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 THE DEAMATIC WOKKS OF MOLIEEE.
 
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 THE DRAMATIC WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 M O L I E K E 
 
 RENDERED INTO ENGLISH 
 
 By HENRI VAN LAUN 
 
 IVITH A PREFATORY MEMOIR, INTRODUCTORY NOTICES, 
 APPENDICES AND NOTES 
 
 TrTdenPO 
 
 V O L U M E FIFTH 
 
 EDINBURGH: WILLIAM PATERSON 
 
 MDCCCLXXVI
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE MISER, 
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC, 
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS, 
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN, 
 
 PSYCHE, 
 
 PAGK 
 1 
 
 107 
 191 
 253 
 359 
 
 675439
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 I. The Miser, Act v., Scene 3, . . . Frontispiece. 
 II. Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Act ii., Scene 9, Page 154 
 
 III. The Magnificent Lovers, Act iv., Scene 2, . „ 238 
 
 IV. The Citizen who apes the Nobleiman, Act iii.. 
 
 Scene 19, „ 320 
 
 V. Psyche, Act iv., Scene 3, „ 408
 
 L ' A Y A K E 
 
 COMEDIE. 
 
 THE MISER. 
 
 A COMEDY IN EIVE ACTS. 
 
 (the original iiy prose.) 
 
 9th Sept. 1668. 
 
 V.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 The Miser was first represented on the 9th of September 1668, and was 
 played nine times, thovigh not consecvitively. Two months afterwards, 
 it was performed again, after it had been represented at Court ; and 
 then it was acted eleven times. It was evidently not a success. And 
 this is the more astonishing, because the murder of the lieutenant- 
 criminel Tardieu and of his wife — two noted misers, who had been 
 assassinated in their own house three years before — was as yet not for- 
 gotten, and the author could therefore calculate upon a kind of curiosity 
 to know how misers were represented on the stage, as well as on the 
 intrinsic merit of the piece. Yet Moliere's play is crowded with general 
 traits, and not with particular allusions. He had to paint a vice as 
 hateful in reality as it is disagreeable to be depicted on the stage ; and 
 he succeeded in doing this, whilst enlivening many scenes with the aid 
 of funny characters or ridiculous incidents. 
 
 It has been said that The Mher did not succeed so well as Molifere 
 and his literary friends expected, because it was written in prose; but 
 several of Moliere's prose-plays had already been represented in former 
 years, and had met with great and deserved success. It has even been 
 reported that Eacine, who had quarrelled with Moliere, remarked one 
 day to Boileau that he was the only one who was laughing during a 
 representation of The Miser, whereupon Boileau replied, " I have too 
 high an opinion of you to believe that you were not laughing yourself, 
 at least inwai'dly." 
 
 Moliere's comedy is based on Plautus' Avlvlaria, of which we shall 
 give an outline. i 
 
 " Euclio, a miserly old Athenian, has a daughter named Phaedra, 
 who has been ravished by a young man named Lyconides, but is 
 ignorant from whom she has received injury. Lyconides has an uncle 
 named Megadorus, who, being ignorant of these circumstances, deter- 
 mines to ask Phaedra of her father in mamage for himself. Euclio has 
 discovered a pot of gold in his house, which he watches with the 
 greatest anxiety. In the meantime, Megadorus asks his daughter in 
 marriage, and his proposal is accepted ; and while preparations are 
 making for the nuptials, Euclio conceals his treasure, fii-st in one place 
 
 1 Riley, The Comedies of Plav.tvs, I., Aidularia, p. 374.
 
 4 THE MISER. 
 
 and then in another. Strobihis, the servant of Lyconides, watches his 
 movements, and, having discovered it, carries oflf the treasure. Whilst 
 Euclio is lamenting his loss, Lyconides accosts him, with the view of 
 confessing the outrage he has committed on his daughter, and of 
 announcing to him that his uncle, Megadorus, has cancelled his agree- 
 ment to marry her in favour of himself. Euclio at fii'st thinks that he 
 is come to confess the i-obbery of the treasure. After much parleying, 
 his mistake is rectified, and the matter is explained ; on which 
 Lyconides forces Strobilus to confess the theft ; and (although the rest 
 of the play in its original form is lost) we learn from acrostic argument 
 that Strobihis gives up the treasure, and Lyconides mari'ies the 
 daughter of Euclio, and receives the gold for a marriage-portion. The 
 Supplement, written by Codrus Urcens, supplies the place of what is 
 lost." 
 
 Plautus' comedy has had many imitators befoi-e Moli^re. Lorenzino 
 de Medici, the murderer of the first Duke of Florence, Alexander, 
 worked up Terence's Adelphi with Plautus' Aulularia, and his Mostel- 
 laria, or, the Haunted House, and formed of the whole a comedy called 
 the Aridoxio, which was cleverly translated in French by Pierre de 
 Larivey, in 1579, under the title of The Spirits. The miser Severin be- 
 lieves his house infested by evil spirits, and therefore thinks it safer to 
 hide a purse, containing two thousand crowns, in a hole outside. His 
 anxiety is very amusing to know where to hide his money, and at last 
 he cries out, " Good Heavens ! it seems that everyone gazes at me ; the 
 very stones and wood look at me. He ! my little hole, my darling, I 
 recommend myself to you. Now then, in the name of Heaven and of 
 Saint Anthony of Padua, in vianus tuas, domine, commendo spiritum 
 meum." In sjjite of his pious invocation. Desire, who wishes to be his 
 son-in-law, and who had seen him hide the purse, steals it, but a long 
 time elapses before the miser finds it out, and when at last the robbery 
 is discovered, he breaks out in a rage. The miser's brother comes to 
 tell him that his money is found again, b\it he does not believe it. 
 Finally, his daughter is married to Desir^, and his son Urbain to Feli- 
 ciane, a girl whom the latter had seduced, and whose father, a Protest- 
 ant, comes expressly from La Rochelle, to give her a splendid dowry, 
 and to be present at the wedding. 
 
 Although Molit;re owes several scenes to the Italian play of Ijorenzino 
 de Medici, he is more indebted to Plautus, from whom he borrowed the 
 idea of making the miser his chief character. He also took some scenes 
 from Ario.sto's I Svppositi {The Fictitiotis Characters), and from several 
 of the commedia delV arte, such as L Amante tradito {The betrayed 
 Lover), La Cameriira nobile {The noble-horn Ladies-maid), Le Case 
 sraliggiatc {The robbed Hovse), 11 dottore Bachettone {The higotted 
 Doctor), and also one scene from The Fair Female Plaintiff, a comedy 
 by Boisrobert. The Miser is one of the comedies of Moliere, which 
 contains more imitations or reminiscences tlian any other of his plays ;
 
 THE MISER. 5 
 
 and yet his genius has so welded the whole that Goethe has declared 
 that it possesses extraordinary grandeur, and is in a high degree 
 tragical. This is chiefly because Molifere clearly brings out the conse- 
 quences of extreme avarice, which is, that all family ties are thereby 
 destroyed, all human feelings eradicated, and all natural affections 
 effectually rooted up. Horace had already observed this in his Eighth 
 Satire ; but Molicre develops it with great force and energy, and 
 shows how the miser cares only for his money, and considers his 
 children as his enemies, how the son takes up loans at any price, 
 and how the daughter has an intrigue with her lover, disguised as a 
 steward. 
 
 J. J. Rousseau considered that though it is wrong to be a miser, and 
 to lend money at an usurious interest, yet it is more wrong for a son to 
 rob his father, to be wanting in respect to him, and, when his father 
 gives him his malediction, to reply, " I want none of your gifts." The 
 critic appears to have forgotten tliat Moliere's duty as a dramatist was 
 to exemplify the consequences of vice, and to show to the spectators 
 that a miserly father must produce a spendthrift son, and that a 
 pai'ent who neglects all his duties will be punished by the inso- 
 lence and want of feeling displayed by the very children whom he has 
 neglected. 
 
 Moliere's miser moves in rather a fashionable sphere ; he has horses, 
 a carriage, several servants, and even a steward. Of course, his position 
 in society compels him to keep them, and therefore the contrast is all 
 the stronger between the pangs caused by his avarice, and the neces- 
 sity which obliges him to keep up a certain appearance. He has 
 horses, but they starve ; servants who are neither clothed nor dressed ; 
 a steward whom he does not pay, and who seems a meaner fellow than 
 he is himself. He wishes to give an entertainment ; but it must cost him 
 nothing, just as he desires his daughter to be married, without giving 
 her a dowry. His falling in love — and of course even misers can feel 
 an inferior sort of love — deepens only the more the traits of his avarice, 
 and in the end he prefers les beaux yeux de sa cassette to those of the 
 object of his affections. ^rt 
 
 There exists a Chinese comedy, called Khanthsian-non (TJie Slave of 
 the riches which he guards), which depicts a miser from his earliest 
 youth until his death. His end, above all, is characteristic. His son has 
 bought for the sick man twopence-halfpenny's worth of pease-pudding, 
 instead of one farthing's worth, as his father had told him. The dying 
 man observes the sum which his son has disbursed, which makes him 
 very uneasy; and when, finally, he is at his last gasp, he advises his 
 son to bury him for economy's sake in an old horse-trough which is 
 behind the house ; to cut him in two if his body should be too long ; 
 and, above all, because his bones are rather hard, not to use his own 
 axe, but to borrow his neighbour's. This is a frightful example of " the 
 ruling passion strong in death."
 
 6 THE MISER. 
 
 In the first volume of the trauslatio]! of '' Select Comedies of M. de 
 Moliere, London, 1732," this play is dedicated to his Eoyal Highness, 
 the Prince of Wales, in the following words : — 
 
 Sir, 
 
 TLe Refin'd Taste you are so well known to have in the Publick Diversions, 
 and the peculiar Encouragement, which You have given to Theatrical Entertain- 
 ments, have embolden'd the Translators of the following Work to implore Your 
 Favour and Protection. 
 
 It is intended, SiK, to publish all the Comedies of Moliere in the same manner 
 in which the Miser now appears to Your Royal Highness ; and tho' we are very 
 sensible that it cannot be of the least Advantage to Your better understanding 
 of the Original Author, yet, as it may prove very serviceable to our present 
 Dramatick Writers, and assist 'em in producing Entertainments more agreeable 
 to Nature, Good Sense, and Your Royal Highness's Taste, we humbly hope that 
 you will not look on it as an useless undertaking. 
 
 It may be thought perhaps a malicious, and ill-grounded Suggestion, to in- 
 sinuate that those amongst us, who presume to write for the Stage, are cither 
 unacquainted with Moliere, or ignorant of his Language ; but I fear Your Royal 
 Highness has too frequently experienc'd the one, and from thence very natu- 
 rally concluded the other. The present Productions of the Theatre are most of 
 'em such crude unmeaning Rhapsodies, so foreign to Truth, Vertue, and Polite- 
 ness, and so void of all the Rules both of Poetry and Grammar, that the Authors 
 of 'em may justly be suspected of Ignorance in the living Languages as well as in 
 the Dead. But Your Royal Highness wants no more to be informed of their 
 Defects, than of Moliere' s Perfections ; as You know how to taste and enjoy the 
 one, so You as readily can see thro', and contemn the others, tho' You are led, 
 by the abundance of Your Candour and Goodnature, not entirely to reject 'em. 
 Moliere, Sir, has been translated into most of the Languages, and patroniz'd by 
 most of tho Princes in Europe ; but if we have been capable of doing him as much 
 Justice in our Version, as we have been prudent enough to do him in the choice 
 of a Patron, he'll be more happy in speaking English, than in all the rest ; and 
 we shall be esteem'd as good Guardians of Moliere's Fatherless Muse, as we really 
 are. Sir, Your Royal Highness's most obedient and most devoted hurnlle Servants, 
 
 THE TRANSLATORS. 
 
 Several Englisli dramatists have partly borrowed from Moliere. The 
 first was Mr Shadwell, who added above eight new charactei's to the 
 French play, called it also T/ie Miser, and had it acted at the Theatre 
 Royal in 1671. In the Preface he states : — 
 
 " The foundation of this play I took from one of Moli5re's, called 
 L'Avare ; but that having too few persons, and too little action for an 
 English theatre, I added to both so much, that I may call more than 
 half of this play my own; and I think I may say without vanity, that 
 Moliere's part of it has not suffered in my hands ; nor did I ever know 
 a French comedy made use of by the w-orst of our Poets, that was not 
 bettered by them. It is not barrenness of wit or invention, that makes 
 us borrow from the French, but Laziness ; and this was the occasion of 
 my making use of L'Avare . . . The great haste I made in writing 
 maile me very doubtful of the success of it, which Wcis the reason that 
 at first I did not own it, but concealed niv n.uiie."
 
 THE MISER. 7 
 
 But Shadwell is not satisfied with this, and in the Prologue says : — 
 
 " French plaj's, in which true wit's as rarely found, 
 As mines of silver are on English ground . . . 
 But Slay, 1 've been too bold ; methinks I see 
 The English Monsieurs rise in mutiny, 
 Crying, Confound him ! does he damn French plays, 
 The only pieces that deserve the Bays ? 
 France, that on Fashion does strict laws impose, 
 The universal monarchy for clothes, 
 That rules our most important part, our dress. 
 Should rule our wit, which is a thing much less. 
 But, Messieurs, he says, farther to provoke ye, 
 He would as soon be author of Tu Qaoque 
 As any farce that e"er from France was sent . . . 
 For our good-natured nation thinks it fit 
 To count French toys, good wares ; French nonsense, wit." 
 
 I can understand the bitterness of the burly old Whig dramatist 
 against France. I can even find an excuse for his not understanding 
 French wit, — for the plea may be brought forward of want of apprecia- 
 tion by dispensation of Providence, — but surely it is too much to say 
 what he states in the Preface, that the worst English poets better 
 every French comedy which they use. His lofty idea of his own and 
 his professional brethren's dramatic capacities, and their pretended 
 independence of French wit, whilst, at the same time, they pilfer the 
 grandest conceptions, as well as the smallest trifles, of Gallic dramatists, 
 has come down to a much later time, and is perhaps not unknown even 
 in the present day. 
 
 Voltaire remarks on Shadwell's preface, " that if a man has not wit 
 enough to conceal his vanity better, he has not wit enough to do better 
 than Moliere." 
 
 Fielding's play. The Miser, professedly taken from Plautus and 
 Moliere, was acted at Drury Lane Theatre on the 17th of February 
 1733. It was dedicated to Charles, duke of Richmond and Lennox, 
 and in the Preface he sjjeaks of dedicating Moliere to his Grace, and 
 calls himself a translator. In the prologue it is said : — 
 
 " To-night our Author treats you with Moliere, 
 Moliere, who nature's inmost secrets knew ; 
 Whose potent pen, like Kneller's pencil, drew. 
 In whose strong scenes all characters are shewn, 
 Not by low jests, but actions of their own. 
 Happy our English bard, if your applause 
 Grant has not injur'd the French author's cause. 
 From that aloue arises all his fear ; 
 He must be safe, if he has sav'd Moliere." 
 
 This is a very discriminating praise of Moli^re's play. In all the 
 scenes which Fielding has imitated from Moliere, he has nearly literally 
 followed him. The chief difference is that, in Fielding's play, the servant.
 
 I 
 
 8 THE MISER. 
 
 man and maid have more scenes allotted to them than in the French 
 comedy ; that the maid, Lappet, in connivance with Mariana, succeeds 
 in getting a bond of ten thousand pounds from Lovegold, the miser, to 
 be forfeited, in case he should refuse to marry the young lady ; that the 
 latter frightens him, by giving the most extravagant orders to different 
 tradesmen, who make their appearance, and by ordering a repast on a 
 most elaborate scale ; that, finally, Lovegold endeavours to bribe Lappet 
 to swear a robbery against Mariana, who, like a regular English girl, 
 has far more spirit, and is far more active — I would nearly have said 
 is more intriguing— than her French prototype. It has been justly 
 said of Fielding's Miser that " it has the value of a copy from a great 
 painter by an eminent hand." We have given in 'the Appendix one 
 scene of Fielding's translation, as a specimen of his handicraft. 
 
 The Miser has been translated by Michael de Boissy, 1752, but it has 
 never been performed. 
 
 Mr Edward Tighe also made of The Miser a farce in one act, whilst 
 James Wild, prompter at Covent Garden Theatre, reduced it to three 
 acts, and had it played in the year 1792. 
 
 In 1856, Engelbertus Saegelken published at Bremen the thesis, De 
 Mollerii FahulA Avari, which he defended for his degree of Doctor of 
 Philosophy, and which was dedicated to the Rector of the University 
 of that town. His object is to find out and examine in how far Moliere 
 has followed Plautus' Aulularia; the points of resemblance and of differ- 
 ence between Euclio and Harpagon. He compares the first Scene of 
 the first Act and the fourth Scene of the fourth Act of Plautus' comedy 
 wuth the third Scene of the first Act and the same Scene of the third Act 
 of Moliere's Miser ; states that the Latin dramatist holds to the unities, 
 but not the French one, and discusses Schlegel's dictum that Moliere 
 has brought all the genuine features of avarice into one man — as if the 
 miser who buried his treasure in the ground was of the same kind as 
 he who makes money by usury. Saegelken thinks this is not a fair 
 indictment against Moliere, and concludes by giving the opinions of 
 some learned critics.
 
 DKAMATIS PEESON^. 
 
 B ART XGO-ii, father to CUante and Elise, in love lolth Mariane.^ 
 
 Ci.EANTE, Harpagon's son, 3Iariane's lover. 
 
 Val^re, son of Anselme, Elise's lover. 
 
 Anselme, father to Valhe and Marians. 
 
 Master Simon, agent. 
 
 Master Jacques, cook and coachman to Harpagon. 
 
 La Fleche, CUante's valet. 
 
 Brindavoine, 
 
 Harpaqo7i's lacqueys.^ 
 La Merluche, J ^ -^ 
 
 A Magistrate^ and his Clerk. 
 
 Elise, Harpagon's daughter, Value's sweetheart. 
 
 Mariane, CUante s sweetheart, beloved hj Harpagon. 
 
 Frosine, a designing womaii. 
 
 Mistress Claude, Harpagon's servant. 
 
 The scene is in Paris, in Harpagon's House. 
 
 * This part was played by Moli^re himself. His dress was a cloak, 
 breeches and doublet of black satin, ornamented with coarse black silk lace, 
 hat, wig, and shoes, Harpagon is derived, according to some commentators, 
 from the Latin harpayo a hook, itself formed from a Greek word ; hence a 
 man with crooked fingers, to which everything sticks ; the Latin word is 
 twice used in the Aulularia. Luigi Grotto, the author of Emilia (see Intro- 
 ductory Notice to The Blunderer, Vol. I., page 3), had already given the 
 name to a miser. But may the word Harpagon not be connected with 
 harpon, a harpoon, and harper, to seize with the nails, from ths old high 
 German harfan, to seize ? 
 
 * Brindavoine means literally " oat-stalk," and la Merluche "stockfish ;" 
 both lacqueys being probably so named on account of their emaciated ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 * The original has Commissaire, see vol. II., The School for Husbands 
 page 9, note 5.
 
 THE MI SEE. 
 
 (L' A VARE). 
 
 A CT I. ISCENE I. 
 Val^re, Elise. 
 
 Val. Eh, what ! charming Elise, you are growing melan- 
 choly, after the kind assurances which you were good enough 
 to give me of your love ! Alas ! I see you sighing in the 
 midst of my joy ! Tell me, is it with regret at having 
 made me happy ? And do you repent of that engagement 
 to which my affection has induced you ?^ 
 
 El. No, Valere, I cannot repent of anything that I do 
 for you. I feel myself attracted to it by too sweet a power, 
 and I have not even the will to wish that things were 
 otherwise. But, to tell you the truth, our success cause3_ 
 me uneasiness ; and I am very much afraid of loving you 
 a little more than I ought. 
 
 Val. Eh ! what is there to fear, Elise, in the affection 
 you have for me ? 
 
 El. Alas ! a liundred things at once : the anger of a 
 father, the reproaches of my family, the censure of the 
 world ; but more than all, Valere, the change of your heart, 
 and that criminal coolness with which those of your sex 
 most frequently repay the too ardent proofs of an innocent 
 love. 
 
 ^ The engagement Valere mentions is a reciprocal marriage promise, 
 signed by himself and Elise only the day before ; hence his joy. He 
 explains this fully, Act v., Scene 3.
 
 12 THE MISER. [ACTX. 
 
 Val. All ! do not wrong me thus, to judge of me by 
 others I Suspect me of anything, Elise, rather than of 
 failing in my duty to j^ou. I love you too well for that ; 
 and my affection for you will last as long as my life. 
 
 El. Ah ! Valere, every one talks in the same strain ! 
 All men are alike in their words ; their actions only show 
 them to be different. 
 
 Val. Since actions only can show what we are, wait then, 
 at least, to judge of my heart by them ; and do not search 
 for crimes because you unjustly fear, and wrongly antici- 
 pate. Pray do not kill me with the poignant blows of an 
 outrageous suspicion ; and give me time to convince you, 
 by many thousand proofs, of the sincerity of my affection. 
 
 El. Alas, how easily we are persuaded by those we 
 love ! Yes, Valere, I hold your heart incapable of deceiv- 
 ing me. I believe that you truly love me, and that you will 
 be constant. I will no longer doubt of it, and I will con- 
 fine my gi-ief to the apprehensions of the blame which 
 people may utter against me. 
 
 Val. But why this uneasiness ? 
 
 El. I should have nothing to fear, if every one could 
 see you with the eyes with which I look upon you ; and in 
 your own person I see sufficient to justify me in what I 
 do for you. For its defence, my heart pleads all your merit, 
 supported by the help of a gratitude with which Heaven has 
 bound me to you. At every moment, I call to mind that 
 supreme danger which first made us acquainted with each 
 other ; tliat wonderful generosity which made you risk your 
 life in order to snatch mine from the fury of the waves ; 
 those most tender attentions which you lavislicd upon me, 
 after having dragged me out of the water, and the assiduous 
 homage of that ardent aft'ection, which neither time nor 
 obstacles have been able to discourage, and which, causing 
 you to neglect relatives and country, detains you in this
 
 sc. I.] THE MISER. 1 3 
 
 spot, keeps your position unrecognised, all on my account, 
 and has reduced you to assume the functions of servant'^ 
 to' my father, in order to see me. All this produces, no 
 doubt, a marvellous effect on me, and quite sufficient to 
 justify, in my own eyes, the engagement to which I have 
 consented ; but it is not perhaps enough to justify it in that 
 of others, and I am not certain that the world will enter 
 into my sentiments. 
 
 Val. Of all that you have mentioned, it is only by my 'u' \OKj^ 
 love that I pretend to deserve anything from you ; and as 
 Tor the scruples which you have, your father himself takes 
 but too good care to justify you before the world ; and the 
 excess of his avarice, and the austere way in which he treats 
 his children, might authorise stranger things still. Pardon 
 me, charming Elise, for speaking thus before you. You know 
 that, on that subject, no good can be said. But in short, 
 if I can, as I hope I shall, find my relatives again, we 
 shall have very little difficulty in rendering them favourable 
 to us. I am impatient to receive some tidings of them ; 
 and should they be delayed much longer, I will myself go 
 in search of them. 
 
 El. Ah! Valere, do not stir from this, I beseech you ; 
 and think only how to ingratiate yourself with my father. 
 
 Val. You see how T go about it, and the artful wheed- 
 ling which I have been obliged to make use of to enter his 
 service ; beneath what mask of sympathy and affinity of 
 sentiments I disguise myself, in order to please him ; and 
 what part I daily play with him, that I may gain his ^ ^P ' 
 affection. I am making admirable progress in it ; and ex- \q V"^ 
 
 perience teaches me that to find favour with men, there is 
 no better method than to invest ourselves in their eyes with 
 their hobbies ; than to act according to their maxims, to flatter 
 
 ® The original has domestique.^ which at that time meant simply, 
 " belonging to the house of," and was not considered humiliating.
 
 1 4 THE MISER. [ACT x. 
 
 their faults and to applaud their doings. One needs not 
 fear to overdo this complaisance ; the way in which one 
 fools them may be as palpable as possible ; even the sharpest 
 are the greatest dupes when flattery is in the question ; 
 and there is nothing too impertinent or too ridiculous for 
 them to swallow, if it be only seasoned with praises. 
 Sincerity suffers somewhat by the trade which I follow; but, 
 when Ave have need of people, we must suit ourselves to 
 their tastes ; and since they are to be gained over only in 
 that way, it is not the fault of those who flatter, but of those 
 who wish to be flattered.^ 
 
 El. But why do you not try to gain the support of my 
 brother, in case the servant should take it into her head to 
 reveal our secret ? 
 
 Vol. There is no managing them both at once ; and the 
 disposition of the father and that of the son are so opposed to 
 each other, that it becomes difficult to arrange a confidence 
 with both. But you, on your part, act upon your brother, 
 and make use of the affection between you two, to bring 
 him over to our interests. He is just coming. I go. Take 
 this opportunity of speaking to him, and reveal our busi- 
 ness to him, only when you judge the fit time come. 
 
 El. I do not know whether I shall have the courage to 
 entrust this confidence to him. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Cl^ante, Elise. 
 
 CU. I am very glad to find you alone, sister ; I was dying 
 to speak to you, to unburden myself to you of a secret. 
 
 El. You find me quite ready to listen, brother. What 
 have you to tell me ? 
 
 ^ M. G^nin has observed that this jiart of Valere's speech is written in 
 blank verse.
 
 sc. II.] THE MISER. lo 
 
 CU. Many things, sister, all contained in one word. I -^ ! tA>^ 
 am i n lov e. C<c;k»j^., 
 
 El. You are in love ? 
 
 Cle. Yes, I am in love. But before going farther, I 
 know that I am dependent on m}' father, and that the name 
 of son subjects me to his will ; tliat we ou^lit not to pledge ^■yiO- 
 our affection without the consent of those to whom we owe 
 our life ; that Heaven has made them the masters of our 
 affection, and that we are enjoined not to dispose of it but 
 by their direction ; that, not being biassed by any foolish 
 passion, they are less likely to deceive themselves than we 
 are,, and to see much better what is proper for us ; that we 
 ought rather to be guided by the light of their prudence 
 than by the blindness of our passion ; and that the ardour 
 of our youth often drags us to dangerous precipices. I tell 
 you all this, sister, that you may save yourself the trouble 
 of telling it to me ; for, in short, my love will not listen to 
 anything, and I pray you not to make any remonstrances. 
 
 El. Have you pledged yourself, brother^ with her whom 
 you love ? 
 
 CU. No ; but I am determined to do so, and I implore 
 you, once more, not to advance any reasons to dissuade me 
 from it. 
 
 El. Am I then so strange a person, brother ? yZ. 
 
 CU. No, sister; but you are not in love; you are ignoraffT / ^ ,/"C 
 of the sweet empire which a tender passion exercises over 
 our hearts ; and I dread your wisdom. 
 
 El. Alas ! dear brother, let us not speak of my wisdom ; 
 there is no one who does not fail in it, at least once in 
 his life ; and were I to open my heart to you, perhaps I 
 would appear less wise in your eyes than yourself. 
 
 CU. Ah ! would to Heaven that your heart, like mine . . . 
 
 El. Let us first finish your affair, and tell me who it is 
 whom you love.
 
 1 6 THE MISER. La< T i. 
 
 Cle. A young person, who has lately come to live in this 
 neighbourhood, and who seems to be made to inspire love 
 in all who behold her. Nature, sister, has created nothing 
 more amiable ; and I felt myself carried away the moment I 
 saw her. Her name is Mariane, and she lives under the 
 protection of a good motherly woman who is nearly always 
 ill, and for whom this dear girl entertains feelings of friend- 
 ship not to be imagined. She waits upon her, condoles 
 with her, and cheers her with a tenderness that would 
 touch you to the very soul. She does things with the 
 most charming air in the world ; a thousand graces shine 
 through her every action, a gentleness full of attraction, a 
 most prepossessing kindness, an adorable simplicity, a . . . 
 Ah ! sister, I wish you could have seen her ! ^ 
 
 El. I see much, brother, in the things you tell me ; and 
 to understand what she really is, it is sufficient that you 
 love her. 
 
 Cle. I have learned, secretly, that they are not too well 
 off; and that even their careful way of living has some 
 difficulty in making both ends meet with the small means at 
 their command. Imagine, dear sister, the pleasure it must 
 be to improve the condition of her whom we love ; to 
 convey delicately some small assistance to the modest wants 
 of a virtuous family ; and then conceive how annoying it is 
 to me to find myself, through the avarice of a father, power- 
 less to taste that joy, and to be unable to show this fair 
 one any proof of my love. 
 
 El. Yes, I can conceive well enough, brother, what must 
 be your grief 
 
 * Auger, one of the commentators of Mohfere, makes the just remark, 
 that the love of Cldante for Mariane is not only based upon her personal 
 attractions, but upon her kindness, her simplicity, her gentleness. So 
 in The Rogueries ofScapm (see Vol. VI.), Moliere, following the Roman 
 dramatist Terence, makes Octave fall in love with Ilyacinthe, when he 
 sees her shedding tears at the death of her mother.
 
 sc. III.] THE MLSER. 1 7 
 
 CU. Ah ! sister, it is greater thau you can believe. For, 
 in short, can anything be more cruel than this rigorous 
 meanness that is exercised over us, this strange niggard- 
 liness in which we are made to languish ? What good will 
 it do us to have means, when we shall no longer be of 
 an age to enjoy them, and if, to maintain myself, I am 
 now obliged to run in debt on all sides ; if I, as well as you, 
 am obliged to crave daily the aid of tradesmen in order to 
 wear decent clothes ? In short, I wished to speak to you 
 to help me to sound my father upon my present feelings ; 
 and should I find him opposed to them, I am resolved 
 to go elsewhere, with this dear girl, to enjoy whatever 
 fortune providence may have in store for us. I have 
 endeavoured to raise money everywhere for this purpose, 
 and if your affairs, sister, are similar to mine, and if our 
 father runs counter to our wishes, we shall both leave him, v^"^ 
 
 and emancipate ourselves from that tyranny in which his 
 insupportable avarice has so long held us. 
 
 El. It is true enough that every day he gives us more 
 cause to regret the death of our mother, and that . . . 
 
 Cle. I hear his voice ; let us go a little farther to finish 
 our confidences ; and afterwards we will join our forces to 
 attack the ruggedness of his temper. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Harpagon, La Fl^che. 
 
 Har. Clear out of this immediately, and let me have 
 no reply ! Get away out of my house, you consummate 
 cheat, you true gallow's bird ! 
 
 La Fl. [^Aside\ I have never seen anything more vicious 
 than this cursed old man ; and I really think — I speak 
 under correction — that he has got the devil in him. 
 
 Har. You are muttering between your teeth ! 
 
 V. B
 
 IS THE MISER. [-^CTi. 
 
 La Fl. Why are you sending me away ? 
 
 Har. It well becomes you, you hang-dog, to ask me 
 my reasons. Out with you, quickly that I may not knock 
 you down. 
 
 La Fl. What have I done to you ? 
 
 Har. You have done so much to me that I wish you 
 to get out. 
 
 La Fl. Your son, my master, has ordered me to wait. 
 
 Har. Go and wait for him in the street, then ; but do 
 not remain in my house, planted bolt upright as a sentry, 
 taking notice of everything that goes on, and making the 
 best use of it. I will not have a spy of my concerns 
 eternally before my eyes, a wretch, whose cursed eyes watch 
 every one of my actions, covet all I have, and ferret about 
 everywhere to see if there is nothing to pilfer.^ 
 
 La Fl. How the deuce could one manage to rob you ? 
 Are you a likely man to have aught stolen from you, 
 when you lock up everything, and keep guard day and 
 night. 
 
 Har. I shall lock up whatever I think fit, and keep 
 guard as long as I please. A nice pass it has come to with 
 these spies, who take notice of everything one does. [Softly, 
 rtsifZe.] I quake for fear he should suspect something about 
 my money. \Aloud.'\ Ah ! are you not just the fellow 
 who would think nothing of bruiting the tale about that I 
 have money hidden in my house ? 
 
 L(L Fl. You have money hidden ? 
 
 Har. No, you scoundrel, I do not say that. [To him- 
 self.'] I am bursting with rage. [Aloud.] I ask whether 
 you would not, from sheer malice, bruit the story about 
 that I have some. 
 
 " This 13 imitated from tlie first scene of tlio first act of Plautus' 
 Aulularia, where Enclio, tlie miser, drives out tlie female slave, 
 St<aphyla.
 
 sc. III.] THE MISER. 19 
 
 La Fl. Eh ! what does it matter to ns whether you have 
 any or not, as long as it comes to the same thing to us ? 
 
 Har. [Lifting up his hand, to slap La Fleche'sface.j 
 You are arguing the matter ! I will give you something 
 for this reasoning on your ears. Once more, get out of this. 
 
 La Fl. Very well ! I am going. 
 
 Har. AVait : you are not taking anything away with 
 you ? 
 
 La Fl. What should I take from you ? 
 
 Har. I do not know until I look. Show me your 
 hands ? 
 
 La Fl. Here they are. 
 
 Har. The others.^*' 
 
 La Fl. The others ? 
 
 Har. Yes. 
 
 La Fl. Here they are. 
 
 Har. [Pointing to the breeches of La Fleche.'\ Have 
 you put nothing in there ? 
 
 La Fl. Look for yourself ? 
 
 Har. [Feeling the outside of La. Fleche's pockets.] 
 Those wide breeches are just fit to become receivers for 
 things purloined, and I wish one of them had been hanged 
 at the gallows. 
 
 La Fl. [Aside.] Ah, how a man like this well deserves 
 the thing he fears ! and how much pleasure I would have 
 in robbing him ! 
 
 ^^ This is again imitated from Plautus' Auhdaria (Act iv. Scene 3), 
 when Euclio asks Strobilus, the servant of Lyconides, whom he sus- 
 pects of having robbed him, to show him his third hand. Chappu- 
 zeau, in the comedy of the Hiche Vilain, printed in 1663, has also 
 borrowed this trait from Plautus ; but he makes the servant Philipin 
 reply to the miser, "Have I a dozen of hands]" In Tomkis' play 
 Alhumazar the Astrologer (Act iii. Scene 8), performed in 1616 at Trinity 
 College, Cambridge, and an imitation of an Italian Comedy by Porta, 
 Ronca answers Trinculo, who questions him in a similar umiiner, 
 " Think you me the giant with an hundred hands ? "
 
 20 THE MISER. [ACT]. 
 
 Har. Eh ? 
 
 LaFl. What! 
 
 Har. What are you muttering about robbing ! 
 
 La Fl. I am saying that you feel carefully everywhere to 
 see if I have robbed you. 
 
 Har. That is what I mean to do. [Har'pagon fumbles 
 in La Fleche's pockets]. 
 
 La Fl. [J.sicZe] May the plague take avarice, and all 
 avaricious people ! 
 
 Har. What ! what are you saying ? 
 
 La Fl. What am I saying ? 
 
 Har. Yes ; what are you saying about avarice and 
 avaricious people ? 
 
 La Fl. I say may the plague take avarice and all 
 avaricious joeople. 
 
 Har. To whom are you alluding ? 
 
 La Fl. To avaricious people. 
 
 Har. And who are they, these avaricious people ? 
 
 La Fl. Villains and curmudgeons. 
 
 Ha7\ But whom do you mean by that ? 
 
 La Fl. What are you troubling yourself about ? 
 
 Har. I am troubling myself about what concerns me. 
 
 La Fl. Do you think that I am speaking of you ? 
 
 Har. I think what I think ; but I wish you to tell me 
 to whom you are addressing yourself when you say that. 
 
 La Fl. I am addressing myself ... I am addressing 
 myself to my cap. 
 
 Har. And I might address myself to the head that is 
 in it." 
 
 La Fl. Will you prevent me from cursing avaricious people? 
 
 " The original has, " Je pourrats bien parler d ta barrette." In the 
 Middle Ages, the front of the hood was called barrette, on account of the 
 different ornaments which formed bars there. Hence parler d la barrette 
 was a familiar term for scolding, and even for striking one.
 
 sc. rv.] THE MISER. 21 
 
 Har. No : but I will prevent you from jabbering, and 
 from being insolent. Hold your tongue ! 
 
 La Fl. I name no one. 
 
 Har. I shall thrash you if you say another word. 
 
