Musicians included.)
42 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. {Act IV.
q { :
. |
Dorante. Mons. Jourdain is right, madame, to speak as he — does, and I thank him for doing the honours of this house so well. I agree with him that the repast is not worthy of you.
As it was myself who ordered it, and as I am not so clear-sighted in these matters as some of our friends, you will not have here any learned feast, and you will find incongruities of good cheer, and some offences against good taste. If our friend Damis had had a hand in it, everything would have been done according to rule ; elegance and erudition would have appeared everywhere, and he would not have failed to exaggerate the excellence of all the dishes, and have made you own his capacity in the science of good eating ; he would have told you of a fancy loaf, with golden edge, and a crust too all round, that. would crumble softly between your teeth; of wine with a velvety body, heightened by just a taste of sharpness; of a breast of mutton stuffed with parsley ; of a loin of veal, from the riverside meadows, as long as this (stretching out his hands), white, delicate, and like almond paste in your mouth ; of partridges served up in a wonderful ragout ; and then, by way of masterpiece, a pearl soup, supported by a young plump turkey-poult, flanked with pigeons and garnished with bleached onions and chicory. But, for my part, I must confess my ignorance, and as Mons. Jourdain has very well said, I wish the repast were more worthy of you.
Dori. My only answer to that compliment is to eat as Iam doing.
M. Jour. Ah! what beautiful hands.
Dori. The hands are passable, Mons. Jourdain; but you mean the diamond, which is very handsome.
M. Jour. I, madame! heaven forbid I should speak of that ; that would not be gentlemanly ; and the diamond is only a trifle.
Dorit. You are very difficult to satisfy.
M. Jour. You have too much goodness.
Dor. (having made signs to Mons. Jourdain). Come, give some wine to Mons. Jourdain, and to those gentlemen who will do us the favour to sing us a drinking song.
Dori. It gives a wonderful relish to good cheer, to mix music with it. I am being admirably entertained.
M. Jour. Madame, it is not
Dor. Come, Mons. Jourdain, let us listen to these gentlemen ;
they will entertain us better than anything we can possibly say.
(The Singers take their glasses, sing two catches, and are accompanied by all the instruments.)
SCENE I.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 43
FIRST DRINKING SONG.
Just a thimbleful, Phyllis, and send round the glass ; Oh! what charms to the crystal those fingers tmpart [ You and Bacchus combined, all resistance 0’ erpass And with passion redoubled have ravish’'d my heart. ’Twixt him, you, and me, my charmer, my Jair, Eternal affection let’s swear.
At the touch of your lips how tt sparkles more bright ! flow tts touch tn return those sweet lips doth embellish: L could quaff it all day and drink bumpers all night : What longing each gives me, what joy and what relish ! ’Twixt him, you, and me, my charmer, my Jair, Liternal affection let's swear.
SECOND DRINKING SONG.
Since time flies so nimbly away,
Come drink, my dear friends, drink about ; Let's profit by life while we may,
Lor all may be ended before the cup’s out.
When Charon has got us aboard,
Our drinking and wooing are past ; We ne'er to lose time can afford,
Lor drinking’s a joy not always to last.
Let your numskulls dispute tn the schools, As to what ts the Bonum of man;
Philosophers dry are but fools, The secret ts this, drink, drink while you cai.
. Wealth, knowledge, and glory are vain, And never relieve us of care, ’Tis drinking alone that’s a gain, And gives us a joy that’s ever more fair.
Why ho, there! some wine, boy, come fill the glass, fill, Round, round, let it go till we bid wt stand still. Dort. I don’t think anything could be better sung; it really
is extremely good. M. Jour. see something here, madame, much better.
44, THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act IV.
Dori. Really! Mons. Jourdain is more of a courtier than I supposed.
Dor. Why, madame, whom do you take Mons. Jourdain for ?
M. Jour. Iwish she would take me for what I could name.
Dori. What! again?
Dor. You don’t know him.
M. Jour. She shall know me weieeeeet she pleases.
Dori, Oh, I give in.
Dor. He’s a man who has always a repartee at hand. But you don’t notice, madame, that Mons. Jourdain eats all the dishes you partake of.
Dorit. Mons. Jourdain is a man I am greatly taken with.
M. Jour, Tf I could take your heart I should be
ScENnE II.
MADAME JouRDAIN, Mons. JourDAIN, DoRIMENE, DoranTE, Musicians, Servants.
Madame Jourdain. Well-a-day! Here’s a nice company, and I can see very well I was not expected. So, husband, it was for — this fine affair, was it, that you were in such a hurry to send me off to dine with my sister? I have just found a stage downstairs, and here I find a banquet fit for a wedding. ‘This is how you spend your money, and feast grand ladies when I am away, and give them music and a play, while you send me out anywhere.
Dorante. What do you mean, Mdme. Jourdain? And what queer ideas you’ve got into your head, that your husband spends his money, and that it is he who is giving this entertainment to my lady! I beg you to understand that this is my affair; he only lends me his house, and I must ask you to be more careful in what you say.
Mons. Jourdain. Yes, impertinent woman, it is his honour the Count who gives all this to my lady, who is a person of rank. He does me the honour to borrow my house, and is pleased to let me be with him. .
Mame. Jour. 'That’s all nonsense. I know what I know.
Dor, Pray, Mdme. Jourdain, put on better spectacles.
Mame. Jour. 1 don’t want any spectacles, sir; I can see quite well. I am no fool, and for a long time I’ve had an inkling of © what has been going on. It is shameful of you, who are a great lord, to lend a helping-hand to the follies of my husband. And for you, madame, who are a great lady, it is neither handsome
SCENE III.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 45
nor honest in you to sow dissension in a family, and to allow my husband to make love to you.
Dorimine, What is the meaning of all this? Why, Dorante, it is wrong of you to expose me to the silly notions of this raving woman, [Zaxit Doriméne.
Dor. Why, madame, madame, where are you going ?
M. Jour. Madame—my lord, make my excuses to her, and try to bring her back. (Zo his wife.) Oh, you wretched creature, this comes of your fine doings. You have affronted me before everybody, and you have driven away from my house persons of rank.
Madme. Jour. 1 don’t care a fig for their rank.
M. Jour. Y don’t know what keeps me, you cursed woman, from breaking your head with the dishes of the feast, which you have come here to disturb.
(Zhe servants clear the table.)
Mame. Jour. I despise all this. I stand up for my own fights, and all the wives will be on my side. : [Lexie
M. Jour. You do well to get out of the way of my rage. (Alone.) She came at most unlucky time. I was just in the humour to make pleasant speeches, and I never felt so witty. Hullo, whom have we here ?
ScenE ITI. CoviELLE (disguised as a traveller), Mons. JourDAIN, Servant.
Covielle, Sir, I do not know whether I have the honour to be recognised by you.
Mons. Jourdain. No, sir.
Cov. I saw you when yon were no taller than that (showing
with his hand). | M. Jour. What? Me?
Cov. Yes, you were one of the prettiest children in the world, and all the ladies used to take you in their arms to kiss you.
M. Jour. ‘To kiss me?
Cov. Yes, I was an intimate friend of the late gentleman, your father.
Mf. Jour. What, of the late gentleman, my Fah 7 ioe
Cov. Yes, he was a very worthy gentleman.
M. Jour. What is it you say P
Cov. I say that he was a very worthy gentleman.
M. Jour. You're speaking of my father? |
46 : THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act IV. |
Cov. Certainly, I am.
M. Jour. Did you know him very pele
Cov. I did.
M. Jour. And you knew him to be a gentleman?
Cov. Without any doubt.
M. Jour. 1 don’t know then what to make of the world,
Cov. Why?
M, Jour. ‘There are a lot of stupid people who will have it that he was a shopkeeper.
Cov. He a shopkeeper! Mere scandal; he never was one. © All that he did was, to go out of his way to be obliging, and as he © was a great connoisseur in cloth, he used to buy it here, there, and everywhere ; had it taken to his house, and then used to give it to his sme for money.
M. Jour. Yam delighted to make your acquaintance, as you — can bear witness that my father was a gentleman.
Cov. Ill stand to it in the face of all the world.
M. Jour. You will do me a great service. May I ask what business brings you here?
Cov. Since I knew your late father (honest gentleman as he was), I have travelled through the whole world.
M. Jour. What! Through the whole world ?
Cov. Yes.
M. Jour. I fancy that country must be a long way off.
Cov. You're right. I only returned four days ago from my long journeyings: and as I have an interest in all that con- cerns you, I have come to tell you the best news in the world.
M. Jour. What is that?
Cov. Of course you know that the son of the Grank Turk is here?
M. Jour. I? No.
Cov. Is it possible? He has a most magnificent suite. Every one goes to see him, and he has been received here as a personage of great importance.
M. Jour. Indeed; I was not aware of it.
Cov. * But what concerns you so much is that he is in love with your daughter.
M. Jour. What, the son of the Grand Turk ?
Cov. Yes, and wishes to be your son-in-law.
M. Jour., My son-in-law? The son of the Grand Turk ?
Cov. The son of the Grand Turk, your son-in-law. As I have been to see him, and perfectly understand his language, he held a conversation with me, and said, Ԥ Acciam croc, toler, onch alla
ScENE III.]| ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 47
moustaph gidelum amanahem varahini ouffere carbulath” ; that is to say, “‘ Have you not see a handsome young person, who is the daughter of Mons. Jourdain, a gentleman of Paris?”
M. Jour. ‘The son of the Grand Turk said that of me?
Cov. He did. So I replied that I knew you perfectly well, and that I had seen your daughter. ‘ Ah,” he said to me, _“ Marababa sahem/” that is to say, ‘Ah! how I am in love with her!”
M. Jour. So, Marababa sahem means, “ Ah ! how I am in love with her ?”’
Cav., .Yes. ;
MM. Jour. Indeed; you did well to tell me so, since for my part I should never have believed that A/arababa sahem meant, “ Ah! how Iam in love with her!” This Turkish is an admi-
rable language !
Cov. More admirable than any one would believe. Are you aware what Cacaramouchen means ?
_M. Jour. Cacaramouchen? No.
Cov. It is as much as to say, ‘*‘ My dear soul!”
M. Jour. Cacaramouchen means, then, “ My dear soul !”
Cov. Yes.
M. Jour. Well, it’s very wonderful! Cacaramouchen, “ My dear soul!” Who would ever have thought it? It quite gets over me.
Cov. In short, to finish my embassy, he is coming to ask for the hand of your daughter ; and in order to have a father-in-law _worthy of him, he wishes to make you a Mamamouchi, a great _ dignity in his own country.
M. Jour. Mamamouchi?
_ Cov. Yes, Mamamouchi ; that is, in our language, a Paladin. _ Paladins are the ancient—Paladins in short. There’s nothing more noble; and you will rank with the greatest lords upon earth.
M. Jour. ‘The son of the Grand Turk does me a great deal of honour, and I beg you to conduct me to him, that I may return _ him my thanks.
_ Cov. What! Why, he is on the point of coming here.
M. Jour. He's coming here?
_ Cov. Certainly; and he is bringing with him everything neces- sary for your installation.
