SCENE IV.—DORANTE, MR. JOURDAIN, MRS. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.
DOR. Mr. Jourdain, my dear friend, how do you do?
MR. JOUR. Very well, Sir; at your service.
DOR. And Mrs. Jourdain, how does she do?
MRS. JOUR. Mrs. Jourdain does as well as may be.
DOR. I declare, Mr. Jourdain, that you have the most genteel dress in the world.
MR. JOUR. You see.
DOR. You look exceedingly well in this dress, and we have no young men at court better made than you.
MR. JOUR. He! he!
MRS. JOUR. (aside). He scratches him where it itches.
DOR. Turn round. This is quite gallant.
MRS. JOUR. (aside). Yes, as fine a fool behind as before.
DOR. Indeed, Mr. Jourdain, I was very impatient to see you. You are the man I esteem most in the world, and I was talking of you again this very morning at the king's levee.
MR. JOUR. You do me too much honour, Sir. (To MRS. JOURDAIN) At the king's levee.
DOR. Come, put on your hat.
MR. JOUR. Sir, I know the respect I owe you;
DOR. Pray, put on your hat. No ceremony between us, I beg.
MR. JOUR. Sir!
DOR. Nay! nay! Put on your hat, I tell you, Mr. Jourdain; you are my friend.
MR. JOUR. Sir, I am your humble servant.
DOR. I will not put mine on unless you do.
MR. JOUR. (putting on his hat). I had rather be unmannerly than troublesome.
DOR. I am your debtor, as you know.
MRS. JOUR. (aside). Yes, we know it but too well.
DOR. On several occasions you have generously lent me some money, and you have obliged me, I must acknowledge, with the best grace in the world.
MR. JOUR. Sir, I beg of you.
DOR. But I know how to pay back what is lent to me, and how to acknowledge services rendered.
MR. JOUR. I have no doubt about it, Sir.
DOR. I want to acquit myself towards you, and I have come to settle my accounts.
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). Well? Do you see how wrong you were, wife?
DOR. I like to get out of debt as soon as I can.
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). Did I not tell you so?
DOR. Let us see how much I owe you.
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). There you are, with your absurd suspicions.
DOR. Do you quite remember how much you have lent me?
MR. JOUR. I believe so. I have made a little memorandum of it. Here it is. At one time I gave you two hundred louis.
DOR. Quite true.
MR. JOUR. At another time, one hundred and twenty.
DOR. Yes.
MR. JOUR. At another time, one hundred and forty.
DOR. You are quite right.
MR. JOUR. These three payments make four hundred and sixty louis, which comes to five thousand and sixty livres.
DOR. This account is quite correct; five thousand and sixty livres.
MR. JOUR. One thousand eight hundred and thirty-two livres to your plume seller.
DOR. Just so.
MR. JOUR. Two thousand seven hundred and eighty livres to your tailor.
DOR. It is true.
MR. JOUR. Four thousand three hundred and seventy-nine livres, twelve sous, eight deniers, to your tradesman.
DOR. Twelve sous, eight deniers; the account is perfectly right.
MR. JOUR. And one thousand seven hundred and forty-eight livres, seven sous, four deniers, to your saddler.
DOR. It is so. How much does all this come to?
MR. JOUR. Sum-total, fifteen thousand eight hundred livres.
DOR. The sum-total is exact; fifteen thousand eight hundred livres. Add to this two hundred pistoles which you are going to lend me, and it will make exactly eighteen thousand francs, which I will pay you at the first opportunity.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). Well? Did I not guess right?
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). Peace!
DOR. Will it be inconvenient to you to lend me what I say?
MR. JOUR. Oh dear! no.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). That man makes a milch-cow of you.
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). Be silent!
DOR. If I at all inconvenience you, I will get it elsewhere.
MR. JOUR. No, Sir.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). He won't be satisfied until he has ruined you.
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). Hold your tongue, I say.
DOR. You have only to tell me if this will embarrass you.
MR. JOUR. Not at all, Sir.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). He is a regular deceiver.
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). Do hold your peace.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). He will drain you to the last penny.
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). Will you hold your tongue?
DOR. There are a great many people who would advance me money with pleasure; but as I look upon you as my best friend, I was afraid of wronging you if I asked it of anyone else.
MR. JOUR. You do me too much honour, Sir. I will go and fetch what you want.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). What! are you going to give him that also?
MR. JOUR. (aside to MRS. JOURDAIN). What can I do? How can I refuse a man of such rank, a man who spoke of me this morning at the king's levee.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). There, go; you are nothing but a dupe.
SCENE V.—DORANTE, MRS. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.
DOR. You appear to me quite low-spirited! What can be the matter with you, Mrs. Jourdain?
MRS. JOUR. My head is bigger than my fist, and yet it isn't swollen.
DOR. Where is your daughter, that I have not seen her?
MRS. JOUR. My daughter is very well where she is.
DOR. How does she get on?
MRS. JOUR. She gets on on her two legs.
DOR. Would you not like one of these days to come with her to see the ballet and the play which are being acted at court?
MRS. JOUR. Ah! yes. We have a great fancy for laughing, a great fancy have we!
DOR. I think, Mrs. Jourdain, that you must have had plenty of lovers in your young days, so handsome, and so sweet-tempered as you must have been.
MRS. JOUR. My goodness, Sir! Has Mrs. Jourdain grown decrepit, and does her head already shake on her shoulders?
DOR. Oh! Mrs Jourdain, I really beg your pardon! I had forgotten that you are young, and I am very often absent. I beg of you to excuse my impertinence.