 La Fl. Whom the cap fits, let him wear it.^^ 
 
 Har. Will you hold your tongue ? 
 
 La Fl. Yes, against my will. 
 
 Har. Ah ! Ah ! 
 
 La Fl. {Shoiuing Harpagon a pocket hi Ids douhlei] 
 Just look, there is another pocket ; are you satisfied ? 
 
 Har. Come, you had better give it up without my 
 searching you. 
 
 La Fl. What ? 
 
 Har. What you have taken from me. 
 
 La Fl. I have taken nothing at all from you. 
 
 Har. Assuredly ? 
 
 La FL Assuredly. 
 
 Har. Good-bye, then, and go to the devil. 
 
 La Fl. [Aside] That is a pretty dismissal.^^ 
 
 Har. I leave you to your own conscience, at least. 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 Harpagon, alone. 
 
 There is a hang-dog of a valet who is very much in my 
 way ; I do not at all care to see this limping cur about the 
 place. ^^ It is certainly no small trouble to keep such a large 
 sum of money in one's house ; and he is a happy man who 
 
 ^^ The original has " Qui se sent morveux, qiCil se mouche," " He that 
 has a cold, let him blow his nose." 
 
 13 This is again borrowed from the Aulularia (Act iv., Scene 3). 
 
 1"^ I have already observed that Moliere (see The Love Tif, Vol. I., 
 page 111, note 2), took advantage even of the physical defects of the 
 members of his troupe, in writing parts for them ; hence the allusion 
 to the lameness of Bejart, his brother-in-law. For Bejart, see Intro- 
 ductory Notice to The Impromptu of Versailles, Vol. II., page 290.
 
 22 THE MISER. [ACT I. 
 
 lias all his well laid out at interest, and keeps only so much 
 by him as is necessary for his expenses. One is not a little 
 puzzled to contrive, in the whole house, a safe hiding-place ; 
 for, as far as I am concerned, I distrust safes, and would 
 never rely on them. I look upon them just as a distinct 
 bait to burglars ; for it is always the first thing which they 
 attack. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Harpagon ; Elise and Cl:6ante conversing together at the 
 farther end of the stage. 
 
 Ear. [Still thinJcing himself alone'] For all that, I am 
 not quite sure if I have done right in burying in my garden 
 these ten thousand crowns, which were paid to me yesterday. 
 Ten thousand golden crowns in one's house is a sum suffi- 
 cient . . . [Aside, perceiving Elise and Cleante'] O, 
 Heavens ! I have betrayed myself ! The excitement has 
 carried me too far, and I verily believe I have spoken 
 loud, while arguing to myself. [To Cleante and Elise] 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 Cle'. Nothing, father, 
 
 Har. Have you been there long ? ^^ 
 
 El. We were just coming in. 
 
 Har. You have heard . . . 
 
 Cle. What, father ? 
 
 Har. There . . . 
 
 El. What ? 
 
 Har. What I said just now. 
 
 CU No. 
 
 Ha7'. Yes, you have. 
 
 El. I beg your pardon. 
 
 Har. I see well enough that you overheard some words. 
 
 16 
 
 See Appendix, Note A.
 
 9C. v.] THE MISER. 23 
 
 I was talking to myself about the difficulty one experi- 
 ences now-a-days in finding money, and I was saying 
 how pleasant it must be to have ten thousand crowns in 
 the house. 
 
 Cle. We hesitated to speak to you, for fear of interrupt- 
 ing you. 
 
 Har. I am very glad to tell you this, so that you may 
 not take things the wrong way, and imagine that I said 
 that I myself had ten thousand crowns. 
 
 Cle. We have no wish to enter into your concerns. 
 
 Har. Would to Heaven that I had them, ten thousand 
 crowns ! 
 
 Cle. I do not think ... 
 
 Har. It would be a capital affair for me. 
 
 El. These are things . . . 
 
 Har. I am greatly in need of them. 
 
 Cle. I think . . . 
 
 Har. That would suit me very well. 
 
 El. You are . . . 
 
 Har. And I should not have to complain, as I do now, 
 about the hard times. » ^- 
 
 Cle. Good Heavens ! father, you have no need to com- •'V. ri 
 plain, and we know that^ou have wealth enough. 
 
 Har. How ! I wealth enough ! Those who say so 
 surely tell a lie. Nothing could be more false; and they 
 are but a pack of rascals who spread all these reports ,. '> 
 
 about. 
 
 El. Do not put yourself in a rage. \f\ 
 
 Har. A strange thing, that my own children should 
 betray me, and become my enemies. 
 
 Cle. Is it becoming your enemy to say that you have 
 wealth ? 
 
 Har. Yes. Such talk, and the expenses you indulge in 
 will be the cause that one of these fine days people will
 
 24 THE MISER. [ACT i. 
 
 come and cut my throat, in my own house, in the belief 
 that I am stuffed with gold pieces. ^^ 
 
 Cle. What great expenses do I indulge in ? 
 
 Har. Expenses ? Can anything be more scandalous 
 than this sumptuous attire, which you exhibit about the 
 town ? I scolded your sister yesterday ; but this is much 
 worse. This cries aloud to Heaven for vengeance ; for, 
 take you from top to toe, there is enough to ensure a hand- 
 some competency.^^ I have told you twenty times, son, 
 that all your manners displease me ; you are furiously 
 aping the aristocracy ; and to go dressed as you do, you 
 must rob me. 
 
 CM. Eh ! how rob you ? 
 
 Har. How do I know ? Where can you get the means 
 of keeping up such an appearance ? 
 
 Cle. I, father ? it is because I play ; and, as T am very 
 lucky, I put my winnings on my back. 
 
 Har. That is very bad. If you are lucky at play, you 
 should profit by it, and lay out the money you win at decent 
 interest, that you may provide for a rainy day.^^ I should 
 much like to know, leaving all other things aside, what the 
 good can be of all these ribbons with which you are decked 
 out from head to foot, and if half-a-dozen tacks are not 
 sufficient to fasten your breeches. Is it at all necessary to 
 spend money upon wigs, when one can wear hair of home 
 growth, which costs nothing ! I would bet that your wig 
 and ribbons cost far more than twenty pistoles ; and twenty 
 
 '^ The original has cuusu de pistoles. See The Bhmderer, Vol. I., 
 page 12, note 7. 
 
 '" In the original, vnc bonne constihition. The coiistitution was a 
 contract by which he who bon-owed money promised to pay a certain 
 sum every year to the lender. 
 
 ^* Harpagun does not blame Clean te for gambling, so long as the latter 
 wins ; he simply regrets that his son does nut make better use of his 
 gains.
 
 BC. v.] THE MISER. 25 
 
 pistoles, at a little more than eight per cent, bring in 
 eighteen livres, six pence, and eight groats a-year.^^ 
 
 Cle. You are perfectly right, 
 
 Har. Let us leave the subject, and talk of other things. 
 [Perceiving that CUante and Elise interchange glances] 
 Eh ! [Softly, aside] I believe that they are making signs to 
 each other to rob me of my purse. [J.ZoucZ] What mean 
 those gestures ? 
 
 El. My brother and I are arguing who shall speak 
 first. We have each something to say to you. 
 
 Har. And I have something to say to you both. 
 
 Cle. It is about marriage that we wish to speak to you, 
 father. 
 
 Har. And it is also about marriage that I wish to con- 
 verse with you. 
 
 M. Ah, father ! 
 
 Har. Why this cry ? Is it the word, or the thing itself 
 that frightens you, daughter ? 
 
 Cle. The way you may look at marriage may frighten 
 us both ; and we fear that our sentiments may not happen 
 to chime in with your choice. 
 
 Har. A little patience ; do not alarm yourselves. I know 
 what is good for you both, and neither the one nor the other 
 shall have cause to complain of what I intend to do. To 
 begin at one end of the story [To Cleante], tell me, have 
 you noticed a young person, called Mariane, who lodges not 
 far from here ? 
 
 Cle. Yes, father. 
 
 Har. And you ? 
 
 El. I have heard her spoken of. 
 
 ^^ The original for " a little more than eight per cent " is au denier 
 douze, but the legal interest was, at the time Moliere wrote The Miser, 
 five per cent. Harpagon speaks also of sous, and deniers.
 
 26 THE MISER. [ACT i. 
 
 Har. How do you like that girl, son ? 
 
 Cle. A very charming person. 
 
 Har. What do you think of her countenance ? 
 
 CU. Very genteel, and full of intelligence. 
 
 Har. Her air and manner ? 
 
 Cle. Without doubt, admirable. 
 
 Har. Do you not think that a girl like that deserves to 
 be taken notice of ? 
 
 Cle. Yes, father, 
 
 Har. That it would be a desirable match ? 
 
 CU. Very desirable. 
 
 Har. That she looks as if she would make a good wife ? 
 
 CU. Undoubtedly. 
 
 Har. And that a husband would have reason to be 
 satisfied with her ? 
 
 Cle. Assuredly. 
 
 Har. There is a slight difficulty. I fear that she has 
 not as much money as one might reasonably pretend to. 
 
 C14. Ah ! father, money is not worth considering when 
 there is a question of marrying a respectable girl. 
 
 Har. Not so, not so. But this much may be said, 
 that if one finds not quite so much money as one might 
 wish, there is a way of regaining it in other things. 
 
 CU. Of course. 
 
 Har. Well, I am very glad to see that you share my 
 sentiments ; for her genteel behaviour and her gentleness 
 have quite gained my heart, and I have made up my mind 
 \to marry her, provided she has some dowry. 
 \ Cle. Eh ! 
 
 Har. What now ? 
 
 CU. You have made up your mind, you say . , . 
 
 Har. To marry Mariane. 
 
 Cle. Who ? You, you ? 
 
 Har. Yes, I, I, I. What means this ?
 
 sc. VI.] THE MISER. "/ 
 
 CU. I feel a sudden giddiness, and I had better go. 
 Har. It will be nothing. Go quickly into the kitchen, 
 and drink a large glassful of cold water. 
 
 SCENE FI. 
 Harpagon, Elise. 
 
 Har. A lot of flimsy sparks, with no more strength 
 than chickens. Daughter, this is what I have resolved 
 upon for myself As for your brother, I intend him for a 
 certain widow, of whom they spoke to me this morning ; 
 and you, I will give you to Mr Anselme. 
 
 El. To Mr Anselme ? 
 
 J^an Yes, a staid, prudent, and careful man, who is not 
 above fifty, and whose wealth is spoken of everywhere. 
 
 M. [3Iaking a curtsey] I have no wish to get married, 
 father, if you please. 
 
 Har. {Imitating her] And I, my dear girl, my pet, I 
 wish you to get married, if you please. , 
 
 El. [Curtseying once more] I beg your pardon, 
 father. 
 
 Har. [Imitating Elise] I beg your pardon, daughter. 
 
 El. I am Mr Anselme's most humble servant 
 [curtseying again] ; but, with your leave, I shall not marry 
 him. 
 
 Har. I am your most humble slave, but, [Imitating 
 Elise] with your leave, you shall marry him not later than 
 this evening. 
 
 El. Not later than this evening ? 
 
 Har. Not later than this evening. 
 
 El. [Curtseying again] This shall not be, father. 
 
 Har. [Imitating her again] This shall be, daughter. I 
 
 El. No. / 
 
 Har. Yes.
 
 28 THE MISER. [ACT i. 
 
 El. No, 1 tell you. 
 
 Har. Yes, I tell you. 
 
 El. That is a thing you shall not drive me to. 
 
 Har. That is a thing I shall drive you to. 
 
 El. I will sooner kill myself than marry such a hus- 
 band. 
 
 Har. You shall not kill yourself, and you shall marry 
 him. But has such boldness ever been seen ! Has ever 
 a daughter been heard to speak to her father in this 
 manner ? 
 
 El. But has any one ever seen a father give away 
 his daughter in marriage in this manner ? 
 
 Har. It is a match to which no one can object ; and 
 I bet that every one will approve of my choice. 
 
 El. And I bet that no reasonable being will approve 
 of it. 
 
 Har. {Perceiving Valere in the distance^ Here comes 
 Valere. Shall we make him judge betwixt us in this 
 matter. 
 
 El. I consent to it. 
 
 Har. Will you submit to his judgment ? 
 
 El. Yes; I will submit to what he shall decide. 
 
 Har. That is agreed. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Valere, Harpagon, Elise. 
 
 Har. Come here, Valere. We have elected you to tell 
 us who is in the right, my daughter or I, 
 
 Val. You, Sir, beyond gainsay. 
 
 Har. Are you aware of what we are talking ? 
 
 Val. No. But you could not be iu the wrong. You are 
 made up of riglit. 
 
 Har. I intend, this evening, to give her for a husband, a
 
 sr. VII.] THE MISER. 29 
 
 man who is as rich as he is discreet ; and the jade tells me 
 to my face that .she will not take him. What say you to 
 this? 
 
 Val. What do I say to it ? 
 
 Ha7\ Yes. 
 
 Val. Eh ! eh ! 
 
 Har. What? 
 
 Val. I say that, in the main, I am of your opinion ; 
 and you cannot but be right. But on the other side, she 
 is not altogether wrong, and . . . 
 
 Har. How is that ? Mr Anselme is a desirable 
 match ; he is a gentleman who is noble, ^^ kind, steady, 
 discreet, and very well to do, and who has neither chick nor 
 child left him from his first marriage. Could she meet with 
 a better match ? 
 
 Val. That is true. But she might say to you that it is 
 hurrying things a little too much, and that you should give 
 her some time at least to see whether her inclinations would 
 agree with . . . 
 
 Har. This is an opportunity which should be taken 
 by the forelock. I find in this marriage an advantage which 
 I could not find elsewhere ; and he agrees to take her with- 
 out a dowry. 
 
 Val. Without a dowry ? 
 
 Har. Yes. 
 
 Val. In that case, I say no more. Do you see, this 
 is altogether a convincing reason ; one must yield to 
 that. 
 
 Har. It is a considerable saving to me. 
 
 Val. Assuredly ; it cannot be gainsaid. It is true that 
 your daughter might represent to you that marriage is a 
 
 20 This is a hit at the men who pretended to be of noble birth and 
 were not so. Molifere repeats this attack in the fifth Scene of the fifth 
 Act, page 90.
 
 A 
 
 < 
 f-^ 
 
 SO THE MISER. [ACT I. 
 
 more important matter than you think ; that it involves a 
 question of being happy or miserable all one's life ; and 
 that an engagement which must last till death ought never 
 to be entered upon except with great precautions. y 
 
 Har. Without a dowry ! 
 
 Vol. You are right. That decides it all, of course. 
 There are people who might tell you that on such an 
 occasion the wishes of a daughter are something, no doubt, 
 that ought to be taken into consideration ; and that this 
 great disparity of age, of temper, and of feelings makes a 
 marriage subject to very sad accidents. 
 Har. Without a dowry • 
 
 Val. Ah ! there is no reply to that ; I know that well 
 enough. Who the deuce could say anything against that ? 
 Not that there are not many fathers who would prefer to 
 - humour the wishes of their daughters to the money they 
 
 (;\ could give them ; who would not sacrifice them to their own 
 
 .—-7 I interests, and who would, above all things, try to infuse into 
 marriage that sweet conformity, which, at all times, main- 
 tains honour, peace, and joy ; and which . , . 
 ' IIaA\ Without a dowry ! '^^ 
 Val. It is true ; that closes one's mouth at once. With- 
 out a dowry ! There are no means of resisting an argument 
 like that. 
 
 Har. {^Aside, looking towards the gardeii] Bless my 
 soul ! I think I hear a dog barking. Most likely it is some 
 one with a design upon my money. [To VaUre] Do not stir ; 
 I am coming back directly. 
 
 ^^ The " without a dowry " is as lucky a dramatic hit as " The poor 
 man " of Tartuffe, or, " What the devil was he going to in that galley?" 
 of The Rogueries of Scapin (see Vol. VI.) In Plautus' Aulularia (Act 
 ii. Scene 2), old Megadorus asks for the hand of young Phaedra, 
 Euclio's daughter, who three times repeats that he has no " marriage 
 portion " to give her. 
 
 \
 
 sc. VIII. -IX.] THE MISER. 31 
 
 SCENE VIIL 
 Elise, VALi;RE. 
 
 El. Are you jesting, Val^re, to speak to him in that 
 manner ? 
 
 Val. It is in order not to sour his temper, and to gain 
 my end the better. To run counter to his opinions is the 
 way to spoil everything ; and there are certain minds which 
 cannot be dealt with in a straightforward manner ; tempera- 
 ments averse to all resistance ; restive characters, whom the 
 truth causes to rear, who always set their faces against the 
 straight road of reason, and whom you cannot lead except 
 by turning them with their back towards the goal. Pretend 
 to consent to what he wishes, you will gain your end all 
 the better ; and ... 
 
 El. But this marriage, Valere ! 
 
 Val. We will find some pretext to break it off. 
 
 El. But what to invent, if it is to be consummated 
 this evening ? 
 
 Vol. You must ask for a delay, and pretend to be ill. 
 
 El. But the feint will be discovered, if they call in the 
 doctors. 
 
 Val. Are you jesting ? What do they know about it ? 
 Come, come, with them you may have Avhatever illness 
 you please ; they will find you some reasons to tell you 
 whence it proceeds. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 Harpagon, Elise, VALi:RE. 
 
 Har. [^Aside, at the further end of the stage^ It is nothing, 
 thank Heaven. 
 
 Val. [Not seeing Harpagon] In short, our last resource 
 is flight, which will shelter us from everything ; and
 
 32 THE MISER. [ACT I. 
 
 if your love, fair Elise, be capable of acting with firm- 
 ness . . , [Perceiving Harpagon] Yes, a daughter ought 
 to obey her father. She ought not to look at the shape of 
 a husband ; and when the great argument of without a dowry 
 is added to it, she must be ready to accept what is given to 
 her. 
 
 Har. Good : that is well spoken. 
 
 Val. I crave your pardon, Sir, if I am a little warm, and 
 take the liberty of speaking as I do. 
 
 Har. How now ! I am delighted with it, and I wish you 
 to take an absolute control over her. [To Elise^ Yes, you 
 may run away as much as you like, I invest him with the 
 authority which Heaven has given me over you, and I will 
 have you do all that he tells you. 
 
 Val. [To Elise'] After that, resist my remonstrances. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 Harpagon, Valicre. 
 
 Val. With your leave. Sir, I will follow her, to continue 
 the advice which I was giving her. 
 
 Har. Yes, you will oblige me. By all means. . . . 
 
 Val. It is as well to keep her tight in hand. 
 
 Har. True. We must. . . . 
 
 Val. Do not be uneasy. I think that I shall succeed. 
 
 Har. Do, do. I am going to take a little stroll in town, 
 and I shall be back presently. 
 
 Val. [Addressing himself to Elise, leaving by the door, 
 through ivhich she went out] Yes, money is more precious 
 than anything else in this world, and you ought to thank 
 Heaven for having given you such an honest man for a 
 father. He knows how to go through life. When any one 
 offers to take a girl without a dowry, one should look no
 
 sc. X.] THE MISER. 33 
 
 farther. .It sums up everything ; and tvithout dowry makes 
 up for beauty, youth, birth, honour, wisdom, and probity. 
 
 Har. Ah ! the honest fellow ! He speaks like an oracle. 
 It is a rare piece of luck to have such a servant ! 
 
 {■'OC<^ 
 
 ACT II. tiCEN^ I. 
 Cl^ante, La Fleche. 
 
 Cle. Ah ! wretch that you are ! where have you been ? 
 Did I not give you the order . . . 
 
 La Ft. Yes, Sir ; and I came here to wait for you with- 
 out stirring : but your father, the most surly of men, 
 ordered me out in spite of myself, at the risk of a thrashing. 
 
 Cle. How is our affair getting on ? Matters press more 
 than ever, and, since I have seen you, I have found out 
 that my father is my rival. 
 
 La Fl. Your father in love ? 
 
 Cle. Yes ; and I have had the utmost difficulty in 
 concealing from him the trouble which these tidings have 
 caused me. 
 
 La Fl. He meddle with love ! What the devil put that 
 in his head ? Is he making fun of every one ? and has love 
 been made for people like him ? 
 
 Cle. This passion must have got into his head to punish 
 me for my sins. 
 
 La Fl. But for what reason do you keep your love a 
 secret from him ? 
 
 Cle. In order to give him less suspicion, and to keep, 
 if needs be, the means open for dissuading him from this 
 marriage. What answer have they made to you ? 
 
 La Fl. Upon my word, Sir, borrowers are very unlucky 
 people ; and one must put up with strange things, when 
 
 V. c
 
 34- THE MISER. [ACT II. 
 
 one is compelled, like you, to pass through the hands of 
 money-lenders.^^ 
 
 Cle. Will the affair fall through ? 
 
 La Fl. I beg your pardon. Our Master Simon, the agent 
 Avho has been recommended to us, an active and zealous 
 man, says that he has done wonders for you, and he assures 
 me that your face alone has won his heart. 
 
 Cle. Shall 1 have the fifteen thousand francs which I 
 want ? 
 
 La Fl. Yes, but with some trifling conditions which you 
 must accept, if you purpose that the affair should be carried 
 through. 
 
 Cle. Has he allowed you to speak to the person who is 
 to lend the money ? 
 
 La Fl. Ah ! really, things are not managed in that 
 way. He takes even more care to remain unknown than 
 you do ; and these things are much greater mysteries than 
 you think. Simon would not tell me his name at all, and 
 he will be confronted with you to-day in a house borrowed 
 for the occasion, to be informed by you, personally, of your 
 own substance and that of your family ; and I have no doubt 
 that the very name of your father may make things go 
 smoothly. 
 
 Cle. And above all our mother being dead, whose 
 property cannot be alienated. 
 
 La. Fl. Here are some clauses, which he has himself 
 dictated to our go-between, to be shown to you before doing 
 anything : — " Provided that the lender see all his securities, 
 and that the borrower be of age, and of a family whose 
 
 ** In the original, dot fesse-matthieu.v, because Saint Matthew was, 
 before his conversion, a tax-gatherer ; a profession wliich was, at all 
 times, considered to be connected with usury. Hence, in old French 
 the expression /('.tier .saint Matf/iii'ii, for "to lend money at exorbitant 
 interest ; " whilst the usurer himself was called fcste-Mattkieii, which 
 became corrupted into /esse-matt/iieii.
 
 sc. I.] THE MI8ER. 35 
 
 estate is ample, solid, secure, and undoubted, and free from 
 all encumbrance, a binding and correct bond shall be exe- 
 cuted before a notary, the most honest man to be found, and 
 who, for this purpose, shall be chosen by the borrower, to 
 whom it is of the greatest importance that the instrument 
 shall be regularly drawn up." 
 
 Cle. There is nothing to object to that. 
 
 La. Fl. " The lender, in order not to charge his conscience 
 with the least scruple, will only lend his money at a little 
 more than five and a half per cent."^^ 
 
 Cle. At a little more than five and a half per ceuo 
 
 Zounds ! that is honest enough. There is no reason to 
 complain. 
 
 La. Fl. That is true. " But as the lender has not the 
 sum in question by him, and as, to oblige the borrower, he 
 is himself oblisfed to borrow it of some one at the rate of 
 twenty per cent.,^* it shall be agreed that the said first 
 borrower shall pay this interest, without prejudice of the 
 rest, seeing that it is only to oblige him that the said 
 lender takes up that loan." 
 
 Cle. What the devil ! what Jew, what Arab is this ? 
 
 This is more than twenty-five per cent.^^ 
 
 La. Fl. It is true, that is what I have said. It is for 
 you to see to that. 
 
 Cle'. What can I see ? I want the money, and I am 
 
 bound to consent to everything. 
 
 La. Fl. That is the answer which I made. 
 
 Cle'. There is something else still ? 
 
 La. Fl. Nothing but a small matter. " Of the fifteen 
 
 23 In the original au denier dix-huit, which means at tlie interest of 
 one groat for every eighteen lent, or a little more than five and a half 
 per cent. 
 
 24 The original has au denier cinq. 
 
 25 In the original au denier quatre.
 
 36 THE MISER. [act ii. 
 
 thousand francs required, the lender can count down in cash 
 only twelve thousand ; and, for the remaining thousand 
 crowns, the borrower will have to take them out in chattels, 
 clothing, and jewelry, of which the following is the memo- 
 randum, and which the lender has set down honestly at the 
 lowest possible price." 
 
 Cle. What does this mean ? 
 
 La, Fl. Listen to the memorandum. " First, a four- 
 post bed, elegantly adorned with Hungary-lace bands, with 
 hansrinofs of olive coloured cloth, with six chairs, and a 
 counterpane of the same ; the whole in very good condition, 
 and lined with a shot taffetas, red and blue. Item : a 
 tester for this bed, of good Aumale, pale rose-coloured 
 serge, with large and small silk fringes." 
 
 Cle. What does he want me to do with it ? 
 
 La. Fl. Wait. " Item : Tapestry hangings, representing 
 the loves of Gombaud and Mac^e.^^ Item : a large walnut 
 wood table, with twelve columns or turned legs, which draws 
 out at both sides, provided with six stools underneath it." 
 
 '-6 In all probability, the loves of Gombaud and Macee formed 
 a sort of comic pastoral, -wliicli must have been very popular iu 
 former times, and doubtless had beconje rather antiquated when La 
 Fl^che spoke of them. Still they are mentioned as a representation of 
 rustic gallantry in Brittany, as hite as 1795. In the inventory of goods 
 left by Moliure, and taken after his death, we find " some Flanders 
 hangings representing a landscape " (de verdure), and valued eight hun- 
 dred livres, which seems to be the same as those valued eleven hundred 
 litres, mentioned in the marriage contract of M. de Montalant with the 
 daughter of Moliere, and where, however, in speaking of these hangings, 
 tliey are said to be adorned " with some small figures." In the in- 
 ventory taken after de Montalant's death, on the 15th of September 
 1738, we find ''some Antwerp hangings, valued five hundred and 
 fifty livres, representing the history of Perseus and Andromeda," which 
 may have belonged to Moliere. In the first Scene of the first Act of 
 Love is the best Doctor (see Vol. III., page 202), M. Guillaume advises 
 Sganarelle to buy for liis daugliter "a beautiful set of liangings, with a 
 landscape, or some figuies iu them." I owe this note to the late M. 
 Souli^, Reckerclies sur Moliere, p. 270.
 
 sf- i] THE MISER. 37 
 
 Cle. What have I to do, Zounds . . . 
 
 La Fl. Only have patience. " Item : three large muskets 
 inlaid with mother-of-pearl, with the necessary rests.^^ 
 Item : a brick furnace, with two retorts, and three receivers 
 very useful for those who have a turn for distilling." 
 
 Cle. I am going mad. 
 
 La. Fl. Gently. " Item : a Bologna lute with all its 
 strings, or nearly all. Item : a trou-madame table,^^ a 
 draught-board, with the game of mother goose, restored from 
 the Greeks, very agreeable to pass the time when one has 
 nothing else to do. Item : a lizzard's skin of three feet and 
 a half, stuffed with hay : a very pretty curiosity to hang at 
 the ceiling of a room. The whole of the above-mentioned, 
 really worth more than four thousand five hundred francs, 
 and brought down to the value of a thousand crowns, 
 through the discretion of the lender." ^^ 
 
 Cle. May the plague choke him with his discretion, 
 
 the wretch, the cut-throat that he is ! Has one ever heard 
 of similar usury ? Is he not satisfied with the tremendous 
 interest which he demands, but must needs force me to take 
 for the three thousand francs the old lumber which he picks 
 up ? I shall not get two hundred crowns for the whole of 
 it ; and nevertheless I must make up my mind to consent 
 to what he wishes ; for he has it in his power to make me 
 
 27 The soldiers used formerly a forked stick, which they stuck witli the 
 point in the ground, on which fork they rested their heavy musket, in 
 order to aim better. 
 
 28 In the original trou-madame. Ash in his dictionary says : " Trou- 
 madame — a play in which a bowl is thrown so as to pass through a range 
 of holes at a distance properly numbered for the game." 
 
 29 The idea of this list is taken from a comedy of Boisrobert, called la 
 Belle Plaidexise, and j^layed in 1654 ; but the servant Philipin informs 
 his master Ergaste, that, to make up the fifteen thousand francs which 
 the latter wishes to borrow, the lender gives only one thousand 
 crowns cash, and the rest in "monkeys, very fine parrots, and twelve 
 large cannons."
 
 38 THE MISEE. [ACT II. 
 
 accept anything ; and the scoundrel holds me with a knife 
 to my throat. 
 
 La Fl. Without offence, Sir, I see you exactly in the 
 high road which Panurge took to ruin himself : taking 
 money in advance, buying dear, selling cheap, and eating 
 his corn whilst it was but grass. ^"^ 
 
 Cle. What am I to do ? See to what young people 
 are reduced by the cursed stinginess of their fathers, and 
 then people are surprised when sons wish their fathers dead ! 
 
 La Fl. One must confess that yours, with his stinginess, 
 would incense the steadiest man in the world, I have. 
 Heaven be praised, no very great inclination to be hanged ; 
 and, among my colleagues whom I see dabbling in many 
 trifling things, I know well enough how to get cleverly out 
 of the scrape, and to keep as clear as possible of these little 
 amenities which savour more or less of the rope ; but, to tell 
 you the truth, he would, by his way of acting, give me the 
 temptation to rob him ; and I verily believe that, by doing 
 so, I would commit a meritorious action.^^ 
 
 Cle. Give me this memorandum, that I may have 
 another look at it. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Harp AGON, Master Simon ; Cl^ante and La FLfecHE 
 at the farther end of the stage. 
 
 Sim. Yes, Sir, it is a young man who is in want of 
 money ; his affairs compel him to find some, and he will 
 consent to all that you dictate to him. 
 
 3" Rabelais in liis Pantarjrucl (Book iii. cli. 2) says that Panurge was 
 " burning the great logs for the sale of the ashes, borrowing money 
 before-hanrl, buying dear, selling cheaj), and eating his corn, as it were, 
 whilst it was but grass." 
 
 ^' These words of La Flcche denote that lie intends to steal the 
 miser's money-box (see Act iv., Scene 6), but more to i)lay the latter 
 a trick than as a seriously planned robbery.
 
 sc. II.] THE MISER. 31) 
 
 Har. But think you, Master Simon, that there is 
 no risk to run ? and do you know the name, the property, 
 and the family of him for whom you speak ? 
 
 Sim. No. In reality I cannot well inform you about 
 that, and it is only by chance that I have been recom- 
 mended to him ; but he will himself explain all these things 
 to you, and his servant has assured me that you will be satis- 
 fied when you shall knovv him. All that I am able to tell 
 you is that his family is very rich, that he has already lost 
 his mother, and that he will engage himself, if you wish it, 
 that his father shall die before eioht months are over. 
 
 Har. That is something. Charity, Master Simon, 
 enjoins us to be agreeable to people when we can. 
 
 Sim. That needs no comment. 
 
 La Fl. [Softly, to Cleante, recognising Master SimoTi] 
 What does this mean ? Master Simon who is speaking to 
 your father ? 
 
 Cle. [Softly, to La Fleche^ Can any one have told 
 him who I am and are you perhaps betraying me ? 
 
 Sim. [To Cleante and La Fleche] Ah, ah ! you are in 
 a great hurry ! Who told you that it was here. [To Har- 
 fagoii] It is not I, at least. Sir, who have given them your 
 name and your address ; but, in my opinion, there is no 
 great harm in this ; they are discreet persons, and you can 
 here come to an understanding with one another. 
 
 Har. How ? 
 
 Siv%. [Pointing to Cleante'] This gentleman is the 
 party who wishes to borrow the fifteen thousand francs of 
 which I spoke. 
 
 Har. What, hangdog, it is you who abandon yourself ' 
 
 to these culpable extravagances. 
 
 Cle. What ! it is you, father, who lend yourself to ^^f^ 
 these shameful deeds ! [Master Simon runs aiuay, and 
 
 La Fleche hides himself.
 
 40 THE MISER. [ACT 11. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Harpagon, Cl^ante. 
 
 Har. It is you who wisli to ruin yourself by such cen- 
 surable loans ? 
 
 Cle. It is you who seek to enrich yourself by such 
 criminal usury 1 
 
 Har. Can you dare, after this, to appear before me ? 
 
 Cle. Can you dare, after this, to show your face to the 
 world ? ^^ 
 
 Har. Are you not ashamed, tell me, to practise this 
 sort of excesses, to rush into these dreadful expenses, and to 
 dissipate so shamefully the property which your parents 
 have amassed for you by the sweat of their brow. 
 
 Cle. Do you not blush to dishonour your station by the 
 trade you are engaged in ; to sacrifice glory and reputation 
 to the insatiable desire of piling crown upon crown, and to 
 surpass, in matters of interest, the most infamous tricks 
 that were ever invented by the most notorious usurers ? 
 
 Har. Begone out of my sight, scoundrel ! begone out of 
 my sight ! 
 
 Cle. Who, think you, is the more criminal — he who 
 buys the money of which he is in need, or he who steals 
 money for which he has no use ? 
 
 Har. Begone, I say, and do not break the drums of my 
 ears. [^^07ie] After all, I am not so vexed about this 
 adventure ; it will be a lesson to me to keep more than 
 ever an eye upon his proceedings. 
 
 32 Moliere has borrowed also from Boisrobert's play, mentioned 
 before, the primary idea of this scene.
 
 sc. iv.-v.J THE MISER. 41 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 Frosine, Harpagon. 
 
 Fro. Sir . . . 
 
 Har. Wait a moment : I shall be back directly to speak 
 to you. [^sicZe] I had better go and take a look at my 
 money.^ , 
 
 SCENE V. 
 La FLfccHE, Frosixe. 
 
 La Fl. [Without seeing Frosioie'] The adventure is alto- 
 gether funny ! He must have somewhere a large store of 
 furniture ; for we could recognise nothing here from what is 
 in the memorandum. 
 
 Fro. Eh ! is it you, my poor La Fleche ! How comes 
 this meeting ? 
 
 La Fl. Ah ! ah ! it is you^ Frosine ! What brings you 
 here ? 
 
 Fro. The same that brings me everywhere else ; to 
 fetch and carry, to render myself serviceable to people, and 
 to profit as much as possible by the small talents of which I 
 am possessed. You know that in this world we must live by 
 our wits, and that to persons like me. Heaven has given no 
 other income than intrigue and industry. 
 
 La Fl. Have you any dealings with the master of this 
 house ? 
 
 Fro. Yes. I am arranging some small matter for him, 
 for which I expect a reward. 
 
 La Fl. From him ? Ah ! you will have to be wide- 
 awake enough if you get anything out of him ; and I warn 
 you that money is very scarce in this house. 
 
 Fro. There are certain services that touch to the quick 
 marvellously.
 
 4 2 THE MISER. [ACT ii. 
 
 La Fl. I am voiir humble servant. You do not know 
 Mr Harpagon yet. Mr Harpagon is of all human beings the 
 least human, of all mortals the hardest and most close-fisted. 
 There is no service that touches his gratitude deeply enough 
 to make him unloose his purse-strings. Praise, esteem, kind- 
 ness in words, and friendship, as much as you like ; but money, 
 nothing of the kind. There is nothing drier and more arid 
 than his good graces and his caresses ; and to give is a word 
 for which he has such an aversion, that he never says : / 
 give you, but / lend you good day. 
 
 Fro. Gad ! I have the art of drawing something out of 
 people ; I have the secret of entering into their affections, 
 of tickling their hearts, and of finding out their most 
 sensitive spots. 
 
 La Fl. Of no avail here. I defy you to soften the man 
 we are speaking of, so that he will give money. Upon this 
 subject he is a Turk, but of a turkishness to cause the despair 
 of every one ; and one might starve, and he would not budge. 
 In one word, he loves money better than reputation, than 
 honour, and than virtue ; and the very sight of one who 
 asks for it sends him into fits ; it is touching him in his 
 mortal part, it is piercing his heart, it is tearing out his very 
 entrails ; and if . . . But he is coming back ; I am going. 
 
 SCENE VL 
 Harpagon, Frosine. 
 
 Har. [^.sicZe] Everything is going on right. [^ZoucZ] 
 Well ! what is it, Frosine ? 
 
 Fro. Gad, how well you are looking ; you are the very 
 picture of health ! 
 
 Har. Who? I! 
 
 Fro. I never saw you with such a fresh and jolly com- 
 plexion.
 
 sc. VI.] THE MISER. 43 
 
 Hav. Really ? 
 