M. Jour. We seems to be in a great hurry.
Cov. His love will suffer no delay.
M. Jour. A\\ that troubles me is, that my daughter is extremely _ obstinate, and she has taken it into her head to fall in love with a
48 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act IV.
fellow called Cléonte, and she vows that she will marry no one but him. |
Cov. Ah, she’ll change her mind when she has seen the son of the Grand Turk ; and this is a most extraordinary circumstance, that the son of the Grand Turk has a sort of likeness to this Cléonte. I have just seen him—he was pointed out to me; and the love which she bears to one may easily be transferred to the other,—I hear him coming ; here he is!
ScENE IV.
Citonte, dressed like a Turk, with three Pages carrying his vest ; | Mons. JOURDAIN, COVIELLE, disguised.
Cléonte. Ambousahim oqui boraf, Tordina, salamalequi.
Covielle. That is to say, “ Mons. Jourdain, may your heart be all the year like a rose-tree in flower.” ‘These are polite forms of expression in that country. q
M. Jourdain, 1 am his Turkish Highness’s most humble servant.
Cov. Carigar camboto ovstin moraf.
Clé. Ouvstin yor catamalequi basum base alla moran.
Cov. He says, ‘‘ May Heaven give you the strength of lions, and the wisdom of serpents.
M. Jour. His Turkish Highness honours me too much, and ~ I wish him all manner of prosperity.
Cov. Ossa binamen sadoc babally oracaf ovram.
Clé. Bel-men.
Cov. He says that you are to go quickly with him and prepare yourself for the ceremony, in order afterwards to see your daughter, and to conclude the marriage.
M. Jour. So many things in two words ?P
Cov. Yes, Turkish is like that; it says a great deal in a few words. Go quickly where he desires you.
SCENE V, DOoRANTE, COVIELLE, Covielle. Wa, ha, ha! Indeed this is extremely droll. What a dupe! If he had learnt his part by heart he could not have played it better. Ha, ha! (Seeing Dorante.) I beg of you, sir, to help us here in a certain matter which we have in hand.
ScENE V.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 49
Dorante. Wa, ha! Covielle, who would have known you ? Tiow you are dressed up!
Cov, So yousee, Ha, ha!
Dor. What ate you laughing at?
Cov. At something, sir, which is very droll.
Dor. What is it?
Cov. I would give you a good many guesses, sir, before you found out the trick we are playing on Mons. Jourdain to induce him to give up his daughter to my master.
Dor. can’t guess what the trick is, but I guess it is not likely to fail if you have a hand in it.
Cov. I know, sir, that you are acquainted with the animal.
Dor. ‘ell me what it is.
Cov. Will you mind stepping aside a little, so as to make room for what I see coming. You can see one part of the story, while I tell you the rest.
TurkisH Ceremony. Zhe Mufti, Dervishes, Turks, Assistants of the Mufti, singing and dancing. First entrance of the Ballet.
_ Six Turks enter gravely together, two and two, to music. They carry three carpets, which they lift very high and form into various figures while dancing. The singing Turks and musicians pass under these carpets, and range themselves on both sides of the stage; the Dervishes who accompany the Mufti close the pro- cession,
Next the Turks spread the carpels on the ground, and kneel upon them ; and then the Mufti, standing in the middle, invokes Mahomet with contortions and grimaces, and says not another word. ‘The Turkish assistants prostrate themselves on the ground, singing A/Z ; then they raise their arms to heaven, singing A/a, and so they continue alternately to the end of the Invocation. ‘Then they all rise up singing A/a ekber.
_ Then the Dervishes bring the Citizen before the Mufti, dressed as a Turk, shaven, without a turban, without a sabre, to whom the following words are sung in Lingua Franca :—
The Mufti.. Jf thou understandest, Answer ; Lf thou dost not understand, Hold thy peace, hold thy peace.
Lam Mufti, Thou ! who thou art f know not : fold thy peace, hold thy peace.
5
50 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act IV.
Two Turks lead the Citizen back, while the Mufii demands of the Turks to what religion he belongs, and then sings— Say, Turk, who is this ; an Anabaptist, an Anabaptist? Turks. Vo. Mufti. A Zwinghan ?
Turks. Vo. Mufti. A Copt? Turks. Vo.
Mufti. 4 Hussite, a Moor, a Fronist? Turks. Vo, no, no. Mufti repeats, /Vo, xo, no. Ls he a pagan ?
Turks. Vo.
Mufti. Js he a Lutheran ? Turks. Vo.
Mufti. 4 Puritan? Turks. JVo,
Mufti, A Brahmin, a Mossian, a Zurian?
Turks. Vo, no, no.
Mufti repeats, No, 20, no. A Mahometan, a Mahometan ?
‘furks. Zhere you have it, there you have tt!
Mufti. How ts he called; how ts he called ?
Turks. Jourdain, Jourdain.
Mufti.. Jourdain ?
The Mufti (dancing and icokinig.4 on all sides). Jourdain, Jeu dain, Jourdain ?
Turks repeat, Jourdain, Jourdain, Jourdain %
Mufti. To Mahomet for Jourdain L pray night and day ; L wish to make a Paladin
Of Jourdain, of Jourdain. Give him a turban, and a sabrég | With a galley and a brigantine, . ; To defend Palestine. To Mahomet for Jourdain, &c. : (To the Turks.) Will he be a good Turk, Jourdain? Turks. Zhat he will, that he will. Mufti sings and dances. Ha Za ba, ba la chou, ba fa ba.
After the Mufti has retired, the Turks dance, and sing the same words—AHa /a ba, ba la chot, ba la ba, ba la da,
Second Entry of the Ballet. The Mufti returns, wearing the State turban, which is of an
SCENE V.] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 51
enormous size, decorated with four or five rows of lighted wax candles.
Two Dervishes accompany him, with pointed caps, also decked with lighted candles, carrying the Alcoran. ‘The two other Dervishes lead the Citizen, who is almost frightened to death at. the ceremonies. They make him kneel down, with his back to the Mufti; then making him bend his body till his hands touch the ground, they place the Alcoran on his back, and make him serve as a desk to the Mufti, who makes a burlesque Invoca- tion, knitting his eyebrows and opening his mouth without saying a word ; then speaking with vehemence, now softening his voice, then raising it enthusiastically, enough to make them tremble ; holding his sides with his fists, as if to make his words come out ; sometimes striking the Alcoran and tossing the leaves over hastily. He concludes at last by lifting up his hands and crying _ with a loud voice, Hou /
During this Invocation the Assistant Turks, bending down and rising three times, sing, Zou, hou, hou /
After the Invocation is over, the Dervishes take the Alcoran from the Citizen’s back, who cries, Hugh / Then they help him up.
The Mufti ‘addressing the Citizen), Zhou wilt not be a thief e
Turks, No, 20, NO.
Mufti. Not a cheat?
Turks. Vo, xo, no.
Mufti (to Turks). Give the turban, give the turban. Then goes away.
Turks, You are not a thicf ?
Lo, 10, no. Not a cheat ?
LVo, nO, nO. Give a turban.
Third Entry of the Ballet.
Turks put the turban on M. Jourdain, singing and dancing. ' The Mufti returns, and gives the sabre to M. Jourdain, saying, Be brave, be v9 scoundrel, take the sabre, ‘Then he retires,
Fourth Entry of the Ballet.
The Turks repeat the same words, all drawing their sabres, and six of them, dancing round M. Jourdain, make as though they would give hin several cuts with their sabres.
52 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Acr V.
The Mufti returns and commands the Turks to bastinado the —
Citizen, singing these words— Give, give a bastinado, a bastinado, a bastinado, Then he goes away.
Fifth Entry of the Ballet.
The Turks repeat the same words, and give M. Jourdain
several strokes with the stick in cadence. The Mufti seturns and sings—
Not to have shame,
Ls the last affront. Turks.
Not to have shame,
Ls the last affront.
The Mufti begins another Invocation; the Dervishes support him under the arms respectfully, and all the Turks, leaping, dancing, and singing round the Mufti, retire with him and lead out M. Jourdain.
ACT V. Scene I. MADAME JOURDAIN, Mons. JOURDAIN.
Mame. Jourdain. Bless us and save us, what’s all this? What a figure! Are you going mumming? Is this the time to go masquerading ? Speak then, and say what is the meaning of it all. Who has been making a guy of you like this?
M. Jourdain, How impertinent to speak in that way to a Mamamouchi |
Mame. Jour. What do you say?
M. Jour. Tsay you must treat me with respect now. I've just been made a Mamamouchi.
Madme. Jour. What do you mean, with your Mamamouchi ?
M. Jour. Mamamouchi, T tell you I am a Mamamoucht.
Mdme. Jour. What sort of an animal is that ? |
M. Jour. Mamamouchi—that is to say, in our language, a Paladin.
Mame. Jour. A Baladin?* At your age are you going to turn Morris-dancer ?
M. Jour. How stupid you are! I said Paladin: it is a dignity, the ceremony of which I have just gone through.
* A ballet-dancer.
q
|
SCENE Il] LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 53
Mame. Jour. What ceremony then?
M. Jour. Mahameta per Jordina.
Mdme. Jour. What does that mean ?
M. Jour. Jordina, that is to say Jourdain.
Mame. Jour. Well, Jourdain, and what then ?
M. Jour. Voler far un Paladin de Jordina.
Mdme. Jour. What?
M. Jour. Dar Turbanta con Galera,
Mame. Jour. What’s the meaning of that?
M. Jour. Fer deffender Palestina.
Mame. Jour. What do you mean ?
M. Jour. Dara, dara bastonnara.
Mame. Jour. What is all this jargon about ?
M. Jour. Non tenir honta, questa star Cultima affronta.
Mdme. Jour. What in the world can all this be ?
= M. Jour. (dances and sings). Hou la ba, ba la chou, ba la ba, ba la da (and falls down).
Mdme. Jour. Alas,alas! My husband has gone out of his mind. |
M. Jour. Uold your tongue, impudence, and show respect to Monsieur le Mamamouchi.
Mdme. Jour. I wonder how he came to lose his senses. I must run and prevent his going out. (Seeing Dorante and Doriméne.). Ah! this is the last straw. I see nothing but _yexation on all sides, [Exit
ScENE II. DORANTE AND DORIMENE.
Dorante. Yes, madame, you shall see the most amusing sight possible. I don’t believe that in all the world you could find another such a fool as this one. And then, madame, we must try _ and forward Cléonte’s suit, and support his masquerade. He is a very gentlemanly fellow, and deserves that we should interest ourselves in his behalf.
Doriméene. Wve a great regard for him, and he deserves good fortune in his suit. | ?
Dor. Besides which, madame, we’have here an entertainment that may suit us, and which we ought not to lose ; and I must see too whether my idea can be carried out.
Dori. I saw some magnificent arrangements, and these are _ things, Dorante, which I can no longer allow. Yes, I must put
$4 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act V._
a stop to all your extravagance, and in order to. break off the
expense which I see you are incurring on my account, I have —
determined to marry you at once. That is the true secret of it, and all these things end, as you know, with marriage.