SCENE VI.—MR. JOURDAIN, MRS. JOURDAIN, DORANTE, NICOLE.
MR. JOUR. (to DORANTE). Here are two hundred louis in full.
DOR. I assure you, Mr. Jourdain, that you may dispose of me in any way you like, and that I long to render you some service at court.
MR. JOUR. I am much obliged to you.
DOR. If Mrs. Jourdain wishes to see the royal entertainment, [Footnote: 'The Magnificent Lovers.'] I will obtain the best places in the room for her.
MRS. JOUR. Mrs. Jourdain is your humble servant.
DOR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). Our lovely marchioness, as I told you in my note, is coming here this afternoon for the ballet and the banquet, as I have at last prevailed on her to accept the entertainment you wish to give her. [Footnote: Cadeau does not mean "present," as at first sight it seems to mean. Compare also the next speech of Dorante.]
MR. JOUR. Let us go a little further. I need not tell you the reason.
DOR. It is a whole week since I saw you; and I did not send you any news of the diamond which you placed in my hands to make her a present of from you; it is because I found it the most difficult thing in the world to make her accept it; and it is only to-day that she could conquer her scruples about it.
MR. JOUR. How does she like it?
DOR. Exceedingly; and, unless I am greatly mistaken, the beauty of that diamond will produce an admirable effect on her mind towards you.
MR. JOUR. Ah, may it be so!
MRS. JOUR. (to NICOLE). When once he is with him, he can't leave him.
DOR. I described to her in glowing colours the expense of such a present, and the greatness of your love.
MR. JOUR. Your kindness is too much for me, Sir, and I feel perfectly ashamed to see a man of such high standing condescend to do for me the things you do.
DOR. Nonsense! Do friends stand upon such scruples? and would you not do for me the very same thing if the opportunity presented itself?
MR. JOUR. Oh, decidedly, and with all my heart!
MRS. JOUR. (aside to NICOLE). How hard for me to bear with his presence.
DOR. For my part, I hesitate at nothing when I want to serve a friend; and as soon as you told me of your admiration for this charming marchioness, with whom I was acquainted, you saw me at once put myself at your disposal to serve your love.
MR. JOUR. It is perfectly true. Such kindness confounds me.
MRS. JOUR. (to NICOLE). Will he never go?
NIC. (to MRS. JOURDAIN). They are very thick together.
DOR. You went the right way to work to touch her heart. There is nothing women like more than the expenses one makes for them; and your frequent serenades, your numerous bouquets, the magnificent display of fireworks which she saw on the water, the diamond which she received from you, and the entertainment you are preparing for her, all this tells more in favour of your love than all the speeches you could make to her about it.
MR. JOUR. There is no expense I would not make to find access to her heart. A woman of quality has for me the most dazzling charms, and it is an honour which I would purchase at any price.
MRS. JOUR. (aside to NICOLE). What on earth can they have to say together? Go and listen!
DOR. You will enjoy to-day the pleasure of seeing her; and your eyes will have full leisure to satisfy themselves.
MR. JOUR. In order to be free, I have arranged for my wife to go and dine with my sister, and she will spend the whole-afternoon there.
DOR. You have acted wisely, for your wife might be in the way. I have given the necessary orders to the cook, and for everything which may be necessary for the ballet. It is my own invention, and if the execution comes up to the conception, I am sure that it will be found….
MR. JOUR. (seeing NICOLE listening, and giving her a box on the ears). Ha! you rude, impertinent hussy! (To DORANTE) Let us go out, if you please.
SCENE VII.—MRS. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.
NIC. Well, Madam, my curiosity has cost me something; but all the same I believe that there is something in the wind, for they were speaking of an affair where they do not wish you to be present.
MRS. JOUR. This is not the first time, Nicole, that I have had some suspicions about my husband. Either I am greatly mistaken or there is some love affair on foot; and I am doing my best to discover what it maybe. But, first of all, let us think of my daughter. You know that Cleonte loves her; he is a man after my own heart, and I wish to help him, and give him to Lucile if I can.
NIC. To tell you the truth, Madam, I am delighted to find you think so; for if the master pleases you, the servant pleases me as well, and I wish our own marriage could take place at the same time as theirs.
MRS. JOUR. Go, then, and speak to him about what I told you; and tell him to come presently, that we may both together ask my husband to grant him my daughter.
NIC. I run with joy, Madam, and I could not receive a more pleasant order. (Alone.) How happy I am going to make certain people!
SCENE VIII.—NICOLE, CLEONTE, COVIELLE.
NIC. Ah, what a lucky meeting! I am a messenger of joy, and I came….
CLE. Leave me, false woman, and don't think of deceiving me with your treacherous words.
NIC. Do you receive me in that way?
CLE. Leave me, I say, and go and tell your faithless mistress that she never shall again deceive the too credulous Cleonte.
NIC. What a change? My poor Covielle, tell me, I pray, what all this means.
COV. Your poor Covielle, indeed, you wicked girl! Go, minx! decamp; get out of my sight as fast as you can, and leave me alone!
NIC. What! and do you also…?
COV. Get out of my sight, I say; I will never speak to you any more, as long as I live.
NIC. (aside). Mercy on us! What has happened to both of them? I must go and tell my mistress this pretty piece of news.
SCENE IX.—CLEONTE, COVIELLE.
CLE. What! to treat a lover in that fashion, and the most faithful and affectionate of all lovers!