 Fro. How ? You never in your life looked so young 
 as you do now ; I see people of five-and-twenty who look 
 older than you, 
 
 Har. I am over sixty, nevertheless, Frosine. 
 
 Fro. Well ! what does that signify, sixty years ? that 
 is nothing to speak of ! It is the very flower of one's age, 
 that is ; and you are just entering the prime of manhood. 
 
 Har. That is true ; but twenty years less would do me 
 no harm, I think. 
 
 Fro. Are you jesting ? You have no need of that, and 
 you are made of the stuff to live a hundred. 
 
 Har. Do you think so ? 
 
 Fro. Indeed I do. You show all the signs of it. Hold 
 up your head a moment. Yes, it is there, well enough 
 between your eyes, a sign of long life ! 
 
 Har. You are a judge of that sort of thing ? 
 
 Fro. Undoubtedly I am. Show me your hand. Begad, 
 what a line of life ! 
 
 Har. How ? 
 
 Fro. Do not you see how far this line goes ? ^^ 
 
 Har. Well ! what does it mean ? 
 
 Fro. Upon my word, I said a hundred ; but you shall 
 pass six score. 
 
 Har. Is it possible ? 
 
 Fro. They will have to kill you, I tell you ; and you shall 
 bury your children, and your children's children. 
 
 Har. So much the better ! How is our affair getting 
 on ? 
 
 Fro. Need you ask ? Does one ever see me meddle 
 with anything that I do not bring to an issue ? But for 
 match-making, especially, I have a marvellous talent. 
 
 33 This dialogue is translated from a comedy of Ariosto, / Suppositi 
 (Act i. Scene 2).
 
 44 THE MISER. [act 11. 
 
 There are not two people in the world whom I cannot 
 manage, in a very short time, to couple together; and I 
 believe that, if I took it into my head, I should marry the 
 grand Turk to the republic of Venice.^* To be sure, there 
 were no very great difficulties in this matter. As I am 
 intimate with the ladies, I have often spoken to each of 
 them of you ; and 1 have told the mother of the design 
 which you had upon Mariane, from seeing her pass in the 
 street, and taking the fresh air at her window. 
 
 Har. Who answered . . , 
 
 Fro. She has received your proposal with joy ; and when 
 I gave her to understand that you very much wi.shed her 
 daughter to be present this evening at the marriage-con- 
 tract, which was to be signed for yours, she has consented 
 without difficulty, and has entrusted her to me for the pur- 
 pose. 
 
 Har. It is because I am obliged to offer a supper to 
 Mr Anselme ; and I shall be glad that she share the treat. 
 
 Fro. You are right. She is to pay a visit after dinner 
 to your daughter, whence she intends to take a turn in the 
 fair, to come and sup here afterwards. 
 
 Har. Well ! they shall go togetlier in my coach, which 
 I will lend them. 
 
 Fro. That will do very nicely. 
 
 Har. But, Frosine, have you spoken to the mother re- 
 specting the portion she can give her daughter ? Have you 
 
 ^■•In Rabelais' forty-first chapter of the third book of Pantagruel, 
 " How Bridlegoose relateth the history of the reconcilers of parties at 
 variance in matters of law," Peter Dendin says to his son Tenot— "I 
 tell thee, my jolly son Dendin, that by this rule and method I could 
 settle a firm peace, or at least clap up a cessation of arms, and truce for 
 many years to come betwixt the great King and the Venetian State, — the 
 Emperor and the Cantons of Switzerland, — the English and the Scotch, 
 and betwixt the Pope and the Ferrarians. Shall I go yet further / 
 Yea, as I would have God to help me, betwixt the Turk and the 
 Sfiphy, the Tartars and the Muscovites."
 
 sc. VI.] THE MISER. 4o 
 
 told her that she must bestir herself a little ; that she should 
 make some effort ; that she must even bleed herself a little 
 on an occasion like that ? For, after all, one does not 
 marry a girl without her bringing something. 
 
 Fro. How something ! She is a girl who brings you 
 twelve thousand francs a-year. 
 
 Har. Twelve thousand francs ! 
 
 Fro. Yes. To begin with ; she has been brought up and 
 accustomed to strict economy in feeding. She is a girl 
 used to live on salad, milk, cheese, and apples ; and who, 
 in consequence, will neither want a well-appointed table, 
 nor exquisite broths, nor peeled barley, at every turn, nor 
 other delicacies which would be necessary to axij other 
 woman ; and let these things cost ever so little, they always 
 mount to about three thousand francs a-year at the least. 
 Besides this, she has no taste for anything but the utmost 
 simplicity, and does not care for sumptuous dresses, or 
 valuable jewels, or magnificent furniture, to which other 
 young ladies are so much given ; and that comes to more 
 than four thousand francs per annum. In addition, she has a 
 terrible aversion to gambling, not a common thing in women 
 of the present day ; for I know one in our neighbourhood 
 who has lost more than twenty thousand francs this year at 
 t rente et quarante. But let us only estimate it at a fourth 
 of that. Five thousand francs a-year at play, and four 
 thousand in jewelry and dresses, that makes nine thousand; 
 and a thousand crowns, say, for the food : are there not your 
 twelve thousand francs a-year ? ^^ 
 
 Har. Yes : that is not so bad ; but this reckoning con- 
 tains, after all, nothing real. 
 
 35 This idea is probably borrowed from Plautus' Aulularia, (Act 
 iii., Scene 10) where Megadorus consoles himself for having a bride 
 without a dowry, by descanting upon the ruinous expenses of women 
 who have brought dowries to their husbands.
 
 46 THE MISEK. [ACT II. 
 
 Fro. Pardon me. Is it not something real to bring you 
 for a marriage portion great sobriety, the inheritance of a 
 great love for simplicity of dress, and the acquisition of a 
 great hatred for gambling ? 
 
 Har. Surely it is a joke to wish to make up her dowry 
 to me out of expenses to which she will not go. I am not 
 going to give a receipt for what I do not receive ; and I 
 shall have to get something down on the nail. 
 
 Fro. Good gracious ! you shall get enough ; and they 
 have spoken to me of a certain country where they have 
 some property, whereof you will become the master. 
 
 Har. That remains to be seen. But, Frosine, there is 
 something else still which makes me uneasy. The girl is 
 young, as you can see ; and young people ordinarily love 
 only their equals, and seek only their society. I am afraid 
 that a man of my age may not be to her taste, and that 
 this might produce certain little troubles in my house, which 
 would not at all suit me. 
 
 Fro. Ah ! how little you know her ! This is another 
 peculiarity which I had to mention to you. She has a 
 frightful aversion to young people, and cares for none except 
 for old men. 
 
 Har. She? 
 
 Fro. Yes, she. I should like that you had heard her 
 speak upon that subject. She cannot at all bear the sight 
 of a young man ; but nothing gives her greater delight, she 
 says, than to behold a handsome old man with a majestic 
 beard. The oldest are the most charming to her ; so I 
 warn you beforehand not to make yourself look younger 
 than you really are. She wishes one at least to be a sexa- 
 genarian ; and it is not more than four months ago, that, on 
 the point of being married, she flatly broke off the match, 
 when it came out that her lover was but fifty-six years of age, 
 and that he did not put spectacles on to sign the contract.
 
 sc. VI.] THE MISER. 47 
 
 Har. Only for that ? 
 
 Fro. Yes. She says fifty-six will not do for her ; and 
 that above all things she cares for noses that wear spectacles. 
 
 Har. You certainly tell me something new there. 
 
 Fro. She carries it farther than I could tell you. One 
 may see some pictures and a few prints in her room ; but 
 what do you think they are ? Portraits of Adonis, of 
 Cephalus, of Paris, and of Apollo ? Not at all. Beautiful 
 likenesses of Saturn, of king Priam, of old Nestor, and of 
 good father Anchises on his son's back. 
 
 Har. This is admirable. That is what I should never 
 have thought, and I am very glad to hear that she is of 
 that disposition. In fact, had I been a woman, I should 
 never have cared for young men. 
 
 Fro. I should think so. A nice lot they are these yoimg 
 men, to care for them ! pretty beauties, indeed, these fine 
 sparks to be enamoured of ! I should like to know what 
 one can see in them ! 
 
 Har. As for me, I cannot understand it at all. I do 
 not know how there are women who like them so much. 
 
 Fro. They must be downright fools. Does it sound like 
 common sense to think youth amiable ? Are they men at 
 all, these young fops,^^ and can one love such animals ? 
 
 Har. That is what I say every day ; with their voices 
 like chicken-hearted fellows, three small hairs in the beard 
 twirled like a cat's whiskers ; their tow-wigs, their breeches 
 quite hanging down, and their open breasts ! 
 
 Fro. Indeed! they are well built compared with a person 
 like you ! That is what I call a man ; there is something 
 there to please the sight ; and that is the way to be made 
 and dressed to inspire love. 
 
 sf" The original has hlondins. See The School for Husbojids, Vol. II., 
 page 12, note 8.
 
 48 THE MI8ER. [act ir. 
 
 Har. Then you like my appearance 1 
 Fro. Do I like yoxxr appearance ! You are charming ; 
 your figure is worth painting. Turn round a little, if 
 you please. Nothing could be better. Let me see you 
 walk. That is a well-built body, free and easy as it ought 
 to be, and without a sign of illness. 
 
 Har. None to speak of, thank Heaven. '^^ Nothing but 
 my cough, which worries me now and then. 
 
 Fro. That is nothing. It does not become you badly, 
 seeing that you cough very gracefully. 
 
 Har. Just tell me : has Mariane not seen me yet ? 
 She has not taken any notice of me in going past ? 
 
 Fro. No ; but we have spoken a great deal of you. I 
 have tried to paint your person to her, and I have not failed 
 to vaunt your merits, and the advantage which it would be 
 to her to have a husband like you. 
 
 Har. You have done well, and I thank you for it. 
 
 Fro. I have, Sir, a slight request to make to you. I 
 have a law-suit which I am on the point of losing for want 
 of a little money [Harpagon assumes a serious look] ; and you 
 might easily enable me to gain this suit by doing me a little 
 kindness. You would not believe how delighted she will be 
 to see you. [Harpagon resmnes his liveliness'] How you 
 will charm her, and how this old-fashioned ruff^^ will take 
 her fancy ! But above all things, she will like your breeches 
 fastened to your doublet with tags ; that will make her mad for 
 you ; and a lover who wears tags will be most acceptable to her. 
 
 Har. Certainly, I am delighted to hear you say so. 
 
 Fro. Really, sir, this law-suit is of the utmost conse- 
 
 3" 111 saying these words, Harpagon begins to cough, and as Moliere 
 was subject to this, it became quite natural to him, when he played 
 this part. 
 
 38 The original has /raise d I' antique. See The School for //usba7ids, 
 Vol. IT., page 14, note 15.
 
 sc. VI.] THE MISER. 49 
 
 quence to me. [Harpagon resumes his serious air^ If I 
 lose it, I am ruined ; and some little assistance would set 
 my affairs in order. ... I should like you to have seen her 
 delight at hearing me speak of you. [Harpagon resumes 
 his liveliness] Joy shone in her eyes at the enumera- 
 tion of your good qualities ; and, in short, I have made her 
 very anxious to have this match entirely concluded. 
 
 Har. You have pleased me very much, Frosine ; and I 
 confess that I am extremely obliged to you. 
 
 Fro. I pray you, Sir, to give me the little assistance 
 which I ask of you. [Harpagon resumes his serious air] 
 It will put me on my legs again, and I shall be for ever 
 grateful to you. 
 
 Har. Good-bye. I am going to finish my letters. 
 
 Fro. 1 assure you. Sir, that you could never come to my 
 relief in a greater need. 
 
 Har. I will give orders that my coach be ready to take 
 you to the fair. 
 
 Fro. I would not trouble you, if I were not compelled 
 to it from necessity. 
 
 Har. And I will take care that the supper shall be 
 served early, so as not to make you ill. 
 
 Fro. Do not refuse me the service which I ask of you. 
 You would not believe. Sir, the pleasure which . . . 
 
 Har. I must begone. Some one is calling me. Till 
 by-and-by. 
 
 Fro. [Alonel May ague seize you, and send you to the 
 devil, you stingy cur ! The rascal has resisted firmly all 
 my attacks. But I must, for all that, not abandon the 
 attempt ; and I have got the other side, from whom, at 
 any rate, I am certain to draw a good reward. 
 
 D
 
 50 THE MISER. [AfT III. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 Harpagon, Cl^ante, Eltse, Val^re ; Mistress Claude 
 holding a broom, Master Jacques, La Merluche, 
 
 Brindavoine. 
 
 Har. Come here, all of you, that I may give you my 
 orders for just now, and tell everyone what he has to do. 
 Come here, Mistress Claude ; let us begin with you. [Look- 
 ing at her 6room] That is right, arms in hand. I trust to 
 you for cleaning up everywhere ; and above all, take care not 
 to rub the furniture too hard, for fear of wearing it out. 
 Besides this, I appoint you to look after the bottles during 
 the supper ; and, if one is missing, or if something gets 
 broken, I shall hold you responsible, and deduct it from 
 
 your wages. 
 
 Jac. [Aside] There is policy in that punishment. 
 
 Har. [To Mistress Claude] You can go. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Harpagon, Cl^ante, Elise, Val^re, Master Jacques, 
 Brindavoine, La Merluche. 
 
 Har. You Brindavoine, and you. La Merluche, I confide 
 to you the care of rinsing the glasses, and of serving out the 
 drink, but only when the people are thirsty, and not in the 
 manner of these impertinent lacqueys who come and pro- 
 voke them, and put drinking into their heads when they 
 # have no thought of such a thing. "Wait till you are asked 
 for it more than once, and bear in mind always to bring a 
 good deal of water. 
 
 Jac. [Aside] Yes. Wine undiluted mounts to the head. 
 
 Mer. Shall we throw otf our smocks, Sir ? 
 
 Har. Yes, when you see the people coming ; and take 
 care not to spoil your clothes.
 
 sc. in.-iv.] THE MISER. 51 
 
 Brin. You know, Sir, that the front of my doublet is 
 covered with a large stain of oil from the lamp. 
 
 Mer. And I, Sir, I have a large hole in the seat of my 
 breeches, and saving your presence, people can see . . . 
 
 Har. Peace ; keep it adroitly to the side of the wall, 
 and always show your front to the world. [To Brinda- 
 voine, shoiving him hoiv lie is to keep his hat before his 
 doublet, in order to hide the stain] And you, alwaj^s hold 
 your hat thus while you are waiting upon the guests. 
 
 SCENB III. 
 Harpagon, Cleante, Elise, VALi:RE, Master Jacques. 
 
 Har. As for you, daughter, you will keep an eye upon 
 what goes away from the table, and take care that nothing 
 be wasted. It becomes girls to do so. Meanwhile, get 
 yourself ready to receive my intended properly. She is 
 coming to visit you, and will take you to the fair with her. 
 Do you hear what I say to you ? 
 
 El. Yes, father. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Harpagon, Cl^ante, ValIcre, Master Jacques. 
 
 Har. And you, my foppish son, to whom I have been 
 good enough to forgive what has happened just now, do not 
 take it into your head to show her a sour face. 
 
 Cle'. I ! father ? a sour face. And for what reason ? 
 
 Har. Egad ! we know the ways of children whose fathers 
 marry again, and with what sort of eyes they are in the 
 habit of looking at their so-called step-mothers. But if 
 you wish me to lose the recollection of this last escapade of 
 yours, I recommend you, above all, to show this lady a 
 friendly countenance, and to give her, in short, the best 
 possible reception.
 
 52 THE MISER. [ACT III. 
 
 Gle. To tell you the truth, father, I cannot promise you 
 to be glad that she is to become my stepmother. I should 
 tell a lie if I said so to you ; but, as for receiving her well 
 and showing her a friendly countenance, I promise to obey 
 you punctually on this head, 
 
 Har. Take care you do, at least. 
 
 Cle. You shall see that you shall have no cause to 
 complain. 
 
 Har. You had better. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Harpagon, Val^^re, Master Jacques. ^^ 
 
 Har. You will have to help me in this, Valere, Now, 
 Master Jacques, draw near, I have left you for the last. 
 
 Jac. Is it to your coachman. Sir, or to your cook, that 
 you wish to speak ? For I am both the one and the other. 
 
 Har. It is to both. 
 
 Jac. But to which of the two first ? 
 
 Har. To the cook. 
 
 Jac. Then wait a minute, if you please. 
 
 [plaster Jacques takes off his livery coat, 
 and appears in a cook's dress. 
 
 Har. What the deuce does that ceremony mean ? 
 
 Jac. You have but to speak now. 
 
 Har. I have promised, Master Jacques, to give a supper 
 to-night. 
 
 Jac. [Asidel Most miraculous ! 
 
 Har. Just tell me : will you dish us up something good ? 
 
 Jac. Yes, if you give me plenty of money. 
 
 Har. The deuce, always money. It seems to me as if 
 they could speak of nothing else ; money, money, money ! 
 It is the only word they have got on their lips ; money ! 
 
 -'J See A])peudix, Note U,
 
 «c. v.] THE MISER, 53 
 
 they always speak of money ! That is their chief argu- 
 ment,^*' money ! 
 
 Val. I have never heard a more impertinent answer 
 than that. A great wonder to dish up something good with 
 plenty of m.oney ! It is the easiest thing in the world ; 
 any fool can do as much ; but a clever man should speak 
 of dishing up something good with little money. 
 
 Jac. Something good with little money ! 
 
 Val Yes. 
 
 Jac. [To Valere] Upon my word. Master Steward, you 
 would oblige us by showing us that secret, and by taking 
 my place as cook ; you that are meddling with everything 
 in this house, and playing the factotum. 
 
 Ha7\ Hold your tongue. What shall we want ? 
 
 tTac. Apply to your steward here, who will dish you 
 up something good for little money. 
 
 Har. Enough ! I wish you to answer me. 
 
 Jac. How many people are to sit down ? 
 
 Har. We shall be eight or ten ; but you must not count 
 upon more than eight. If there is enough for eight, there 
 is enough for ten. 
 
 Val. That needs no comment. 
 
 Jac. Very well ! we must have four first-rate soups and 
 five small dishes. Soups . . . Entries . . . 
 
 Har. What the devil ! there is enough to feed a whole 
 town. 
 
 Jac. Roast . . . 
 
 Har. [Putting his hand over Jacques' mouth] Hold ! 
 wretch, you will eat up all my substance. 
 
 Jac. Side-dishes." 
 
 40 In the original ep^e de chevet, a sword that hung at the head of tlie 
 bed, and was always ready at hand when needed ; hence figuratively an 
 argument, an answer always ready at hand. 
 
 41 In the edition of 1682, Master Jacques mentions a great many 
 dishes by name ; but this is clearly an interpolation of some actor, who
 
 54 THE MISER. [ACTiii. 
 
 Har. [Putting his hand over Jacques' mouth again^ 
 What ! more still ? 
 
 Val. [To Jacques] Do you intend to make every one 
 burst ? and think you that master has invited people with the 
 intention of killing them with food ? Go and read a little 
 the precepts of health, and ask the doctors whether there 
 is aught more prejudicial to man than eating to excess. 
 
 I{a7\ He is right. 
 
 Val. Learn, Master Jacques, you and the like of you, 
 that a table overloaded with viands is a cut-throat business ; 
 that, to show one's self the friend of those whom one invites, 
 frugality should reign in the meals which one offers ; and 
 that, according to the saying of an ancient, we mu st ea t^to_ 
 live, and not live to eaf^^ 
 
 Har. Ah ! how well that is said ! Come here, that I 
 may embrace you for that saying. This is the finest sen- 
 tence that I ever heard in my life : one must live to eat 
 and not eat to li . . . No, that is not it. How do you 
 put it. 
 
 Val. That we must eat to live, and not live to eat. 
 
 Har. [To Master Jacques] That is it. Do you hear it ? 
 [To VaUre] Who is the great man who has said that ? 
 
 Val. I do not recollect his name just now. 
 
 Har. Just remember to write down these words for me : 
 I wish to have them engraved in letters of gold on the 
 mantel-piece of my dining-room. 
 
 Val. I shall not forget it. And as for your supper, you 
 have but to leave it to me ; I shall manage everything 
 right enough. 
 
 thought to be funnier than Moliere, but who forgot that Hari:)agou 
 would never have li.stened quietly to a long list of different things. In 
 Fielding's Miser James (Jacques) enumerates also a great many eat- 
 ables. See extracts from 'JVie Miser given in the Appendix. 
 
 42 The llomans hatl a kind of adage — cde ut vivas, ne vivas tit edas — 
 which they sometimes ex])resse(l by the initials E. V. V. N. V. V. E.
 
 sc. v.] THE MISER. 55 
 
 Har. Do so. 
 
 Jac. So much the better ! I shall have less trouble. -^ 
 
 Har. [To Valere\ We must have some of these things of 
 which people eat very little, and which fill quickly ; some 
 good fat beans, with a potted pie, well stuffed with 
 chesnuts. Let there be plenty of that. 
 
 Vol. Depend upon me. 
 
 Har. And now, Master Jacques, you must clean my 
 coach. 
 
 Jac. Wait ; that is a matter for the coachman. [Puts 
 his livery coat on] You were saying . . . 
 
 Har. That you must clean my coach, and hold the 
 horses in readiness to drive to the fair ... 
 
 Jac. Your horses. Sir ? Upon my word, they are not at 
 all in a fit state to go. I will not tell you that they are on 
 the straw ; the poor beasts have not got ej^en that much, 
 and it would not be telling the truth ; but you make them 
 keep such austere fasts that they are no longer anything 
 but ghosts or shadows, with horses' shapes. 
 
 Har. They are very ill, and yet they are doing nothing ! 
 
 Jac. And because they do nothing. Sir, must they not 
 eat ? It Avould be far better to work the poor brutes much, 
 and to feed them the same. It breaks my heart to see 
 them in such a wretched condition ; for, after all, I have got 
 tender feeling for my horses ; it seems to me that it is my- 
 self, when I see them suffer. Not a day passes but I take 
 the meat out of my own mouth to feed them ; and. Sir, it 
 is being too cruel to have no pity for one's neighbour. 
 
 Har. The work will not be very hard to go as far as the 
 fair, 
 
 Jac. No, Sir, I have not the heart to drive them, and I 
 would not have it on my conscience to give them the whip 
 in the state in which they are. How can you wish them to 
 draw a coach when they can hardly drag themselves along ?
 
 5G THE MISER. [ACTiir. 
 
 Vcd. Sir, I will make our neighbour, Picard, take charge 
 of them and drive them ; he will be at the same time 
 needed to get the supper ready. 
 
 Jac. Be it so ; I prefer their dying under other people's 
 hands than under mine. 
 
 Val. Master Jacques is getting considerate ! 
 
 Jac. Sir Steward is getting indispensable ! 
 
 Har. Peace. 
 
 Jac. I cannot bear flatterers. Sir ; and I see what he makes 
 of it ; that his perpetual looking after the bread, the wine, 
 the wood, the salt, the candles, is done only with the view 
 of currying favour with you, and getting into your good 
 books. This drives me mad, and I am sorry to hear every 
 day what the world says of you ; for, after all, I have some 
 feeling for you ; and, after my horses, you are the person 
 w^hom I love m^st. 
 
 Har. Might I know. Master Jacques, what people say of 
 me ? 
 
 Jac. Yes, Sir, if I could be sure that it would not make 
 you angry. 
 
 Har. No, not in the least. 
 
 Jac. I beg your pardon ; I know full well that I shall 
 put you in a rage. 
 
 Har. Not at all. On the contrary, it will be obliging 
 me, and I shall be glad to learn how people speak of me. 
 
 Jac. Since you will have it, Sir, I shall tell you frankly 
 that people everywhere make a jest of you, that they pelt 
 us with a thousand jokes from every quarter on your 
 account, and that they are never more delighted than when 
 holding you up to ridicule, and continually relating stories 
 of your meanness. One says that you have special almanacks 
 printed, in which you double the ember weeks and vigils, in 
 order to profit by the fast days, which you compel your 
 people to keep ; another that you have always a quarrel
 
 sc. VT.] THE MISER. 57 
 
 ready for your servants at New Year's day, or when they 
 leave you, so that you may find a reason for not giving them 
 anything. That one tells that you once sued one of your 
 neighbour's cats for having eaten the remainder of a leg of 
 mutton ; this one again that you were surprised one night 
 in purloining the hay of your own horses, and that your 
 coachman, that is, the one who was here before me, dealt 
 you I do not know how many blows in the dark, of which 
 you never broached a word. In short, shall I tell you ? one 
 can go nowhere without hearing you hauled over the coals 
 on all sides. You are the by^vord and laughing-stock of 
 every one ; and you are never spoken of, except under the 
 names of miser, curmudgeon, hunks and usurer. 
 
 Har. [Thrasliing Master Jacques] You are a numscull, 
 a rascal, a scoundrel, and an impudent fellow. 
 
 Jac. Well ! did I not say so beforehand ? You would 
 not believe me. I told you well enough that I should make 
 you angry by telling you the truth. 
 
 Har. That will teach you how to speak. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Valere, Master Jacques. 
 
 Vol. [Laughing] From what I can see. Master Jacques, 
 your candour is ill rewarded. 
 
 Jac. Zounds ! Master Upstart, who assume the man of 
 consequence, it is not your business. Laugh at your cudgel- 
 blows when you shall receive them, but do not come here to 
 laugh at mine. 
 
 Vol. Ah ! Sir Master Jacques, do not get angry, I beg of 
 you. 
 
 Jac. [Aside] He is knuckling under. I shall bully him, 
 and, if he is fool enough to be afraid of me, I shall give him 
 a gentle drubbing. [Aloud] Are you aware. Master Laugher,
 
 58 THE MISER. [ACTiii. 
 
 that I am not in a laughing humour, and that if you annoy 
 
 me, I will make you laugh on the wrong side of your mouth. 
 
 [Master Jacques drives Valere to the far end 
 
 of the stage, threatening Mm. 
 
 Val Eh ! gently. 
 
 Jac. How, gently ? it does not suit me. 
 
 Val. Pray! 
 
 Jac. You are an impertinent fellow. 
 
 Val. Sir Master Jacques. . . 
 
 Jac. There is no Sir Master Jacques at all.^^ If I had 
 a stick, I would give you a good drubbing. 
 
 Val. How, a stick ! [Valere makes Master Jacques 
 retreat in his turn. 
 
 Jac. Eh ! I was not speaking of that. 
 
 Val. Are you aware, Master Boaster, that I am the very 
 man to give you a drubbing myself ? 
 
 Jac. I do not doubt it. 
 
 Val. That you are, in all, nothing but a scrub of a cook ? 
 
 Jac. I am well aware of it. 
 
 Val. And that you do not know me yet ? 
 
 Jac. I ask your pardon. 
 
 Val. You will thrash me, say you ? 
 
 Jac. I said so only in jest. 
 
 Val. And I say, that I do not relish your jests. 
 [Thrashing him with a stick] This will teach you, that you 
 are but a sorry elown.^ 
 
 Jac. [Alone] The plague take my candour ! it is a bad 
 business : I give it up for the future, and I will no more 
 speak the truth. I might put up with it from my master ; 
 he has some right to thrash me ; but as for this Master 
 Steward, I will have my reveng e if I can. 
 
 43 The original has pour un double. A double was a very small coin ; 
 lience it is used for " not at all." 
 
 •*•* This, according to Pviccoboni, seems to l)e taken from an Italian i)lay 
 La Camericra nobilc (the noMe-born Ladies-Maid).
 
 sc. vii.-vm.] THE MISER. 59 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Martane, Frosine, Master Jacques. 
 
 Fro. Do you know. Master Jacques, if your master is at 
 home ? 
 
 Jac. Yes, indeed, he is ; I know it but too well. 
 
 Fro. Tell him, pray, that we are here, 
 
 
 
 SCENE Fill. 
 Mariane, Frosine. 
 
 Mar. Ah ! I feel very strange, Frosine ! and, if I must 
 tell you what I feel, I dread this interview ! 
 
 Fro. But why, and whence this uneasiness ? 
 
 Mar. Alas ! can you ask me ? and can you not imagine 
 the alarms of any one at the sight of the rack to which she 
 is going to be tied ? 
 
 F7'0. I see well enough, that to die pleasantly, Harpagon, 
 is not exactly the rack which you would care to embrace ; 
 and I can see by your face, that this young spark, of whom 
 you spoke to me, comes afresh into your head. 
 
 Mar. Yes ! it is an accusation, Frosine, from which I shall 
 not defend myself; and the respectful visits which he has 
 paid us, have, I confess, made some impression on my heart. 
 
 Fro. But have you ascertained who he is ? 
 
 Mar. No, I do not know who he is. But this I know, 
 that he is made to be beloved : that, if things could be left 
 to my choice, I would sooner have him than any other, and 
 that he is the chief cause in making me feel that the hus- 
 band whom they wish to give me is a terrible torment. 
 
 Fro. Egad, all these youngsters are agreeable, and play 
 their part well enough, but most of them are as poor as 
 church mice : it will be much better for you to take an old 
 husband who will make you a good settlement. I grant
 
 GO THE MISER. [ACT in. 
 
 you that the senses will not find their account so well on the 
 side I speak of, and that there are sorne little distastes to 
 overcome with such a spouse ; but that cannot last, and his 
 death, believe me, will soon put you in a position to take 
 one who is more amiable, and who will mend all things. 
 
 Mar. Good gracious ! Frosine, it is a strange thing that, 
 to be happy, we should wish for or await the death of some 
 one ; the more so as death does not always accommodate 
 itself to our projects. 
 
 Fro. Are you jesting? You marry him only on condi- 
 tion of soon leaving you a widow ; and that mast be one of 
 the articles of the contract. It would be impertinent in him 
 not to die within three months ! ^^ Here he is himself ! 
 
 Mar. Ah ! Frosine, what a figure ! 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 Harpagon, Martane, Frosine. 
 Ear. [To Mariane] Do not be offended, my beauty, that 
 I come to you with my spectacles on. I know that your 
 charms strike the eye sufficiently, are visible enough by 
 themselves, and that there is no need of spectacles to per- 
 ceive them ; but after all, it is through them that we look 
 at the stars ;'*^ and I maintain and vouch for it that you 
 are a star ; but a star, the brightest in the land of stars. 
 Frosine, she does not answer a word, and does not testify, 
 from what I can perceive, the slightest joy in seeing me. 
 
 45 In the second scene of the second act, Master Simon informs Har- 
 pagon that Cldante " will engage himself, that his father shall die before 
 eight months are over." Here Frosine says : " It would he impertinent 
 in him (HarpagoJi) not to die within three months." These unseemly 
 jokes are signs of the times in which Moliore lived, and in which there 
 was less outward delicacy of feeling than at present. 
 
 46 The French for spectacles is lunettes, and for a telescope, haiette d' 
 approcho, but in Moliere's time often simi)ly lunette; hence the play 
 on words.
 
 .sc. x.-xi.] THE MISER. 61 
 
 Fro. It is because she is as yet taken all aback ; and 
 besides, girls are always ashamed to show at first sight what 
 passes in their hearts. 
 
 Har. You are right. {To Mariane] Here comes my 
 daughter, sweet child, to welcome you. 
 
 # 
 
 SCENE X. 
 Harpagon, Eltse, Mariane, Frosine. 
 
 3Iar. I am much behind, Madam, in acquitting .myself 
 of such a visit. 
 
 El. You have done, Madam, what it was my duty to 
 do, and it was my place to have been beforehand with you. 
 
 Har. You see what a great girl she is; but ill weeds grow 
 apace. 
 
 Mar. [In a whisper, to Frosine] ! what an unpleasant 
 man ! 
 
 Har. [In a ivhisper, to Frosine'] What says the fair one ? 
 
 Fro. That she thinks you admirable. 
 
 Har. You do me too much honour, adorable pet. 
 
 Mar. [Aside] What a brute ! 
 
 Har. I am much obliged to you for these sentiments. 
 
 Mar. [Aside] I can hold out no longer. 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 Harpagon, Mariane, Elise, Cl^ante, Frosine, 
 
 Brindavoine. 
 
 Har. There comes my son also, to pay his respects to 
 you. 
 
 Mar. [In a ivJiisper, to Frosine] Ah ! Frosine, what a 
 meeting ! It is the very person of whom I spoke to you. 
 
 Fro. [To Mariane] The adventure is wonderful. 
 
 Har. I see that you are surprised at my having such
 
 62 THE MISER. [ACTiii. 
 
 grown-up children ; but I shall soon be rid of one and the 
 other. 
 
 CU. [To Mariane] Madam, to tell you the truth, this 
 is an adventure, which no doubt, I did not expect ; and my 
 father has not a little astonished me, when, a short time 
 ago, he communicated to me the plan which he had 
 formed. 
 
 Ma7\ I may say the same thing. It is an unforeseen 
 meeting which surprises me as much as it does you ; and I 
 was not at all prepared for such an adventure. 
 
 Cle. It is true that my father. Madam, could not make 
 a better choice, and that the honour of seeing you gives me 
 unfeigned joy, but for all that, I cannot give you the 
 assurance that I rejoice at the design which you may have 
 of becoming my step-mother. I avow to you that it 
 would be too much for me to pay you that compliment ; and 
 by your leave, it is a title which I do not wish you. This 
 speech may seem coarse to some ; but I am sure that you 
 will be the one to take it in the proper sense ; that it is a 
 marriage. Madam, for which, as you may well imagine, I 
 can have only repugnance ; that you are not unaware, 
 knowing what I am, how it clashes with my interests ; and 
 that, in short, you will not take it amiss when I tell you, 
 with the permission of my father, that, if matters depended 
 upon me, this marriage would not take place. *^ 
 
 Jfa7\ This is a most impertinent compliment ! What a 
 pretty confession to make to her ! 
 
 3[ar. And I, in reply, must tell you, that things are 
 pretty equal ; and that, if you have any repugnance in 
 seeing me your step-mother, I shall have, doubtless, no less 
 in seeing you my step-son. Do not think, I pray you, that 
 it is I who seek to give you that uneasiness. I should bo 
 
 ^7 111 the original, Cleaute's speech is uttered in irregular blank verse.
 
 sc. XI.] THE MISER. 63 
 
 very sorry to cause you any displeasure ; and unless I see 
 myself compelled to it by an absolute power, I give you my 
 word that I shall not consent to a marriage that vexes you, 
 
 Har. She is right. To a silly compliment, a similar retort 
 is necessary. I beg your pardon, my dear, for the imperti- 
 nence of my son ; he is a young fool, who does not as yet 
 know the consequence of what he says. 
 
 Mar. I promise you that what he has said has not at all 
 offended me ; on the contrary, he has pleased me by explain- 
 ing thus his real feelings. I like such an avowal from his 
 lips ; and if he had spoken in any other way, I should have 
 esteemed him the less for it. 
 
 Har. It is too good of you to be willing thus to condone 
 his faults. Time will make him wiser, and you shall see 
 that he will alter his sentiments. 
 
 Cle. No, father, I am incapable of changing upon that 
 point, and I beg urgently of this lady to believe me. 
 
 Har. But see what madness ! he goes still more strongly. 
 
 Cle. Do you wish me to go against my own heart ? 
 
 Har. Again ! Perhaps you will be kind enough to 
 change the conversation. 
 
 Cle. Well ! since you wish me to speak in a different 
 manner, allow me. Madam, to put myself in my father's 
 place, and to confess to you that I have seen nothing in 
 the world so charming as you ; that I conceive nothing 
 equal to the happiness of pleasing you, and that the title of 
 your husband is a glory, a felicity which I would prefer to 
 the destinies of the greatest princes on earth. Yes, 
 Madam, the happiness of possessing you is, in my eyes, the 
 best of all good fortunes ; the whole of my ambition points 
 to that. There is nothing which I would shrink from to 
 make so precious a conquest ; and the most powerful ob- 
 stacles . . . 
 
 Har. Gently, son, if you please.
 
 G-t THE MISER. [act in. 
 
 CU. It is a compliment which I pay for you to this 
 lady. 
 
 Har. Good Heavens ! I have a tongue to explain myself, 
 and I have no need of an interpreter like you. Come, 
 hand chairs. 
 
 Fro. No ; it is better that we should go to the fair now, 
 so that we may return the sooner, and have ample time 
 afterwards to converse with you. 
 
 Har. [To Brindavoine] Have the horses put to the 
 carriage. 
 