Dor. Ah! madame, is it possible that you should form so kind ©
a resolution in my favour ?
Dorit. Ionly do it to prevent you ruining yourself; otherwise I see plainly that before long you will not have a shilling.
Dor. How deeply Lam indebted to you, madame, for the care you take to preserve my estate. It is entirely at your service as well as my heart, and you may dispose of them both as you please.
Dori. Jshall make a proper use of them. But here comes your man. What an extraordinary figure!
Scenr III.
Mons. JourDAIN, DorantE, DORIMENE.
Dorante.. We have come, my Lady and I, to pay our homage
to your new dignity, and to congratulate you on the marriage you are concluding between your daughter and the son of the Grand Turk...
M. Jourdain (having made his bow in the Turkish manner),
Sir, I wish you the strength of serpents, and the wisdom of lions. —
Doriméne. 1 am extremely glad, sir, to be one of the first to congratulate you on the high degree of glory to which you hawe risen.
M. Jour. Madame, I wish that your rose tree may flourish all
the year round: I am infinitely obliged to you for taking an interest in the honours which have come to me, and I am greatly
pleased to see you return here, so that I may make my excuses ©
for the impertinence of my wife.
Dori, Oh, that was nothing, Ican quite excuse her being
upset ; your heart ought to be precious to her, and it is not at all strange that the possession of such a man as you should give her some anxiety.
M. Jour. The possession of my heart is a thing that ep have
entirely gained.
Dor. You see, madame, that Mons. Jourdain is not one of those people who are blinded by prosperity, and that in his glory he still owns his friends,
Dori. Itis the mark of a truly generous soul.
—
se
——
ScENE V.] ZE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 55
Dor. Where is His Turkish Highness? We should be glad, as your friends, to pay our respects to him.
M. Jour. UHere he comes, and I have sent for my daughter that I may bestow her hand upon him.
ScENE IV.
CLEONTE (2 a Turkish dress), COVIELLE, Mons. JouRDAIN, DorRIMENE, DORANTE.
Dorante. Sir, we are come to pay our homage to your High- ness, as the friends of this gentleman—your future father-in-law— and to assure you respectfully of our most humble services,
M. Jourdain. Where’s the Dragoman, to tell him who you are, and to make him understand what you say. You shall see that he will answer you, and he speaks Turkish perfectly. Here! where the deuce is he gone? (Zo Clonte, pretending to talk Turkish.) Stref, strif, strof, straf. The gentleman is a grande Signore, and madame is a granda Dama, granda Dama. | Alt, sir, he is a /rench Mamamouchi, and madame a French Mama- mouchess: I can’t speak plainer. Good, here’s the Dragoman. Where have you been too? We can say nothing without you. Tell him shortly that the gentleman and lady are people of high rank, who have come to pay their respects to him, as friends of mine, and to assure him of their services, You will see how he will answer.
Covielle. Alabala crociam, acct boram alabamen.
Cléonte. Catalequi tubal ourin sotor Amalouchan,
M. Jour. Do you hear? _ Cov, He says that the rain of prosperity waters at all seasons the garden of your family. _ M. Jour. Didn't I tell you that he speaks Turkish ? Dor, ‘This is admirable.
SCENE V.
Lucttr, Mons. Jourpain, DorRANTE, DOoRIMENE, CLIONTE, COVIELLE.
M. Jourdain. Come, daughter, come nearer, and give your hand to this gentleman, who does you the honour of asking it in marriage.
56 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act V,
Lucile, Why, father, what have you been doing to yourself? Are you playing a comedy ?
M. Jour, No, no, it is no comedy, but a very serious affair 5 and the greatest honour I can desire for you. This is the husband I give to you.
Zuc. ‘To me, father ?
M. Jour. Yes, to you. Come, take him by the hand anes thank heaven for your good fortune.
Luc. I don’t wish to marry.
M. Jour. ‘Then I'll make you, as I am your father.
Luc. Ill have nothing to do with it.
M. Jour. What a noise to be sure! Come, I tell you. Give your hand,
Luc. No, father; I’ve told you already that there is no powet that can force me to take any other husband than Cléonte, and 1 am determined to proceed to all extremities rather than—(vecog: nising Cléonte)—It is true that you are my father, and I owe you absolute obedience, so you may dispose of me as you please.
M. Jour. Ah! Iam delighted to see you return so quickly to your duty ; and it is a pleasure to me to have such an obedient daughter.
ScENE VI, MpmME. JourDAIN, Mons. JouRDAIN, CLEONTE, ve.
Mame. Jourdain. How now? What’s all this about? They tell me you mean to give your daughter to some carnival-mummer. M. Jourdain, Will you hold your tongue, impertinent woman. You are always coming to mix up your ridiculous notions with everything : there is no possibility of teaching you common sense. Mame. Jour. It is you who will never learn sense. You go- from one folly to another. What is your intention? and what do_ you want with all this crowd of people? M. Jour. I intend to marry my daughter to the son of the Grand Turk. Mdme. Jour. 'To the son of the Grand Turk ? : M. Jour. Yes, go and give him your compliments, by the Dragoman there. /
_ Mdme. Jour. Vil have nothing to do with any Dragoman, and I'll tell the other one to his face that he shall have no daughter of mine.
M. Jour. Once more, will you hold your tongue?
ScenE VI.] LZ BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME,. ~ 57
Dorante. What, Madame Jourdain, would you set yourself against such happiness as that? Do you refuse His Turkish Highness for your son-in-law ?
Mame. Jour. Good gracious, sir, will you mind your own business ?
Dorimene. It is a great honour, by no means to be rejected..
Mdme. Jour. Madame, I must beg of you not to trouble your- self with what does not concern you.
Dor. It is the friendship which we feel for you that makes us interest ourselves in your well-being.
Médme. Jour. can do very well without your friendship.
Dor. But your daughter consents to her father’s wishes.
Mdme. Jour. My daughter consents to marry a Turk?
Dor. Undoubtedly.
Mdme. Jour. Can she forget Cléonte ?
Dor. What would not one do to be a great lady?
Mdme. Jour. I would strangle her with my own hands, if she did a thing like that.
M. Jour. Come, come, there’s too much cackle. I tell you this marriage shall be carried through.
Mdme. Jour. And I say it shall not.
M. Jour. What a noise, to be sure!
Lucile. Mother !
Mdme. Jour. Oh, you’re a good-for-nothing hussy !
M. Jour. What! do you scold her for obeying me ?
Mdme. Jour. Yes; for she’s as much mine as yours.
Covielle (to Mame. Jourdain). Madame!
Mame. Jour. What have you got to say?
Cov. Only one word.
Madme. Jour. Vl have nothing to do with your word.
Cov. (to Mons. Jourdain). Sir, if she will only give me one minute’s private conversation, I promise to make her conform _ to your wishes.
Madme. Jour. Iwill not consent.
Cov. Only listen to me.
Mdme. Jour. No.
_M. Jour. Give him a hearing.
Madme. Jour. No, 1 will not.
M. Jour. He'll tell you——
Mdme. Jour. Iwill not have him say anything to me.
M. Jour. Did you ever see anything like the woman’s ob- stinacy ? Will it do you any harm to hear him ?
Cov. Only hear me ; you may do as you please afterwards.
58 THE WOULD-BE GENTLEMAN. [Act V.
Mdme. Jour. Well, what?
Cov. (to Mdme. Jourdain, apart), We have been making signs _ to you, madame, for the last hour. Can’t you see that all this is
only done to suit ourselves to your husband’s notions, that we are imposing upon him under this disguise, and that it is Cléonte himself who is the son of the Grand Turk ?
Mame. Jour. Ah! ah!
Cov. And it is I, Covielle, who am the Dragoman.
Mdme. Jour. Well, in that case, I must give in.
Cov. Don’t seem to know anything about it.
Mame. Jour. (returning). Yes. It is settled. I consent to
the marriage. . M. Jour. Ah! now every one is becoming reasonable. (Zo
Madame Jourdain.) You would not hear him. 1 knew he would ©
explain to you who the son of the Grand Turk is.
Mdme. Jour. Ue has explained to me quite enough, and I am ~
satisfied. Now let us send for a Notary.
Dor. That is very well said. And Madame Jourdain, that — you may set your mind perfectly at rest, and may be free from any —
jealousy you may have conceived about your husband, my lady and I will make use of the same Notary to marry us.
Mame. Jour. I have no objection to that.
M. Jour. (apart to Dorante). It is to make her believe.
Dor. (apart to Mons. Jourdain). We must by all means amuse her by this pretence.
M. Jour. (aloud). Good, good. Let some one go for the Notary.
Dor. In the meantime, till he comes, and has drawn up the ©
contract, let us see our entertainment and give his Turkish Highness. some amusement.
M. Jour, Wellsaid. Come, let us take our places.
Mame. Jour. And Nicole? :
M. Jour. I give her to the Dragoman, and my wife to whoever pleases to take her.
Cov. Sir, I thank you. (Afart.) If it’s possible to find a greater fool than this man, I'll go and tell it at Rome.
; (Zhe Comedy ends with a short Ballet which had been prepared by —
Dorante.)
THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES
(LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES).
DRAMATIS PERSON‘.
LA GRANGE } i Cea; sy, repulsed lovers.
GORGIBUS, @ good citizen. MADELON, daughter of Gorgibus, CATHOS, iece of Gorgibus, MAROTTE, the young ladies’ maid. ALMANZOR, the young ladies’ footman. MARQUIS DE MASCARILLE, La Grange’s valet. VICOMTE DE JODELET, Dz Croisy’s valet. Two CHAIRMEN.
LUCILE AND C&LIMENE, neighbours. FIDDLERS.
SCENE—PARIS, IN THE Houst oF GORGIbUS,
the affected young ladies.
ACT. I. Scene I. LA Grancr, Du Croisy.
Du Croisy. Seigneur La Grange!
La Grange. What?
_ Du Cr. Look at me a moment without laughing.
mm La Gr. Well?
_ Du Cr. What do you think of our visit? Were you quite pleased with it ?
_ La Gyr. Do you believe either of us has reason to be so ?
_ Du Cr. Well, to tell the truth, not altogether.
_ La Gr. For my part, I assure you, I feel quite shocked at it. Pray did ever any one see two country wenches give themselves more airs than they did, or two men treated with more contempt than we were? ‘They could scarcely bring themselves to ask us to sit down. I never saw such whispering, such yawning, such tubbing of eyes and asking so often what o'clock it was. Did they answer more than “yes,” or “no,” to anything we could say to them? And, in short, don’t you agree with me that
60 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act I
if we had been the greatest scoundrels they could not have use us worse than they did.
Du Cr. You seem to take it very much to heart.
La Gr. Certainly I do, and so much so that I shall reveng myself for this impertinence. I know very well the cause of their slighting us. ‘This affected air has not only infected Paris, but has spread into the provinces, and our absurd young ladies have imbibed a good share of it. In a word, they are a curious mixture of coquetry and affectation. I see what a man must be to be on good terms with them, and if you'll trust me we'll play them a trick, which shall make them see their folly, and teach them to distinguish people a little better.