COV. It is shameful what they have done to both of us!
CLE. I show her all possible ardour and tenderness; I love nothing in the world better, and have nothing in my thoughts but her; she is all my care, all my desire, all my joy; I speak of nothing but her, think of nothing but her, dream of nothing but her. I live but for her; my heart beats but for her; and, behold the reward of so much devotion! I am two whole days without seeing her, two days which seem to me centuries of frightful length; I meet her by accident, my heart at the sight of her feels transported; joy sparkles in my face. I fly to her with delight, and the faithless one turns away her eyes, and passes by me hastily, as if she had never seen me before in her life!
COV. I can only repeat the same story.
CLE. Can anything be compared, Covielle, to the perfidy of the ungrateful Lucile?
COV. And to that, Sir, of that hussy Nicole?
CLE. After so many passionate sacrifices, sighs, and vows which I have paid to her charms!
COV. After so many attentions, cares, and services I have rendered her in the kitchen!
CLE. So many tears that I have shed at her feet!
COV. So many buckets of water that I have drawn for her from the well!
CLE. Such warmth as I have shown in loving her more than myself!
COV. Such heat as I have endured in turning the spit for her!
CLE. She avoids me with contempt!
COV. She rudely turns her back upon me!
CLE. This perfidy deserves the greatest chastisement.
COV. This treachery deserves a thousand blows.
CLE. Mind, you never speak to me of her any more.
COV. I, Sir? Heaven forbid!
CLE. Do not venture to palliate her wrongs before me.
COV. Never fear.
CLE. No; for all you would say in her defence would be lost upon me.
COV. Who dreams of such a thing?
CLE. I wish to nurse up my wrath against her, and to break off all intercourse with her.
COV. I am quite willing.
CLE. This count who goes to her house has turned her head, no doubt; and rank, I see, dazzles her mind. But I must, for my own honour, prevent her triumphing in her inconstancy. I will do as much as she does towards a change which I plainly see she desires, and I will not let her have all the pleasure of having dismissed me.
COV. You are in the right, and I enter into all your feelings.
CLE. Help me in my resentment, and support my resolution against the remainder of my love that might still plead for her. Tell me, I pray you, all the evil you can think of her. Draw a description of her person which may bring her down in my estimation, and, in order to make me dislike her more surely, show me all the defects you can see in her.
COV. She, indeed, Sir! a fine specimen, a fine piece of affectation to be in love with! I see nothing in her but the most common attractions, and you will find a thousand girls more worthy of your love than she is. To begin with, her eyes are small… [Footnote: It is Moliere's wife that is here described.]
CLE. Yes, it is true, her eyes are small, Covielle; but they are full of fire, the most sparkling, the most searching in the world, and the tenderest also that could be found.
COV. Her mouth is large….
CLE. Yes; but you find there charms that can be found in no other. The sight of that mouth inspires me with love; it is the most attractive and the most amorous mouth in the world!
COV. As to her height, she is not tall.
CLE. No; but she is well shaped and graceful.
COV. She affects great carelessness in her speech, and her movements….
CLE. It is true; but she is graceful in all she does, and her manners are attractive, and possess a certain charm which at once takes possession of one's heart.
COV. As for wit….
CLE. Ah, Covielle! her wit is of the most refined, the most delicate kind.
COV. Her conversation….
CLE. Her conversation is charming.
COV. It is always grave.
CLE. Would you prefer an unrestrained gaiety, a perpetual liveliness? and can you find anything more unpleasant than those women who giggle at everything?
COV. But, in short, she is as whimsical as any woman can be.
CLE. Yes, she is, I agree with you there; but everything becomes those we love. We bear everything from them.
COV. Since you go on so, I see pretty well that you are determined to love her still.
CLE. I? I had rather die this moment, and I mean in future to hate her as much as I loved her before.
COV. How can you if you think her so perfect?
CLE. In this way shall my revenge shine; in this way shall the strength of my decision to hate her be better displayed; if thinking her most beautiful, most charming, most amiable, I still part from her. Here she is.
SCENE X.—LUCILE, CLEONTE, COVIELLE, NICOLE.
NIC. (to LUCILE). I was quite shocked at it.
LUC. It can only be what I tell you, Nicole; but there he is.
CLE. (to COVIELLE). I will not condescend even to speak to her.
COV. I will do like you.
LUC. What is it, Cleonte? What can be the matter with you?
NIC. What ails you, Covielle?
LUC. What trouble afflicts you?
NIC. What fit of bad temper has got hold of you?
LUC. Are you dumb, Cleonte?
NIC. Have you lost your tongue, Covielle?
CLE. How deceitful she is!
COV. How Judas-like!
LUC. I see that our meeting of this morning has troubled your mind.
CLE. (to COVIELLE). Ah! ah! we are conscious of what we have done?
NIC. Our reception of this morning has put you out.
COV. (to CLEONTE). We know where the shoe pinches.
LUC. Is it not true, Cleonte; is not this the cause of your vexation?
CLE. Yes, faithless girl, it is, since I am to speak; but I must inform you that you shall not have, as you fancy, all the glory of your faithlessness; I wish to be the first to break with you, and you shall not have the pleasure of driving me away. I shall find it hard, I know, to conquer the love I feel for you; it will bring grief to me; I am sure, to suffer for a while; but I will overcome it, and I had rather stab myself to the heart than be weak enough to return to you.
COV. (to NICOLE). As the master says, so says the man.
LUC. This is much ado about nothing, Cleonte, and I wish to tell you what made me avoid you this morning.