 ISCENE XII. 
 Harpagon, Mariane, Elise, Cl^ante, VALfeRE, Frosine. 
 
 Har. [To Mariane] I pray you to excuse me, fair child, 
 if I forgot to offer you some refreshments before going. 
 
 Cle. I have provided for it, father, and have ordered 
 some plates of China oranges, sweet citrons, and preserves, 
 which I have sent for in your name. 
 
 Har. [Softly to Valere] Valere ! 
 
 Val. [To HarpagoTi] He has lost his senses. 
 
 Cle. Do you think, father, that it is not sufficient ? 
 This lady will have the goodness to excuse that, if it please 
 her. 
 
 Mar. It was not at all necessary. 
 
 Cle. Have you ever seen. Madam, a diamond more spark- 
 ling than the one which you see on my father's finger ? 
 
 Mar. It sparkles much indeed. 
 
 Cle. [Taking the diamond off his father's fingers, and 
 handing it to Mariane^ You must see it close. 
 
 Mar. It is no doubt very beautiful, and throws out a 
 deal of light. 
 
 Cle. [Placing himself before Mariane, luho is about 
 to return the diamond] No, Madam, it is in hands too 
 beautiful. It is a present which my father makes you.
 
 sc. XII.] THE MISER. G5 
 
 Har. I? 
 
 Cle. Is it not true, father, that you wish this lady to 
 keep it for your sake. 
 
 Har. [Softly to his son] How ? 
 
 Cle. [To Mariane] A pretty request indeed ! He has 
 given me a sign to make you accept it. 
 Mar. I do not wish to . . . 
 
 Cle. [To Mariane'] Are you jesting ? He does not 
 care to take it back again. 
 
 Har. [Aside] I am bursting with rage ! 
 Mar. It would be . . . 
 
 Cle. [Preventing Mariane from returning the 
 diamond] No, I tell you, you would offend him. 
 Mar. Pray ... 
 Cle. Not at all. 
 
 Har. [Aside] May the plague . . . 
 Cle. He is getting angry at your refusal. 
 Har. [Softly to his son] Ah ! you wretch ! 
 Cle'. [To Mariane] You see that he is getting des- 
 perate. 
 
 Har. [In a suppressed tone to his son, threatening him] 
 Murderer that you are ! 
 
 Cle. It is not my fault, father. I am doing all that I 
 can to make her keep it ; but she is obstinate. 
 
 Har. [In a great passion, ivhispering to his son] 
 Hangdog ! 
 
 Cle. You arc the cause, Madam, of my father's up- 
 braiding me. 
 
 Har. [Same as before, to his son] The scoundrel ! 
 Cle. [To Mariane] You will make him ill. Pray, 
 Madam, do not resist any longer. 
 
 Fro. [To Mariane] Good Heavens, what ceremonies ! 
 Keep the ring, since the gentleman wishes it. 
 
 Mar. [To Harpagon] Not to put you in a passion, I shall 
 V. E
 
 66 THE MISER. [ACT in. 
 
 keep it now, and I shall take another opportunity of return- 
 ing it to you.^^ 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 Harpagon, Mariane, Elise, Cl^ante, VALfeRE, Frosine, 
 
 Brindavoine, 
 
 Brin. Sir, there is a man who wishes to speak to you. 
 
 Har. Tell him that I am engaged, that he is to return 
 at another time. 
 
 Brin. He says that he brings you some money. 
 
 Har. \To Mariane\ I beg your pardon ; I shall be back 
 directly. 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 
 Harpagon, Mariake, Elise, Cl^ante, Valere, Frosine, 
 
 La Merluche. 
 
 Mer. ^Running against Harpagon, whom he knocks 
 doivn'] Sir . . . 
 
 Har. Oh ! I am killed. 
 
 Gle. What is it, father ? have you hurt yourself ? 
 
 Har. The wretch has surely been bribed by my debtors 
 to make me break my neck. 
 
 Val. [To Harpagon^ That will be nothing. 
 
 Mor. [To Harpagon'] I beg your pardon. Sir ; I thought 
 I was doing well in running quickly. 
 
 Har. What have you come here for, you hangdog ? 
 
 Mor. To tell you that your two horses have lost their shoes. 
 
 Har. Let them be taken to the farrier immediately. 
 
 CU. While waiting for their being shod, I will do the 
 
 *^ In an Italian farce, le Case svaliggiate (the robbed house), it is a 
 servant wlio acts in tlie same way as Cldante ; l)ut Moh'ere has niarle 
 the scene moi-e comic;il by letting the son give the ring in his father's 
 name.
 
 sc. XV.] THE MISER. (J 7 
 
 honours of your house for you, father, and conduct this laiJy 
 into the garden, whither I shall have the refreshments 
 brought. 
 
 SCENE XV. 
 
 HaRPAGON, VALi!;RE. 
 
 Har. Valere, keep your eye a little on all this, and take 
 care, I pray you. to save as much of it as you can, to send 
 back to the tradespeople. 
 
 Vol. I know. 
 
 Har. \^Alone\ O, impertinent son ! do you mean to ruin 
 me ? 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 Cl^ante, Mariane, Elise, Frosine. 
 
 Cle. Let us go in here ; we shall be much better. There 
 is no suspicious person near us now, and we can converse 
 freely. 
 
 El. Yes, Madam, my brother has confided to me tlie 
 affection which he feels for you. I am aware of the grief 
 and unpleasantness which such obstacles are capable of 
 causing ; and it is, I assure you, with the utmost tenderness 
 that I interest myself in your adventure. 
 
 Mar. It is a sweet consolation to see some one like you 
 in one's interest ; and I implore you. Madam, always to 
 reserve for me this generous friendship, so capable of alle- 
 viating the cruelties of fortune. 
 
 Fro. You are, upon my word, both unlucky people, in 
 not having warned me before this of your affair, I would 
 no doubt, have warded off this uneasiness from you, and not 
 have carried matters so far as they now are.
 
 G8 THE MISER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Cle. Whose fault is it ? It is my evil destiny that has 
 willed it so. But, fair Mariane, what have you resolved 
 to do 'I 
 
 Mar. Alas ! am I able to make any resolutions ? And, 
 in the dependent position in which you see me, can I form 
 aught else than wishes ? 
 
 Cle. No other support in your heart for me than mere 
 wishes ? No strenuous pity ? No helping kindness ? No 
 energetic affection ? 
 
 Mar. What can I say to you ? Put yourself in my place, 
 and see what I can do. Advise, command yourself : I leave 
 the matter to you ; and 1 think you too reasonable to wish 
 to exact from me aught but what may be consistent with 
 honour and decency. 
 
 Cle. Alas ! to what strait do you reduce me by driving 
 me back to what the annoying dictates of a rigorous honour 
 and a scrupulous decency only will permit ? 
 
 Mdv. But what would you have me to do ? Even if I 
 could forego the many scruples to which my sex compels me, 
 I have some consideration for my mother. She has always 
 brought me up with the utmost tenderness, and I could 
 not make up my mind to cause her any displeasure. 
 Treat, transact with her ; use all your means to gain lier 
 mind. You may say and do whatever you like, I give you 
 full power ; and if nothing is wanting but to declare myself 
 in your favour, I am willing, myself, to make to her the 
 avowal of idl tliat I feel for you.'^'* 
 
 Cle. Frosine, dear Frosine, will you try to serve us ? 
 
 Fro. Upon my word, need you ask ? I should like it 
 with all my heart. Yon know that, naturally, I am kind- 
 hearted enouglu Heaven has not given me a heart of 
 iron, and I have only too much inclination for rendering 
 
 ^^ Mariuue's speecli, according to M. Gcnin, i.s Miitt-.n in 1j1;iu1< verse.
 
 sc. I.] THE MISER. Gl) 
 
 little services when I see people who love each other in all 
 decency and honour. What can we do in this matter ? 
 
 Cle. Pray consider a little. 
 
 Mar. Give us some advice. 
 
 El. Invent some means of undoing what you have done. 
 
 Fro. That is difficult enough. [To Mariane] As for 
 your mother, she is not altogether unreasonable, and we 
 might perhaps prevail upon her and induce her to transfer 
 to the son the gift which she wished to make to the father. 
 \To Cleante] But the mischief in it is, that your father is 
 your father. 
 
 Cle. Of course. 
 
 Fro. I mean that he will bear malice if he finds that he 
 is refused, and that he will not be of a mind afterwards to 
 give his consent to your marriage. To do well, the refusal 
 ought to come from himself, and she ought to try, by some 
 means, to inspire him with a disgust towards her. 
 
 Cle. You are right. 
 
 Fro. Yes, I am right ; I know that well enough. That 
 is what is wanted, but how the deuce can we find the 
 means ? Stop ! Suppose we had some woman a little 
 advanced in age who had my talent, and acted sufficiently 
 well to counterfeit a lady of quality, by the help of a retinue 
 made up in haste, and with an eccentric name of a mar- 
 chioness or a viscountess, whom we will suppose to come 
 from Lower Brittany, I would have skill enough to make 
 your father believe that she was a person possessed of a 
 hundred thousand crowns in ready money, besides her 
 houses ; that she was distractedly enamoured of him, and 
 had so set her mind u]>on being his wife, that she would 
 make all her property over to him by marriage-conti"act. 
 1 do not doubt that he would lend an ear to this pro- 
 posal. For, after all, he loves you much, I know it, but he 
 loves money a little more ; and when, dazzled with this
 
 70 THE MISER. [ACT iv. 
 
 bait, he had once given his consent in what concerns you, 
 it would matter very little if he were afterwards disabused, 
 when he wished to see more clearly into the property of 
 our marchioness. 
 
 Cle, All this is very well conceived. 
 
 Fro. Let me manage. I just recollect one of my friends 
 who will suit us. 
 
 Cle. Be assured of my gratitude, Frosine, if you 
 carry out this matter. But, charming Mariano, let us 
 begin, I pray you, by gaining over 3'our mother ; it is doing 
 much, at any rate, to break off this match. Make every 
 possible effort on your part, I entreat you. Employ all the 
 power which her tenderness for you gives you over her. 
 Show her unreservedly the eloquent graces, the all-power- 
 ful charms, with which Heaven has endowed your eyes and 
 your lips ; and please do not overlook any of these tender 
 words, of these sweet prayers, and of these winning caresses 
 to which, I am persuaded, nothing could be refused. 
 
 Mar. I will do my best, and forget nothing. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Harpagon, Cl^ante, Mariane, Elise, Frosine. 
 
 Har. [Aside, luithout being seen] Hey day ! my son 
 kisses the hand of his intended step-mother ; and his 
 intended step-mother does not seem to take it much amiss ! 
 Can there be any mystery underneath tliis ? 
 
 JEl. Here is my father. 
 
 Har. The carriage is quite ready ; you can start as soon 
 as you like. 
 
 Cle. Since you are not going, father, permit me to 
 escort them. 
 
 Har. No : remain here. They will du well enough by 
 themselves, and I want you.
 
 «t^^- HI-] THE MISER. 71 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Harpagon, Cleante. 
 
 Har. Now tell me, apart from becoming your step- 
 mother, what think you of this lady ? 
 
 Cll What do I think of her ? 
 
 Har. Yes, of her air, of her figure, of her beauty, of her 
 mind ? 
 
 Gle. So, so. 
 
 Har. That is no answer. 
 
 Cle. To speak to you candidly, I have not found her 
 what I expected. Her air is that of a downright coquette, 
 her figure is sufficiently awkward, her beauty very so-so, 
 and her mind very ordinary. Do not think, father, that 
 this is said to give you a distaste to her ; for, stepmother for 
 stepmother, I would as soon have her as any other. 
 
 Har. You said to her just now, however, . . . 
 
 Gle. I have said some sweet nothings to her in your 
 name, but it was to please you. 
 
 Har. So much so, that you would not feel any inclina- 
 tion towards her ? 
 
 GU. I ? not at all. 
 
 Har. I am sorry for it ; for it does away with an idea 
 that came into my head. In seeing her here, I have 
 reflected upon my age ; and I thought that people might 
 find something to cavil at in seeing me marry so young a 
 girl. This consideration has made me abandon the plan ; 
 and as I have made the demand of her hand, and am 
 engaged to her by my word, I would have given her to you, 
 had it not been for the aversion which you show. 
 
 GU. To me ? 
 
 Har. To you. 
 
 Gle. In marriage ? 
 
 Har. In marriage.
 
 72 THE MISER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Cle. Listen. It is true that she is not much to my 
 taste ; but to please you, father, I would make up my mind 
 to marry her, if you wish it. 
 
 Har. I, I am more reasonable than you give me credit 
 for. I will not force your inclination. 
 
 CU. Pardon me ; I will make this effort for your sake. 
 
 Hav. No, no. No marriage can be happy where there 
 is no inclination. 
 
 Cle. Perhaps it will come afterwards, father ; they say 
 that love is often the fruit of wedlock. 
 
 Har. No. From the side of the man, one must not risk 
 such a thing ; it generally brings grievous consequences, to 
 which I do not care to commit myself. Had you felt any 
 inclination for her, it would have been a different thing; 
 I should have made you marry her instead of me ; but, that 
 not being the case, I will follow uj) my first plan, and marry 
 her myself. 
 
 CU. Well ! father, since matters are so, I must lay open 
 my heart to you ; I must reveal our secret to you. The 
 truth is, I love her, since, on a certain day, I saw her walk- 
 ing ; that my plan was, a short while ago, to ask her to 
 become my wife, and that nothing restrained me but the 
 declaration of your sentiments, and the fear of displeasing 
 you. 
 
 Har. Have you paid her any visits ? ^^ 
 
 Cle. Yes, father. 
 
 Har. Many times ? 
 
 Cle. Just enough, considering the time of our acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 Har. Have you been well received ? 
 
 Cle. Very well, indeed, but without her knowing who I 
 
 so In the original Harpagon who, until now, has " thee and thoued " 
 his son, begins to employ here " you."
 
 sc. III.] THE MISER. 73 
 
 was; and that is what just now caused the surprise of 
 Mariane. 
 
 Har. Have you declared your passion to her, and the 
 design you had to marry her ? 
 
 Cle. Undoubtedly ; and I even made some overtures to 
 her mother about it. 
 
 Har. Has she listened to your proposal for her 
 daughter ? 
 
 Cle. Yes, very civilly. 
 
 Har. And does the girl much reciprocate your love ? 
 
 Cle. If I am to believe appearances, I flatter myself, 
 father, that she has some affection for me. 
 
 Har. [Softly, to hi'mself] I am glad to have found out 
 such a secret; that is just what I wished. [Aloud] Hark 
 you, my son, do you know what you will have to do. You 
 must think, if you please, of getting rid of your love, of 
 ceasing from all pursuits of a person whom I intend for 
 myself, and of marrying shortly the one who has been 
 destined for you.^^ 
 
 Cle. So, father ; it is thus that you trick me ! Well ! 
 since matters have come to this pass, I declare to you, that 
 I will not get rid of my love for Mariane ; that there is 
 nothing from which I shall shrink to dispute with you her 
 possession ; and that, if you have the consent of a mother 
 on your side, I have other resources, perhaps, which will 
 combat on mine. 
 
 Har. What, hang-dog, you have the audacity to poach on 
 my preserves ! 
 
 Cle. It is you that are poaching on mine. I am the first 
 comer. 
 
 51 This scene of a father, rival of his son, says Voltaire, has also been 
 treated by Eacine, in his tragedy of Mithridate ; but Eacine caused 
 tears to be shed, in representing tlie amorous weakness of a great king; 
 whilst Moliere has shown the ridiculous aliection of an old miser.
 
 7-1j the miser. [act IV. 
 
 Har. Am I not your father, and do you not owe me 
 respect ? 
 
 Cle. This is not a matter in which a child is obliged to 
 defer to his father, and love is no respecter of persons. 
 
 Har. I will make you respect me well enough with some 
 sound cudgel-blows. 
 
 GU. All your threats will do nothing. 
 
 Har. You shall renounce Mariane. 
 
 GU. I shall do nothing of the kind. 
 
 Har. Give me a stick immediately. 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 Harp AGON, Cl^ante, Master Jacques. 
 
 Jac. Eh, eh, eh, gentlemen, what is all this ? what are 
 you thinking of? 
 
 Gle. 1 do not care a straw. 
 
 Jac. [To Gle'ante] Come, Sir, gently. 
 
 liar. To speak to me with such impertinence ! 
 
 Jac. [To Harpagon] Pray Sir, pray ! 
 
 Gle. I will not bate a jot. 
 
 Jac. [To GUante] Eh what ! to your father ? 
 
 Har. Let me alone. 
 
 Jac. [To Harpagon] What ! to your son ? I could 
 overlook it to myself. 
 
 Har. I will make yourself. Master Jacques, judge in this 
 affair, to show you that I am in the right. 
 
 Jac. I consent. [To Gle'ante] Get a little farther away. 
 
 Har. I love a girl whom I wish to marry ; and the hang- 
 dog has the insolence to love her also, and to aspire to her 
 hand in spite of my commands." 
 
 52 
 
 62 Master Jacques, who has been so badly rewarded for his love of 
 truth in tlie fifth scene of the third act, ado])ts here unotlier line of con- 
 duct whicli will turn out still worse for him.
 
 sc. IV.] THE MISER. 75 
 
 Jac. He is wrong thejre. 
 
 Har. Is it not a dreadful thinsf for a son to wish to 
 enter into rivalry with his father ? and ought he not, out 
 of respect, to abstain from meddling with my inclinations ? 
 
 Jac. You are right. Let me speak to him, while you 
 remain here. 
 
 Cle. [To Master Jacques, vjIw is approaching him] 
 Well ! yes, since he chooses you as judge, I shall not draw- 
 back ; it matters not to me who it may be ; and I am will- 
 ing to refer to you, Master Jacques, in this our quarrel. 
 
 Jac. You do me much honour. 
 
 Cle. I am smitten with a young girl wdio returns my 
 affection, and tenderly accepts the offer of my love : and my 
 father takes it into his head to come and trouble our passion, 
 by asking for her hand. 
 
 Jac. He is assuredly wrong. 
 
 Cle. Is he not ashamed at his age to think of marrying ? 
 Does it still become him to be in love, and should he not 
 leave this pastime to young people ? 
 
 Jac. You are right. He is only jesting. Let me speak a 
 few words to him. [To Harpagon] Well ! your son is not so 
 strange as you make him out, and he is amenable to reason. 
 He says that he knows the respect which he owes you, that he 
 was only carried away by momentary warmth ; and that he 
 will not refuse to submit to your pleasure, provided you will 
 treat him better than you do, and give him some one for a 
 wife with whom he shall have reason to be satisfied. 
 
 Har. Ah ! tell him, Master Jacques, that, if he looks at 
 it in that way, he may expect everything of me, and that, 
 except Mariane, I leave him free to choose whom he likes. 
 
 Jac. Let me manage it. [To Cle'ante] Well ! your father 
 is not so unreasonable as you make him out ; and he has 
 shown me that it was your violence that made him angry ; 
 that he objects only to your behaviour ; and that he will
 
 70 THE MISER. [act IV. 
 
 be very much disposed to grant you what you wish, pro- 
 vided you shall do things gently, and show him the defer- 
 ence, the respect, and the submission which a son owes to 
 his father. 
 
 Cle. Ah ! Master Jacques, you may assure him that if 
 he grants me Mariano, he will always find me the most 
 submissive of beings, and that I never shall do anything 
 except what he wishes. 
 
 Jac. [To Harpagoii] That is done. He consents to 
 Avhat you say. 
 
 Har. Then things will go on in the best possible way. 
 
 Jac. [To Cleante] Everything is arranged ; he is satis- 
 fied with your promises ! 
 
 Cle. Heaven be praised ! 
 
 Jac. Gentlemen, you have but to talk the matter over : 
 you are agreed now, and you were going to quarrel for 
 want of understanding each other. 
 
 Cle. My dear Master Jacques, I shall be obliged to you 
 all my life. 
 
 Jac. Do not mention it. Sir. 
 
 Har. You have given me great pleasure, Master Jacques ; 
 and that deserves a reward. [Harpagon fwnibles in his 
 pockets; Master Jacques holds out his hand, but Harpagon 
 only draws out his handkerchief^^ Go now, I shall remember 
 this, I assure you, 
 
 Jac. I kiss your hands. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Harpagon, Cli^ante. 
 
 Cle. I ask your pardon, father, lor the passion which I 
 have displayed. 
 
 Har. Never mind. 
 
 Cle. 1 assure }ou that I regret it exceedingly.
 
 so. v.] THE MISER. 77 
 
 Har. And I, I have the greatest delight in seeing you 
 reasonable. 
 
 CU. How good of you to forget my fault so quickly ! 
 
 Har. The faults of children are easily forgotten, when 
 they return to their duty. 
 
 CU. What ! not retain any resentment for all my ex- 
 travagance ? 
 
 Har. You compel me to it, by the submission and the 
 respect to which you pledge yourself 
 
 CU. I promise you, father, that I shall carry the recol- 
 lection of your goodness to my gi'ave with me. 
 
 Har. And I, I promise you, that you may obtain any- 
 thing from me. 
 
 CU. Ah ! father, I ask for nothing more ; you have 
 given me enough by giving me Mariane. 
 
 Har. How ! 
 
 CU. I say, father, that I am too well pleased with you, and 
 that I find everything in your kindness in giving me Mariane. 
 
 Har. Who says anything to you of giving you Mariane ? 
 
 CU. You, father. 
 
 Har. I? 
 
 CU. Undoubtedly^ 
 
 Har. What ! it is you who have promised to renounce 
 her. 
 
 CU. I renounce her ! 
 
 Har. Yes. 
 
 CU. Not at all. 
 
 Har. You have not given up your pretensions to her ? 
 
 CU. On the contrary, I am more determined than ever 
 upon them. 
 
 Har. W^hat ! hang-dog, you begin afresh ? 
 CU. Nothing can change my mind. 
 Har. Let me get at you, wretch. 
 CU. Do what you like.
 
 / 8 THE MISER. [ACT iv. 
 
 Har. I forbid you ever to come within my sight. 
 
 Ch. All right. 
 
 Har. I abandon you. 
 
 Cle, Abandon as much as you like. 
 
 Har. I disown you as my son. 
 
 Cle. Be it so. 
 
 Har. I disinherit you. 
 
 Cle. Whatever you please. 
 
 Har. And I give you my malediction. 
 
 Cle. I want none of your gifts.^^ 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 CLlfiANTE, La FLfeCHE. 
 
 La Fl. [Coming from the garden with a casket tinder his 
 arni] Ah ! Sir, I find you in the nick of time ! Follow me 
 quickly. 
 
 Cle. "What is the matter ? 
 
 La Fl. Follow me, I tell you ; we are all right. 
 
 Cle. How ? 
 
 La Fl. Here is your affair. 
 
 Cle. What ? 
 
 La Fl. I kept my eye upon this the whole day. 
 
 Cle. What is it ? 
 
 La Fl. The treasure of your father, which I have laid 
 hands on. 
 
 Cle. How did you manage ? 
 
 La Fl. You shall know all. Let us fiy ; I hear his 
 shouts. 
 
 *^ Several of Moliere's commentators have observed that C'leante's 
 inii)iulent answers only prove the tnith of the saying, " like father like 
 son," and that a miserly father must produce such a di-sobedient child.
 
 so. VII.] THE MISER. TD 
 
 SCliNE VII. 
 
 Harp AGON, alone, shouting in the garden, rushing 
 in tuithout his hat.^* 
 
 Thieves ! Thieves ! Murder ! Stop the murderers ? 
 Justice ! just Heaven ! I am lost ! I am killed ; they have 
 cut my throat ; they have stolen my money. Who can it 
 be ? What has become of him ? Where is he ? 
 Where does he hide himself ? What shall I do to 
 find him ? Where to run ? Where not to run ? Is he 
 not there ? Who is it ? Stop ! [To himself, pressing his 
 own aron'l Give me back my money, scoundrel . . . Ah, it 
 is myself ! My senses are wandering, and I do not know 
 where I am, who I am, and what I am doing. Alas ! my 
 poor money ! my poor money ! my dearest friend, they have 
 deprived me of you ; and as you are taken from me, I have 
 lost my support, my consolation, my joy : ever3'-thing is at 
 an end for me, and I have nothing more to do in this world. 
 Without you, life becomes impossible. It is all over ; I am 
 utterly exhausted ; I am dying ; I am dead ; I am buried. Is 
 there no one who will resuscitate me by giving me back my 
 beloved money, or by telling me who has taken it ? Eh ! 
 what do you say ? There is no one. Whoever he is who 
 has done this, he must have carefully watched his hour ; and 
 he has just chosen the time when I was speaking to my wretch 
 of a son. Let us go. I must inform the authorities, and have 
 the whole of my household examined ; female-servants, male- 
 servants, son, daughter, and myself also. What an assembly ! 
 I do not look at any one whom I do not suspect, and every 
 one seems to be my thief. Eh ! what are they speaking 
 of yonder ? of him who has robbed me ? What noise is 
 
 5* See in the Appendix, Note C, an extract from Plautus' Auhdaria.
 
 80 THE MISER. [ACT v. 
 
 that up there ? Is it my thief who is there ? For pity's 
 sake, if you know any news of my thief, I implore you to 
 tell me. Is he not hidden among you ? They are all 
 looking at me, and laughing in my face. You will see that 
 they have, no doubt, a share in the robbery. Come quickly, 
 magistrates, police-officers, provosts, judges, instruments of 
 torture, gibbets, and executioners. I will have the whole 
 world hanged ; and if I do not recover my money, I will 
 hang myself afterwards. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 Harpagon, a Magistrate. 
 
 Mag. Let me manage it ; I know my business, thank 
 Heaven. To-day is not the first time that I am engaged in 
 discovering robberies ; and I should like to have as many 
 bags of a thousand francs as I have been instrumental in 
 hanging people. 
 
 Har. Every magistrate must have an interest in taking 
 this matter in hand ; and, if they do not enable me to find 
 my money again, I shall demand justice upon the authorities 
 themselves. 
 
 Mag. We mvist take all the needful steps. You said 
 that there was in this box . . . 
 
 Har. Ten thousand crowns in cash. 
 
 Mag. Ten thousand crowns ! 
 
 Har. [Cnjing] Ten thousand crowns. 
 
 Mag. The robbery is considerable ! 
 
 Har. There is no punishment great enough for the 
 enormity of this crime; and, if it remain unpunished, the 
 most sacred things are no longer safe. 
 
 Mag. And in what coin was this sum ?
 
 sen.] THE MISER. 81 
 
 Har. In good louis d'or and pistoles without a flaw.'^^ 
 
 Mag. Whom do you suspect of this robbery ? 
 
 Har. Every one ; and I wish you to arrest the town and 
 the suburbs. 
 
 Mag. You must, if you will take my opinion, scare 
 nobody, but endeavour gently to collect some proofs, in 
 order to act afterwards, by severer process, to recover the 
 coin which has been taken from you. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Harpagon, a Magistrate, Master Jacques. 
 
 Jac. \^At the far end of the stage, turning towards the 
 door hy which he entered] I am coming back directly. Let 
 its throat be cut immediately ; let them singe me its feet ; 
 let them put it in boiling water, and let them hang it from 
 the ceiling. 
 
 Har. Who ? he who has robbed me ? 
 
 Jac. I am speaking of a sucking pig which your steward 
 hast just sent in, and I wish to dress it for you after my 
 own fancy. 
 
 Har. There is no question of that ; and this is a gentle- 
 man to whom you must speak of something else. 
 
 Mag. [To Master Jacques] Do not be alarmed. I am 
 not the man to cause any scandal, and matters will be 
 managed in a gentle way. 
 
 Jac. Is this gentleman of the supper party ? 
 
 Mag. In this case, dear friend, you must hide nothing 
 from your master. 
 
 Jac. Upon my word, Sir, I shall show all I know, and I 
 shall treat you in the best possible way. 
 
 55 In French " pistoles without a flaw," are pistoles Men trebuchantes. 
 The tre'Uichet was a small and very sensitive pair of scales ; hence coin, 
 which had not its full weight, was not called trehuclmnt. 
 V. F
 
 8 2 THE MISER. [act v. 
 
 Har. That is not tlie question. 
 
 Jac. If I do not dish you up something as good as I 
 could wish, it is the fault of your Master Steward, who has 
 clipped my wings with the scissors of his economy, 
 
 Har. You wretch ! it concerns something else than the 
 supper ; and I wish you to give me some information re- 
 specting the money that has been stolen from me. 
 
 Jac. They have stolen some money from you ? 
 
 Har. Yes, you scoundrel ; and I shall have you hanged 
 if you do not give it me back again. 
 
 Mag. \To Harpagori] Good Heavens ! do not ill-use him. 
 I perceive by his face that he is an honest man, and that, 
 without having him locked up, he will inform you of what 
 you wish to know. Yes, my friend, if you confess the 
 matter to me, no harm will come to you, and you will be 
 suitably rewarded by your master. They have robbed him 
 of his money to-day ; and it is scarcely possible that you do 
 not know something of the matter. 
 
 Jac. {Aside to himself] This is just what I wish, in 
 order to revenge myself on our steward. Since he has set 
 foot in this house, he is the favourite ; his counsels are 
 the only ones listened to ; and the cudgel-blows, just now 
 received, are also sticking in my throat. 
 
 Har. What are you muttering to yourself about ? 
 
 Mag. [To Har'pagoii^ Leave him alone. He is pre- 
 paring to give you satisfaction ; and I told you that he was 
 an honest man. 
 
 Jac. If you wish me to tell you things as they arc, Sir, 
 I believe that it is your dear steward who has done this. 
 Ha^r. Valere ! 
 
 Jac. Yes. 
 
 Har. He ! who seemed so faithful to me ? 
 Jac. Himself. I believe that he is the one who robbed 
 you.
 
 sc. II.] THE MISER. 83 
 
 Har. And upon what do you base your belief? 
 
 Jac. Upon what ? 
 
 Har. Yes. 
 
 Jac. I believe it . . . because I believe it. 
 
 Mag. But it is necessary to mention the evidence which 
 you have. 
 
 Har. Have you seen him hang about the spot where I 
 had put my money ? 
 
 Jac. Yes, indeed. Where was your money ? 
 
 Har. In the garden. 
 
 Jac. That is just where I have seen him hanging about, 
 in the garden. And what was this money in ? 
 
 Har. In a cash-box. 
 
 Jac. The very thing. I have seen him with a cash-box. 
 
 Har. And this cash-box, how is it made ? I shall soon 
 see if it be mine. 
 
 Jac. How is it made ? 
 
 Har. Yes. 
 
 Jac. It is made ... it is made like a cash-box. 
 
 Mag. Of course. But just describe it a little, that I 
 may see. 
 
 Jac. It is a large cash-box. 
 
 Har. The one that has been stolen from me is a small one. 
 
 Jac. Eh ! Yes, it is small, if you take it in that way ; 
 but I call it large on account of its contents. 
 
 Mag. And what colour is it ? 
 
 Jac. What colour ? 
 
 Mag. Yes. 
 
 Jac. It is of a colour ... of a certain colour. Could 
 you not help me to say ? 
 
 Har. Ah I 
 
 Jac. Is it not red ? 
 
 Har. No, grey. 
 
 Jac. Yes, that is it, greyish-red ; that is what I meant.
 
 84 THE MISER. [ACT v. 
 
 Har. There is no longer any doubt ; it is the one 
 assuredly. Write down, Sir, write down his deposition. 
 Heavens ! whom is one to trust henceforth ! One must 
 no longer swear to anything ; and I verily believe, after 
 this, that I am the man to rob myself. 
 
 Jac. [To Harpagon] He is just coming back. Sir. Do 
 not tell him, at least, that it is I who have revealed all 
 this. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Harpagon, Magistrate, Vali^re, Master Jacques. 
 
 Har. Come near, and confess to the blackest deed, the 
 most horrible crime that was ever committed. 
 
 Vol. What do you wish. Sir ? 
 
 Har. How, wretch ' you do not blush for your crime. 
 
 Val. Of Avhat crime are you talking ? 
 
 Har. Of what crime am I talking, infamous monster ! as 
 if you did not know what I mean ! It is in vain that you 
 attempt to disguise it ; the thing has been discovered, and 
 I have just learned all. How coidd you thus abuse my 
 kindness, and introduce yourself into my house expressly 
 to betray me, to play me a trick of that sort ? 
 
 Val. Since everything has been revealed to you. Sir, I 
 will not prevaricate, and deny the matter to 3^ou.^^ 
 
 Jac. [Aside] Oli ! Oh ! could I unconsciously have 
 guessed aright ! 
 
 Val. It was my intention to speak to you about it, and 
 I wished to wait for a favourable opportunity ; but, since 
 matters are so, I implore you not to be angry, and to be 
 willing to listen to my motives. 
 
 Har. And what pretty motives can you advance, 
 infamous thief ? 
 
 Val. Ah ! Sir, I have not deserved these names. It is 
 
 Ml 
 
 See ill the Appendix, Note D, ;ui extract from Plautus' Avlvlaria.
 
 sc. HI.] THE MISER. 85 
 
 true that I liave committed an offence against you ; but, 
 after all, my fault is pardonable. 
 
 Hav. How ! pardonable ? A trap, a murder like that. 
 
 Vol. For pity's sake, do not get angry. When you 
 have heard me, you will see that the harm is not so great 
 as you make it. 
 
 Har. The harm is not so great as I make it ! What ! 
 my blood, my very heart,^'' hang-dog ! 
 
 Val. Your blood. Sir, has not fallen into bad hands. 
 I am of a rank not to do it any injury ; and there is nothing 
 in all this but what I can easily repair. 
 
 Har. That is what I intend, and that you should restore 
 to me what you have robbed me of 
 
 Val. Your honour shall be amply satisfied. Sir. 
 
 Har. There is no question of honour in it. But tell 
 me, who has driven you to such a deed ? 
 
 Val. Alas ! need you ask me ? 
 
 Har. Yes, indeed, I do ask you. 
 
 Val. A god who carries his excuse for all he makes 
 people do. Love. 
 
 Har. Love ? 
 
 Val. Yes. 
 
 Har. A pretty love, a pretty love, upon my word ! the 
 love for my gold pieces ! 
 
 Val. No, Sir, it is not your wealth that has tempted 
 me ; it is not that which has dazzled me ; and 1 protest 
 that I have not the slightest design upon your property, 
 provided you leave me that which I have got. 
 
 Ear. No, by all the devils I shall not leave it to you. 
 But see what insolence to wish to keep that of which he 
 has robbed me ! 
 
 Val. Do you call that a robbery ? 
 
 Har. If I call it a robbery ? a treasvire like that ! 
 
 57 The original has entruilles, bowels.
 
 86 THE MISER. [ACTV. 
 
 Val. It is a treasure, that is true, and the most precious 
 which you have got, no doubt ; but it would not be losing 
 it to leave it to me. I ask -you for it on my knees, this 
 treasure full of charms ? and to do right, you should grant 
 it to me. 
 
 Har. I shall do nothing of the kind. What does it all 
 mean ? 
 
 Val. We have pledged our faith to each other, and have 
 sworn never to part. 
 
 Har. The oath is admirable, and the promise rather 
 funny. 
 
 Val. Yes, we have bound ourselves to be all in all to 
 each other for ever. 
 
 Har. I shall hinder you from it, I assure you. 
 
 Val. Nothing but death shall separate us. 
 
 Har. It is being devilishly enamoured of my money. 
 
 Val. I have told you already. Sir, that interest did not 
 urge me to do what I have done. My heart did not act 
 from the motives which you imagine ; a nobler one inspired 
 me with this resolution. 
 
 Har. You shall see that it is from Christian charity that 
 he covets my property ! But I shall look to that ; and the 
 law will give me satisfaction for all this, you bare-faced 
 rogue. 
 
 Val. You shall act as you like, and I am ready to bear 
 all the violence you please ; but I implore you to believe, at 
 least, that if harm has been done, I only am to be blamed, 
 and that in all this, your daughter is nowise culpable. 
 
 Har. Indeed, I believe you ! it would be very strange if 
 my daughter had had a part in this crime. But I will 
 have my property back again, and I will have you confess 
 jvhere you have carried it away to, 
 
 Val. I ? I have not carried it away at all. It is still 
 in your house.
 
 sc. in.] THE MISER. S7 
 
 Har. \^Aside\ 0! my beloved cash- box ! [Aloiul] Then 
 it has not gone out of ray house ? 
 