Du Cr. But how can this be done?
La Gr. I have a valet named Mascarille, who passes for a sort of witin the opinion of many people—for nothing is cheaper than wit nowadays. He is a mad fellow who takes it into his head to assume the air of a person of quality. He goes in for gallantry and poetry, and despises other valets, so much so ast to call them brutes.
Du Cr. Well, what do you mean to do with him ?
La Gr. What do I mean to do with him? Why he must— but first let us quit this place.
ScENE II. Gorcisus, Du Croisy, LA GRANGE.
Gorgibus. Well, gentlemen, have you seen my daughter andl my niece? Are matters progressing? What is the result of this . visit ?
La Grange. Youcan learn that better from them than from us. All we can say is, that we return you thanks for the honour you have done us, and we remain your most humble servants.
Du Croisy. Your most humble servants,
Gor. (alone). Oho! It seems that they came away) very dissatisfied. What could be the cause of their discontent? I must find out something about it. Ho! come here!
:
ens ScENE ITI, MAROTTE, GORGIBUS. | |
Marotte. What do you please to want, sir? Gorgibus. Where are your mistresses ? _
ScENEIV.] LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES. 61
Mar. In their room, sir.
Gor. What are they doing ?
_ Mar. Making a salve for the lips.
Gor. ‘There’s too much of this salve-making. ‘Tell them to come down. (A/one.) ‘These hussies, I think, want to ruin me ith their salves. I see nothing about -the place but whites of eggs, milk of roses, and a thousand other fooleries I know othing of. Since we have been here, they have used the lard of at least a dozen pigs, and one could keep four servants every day on the sheeps’ trotters they use.
ScENneE IV. MaApDELON, CaTHos, GORGIBUS.
_ Gorgibus. Truly, it is very necessary for you to go to all this expense to grease your faces! But give me some idea what you have been doing to those gentlemen, whom I saw leaving with so much coldness. Did I not command you to receive them as your future husbands ?
Madelon. My dear father, I should like to know how you would have us receive the irregular proceedings of these people.
_ Cathos. And pray, uncle, how can a woman with a spark of understanding put up with their persons? _ Gor. What fault do you find with them ?
Mad. ‘Talk of manners! Why they began at once to speak of marriage.
Gor. Well, how would you have them begin? With concubinage? Surely both of you as well as myself ought to be pleased with such a mode of paying addresses. Is there anything more polite than that? And the sacred bond to which they aspire, is it not a proof of their honourable intentions ?
_ Mad. Why, father, you talk like the lowest shopkeeper. Iam ashamed to hear you speak i in such a way; you ought now to get some lessons in the proper air of things.
_ Gor. ve nothing to do with the air, nor the song. I tell you that marriage is a holy and sacred thing, and it’s quite right and proper to begin with it.
_ Mad. Why, if all the world were like you, what would become of romance? It would have been a fine state of things if Cyrus had married Mandane off hand, and if Aronce had at once espoused Cleélie.
Gor. What’is all this talk about ?
62 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act ]
Mad. Ask my cousin, father, and she wili tell you as well as can, that marriage should come after other adventures. A lover to be agreeable, should know how to utter fine sentiments, how t¢ breathe soft, tender, and passionate thoughts, and to make his sui according to rule. In the first place, he must see his lady-love ai church, in the park, or at some public ceremony ; or else he mus meet his fate by being introduced to her through a relatior or friend, and leave her presence pensive and melancholy. Fo some time he conceals from the beloved object the devotio he feels for her, but he pays her several visits, in the course of which he always introduces the subject of love-making so as to give opportunity for discussion by the company. At last the day comes for his making his proposal, which should be done in the side-walk of some garden, when others are at a distance. ‘This proposal is followed by a display of anger, as shown by our blushes, and which keeps the would-be lover for some time’ at a distance. He finds by degrees some mode of appeasing us, and then again paves the way for a fresh declaration of love; and fo drawing forth that avowal which causes so much trouble. Then comes a series of exciting adventures; rivals who thwart an established affection ; persecution of fathers; jealousies arising from misconceptions, complaints, despair, runaway matches, and the necessary results. ‘This is how love affairs.should be carried on according to good manners, which ought always to be followed in true gallantry. But to come point-blank to a matrimonial engagement, to make love only with a marriage contract, and to take romance by the wrong end! Once more, dear father, nothing could be more tradesman-like than such a proceeding, and I feel quite upset at the mere notion.
Gor. What devilish nonsense is this? This is nothing but high-flying rubbish.
Ca. In short, uncle, my cousin tells you the truth of the matter. How is it possible to receive people who are utterly innocent of all proprieties? I wouldn’t mind wagering that they have never seen the Map of True Love, and that ‘billets doux,” Tender Attentions, Polite Notes, and Sonnets, are unknown regions to them. Cannot you see how their whole bearing shows this, and that they have not the air about them which prepossesse one at once in their favour. The idea of coming love-making in plain breeches, a hat without any feathers, a head -with undressed locks, and a coat without any ribbons on it! Good gracious! What lovers are these? What stinginess in dress! What dryness of conversation! One can never stand it. I
|
ScrnEV.] LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES. 63
noticed, too, that their ruffs were not at all well-made, and that their breeches did not fit them properly. _
Gor. I think they are both out of their mind. I can make nothing out of this gibberish. Cathos, and you Madelon
Mad. Oh, father, pray leave off these outlandish names, and call us differently.
Gor. What on earth do you mean? Outlandish! Are they not your Christian names?
Mad., Goodness, how vulgar you are! It really does surprise me that you could have had so witty and refined a daughter as myself. Did any one in society ever speak of Cathcs or Madelon? And you must acknowledge that either of these names would be enough to ruin the finest novel in the world.
Ca. Really, uncle, an ear of any delicacy of sense must be excruciated. at hearing such names, whereas Polixéne, which my cousin has chosen, and Aminte, which I have taken for myself, have a certain grace which you must allow.
Gor. Now listen, I have just one word to say to you. I allow no other names than those given you by your godfathers and godmothers ; and as regards the gentlemen in question, I know their families and their fortunes, and I tell you plainly that I have made up my mind you shall receive them as husbands. I am tired of having you on my hands, and the care of a couple of young girls is really too heavy a burden for a man of my age.
Ca. Well, uncle, I must tell you frankly that, for my part, I consider marriage quite shocking.
Mad. Give us a little breathing-time now that we have come into Parisian society, and allow us to weave at leisure the tissue of our romance and don’t hurry it to its conclusion too fast.
Gor. (aside). ‘There can be no doubt about it. They’ve both gone off their heads. (A/oud.) Once more I tell you I know nothing about all this nonsense, but k choose to be absolute
_ master ; and to put an end to all this dispute, let me tell you both
that either you'll get married out of hand, or I’ll have you shut up inaconyent. And I give you my solemn word on it.
SCENE V, Catuos, MaDELON, afferwards MAROTTE.
Cathos. Heavens! my dear, how dense your father is! How gross his understanding is, how dark his soul !
Madelon, What can I say, my dear? Iam quite upset about
‘him. I can hardly believe that I am really his daughter, but
64 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act I.
that I belong to a more illustrious family. Ca. I quite think so. There is every likelihood in the world of it, and when I think of myself too
Enter MAROTTE.
Marotte. Here’s a footman come to ask if you’re at home, and says that his master wishes to come and see you.
Mad. Learn, you stupid creature, not to speak in such a vulgar way. Say, Here is an indispensable who desires to know whether it is convenient to you to be visible.
Mar. By our Lady! I don’t understand Latin, and I ain’t never learnt flossophy out of Cyrus like you. 1
Mad, Impertinent creature. Who can put up with such insolence?_ And who is the master of this footman. _
Mar. He said he was called the Marquis de Mascarille.
Mad. Oh, my dear, a Marquis! a Marquis! Yes, go and tell him that we will see him. No doubt he’s a wit that has heard us spoken of.
Ca. Unquestionably, my dear. :
Mad. We must receive him downstairs, and not in our own room. Let us arrange our hair properly, and maintain our reputation. - Come here quickly and hold to us the counsellor of the Graces. . |
Mar, ‘Truly, I can’t tell what sort of an animal that is. If you want me to understand you, you must talk like a Christian,
Ca. Bring the looking-glass, you stupid creature, and take care not to defile it with the image of your own face,
expect that some day I shall discover, through some = | |
ScENE VI. MASCARILLE, aud Two Chairmen
Mascarille. “old, chairmen, hold. La, la, la, la! I think these varlets intend to knock me to pieces, by jostling me against the walls and pavement. o
First Chairman. Ay, because the gate’s narrow. You would have us bring you right in here.
Mas. Quitetrue. Would you have me expose the beauty of my feathers to the inclemency of the rainy season, or leave the im- pression of my shoes in the mud? Be off, and take away your chair.
Second Chairman. ‘Then pay us, sir, if you please.
Mas. kh? |
2nd Chair. Please to give us our money, sir, I say.
SCENE VII.] LES PRE CIEUSES RIDICULES: 65
Mas. (giving him a box on the ear). What! you rascal, ask for
money from a person of my rank?
- 2nd Chair. Are poor people to be paid in this way? And will your rank get us a dinner?
Mas. Ha, ha! Tl teach you to know your place. Dare these scoundrels take liberties with me ?
1st Chair. (taking one of the poles of thé chair). Come, pay us quickly.
Mas. What?
1st Chair. I say I'll have the money at once.
Mas. Ah, now, this is a reasonable man.
1st Chair. Make haste then.
Mas. Well, you speak as you ought to do, but the other fellow is a rascal who does not know what he says.—There now, are you contented ?
1st Chair. No, I’m not contented; you struck my mate and (raising his pole).
- Mas. Here, then, is something for the blow. People may get anything out of me if they gothe right way to work. Go now, but come again for me by and by, to take me to the rose bed- chamber, .
Sciivk VIL.
Marottr, MascaRILLE—a/fterwards MADELON, as ac ALMANZOR.
Marotte. Sir, my mistresses will come directly. Mascarille. Oh, they need not hurry themselves. I can wait
_ here very. comfortably.
Mar. Here they are.
Enter MADELON AND CATHOS.
Mas. (after having bowed them). Youll be doubtless surprised, ladies, at the boldness of my visit, but your reputation brings this infliction on you. Merit has such potent charms for me, that I run everywhere after it.
Madelon. If you pursue merit, it is not on our grounds that
~ you must hunt.
~ you.
y
Cathos. To find merit here, you must have brought it with
‘Mas. Ah, I engage to prove the contrary. Fame told the truth in relating your worth, and you are going to make a clean sweep of all the gallants of Paris,
6
65 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act 1.
Mad. Your courtesy pushes the liberality of its praises some-_ what too far, and my cousin and I must not take too seriously - the sweetness of your flattery.
Ca. My dear, we should call for chairs.
Mad, Almanzor.
Almanzor. Madame.
Mad, Convey to us quickly the conveniences of conversa- tion.
Mas. But tell me,am I safe here?
Ca. What are you afraid of?