CLE. (trying to go away to avoid LUCILE). I will hear nothing.
NIC. (to COVIELLE). I want to tell you why we passed you so quickly.
COV. (trying also to go away to avoid NICOLE). I will hear nothing.
LUC. (following CLEONTE). Know, then, that this morning….
CLE. (still walking away without looking at LUCILE). No, I tell you.
NIC. (following COVIELLE). Let me tell you….
COV. (still walking away without looking at NICOLE). No, you jilt!
LUC. Listen.
CLE. Don't trouble me.
NIC. Let me tell you.
COV. I am deaf.
LUC. Cleonte!
CLE. No.
NIC. Covielle!
COV. No.
LUC. Wait.
CLE. Nonsense.
NIC. Listen to me.
COV. Rubbish.
LUC. One moment.
CLE. Not a bit.
NIC. A little patience.
COV. Fiddle-de-dee!
LUC. A couple of words.
CLE. No; all is over.
NIC. One word.
COV. Not one.
LUC. (stopping). Very well! Since you will not listen to me, keep your own thoughts to yourself, and do as you please.
NIC. (stopping also). Since you act in that fashion, think what you like.
CLE. (turning towards LUCILE). Well, what was the reason for such a welcome?
LUC. (going away in her turn, to avoid CLEONTE). I don't choose to tell you now.
COV. (turning towards NICOLE). Give us that story.
NIC. (going away also, to avoid COVIELLE). I don't wish to tell it you now.
CLE. (following LUCILE). Tell me….
LUC. (walking away without looking at CLEONTE). No; I will tell you nothing.
COV. (following NICOLE). Relate to me….
NIC. (walking away without looking at COVIELLE). No; I shall relate nothing.
CLE. For mercy's sake!
LUC. No, I tell you.
COV. For pity's sake!
NIC. No; not another word.
CLE. I beseech you.
LUC. Leave me.
COV. I entreat you.
NIC. Get away from here.
CLE. Lucile!
LUC. No.
COV. Nicole!
NIC. Nothing.
CLE. For heaven's sake.
LUC. I will not.
COV. Speak to me.
NIC. I won't.
CLE. Clear up my doubts.
LUC. No; I will do nothing of the kind.
COV. Ease my mind.
NIC. No; it is not my wish to do so.
CLE. Very well! Since you care so little to relieve my grief, and to justify yourself of the unworthy treatment my love has received from you, you see me for the last time; and I am going away from you to die of grief and love.
COV. (to NICOLE). And I will follow his steps.
LUC. (to CLEONTE, who is going). Cleonte!
NIC. (to COVIELLE, who is going). Covielle!
CLE. (stopping). Hey?
COV. (stopping also). What do you say?
LUC. Where are you going?
CLE. Where I have told you.
COV. We are going to die.
LUC. You are going to die, Cleonte?
CLE. Yes, cruel one, since you wish it.
LUC. I! I wish you to die!
CLE. Yes, you wish it.
LUC. Who told you such a thing?
CLE. Is it not wishing it, to refuse to clear up my suspicions?
LUC. Is it my fault? If you had but listened to me, I would have told you at once that the treatment you complain of was caused by the presence of an old aunt, who persists in saying that the mere approach of a man is dishonour to a girl; she is always lecturing us about it, and depicts all men to us as so many scamps whom we ought always to avoid.
NIC. (to COVIELLE.) This is the whole secret of the affair.
CLE. (to LUCILE). Are you not deceiving me, Lucile?
COV. (to NICOLE). Are you not imposing upon me?
LUC. It is the exact truth.
NIC. That's how it is.
COV. (to CLEONTE). Shall we surrender after this?
CLE. Ah! Lucile! How you can with one word bring back peace to my heart; and how easily we suffer ourselves to be persuaded by those we love.
COV. How easily these queer animals succeed in getting round us.
SCENE XI.—MRS. JOURDAIN, CLEONTE, LUCILE, COVIELLE, NICOLE.
MRS. JOUR. I am very glad to see you, Cleonte. You are just in time, for my husband will be here in a moment. Seize that opportunity of asking him to give you Lucile in marriage.
CLE. Oh! how welcome these kind words are, and how well they correspond to the inmost wishes of my heart. Could I ever receive an order more flattering, a favour more precious?
SCENE XII.—CLEONTE, MR. JOURDAIN, MRS. JOURDAIN, LUCILE, COVIELLE, NICOLE.
CLE. Sir, I would not ask anybody to come instead of me to make you a request which I have long wished to make. The matter interests me too much for me not to do it myself. Allow me to tell you then, without further words, that the honour of becoming your son-in-law is a favour I earnestly solicit, and one which I beseech you to grant me.
MR. JOUR. Before I give you an answer, Sir, I beg you to tell me if you are a nobleman.
CLE. Sir, most people would answer that question without any hesitation whatever. The word is easily spoken; a title is generally adopted without scruple, and present custom seems to sanction the theft. For my part, however, I must confess that I look upon any kind of imposture as unworthy of an honest man. I think it base to hide what heaven has made us, to adorn ourselves before the world with a title, and to wish to pass for what we are not. I am the son of parents who have filled honourable offices. I have acquitted myself with honour in the army, where I served for six years, and I am rich enough to hold a tolerable position in the world; but for all this, I will not assume a name that others might think I could pretend to in my position, and I tell you openly that I cannot be reckoned a nobleman.
MR. JOUR. Shake hands, then, my daughter is no wife for you.