 Val. No, Sir. 
 
 Har. Just tell me that you have not made free with it ? 
 
 Val. I make free with it ! Ah ! you wrong us both ; 
 and it is with a wholly pure and respectful ardour that I burn. 
 
 Har. \Aside\ Burn for my cash-box ! 
 
 Val. I would sooner die than show her any offensive 
 thought : she is too prudent and honourable for that. 
 
 Har. [Aside] My cash-box too honourable ! 
 
 Val. All my wishes are confined to enjoy the sight of her ; 
 and nothing criminal has profaned the passion with whicli 
 her beautiful eyes have inspired me. 
 
 Har. \^Aside\ The beautiful eyes of my cash-box ! He 
 speaks of her as a lover speaks of his mistress. ^^ 
 
 Val. Mistress Claude, Sir, knows the truth of this affair ; 
 and she can testify to it. 
 
 Har. What ! my servant is an accomplice in the matter ? 
 
 Val. Yes, Sir: she was a witness to our engagement; and 
 it is after having known the honourable intent of my passion, 
 that she has assisted me in persuading your daughter to 
 plight her troth, and receive mine. 
 
 Har. l^Aside] He ? Does the fear of justice make him 
 rave ? {To Valere] What means all this gibberish about 
 my daughter ? 
 
 Val. I say. Sir, that I have had all the trouble in the 
 world to bring her modesty to consent to what my love 
 wished for. 
 
 Har. The modesty of whom ? 
 
 68 This scene must necessarily lose much of its comic effect in transla- 
 tion, for the obvious reason that in French the difference between 
 cassette andjille, " cash-box" and " daughter," is not so palpable to the 
 ear, the feminine adjective and pronoun being used for both ; while in 
 English such is not the case, the one taking " it " as its ])ronoun, and
 
 88 THE MISER. [ACT v. 
 
 Val. Of your daughter ; and it is only yesterday that she 
 could make up her mind to sign a mutual promise of mar- 
 riage, 
 
 Har. My daughter has signed you a promise of mar- 
 riage ? 
 
 Val. Yes, Sir, as I have signed her one. 
 
 Har. O, Heaven ! another disgrace ! ^^ 
 
 Jac. [To the Magistrate] Write, Sir, write. 
 
 Har. More harm ! additional despair ! '^^ [To the Magis- 
 trate] Come Sir, do the duty of your office ; and draw up 
 for him his indictment as a felon and a suborner. 
 
 Jac. As a felon and a suborner. 
 
 Val. These are names that do not belong: to me : and 
 when people shall know who I am .... 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 
 Harpagon, Elise, Martane, VALfeRE, Frosine, Master 
 Jacques, a Magistrate. 
 
 Har. Ah ! graceless child ! daughter unworthy of a father 
 like me ! it is thus that you carry out the lessons which I 
 have given you ? You allow 3'ourself to become smitten 
 with an infamous thief ; and you pledge him your troth 
 without my consent ! But you shall both find out your mis- 
 take. [To Mise] Four strong walls will answer for your 
 conduct ; [to Vale're] and a good gibbet will give me satis- 
 faction for your audacity. 
 
 Val. It will not be your passion that shall judge this 
 matter ; and I shall get at least a hearing before being 
 condemned. 
 
 ^9 In the original rengr^gement de mat. RengrhgemeM is the compar- 
 ative of the old French word greigneur, great. 
 
 60 In Plautus, Aulidaria (Act. v., Scene 3), Euclio, on hearing the 
 truth from Lyconides, exclaims also, " I'm undone utterly ; so very 
 many misfortunes unite themselves for mv undoinir."
 
 sc. v.] THE MISER. 89 
 
 Har. I have made a mistake in saying a gibbet ; and 
 you shall be broken alive on the wheel. 
 
 El. \^At Harpagons knees] Ah ! father, show a little 
 more humanity in your feelings, I beseech you, and do not 
 push matters with the utmost violence of paternal power. 
 Do not give way to the first movements of your passion, and 
 give yourself time to consider what you do. Take the 
 trouble to know better him whom you believe to have offended 
 you. He is quite different from what he appears in your 
 eyes ; and you will find it less strange that I have given 
 myself to him, when you know that, had it not been for 
 him, you would long ago have had me no longer. Yes, 
 father, it is he who saved me from the great peril I was in 
 when I fell into the water, and to whom you owe the life of 
 that very daughter, who . . , 
 
 Har. All that is nothing ; and it would have been much 
 better for me, had he allowed you to be drowned, than to do 
 what he has done. 
 
 El. I implore you, father, by your paternal love, to . . . 
 
 Har. No, no ; I will hear nothing, and justice must have 
 its course. 
 
 Jac. You shall pay me my cudgel-blows. 
 
 Fro. [Aside] What strange confusion is this ! 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Anselme, Harpagon, Elise, Mariane, Frosine, 
 Val^re, Magistrate, Master Jacques. 
 
 An. What is the matter, Mr Harpagon ? I find you 
 quite upset. 
 
 Har. Ah ! Mr Anselme, I am the most unfortunate of 
 men ; and there is a great deal of trouble and disorder con- 
 nected with the contract which you have come to sign ! I 
 am attacked in my property, I am attacked in my honour ;
 
 90 THE MISER. [Af'T V. 
 
 and behold a wretch, a scoundrel who has violated the most 
 sacred rights ; who has introduced himself into my house 
 as a servant to rob me of my money, and to tamper with 
 mv daug-hter. 
 
 Val. Who is thinking of your money, of which you 
 make such a cock-and-bull story ? 
 
 Har. Yes, they have given each other a promise of mar- 
 riage. This insult concerns you, Mr Anselme, and it is 
 you who ought to take up the cudgels against him, and em- 
 ploy all the rigours of the law, to revenge yourself upon him 
 for his insolence. 
 
 Ans. It is not my intention to make any one marry me 
 by compulsion, and to lay claim to a heart which has already 
 pledged itself ; but, as far as your interests are concerned, I 
 am ready to espouse them, as if they were my own. 
 
 Har. This gentleman here is an honest magistrate who 
 will forget nothing, from what he has said to me, of the 
 duties of his office. [7^0 the Magistrate] Charge him. Sir, 
 in the right fashion, and make matters very criminal. 
 
 Val. I do not see what crime can be made out against 
 me of the affection which I entertain for your daughter, and 
 to what punishment you think I can be condemned on 
 account of our engagement when it shall be known who I 
 am . . . 
 
 Har. I do not care about any of these stories ; in our 
 days the world is full of these assumed noblemen,^'' of these 
 impostors, who take advantage of their obscurity, and with 
 the greatest insolence adopt the first illustrious name which 
 comes into their head. 
 
 Val. I would have you to know that I am too upright 
 to deck myself with anything that does not belong to me ; 
 and that all Naples can bear testimony to my birth. 
 
 Cl 
 
 See page 29, note 20.
 
 so- v.] THE MISER. 91 
 
 Atis. Gently ! take care what you are going to say. 
 You run a greater risk in this than you think ; you are 
 speaking before a man to whom all Naples is known, and 
 who can easily see through your story. 
 
 Vol. [^Proudly putting his hat on] I am not the man to 
 fear anything ; and if you know Naples, you know who was 
 Don Thomas d'Alburci. 
 
 Ans. No doubt, I know ; and few people have known 
 him better than I. 
 
 Har. I do not care for Don Thomas nor Don Martin. 
 
 [Seeing tiuo candles burning, bloivs one out.^'^ 
 
 Ans. Pray let him speak ; we shall hear what he means to 
 say about him. 
 
 Vol. I mean to say that to him I owe my birth. 
 
 Ans. To him ? 
 
 Vol. Yes. 
 
 Ans. Come ; you are jesting. Invent some other story 
 which may succeed better, and do not attempt to save your- 
 self by this imposture. 
 
 Val. Learn to speak differently. It is not an impos- 
 ture, and I advance nothing but what can be easily proved 
 by me. 
 
 Ans. What ! you dare call yourself the son of Don 
 Thomas d' Alburci ? 
 
 Val. Yes, I dare ; and I am prepared to maintain this 
 truth against any one. 
 
 62 There is a traditionary stage play going on during this scene. 
 Whilst this conversation is taking place, Harpagon puts out one of the 
 candles which are on the table ; Jacques lights it again ; Harpagon 
 blows it out anew, and holds it in his hand, but whilst he is listening, 
 the servant rekindles it. The miser sees the lighted candle, while un- 
 folding his arms ; he extinguishes it anew, and puts it in his breeches' 
 pocket, where Jacques relights it again, and where it is afresh dis- 
 covered by Harpagon. Some commentators of Moliere have blamed 
 this by-play.
 
 92 THE MISER. [ACT V. 
 
 Ans. The audacity is marvellous I Leani to your con- 
 fusion, that it is sixteen years at least since the man you 
 speak of perished at sea with his wife and children, while 
 endeavouring to save their lives from the cruel persecutions 
 which accompanied the troubles at Naples, and which 
 caused the exile of several noble families.*'^ 
 
 Val. Yes ; but learn, to your confusion, you, that his son, 
 seven years of age, with a servant, was saved from the 
 wreck by a Spanish vessel, and that this son, who was 
 saved, is the person who speaks to you. Learn that the 
 captain of that ship, pitying my misfortune, conceived a 
 friendship for me ; that he had me educated as his own son, 
 and that I was trained to the profession of arms ever since I 
 was old enough ; that I have learned lately that my father is 
 not dead, as I always believed ; that passing through here 
 to go in search of him, an accident, arranged by Heaven, 
 brought me into contact with the charming Elise ; that the 
 sight of her made me a slave to her beauty, and that the 
 violence of my passion and the harshness of her father 
 made me resolve to introduce myself into his house, and to 
 send some one else in quest of my parents. 
 
 Ans. But what other proofs than your words can 
 guarantee to us that this is not a fable based upon truth ? 
 
 Val. The Spanish captain ; a ruby seal which belonged 
 to my father; an agate bracelet which my mother had on 
 her arm ; old Pedro, the servant, who was saved with me 
 from the wreck. 
 
 Mar. Alas ! to your words I can answer, I, that you are 
 not imposing, and all that you say shows me clearly that 
 you are my brother. 
 
 Val. You, my sister ! 
 
 "3 It is possible that Moliere meant to speak here of Masaniello's 
 rL-l)ellioii at Na])les, in the years 1G47 and 1648, and which agrees, 
 in the main, with the age of tlie (liirt'i-ent personages.
 
 sc. v.] THE MISER. 93 
 
 Mar. Yes. My heart was touched the moment you 
 opened your lips ; and our mother, who will be overjoyed 
 at seeing" you, has thousands of times related to me the 
 misfortunes of our family. Heaven also permitted us not to 
 perish in this dreadful shipwreck ; but our lives were saved 
 only at the cost of our liberty ; and they were pirates that 
 picked us up, my mother and me, on a plank of our vessel. 
 After ten years of slavery, a happy accident regained for us 
 our freedom ; and we returned to Naples, where we found 
 all our property sold, without being able to trace any news 
 of our father. We then travelled to Genoa, whither my 
 mother went to pick up some miserable remains of an in- 
 heritance of which she had been despoiled ; and thence, 
 flying from the barbarous injustice of her relatives, she 
 came hither, where she has almost barely been able to drag 
 on her life. 
 
 Ans. Oh Heaven ! how great is the evidence of thy 
 power ! and how well showest thou that it belongs only to 
 thee to perform miracles ! Embrace me, my children, and 
 share your joys with those of your father. 
 Val. You are our father ? 
 
 Mar. It is you whom my mother has so much bewailed. 
 Ans. Yes, my daughter, yes, my son ; I am Don Thomas 
 d'Alburci, whom Heaven saved from the waves, with all the 
 money which he carried with him, and who, believing you 
 all dead during more than sixteen years, prepared, after 
 long journeying, to seek, in the union with a gentle and 
 discreet girl, the consolation of a new family. The little 
 safety which I found for my life in Naples, has made me for 
 ever abandon the idea of returning ; and having found 
 means to sell all that I possessed there, I became used to 
 this place, where, under the name of Anselme, I wished 
 to get rid of the sorrows of this other name, which caused 
 me so many misfortunes.
 
 •^4 THE MISER. [ACT v. 
 
 Har. \To Anselme] Is this your son ? 
 
 Aois. Yes. 
 
 Har. Then I hold you responsible for paying me ten 
 thousand crowns of which he has robbed me. 
 
 Ans. He has robbed you ! 
 
 Har. Himself. 
 
 Val. Who tells you this ? 
 
 Har. Master Jacques. 
 
 Val. [To Master Jacques] Is it you who say this ? 
 
 Jacq. You see that I say nothing. 
 
 Har. Yes. There is the Magistrate who has received 
 his deposition. 
 
 Val. Can you believe me capable of so base an action ? 
 
 Har. Capable or not capable, I want my money back 
 again. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Harpagon, Anselme, Elise, Mariane, Cl^ante, Val{:re, 
 Frosine, a Magistrate, Master Jacques, La FlJiche. 
 
 Cle. Do not worry yourself any longer, father, and 
 accuse no one. I have discovered tidings of your affair ; 
 and I have come here to tell you, that if you will make up 
 your mind to let me marry Mariane, your money shall be 
 returned to you. 
 
 Har. "Where is it ? 
 
 Cle'. Do not grieve about that. It is in a spot for 
 which I answer ; and everything depends upon me. It is 
 for you to say what you resolve ; and you can choose, either 
 to give me Mariane, or to lose your cash-box. 
 
 Har. Has nothing been taken out ? 
 
 Cle'. Nothing at all. Now make up your mind whether 
 you will subscribe to this marriage, and join your consent to 
 that of her mother, who leaves her free to choose between 
 us two.
 
 «f- VI.] THE MISER. 95 
 
 • Mar. [To Cleante] But you do not know that this con- 
 sent is no longer sufficient ; and that Heaven restores to 
 me not only a brother [pointiiig to Valere] but also 
 [jpointing to Anselme] a father, from whom you must 
 obtain me. 
 
 Ans. Heaven has not restored me to you, my children, 
 to go contrary to your desires. Mr Harpagon, you are Avell 
 aware that the choice of a young girl will fall upon the son 
 rather than upon the father ; come, do not oblige people to 
 say what it is not necessary to hear ; and consent, as well 
 as I do, to this double match. 
 
 Ha7\ To be well advised, 1 must see my cash-box. 
 
 Cle. You shall see it safe and sound. 
 
 Har. I have no money to give my children in mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Ans. Well ! I have some for them ; do not let that 
 trouble you. 
 
 Har. Will you undertake to defray all the expenses of 
 these two weddings ? 
 
 Ans. Yes, I undertake it. Are you satisfied ? 
 
 Har. Yes, provided that you will order me a suit for 
 tlie nuptials. 
 
 Ans. That is agreed. Let us go and rejoice in the happi- 
 ness which this day brings us. 
 
 Mag. Hullo ! gentlemen, hullo ! Gently, if you please. 
 Who is to pay for my writing ? ^* 
 
 Har. We have nothing to do with your writings. 
 
 Mag. Yes ! but I do not pretend to have written for 
 nothing. 
 
 Har. [Pointing to blaster Jacques] For your payment, 
 
 ^■^ It ap23ears that in Moliere's time the places of commissaire were 
 bought ; hence these magistrates were very liable to be bribed. Com- 
 pare what Sganarelle says to one of them in The School for Husbands 
 (Vol. II., page 36, Act iii., Scene 5).
 
 96 THE MISER. [act V. 
 
 there is a man of whom I make you a present ; and you 
 may hang him. 
 
 Jac. Alas ! how must one act ? I get cudgel-blows for 
 speaking the truth ; and they Avish to hang me for telling 
 a lie ! 
 
 Ans. Mr Harpagon, you must forgive him this im- 
 posture. 
 
 Har. Will you pay the magistrate, then ? 
 
 Ans. Be it so. Come let us go quickly to share our 
 joy with your mother. 
 
 Har. And I, to see my dear cash-box.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A, Page 22. 
 
 Shadwell, in his Miser, has thus imitated the tifth, sixth, seventh, 
 and eighth Scenes of the first Act of Molifere's play of the same name. 
 Harpagon is called Goldingham ; Cleante, Theodore ; Mariane, Theodora ; 
 and Valere, BeUamour. 
 
 Gold. Well, 
 
 What 's the Matter with you ? Have you been long there \ 
 
 Theodore. No, Sir, but now come. 
 
 Gold. What, do ye stand list'ning ? 
 
 Theodore. Not we, I assure ye. 
 
 Gold. Come, come, ye did ; if they overheard me, I shall hang 
 
 myself 
 
 Theodora. Not we, I assure you, Sir. 
 
 Gold. I was saying to myself, how happy should I be if I had but 
 
 six thousand Pound in the World. 
 
 Theodore. You need not wish that. 
 
 Gold. 'Tis false, 'tis false ; oh would to Heav'n I had ! Oh how 
 
 happy should I be ! I shovild never complain then the Times are hard, 
 not I. 
 
 Theedora. This is all but EaiUery, Sir. 
 
 Theodore. You have more than five times as much. 
 
 Gold. 'Sdeath ! what says he ? O thou Villain, thou Viper thou, 
 
 have I bred thee uj) to destroy me ? Are my Children become my 
 greatest Enemies 1 
 
 Theodore. Are those your Enemies, that say you are rich ? 
 
 Gold. Oh ! it is the vilest Injury you can do me ; such Discourses 
 
 as these will make my Throat be cut. Thieves will believe I am all 
 made up with Gold ; your extravagant Expenses too will make 'em 
 think so. 
 
 Theodore. I know none I am guilty of, unless keeping myself clean 
 be so. 
 
 Gold. Oh your Periwigs, your Ribbands, your Laces ; you are as 
 
 much a Spark as any of those that go fine . . . and jjay no debts, 
 about the Town ; and if the Truth were known, you, and your Sister 
 here must rob me to do it. 
 
 Theodore. He will have good luck that robs you. [Jsi'iie] You know 
 
 V. G
 
 98 THE MISER. 
 
 my Sister ventures some Money at Sea (that was left her by an Aunt), 
 and (for me) I am sometimes lucky at Play, and I eat and drink, and 
 keep myself handsomely dress'd with it. 
 
 Oold. Handsomely ! foolishly : to what End are these multitudes 
 
 of Eibbands, this Flaxen Moji of . . . Hair, and this Flanders Lace 
 upon the Shirt ; I warrant this Habit cost thii'ty Pound : now if you 
 do win Money, put it to other uses (you foolish young Knave), 30^. comes 
 to thirty-six Shillings a- Year, according to Statutable Use ; but thou 
 mightest make 20Z. a-year on 't if thou hadst any Brains, and (with such 
 Use upon Use) what would 30^. come to in seven Years ? 
 
 Theodora. But, Sir, my Brother and I came to talk with you of other 
 Business. 
 
 Qold. Well, and I have something to say to you of other 
 
 Business. 
 
 Theodora. 'Tis concerning Marriage, Sir. 
 
 Gold. And I intended to speak to yoii concerning Marriage. 
 
 Theodora. Ah, Father ! 
 
 Gold. Ah, Father ! what's that for ? what ? what ? you would be 
 
 at it already, would you % Soft and fair, young Gentlewoman. 
 
 Theodore. No, Sir, my Sister is afraid that yovir opuiion of Marriage 
 will not agree with ours. 
 
 Gold. Fear not, you shall have uo cause of complaint, I shall do 
 
 well for you both ; and (first of all) have you Theodore, seen one Isabella, 
 that lies near this Place ? 
 
 Theodore. O ! yes, Sir, sevei'al times, in her Balcony. 
 
 Gold. And you ? 
 
 Theodora. I have heard of her, Sir. 
 
 Gold. Well, Son, and how do you find that Lady ? 
 
 Theodore. She's admirably handsome. I have never seen her Equal. 
 
 Gold. Her Face, ha 1 
 
 Theodore. Beyond whate'er a Lover fancied of his Mistress. 
 
 Gold. Her Shape, is it not well ? 
 
 Theodore. Not only faultless, but excellent to a Miracle. 
 
 Gold. Her Mien, ha 
 
 Theodore. Graceful, and admirable. 
 
 (Jold. Her Air, and her Manner 
 
 Theodore. Tlie most charming in the World ; her air so full of Modesty 
 and Wit, her Carriage so alluring and genteel, I have never seen the 
 like. 
 
 Gold. Oh ho, would not this Lady make a pleasant Bed-fellow? 
 
 Theodore. It were a liappiuess beyond all Expression, such as 'twere 
 not safe to think on't. 
 
 Gold. But there is one Point to be consider'd, her Portion. 
 
 Theodore. Oh, Sir, that (with so fine a Lady) is not considerable, not 
 to 1)0 mentioned. 
 
 Theodora. Besides, Sir, I have heard she has a tolerable Fortune.
 
 THE MISER. 
 
 99 
 
 Theodore. Never think on that. 
 
 Gold. Well, T am glad we agree so well in our Opinions of this 
 
 Lady ; for (by these charming Qualities) she has so won upon me, that 
 I am resolved fortliwith to marry her. 
 Theodore. Oh Heav'n ! 
 
 What say you ? \^IIastU>/. 
 
 Are you resolv'd, say you 1 
 
 Yea, to marry Isabella. 
 Who 1. You ? you ? 
 
 Gold. 
 Theodore. 
 Gold. 
 Theodore. 
 Gold. 
 comb ? 
 Theodore. 
 
 Gold. 
 
 Yes, I, I, I ; why, what do you make of me, young Cox- 
 
 'Sdeath ! This has struck me to the Heart. 
 
 Who cares ! go get some Aqua-vitce ; I 
 
 \_Exit Theodore. 
 hope this young 
 
 prodigal Ass will hang himself, at the News of a young Mother-in-Law. 
 This, Daughter, is that which I resolve for myself : now for him, I have 
 provided a grave Matron of about fifty, with a great deal of Money ; 
 and you I intend to marry to Timothy Squeeze, the rich Scrivener's Son, 
 a very thrifty young Man. 
 
 Theodora. Heaven, what do I hear ! \Aside. 
 
 Gold. He's a very pretty young Man, and knows how to make 60 
 
 per cent, of his Money. 
 
 Theodora. Sir, if you please, I will not marry. 
 
 Gold. Madam, if you please, you shall marry. 
 
 Theodora. Pray pardon me. Sir. 
 
 Gold. Pray pardon me. Madam. 
 
 Theodora. You may command me in anything but this. 
 
 Gold. I will command you in this, and to-Night too. 
 
 Theodora. To-Night ! that shall not be. 
 
 Gold. That shall be. 
 
 Theodora. No, Sir. 
 
 Gold. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Theodora. I'll kiU myself before I marry him. 
 
 Gold. You shall not kill your self, and you shall marry him ; 
 
 but did ever Father endure such Insolence from a Daughter. 
 
 Theodora. Was ever Daughter so severely i;sed by a Father. 
 
 Gold. All the World will allow of my Choice. 
 
 Theodora. No man of Sense wiU. 
 
 Enter Bellamour. 
 
 Gold. Here comes Bellamour, will you be judg'd by him '] 
 
 Theodora. With all my Heart. This is lucky enough. [Aside 
 
 Gold. Look you, Bellamour, my Daughter disjautes with me ; 
 
 which do you think has Eeason, she or I ? 
 Bell. Oh, Sir, you, without Question. 
 
 Gold. Do you know what we were talking of ?
 
 100 THE MISER. 
 
 Bell. No, Sir, but you cannot be in the wrong. 
 
 Gold. Look you, you are to be Judge ; I would marry her to 
 
 Timothy Squeeze, the rich Scrivener's Son, this Night, and the Baggage 
 despises him. 
 
 Bell. And am I to be Judge \ 
 
 Gold. Ay, of this. 
 
 Bell. Oh, Heaven ! 
 
 Gold. What say you ? 
 
 Bell. I am of your opinion, Sir, in the main ; but your 
 
 Daughter is not wholly in the wrong. 
 
 Gold. Why, why ? is Mr Timothy's Person, or Fortune, to be 
 
 rejected ] Where can she have a better 1 
 
 Bell. That's true. Sir ; but she may say, 'tis too rash to resolve 
 
 to do it so suddenly, and that she ought to have some time to accommo- 
 date her Inclinations to him. 
 
 Gold. Time ! come, I must take Occasion by the Forelock ; his 
 
 Father (that is very rich, but of mean Extraction) will (for the sake of 
 good Alliance) let his Son marry her without a Portion. 
 
 Bell. Nay, then, I miist say no more ; that is a convincing 
 
 Reason ; she must submit to that. 
 
 Theodora. ~W\\iit n\Q?a\s Bellamour ? \^Aside 
 
 Gold. I know not what it is to her, I am sure 'tis the most con- 
 
 siderable Reason in the World to me. 
 
 Bell. Without doubt, Sir, no Man can contradict that ; but your 
 
 Daughter may answer you that Marriage is the most solemn Thmg in 
 the world, and that which must make her always either happy or miser- 
 able. 
 
 Gold. Without Portion, mark that 
 
 Bell. You have Reason, Sir ; that decides all. But, Sir, People 
 
 will tell yoi^ that the Inclination of your Daughter ought to be a little 
 regarded, and that forcing Affections has often ruin'd the best of 
 Families. 
 
 Gold. What, without Portion \ 
 
 Bell. Nay, there can be no Reply to that. 'Tis true, there are 
 
 a great many Fathers that prize the Satisfaction of their Daughters, 
 and woiild never sacrifice them to Interest, but would consult their 
 Affections. 
 
 Gold. But again I say, without Portion. 
 
 Bell. 'Tis true, without Portion is an answer to every thing ; 
 
 and who can resist such Reason as yours ? 
 
 Gold. \^To himself] Oh, Heaven! I hear the Dog bark. 1 am so 
 
 afraid of this Money, I must into the Garden. Stay here. 
 
 [Exit Goldinghatii. 
 Theodora. Bellamovr, you are in the wrong to talk thus with liini. 
 Bell. If I should oi)j)<)se him. Madam, I should ruin our Design ; 
 
 and you will do better to feign a (Consent to what he commands.
 
 THE MISER. 101 
 
 Theodora. But for this sudden Marriage to-Night. 
 
 Bell. We'll find Means to break it, and make him consent to it. 
 
 Theodora. What can you invent % 
 
 Bell. Feign some Sickness, and desire him to delay it for that. 
 
 Theodora. Physicians will find out that Deceit. 
 
 Bell. Madam, he would scarce be at the Charge of one to save 
 
 his own Life, much less yours. 
 
 Theodora. But he has Kindred that will give him this Advice for 
 nothing. 
 
 Bell. Madam, do you believe in Doctors % Do you think they 
 
 know more than Nursekeepers \ I warrant you. Madam, counterfeit 
 what Distemper you please, they'll find Eeasons enough to tell you 
 from whence it comes. 
 
 Enter Goldingham. 
 
 Gold. Heaven be praised, all's well ! there was nobody. 
 
 Bell. Besides, Madam, oiir last Recourse shall be to discover 
 
 ourselves and our affections, and if you can be constant, as I doubt not 
 — [Ooldingham is seen hy theni\. Madam (as I was saying) a Daughter 
 ought not to dispute her Father's Will, or once think whether she likes 
 the Man or no whom he chooses for her ; especially where that in- 
 vincible Eeason, of without Portion, offers itself. [Theodora flings from 
 him hastily and goes out. 
 
 Gold. Well said, Bellamoitr. 
 
 Bell. Sir, I ask your pardon that I make so bold with your 
 
 Daughter. 
 
 Gold. I am o'erjoyed at it ; you have done exceeding well. 
 
 Bell. Sir, I will never fail to urge her with Arguments, and 
 
 especially, that undeniable one, of without Portion. 
 
 Gold. 'Tis very well. 
 
 Bell. Oh, Sir, there's nothing (in this World) so precious as 
 Money ; not Honom-, Birth, Education, Wit, Courage, Virtue, Wisdom, 
 Religion, Loyalty 
 
 Gold. Oh, there spoke an Oracle ! Dear Bellamour, I could hug 
 
 thee for this ; thou shalt follow and advise her. 
 
 B, Page 52. 
 
 We give the thii-d Scene of the third Act of Fielding's Miser, which he 
 has imitated from the fifth Scene of the third Act of Moliere's play of 
 the same name. The miser is called Lovegold ; Jacques is James ; and 
 Valere, Clermont. 
 
 Lovegold, Clermont, James. 
 Ja. Did you send for me, sir ? 
 Love. Where have you been 1 for I have wanted you above an hour.
 
 102 THE MISER. 
 
 Ja. Whom, sir, did you want % your coacliman or your cook ? for I'm 
 both one and t'other. 
 
 Love. I want my cook, sir. 
 
 Ja. I thought, indeed, it was not your coachman ; for you have had 
 no great occasion for him since your last pair of geldings were starv'd. 
 But your cook, sii', shall wait on you in an instant. 
 
 \Puts off his coachmarCs great coat, and appears as a cook. 
 
 Love. What's the meaning of this folly 1 
 
 Ja. I am ready for your commands, sir ? 
 
 Love. I am engag'd this evening to give a supper. 
 
 Ja. A supper, sir ! I have not heard the word this half-year. I 
 have indeed now and then heard of such a thing as a dinner ; but for a 
 supper, I have not dress'd one so long that I am afraid my hand is out. 
 
 Love. Leave off your saucy jesting, sirrah, and see that you provide 
 me a good supper. 
 
 Ja. That may be done, sir, with a good deal of money. 
 
 Love. What, is the devil in you ? Always money. Can you say noth- 
 ing else but money, money, money ! All my servants, my children, my 
 relatives, can pronounce no other word than money. 
 
 Cler. I never heard so ridiculous an answer. Here's a miracle for you, 
 indeed, to make a good supper with a good deal of money ! Is there 
 anything so easy ? Is there anyone who can't do it ? Would a man 
 show himself to be a good cook, he must make a good supper out of a 
 little money. 
 
 Ja. I wish you wou'd be so good, sir, as to shew us the art, and take 
 my office of cook upon yourself. 
 
 Love. Peace, sirrah, and tell me what we can have. 
 
 Ja. There's a gentleman, sir, who can furnish you out a supper with 
 a little money. 
 
 Love. Answer me yourself. 
 
 Ja. Why, sir, how many will there be at the table 1 
 
 Love. About eight or ten ; but I will have a supper dressed but for 
 eight ; for if there be enough for eight, there is enough for ten. 
 
 Ja. Suppose, sir, you have at one end of the table a good handsome 
 cup ; at the other a fine Westphalia ham and chickens ; on one side a 
 fillet of veal roasted ; and on the other a turkey, or rather a bustard, 
 which, I believe, may be bought for a guinea, or thereabouts. 
 
 Love. What, is the fellow providing an entertainment for my lord- 
 mayor, and the court of aldermen ? 
 
 Ja. Then, sir, for the second course, a lea.sh of pheasants, a leash of 
 fat poulards, half a dozen partridges, one dozen of quails, two dozen of 
 ortolans, three dozen 
 
 Love. [Putting his hand before James' mouthl Ah, villain ! you are 
 eating up all I am worth. 
 
 Ja. Then a ragout 
 
 Love, [Stopping his inouth agavi] Hold your extravagant tongue, sirrah.
 
 THE MISER. 103 
 
 Cler. Have you a mind to burst them all ? Has my master invited 
 people to CTam 'em to death ? or do you think his friends have a mind 
 to eat him up at one supper ! Such servants as you, Mr James, should 
 be often reminded of that excellent saying of a very wise man, ""We 
 must eat to live, and not live to eat." 
 
 Love. Excellently well said, indeed ; it is the finest sentence I ever 
 
 heard in my life. " We must live to eat, and not eat to ." No, that 
 
 is not it ; how did you say ? 
 
 Love. Extremely fine ; pray, write them out for me ; for I'm resolved 
 to have 'em done in letters of gold, or black and white rather, over my 
 hall chimney. 
 
 Ja. You have no need to do any more, sir ; people talk enough of 
 you already. 
 
 Love. Pray, sir, what do people say of me ? 
 
 Ja. Ah, sir, if I could be but assur'd that you would not be angiy 
 with me. 
 
 Love. Not at all ; so far from it, you will very much oblige me ; for I 
 am always very glad to hear what the world says of me. 
 
 Ja. Well, sir, then since you will have it, I will tell you freely, that 
 they make a jest of you everywhere ; nay, of your very servants, upon 
 your account. They make ten thousand stories of you ; one says that 
 you have always a quarrel ready with your servants at quarter-day, or 
 when they leave you, in order to find an excuse to give them nothing. 
 Another says that you were taken one night stealing your own oats 
 from your own horses, for which your coachman very handsomely 
 belabour'd your back. In a word, sir, one can go nowhere, where you 
 are not the byeword ; you are the laughing-stock of all the world ; and 
 you are never mention'd but by the names of covetous, scraping, 
 stingy 
 
 Love. Impertinent, impudent rascal ! Beat him for me, Clermont. 
 
 Cler. Are you not asham'd, Mr James, to give your master this 
 language 1 
 
 Ja. What's that to you, sir ? I fancy this fellow's a coward ; if he 
 be, I will handle him. 
 
 Cler. It does not become a servant to use such language to his 
 master. 
 
 Ja. Who taught you, sir, what becomes 1 If you trouble your head 
 with my business, I shall thrash your jacket for you. If I once take a 
 stick in hand, I shall teach you to hold your tongue for the future, I 
 believe. If you offer to say another word to me, I'll break your head 
 for you. \_Drives Clermont to the further end of the stage. 
 
 Cler. How, rascal, break my head % 
 
 Ja. I did not say I'd break your head. 
 
 \Clermont drives him lack again. 
 
 Cler. Do you know, sirrah, that I shall break yours for this 
 impudence 1
 
 104 THE MISER. 
 
 Ja. I hope not, sir ; I give no offence, sir. 
 
 Cler. That I shall shew you the difference between us. 
 
 J a. Ha, ha, ha, sir, I was but in jest. 
 
 Cler. Then I shall Avarn you to forbear these jests for the future. 
 
 \I\.icks him off the stage. 
 
 Ja. Nay, sir, can't yoii take a jest ? Why, I was but in jest all the 
 while. 
 
 Love. How happy am I in such a clerk ! 
 
 Cler. You may leave the ordering of the supper to me, sir, I will take 
 care of that. , 
 
 Love. Do so ; see and provide something to cloy their stomachs : 
 let there be two great dishes of soup-meagre, a good large suet-pudding, 
 some dainty fat pork-pye or pasty, a fine small breast of mutton, not 
 too fat; a salad, and a dish of artichokes; which will make plenty and 
 variety enough. 
 
 Cler. I shall take a particular care, sir, to provide every thing to 
 your satisfaction. 
 
 Love. But be sure there be plenty of soup, be sure of that. This is 
 a most excellent young fellow ; but now I will go and pay a visit to my 
 money. 
 
 C, Page 79. 
 
 In Plautus' Aulularia (Act v., Scene 2), when Euclio discovers that 
 he is robbed, he raves in the following manner : — 
 
 Euc. I 'm ruined ! I 'm done for ! 1 'm murdered ! Whither shall 
 I run '? Whither not run ] Stop him — stop him. Whom ? who ? I 
 don't know. I see nothing! I'm going blindfolded; and, in fact, 
 whither I am going, oi- where I am, or who I am, I can't in my mind 
 find out for certain. \_To the audience'] I beseech you, give me your 
 aid (I beg and entreat of you), and point me out the person that has 
 taken it away. What 's the matter ? Why do you laugh ! I 'm 
 acquainted with you all ; I know that there are many thieves here, 
 who conceal themselves with white clothes and chalk, and sit as though 
 they were honest! [To one of the spectators] What say you? You 
 I 'm resolved to believe ; for I perceive, even by your looks, that you 
 are honest. Well, then, none of these has got it ? You 've been the 
 death of me ! Tell me, then, who has got it ? You don't know ] Oh, 
 wretclied, wretched me I I 'm done for ! wofully undone ! In most 
 sorry plight I go; so much groaning, and misfortune, and sorrow, has 
 this day brought upon me, hunger and poverty, too. I'm the most 
 utterly ruined of all men upon the earth ! For what need of life have 
 I, who have lost so mucli gold tliat I so carefully watched ? I pinclied 
 myself, and my inclinations, and my very heart ! Now others are 
 rejoicing at this, ray loss and my misfortune ! I cannot endure it. 
 
 [He runs about, crying and stamping.
 