Mas. Some robbery of my heart, some attempt upon my freedom. I see there a pair of eyes which look like two very naughty boys, who would play with liberty and treat a heart no better than a Turk would a slave. Why the deuce do they put themselves on their murdering guard as soon as they see any one approach them? Ah, in truth I distrust them, and must either run away or get good security that they will not do me any harm.
Mad. My dear, this is lively wit.
Ca. I see plainly that he is a Hamilcar.*
Mad. You need not be afraid; our eyes have no evil designs, and your heart may repose in the assurance of their harmlessness.
Ca, But, my dear sir, I hope you will not be inexorable to the advances of the easy chair which has been stretching out its arms to you for a quarter of an hour ; pray yield to its desire to embrace you.
Mas. (having combed his hair and adjusted his lace-fringes). Well, ladies, and what do you think of Paris?
Mad. Ah! What can we say? It would be the antipodes of reason not to acknowledge that Paris is the greatest storehouse of wonders, the centre of good taste, wit, and gallantry.
Mas. For my part, I think outside of Paris there is no salvation for people of fashion.
Ca. There’s no denying that.
Mas. It is rather dirty ; but one can always call a sedan- chair.
Mad. Ah, that is a wonderful safeguard against the insults of mud and bad weather.
Mas. You doubtless have plenty of visitors? What great wit do you reckon among them ?
Mad. The fact is that we are not much known yet, but weare in the way to be so, for we have a particular friend who has
* A lively character in ‘' Clélie,” by Mdlle. de Scudéry.
ScENE VII.] ZLES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES. 67
promised to bring here all the gentlemen who write for the “ Select ‘} Miscellany.”
_ Ca, And some others who have been mentioned to us as being the supreme judges of fine things.
Mas. can dothat for you better than anyone. They all visit me, and I can truly say that I never rise without having half a dozen wits about me. *
Mad. Really we shall be ‘there the atehieel obligation if. you can do us this service, for one must have the acquaintance of all these gentlemen, if one would be in good society. They can give one a name in Paris, and merely to be seen in the company of some of them is enough to give one a reputation as a judge, even if one had noother claim. But what I think most of is, that by these intellectual visits one learns a hundred things that one ‘should know, and which are the very essence of wit. ‘Thereby one learns every day the latest scandals, the pleasant interchanges in prose and verse. ‘Thus one learns at the right time that such a person has composed the finest piece in the world on such a subject ; that such a lady has set words to such a tune ; this person has made a madrigal upon a favour done him: that one has written stanzas on one who has betrayed him. Mr. So-and-So wrote a poem of six lines yesterday evening to Mrs. So-and-So, to which she sent him an answer this morning at eight o’clock. Such an author has made such a plan; this writer has completed the third part of his novel, that other is just sending his work to the press.—It is this which makes you thought much of in _ society, and if people are ignorant of these things I would not give _ a pin for all their talent.
Ca. In fact I think it extremely ridiculous for any one to make pretensions to talent, who does not know even the least little _ sonnet that is made every day; and for my part I should be completely ashamed of myself if any one should ask me if I had
seen something new and I had not done so.
_. Mas. It really is shameful not to be among the first to know what is going on; but do not trouble about that, I will establish in your house an Academy of Talent, and I can promise you there shall not be a rhyme made in Paris which you shall not have by heart before any one else. As formyself, you see what I am ; I scribble a little when I am in the mood for it, and you may meet with what I have written in all the best private circles of Paris—some two hundred songs, as many sonnets, four hundred epigrams, and more than a thousand madrigals, without reckoning riddles and portraits,
68 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act 1.
Mad. I must acknowledge that I am perfectly wild afte portraits. I think nothing is more delightful.
Mas. Portraits in words are difficult, and call for a very specia talent. I will show you some of mine that I think will no displease you.
Ca. For my part, I am awfully fond of riddles.
Mas. Well, they exercise the wit. I have made four already this morning, which I will submit to you to guess.
Mad, Madrigals are agreeable, when they are well turned.
Mas. ‘That is my peculiar talent, and I’m going to turn all th history of Rome into madrigals.
Mad. Ah, that will be wondrously fine. I must have at least one copy if you print it. | . |
Mas. I promise you each one, and bound in the best style. It is rather beneath my rank; and I only do it for the benefit o the booksellers who pester me. |
Mad. \ fancy it must beagreat pleasure to see one’s self in print.
Mas. Certainly: but now I think of it, I must tell you some extempore verses that I made yesterday at a Duchess’s, a friend 0 mine, where I was paying a visit, for I am tremendously strong in impromptus.
Ca. I think they are the very touchstone of wit.
Mas. Listen then.
Mad. So we will, with all our ears.
Mas.’ Oh! oh! quite off my guard was J,
And no harm thinking,
While you [ view
Slily your eyes my heart surprise—
“ Stop thief, stop thief, stop thief!” L cry. :
Ca. My goodness! that may rank among the finest pieces of gallantry.
Mas. What I do has the touch of a gentleman ; there’s nothing of the pedant about it.
Mad. Ohno! It’s thousands of miles from that.
Mas. Did you mark the beginning—O/, of/ Because it is extraordinary—O/, of / Like a man who bethinks himself all at once—O/, oh / ‘Taken by surprise—O/, oh /
Mad. I find that O#, oh / admirable.
Mas. It is nothing.
Ca. Good gracious! What do yousay? One cannot think .too highly of such things.
Mad. Nodoubt. Iwould rather have made that Of, of / than have composed an epic poem.
: J . :
SCENE VII.] ZES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES. 69
_ Mas. FEgad, you have good taste.
Mad. Well, I don’t think that it is very bad.
Mas. But don’t you also admire, “ Quite off my guard was 1”? “Quite off my guard was I.” I paid no special attention to it ; quite a natural way of speaking. ‘‘ Qucte off my guard was I.” “And no harm thinking’ ‘—innocently, without malice, like a poor sheep ; “ While you J view ”—that is to say, while I amuse myself with considering, with observing, with contemplating you. ‘“ SiZy your eyes.” What do you think of that word “ S/dy”? Isn’t it well chosen?
Ca. Excellently.
Mas. “ Slily,” euantinely-=tt seems asif it werea cat coming to
catch a mouse. “Slily.” Mad. Nothing could be better. Mas. “ My heart surprise,” snatch it away, force it from me;
“ Stop thief, stop thief, stop thief !”” Would not you think it wasa
man crying out, and running after a thief to seize him—‘* Stop
thief, stop thief, stop thief !” Mad. It must be owned that it has a most witty and gallant turn.
- Mas. I should like to sing you the tune I set it to.
Ca. What! have you learned music?
Mas. I? Notatall.
Ca. Howcan that be ?
Mas. Persons of quality know everything, without having ever learnt anything.
Mad. He's quite right, my dear.
Mas, Listen, and tell me if youlike it. Hem, hem, hem, la, la,
ta, la. ‘The roughness of the season has seriously injured the
delicacy of my voice—but all the same I sing like a gentleman.
(Ze sings.) Oh, oh! quite off my guard was J.
Ca. Oh what an impassioned air! It makes one die with pleasure.
_ Mad. Delightful chromatics indeed !
_ Mas. Don’t you find the thought well expressed i in the tune, “ Stop thief, stop thief’? And then as if some one cried out violently, ‘‘ Sop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop” ; and then all at once, like a person out of breath, ‘ Stop thief/”
Mad. NowI see what it is to understand the refinement: of things, the great refinement—the refinement of refinements, It is quite marvellous, I assure you ; I am in ecstasy with both the tune and the words. |
Ca, I never met with anything so powerful.
70 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act I,
Mas. A\\I do comes naturally, without any study. Mad. Nature has treated you like a true fond mother 3 and. you are her spoiled child. Mas. “ow do you pass your time, ladies ? Ca, In nothing at all. Mad. Up. to now we have been suffering from a terrible dearth of all amusement. d Mas. Im at your service to take you, one.of these days, . the play, if you would like to go; indeed, a new one is to be acted, and I should be very glad to see it with you. a Mad, ‘That is not to be refused, Mas. But I must ask you to applaud it well when we are ther | for I have engaged to make the piece successful ; the author came this morning to beg metodo so, Itis the custom here for authors to come and read their new plays to people of distinction like myself, that they may engage us to approve of them, and give them repu- tation, and I leave you to imagine whether, when we say anythi ng, the pit dares to contradict us. For my part, I am very scrupulous in this; and when I’ve promised any poet, I always call ou if Excellent ! !” even before the curtain rises. Mad. Say no more about it. Paris is a wonderful place ; ¢ hundred things happen in it every day, of which we know no { in the provinces, however talented one may be. 4 Ca. ‘That is enough ; now we have been told, we’ll do our par in applauding as we ought every word that’s said. * Mas, I don’t know whether I am mistaken, but you look for the world as if you had written a play. . Mad, Well, there may be something in what you say. - Mas. Ah, then we must see it. Between ourselves, I hay composed one which I mean to have acted. a Ca, And to which company do you mean to give it ee Mas, What a question! Why of course to the Royal actors ‘No others are able to gain pieces a reputation ; the rest al ignorant creatures, who speak their parts just as one talks; the don't understand how to roll out their words, or pause at ; beautiful passage. How is one to know where the fine lines are, i the actor does not stop at them, and. thereby show you when t applaud ? Ca. Really, there is a way of making an audience sensible of tt beauties of a work, and things are only valued at what one make them valued. a Mas. How do ye like my trimming ¢ ‘Do you think. it f the dress ? .
SCENE VII.] LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES. 71
Ca. Perfectly.
Mas. ‘The ribbon is well chosen.
Mad. Awfully well. It’s Pedrigeon’s genuine thing.
Mas. What do you say to my rolls ?
Mad. ‘They look extremely well.
Mas. At any rate I may boast that they are a quarter of a yard Sider than ever were made before.
Mad. 1 must confess that I never saw the elegance of dress carried to such perfection.
Mas. _ Pray exercise your olfactory organs on these gloves,
Mad, ‘They smell awfully nice.
Ca. I never breathed a more delightful odour.
Mas. And this—(giving them his powdered wig to smell).
Mad. There is something distinguished in it ; the sublime is hit off deliciously. Mas. You say nothing of my feathers; how do you like
_ Ca, They’re dreadfully beautiful.
Mas. Do you know that this ostrich feather cost me a louis dor? For my part, I have a mania for indulging in the best of everything.
Mad. Youand I sympathize, I assure you. I am frightfully delicate about everything I wear, and even to my socks I cannot bear anything that is not perfectly well made.
Mas. (crying out suddenly). Oh, gently, gently ! Siena! ladies, this is very ill-usage ; I have reason to complain of your treatrnent of me; it is not fair.
Ca. What now? What is the matter ?
Mas. What! both against my heart at the same time! Attacking me right and left! Ah, it is contrary to the law of nations ; it is not an equal match. I shall cry out, Murder!
Ca. One must own that he says things in a very original manner.
_ Mad. He has an admirable turn of wit.
_ Ca. You're more afraid than hurt. Your heart complains Before it’s wounded.