CLE. How! May I know…?
MR. JOUR. You are not a nobleman, therefore you shall not have my daughter.
MRS. JOUR. What is it you mean by your nobleman? Are we ourselves descended from St. Louis?
MR. JOUR. Be silent, wife; I see what you are driving at.
MRS. JOUR. Are we not both descended from good, simple tradesmen?
MR. JOUR. Is not that a wicked slander?
MRS. JOUR. Was not your father a tradesman as well as mine?
MR. JOUR. Plague take the woman! She has never done with that. If your father was a tradesman, so much the worse for him; as for mine, it is only ill-informed people who say so, and all I have to tell you is that I will have a gentleman for my son-in-law.
MRS. JOUR. Your daughter must have a husband who suits her; and it is better for her to marry an honest man, rich and handsome, than a deformed and beggarly gentleman.
NIC. That's quite true. We have the son of the squire in our village, who is the most awkwardly built and stupid noodle that I have ever seen in my life.
MR. JOUR. (to NICOLE). Hold your tongue, will you? and mind your own business. I have wealth enough and to spare for my daughter. I only wish for honours, and I will have her a marchioness.
MRS. JOUR. A marchioness?
MR. JOUR. Yes, a marchioness.
MRS. JOUR. alas! God forbid.
MR. JOUR. It's a thing that I'm determined upon.
MRS. JOUR. I will never consent to it. Marriages between people who are not of the same rank are always subject to the most serious inconveniences. I do not wish to have a son-in-law who would have it in his power to reproach my daughter with her parentage; nor that she should have children who would be ashamed to call me their grandmother. If she came to see me with the equipage of a grand lady, and failed through inadvertency to salute some of the neighbours, people would not fail to say a thousand ill-natured things. "Just see," they would say, "our lady the marchioness, who is so puffed up now, she is Mr. Jourdain's daughter; she was only too pleased, when a child, to play at my lady with us. She has not always been so exalted as now, and her two grandfathers sold cloth near St. Innocents' Gate. They have laid a great deal of money by for their children, for which, may be, they are now paying dearly in the other world, for one does not generally become so rich by honest means." I do not wish to give occasion for such gossip, and I desire to meet with a man who, to cut it short, will be grateful to me for my daughter, and to whom I can say, "Sit down there, son-in-law, and dine with me."
MR. JOUR. How all these feelings show a narrow mind, satisfied to live for ever in a low condition of life. Let me have no more replies; my daughter shall be a marchioness in spite of everybody, and if you provoke me too much, I will make her a duchess.
SCENE XIII.—MRS. JOURDAIN, LUCILE, CLEONTE, NICOLE, COVIELLE.
MRS. JOUR. Do not give up all hope, Cleonte. Follow me, Lucile; come and tell your father with firmness and decision that, unless you have Cleonte for a husband, you will never marry.
SCENE XIV.—CLEONTE, COVIELLE.
COV. Well! you have done a fine piece of work, with your lofty sentiments.
CLE. What could I do? I have scruples on that subject which no precedent could overcome.
COV. What nonsense to be serious with a man like that! Do you not see that he is infatuated with one idea, and would it have cost you much to fall in with his gentility?
CLE. I am afraid you are right; but the fact is I had not thought before that it was necessary to show proofs of gentility in order to become Mr. Jourdain's son-in-law.
COV. (laughing). Ha! ha! ha!
CLE. What are you laughing at?
COV. At the thought of something that has just come into my head; it will play off our man, and help you to succeed in what you want.
CLE. How so?
COV. It is most amusing even to think of it.
CLE. What is it?
COV. We have had lately a certain masquerade, which seems to me the very thing wanted, and which I mean to make use of to play a trick on our absurd old fellow. The whole affair seems rather silly, but with him we may risk many things; there is no need of much cunning, and he is one to play his part wonderfully well, and to swallow greedily all the nonsense we may venture to tell him. I have actors and costumes all ready; only leave it to me.
CLE. But tell me….
COV. Yes, I must tell you all about it; but let us go away, for here he is coming back again.
SCENE XV.—MR. JOURDAIN (alone).
What the deuce does it all mean? They do nothing but reproach me with my great lords, and I, for my part, see nothing so fine as to associate with great lords; we find only honour and civility with them; and I would give two fingers of my hand to have been born a count or a marquis.
SCENE XVI.—MR. JOURDAIN, A SERVANT.
SER. Sir, here is the count, and a lady with him.
MR. JOUR. Bless me! and I have some orders to give. Tell them I shall be here in a moment.
SCENE XVII—DORIMENE, DORANTE, A SERVANT.
SER. My master says he will be here directly.
DOR. Very well.
SCENE XVIII.—DORIMENE, DORANTE.
DORI. I am afraid, Dorante, that I am doing a very strange thing in allowing myself to be brought by you into a house where I know nobody.
DOR. Where then can I go to entertain you, Madam, since, to avoid remarks being made, you will see me neither at your own house nor at mine?
DORI. Yes; but you do not mention that I am little by little brought to accept too great proofs of your love. In vain do I refuse my acquiescence in all you do, you triumph over my resistance, and you have a kind of persevering civility which causes me by degrees to do all that you wish. You began with frequent visits; next came declarations, and they have drawn after them serenades and entertainments, followed by presents. I was opposed to all these things, but you are not to be discouraged, and step by step you have overcome all my resolutions. For my part, I dare answer for nothing now; and I believe that at last you will persuade me to marry you, although I had set my heart against it.