 THE MISEU. 105 
 
 D, Page 84. 
 
 In Plautus' Aulidaria (Act v., Scene 3), the same mistake takes place 
 between Lyconides and Euclio as between Harpagon and Valere, but 
 the young Greek has placed the daughter of Euclio, Plia?dra, in such a 
 dilemma, that her hand can hardly be refused to him. 
 
 Lye. . . . That deed which is afflicting your mind, I did it, and I 
 confess it. 
 
 Euc. What is it I hear from you ? 
 
 Lye. That which is tlie truth. 
 
 Eue. What evil, young man, have I deserved, by reason of which 
 you should do thus, and go to ruin both me and my children 1 
 
 Lye. A Divinity was my prompter ; he prompted me to do it. 
 
 Euc. How '] 
 
 Lye. I confess that I have done wrong, and I know that I deserve 
 censure ; for that reason I 'm come to beseech you, that, with feelings 
 assuaged, you will pardon me. 
 
 Euc. Why did you dare do so, to touch that which was not your 
 own? 
 
 Lye. What do you wish to be done ? The thing has been done ; it 
 can't be undone. I believe that the gods willed it, for if they hadn't 
 willed it, I know it wouldn't have hajapened. 
 
 Euc. But I believe that the gods have willed that I should be the 
 death of you in fetters. 
 
 Lye. Don't say that ! 
 
 Euc, What business, then, have you to touch what is my own against 
 my will ? 
 
 Lye. Because I did it under the evil influence of wine and love. 
 
 Eue. Most audacious man, that you should dare to come here to me 
 with that speech, you impudent fellow ! For if this is lawful, so that 
 you may be able to excuse it, let us openly, in broad day light, plunder 
 their golden trinkets from ladies ; after that, if we are caught, let us 
 excuse ourselves that we did it when intoxicated, by reason of being in 
 love. Too cheap are wine and love, if one in liquor and in love is 
 allowed to do with impunity whatever he jsleases. 
 
 Lye. But I come to you of my own accord to supplicate you on 
 account of my folly. 
 
 Eue. Persons don't please me who, when they 've done wrong, excuse 
 themselves. You knew that you had no riglit there ; you oughtn't to 
 have toviched. 
 
 Lye. Therefore, inasmuch as I did dare to touch, I make no objec- 
 tions to keep by all means. 
 
 Eue. You keep what is my own against my will ? 
 
 Lye. Against your wiU, I do not ask ; but I think that that which
 
 ! 
 
 lOG THE MISER. 
 
 was yours ought to be mine. Moreover, Euclio, you '11 find, I say, that 
 mine it ought to be. 
 
 Euc. Now really, on my word, I '11 drag you to the Praetor and take 
 proceedings against you, unless you make restitution. 
 
 Lye. Make restitution of what to you 1 
 
 Euc. What you 've stolen of mine. 
 
 Lye. I stolen of yours ? Whence, or what is it 1 
 
 Eue. So shall Jupiter love you. How ignorant you are about it ! 
 
 Lye. Unless, indeed, you tell me what you are inquiring for. 
 
 Euc. The pot of gold, I say, I 'm asking back of you, which you con- 
 fessed to me that you had taken away. 
 
 Lye. By my faith, I 've neither said so, nor have I done it. 
 
 Eue. Do you deny it ? 
 
 Lye. Yes, I do utterly deny it ; for neither this gold nor yet this pot, 
 what it means, do I know or understand.
 
 MONSIEUE DE POURCEAUGNAC, 
 
 COMEDIE-BALLET. 
 
 MONSIEUR DE POUECE AUGN AC, 
 
 A COMEDY-BALLET IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 (THE ORIGINAL PARTLY IN PROSE, AND PARTLY IN VERSE.) 
 
 October 6th, 16G9.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 The whole of the first jaart of the year 1669 was occupied with Tartv.ffe. 
 Only in the month of October of the same yeai', Moiisiev.r de Poiirceaugnac, 
 a new production of Moliere, which was ordered for the king, and 
 played on the 6th of that month at Chambord, saw the light. Moliere 
 and his troupe received 6000 livres for their acting of this play, which 
 was represented at the theatre of the Palais- Royal, on the 15th of No- 
 vember of the same year, and was performed twenty times in succession. 
 It was anew acted before the Court on the 6th of March of the following 
 year. The idea of putting the hero of the comedy in the hands of a phy- 
 sician, to be cured in spite of himself, and making the first believe that 
 he is going to be " treated as well as possible," whilst the latter thinks 
 that he has to deal with a patient, is to be found in many of the early 
 fabliaux ; only the scene takes place between a jsriest, who imagines that 
 he has to exorcise a man, wliilst this one is a creditor who flatters himself 
 that he is going to be paid. Later, a doctor or surgeon was put in the 
 place of the priest. In the Histoire ge'n&ale des Larrons, published at 
 Lyons in 1639, a tale is told how a thief broiight a draper's assistant to 
 a certain surgeon. He had warned the latter beforehand that he should 
 bring him a patient, and ran off with a piece of cloth which he had 
 ordered in the name of the doctor, who, as well as his supposed patient, 
 were endeavouring to explain the mistake under which each laboured. 
 This trick had already been represented on the Theatre du Marais, in 
 1661, by a certain Chevalier, in a farce in verse, The Desolation of the 
 Rogues about the Prohibition of Wearing Arms, or the Patients who are 
 not ill. In this farce, Guillot's master gives him a valuable ring, to 
 borrow money upon. The servant entrusts the ring to a rascal, who 
 gives it to one of his accomplices, dressed as a physician. The latter 
 pretends to have been paid to cure Guillot, who refuses to place himself 
 under his hands, and who is pursued by a great many apothecaries, 
 armed with syiiuges. 
 
 Moliere received the first hint of the scene in which Eraste persuades 
 M. de Pourceaugnac that they are old friends, from a tale by ScaiTon, 
 published in 1652, and called Not to Believe ichat One Sees. The scenes 
 in which Pourceaugnac is pestered by Nerine, Lucette, and their chil- 
 dren, and the flight of the Limousin gentleman, dressed as a woman, 
 are said to be found in an Italian farce. The Disgraces of Harlequin; but 
 the date when this farce was first played is not known with any certainty.
 
 110 MONSIEUK DE POURCEAUGNAC. 
 
 It has been stated that Molicre, in order to revenge himself upon a 
 gentleman of Limoges who had insulted him, brought his caricature 
 upon the stage as M. de Pourceaugnac. But he must have met many 
 such characters during his peregrinations, as a strolling player, in the 
 provinces. M. de Pourceaugnac is, like M. de Sotenville, in George 
 Dandin, a provincial gentleman ; but the first is something of a lawyer, 
 and is more easily gulled, though brimful of suspicion and antiquated 
 prejudices. He is amusing by the very self-sufficiency which he displays 
 in all his mishaps. His extravagant and farcical adventures divert the 
 spectator, chiefly on account of the natural language of the different 
 characters, and the racy humour and broad fun which pervade the 
 whole comedy. 
 
 Moliere attacks the doctors in this play ; but he almost faithfully 
 represents them and their language. The consultation of the two 
 physicians is not exaggerated ; they reason well, draw consequences, 
 and explain the causes of the disease correctly ; their remedies are not 
 badly applied, but the misfortune is that Pourceaugnac is not mad, as 
 they believe him to be. Hence all their arguments, cleverness, and 
 pedantiy only bring more to the light their egregious blunder. 
 .-'Tradition assei'ts that Lulli once jalayed the part of De Pourceaugnac. 
 He was in disgi'ace with the king ; and, as this disgrace had lasted for 
 some time, he made an arrangement with Moliere to assist him. When 
 the curtain rose, it was announced that Moliere had suddenly become 
 indisposed ; Lulli jiroposed ta play the chief character, and his proposal 
 was accepted by Louis XIV. Lulli played with much spirit and viva- 
 city, but did not see the king unbend. "When the scene with the 
 apothecaries came on, Lulli ran, skipjjed, leapt, frisked about, but all 
 in vain, the Grand Monarque did not even smile. At last the wily 
 Italian hit upon an inspiration. Pursued by his persecutors, he took a 
 tremendous leap, and jumped right in the middle of a spinnet which 
 stood in the orchestra, and which was smashed in a thousand pieces. 
 He ran the risk of breaking his legs, but he was satisfied ; he had seen 
 the king laugh and apjjlaud ; he had heard the Court imitate the 
 monarch ; and he knew, when he re-appeared on the stage through 
 the prompter's box, that he was anew re-established in the king's 
 \ favour. 
 
 In the sixth volume of the translation of " Select Comedies by M. de 
 Moliere, London 1732," this piece, under the title of Squire Lnhherly, 
 is dedicated to the Right Honourable the Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
 tague in the following words : — 
 Madam, 
 
 If this Translation can be so happy as to please Your Ladyship, it is almost 
 certain of the World's Applause : For Your tine Taste and distinguishing Judg- 
 ment arc known so universally, that few or none (as fond as people are of cavill- 
 ing) will dare find Fault with what is honoured by Your Ladyship's Approba- 
 tion. But Your Ladyship's high Character would only seem a Proof of my 
 Presumption in this Adilruss, were it not remarkable that, with the llcippivU
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. Ill 
 
 Gfiiiu.s in the World, You have the BeM Good- Nat are, and can pardon the Faults 
 of others with the same FaciUty that j-ou write fine Things Your self. 
 
 It is no easy Task to preserve the Spirit and Humour of MoLlERE in a Trans- 
 lation that is almost Literal : This, however, has been my attempt, and if, in 
 the general, I have succeeded, Your Ladyship, I assure myself, will excuse 
 some few Mistakes. 
 
 I shall be no farther troublesome than to subscribe myself with the greatest 
 respect that's possible,— Madam, Your Lacb/ship's most Obedient, and most knvdile 
 Servant, 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
 Several English dramatists have imitated either the whole, or some 
 of the scenes of Moli^re's play. 
 
 We first have to deal with Eavenscroft (See Introductory Notice 
 to The Love-Tiff, Vol. I., page 108), who, in three of his plays, has made 
 use of M. de Pourceaugnac. In his Mamamouchi, or the Citizen turn'd 
 Gentleman, acted in 1671, a play chiefly taken from Le Bourgeois Gen- 
 tilhomme, Sir Simon Softliead is Pourceaugnac. In The Careless 
 Lovers, a comedy acted at the Duke's Theatre, 1673, the scene in the 
 fourth act, in which Mrs BreedweU and Clapham bring in their 
 children and pretend that they are the wives of De Boastado, is 
 taken from the seventh and eighth scenes of the last act of the 
 French comedy. In his i>lay, Eavenscroft, in the Epistle, attacks Dryden, 
 and says that the reason that they are continually falling out, is " that 
 two of a trade can never agree," whilst, in the Prologue, he sneers at 
 Almanzor and Love in a Kunneri/. In his Canterhury Guests, or a 
 Bargain Broken, played at the Theatre Eoyal in 1694, Eavenscroft has 
 reproduced the scene of the women and the children which he had 
 introduced before in The Careless Lovers. 
 
 Crowne, in his Country Wit (See Introductory Notice to The Sicilian, 
 Vol. IV., page 48), has sketched a character. Sir Mannerly Shallow, 
 which has evidently been inspired by M. de Pourceaugnac, although 
 not literally followed. The English baronet exclaims — 
 
 " Well to Cumberland commend me for gentility, 
 But to London for good breeding and civility ; " 
 
 and is finally married to a porter's daughter. Eamble and Merry at 
 times remind me of Eraste and Sbrigani, in Moliere's comedy. 
 
 M. de Pourceaugnac, or Squire Treloohy, was said to be translated 
 by Vanbrugh, Congreve, and Walsh, with a prologue by Dr Garth. It 
 was first acted at the Theatre, Lincoln's Inn Fields, March 20th, 1704. 
 It was also acted Jan. 3d, 1734, under the title of The Cornish Squire. 
 
 Charles Shad well brought out at Dublin in 1720 a farce called The 
 Plotting Lovers ; or the Dismal Squire, which is a free translation and 
 condensation of M. de Pourceaugnac into one act. 
 
 Miller's Mother-in-Law ; or, the Doctor the Disease, a comedy in five 
 acts, in prose, was performed in the Haymarket Theatre on the 12th 
 of February 1734, and met with gi'eat success. The scene of it 
 is laid in London, and the plot is compounded of two comedies of
 
 1 1 2 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGXAC 
 
 Moliere, J/, de Pourceaugnac and The Hypochondriac. The author, 
 who was then in orders, dedicated his phiy to the Countess of Hert- 
 ford, and stated in his dedication that his " Comedy . . . has not 
 in it one indecent expression, nor one immoral thought," and also 
 " that Moliere is properly the author of this play." He repeats these 
 statements more emphatically in the Prologue, and harps on the 
 same string in the Epilogue, where we also find a description of the 
 dress of the ladies and gentlemen of those times. Mrs Heron as 
 Primrose (Toinette) states of the great dames, that 
 
 " In round-ear'd Coif, white Apron, and stuff gown, 
 Your Lady Betties trip about the Town ; 
 Whilst nice Sir Fopling, and his Brother Beaux, 
 Transported, step into their Footmen's Clothes ; 
 Proud of the Oaken Club, and tuck'd up Hair, 
 They then, first, really are what they appear." 
 
 M. de Pourceaugnac is called in MiUer's play " Looby Headpiece, 
 nephew to Dr Mummy ;" Beaumont, the lover, is a mixture of Cldante, 
 from The Hypochondriac, and of Sbrigani, from M. de Pourceaugnac, 
 which latter character is also partly filled wp by Mrs Primrose (Toi- 
 nette). The scene where M. de Pourceaugnac is in woman's clothes, 
 and the one between the two doctors and the supposed lunatic are the 
 same in both plays ; but Dr Munmiy, one of the consulting physicians, 
 discovers that Looby is his nephew, who afterwards takes the char- 
 acter of Thomas Diafoirus, from The Hypochondriac. The greater 
 part of The Mother-in-Law is taken from the latter comedy ; Ai-gan 
 is Sir Credulous Hippish ; B^ralde becomes Heartwell ; the elder 
 Diafoirus, Dr Mummy ; M. Fleurant, Mr Gallej'pot ; M. Bonnefoi, Mr 
 Cranny, whilst Belize, the second wife of Argan in the French comedy, 
 is, in the English one, called Lady Hippish ; the daughter Angelique 
 becomes Belina, and Louison, the younger sister, is changed into 
 Agnes. We shall give the scenes belonging to The Hypochondriac in 
 the Appendix of that comedy (See Vol. VI.). 
 
 Thomas Sheridan, the actor, wrote Captain Cf Blunder ; or the Brave 
 Irishman, a farce in one act, performed at the Theatre, Goodman's 
 Fields, on the 31st of January 1746, and which is nearly all borrowed 
 from M. de, Povrccavgnac, who for the nonce is turned into an Irish- 
 man. The consultation with the doctors is there ; the Captain kills a 
 Frenchman in a duel, and is obliged to fly, and Sbrigani is repre- 
 sented by Sconce. Eraste is called Cheatwell, and he marries Betty, 
 the maid ; whilst O'Blunder marries Lucy, the young lady. Ndrine 
 and Lucette are wanting in tliis farce. 
 
 Mrs Parsons wrote a comedy in two acts, The Intrigues of a Morning, 
 played at the Theatre, Covent Garden, on the 18th of April 1792. It 
 is merely a poor abbreviated version of ^f. de Pourceaugnac. 
 
 Nearly everything tliat has been borrowed from Moliere will be found 
 in the Appendix.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON.E. 
 
 IN THE COMEDY. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac.^ 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 Eraste, Julia's lover. 
 
 Sbrigani, a ]Veapolita7i adventurer. 
 
 First Doctor. 
 
 Second Doctor. 
 
 An Apothecary. 
 
 A Peasant. 
 
 A Female Peasant. 
 
 First Swiss. 
 
 Second Swiss. 
 
 A Police Officer. 
 
 Two Inferior Police 
 
 Officers. 
 Julia, Oroute's danghtcf. 
 Nerine, an intriguing tvoiaan. 
 
 supposed to he from Picardy. 
 LucETTE, supposed from Gascowj. 
 
 IN THE BALLET. 
 
 A Female Musician. 
 
 Two Musicians. 
 
 A Troop of Dancers. 
 
 Two Dancing Masters. 
 
 Two Dancing Pages. 
 
 Four Spectators, dancing. 
 
 Two Dancing Sw^iss. 
 
 Two Grotesque Doctors. 
 
 Comic Dancers. 
 
 Two Singing Attorneys. 
 
 Two Dancing Solicitors. 
 Two Sergeants, dancing. 
 A Troop of Masked People. 
 A Male Singing Gipsy. 
 A Female Singing Gipsy. 
 A Pantaloon, singing. 
 Chorus of Singing Masks. 
 Dancing Biscayens and 
 Savages. 
 
 the scene is in PARIS. 
 
 * This part was created by Moliere, who wore "breeches of red damask, orna- 
 mented with lace, a blue velvet jacket, ornamented with imitation gold ; a belt 
 with fringes, green garters, a grey hat with a green feather, a scarf of green taffeta, 
 a pair of gloves, a skirt of green taffeta, adorned with lace, and a cloak of black 
 taffeta." The name Pourceangnac appears to be formed from pourccau, a pig, 
 with the Gascon ending ac. A dramatist, Hauteroche, introduced in his A^ohUs de 
 Province (1677) a character Cochonzac. The fun of calling the Limousin gentle- 
 men "pigs" appears to be old, for when a certain Descars boasted that he had 
 four thousand noblemen of that province who would- oppose the Huguenots, 
 Jeanne d' Albret, the mother of Henri IV., said: "they are called noblemen 
 because they are dressed in sole;" the latter word meaning "silk" and 
 " bristles." The Limousins were sometimes called mdche-iafes, turnip eaters, and 
 Rabelais also makes fun of a Limousin student. 
 
 V. 
 
 H
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 
 
 {MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC.) 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Eraste, a Female Musician, Two Singing Musicians, 
 several others perforrfiing on instruments, Troop of 
 Dancers. 
 
 £ras. [To the Musicians and Dancers'] Carry out the 
 orders which I have given you for the serenade. As for 
 myself, I shall retire, and I do not wish to be seen here. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Female Musician, Two Singing Musicians, several 
 others playing instruments, A Troop of Dancers. 
 
 (This serenade is composed of singing, dancing, and play- 
 ing. The words sung refer to the position of firaste in 
 regard to Julia, and express the feelings of the two 
 lovers, who are crossed in love by their parents.) 
 
 The Female Musician. 
 
 Now scatter, O charming night, on every eye. 
 The gentle violence of thy poppies ; 
 Leave none in these enchanting spots awake 
 But those hearts which Cupid's power sways. 
 
 Thy shades and thy silence. 
 
 More fair than brightest day. 
 Offer sweet moments in which to sigh with love.
 
 lie MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC [act i. 
 
 First Musician. 
 
 How sweet a thing it is 
 
 To sigh with love, 
 When nothing our affection stays ! 
 To amiable inclinations our hearts incline, 
 But there are tyrants to whom we owe life. 
 
 How sweet a thing it is 
 
 To sigh with love, 
 
 When nothing our affection stays ! 
 
 i^econd Musician, 
 Whate'er to our affections they '11 oppose, 
 Against true love it naught avails : 
 We must but love each other well. 
 All obstacles to overcome. 
 
 The Three together. 
 Let us, therefore, love each other with eternal ardour : 
 The parents' harshness, cruel constraints. 
 Absence, labour, adverse fortune. 
 Do but increase a faithful friendship. 
 Let us, therefore, love each other with eternal ardour : 
 When two fond hearts love each other well. 
 All the rest is nothing. 
 
 First Entry of the Ballet. 
 (Dance of the two Dancing Masters.) 
 
 Second Entry of the Ballet. 
 (Dance of the two Pages.) 
 
 Third Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 (Four spectators, who quarrelled during the Page's dance, 
 
 now dance likewise, fighting all the while, sword in hand.) 
 
 Fourth Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 (Two Swiss separate the four combatants, and after having 
 
 reconciled them, dance with them.)
 
 sc.in.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 117 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Julia, £raste, N^rine. 
 
 Jul. Good Heavens ! Eraste, let us take care not to be 
 caught. I tremble lest we should be seen together ; and 
 everything would be lost after I had been forbidden to do so. 
 
 Eras. I am looking out on all sides, and can see nothing. 
 
 Jul. \To Nerine\ Do yow watch also, N^rine ; and take 
 care that no one comes. 
 
 Ner. [Going to the hack of the stage'] Depend upon me, 
 and tell fearlessly what you have to say to each other. 
 
 Jul. Have you bethought yourself of something favour- 
 able in our affair ? and think you, Eraste, to be able to 
 prevent this vexatious marriage upon which my father has 
 set his mind ? 
 
 Eras. Let us at least try our best ; and we have already 
 prepared a good many batteries to overturn this ridiculous 
 design. 
 
 Ner. [Rushing on to Julial As I live, there is your 
 father, 
 
 Jul. Quick, let us separate ! 
 
 Ner. No, no, no ; do not stir ; I was mistaken. 
 
 Jul. Good Heavens ! Nerine, how silly of you to frighten 
 us so ! 
 
 Eras. Yes, charming Julia, we have in readiness a quan- 
 tity of engines for this purpose ; and now that you have 
 given me permission, we shall not scruple to use them all. 
 Do not ask us all the contrivances which we shall bring into 
 play ; you will be amused by them ; and it is better to leave 
 you the pleasure of surprise, as they do in comedies, and to 
 warn you of nothing which we mean to show you. Let it 
 be sufficient to tell you that we have various stratagems in 
 band to be produced at the fit moment, and that the ingenious 
 N6'in and the skilful Sbriyani have undertaken the affair.
 
 1 1 S MONSIEUE DE POURCEAUGNAC. l^cr i- 
 
 Ner. Assuredly. Is your father jesting to wish to bother 
 you with his lawyer from Limoges, Monsieur de Pourceau- 
 gnac, whom he has never seen in his life, and who is coming 
 by coach to take you away before our very face ? Are three 
 or four thousand crowns more, and for which he has only 
 your uncle's word, to make him reject a lover whom you 
 care for ? and is a girl like you fit for a native of Limoges ? 
 If he wishes to get married why does he not take a lady 
 bom at Limoges for a wife, instead of troubling decent 
 Christians ? The name alone of Monsieur de Pourceaugnac 
 has put me in a frightful passion. I am in a rage about 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. If it were nothing but his 
 name, this Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, I would do every- 
 thing to succeed " in breaking off this marriage, rather than 
 that you should be Madam de Pourceaugnac. Pourceaugnac ! 
 is it bearable ? No, Pourceaugnac is something which I 
 cannot tolerate ; and we shall play him so many tricks, we 
 shall practise so many jokes upon jokes upon him, that we 
 shall soon send Monsieur de Pourceaugnac back to Limoojes 
 again. 
 
 Eras. Here comes our artful Neapolitan, who will give 
 us some news. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Julia, £haste, Sbrigani, N^rine. 
 
 Shr. Your man is coming. Sir : I have seen him three 
 leagues from here where the coach stopped, and Avhere he 
 came down for breakfast in the kitchen. I have studied 
 him for full half an hour, and I know him already by heart. 
 
 2 The original has fi/ hrUarai mes livres, " 1 shall bum my books," a 
 saying borrowed from the old alchymists, who, after having tried every- 
 thing, burn their books, because they are sure never to succeed ; or 
 burn them, because they have nothing more to heat the furnace with.
 
 so. IV.] MOXSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 119 
 
 As for his figure, I will not speak of it : you will see for 
 yourself how nature has designed him, and if his dress 
 agrees with it. But as for his wit, I tell you, beforehand, 
 that it is one of the dullest going, that we shall find in him 
 just the very material for what we wish, and that he is the 
 very man to fall into every trap which you may set for 
 him. 
 
 Eras. Are you telling us the truth ? 
 
 Shr. Tes, if I know the world. 
 
 Ner. Madam, this is a first-rate personage.^ Your affair 
 could not be in better hands, and he is the hero of our age 
 for the kind of exploits in question ; a man who, twenty 
 times in his life, has generously braved the galleys to serve 
 his friends ; who, at the risk of his arms and shoulders, 
 knows to put an end nobly to the most difiicult adventures, 
 and who, such as you see him, has been exiled from his 
 country for I do not know how many honourable actions, 
 which he has generously undertaken. 
 
 Shr. I am confused by the praises with which you 
 honour me ; and I could, with greater justice, give you some 
 upon the marvels of your own life, and principally on the 
 glory which you obtained when, with such great honesty, 
 you cheated at play, to the tune of twelve thousand 
 crowns, that foreign young nobleman who was brought to 
 your house ; when you gallantly made that false contract, 
 which ruined a whole family ; when, with so much grandeur 
 of soul, you denied the deposit which had been entrusted to 
 you ; and when we saw you so generously give your evi- 
 dence which caused two people to be hanged who had not 
 deserved it. 
 
 3 In Plautus' Asinaria; or, the Ass-dealer (Act iii. Scene 2), Libauus 
 and Leonida, the servants of Demensetus, an aged Athenian, also extol 
 each other's exploits.
 
 120 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [a( t i. 
 
 Km\ These are trifles not worth speaking of; atid your 
 praises make me blush.* 
 
 Shr. I will spare your modesty ; let us drop this ; and, 
 to make a beginning, let us go quickly and join our provin- 
 cial, while you, on your side, shall hold the other actors of 
 the comedy in readiness in case of need. 
 
 Eras. At least. Madam, remember your part ; and, the 
 better to hide our game, pretend, as you have been told, to 
 be thoroughly satisfied with your father's plans. 
 
 Jul. If it depends but on this, matters will proceed 
 swimmingly. 
 
 Eras. But, fair Julia, if all our contrivances should be 
 imsuccessful. 
 
 Jul. Then I shall declare my true feelings to my 
 father. 
 
 Eras. And if, against your feelings, lie should hold ob- 
 stinately to his plan ? 
 
 Jul. I would threaten him to bury myself in a con- 
 vent. 
 
 Eras. But if, notwithstanding all this, he would force you 
 to this marriage ? 
 
 Jul. What do you wish me to say to you ? 
 
 Eras. What do I wish you to say to me ? 
 
 Jul. Yes. 
 
 Eras. What one says when one loves truly. 
 
 Jul. But what ? 
 
 Eras. That nothing will compel you ; and that, notwith- 
 standing all a father's efforts, you will promise me to be 
 mine. 
 
 Jul. Good Heavens ! Eraste, content yourself with what 
 
 4 Several of Moliere's commentators blame Eraste and Julia for em- 
 ploying two such people as Norine and Sbrigani ; but it is just possible 
 that these two worthies may have been joking, whilst complimenting 
 each other on their exploits. ^
 
 sc. v.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGXAC. 121 
 
 I am doing now ; and do not tempt the resolutions of my 
 heart upon what may happen in the future ; do not make 
 my duty more painful with proposals of annoying rashness, 
 of which, perhaps, we may not be in need ; and if we are 
 -to come to it, let me, at least, be driven to it by the turn 
 of affairs. 
 
 Evas. Well. . . . 
 
 8hr. By my troth ! there is our man ; let us be on our 
 guard. 
 
 Ner. Ah ! how he is built ! 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac,^ Sbregani. 
 
 Pour. [Remaining on the side from which he enters, 
 speaking to the jyeople, who are following hini] Well ! what ? 
 What is it ? What is the matter ? The devil take the 
 silly town and the silly people in it ! Not to be able to 
 move a step without meeting with a lot of boobies who stare 
 at you and laugh in your face ! Eh ! gentlemen gapers, 
 attend to your own concerns, and allow people to pass 
 on without grinning in their faces. May the devil take me, 
 if I do not pummel the first whom I shall catch laughing. 
 
 Sir. [Speaking to the same peojde] What is the 
 matter, gentlemen ? what does this mean ? with whom are 
 you quarrelling ? Are folks thus to make a jest of honest 
 strangers who arrive here ? 
 
 Pour. This is a sensible man, at least. 
 
 Shr. What behaviour is yours ! and what is there to 
 laugh at ? 
 
 Pour. Very good. 
 
 Shr. Is there anything ridiculous about this gentle- 
 man ? 
 
 5 See Appendix, Note A.
 
 122 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act i. 
 
 Pour. Yes ? 
 
 8hr. Is he in any way different from other people ? 
 
 Pour. Am I misshapen or humpbacked ? 
 
 Sbr. You should know how to treat people. 
 
 Pour. That is well said. 
 
 Shr. This gentleman's air commands respect. 
 
 Pour. That is true. 
 
 Shr. A person of quality. 
 
 Pour. Yes. A gentleman from Limoges. 
 
 Shr. A person of education. 
 
 Pour. Who has studied law.*^ 
 
 Shr. He does you too much honour by coming to your 
 town. 
 
 Pour. Undoubtedly, 
 
 Shr. This gentleman is not a person to provoke laughter. 
 
 Pour. Assuredly. 
 
 Shr. And whoever shall laugh will have to deal with me. 
 
 Pour. [To Shrigani] Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you. 
 
 Shr. I am sorry, Sir, to see a personage like you 
 received in such a manner ; and I ask your pardon for the 
 town. 
 
 Pour. I am your servant, 
 
 Shr. I saw you this morning, Sir, with the coach, when 
 you were breakfasting, and the grace with which you ate 
 your bread, immediately made me conceive a friendship for 
 you ; and, as I know that you have never been in these 
 parts, and that you are altogether new to them, I am very 
 glad to have met with you, to offer you my services on this 
 arrival, and to assist you in your behaviour amongst this 
 people, who have not always the proper consideration for 
 gentlemen. 
 
 6 Of course, M. de Pourceaugnac is not satif^fied with being a jierson 
 of education, but says that he " has studied law." Afterwards, in the 
 twelfth Scene of the second Act, he denies tliis.
 
 so. v.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC 12 
 
 o 
 
 Pour. You are doing me too much kindness. 
 
 Sl^r. I have already said to you, from the moment I saw 
 you, I felt an inclination towards you. 
 
 Pour. I am obliged to you. 
 
 Shr. Your physiognomy pleased me. 
 
 Pour. It is too much honour for me. 
 
 Sbr. I perceived something honest in it. 
 
 Pour. I am your servant. 
 
 Sbr. Something amiable. 
 
 Pour. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Shr. Something graceful. 
 
 Pour. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Sbr. Something gentle. 
 
 Pour. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Sbr. Something majestic. 
 
 Pour. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Sbr. Something frank. 
 
 Pour. Ah : ah ! 
 
 Sbr. And something cordial. 
 
 Pour. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Sbr. I assure you that I am entirely yours. 
 
 Pour. I am under great obligations to you. 
 
 Sbr. I speak from the bottom of my heart. 
 
 Pour. I believe you. 
 
 Sbr. If I had the honour of being known to you, 
 you would be aware that I am a man thoroughly sin- 
 cere. 
 
 Pour. I do not doubt it. 
 
 Sbr. An enemy to all roguery. 
 
 Pour. I am convinced of it. 
 
 Sbr. And incapable of disguising my sentiments. 
 
 Pour. That is what I think. 
 
 Shr. You are looking at my dress, which is unlike other 
 people's; but I hail from Naples, at your service, and I wished
 
 124 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act t. 
 
 somewhat to preserve the fashion of dressing and the sin- 
 cerity of my country/ 
 
 Pour. That is quite right. As for me, I wished to be 
 dressed like a courtier when he is going into the country. 
 
 Shr. Upon my word, it suits you better than any of 
 our courtiers. 
 
 Pour. That is what ray tailor told me. The dress is suit- 
 able and rich, and it will attract some notice here. 
 
 Shr. Undoubtedly. Shall you not go to the Louvre ? 
 
 Pour. I must go to pay my court. 
 
 Shr. The king will be delighted to see you. 
 
 Pour. I think so. 
 
 Shr. Have you fixed upon a lodging. 
 
 Pour. No ; I was just going to look for one. 
 
 Shr. I shall be delighted to go with you for that pur- 
 pose ; I know all these parts well. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 £raste. Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Sbrigani. 
 
 Ercbs. Ah ! what is this ? What do I see ? What for- 
 tunate meeting ! Monsieur de Pourceaugnac ! How de- 
 lighted I am to see you ! How now ! it seems that you 
 have a difficulty in recognising me ! 
 
 Pour. Sir, I am your servant. 
 
 Eras. Is it possible that five or six years have obliterated 
 me from your memory, and that you do not recognise the 
 best friend of all the Pourceaugnac fomily. 
 
 Pour. Pray, pardon me [Softbj, to Shrigani]. Upon my 
 word, I do not know who be is. 
 
 Eras. There is not a Pourceaugnac at Limoijes whom I 
 
 '' The dress of Sbrigani is tlie traditional one of Mascarille and 
 Crispin, striped red and white. The Neapolitans had the reputation 
 of being neither very sincere nor lionest.
 
 sc. VI.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 125 
 
 do DOt know, from the greatest to the least ; I visited 
 only them at the time I was there, and I had the honour 
 of seeing you nearly every day. 
 
 Pout. It is I who had the honour. Sir. 
 
 Eras. You do not recollect my face ? 
 
 Pour. Yes, indeed. \To Shriganl] I do not know him. 
 
 Eras. You do not remember that I had the pleasure of 
 taking wine with you, I do not know how many times ! 
 
 Pour. Excuse me. [To Shrigani] I do not know who 
 this is. 
 
 Eras. What do you call that innkeeper at Limoges who 
 gives such good cheer ? 
 
 Pour. Petit- Jean ? 
 
 Eras. That is he. We generally went together to him 
 to feast. What do you call that place at Limoges where 
 people promenade ? 
 
 Pour. The cemetery of the Arenes ? 
 
 Eras. Exactly. That is where I passed such sweet hours 
 in enjoying your pleasant conversation. You do not recol- 
 lect all that ? 
 
 Pour. Excuse me ; I am beginning to remember. [To 
 Sbrigani] May the devil take me if I recollect ! 
 
 Shr. [Softly y to Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] There are 
 a hundred things like that which pass out of one's head. 
 
 Eras. But pray embrace me, I beg, and let us renew the 
 bonds of our old friendship. 
 
 Shr. [To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] That is a man 
 who loves you well. 
 
 Eras. Just tell me some news about all the family. How 
 
 is this gentleman your there .... the one tliat is 
 
 such a nice fellow ? 
 
 Pour. My brother the consul ? * 
 
 ^ Consul was the name given to municii)al officers in the southern pi-o- 
 vinces of France.
 
 126 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGN AC. [act i. 
 
 Eras. Yes. 
 
 Pour. He could not be better. 
 
 Eras. Certainly I am delighted to hear it. And the one 
 who is always so good-tempered ? There, the gentleman, 
 your .... 
 
 Pour. My cousin, the assessor ? 
 
 Eras. Precisely. 
 
 Pour. Ever gay and sprightly. 
 
 Eras. Upon my word this gives me great pleasure. And 
 your uncle, the .... 
 
 Pour. I have no uncle. 
 
 Eras. You had one, though, at that time. 
 
 Pour. No, nothing but an aunt. 
 
 Eras. That is what I meant, the lady your aunt. How 
 is she ? 
 
 Pour. She has been dead these six months. 
 
 Eras. Alas ! poor woman ! she was such a good creature. 
 
 Pour. Then there is my nephew, the canon, who nearly 
 died of small-pox. 
 
 Eras. What a pity that would have been ! 
 
 Pour. Did you know him also ? 
 
 Eras. Indeed ; did I know him ? A tall fine-made 
 fellow. 
 
 Pour. Not of the tallest ! 
 
 Eras. No, but well built. 
 
 Pour. Eh ! yes. 
 
 Eras. Who is your nephew ? 
 
 Pour. Yes. 
 
 Eras. Son of,your brother and sister '( 
 
 Pour. Exactly so. 
 
 Eras. Canon of the chinch of what do you 
 
 call it ? 
 
 Pour. St Stephen. 
 
 Eras. That is he. 1 do not know any other.
 
 sc. VI.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 127 
 
 Pour. [To Sbrigani] He mentions the whole family. 
 
 Sbr. He knows you better than you are aware of. 
 
 Pour. From what I perceive, you stopped a long while 
 in our town. 
 
 Eras. Two whole years. 
 
 Pour. Then you were there when the governor stood 
 sponsor to my cousin, the deputy-assessor's ® child ? 
 
 Eras. Indeed I was one of the first invited. 
 
 Pour. That was an elegant affair. 
 