% ie What the deuce! Why it’s wounded from head to foot
Inter MAROTTE. ~
Marotte. Madame, some one is asking to see you. Mad. Who? Mar, The Vicomte de Jodelet.
72 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act h,
Mas. What, the Vicomte de Jodelet? .
Mar. Yes, sir.
Ca. Do you know him?
Mas. He’s my best friend.
Mad, Beg him to come in at once.
Mas. It is some time since we have met, and I am delighted at the chance.
Ca, Here he is,
Scene VIII. JODELET, MASCARILLE, CATHOS, MADELON, MAROTTE.
Mascarille. Ah, Vicomte!
Jodelet (embracing one another). Ah, Marquis!
Mas. How glad Iam to meet you!
Jod. Iam delighted to find you here!
Madelon (to Cathos). We are beginning to be known, my dearest, when gentlemen of rank find their way here.
Mas. Ladies, allow me to present this gentleman to you. I can assure you, he is worthy of your acquaintance,
Jod. It is only right to come and offer you your due, and your charms demand their sovereign rights from all sorts of people. ;
Mad. You are urging your civilities to the extreme limit of flattery.
Cathos. This day ought to be marked in our almanac, asa very fortunate one.
Mad. Come, boy (#0 A/manzor), must you be told the same thing again and again? Don't you see that the addition of another chair i is required ?
Mas. You must not be surprised to see the Vicomte as he is. He is only just recovering from an illness, which leaves him as pale as you see him.
Jod. It is the result of dancing attendance at Court, and of the fatigues of war.
Mas. Are you aware, ladies, that in the Vicomte you behold one of the bravest men of the age? He is a hero of tried metal.
Jod. You are no way behind me, Marquis; .we are well aware of what you can do.
Mas. It is true we have met before now.
Jod. Yes, and in places where it was very warm,
~ tae
ScENE VIII.] LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES. 73
Mas. Ah, but (looking at the ladies), not so warm as it is here. Ah, ha!
Jod. Our acquaintance was made in the army, and the first time we saw each other, the Marquis was commanding a regiment of horse, on board the galleys at Malta.
Mas. ‘That is true, but for all that you were before me in the service, for I remember that I was but a young officer, when you commanded two thousand horse.
Jod. War isa fine thing in its way, but, on my word, the Court rewards people very badly who, like us, have seen service.
Mas. ‘That’s why I mean to hang up my sword. 2
Ca. For my part, I’ve a tremendous liking for men of the sword.
Mad. I love them too; but I like wit to temper bravery.
Mas. Do you remember, Vicomte, that half-moon that we carried against the enemy at the siege of Arras?
fod. \Vhat do you mean by a halfmoon? Why, man, it was a whole moon.
Mas. 1 think you are right.
Jod. 1 ought, in truth, to remember it well enough, for I was wounded there in the leg by the bursting of a hand-grenade, the marks of which I still carryabout me. Feel a little, if you please, and you will see what a wound it was.
Ca. (after touching the spot). It is true there is a terrible scar.
Mas. Give me your hand a moment, and feel this—there— just in the back of my head. Have you found it ?
Mad, Yes, I feel something.
Mas. Itis a musket-shot that I received in my last campaign.
Jod. (uncovering his chest). Here is where a shot went right through me at the attack on Gravelines.
Mas. ‘They are honourable marks which show what one is.
Ca. We make no doubt what you are.
Mas. Vicomte, have you your carriage there?
fod. Why?
Mas. We could take the ladies for a drive-in the suburbs, and give them a little dinner.
Mad. We cannot go out to-day.
Mas. Let us have some fiddles, then, and dance.
Jod. ‘That’s a very good idea.
Mad. We shall be very pleased, but we shall want some more company.
Mas. Who's in waiting there —“ Champagne, Picard, Bour-
74 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Act I,
gognon, Casquarat, Basque, La Verdure, Lorrain, Provencal, Violette,” —I wish all footmen were at the devil. I don’t think there’s a gentleman in France worse served than Iam. These rascals always leave me alone.
Mad. Almanzor, tell his lordship’s servants to go for some fiddlers, and ask the ladies and gentlemen about here to come and fill the solitude of our ball. [Zxit Almanzor,
Mas. Vicomte, what do you think of those eyes ?
Jod. Well, Marquis, what do you think of them yourself ?
Mas. JI? I say that our liberty is in danger, and I fear we shall not be able to escape. Atleast, for my part, I receive a succession of shocks, and my heart is held by a single thread.
Mad. How naturally he speaks. He gives such an agreeable turn to everything,
Ca. Itistrue. He spends his wit extravagantly.
Mas. ‘To show youthat I am in earnest, 1 will make an im- promptu on the subject. (He muses.)
Ca. Oh, I beg and pray of you, do let us have something made for us specially.
Jod. I should like to do as much myself, but my power has been lessened by having been bled freely for the last three or four days.
Mas. What the deuce is the matter ? I can always make the first verse well enough, but Iam _ bothered to make the rest. In fact, this is too much of a hurry; I will make you an impromptu at my leisure, and it shall be the finest in the world.
od. He’s as witty as the deuce himself.
Mad. Yes, as polite, and as charmingly turned.
Mas. Vicomte, tell me, how long is it since you saw the Comtesse ?
Jod. It is more than three weeks since I paid her a visit.
Mas. Do you know that the Duke came to see me this morn- ing, and wanted to take me down into the country, for some stag- hunting P
Mad. Ah! here come our friends.
ScENE IX.
JODELET, MASCARILLE, CaTHOS, MADELON, Marotrte, LUCILE, CELIMENE, ALMANZOR, and Alusicians.
Madelon. My dears. we hope you will excuse us. These
Scenr X.] LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES.. 95
gentlemen had a fancy to put some life into our feet, and so we sent to you to ask you to fill up the vacancies in our assembly, Lucile. You have laid us under an cbligation to you. | Mascarille, ‘This is only'an extempore dance, but one of these days we'll give youa ball in proper style. Are the fiddlers come ? Almanzor. Yes, sir, they are here. _ Cathos.. Come then, my dears, take your places. __ _ Mas. (dancing alone by way of prelude). La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. Mad. He has a most elegant shape. Ca. And looks as if he could dance finely. Mas. (having taken out Madelon.) My liberty is about to dance a courant as well as my feet. Play in time, fiddlers, in time. Oh what ignorant fellows! One cannot dance with them. Deuce take you, can’t you play in measure? La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la— Oh stop, you country fiddlers. Jodelet (dancing afterwards). Hold, don’t play so fast; I’m only just recevering from an illness.
ScENE X.
Du Crorsy, La GRANGE, MASCARILLE, JODELET, CATHOS, , MADELON, MAROTTE, LUCILE, CELIMENE.
La Grange (with a stick in his hand). So ho! Rascals, what are you doing here? We have been looking for you for the last three hours !
. Mascarille (feeling himself beaten). Ob, ob, oh! you didn’t tell me the blows would be like this,
Jodelet. Oh, oh, oh, oh!
La Gr. You rascal ; the idea of your giving yourself the: airs of a gentleman ! |
Du Croisy. This will teach you to know your place,
Madelon. What is the meaning of this ?
Jod. It’s a wager.
Cathos. What, let yourselves be beaten in this manner !
Mas. I-wouldn’t seem to take any notice of it, because I’ve a violent temper, and could not answer for the consequences.
Mad, But to put up with an affront like that in our presence!
Mas. Oh, it’s nothing—don’t let us leave off. We've known each other for a long time, and between friends one does not notice trifles,
76 THE AFFECTED YOUNG LADIES. [Acr I,
La Gr. I tell you, you rascals, you shall not laugh at us~~ Come in, you there.
(Enter three or four Roighs.)
Mad. What is the meaning of this impudence P—to come and make this disturbance in our own house.
Du Cr. What, ladies, shall we endure to have our footmen better received than ourselves? Shall they come and make love to you at our expense, and offer you a ball?
Mad. What! your footmen ?
La Gr. Yes, our footmen, and it is neither decent nor honourable that you should spoil them for our service, as you are doing.
Mad, Oheavens! What insolence!
La Gr. But they shall not have the advantage of using our clothes, to dazzle your eyes with. If you choose to love them, it shall be for their good looks alone, Quick, take off their things at once. (
Jod. Good-bye, then, to our finery.
Mas. ‘The Marquisate and Viscountship are at an end.
Du Cr. What, you rascals, you’ve had the impertinence to attempt to be our rivals! You must goand look elsewhere for the chance of making yourselves agreeable in your mistresses’ eyes.
La Gr. It is too much that they should supplant us, and in our own clothes too!
Mas. O Fortune, how great is thy inconstancy !
Du Cr. Make haste, take everything away from them.
La Gr. Look sharp, and carry off these clothes. Now, ladies, in the condition in which they are, you can carry on your flirtations with them as long as you please. We leave you full liberty for that, and my friend and I assure you that we shall not be jealous, in the slightest degree. [Lxeunt Lucile and Céliméne.
Ca. Oh! what confusion! :
Mad. Iam bursting with vexation.
Fiddlers (to the Marquis). What is the meaning of this? Who is going to pay us?
Mas, Ask Monsieur le Vicomte.
Fid, (to the Vicomte). Who’s going to give us our money?
Jod. Ask Monsieur le Marquis.
Scene X1.] LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES. 7 ScENE XI.
Gorcisus, MASCARILLE, JODELET, CATHOS, MADELON, and fiddlers. |
Gorgibus. Ah, you miserable creatures, you’ve brought things to a pretty pass! I’ve heard of your fine doings from the ladies and gentlemen who have just gone out.
Madelon. Oh, father, it’s a cruel trick they’ve played us.
Gor. Yes, a cruel trick, but the result of your own folly. They have resented the way in which you treated them, and I, unhappy that I am, must put up with the affront.
Mad. Ah, but I swear we'll be avenged, or I shall die of vexation. And you, you wretches, you dare to stay here after your insolence !
Mascarille. Is that how you speak to a Marquis? But this is the way of the world; the least disgrace makes those turn against us who lately caressed us. Come along, my friend, let us go and seek our fortune somewhere else; I see plainly that all they care for here is vain show. ‘They do not care for virtue unadorned.
| Zhey both go.
Fiddlers. Sir, we look to you to pay us in their stead.
Gorgibus (beating them). Yes, yes, I'll pay you, and in this coin too. (Zo Cathos and Madelon.) And as for you, you idle wenches, I hardly know why I don’t do as much for you. We shall become the common talk and ridicule of everybody, and this is what you have brought on yourselves by your fooleries. Go and hide yourselves, you wretches. Never let me see you again. (A/one.) And as for you who are the occasion of their disgrace, with your stupid folly, your mischievous amusements for idle minds, with your romances, verses, songs, sonnets, and sonatas, I say, Deuce take you all |
THE FORCED MARRIAGE
(LE MARIAGE FORCE).
DRAMATIS PERSON.
‘SGANARELLE, lover of Doriméene. | LYCASTE, lover of Doriméne. GERONIMO, friend of Sganarelle. | PANCRACE, an Aristotelian doe- DORIMENE, daughter of Alcanior, tor.
betrothed to Sganarelle. MARFHURIUS, a Pyrrhonian ALCANTOR, father of Doriméne. doctor. ete ALCIDAS, brother of Doriméne. \ Two GIPSY-WOMEN,
ScenE—A PUBLIC PLACE.