DOR. Indeed, Madam, you should have been persuaded before. You are a widow, and depend on nobody but yourself. I am my own master, and I love you more than my life. What is there to prevent you from making me supremely happy?
DORI. To say the truth, Dorante, it requires many good qualities on both sides for people to live happily together, and the two most sensible people in the world will often find it difficult to make up a union with which they are satisfied.
DOR. You are wrong, Madam, to fear so many drawbacks to the happiness of a married life, and your sad experience proves nothing.
DORI. In short, I still come back to this; the expenses which you run into for my sake make me anxious for two reasons: the first that they involve me more than I should wish, and the other that I feel certain—pray be not offended with me—that you cannot incur them without much inconvenience to yourself; and I do not wish such a state of things to go on.
DOR. Ah, Madam, these are trifles not worth mentioning, and it is not from that….
DORI. I know what I am saying; and, among other things, the diamond you forced upon me is of a price….
DOR. Nay, Madam, do not set such value upon a thing which my love thinks so unworthy of you; and allow me…. Here is the master of the house.
SCENE XIX.—MR. JOURDAIN, DORIMENE, DORANTE.
MR. JOUR. (after having made two bows, finds himself too near to DORIMENE). A little farther, Madam.
DORI. What?
MR. JOUR. One step more, if you please.
DOR. What then?
MR. JOUR. Fall back a little for the third.
DOR. Mr. Jourdain, Madam, knows whom he is addressing.
MR. JOUR. Madam, it is a very great glory to me that I am fortunate enough to be so happy as to have the felicity that you should have had the goodness to do me the honour of honouring me with the favour of your presence, and had I also the merit to merit such merit as yours and that heaven … envious of my good fortune … had granted me … the advantage of being worthy … of the….
DOR. Mr. Jourdain, this is quite enough; Madam does not care for great compliments, and she knows that you are a clever and witty man. (Aside to DORIMENE) He is a harmless citizen, ridiculous enough, as you see, in his behaviour.
DORI. (aside to DORANTE). It is not difficult to perceive that.
DOR. Madam, this is one of my greatest friends.
MR. JOUR. You do me too much honour.
DOR. A most excellent and polite man.
DORI. I feel the greatest esteem for him.
MR. JOUR. I have done nothing as yet, Madam, to deserve such a favour.
DOR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). Be very careful not to speak to her of the diamond you gave her.
MR. JOUR (aside to DORANTE). May I not just ask her how she likes it?
DOR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). Eh? Be sure not to do that. It would be most vulgar of you; and to behave like a true gentleman, you should act in all things as if you had made no present at all. (Aloud) Mr. Jourdain says, Madam, that he is delighted to see you in his house.
DORI. He does me great honour.
MR. JOUR. (aside to DORANTE). How truly obliged I am to you,
Sir, for speaking of me to her as you do.
DOR. (aside to MR. JOURDAIN). I had all the trouble in the world to make her come here.
MR. JOUR. (as before). I don't know how to thank you enough for it.
DOR. He says, Madam, that he thinks you the most beautiful woman in the world.
DORI. It is a great favour he does me.
MR. JOUR. Madam, it is you who grant the favours, and….
DOR. Let us think of the dinner.
SCENE XX.—MR. JOURDAIN, DORIMENE, DORANTE, A SERVANT.
SER. (to MR. JOURDAIN). Everything is ready, Sir.
DOR. Come, then, let us go and sit down. Tell the musicians to come.
SCENE XXI.—Entry of the BALLET.
The COOKS, who have prepared the banquet, dance together, and make the third interlude; after which they bring in a table covered with various dishes.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.—DORIMENE, MR. JOURDAIN, DORANTE, THREE SINGERS, A SERVANT.
DORI. Really, Dorante, this is a magnificent dinner.
MR. JOUR. You are pleased to say So, Madam, but I only wish it were more worthy of your acceptance.
(DORIMENE, MR. JOURDAIN, DORANTE, and the THREE SINGERS sit down.)
DOR. Mr. Jourdain is right, Madam, in what he says; and he obliges me by doing so well the honours of his house to you. I agree with him that the dinner is not worthy of you. As it was I who ordered it, and as I have not for this kind of thing the knowledge of some of our friends, you will not find here a well studied repast, but will meet with many incongruities of good eating and some barbarisms against good taste. If our good friend Damis had ordered it, all would be according to rule; there would be elegance and erudition everywhere; and he would not fail to exaggerate to you the excellence of every dish, and to make you acknowledge his high capacity in the science of good eating. He would speak to you of a loaf with golden sides, crusty all over, and yielding tenderly under the teeth; of wine full-bodied and of not too perceptible an acidity; of a saddle of mutton stewed with parsley; of a loin of Normandy veal, long, white, tender, and which is, as it were, an almond paste between the teeth; of partridges wonderful in flavour; and as his masterpiece, a pearl broth reinforced with a large turkey flanked with young pigeons, and crowned with white onions blended with endive. For my part I confess my ignorance; and as Mr. Jourdain has very well said, I wish the repast were more worthy of your acceptance.
DORI. Well, I can only answer to this compliment by eating as I am doing.
MR. JOUR. Ah! what beautiful hands!
DORI. The hands have not much to boast of, Mr. Jourdain; it is the diamond which you wish to speak of; it is indeed very beautiful.
MR. JOUR. I, Madam? Heaven forbid that I should speak of it. It would be ungentlemanly to do so, and the diamond is but a trifle.
DOR. You are difficult to please.
MR. JOUR. You are too kind, and….