 Eras. Yes, very elegant ! 
 
 Pour. A well-served collation. 
 
 Era's. There is no doubt of that. 
 
 Pour. Then you must have witnessed the quarrel which 
 I had with that gentleman from Perigord. 
 
 Eras. Yes. 
 
 Pour. Zounds ! he found his match. 
 
 Eras. Ha ! ha ' 
 
 Pour. He gave me a slap, but I told him what I thought 
 of him. 
 
 Eras. To be sure. However, I insist upon you taking 
 no other quarters than with me. 
 
 Pour. Really I could not think .... 
 
 Eras. Are you joking ? I shall not allow my best friend 
 to stop anywhere but with me. 
 
 Pour. It would be ... . 
 
 Eras. No, may the devil fly away with me ! You shall 
 stay with me. 
 
 Shr. \To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] Since he is 
 obstinately bent upon it, I advise you to accept his offer. 
 
 Eras. Where is your luggage ? 
 
 Pour. I left it with my servant where the coach 
 stopped. 
 
 " The original has r e'lu. See Tartv.ffe, Vul. IV., page 157, note 50
 
 128 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. , [act i. 
 
 Evas. Let us send some one to fetch them. 
 Pour. No, I have forbidden him to stir, unless I came 
 myself, for fear of some roguery. 
 
 Shr. That was a prudent precaution. 
 Pour. One must be somewhat careful in these parts. 
 Eras. We see that clever people are up to everything. 
 Shr. I will accompany this gentleman, and conduct 
 him back again to where you wish. 
 
 Eras. Do so. I shall be glad to give some orders, and 
 you have but to come back to this house. 
 Shr. We shall be with you shortly. 
 Eras. \To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] I shall expect 
 you impatiently. 
 
 Pour. [To Sbrigani] This is an acquaintance which I 
 did not dream of. 
 
 Sbr. He has the air of a gentleman. 
 Eras. [Alone] Upon my word, Monsieur de Pourceaug- 
 nac, we will attack you on all sides. Things are prepared ; 
 I have but to give the signal. Hullo ! 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Eraste, an Apothecary. 
 
 Ei'ds. I believe, Sir, you arc tlie doctor who has been 
 spoken to in my name. 
 
 Apotk. No, Sir ; I am not tlic doctor ; that honour does 
 not belong to me ; I am but an apothecary, an unworthy 
 apothecary, at your service. 
 
 Eras. And the doctor, is he within I 
 
 Ajwth. Yes. He is just occupied in dispatching some 
 patients ; and I will go and tell him that you are 
 here. 
 
 Eras. No, do not stir. I will wait until he has done.
 
 su. VII.] MONSIEUE DE POUECEAUGNAC. 129 
 
 It is to place under his care a certain relation of ours, of 
 whom we spoke, and who has been attacked by a fit of 
 madness, which we should be very glad to have cured before 
 he is married. 
 
 Ajjoth. I know what it is, I know all about it ; and I 
 was with him when they came to speak to him about this 
 matter. Indeed, you could not have addressed yourself 
 to an abler doctor. He is a man who knows medicine 
 thoroughly, as I know my alphabet,^*' and who would not 
 abate one iota of the rules of the ancients, even if people 
 die through it. Yes, he always follows the high-road, the 
 high road, and does not try to find out mares' nests ; and, 
 for all the gold of the world, he would not cure any one 
 Avith other remedies than those which the faculty pre- 
 scribes. 
 
 Eras. He does right. A patient ought not to wish to 
 be cured unless the faculty permits it. 
 
 Apoth. It is not because we are fast friends that I speak 
 thus ; but it is really a treat to be his patient. I had 
 rather die by his remedies than be cured by those of some 
 one else.^^ For, whatever may happen, one is certain that 
 things are done in regular order ; and when one dies under » 
 his treatment, your heirs have nothing to reproach you 
 with. 
 
 Eras. That is a great consolation to a defunct. 
 
 A path. Assuredly. One is at least glad to have died 
 methodically. For the rest, he is not one of those doctors 
 who haggle with diseases ; he is an expeditious man, ex- 
 peditious, who loves to dispatch his patients ; and when one 
 has to die, it is accomplished with the greatest possible 
 quickness. 
 
 10 The original has ma Croix-dc-par-Diexi. 
 
 11 Moliere has already employed this joke in Love is the best doctor. 
 Act ii., Scene 5 (see Vol. III., page 216). 
 
 V. I
 
 130 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act i. 
 
 Eras. In fact, there is nothing like having done with a 
 thing promptly. 
 
 Apoth. That is true. What is the good of haggling so 
 much, and so much beating about the bush ? One ought 
 to know quickly the short or the long of an illness. 
 
 Eras. You are right, 
 
 AiJoth. Already there are three of my children whose 
 complaints he has done me the honour to treat, who have 
 died in less than four days, and who in some one else's 
 hands would have languished for three months or more. 
 
 ErOjS. It is pleasant to have such friends. 
 
 Apoth. No doubt it is. I have only two children left, 
 of whom he takes care as if they were his own ; he treats 
 and controls them at his own fancy, without my interfering 
 in anything ; and generally, when I come back from town, 
 I am quite surprised to find them bled or purged by his 
 orders. 
 
 Eras. Most tender cares, these ! 
 
 Apoth. Here he is, here he is, here he comes. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 £raste. First Doctor, an Apothecary, a Peasant, 
 A Female Peasant. 
 
 Peas. \To the Doctor'] He can bear it no longer. Sir ; 
 and he says that he feels the most awful pains in his 
 head. 
 
 \st Doc. The patient is a fool : seeing that, in the com- 
 plaint with which he is attacked he ought not, according to 
 Galen, to suffer from the head at all, but from the spleen. 
 
 Peas. Be that as it may. Sir, he has nevertheless had 
 looseness of the bowels for the last six months. 
 
 'ist Doc. Good ! that is a sign that it is getting clear 
 inside. I will come and see him in two or three days ; but.
 
 sc. IX.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 181 
 
 should he die before that time, do not fail to let me knoAv ; 
 for it is not etiquette for a doctor to visit the dead. 
 
 F. Peas. {To the Doctor'] My father, Sir, is getting worse 
 and worse, 
 
 \8t Doc. That is not my fault. I am prescribing him 
 remedies : why does he not get better ? How many times 
 has he been bled ? 
 
 F. Peas. Fifteen times. Sir, in twenty days. 
 
 1st Doc. Fifteen times bled ? 
 
 F. Peas. Yes. 
 
 1st Doc. And he does not get better ? 
 
 F. Peas. No, Sir. 
 
 1st Doc. That shows that the disease is not in the blood. 
 We shall purge him as many times, to find out whether it is 
 not in the humours ; and, if that does not succeed, we shall 
 send him to take the waters. 
 
 Apoth. That is the end ; that must be the end of all 
 physic.^^ 
 
 SCENi: IX. 
 ^RASTE, First Doctor, Apothecary. ^^ 
 
 Eras. [To Doctor'] It is I, Sir, who sent to speak to 
 you, a few days ago, about a relative who is somewhat 
 troubled in his mind, whom I wish to place under your 
 care, so that he may be cured with greater facility, and may 
 be least noticed, 
 
 1st Doc. Yes, Sir ; I have already prepared everything, and 
 promise you to take the utmost care of him. 
 
 Eras. He is just coming now. 
 
 Ist Doc. That happens very fortunately, and I have here 
 one of my old friends with me, with whom I shall be glad 
 
 to consult upon his illness. 
 
 V '. '. 
 
 12 When M. de Pourceaugnac is acted at the Come'die Francaise, this 
 scene is omitted. 
 
 13 See Appendix, Note B.
 
 182 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act i. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, £raste, First Doctor, An 
 
 Apothecary. 
 
 Eras. [To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] Some little un- 
 foreseen business obliges me to go away just now [Point- 
 ing to the Doctor] ; but I leave you in the hands of this 
 gentleman, who will take care, for my sake, to treat you as 
 well as possible. 
 
 1st Doc. The duty of my profession enjoins me to do so ; 
 and it is quite sufficient that you charge me with this care. 
 
 Pour. [Aside] It is his steward ; and he must be a 
 man of position, 
 
 1 st Doc. [To Eraste] Yes, I assure you that I shall treat this 
 gentleman methodically, and according to every rule of our art. 
 
 Pour. Good Heaven ! there is no need of so many 
 ceremonies ; and I have not come here to cause any in- 
 convenience. 
 
 \st Doc. Such an occupation gives me only joy. 
 
 Eras. [To the Doctor] Here are six pistoles in advance, 
 besides what I have promised you. 
 
 Pour. No, if you please, I shall not allow you to go to 
 any expense, and you must not send out for anything on 
 my account. 
 
 Eras. Pray do not trouble yourself; it is not for what 
 you imagine. 
 
 Pour. I beg of you to treat me only as a friend. 
 
 Eras. That is what I intend to do. [Softly to the Doctor] 
 I recommend you above all not to let him slip out of your 
 hands ; for he sometimes attempts to escape. 
 
 Ist Doc. Be not uneasy. 
 
 Eras. [To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] I pray you to 
 excuse my incivility. 4^ 
 
 Pour. Do not mention it ; and you are doing me too 
 much honour.
 
 sc. XI.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 133 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, First Doctor, Second 
 Doctor, an Apothecary."^ 
 
 1st Doc. It is a great honour to me, Sir, to have been 
 selected to attend to you. 
 
 Pour. I am your servant. 
 
 1st Doc. Tiiis is a colleague of mine, an able man, with 
 whom I am going to consult about the manner in which 
 we shall treat you. 
 
 Pour. There is no need of so many ceremonies, I tell 
 you ; and I am a man to be satisfied with ordinary things. 
 
 1st Doct. Come, place chairs, 
 
 [Two servants enter and place chairs. 
 
 Pour. [Aside^ These are very lugubrious servants for a 
 young man to keep. 
 
 \st Doc. Come, Sir ; take a seat. Sir. 
 
 [The tivo Doctors make Monsieur de Pour- 
 ceaugnac sit down hetiveen them. 
 
 Pour. [Taking a seafl Your very humble servant [^The 
 two Doctors each take one of his hands to feel his pidse]. 
 What does this mean ? 
 
 1st Doc. Do you eat well. Sir ? ^^ 
 
 Pour. Yes ; and drink better still. 
 
 1st Doc. So much the worse. This great craving for 
 cold and wet is an indication of the heat and dryness in the 
 inside. Do you sleep soundly ? 
 
 14 See Appendix, Note C. 
 
 15 In Plautus' Mencechmi ; or the twin-brothers, Mensechmus Sosicles 
 is mistaken for his twin-brother, Menjechmus of Epidamnus, and be- 
 haves so oddly, that the latter's father-in-law and wife consider him 
 mad, and wish him to be treated by a doctor. The real Menoechmus 
 makes his appearance (Act v., Scene 3) and the scene between him and 
 the physician, who thinks he is insane, is like the one between M. de 
 Pourceaugnac and the two doctors.
 
 134 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act i. 
 
 Pour. Yes, when I have supped well. 
 
 1st Doc. Have you any dreams ? 
 
 Pour. Sometimes. 
 
 1st Doc. Of what nature are they ? 
 
 Pour. Of the nature of dreams. What sort of a con- 
 versation is this ? 
 
 Is^ Doc. Your dejections, how are they ? 
 
 Pour. Upon my word, I understand nought of these 
 questions ; and I prefer something to drink. 
 
 1st Doc. A little patience. We are going to argue about 
 your case before you ; and we shall do so in French, to be 
 the more intelligible. 
 
 Pour. Wliat gTeat arguing is needed to eat a morsel ? 
 
 1st Doc. Since one cannot cure a disease, unless one 
 knows it perfectly, and since one cannot know it per- 
 fectly without establishing a particular theory, and its 
 real kind, by its diagnostic and prognostic signs ; you will 
 allow me, my elder colleague, to enter upon the considera- 
 tion of the disease in question, before referring to the ther- 
 apeutics, and the remedies which we shall determine upon 
 for the perfect cure of said disease. I say, then. Sir, with 
 your leave, that our patient here present is unfortunately 
 attacked, affected, possessed, and troubled by that kind 
 of madness which we very aptly denominate hypochondriacal 
 melancholy ; a kind of madness very troublesome, and 
 which requires nothing less than an Esculapius like your- 
 self, consummate in our art ; ^"^ you, I say, who have 
 grown old in harness, as they say, and through whose 
 hands so many of all sorts have passed. I call it hypochon- 
 driacal melancholy to distinguish it from the two others ; 
 for the celebrated Galen has, as he always does, learnedly 
 established three kinds of this disease, which we call 
 
 ic When M. de Pourceaugnac is acted, the passage from "you, I say," 
 until " proved to suffer from," is omitted.
 
 sc. XI.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 135 
 
 melancholy, so named not only by the Latins, but also by 
 the Greeks ; which is to be well observed in our case : the 
 first, which emanates from the really bad state of the brain ; 
 the second, which proceeds entirely from the blood, made and 
 become atrabilious ; the third, called hypochondriacal, which 
 is ours, and which is caused by some defect of some part of 
 the lower-abdomen, and of the lower region, but parti- 
 cularly from the spleen, the heat and inflammation of which 
 drives to the brain of our patient a great deal of fuliginous, 
 thick, and gross matter, the black and malignant vapour of 
 which causes depravation of the functions of the principal 
 faculty, and produces the complaints, by which, according 
 to our argument, he is manifestly attacked, and proved to 
 suffer from. That it be so : and as an incontestable diag- 
 nosis of what I tell you, you have only to consider the 
 great seriousness which you perceive, this gloominess, accom- 
 panied by fear and mistrust, pathognomonic and individual 
 signs of this complaint, so well described by the divine old 
 man, Hippocrates ; this physiognomy, these red and haggard 
 eyes, this great beard, this state of the body, thin, emaciated, 
 black, and hairy ; which signs show him to be very much 
 affected by this disease, proceeding from the illness of hypo- 
 chondriasis ; which disease, by lapse of time, having become 
 naturalised, chronic, habitual, and ingrained in him, might 
 well degenerate either into mania, or into consumption, or 
 into apoplexy, or even into determined phrensy and raving. 
 All this taken for granted, since a disease well defined is 
 half cured, for ignoti nulla est curatio morhi,^^ it will not 
 be difiicult to determine the remedies which we must give 
 to this gentleman. Firstly, to cure this obdurate plethora, 
 and this luxuriant cacochymy throughout the body, I am of 
 opinion that he should be liberally phlebotomised ; that is 
 
 17 There is no cure for a disease which is not known.
 
 136 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act i. 
 
 to say, that he should be bled frequently and copiously, in 
 the first place, at the basilic vein, then at the cephalic vein,^^ 
 and even, if the disease be obstinate, that the vein in the 
 forehead should be opened, and that the opening should be 
 large, that the thick blood may come out ; and at the same 
 time that he should be purged, deobstructed, and evacuated 
 by proper and suitable purgatives ; that means by cholo- 
 o-ooues, melanocrogues,^^ et cetera ; and as the real source of 
 all the evil is either a gross or a feculent humour, or else a 
 black and thick vapour, which obscures, infects, and con- 
 taminates the animal spirits, it is proper that he should after- 
 wards take a bath of soft and clean water, with plenty of 
 whey, to purify, by the water, the feculence of the gross 
 humours, and to clear, by the milk, the blackness of this 
 vapour : but, before all things, I think it right to amuse him 
 by agreeable conversations, sougs and musical instruments, 
 to which we might add some dancers, without any objection, 
 so that by their movements, nimbleness, and agility they 
 may excite and awaken the stagnation of Ids benumbed 
 spirits, which occasions the thickness of his blood, by which 
 this disease is caused. These are the remedies of which I 
 have been thinking, to which many other and better ones 
 mifht be added by this gentleman our master and senior, 
 according to the experience, judgment, knowledge, and 
 sufficiency which he has acquired in our art. Dixi. 
 
 2d Doc. Heaven forbid, Sir, that I should entertain the 
 thought of adding aught to what you have just said ! You 
 have discoursed so well on all the signs, symptoms, and 
 causes of this gentleman's complaint ; the argument which 
 you have produced is so learned and beautiful that it is 
 
 18 The basilic vein was the middle vein of the right arm ; the 
 cephalic vein, a vein running along the arm, so named because the ancients 
 used to open it for disorders of the head. 
 
 1^ A chologogue is ;i cathartic to carry off the bile j a melanogogue a 
 remedy to drive out black malignant matter.
 
 sc. XI.] MONSIEUR DE POUECEAUGNAC. 137 
 
 impossible for him not to be mad and liypochondriacally 
 melancholic ; and should he not be, he must become so 
 for the sake of the beautiful things which you have said, 
 and for the justness of the reasoning which you have pro- 
 duced. Yes, Sir, you have very graphically depicted, gra- 
 phice depinxisti, everything that pertains to this disease. 
 Nothing could be more learnedly, wisely, ingeniously con- 
 ceived, thought-out, imagined, than that which you have 
 pronounced on this complaint, whether regarded as diagno- 
 sis, prognosis, or therapeutics ; and nothing remains for me 
 to do here but to congratulate this gentleman upon having 
 fallen into your hands, and to tell him that he ought 
 to be only too happy to be mad, to prove the efficacy 
 and gentleness of the remedies which you have so judi- 
 ciously proposed. I approve of them all, manibus et pedi- 
 bus descendo in tuamn seidentiam.''^^ All that I would 
 wish to add is to make the blood-lettings and purgatives in 
 odd numbers, numero deus impare gaudet ; '^^ to take the 
 whey before the bath ; to apply a bandage with salt to his 
 forehead (salt is the symbol of wisdom) ; to have the walls 
 of his room whitewashed, in order to dissipate the gloom 
 of his spirits, album est disgregativum visus ;^'^ and to give 
 him by-and-by a small clyster, to serve as a prelude and 
 introduction to those judicious remedies, from which, if he 
 is to be cured at all, he ought to receive relief May Heaven 
 grant that these remedies, which are yours. Sir, may prove 
 successful, according to our intention ! 
 
 20 " I am hand and feet of your opinion," because in the Roman 
 Senate those who were of the same opinion as the proposer of a certain 
 law, went on his side, and even sometimes appUiuded ; somewhat like 
 a division in the House of Commons, when tlie members go into the 
 lobbies. 
 
 21 This is a phrase from the eighth eclogue of Virgil, " An odd num- 
 ber pleases the god." 
 
 -2 White wearies the sight.
 
 138 MONSIEUK DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act i. 
 
 Pout. Gentlemen, I have been listening to you for this 
 hour. Are we playing a comedy here ? 
 
 1 st Doc. No, Sir, we are not playing at all. 
 
 Pour. What is all this ? and what do you mean by all 
 this gibberish and foolery ? 
 
 1st Doc. Good ! he insults us ! that is a diagnosis which 
 was wanting for the confirmation of his disease ; and this 
 mio^ht be turninfy to mania. 
 
 Pour. \^Aside\ With whom have I been placed here ? 
 [ZTe expectorates two or three timnes]. 
 
 1st Doc. Another diagnosis ; frequent expectoration. 
 
 Pour. Let us drop this, and get away from here. 
 
 1st Doc. Another still ; the anxiety to be moving. 
 
 Pour. But what is all this affair, and what do you 
 want with me ? 
 
 ] st Doc. To cure you, according to the order which has 
 been given us. 
 
 Pour. To cure me ? 
 
 1st Doc. Yes. 
 
 Pour. Zounds ! I am not ill. 
 
 1st Doc. A bad sign, when a patient does not feel his 
 complaint. 
 
 Pour. I tell you that I am very well. 
 
 1st Doc. We know better than you how you are ; and we 
 are physicians who see clearly into your constitution. 
 
 Pour. If you are physicians, I have no business with 
 you ; and I do not care a straw for physic. 
 
 1st Doc. Hum ! hum ! This man is more mad than we 
 thought. 
 
 Pour. My father and mother would never take medi- 
 cine, and they both died without doctors' assistance. 
 
 1 Doct. I am no longer surprised that they have pro- 
 duced a son who is bereft of his senses. [To the second 
 Doctor^ Let us proceed to the cure ; and by the exhilarat-
 
 sc. xii.-xiii.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 139 
 
 ing gentleness of harmony, soften, mitigate, and calm the 
 acerbity of his spirits, which I see on the point of becoming 
 inflamed.^^ 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. 
 
 What the devil is this ? Have the people of these parts 
 taken leave of their wits ? I have never seen anything like 
 it, and I understand nothing about it. 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Two Grotesque Doctors, 
 
 They first all sit down, the Doctors rise several times 
 
 to M. de Pourceaugnac, who rises as often to 
 
 return the conipliment. 
 
 The two Docts. Good day, good day, good day,^* 
 
 Do not allow yourself to be killed 
 By melancholic grief. 
 We will make you laugh 
 With our harmonious songs. 
 It is only to cure you 
 That we have come hither. 
 Good day, good day, good day. 
 
 \st Doc. Madness is nothing else 
 
 But melancholy. 
 The patient need not despair. 
 If he will but take a little recreation. 
 Madness is nothing else 
 But melancholy. 
 
 -' The consultation of the two doctors is only a very slight caricature 
 of the nonsense spoken by physicians in Moliere's time. 
 ^■* The original is sung in Italian.
 
 140 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act i. 
 
 2d Doct Come, take courage ; sing, dance, laugh ; 
 And, if you would do better still, 
 When you feel your fit of madness come on, 
 Take a glass of wine. 
 And sometimes a pinch of snuff, 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. 
 Come, keep gay, 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Two Grotesque Doctors, 
 
 Mummers. ^^ 
 
 Entry of the Ballet. 
 Dance of the Mammers round Monsieur de Porceaugnac. 
 
 SCENE XV. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, an Apothecary {carrying 
 
 a syringe). 
 
 AiJoth. This is a little remedy, a little remedy, which we 
 must apply, if you please, if you please. ^^ 
 
 Four. How now ? I do not want it ! 
 
 A2:>oth. It has been prescribed. Sir, it has been pre- 
 scribed. 
 
 Pour. Ah ! what a noise ! 
 
 AjDoih. Take it, Sir, take it ; it will do you no harm, it 
 will do you no harm. 
 
 Pour. Ah ! 
 
 Apoth. It is just a little injection, a little injection, 
 gentle, gentle ; it is gentle, gentle ; there, Sir, take it, take 
 it ; it is to open the bowels, to open the bowels, to open 
 the bowels. 
 
 26 The original hius matassins, a word derived either from the Spanish 
 or Italian, and signifying " dancers who engage in a mock battle." 
 
 26 Such a scene, whicli would offend now, was not considered indeli- 
 cate, in Molitre's time.
 
 sc. XVI.] MONSIEUE DE POUECEAUGNAC. 141 
 
 SCENE XVI . 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, an Apothecary, Two 
 Grotesque Doctors, Mummers. 
 
 Two Doct Take it, Sir, take, take it, it will do you no 
 harm ; take it, Sir, take it, Sir.^' 
 
 Pour. Go to the devil ! 
 
 [Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, putting on his hat to pro- 
 tect himself against the syringes, is followed by the two 
 Doctors and the Mummers ; he passes at the back of the 
 stage, and returns to place himself again on his chair, 
 near which he finds the Apothecary waiting for him, which 
 compels him. to sit down ; the two Doctors and Mummers 
 re-enter also.] 
 
 Tv!0 Doct. Take it, Sir, take, take it, it will do you no 
 harm ; take it. Sir, take it. Sir. 
 
 [Monsieur de Pourceaugnac takes to his heels ivith the 
 chair behind him; the Apothecary places his syringe against 
 it, and the Doctors and Mummers follow him..] ^^ 
 
 If 
 
 27 We give the original Italian, because M. de Pourceaugnac refers 
 
 to it in the Fourth Scene of the Second Act : " Piglialo sil, — Signor 
 monsu ;— Piglialo, piglialo, piglialo sii, — Che non ti fara male.- — Piglialo 
 svi questo serviziale : — Piglialo svi, — Signor monsu ; — Piglialo, piglialo, 
 piglialo su." 
 
 28 One of the grotesque doctors was represented by the famous 
 musician LuUi, v^ho, it is said, wrote the words, and certainly composed 
 the music, of the thirteenth scene. He played under the name of Signor 
 Chiacchiarone. This stands probably in the book of the ballet for the 
 Italian chiacchierone, which means " talker of nonsense," and under which 
 name he also, at a later period, played the Muphti, in the Citizen who 
 apes the Nobleman. The pursuit after M. de Pourceaugnac is some- 
 times more or less prolonged. After he has left the stage, he reappears 
 through the prompter's box, with all his enemies in full pursuit ; he 
 then takes a deal board, and knocks down one of the mummers, who is 
 carried off. He wishes to raise a laugh, and often succeeds.
 
 142 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act ii. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 First Doctor, Sbrigani. 
 
 Is^ Doc. He has forced every obstacle which I had placed 
 in his way, and has withdrawn himself from the remedies 
 which I began to apply to him. 
 
 Shr. That is being a great enemy to himself, to fly 
 from remedies so salutary as yours. 
 
 \st Doc. It is a sign of a disordered brain, and of a cor- 
 rupted reason, not to wish to be cured. 
 
 Sbr. You would have cured him without any diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 1st Doc. Undoubtedly : even if there had been a compli- 
 cation of a dozen diseases. 
 
 Shr. He makes you lose fifty well-earned pistoles, 
 however. 
 
 Ist Doc. I ! I do not intend to lose them, and I mean 
 to cure him in spite of himself He is bound to take my 
 remedies, and I will have him apprehended wherever I find 
 him, as a deserter from physic, and as having committed an 
 infraction of my prescriptions. 
 
 Shr. You are right. Your remedies were certain, 
 and it is robbing you of so much money. 
 
 \st Doc. Where can I get some news about him ? 
 
 Shr. At Mr Oronte's, surely, whose daughter he has 
 come to marry, and who, knowing nothing of the infirmity 
 of his intended son-in-law, will perhaps make haste to 
 conclude this marriage. 
 
 Ist Doc. I will go and speak to him directly. 
 Shr. You can do no harm. 
 
 Ist Doc. He is bound to my consultations, and a patient 
 shall not play the fool with a doctor. 
 
 Shr. That is very well said of you ; and, if you take
 
 sc. ir.] MONSIEUR PE POURCEAUGNAC. 143 
 
 my advice, you will not allow him to be married until you 
 have physicked him to your heart's content. 
 
 1st Doc. Leave me to manage it. 
 
 Sbr. [Going aside] I, on my part, will go and bring 
 another battery into play ; and the father-in-law shall be 
 duped as much as the son-in-law, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Oronte, First Doctor. 
 
 1st Doc. You have a certain Monsieur de Pourceaugnac 
 with you, Sir, who is to marry your daughter ? 
 
 Or on. Yes ; I am expecting him from Limoges, and he 
 ought to have arrived by this time. 
 
 Ist Doc. So he is, and he has run away from my house, 
 after having been placed there ; but I forbid you, in the 
 name of the Faculty, to go on with the marriage which you 
 have arranged, until I have duly prepared him for it, and 
 put him in a condition to raise up children sound in both 
 body and mind. 
 
 Or on. What do you mean ? 
 
 T si Doc. Your intended son-in-law has been constituted 
 my patient ; his disease, which I have been told to cure, 
 is property which belongs to me, and which I reckon among 
 my possessions ; and I declare to you that I will not suffer 
 him to marry before he has given satisfaction to the medical 
 Faculty, and taken the remedies Avhich I have prescribed 
 for him. 
 
 Oron. Is there any complaint ? 
 
 1st Doc. Yes. 
 
 Oron. And which, pray ? 
 
 1st Doc. Do not make yourself uneasy. 
 
 Oron. Is it some complaint which . . . 
 
 1 st Doc. Doctors are bound to secrecy. It is sufficient
 
 144 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act ti. 
 
 that I commaDd you, you and your daughter, not to celebrate, 
 Avithout my consent, the nuptials with' him, under penalty 
 of incurring the displeasure of the Faculty, and of being 
 overwhelmed with every disease, as it pleases us. 
 
 Oron. If that is the case, I do not intend to conclude 
 
 this match. 
 
 \st Doc. He has been placed under my care ; and he is 
 bound to be my patient. 
 
 Oron. That is all right. 
 
 Ist Doct. He may run away as much as he likes; I shall 
 have him condemned, by decree, to be cured by me. 
 
 Oron. You have my consent. 
 
 1st Doc. Yes, he must be cured by me, or die. 
 
 Oron. I am quite willing. 
 
 1st Doc. And, if I do not find him, I shall hold you re- 
 sponsible ; and I shall cure you instead of him. 
 
 Oron. I am in good health. 
 
 1st Doc. That does not matter. I must have a patient ; 
 and I shall take whom I can. 
 
 Oron. Take whom you like ; but it shall not be me. 
 [Alone] That is a nice argument ! 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Oronte, Sbrigani, disguised as a Flemish merchant. 
 
 Sbr. Sir, by your leave, I am a foreign Flemish mer- 
 chant, who should wisli to ask you for some little infor- 
 mation.'^'' 
 
 Oron. What is it, Sir ? 
 
 Shr. Pray, put your hat on. Sir. 
 
 2f Sbrigani speaks a kind of broken French, which we thought it use- 
 less to try and imitate in English. Here is his first phrase in the 
 original: " MmiUir, aver, lo vvtre pcrmissione, je suisse un trancher 
 marchand Jlamane, qui voiidroit bienne vous temandair un petit nouvel."
 
 .sc. III.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 145 
 
 Oron. Tell me, Sir, what yoii Avish ? 
 
 Sbr. I shall not do so, Sir, unless you put your hat on 
 your head. 
 
 Oro7i. Be it so, then. What is the matter ? 
 
 Sb7\ Do you know perchance in this town a certain Mr 
 Oronte ? 
 
 Oron. Yes, I do know him. 
 
 Shr. And what kind of man is he. Sir, if you please ? 
 
 Oron. He is a man like other men. 
 
 Shr. I ask you, Sir, whether he is a rich man, who is 
 well to do ? 
 
 Oron. Yes. 
 
 Shr. But very much rich, I mean, Sir ? 
 
 Oron. Yes. 
 
 Shr. I am very glad of it. Sir. 
 
 Oron. But why so ? 
 
 Shr. It is. Sir, for a certain reason, which is of conse- 
 quence to us. 
 
 Oron. But once more, why ? 
 
 Shr. It is, Sir, because this Mr Oronte gives his 
 daughter in marriage to a certain Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. 
 
 Oron. Well? 
 
 Shr. And this Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Sir, is a man 
 who owes a great deal to ten or twelve Flemish merchants 
 who have come hither. 
 
 Oron. This Monsieur de Pourceaugnac owes a great deal 
 to ten or twelve merchants ? 
 
 Sbr. Yes, Sir ; and eight months ago, we have obtained 
 a little judgment against him ; and he has put off paying 
 all his creditors until this marriage, if this Mr Oronte gives 
 him his dauo^hter. 
 
 Oron. Ho ! ho ! he has put his creditors off till then ? 
 
 Shr. Yes, Sir ; and we expect this marriage with great 
 anxiety. 
 
 V. K
 
 146 MONSIEUR DE POUECEAUGNAC. [act ii. 
 
 Oron. [Aside] This is not a bad warning. [Aloud] I 
 wish you good day. 
 
 Sbr. I thank you, Sir, for your great favour. 
 
 Oron. Your very humble servant. 
 
 Sbr. I am so, Sir, after the great obligation for the in- 
 formation which you have given me. [Alone, after having 
 taken off his heard and undone the Flemish dress, which 
 he wears over his] Things are not going badly. Let us 
 doff our Flemish disguise, to bethink ourselves of other 
 contrivances ; and let us endeavour to sow so much suspicion 
 and division between the father and the son-in-law, that it 
 shall break off the proposed marriage. Both are equally 
 disposed to swallow the baits which are held out to them ; 
 and, amongst us rogues of the first water, it is but child's play, 
 when we meet with such easy game as that. 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Sbrigani. 
 
 Four. [Believing hirtiself alone] Figlialo su, piglialo 
 8U, signor Monsu. What the devil is it ? [Ferceiving 
 Sbrigani] Ah ! 
 
 Sbr. What is it. Sir ? What ails you ? 
 
 Four. Everything which I see appears an enemy to me. 
 
 Sbr. How ? 
 
 Four. You do not know what has happened to me in that 
 house, to the door of which you escorted me ? 
 
 Sbr. Indeed I do not. What is it ? 
 
 Four. I thought to be treated there in a proper manner. 
 
 Sbr. Well ? 
 
 Four. I leave you in the hands of this gentleman. 
 Doctors dressed in l)luck. In a chair. Feel the pulse. 
 That it be so. He is mad. Two stout boobies. Big hats. 
 Buon di, buon di. Six pantaloons. Ta, ra, ta, ta ; ta, ra,
 
 sc. IV.] MONSIEUfl DE POURCEAUGNAC. 147 
 
 ta, ta. Allegratnente, monsu Pourceaugnac. An apothe- 
 cary. Injection. Take it, Sir ; take it, take it. It is 
 gentle, gentle, gentle. It is to loosen, to loosen, loosen. 
 Piglialo sit, signor Monsu; piglialo, piglialo, inglialo 
 su. Never have I been so crammed with silliness. 
 Sbr. What does all this mean ? 
 
 Pour. It means that this man, with his great embraces, 
 is a scamp, who has put me in a house to make a fool of 
 me and to play me a trick. 
 
 Sbr. Can it be possible ? 
 
 Pour. Undoubtedly. There were a dozen of mad people 
 at my heels, and I have had the greatest trouble in the world 
 to escape from their paws. 
 
 Sbr. Look at that now ; faces are very deceptive ! 1 
 should have thought him the most affectionate of your 
 friends. This is one of my surprises, how it is possible 
 that there are such rogues in the world. 
 
 Pour. Do I not smell of an injection ? Just see, if you 
 please. 
 
 Sbr. Eh ! there is something very like it. 
 
 Pour. My mind apd nose are full of it ; and it always 
 seems to me that I see a dozen syringes taking aim at me. 
 
 Sbr. This is very great wickedness ! and men must be 
 great wretches and scoundrels. 
 
 Pour. Pray, tell me the w*hereabouts of Mr Oronte's 
 house ; I shall be glad to go there by and by. 
 
 Sbr. Ah ! ah ! you are then of an amorous disposi- 
 tion ? and you have heard it mentioned that this Mr Oronte 
 has a daughter . . . 
 
 Pour. Yes, I come to marry her. 
 
 Sbr. Come to mar . . . marry her 1 
 
 Pour. Yes. 
 
 Sbr. Id marriage ? 
 
 Pour. In what way then ?
 
 148 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act ii. 
 
 Sbr. Ah ! that is a different thing ; and I ask your 
 pardon. 
 
 Pour. What does this mean ? 
 
 Sbr. Nothing. 
 
 Pour. But once more ? 
 
 Shr. Nothing, I tell you. I spoke somewhat hastily. 
 
 Pour. I beseech you to tell me what there is beneath 
 this. 
 
 Shr. No, that is not necessary. 
 
 Pour. Pray. 
 
 Sbr. No, not at all ; I beg of you to excuse me. 
 
 Pour. Are you not a friend ? 
 
 Shr. Yes ; one could not be more so. 
 
 Pour. Then you should conceal nothing from me. 
 
 Shr. It is a matter which concerns the interest of our 
 neighbour. 
 
 Pour. Well, to induce you to open your heart to me, 
 here is a little ring, which I pray you to keep for my sake. 
 
 Shr. Just allow me to consider whether I can do so in 
 all conscience. [^After having gone a few steps away from 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] Here js a man, who looks 
 after his welfare, who tries to provide for his daughter as 
 advantageously as possible ; and we must do harm to no one. 
 Those things are well known, it is true ; but I am going to 
 reveal them to a man who is ignorant of them ; and it is 
 forbidden to bruit scandal about one's neighbour, that is true. 
 But, on the other hand, here is a stranger whom they wish 
 to deceive, and who, in good faith, comes to marry a girl 
 whom ho (lot's not know, and has never seen ; a gentleman 
 full of candour, to whom I feel well disposed, who does me 
 the lionour to look upon me as his friend, places confidence 
 in me, and gives me a ring to wear for liis sake. [To 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] Yes, I find that I can tell 
 you matters witliout wounding my conscience ; but let us
 
 sc. v.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 149 
 
 try to tell them to you as mildly as possible, and to spare 
 people as much as we can. To tell you that this girl leads 
 a dishonourable life, would be putting it somewhat too 
 strongly : let us seek, to explain ourselves, some milder 
 terms. The word galante, again, seems not enough ; that 
 of consummate coquette appears to me to serve our end, and 
 I may employ it to tell you honestly what she is.^*^ 
 
 Pour. Then they wish to make me their dupe. 
 