ACT I. Scene I, ‘SGANARELLE, GERONIMO.
Sganarelle (speaking to the people in the house). I'll be back again’in'a moment. Let good care be taken of the house, and let everything go on right. If any one brings me money, let me be sent for at once from Seigneur Geronimo's ; but if any one comes to ask for any, say that I’m gone out and sha’n’t return all day. Geronimo. That’s a very prudent order.
Sga. Oh, Seigneur Geronimo, I meet you most bppoutnee I was just going to your house to look for you.
Ger. For what purpose, please ?
Sga. To tell you of a matter I have in my mind, and to beg you to give me your advice upon it.
Ger. Most willingly. Iam very glad to have met you, and we can talk here quite freely.
Sga. Pray be covered. It is a matter of some consequence that has been proposed to me, and it is good to do nothing without the advice of one’s friends.
Ger. I am obliged to you for having chosen me for that purpose. You have but to tell me what it is.
Sga. But first, I must implore you to give me your opinion plainly, and in no way to flatter me.
Scene I. LE MARIAGE FORCE. : 79
Ger. Iwill, since you wish it.
Sga. I think there is nothing more blamable than a friend who does not speak frankly.
Ger. You're quite right.
Sea. Then promise me, Seigneur Geronimo, to speak to me with perfect frankness.
Ger. I promise you.
Sga. Swear on your word.
Ger. Yes, on the word of a friend. Only tell me what the affair is.
Sga. What I want to know of you is whether I should do well to marry?
Ger. Who?—you!
Sga. Yes; 1, myself, my own self. What’s your advice about it ?
Ger. I should like you to tell me one thing first.
Sega. Well, what?
Ger. What age may you really be now?
Sga. I?
Ger. Yes.
Sga. On my word, I don’t know, but I’m perfectly well.
Ger. What! don’t you know your age within a little ?
Sga. No. Is that a point to be considered ?
Ger. Well, tell me, how old were you when we first became acquainted ? '
Sega. Indeed, I was then only twenty.
Ger. How long were we'in Rome together ?
Sga. - Eight years.
Ger. How long did you live in England?
Sga. Seven years.
Ger. And in Holland, where you went afterwards ?
Sga. Five years anda half.
Ger. How long have you been back ?
Sga. I returned in fifty-two.
Ger. From fifty-two to sixty-four makes, I think, a dozen years, five years in Holland makes seventeen, seven years in England makes twenty-four, eight years we stayed in Rome makes thirty-two, and twenty, which was your age when we became acquainted, makes exactly fifty-two. So that, Seigneur Sganarelle,
_ by your own account you are about fifty-two or three,
Sga. Who, I? That can’t be!
Ger. Indeed, the calculation is exact, and I must tell you as a friend (you made me promise I would), that matrimony is
80 THE FORCED MARRIAGE. fAcr 1.
scarcely in your line. That’s a thing that young people ought to think of seriously before they enter on it, but folks of your age ought not to think of it at all. And _if, as it is said, marrying is one of the greatest follies, I know nothing more absurd than .to commit this folly at an age when we ought to be wiser. In short, I tell._you my opinion plainly, I advise you not to think of matri- mony; and I should take you for the most ridiculous creature: in the world, if, having hitherto been at liberty, you were now to load yourself with the heaviest of all chains.
Sga. And for my part, I tell you, I’m resolved to marry ; znd I shall not be at all ridiculous in marrying the girl I mean to marry. .
Ger. Oh, that’s another matter. You did not tell me that.»
Sga. It’s a girl that pleases me, whom I love with all my heart.
Ger. You love her with all your heart ?
Sga. Most certainly ; and I’ve proposed to her father for her.
Ger. You've proposed for her ?
Sga. Yes; it’s a marriage that must be settled this evenings as T’ve. given my word. :
Ger. Oh, marry then. I won’t say a word more,
Soa. Shall I give up my design? Do you imagine, ‘Seigneur: Geronimo, that I’m no longer fit to think of a wife?» Don’t-let/us talk of what age I may be, but let us only regard facts, Is there: aman of thirty who seems more fresh and vigorous than you see me? Haven't I all the use of my limbs as well as ever?) And does; any one ever see me want a Carriage or a sedan-chair ? (Showing his teeth.) Don’t I eat myefour meals a day heartily-?. And can you find any one with a better digestion: than mine ? Ahem! ahem! Well, what do you say to that?
Ger. You're right. I was mistaken. You will do well to mairy. .
Sga. I was against it myself formerly, but I’ve strong reasons. for it now. Besides the pleasure I shall have in possessing a pretty woman who will fondle me, coddle me, and rock me when I am tired; I say besides that pleasure, I consider that by re- maining a bachelor I shall suffer the race of the Sganarelles to become extinct ; but that by marrying, I may see myself live again in others. I shall have the satisfaction of seeing little creatures sprung from me who will be as like me as two drops of water ; who will be continually playing about the house, will call me their papa when I comé back from town, and will talk their little nonsense to me in the most agreeable manner possible. Hold, I fancy I am already among them, and see half a dozen round me!
SCENE II.] LE MARIAGE FORCE. 81
Ger. There is nothing pleasanter than that, and I,desire you to marry as quickly as you can.
Sga. Indeed, do you advise me to it?
Ger, Tobesure. You can’t do better.
Sga. Really, I am delighted that you have given me this advice as a true friend.
Ger. Well, and who is the person, pray, that you are going to marry ?
Sga. Doriméne.
Ger. That young Doriméne, who is so gay and well-dressed ?
Sega. Yes.
Ger. Seigneur Alcantor’s daughter !
Sga. ‘Thesame.
Ger. And sister of one Alcidas, who takes on him to wear a sword ?
Sga. That’s the one.
Ger. Good gracious !
Sega. What do you say to it?
Ger. Agood match. Marry off hand.
Sga. Havel not made a good choice?
Ger. No doubt. Ah, you will be well married. Make haste about it.
Sga. You overwhelm me with joy by saying so. I thank you for your advice, and invite you this evening to my wedding.
Ger. I'll not fail, and P’ll come masked, to do you the more honour.
Sega. Your servant, sir.
Ger. (aside). Young Doriméne, Seigneur Alcantor’s daughter, with Seigneur Sganarelle, who is only fifty-three years old. . Oh! a fine match! a fine match! (Zhis he repeats several times in going away.)
Sga. (alone). This marriage must needs be happy, for it rejoices every one ; and I make every one laugh to whom I speak of it. I am now the most contented man in the world.
ScENE IIT. DoRIMENE, SGANARELLE.
Dorimine (to her page-boy). Now then, my little page, hold up my train properly, and don’t amuse yourself by playing tricks.
Sganarelle (aside, seeing Doriméene). ere’s my lady-love coming. How charming she is! What an air she has! What a figure! Could any one see her without longing to marry her?
7
$2 THE FORCED MARRIAGE. [Acr I.
(Zo Dorimeéne.) Where are you going, beautiful darling !—dear future wife of your future husband ?
Dor. I’m going shopping.
Sga. Well, my pretty one, we are now both of us going to be happy. You'll no longer have the right to refuse me anything, and I can do what I like with you and no offence to any one. You are going to be mine from head to foot, and I shall be master of all—of your littie twinkling eyes, of your little roguish nose, of your provoking lips, of your lovely ears, of your pretty little chin, your plump little breasts, your—in short, you will be mine alto- gether, and I can caress you as I like. Aren’t you very glad of this marriage, my dear little darling ?
Dor. Yes, extremely, I can assure you. For indeed the severity of my father has, till now, kept me in the most tiresome subjection, You can’t think how provoked I feel at the little liberty he gives me; and I’ve wished a hundred times to be married so that I might have a little more liberty, and be in a condition to do as I like. Thank God, you’ve come luckily for that purpose, and I’m preparing myself from now to take my pleasure, and make up, as I ought to do, for the time I’ve lost. As you are an extremely polite man, and know the ways of the world, I think we shall get on perfectly well together, and I am quite sure you’re not like one of those foolish husbands who would have their wives live like were-wolves. I assure you that would not suit me at all, and solitude makes me mad. TI love play, visits, presents, assemblies, walks—in a word, all sorts of pleasure, and you ought to be overjoyed to have a wife of my temper. We shall never have any difference, for I won’t restrain your actions, as I hope on your part you won’t put any restraint on mine. For my part, I hold that there must be a mutual for- bearance, and people should not marry to plague one another. In a word, when we’re married, we will live like people that know the world. No jealous suspicion shall trouble our brain ; it will be enough that you are persuaded of my fidelity, as I shall be equally persuaded of yours—But what’s the matter with you? Your face is quite changed.
Sga. Tis the vapours that have risen to my head.
Dor. Oh, that happens to many people, but our marriage will drive all that away. Good-bye. I’m longing to have some decent clothes, that I may throw off these rags at once. I’m going to buy all that I want, and I shall send the bills in to you.
ScENE IV.] LE MARIAGE FORCE. 83
Scene III. GERONIMO, SGANARELLE.
_ Geronimo. Oh, Seigneur Sganarelle, I’m delighted to find you still here, for I’ve just met with a goldsmith who heard that you were looking fora fine diamond ring to give to your bride, and he has begged me to come and speak to you for him, and to tell you that he has one to sell, the finest in the world.
Sganarelle. Bless me, there’s no hurry about that!
Ger. What do you mean? Where’s the eagerness you showed just now?
Sga. A minute or two ago some scruples came into my head with regard to this marriage. Before I go any farther, I should like to get to the bottom of the affair, and find some one to interpret a dream I had last night, and which I have just now recollected. _ Dreams, you know, are like mirrors, in which one sometimes discovers what is going to happen to one. I thought I was in a ship, on a stormy sea, and that
Ger. Seigneur Sganarelle, I’ve got a little matter of business in hand, which will not allow me to stop and hear you. I don’t understand anything about dreams; and as for reasoning about matrimony, you have a couple of learned philosophers, neighbours of yours, who will tell you all that can be said on the subject. As they are of different schools of thought, you can compare their different opinions on the matter. For my part, I’m quite satisfied with what I said to you just now, and I remain your obedient servant.
Sga. (alone). He’s right. I must consult these people a little, in the uncertainty I’m in.
ScEenE IV. PANCRACE, SGANARELLE.
Pancrace (turning to the side by which he had entered, without seeing Sganarelle). Be off, you’re an impertinent fellow, ignorant of all good manners, who ought to be banished from the republic of letters.
Sganarelle. Ah! That’swell! Here’s one of them just at the right time.
Pan. (still not seeing Sganarelle). Ay, V1 maintain by strong reasons, I’ll prove to you by Aristotle, the philosopher of all philosophers, that you are an Ignorans, Ignorantissimus ; Igno- ranticans, and Ignorantificatus, through all the cases and moods imaginable.
84 THE FORCED MARRIAGE. [Act I
Sga. (aside), He’s quarrelling with some one. (Zo Pancrace.| Sir
Fan, You attempt to argue, and don’t know the elements of logic.