DOR. (after having made signs to MR. JOURDAIN). Come, come, give a little wine to Mr. Jourdain and to these gentlemen, who will do us the pleasure of singing us a drinking song.
DORI. It is a most charming thought to make good music accompany good food, and I find myself most kindly entertained here.
MR. JOUR. Madam, it is not….
DOR. Mr. Jourdain, let us listen to the music; what these gentlemen will tell us is better than all you and I could say.
1ST and 2ND SINGERS together, each with a glass in his hand.
Phyllis, deign to fill my glass;
Give the draught an added charm.
Which is fairer, wine or lass,
Love for both my heart doth arm?—
In this hour supernal,
Let us swear, while we can,
For wine, woman, and man,
A friendship eternal.
Ruby-red, the blushing wine,
Paints thy lips with brighter shade,
While its colours softer shine
Where thy glances fall, fair maid!—
While our youth is vernal,
Let us swear, while we can,
For wine, woman, and man,
A friendship eternal.
Drinking Song.
Fill your glass, fill your glass, my friends,
Let us drink, though time fly;
We must live while we live, my friends,
For time passes by.
When we cross the waves of the river,
Wine and love say farewell
We must leave them behind for ever,
So value them well.
What though fools spend their time in thinking
Of the true aim of life!
Our philosophy lies in drinking,
Not in wordy strife.
And glory, wisdom, and wealth,
Do not ease life of ill,
But we find our pleasure and health
As the wine-cup we fill.
DORI. I never heard anything better sung, and all this is really beautiful.
MR. JOUR. I see something still more beautiful here, Madam.
DORI. Why, Mr. Jourdain, you are a greater flatterer than I should have thought.
DOR. And for what, Madam, do you take Mr. Jourdain?
MR. JOUR. I wish she would take me for what I could name.
DORI. Again!
DOR. (to DORIMENE). You do not know him.
MR. JOUR. But she will know me whenever it pleases her.
DORI. Oh, I give up.
DOR. He is a man always ready with an answer. But do you not see,
Madam, that Mr. Jourdain eats all the pieces you have touched.
DORI. Mr. Jourdain is a man I am charmed with.
MR. JOUR. If I could only charm your heart, I should be….
SCENE II.—MRS. JOURDAIN, MR. JOURDAIN, DORIMENE, DORANTE, SINGERS, SERVANTS.
MRS. JOUR. Ah! ah! I find charming company here, and I see clearly that I was not expected. It is for this fine piece of business, Sir, that you showed such anxiety to pack me off to my sister; was it? I have just seen a theatre down below, and here I find a banquet worthy of a wedding. That is the way you spend your money, and thus it is that you feast ladies in my absence, and give them music and the comedy, whilst you send me, trotting.
DOR. What do you mean, Mrs. Jourdain, and what fancies are you taking into your head to go and imagine that your husband is spending his money and giving the dinner to this lady? I beg to tell you that he has only lent me his house, and that it is I who give this feast, and not he. You should be a little more cautious in what you say.
MR. JOUR. Yes, rude woman that you are, it is the count who gives all that to this lady, who is a lady of rank. He does me the honour of making use of my house, and of wishing me to be with him.
MRS. JOUR. All this is rubbish; I know what I know.
DOR. Put on better spectacles, Mrs. Jourdain.
MRS. JOUR. I have no need of spectacles, Sir, and I see clearly enough what is going on. It is some time since I have seen things as they are, and I am no fool. It is very wrong of you, a great lord, to encourage my husband in his delusion. And for you, Madam, a great lady, it is neither handsome nor honest to sow dissension in a family, and to allow my husband to be in love with you.
DORI. What does all this mean? How very wrong of you, Dorante, to expose me to the preposterous fancies of this foolish woman.
DOR. (following DORIMENE, who is going away). Madam, stop, I pray; where are you going?
MR. JOUR. Madam…. My Lord the Count, present my humblest apologies to her and try to bring her back.
SCENE III.—MRS. JOURDAIN, MR. JOURDAIN, A SERVANT.
MR. JOUR. Ah! insolent woman that you are; these are your fine doings. You come and abuse me before everybody, and send away from my house persons of quality.
MRS. JOUR. I don't care a pin for their quality.
MR. JOUR. I don't know, accursed woman that you are, what prevents me from beating your skull in with what remains of the feast you have come and disturbed.
MRS. JOUR. (going away). I despise your threats. I come here to defend my own rights, and all wives will be on my side.
MR. JOUR. You do wisely to avoid my anger, I can tell you.
SCENE IV.—MR. JOURDAIN (alone).
She came in at a most unlucky moment. I was in a mood to tell her very pretty things, and I never felt so full of wit. But what does this mean?
SCENE V.—MR. JOURDAIN, COVIELLE (disguised).
COV. Sir, I am not sure if I have the honour of being known to you.
MR. JOUR. No, Sir.
COV. (putting his hand about a foot from the ground). I saw you when you were not taller than that.
MR. JOUR. Me?
COV. Yes! You were the most beautiful child in the world, and all the ladies used to lift you up in their arms to kiss you.
MR. JOUR. To kiss me?
COV. Yes. I was a great friend of the late nobleman your father.
MR. JOUR. Of the late nobleman my father?
COV. Yes, he was a most kind gentleman.
MR. JOUR. What do you say?
COV. I say that he was a most kind gentleman.
MR. JOUR. My father?
COV. Your father.
MR. JOUR. You knew him well?
COV. Very well indeed.