Sea. (aside). Anger prevents him from seeing me. (Zo Pancrace.) Sir
Pan. It is a proposition to be condemned in all the regions of philosophy.
Sga. (aside). Some one must have provoked him terribly. (Zo. Pancrace.) 1——
Fan. ‘Toto coezo, tota vid aberras.
Sega. I kiss your hand, Doctor.
fan. Your servant.
Sga. May I
Pan. (returning to the place where he had entered). Do you know what you have done? A syllogism in Balordo !
Sga. I tell you:
fan. The major is absurd, the minor is irrelevant, oe the conclusion ridiculous.
Sea. I——
Pan. Va die rather than uphold what you say, anh Pil maintain my opinion to the last drop of ink I’ve got in my pen.
Sea. May I——
Pan. Yes. I'll defend that proposition, pug onis et calcibus, unguibus et rostro (tooth and nail).
Sga. Seigneur Aristotle, may I ask what makes you so angry ?
Fan, The best reason in the world.
Sga. What is it, pray?
Pan. An jonoramus wanted to maintain an erroneous proposition, a frightful, execrable proposition.
Sega. May Lask what it is ?
Fan, Ah, Seigneur Sganarelle, everything, nowadays, is turned topsy-turvy, and the world is fallen into a general corruption. A terrible license reigns everywhere, and the magistrates, who are appointed to keep order in the state, ought to blush with shame, for suffering such an intolerable scandal as I am going to tell you of.
Sga. What is the matter?
Pan. 1s it not a dreadful thing, a thing that cries to heavén for vengeance, that any one should be allowed publicly to speak of the form of a hat ?
Sga. How’s that?
Pan. I maintain that we should say “ the figure ofa hat,” and
ScENE IV.] LE MARIAGE FORCE. 85
not “the form.” Since there is this difference between the form
and the figure: the form, is the exterior conformation of bodies that are animated, and the figure is the exterior disposition of bodies that are inanimate. Thereforeas a hat is an inanimate body, one’should say the figure of a hat and not the form. (Returning to the side from which he entered.) Yes, you ignorant fellow, thus it is that you should speak, and these are the express terms of Aristotle in his chapter on qualities.,
Sga. (aside). I thought we had all been done for. (Zo Pancrace.) Seigneur Doctor, think no more of that. I _ Pan. Tam in such a rage, I don’t know what I am doing.
Sga. Leave the form and the hat in peace... I have something to communicate to you. I
Fan. Impertinent blockhead !
Sga. Now I beg of you to command yourself... I——
Pan. Ignorant ass.
Sga. Good Lord, I——
Fan. ‘To think I could bear such a proposition!
Sea. -Heis wrong. I
fan. A proposition condemned by Aristotle!
Sea. That’strue. I
Pan. In express terms,
Sega. You're right. (Zurning to. the side where Pancrace entered.) Yes, you’re a fool and an impudent rascal to try;and: dispute with a doctor.who can read and write. There’s an end of that matter. Now I beg you to listen to me. _ I’ve come.to.ask your advice in a matter that troubles me. I think of taking a wife who will help me to Keep house. . The lady. is handsome and well-made ; I like her very much, and she is most anxious.to marry me... Her father consents to it, but I’m rather fearful of you know what, that dis- grace which no one pities a man for, and I beg of you, as a philosopher, to tell me your sentiments. Now, what is your opinion on the matter?
fan. Rather than allow that one should say the form of a hat, I'd allow that datur vacuum in rerum naturé, and that I’m an ass.
Sga. (aside), Plague on the man, (Zo Pancrace.) Come, master doctor, listen to me a little. I’ve been talking to you for an hour, and you give no answer to what is said to you.
Pan... beg your pardon... A just anger occupies my mind.
Sga. Well, have done with all that, and take the trouble to listen to me.
Pan. Good, What have you got to say to me?
86 THE FORCED MARRIAGE. [Act I.
Sga. I want to talk to you about something.
fan. And what tongue will a make use of in talking with me?
Sea. What tongue?
Pan. Yes.
Sga. Bless my soul! Why the tongue I’ve got in my mouth. I don’t suppose I shall borrow my neighbour’s.
Pan, Task you what idiom, what language?
Sea. Oh! That’s another matter.
Fan, Will you speak Italian with me?
Soa. No.
fan. Spanish? Sea. No.
Fan. Dutch, then? Sea. No.
Fan. English? Sea. No.
fan, ULatine Sea. No.
Pan. Greek? Sea. No.
Fan. Hebrew? Sga. No.
Pan. Syriac? Sea. No.
Pan. ‘Turkish? Sga. No.
Pan. Arabic? Sega. No, no, French, French, French.
fan. Oh! French. Sea. Quite right.
fan. Go to the other side then ; for this ear is set apart for learned and foreign languages, and the other for the vulgar and mother tongue.
Sga. (aside). One must use a great deal of ceremony with this: sort of people.
fan. Well, then, what’s your business ?
Sga. ‘To consult you on a little difficulty.
fan, Just so; no doubt on a philosophical difficulty ?
Sga. Pardonme. I——
Pan. Perhaps you wish to know whether substance and accident are synonymous or equivocal terms with regard to entity?
Sea. Notatall. I-
fan, Or whether logic is an art or a science?
Sea. Itis not that. I
fan. Tf it has for its object the three operations of the mind or the third only ?
Sga. No. I
fan, Whether there are ten categories, or no more than one?
Sga. No. I
fan, Whether the conclusion be the essence of the syllogism?
Sga. No,no. I
fan. Whether the essence of good be placed in desirability or in suitability.
Scene IV.) LE MARIAGE FORCE. 87
Sga. No. I
Pan. Whether good is reciprocal with its end?
Sega, Oh! no. I
Pan. Whether the end can affect us by its real essence or by its intent ?
Sea. No, no,no. The devil take you, no
fan. Explain your meaning, then, for I cannot guess it.
Sga. Iwill explain it, but thén you must listen to me. (Sfeak- ing at the same time as the doctor.) ‘The matter I have to tell you about is this, I wish to marry a girl who is young and handsome. I love her very much, and I have asked her of her father, but I fear
Pan. (at the same time as Sganarelle). Speech was given to man in order to express his thoughts; and just as thoughts are the portraits of things, even so our words are the portraits of our thoughts. (Sganarelle, being impatient, stops the doctor's mouth with his hand, several times, and the doctor goes on talking as soon as Sganarelle takes his hand away.) But these portraits are different from other portraits, because other portraits are distinguished in every part from their originals, but speech includes its original in itself ; since it is nothing else but thought expressed by an exterior sign: whence it comes to pass that those who think well are like- wise those who speak the best. So express to me your thought by speech, which is the most intelligible of all the signs.
Sea. (pushing the doctor into the house, and pulling the door to in order to prevent his coming out). Plaguethe man !
Pan. (within the house). Yes, speech is, Animi index et speculum ; it is the interpreter of the heart, it is the image of the soul. (He gets up to the window and goes on.) It is a mirror that plainly represents to us the most hidden secrets of ourselves as individuals. Then since you have the faculty of ratiocination, and also of talking, how comes it that you don’t make use of speech to make me understand your thoughts ?
Sga. ‘That’s what I want to do; but you won’t hear me.
Fan. JT hear you; go on.
Sga. I say, then, Master Doctor, that——
fan. But, above all things, be brief.
Sga. I will.
Fan. Avoid prolixity.
Sea. Oh! sir——
mh Abridge me your discourse into a laconic apothegm. .
ga. fan. No round-about talk, no circumlocution.
88 THE FORCED MARRIAGE. {Acer I.
(Sganarelle, in his anger at not being able to speak, picks up stones to throw at the Doctor's head.)
Pan. What now? Do you want to get into a passion cael of explaining yourself? Go along, you are more impertinent than the man who would maintain that one should say the /ormof a- hat; and Vl prove to you on all occasions, by reasons. demon- strative and convincing, and by arguments in 4arbara, that you are not, nor ever will be, any other than a loggerhead, and. that I am, and shall be always, zz wtrogue jure, Doctor Pancratius.....<;
Sega. What a fearful chatterbox this man is, o4of
Pan. (coming on the stage). A man of letters, a man of. learning.
Sga. What, again!
Pan. Aman of sufficiency, a man of capacity ; (going: away) a man perfect in all the sciences, natural, moral, political,....(Com- ing back.) A man learned, most ‘learned per omnes modos et-casus. (Going away.) A man that possesses in the superlative, degree fables, mythologies, and histories; (coming back) grammar, poetry, rhetoric, dialectics, and sophistry; (gozmg away) mathematics, arithmetic, optics, onirocritics, physics, and metaphysics ; (coming back) cosmometry, geometry, architecture, speculation, and. .ultra- speculation ; (going away) medicine, astronomy, astrology, physi- ognomy, metoposcopy, chiromancy, geomancy. ~ [exit
Sga. ‘The devil take these learned professors who. won't listen to any one. I was rightly told that his master, Aristotle,.was a man full of words. I must go and look up the other; perhaps he will be more quiet and reasonable. Hullo! there,
ScENE V. MARPHURIUS, SGANARELLE,
Marphurius. What’s your will with me, Seigneur Caaneeae ?
Seanarelle. Seigneur Doctor, I’ve occasion for your advice about a little matter I have in hand, and am come here on.that account. (Aside.) Ah, this looks better. This man can listen whenone talks. A Mar. Seigneur Sganarelle, please to change your way of speak ing. Our philosophy commands us not to put forward a propo- sition positively ; 3 to speak of everything with uncertainty ; always to suspend one’s judgment; and by that rule you ought not ta say, / have come, but, Z think that I have come.
Sga. I think?
Mar. Yes.
Sga. I must needs think so, because it is so,
/ SCENE V.] LE MARIAGE FORCE. “89
Mar. 'That’s not a consequence; for you may think so, without _ the thing being really so. Sga. What! Is it not true that I have come? Mar. That’s uncertain, and we should doubt about everything. » Sga.. What! am IT not here, and am I not speaking to you P Mar. It appears to me that you are there, and I think that I “am speaking to you; but it is not certain that it is so. _ "Sea. Eh? What, are you joking? I am here and you are there, very plainly, and there’s nothing of Z ¢hznzk in all that. Pray let’s have done with these subtleties, and talk of my affair. I’ve come to tell you that I wish to marry.
Mar. I know nothing of the matter.
Sea. I tell it to you.
Mar. ‘That may be.
Sga. The girl that I would marry is very young and very ~ handsome.
Mar. ‘That is not impossible.
Sga. Shall I do well or ill to marry her ?
Mar. fither the one or the other.
Sea. (aside). Ah! here’s another tune. (Zo Marphurius) I ask you whether I shall do well to marry the girl I told you of ? .
Mar. Just as it happens.
Sea. Shall I doill?
Mar. Perhaps. ' Sga. I beg of you to answer me properly.
Mar. T intend to do so.
Sga. I have a great liking for the girl.
Mar. ‘That is possible.
Sea. Her father has given his consent. _ Mar. He may have done so.
Sga. But