MR. JOUR. And you know him to have been a nobleman?
COV. Undoubtedly.
MR. JOUR. Well, I don't understand what the world means.
COV. What do you say?
MR. JOUR. There are some stupid people who try to persuade me that he was a shopkeeper.
COV. He a shopkeeper! It is sheer calumny. All he did was this: he was extremely kind and obliging, and understood different kinds of stuff very well; therefore he used to go everywhere and choose some; then, he had them brought to his house, and was in the habit of letting his friends have some for money if they chose.
MR. JOUR. I am delighted to have made your acquaintance, so that you may testify that my father was a nobleman.
COV. I will maintain it before the whole world.
MR. JOUR. You will oblige me greatly; may I know what business brings you here?
COV. Since my acquaintance with your late father—a perfect gentleman, as I was telling you—I have travelled to the end of the world.
MR. JOUR. To the end of the world?
COV. Yes.
MR. JOUR. I suppose it is a very far-off country.
COV. Very far off. I only returned four days ago, and owing to the interest I take in all that concerns you, I have come to give you the best news possible.
MR. JOUR. What can it be?
COV. You know that the son of the Grand Turk is here. [Footnote: There seems to have been a Turkish envoy in Paris at that time.]
MR. JOUR. No, I didn't know.
COV. You didn't know! He has a most magnificent retinue of attendants. Everybody goes to see him, and he has been received in this country as a personage of the greatest importance.
MR. JOUR. Indeed? I have heard nothing of it.
COV. What is of great concern to you is that he is in love with your daughter.
MR. JOUR. The son of the Grand Turk?
COV. Yes, and that he wishes to, become your son-in-law.
MR. JOUR. My son-in-law, the son of the Grand Turk!
COV. The son of the Grand Turk your son-in-law When I went to see him, as I understand his language perfectly, we had a long chat together; and after having talked of different things, he told me, Acciam croc soler onch alla moustaph gidelum amanahem varahini oussere carbulath? that is to say, "Have you not seen a beautiful young girl who is the daughter of Mr. Jourdain, a nobleman of Paris?"
MR. JOUR. The son of the Grand Turk said that of me?
COV. Yes. Then I answered him that I knew you perfectly well, and that I had seen your daughter. Ah! said he, marababa sahem! which is to say, "Ah! how much I love her!"
MR. JOUR. Marababa sahem! means, "Ah! how I love her!"
COV. Yes.
MR. JOUR. Indeed, you do right to tell me; for I should never have known that Marababa sahem! meant, "Ah I how much I love her!" This Turkish language is admirable.
COV. More admirable than you would ever imagine. For instance, do you know what Cacaracamouchen means?
MR. JOUR. Cacaracamouchen? No.
COV. It means, "My dear love."
MR. JOUR. Cacaracamouchen means, "My dear love"?
COV. Yes.
MR. JOUR. It is wonderful! Cacaracamouchen, "My dear love." Who would ever have thought it? I am perfectly astounded.
COV. In short, in order to end my embassy, I must tell you that he is coming to ask your daughter in marriage; and in order to have a father-in-law worthy of him, he wants to make you a mamamouchi, which is a great dignity in his country.
MR. JOUR. Mamamouchi?
COV. Mamamouchi; that is to say in our own language, a paladin. Paladin, you know those ancient paladins; in short, there is nothing more noble than that in the whole world, and you will take rank with the greatest lords upon the earth.
MR. JOUR. The son of the Grand Turk honours me greatly, and I beg of you to take me to his house, that I may return him my thanks.
COV. Not at all; he is just coming here.
MR. JOUR. He is coming here?
COV. Yes, and he is bringing with him everything necessary for the ceremony.
MR. JOUR. It is doing things rather quickly.
COV. Yes, his love will suffer no delay.
MR. JOUR. All that perplexes me in this affair is that my daughter is a very obstinate girl, who has taken it into her head to have a certain Cleonte for her husband, and vows she will marry no other.
COV. She is sure to change her mind when she sees the son of the Grand Turk; besides, wonderful to relate, the son of the Grand Turk has a strong likeness to that very Cleonte. People showed him to me, and I have just seen him; the love she feels for the one is sure to pass to the other, and … I hear him coming! Lo, here he is.
SCENE VI.—CLEONTE (dressed as a Turk), THREE PAGES (carrying the vest of CLEONTE), MR. JOURDAIN, COVIELLE.
CLE. Ambousahim oqui boraf, Giourdina, salamatequi.
COV. (to MR. JOURDAIN). That is to say, "Mr. Jourdain, may your heart be all the year round a budding rose tree." It is a way of speaking they have in that country.
MR. JOUR. I am your Turkish highness's humble servant.
COV. Carigar camboto oustin moraf.
CLE. Oustin yoc catamalequi basum base alla moran.
COV. He says, "May heaven grant you the strength of the lion and the prudence of the serpent."
MR. JOUR. His Turkish highness does me too much honour, and I wish him all manner of prosperity.
COV. Ossa binamen sadoc baballi oracaf ouram.
CLE. Belmen.
COV. He says you must go quickly with him to prepare for the ceremony, in order afterwards to see your daughter and conclude the marriage.
MR. JOUR. So many things comprised in two words?
COV. Yes, The Turkish language is like that, it says a good deal in a few words. Go quickly where he wishes you.
SCENE VII.—COVIELLE (alone).
Ah! ah! ah! Upon my soul, this is most absurd. What a dupe! Had he learnt his part by heart, he would not have played it better. Ah! ah! ah!