 Shr. Perhaps, at bottom, there is not so much harm as 
 the world believes ; and after all, there are people who are 
 above these kinds of things, and who do not believe that 
 their honour depends . . . 
 
 Pour. I am your servant, I do not care to wear a head- 
 dress like that ; and, in the Pourceaugnac family, we like 
 to go about with heads erect. 
 
 Shri. Here comes the father. 
 
 Pour. That old man. 
 
 Sbri. Yes. I leave you. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Oronte, Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. 
 
 Pour. Good day. Sir, good day. 
 
 Oron. Your servant. Sir, your servant. 
 
 Pour. You are Mr Oronte, is it not so ? 
 
 Oron. Yes. 
 
 Pour. And I am Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. 
 
 Oron. So much the better. 
 
 Pour. Think you, Mr Oronte, that the Limousins are 
 fools ? 
 
 S" The meaiiing of the words has changed since Moliere's time, when 
 galante was considered a milder term than coquette ; now, it is tlie con- 
 trary.
 
 150 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGN AC. [act ii. 
 
 Own. Think you, Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, that the 
 Parisians are idiots. 
 
 Pour. Do you imagine, Mr Oronte, that a man like me 
 is so hungry after a woman ? 
 
 Oron. Do you imagine, Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, that 
 a girl like mine is so hungry after a husband ? 
 
 SCHNE VI. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Julia, Oronte. 
 
 Jul. They have just told me, father, that Monsieur de 
 Pourceaugnac has arrived. Ah ! this is he no doubt, and 
 my heart tells me so. How well he is built ! how well 
 he looks ! and how glad I am to have such a husband ! 
 Permit me to embrace him, and to show him that . . . 
 
 Oron. Gently, daughter, gently. 
 
 Pour. [Aside] The devil ! what a forward hussy ! How 
 she fires up at once ! 
 
 Oron. I should much like to know. Monsieur de Pour- 
 ceaugnac, by what reason you come to . . . 
 
 Jul. [Approaches Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, looks at 
 him luith a languishing air, and endeavours to take his 
 hand] How glad I am to see you ! and how I burn with 
 impatience . . . 
 
 Oron. Ah ! daughter, get you gone from that, I tell 
 you. 
 
 Pour. [Aside] Oh ! oh ! what a sprightly wench ! 
 
 Oron. I .should like to know, I say, by what reason, if 
 you please, you have the audacity . . . 
 
 [Julia continues the same hy-play. 
 • Pour. Odds, upon my life ! 
 
 Oron. [To Julia] Again ! What does this mean? 
 
 Jul. May I not caress the husband whom you have 
 chosen for me ?
 
 sc. VII.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 151 
 
 Oron. No. Go in-doors. 
 
 Jul. Let me look at hira. 
 
 Oron. Go in-doors, I tell you, 
 
 Jul. I wish to stop here, if you please. 
 
 Oron. But I do not please ; and, if you do not go iu 
 directly . . . 
 
 Jul. Very well ! I am going. 
 
 Oron. My daughter is a fool who does not understand 
 these matters. 
 
 Pour. \^Aside\ How delighted she is with us 1 
 
 Oron. [To Julia, 'who has remained after ha,ving taken 
 a fevj steins, pretending to f/o] You will not go then ? 
 
 Jul. When am I going to be married to this gentleman ? 
 
 Oron. Never ; and you are not for him. 
 
 Jul. But I will be for him, since you have promised 
 him to me. 
 
 Oron. If I promised him, I retract my promise. 
 
 Pour, [xls^c^e] She would like to make sure of me. 
 
 Jul. You may do what you like : we shall be married 
 in spite of all the world. 
 
 Oron. I shall hinder you well enough, both of you, I 
 assure you. What a frenzy possesses hec all at once-.. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Oronte, Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. 
 
 Pour. Good Heavens ! intended father-in-law, do not give 
 yourself so much trouble ; we do not mean to carry off your 
 daugliter, and all your make-believes will lead to nothing. 
 
 Oron. Neither will yours have any great effect. 
 
 Pour. Did you imagine that Leonard de Pourceaugnac 
 is the man to buy a pig in a poke,^^ and that there was not 
 
 ^1 The original has chat en poche ; hence the EngHsh word " poke," for 
 a sack, a bag.
 
 152 MONSIEUR DE POUECEAUGNAC. ["tii. 
 
 sufficient judgment in him to know how to manage to be 
 informed about people's history, and to find out whether, 
 in marrying, he had sufficient guarantee for liis honour. 
 
 Oron. I do not know what this means ; but did you 
 take it into your head that a man of sixty-three years of 
 age would have so little brains, and so little consideration 
 for his daughter, as to marry her to a man who has, you know 
 what, and who has been put into the hands of a doctor to 
 be cured ? 
 
 Pour. That is a trick which has been played upon me ; 
 and I suffer from no complaint. 
 
 Oron. The doctor told me so himself. 
 
 Pour. The doctor told a lie then. I am a gentleman, 
 and I shall ask him satisfaction sword in hand. 
 
 Oron. I know what I ought to believe ; and you will not 
 disabuse my mind upon that subject, nor upon the debts which 
 you have put off until you were married to my daughter. 
 
 Pour. Which debts ? 
 
 Oron. The pretence is useless ; and I have seen the 
 Flemish merchant, who, with other creditors, obtained 
 judgment against you eight months ago. 
 
 Pour. What Flemish merchant ? What creditors ? What 
 judgment obtained against me ? 
 
 Oro7i. You know well enough what I mean. 
 
 SCENE Fin. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Oronte, Lucette, pretend- 
 ing to he a ivoman from Languedoc.^^ 
 
 Luc. Ah ! you are here, and I find you at last, after my 
 many journeys in search of you. Can you bear to look me 
 in the face, you scoundrel ? 
 
 82 In the original, Lucette talks a kind of Langiiedoc dialect, which 
 it would be impossible to render into English. The first few sentences
 
 sc. VIII.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 153 
 
 Pour. What does this woman want ? 
 
 Luc. What do I want, you infamous wretch ! You 
 pretend not to know me ; and you do not blush, rogue that 
 you are, you do not blush to see me. [To Oronte] I do not 
 know. Sir, whether it is you, as I have been told, whose 
 daughter he wants to marry ; but I declare to you that I 
 am his wife, and that seven years ago, when he was passing 
 through P^z(^nas, he was artful enough, with his pretty 
 speeches in which he is so clever, to gain my heart, and, by 
 these means, persuaded me to give him my hand in marriage. 
 
 Or on. Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Pour. What the devil is this ? 
 
 Luc. The wretch left me three years afterwards, under 
 the pretext of some business which took him to his country ; 
 and since then I have had no tidings from him ; but when 
 I was least thinking about it, they warned me that he was 
 coming into this town to marry again another young girl 
 which her parents had promised him, without knowing any- 
 thing of his first marriage. I immediately left everything, 
 and I have come hither as quickly as I could, to oppose 
 this criminal union, and to unmask the most wicked of men 
 before the eyes of the world. 
 
 Pour. This is a strange audacity ! 
 
 Luc. Rascal ! are you not ashamed to insult me, in- 
 stead of being confused by the secret reproaches which 
 your conscience must make you ? 
 
 are as follows : — " Ah ! tu es assi, et a la fi yeu te trohi apre's aM fait 
 tant de passes. Podes-tu, sce'le'rat, podes-tu sousteni ma bisto . . . Que te 
 holt infame! Tu fas semblan de nou me pas connouisse, et non rougisses 
 pas, impudent que tu sios, tu ne rougisses pas de me heyre." Some com- 
 mentators say that this is not the correct language of Languedoc ; but 
 it has been justly observed that Lucette s^^eaks Languedoc enough to 
 deceive Pourceaugnac, and French enough to be understood by the 
 spectators. Besides, Moli^re only says that she pretends to be a woman 
 from Languedoc, but not that she is really one.
 
 154 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act ii. 
 
 Pour. 1, I am your husband ? 
 
 Luc. Infamous wretch ! dare you say the contrary ? 
 Ah ! you know well enough, to my misfortune, that all 
 which I say is but too true ; and would to Heaven it were 
 not, and that you had left me in the state of innocence and 
 the tranquillity of mind in which I lived before your charms 
 and your deceits unfortunately made me leave it ! I would 
 not then be obliged to cut the sorry figure which I do now, 
 to see a cruel husband despise all the love I had for him ; 
 and to leave me mercilessly to the mortal grief which I feel 
 at his perfidious behaviour. 
 
 Oron. I cannot help crying. [To Monsieur de Pour- 
 ceaugnac] Go, you are a wicked man. 
 
 Pour. I know nothing about all this. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, N^rine, Lucette, Oronte.^^ 
 
 Ner.^^ [counterfeiting a vjoman from Picardy] Ah ! I 
 am exhausted ; I am all out of breath ! Ah ; you braggart, 
 you have led me a fine dance, but you shall not escape me. 
 Justice ! justice ! I put a stop to this marriage. [To 
 Oronte^ He is my husband, Sir, and I mean to have the 
 gallows-bird hanged. 
 
 Pour. What, another one ! 
 
 Oron. [Aside] The devil, what sort of fellow is this ? 
 
 Luc. And what do you mean, with your putting a stop 
 to, and your hanging ? Is that man your husband ? 
 
 33 See Appendix, Note D. 
 
 ■** The same observation whicli I have made in note 32, page 152, 
 with regard to Lncette's dialect, aj^plies to Ndrine's, of which we give 
 the first four sentences: "Ah!je n^en pis plus; je sis tout essoji^e! 
 Ah! finfaron, tu m'asbien fait courir; tu ne m^i^caperas mie. Justice! 
 justice ! je boute empichement au mariage. [it Oronte] Cli^s mon m4ri, 
 monsieur, etje veux faire pindre che bon pindard-Ia."
 
 sc. IX.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 155 
 
 Ner. Yes, Madam, and I am his wife. 
 
 Luc. That is false, and it is I who am his wife ; and, 
 if he is to be hanged, it is I who will have him hanged. 
 
 Ker. I understand nothing of all this gibberish. 
 
 Luc. I tell you that I am his wife. 
 
 Ker. His wife ? 
 
 Luc. Yes. 
 
 Ner. I tell you once more that it is I who am his wife. 
 
 Luc. And I maintain that it is I. 
 
 Ner. It is four years since he married me. 
 
 Luc. It is seven since he took me to wife. 
 
 Ner. I have proofs of all that I say. 
 
 Luc. All my country knows it. 
 
 Ner. Our town is witness to it. 
 
 Luc. All P(izenas saw our wedding. 
 
 Ner. All St Quentin was at ours. 
 
 Luc. Nothing can be more true. 
 
 Ner. Nothing can be more certain. 
 
 Luc. [To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] Would you dare 
 to deny it, you villain ? 
 
 Ner. Doyou mean to give the lie to me, you wicked wretch ? 
 
 Pour. The one is as true as the other. 
 
 Iaic. What impudence ! How now, you wretch, you 
 remember no longer poor little Francois, and poor Jeannette, 
 who are the fruits of our union ? 
 
 Ner. Just look at the insolence ! What ! you do not 
 remember that poor child, our little Madeleine, which you 
 left me as a pledge of your fidelity ? 
 
 Pour. What two impudent sluts ! 
 
 Luc. Come here Francois, come here Jeannette, come all 
 of you, come and show an unnatural father his want of feel- 
 ing for us all. 
 
 Ner. Come, Madeleine, come, my child, come here to 
 shame your father for his impertinence.
 
 loo MONSIEUR DE POUECEAUGNAC. [act ii. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 Monsieur Pourceaugnac, Oronte, Lucette, Ni^rine, 
 
 several children. 
 
 The Chil. Ah, pajoa ! papa ! papa ! 
 
 Pour. The devil take the strumpet's brats ! 
 
 Luc. What, you wretch, you are not overwhelmed 
 
 with shame to receive your children thus, and to close your 
 ears to all paternal tenderness ! You shall not escape me, 
 you infamous rogue ! I shall follow you everywhere, and 
 reproach you with your crime until I shall be revenged, 
 and see you hanged. You scoundrel, I will have you hanged. 
 
 Ner. Do you not blush to speak these words, and to 
 
 remain insensible to the caresses of this poor child ? But 
 you shall not get out of my clutches ; and, in spite of your 
 teeth I shall let the world see that I am your wife ; and I 
 shall have you hanged. 
 
 The Cldl. Papa ! papa ! papa ! 
 
 Pour. Help ! help ! Where shall I fly ? I can bear 
 this no longer. 
 
 Oron. Come, you will do well to have him punished ; 
 
 and he deserves to be hanged. 
 
 SCENE XL 
 Sbrigani, alone. 
 
 I am managing these things very nicely, and everything 
 goes well as yet. We shall tire our provincial to such an 
 extent that, upon my word, he will be obliged to decamp.
 
 sc. XII.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 157 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Sbrigani. ^^ 
 
 Pour. Ah ! I am half dead ! What troubles ! What a 
 cursed town I Set upon from all sides ! 
 
 Sbr. What is it, Sir ? Has something else happened ? 
 
 Pour. Yes. It rains syringes and women in this country. 
 
 Sbr. How is that ? 
 
 Pour. Two jabbering jades have come and accused me of 
 having married them both, and threaten me with the law. 
 
 Sbr. That is a wicked business ; and the law in these 
 parts is very rigorous against that sort of crime. 
 
 Pour. Yes ; but although there should be an information, 
 citation, decree, and judgment obtained by surprise, default 
 and contumacy, I can, by availing myself of a conflict of 
 jurisdictions, gain time, and find out the flaws which shall 
 nullify the proceedings.^^ 
 
 Sbr. That is talking of it in the right terms, and it 
 is clear, Sir, that you are of the profession. 
 
 Pour. I ! not at all. I am a gentleman. 
 
 Sbr. To speak thus you must have studied the law. 
 
 Pour. In no wise. It is only common sense which makes 
 me conclude that justifying evidence will be admitted, and 
 that I cannot be condemned on a simple accusation, without 
 the witnesses beinij examined and confronted with the ac- 
 cused parties. 
 
 Sbr. That is finer still. 
 
 Pour. These words come to me without my knowing it. 
 
 Sbr. It seems to me that the common sense of a gentle- 
 man may go as far as to conceive what is right and proper 
 in law, but not to know the real legal terms. 
 
 •^o See Appendix, Note D. 
 
 36 The law terms ^^information, ajourne)nent, decret,jugement, defaut, 
 contumace, and conflit de juridiction" were all correct in Moliere's time.
 
 158 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act ii. 
 
 Pour. These are a few words which I remember from 
 having read them in novels. 
 
 Sbr. Ah ! that is all right ! 
 
 Pour. To show you that I understand nothing at all of a 
 lawyer's profession, I pray you to take me to some barrister 
 to consult him about my business. 
 
 Sbr. I shall do so, and shall take you to two very able 
 men ; but I must warn you beforehand not to be surprised 
 at their way of speaking. They have contracted from the 
 bar a certain habit of declamation which would lead one to 
 suppose that they were singing, and you might mistake 
 everything they say for music. 
 
 Pour. What does it matter how they speak, as long 
 as they tell me what I wish to know ! 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Sbrigani, Two Barristers, 
 Two Solicitors, Two Sergeants. 
 
 1st Bar. [Drawling his words as he sings] — 
 Polygamy is a business, 
 Is a hanging business. 
 2d Bar. [Singing ver'y quickly, and stammeringl — 
 
 Your case 
 
 Is plain and clear ; 
 
 And all the law 
 
 In such a matter 
 
 Decides distinctly. 
 
 If you consult our authors, 
 
 Legislators, and commentators, 
 
 Justinianus, Papinianus, 
 
 Ulpianus, and Tribonianus, 
 
 Fcrnand, Rcbuffe, John Imola, 
 
 Paul de Castro, Julianus, Bartholine,
 
 >il. lo/M^l'f^!^
 
 sc. xrii.] MONSIEUR DE POURCE AUG XAC. 159 
 
 Jason, Alciati, and Cujas, 
 That great man so able ; 
 Polygamy is a business, 
 Is a hanging business.^^ 
 
 Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Dance of the Two Solicitors and the Two Sergeants. 
 
 While the Second Barrister sings the following tvords : — • 
 
 All people that are civilised 
 And sensible, 
 The French, the English, the Dutch, 
 The Danes, the Swedes, the Poles, 
 The Portuguese, the Spaniards, the Flemish, 
 The Italians, the Germans, 
 Have all a like law on this case ; 
 And there is no difficulty in the matter. 
 Polygamy is a business. 
 Is a hanwinsj business. 
 The First Barrister sings these words- — 
 Polygamy is a business, 
 Is a hanging business. 
 [^Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, getting impatient, 
 drives them aiuay.^^ 
 
 37 The French comic dramatists and satirists have often mentioned 
 the old jurists. Eebuffe is cited by Racine in les Plaideurs ; Alciati, 
 by Boileau in the Lutrin; and Jason, the least known of all, by Cur- 
 neille in the Menteur. " To study Bartholine or Cujas" was then a 
 periphrase for " studying law." 
 
 3S In Moliere's time, a bigamist was really condemned to death. In 
 later times, he was put in the stocks, with as many distaffs tied to his 
 arm as he had married wives, and then sent to the galleys, or banished.
 
 160 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGN AC. [act in. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 Skaste, Sbrigani. 
 
 Shr. Yes, matters are proceeding as we like ; and as 
 he is not particularly bright, and his understanding is of the 
 narrowest, I have inspired him with such great fear of the 
 severity of the laws in these parts, and of the preparations 
 which are already being made for his execution, that he is 
 determined to take flight, and to evade Avith greater facility 
 the people, who I have told him were stationed at the gates 
 of the town to arrest him, he has made up his mind to dis- 
 guise himself, and the disguise which he has assumed is a 
 woman's dress. 
 
 Eras. I should like much to see him in that dress. 
 
 Shr. You, on your part, should think of finishing the 
 comedy ; and while I am acting my scenes with him, go and 
 . . . \He luhispers something in Ms ear] You understand 
 rightly ? 
 
 Uras. Yes. 
 
 Shr. And when I shall have put him where I wish . . . 
 [Whispers again.] 
 
 Eras. Very good. 
 
 Shr. And when the father shall have been warned by 
 me . . . [Whisjyers again.] 
 
 Eras. Things could not go on better. 
 
 Shr. Here comes our young lady. Go quickly, that 
 we may not be seen together. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, disguised as a woman, 
 
 SbRICxANI. 
 
 ^'6^. As for nie, 1 do not believe tliat they ever could 
 recognise you in this state ; and, as you arc, you look like a 
 woman of quality.
 
 sc II.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 161 
 
 Pour. What astonishes me is that the forms of justice 
 are not better observed in these parts. 
 
 Shr. Yes, I have ah-eady told you, they begin here by 
 hanging a man, and then they judge his case. 
 
 Pour. That is very unjust justice. 
 
 Shr. It is devilishly severe, especially on these sorts of 
 crimes. 
 
 Pour. But when people are innocent ? 
 
 Shr. It matters not ; they do not inquire into that ; and 
 besides, they have got a terrible hatred in this town for 
 people from your country ; and nothing gives them greater 
 delight than to see a Limousin hanged. 
 
 Pour. What have the Limousins done to them ? 
 
 Sbr. They are brutes here, foes to all gentility and 
 merit in those of other towns. As for me, I confess to you, 
 that I am in ver}^ great fear for you ; and I should never 
 console myself if you were to be hanged. 
 
 Pour. It is not so much the fear of death that makes 
 me run away, as that it is very damaging to a gentleman to 
 be hanged, and that an affair like that would ruin our title 
 of nobility.^'' 
 
 Shr. You are right ; they would afterAvards dispute your 
 title of esquire.'**' For the rest, take great care, when I 
 shall lead you by the hand, to walk like a woman, and to 
 assume all the speech and manners of a person of quality. 
 
 Pour. Let me manage it. I have seen people of rank. 
 The only thing is, that I have a bit of a beard. 
 
 Shr. Your beard is nothing ; there are women who 
 have as much as you. Come, let us see how you mean to 
 set about it. \_After Monsieur de Pourceaugnac has imi- 
 tated a ivoman of quality] Good. 
 
 3^ Nobles were formerly decapitated, commoners hanged. 
 40 Ecuyer, esquire, was the lowest title of nobility. 
 V. L
 
 162 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGN AC. [act ni. 
 
 Pour. Now then, my coach ! Where is my carriage ! 
 Good Heavens ! how wretched it is to have people like that 
 about one ! Will they keep me waiting the whole day in 
 the street, and will my coach never come ? 
 
 Shr. Very good. 
 
 Pour. Hullo ! ho ! coachman, little page ! Ah ! you 
 little scamp, — I shall let you have a taste of the whip by- 
 and-by ! Little page, page ! Where is my little page ? 
 Will the little page never be found ? Will this page never 
 come ? Have I not a little page left ! 
 
 Shr. This is capital. But I notice one thing ; this hood 
 is not close enough : I shall go and get one that is a little 
 thicker, the better to conceal your face, in case of some 
 meeting. 
 
 Pour. What will become of me in the meantime ? 
 
 Shr. Wait for me here. I shall be with you again in 
 a moment, you have only to walk about. [^Monsieur de 
 Pourceaugnac walks several times up and doivn the stage, 
 ahuays trying to imitate a ivoman of quality. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Mo^'SIEUR DE Pourceaugnac, Two Swiss. 
 
 1st Siuiss.'^^ [Not seeing Monsieur de Pourceaugnac^ 
 Come, make haste, mate ; we must both go to the Greve, to 
 look for a little at the execution of this Monsieur de Pour- 
 ceaugnac, who has been condemned to be hanged by the 
 neck. 
 
 2d Siviss. [Without seeing Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] 
 We must hire a windoAV to see this execution. 
 
 4i See my observation, ])age 52, note 32. I give tlie iinst sentence 
 in the original : " Allans, dcpeclwns, camerade; lifaut allair tons deux 
 nous a la Crevc pour retjartcr un peu choiisticicr sti monsiu de Pourcegnac, 
 qui V a 4te contane' par ortonnance a Fetre liendu par son cou."
 
 sc. III.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 103 
 
 1st Stulss. They say that there is already a bran new gal- 
 lows erected on which to hang this Pourceaugnac. 
 
 2d Siviss. It would, indeed, be a great pleasure to see this 
 Limousin hung on it. 
 
 1st Siviss. Yes, to see him kick up his heels before all the 
 world. 
 
 2d Siviss. He is a funny fellow ; they say that he has 
 been three times married. 
 
 1st Siviss. What the devil did he want with three wives to 
 himself ! one ought to have been enough for him. 
 
 2d Siviss. [Perceiving Monsieur de Pourceaugnac] Ah ! 
 good day, Miss. 
 
 1.9^ Siviss. What are you doing here all alone ? 
 
 Pour. I am waiting for my servants, gentlemen. 
 
 2c? Swiss. Upon my word ! she is pretty. 
 
 Pour. Gently, gentlemen. 
 
 1st Siviss. Will you join us. Miss, to go to the Greve ? 
 We are going to see a nice little hanging. 
 
 Pour. I would rather Dot. 
 
 2d Swiss. It is a Limousin gentleman, who is to be 
 hanged genteelly upon a great gallows. 
 
 Pour. I have no wish to see it. 
 
 1st Swiss. There is a little breast which is nice. 
 
 Pour. Gently ! 
 
 Ist Swiss. Upon my word, I should like to sleep with 
 you. 
 
 Pour. Ah ' this is too much ! and these sorts of ob- 
 scenities are not uttered to a woman of my rank. 
 
 2d Swiss. Leave off, you ; I wish to sleep with her. 
 
 1st Swiss. I do not choose to leave her alone. 
 
 2d Siviss. And I wish it. 
 
 [The two Swiss pull Monsieur de Pourceaugnac 
 
 about in a violent manner. 
 
 1st Swiss. I am not doing anything.
 
 164 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act m. 
 
 2d Swiss. You are telling a lie. 
 
 1st Siuiss. Go away, you are telliug a lie yourself. 
 
 Four. Help ! Guard ! 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, a Police-Officer,^^ two 
 Inferior Police-Officers,*'' two Swiss. 
 
 Pol. 0. What is the matter ? What violence is this ? 
 and what do you want with this lady ? Come, get away 
 from this, unless you wish to be put into prison. 
 
 Ist Swiss. Go away, all right. You shall not have her. 
 
 2d Siuiss. Go away, good ; you shall not have her either. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, a Police-Officer, two 
 Inferior Police-Officers. 
 
 Pour. I am much obliged to you, Sir, for having freed 
 me from these two insolent fellows. 
 
 Pol. 0. Hey-day ! His face looks very much like the one 
 that has been described to me. 
 
 Pour. It is not I, I assure you. 
 
 Pol. 0. Ah ! ah ! what does I mean . . . 
 
 Pour. I do not know, 
 
 Pol. 0. Why do you say so then ? 
 
 Pour. For nothing. 
 
 Pol. 0. This speech means something ; and I arrest you. 
 
 Pour. Pray ! Sir, pray ! 
 
 Pol. 0. No, no ; to judge from your face and speech, you 
 
 '*■' See Introductory Notice to Tartuffe, Vol. IV., page 131, note 35. 
 *^ The original ha.s archer, because the inferior police-officers for- 
 merly used to wear cross-bows.
 
 sc. VL-vii.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 105 
 
 must be this Monsieur de Pourceaugnac of whom we are in 
 search, and who is said to have disguised himself in this 
 fashion ; you shall come to prison with us directly. 
 Pour. Alas ! 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Sbrigani, a Police-Officer, 
 TWO Inferior Police-officers. 
 
 Sbr. \To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac^ Good Heavens ! 
 what means this ? 
 
 Pour. They have recognised me. 
 
 Pol. 0. Yes, yes : I am delighted at it. 
 
 Sbr. [To the Police Officer'] Ah, Sir, for my sake ! 
 You know that we are friends of old standing ; I beseech 
 you not to take him to prison. 
 
 Pol. 0. No, no : that is impossible. 
 
 Shr. You are a man open to reason. Is there no way 
 of adjusting this matter by means of some pistoles ? 
 
 Pol. 0. [To the inferior Police-Officers] Just leave us for 
 a little while. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, Sbrigani, the Police- 
 Officer. 
 
 Shr. [To Monsieur de Pourceaugnac'] You must give 
 him some money to let you go. Make haste. 
 
 Pour. [Handing some money to Sbrigani] Ah ! cursed 
 town. 
 
 Shr. There, Sir. 
 
 Pol. 0. How much is there ? 
 
 Shr. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, 
 ten. 
 
 Pol. 0. No ; my orders are too binding.
 
 IGG MONSIEUR DE POUECEAUGNAC. [act m. 
 
 Sh7\ [To the Police Officer, who tuants to go away] 
 Good Heavens ! jnst wait a moment. [To Monsieur de 
 Pourceaugnac'j Make haste ; give him as much more. 
 
 Pour. But . . . 
 
 Sh7\ Make haste, I tell you, and lose no time. It 
 would please you much, no doubt, to be hanged ! 
 
 Pour. Ah ! [He hands more money to Sbrigani. 
 
 Sbr. [To the Police Officer] There, Sir. 
 
 Pol. 0. [To Sbrigani] I shall have to fly with him ; for 
 there is no security for me here. Let me conduct him, and 
 do not stir from this. 
 
 Sbr. T beseech you then to take great care of him. 
 
 Pol. 0. I promise you not to leave him, until I have put 
 him in a place of safety. 
 
 Pour. [To Sbrigani] Good-bye. This is the only honest 
 man whom I have found in this town. 
 
 Sbr. Do lose no time. I love you so much, that I 
 wish that you were already far from this. [Alone] May 
 Heaven conduct you ! On my word, this is a great gull. 
 But here comes . . . 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 Oronte, Sbrigani. 
 
 Sbr. [Pretending not to see Oronte] Ah ! what a 
 strange adventure ! What sad news for a father ! Poor 
 Oronte, how I pity you ! What will you say ? and how 
 will you bear this mortal grief? 
 
 Oron. What is it ? what misfortune do you prophesy to 
 me ? tell mc. 
 
 Sbr. Ah, Sir ! this perfidious Limousin, this wretch of a 
 Monsieur de Pourccaugnac abducts your daughter ! 
 
 Oron. He abducts my daughter ! 
 
 Sbr. Yes. She has become so crazy, that she leaves you
 
 sc. IX.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 1^7 
 
 to follow him ; and they say that he has got a talisman'** for 
 making himself beloved by all women. 
 
 Oron. Come, ([uick to the authorities ! Let us despatch 
 the police-ojfficers after them ! 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 Oronte, £raste, Julia, Sbrigani. 
 
 Eras. \To Julioi\ Come, you shall come in spite of your- 
 self, and I shall place you safely again in the hands of your 
 father. There, Sir, there is your daughter, whom by force 
 I have drasfored from the hands of the man with whom she 
 was running away ; not from love for her, but solely out of 
 respect for you. For, after what she has done, I can only 
 despise her, and cure myself completely of the affection 
 which I had for her. 
 
 Oron. Ah ! infamous girl that you are ! 
 
 Eras. \To Julia'] What ! treat me in this manner, after 
 all the marks of affection which I have given you. I do 
 not blame you for having submitted to the will of your 
 father ; he is prudent and judicious in everything he does ; 
 and I do not complain of him for having rejected me for 
 another. If he broke the word which he had given me, he 
 had no doubt his reasons for it. People made him believe 
 that this other was richer than myself by four or five thou- 
 sand crowns ; and four or five thousand crowns is a con- 
 siderable sum, and which makes it worth while to break 
 one's word. But to forget in a moment all the love which 
 I have shown you, to allow yourself to be captivated by 
 a new comer, and to follow him in a shameless manner, 
 without your father's consent, and after the crimes which 
 have been imputed to him, this must be condemned by 
 
 4^ The original has un caractere. See Amphitnjon, Vol. IV., page 291, 
 ,note 43.
 
 1G8 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act in. 
 
 every one, and for this my heart cannot make you sufH- 
 ciently cutting reproaches. 
 
 Jul. Well, then ? yes. I have conceived a passion for 
 him, and wished to follow him, because my father had 
 chosen him as my husband. Whatever you may say to me, 
 he is a very honourable man ; and all the crimes of which he 
 is accused are horrible falsehoods. 
 
 Or on. Hold your tongue ; you are an impudent jade ; I 
 know better than you what he is. 
 
 Jul. They are, no doubt, tricks which have been played 
 upon him, and {Pointing to £raste] it is perhaps he who 
 invented this artifice to disgust you with him. 
 
 Eras. I ! could I be capable of such a thing ? 
 
 Jul. Yes, you. 
 
 Oron. Hold your tongue, I tell you ; you are a fool. 
 
 Eras. No, no, do not think that I have the least desire 
 to interfere with this marriage, and that it is my passion 
 which has made me run after you. I have already told you 
 that it is only from consideration for your father ; and I could 
 not bear that an honourable man like him should be exposed 
 to the shameful scandal which a step like yours might entail. 
 
 Oron. I am infinitely obliged to you, Mr firaste. 
 
 Eras. Good-bye, Sir. I had the greatest wish in the 
 world to become related to you ; I have done all that I could 
 to obtain such an honour ; but I have been unfortunate, and 
 you did not think me worthy of such a favour. This shall 
 not prevent me from entertaining towards you the feelings of 
 esteem and veneration which your person compels ; and if 
 I could not succeed in becoming your son-in-law, I at least 
 can be for ever your servant. 
 
 Own. Stay, Mr firaste ; your behaviour touches my 
 heart, and I give you my daughter in marriage. 
 
 Jul. I will have no other husband than Monsieur de 
 Pourceaugnac.
 
 so. IX.] MONSIEUR DE POUKCEAUGNAC. 1G9 
 
 Oron. And I, I will have yon accept Mr £raste on the 
 spot. Come, your hand. 
 
 Jul. No, I shall not do so. 
 
 Oron. I shall box your ears. 
 
 Eras. No, no, Sir ; do not use violence, T beseech you. 
 
 Oi'on. It is for her to obey, and I will show her that I 
 am the master. 
 
 Eras. Do you not see the love she has for that man ? 
 and do you wish me to possess her person, while another 
 shall possess her heart ? 
 
 Oi'on. He has bewitched her, and you will see that she 
 M^ill change her opinions shortly. Give me your hand. 
 Come ! 
 
 Jul. I will not. . . . 
 
 Oron. Ah ! what a noise ! Come, your hand, I tell you. 
 Ah ! ah ! ah ! 
 
 Eras. [To Julia'] Do not think that it is for love of you 
 that I give you my hand ; I am smitten only with your 
 father ; and it is he whom I marry. 
 
 Oron. I am much obliged to you ; and I add ten thousand 
 crowns to the marriage portion of my daughter. Come, let 
 them bring the notary to draw up the contract. ^^ 
 
 Eras. While awaiting his arrival, we may enjoy the 
 entertainment of the season, and usher in the masks, whom 
 the noise of Monsieur de Pourceaugnac's nuptials has at- 
 tracted here from all parts of the town. 
 
 45 It is customary to end the piece here, but to enliven it a h'ttle, 
 M. de Pourceaugnac, di'essed as a woman, appears in one of the boxes, 
 makes a friendly gesture to Sbrigani, and recommends him to come and 
 see him, if ever he goes to Limoges. This ending is traditional at the 
 Come'die Franqaise, and allows the curtain to fall amidst roars of 
 laughter.
 
 170 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. [act in. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 A troop of Masks singing and dancing. Some are on 
 balconies, others in the street, and hy. divers songs 
 and games, try to enjoy innocent pleasures. 
 
 A Mask \dressed as a female gii'>sy'\ — 
 
 Begone, begone from this spot, 
 
 Sorrow, Grief, and Sadness ; 
 
 Come, come. Laughter and Play, 
 
 Pleasure, Love, and Tenderness ; 
 
 Let us think of nothing else but joy. 
 
 Let pleasure be our sole aim. 
 Chorus of singing Masks — 
 
 Let us think of nothing else but joy 
 
 Let j)leasure be our sole aim. 
 F. GiiJ. To follow me all here 
 
 Your ardour is uncommon ; 
 
 And you are in grief 
 
 About your love : 
 
 Be always in love. 
 
 It is the way of being happy. 
 A Mask \dressed as a gipsy'] — 
 
 Let us love till death ; 
 
 Reason tells us to do so. 
 
 Alas ! what would be life 
 
 If people loved no more ? 
 
 Ah ! let us rather lose life 
 
 Than lose our love. 
 Both \in dialogue] — 
 
 All treasures. 
 F. Gip. Glory. 
 M. Gip. Grandeur. 
 F. Gip. The sceptres that cause such envy.
 
 sex.] MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGX AC. 171 
 
 M. Gip. All is nothing, if love does not infuse its ardour. 
 F. Glp. Without love, there is no joy in life. 
 The two together — 
 
 Let us always be in love, 
 
 It is the way of being happy. 
 Chorus. Let us all sing together, 
 
 And dance, and jump, and merry ba 
 A Mash [dressed as a nohle Venetian] — 
 
 When for laughter we are assembled 
 
 The wisest are those, it seems to me. 
 
 Who play the greatest fools. 
 All together — 
 
 Let us think of nothing else but joy, 
 
 Let pleasure be our sole aim. 
 
 First Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Dance of two Old Women, two Scaramouches, two 
 
 Pantaloons, two Doctors, and two Peasants. 
 
 Second Entry of the Ballet. 
 Dance of Savages. 
 
 Third Entry of the Ballet. 
 Dance of Biscayens.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A, Page 121. 
 
 Ravenscroft, in the Citizen turned Gentleman (Act ii., Scene 1), imitates, 
 as follows, the fifth and sixth Scenes of the first Act of M. de Pour- 
 ceaugnac, who is called in the English play Sir Simon. The French 
 Sbrigani is Trickmore, and Eraste becomes Cleverwit. 
 
 Enter Sir Simon with people and boys about him. 
 
 Sir Simon. Very pretty, as I live, what's the matter ? what would 
 you have ? in my conscience the Devil's in the town, and has possess'd 
 all the people. Why, what a Devil ails you all ? cannot a man go along 
 the streets without a regiment of fools at his heels 1 What do you 
 laugh at now ? ye had more need go look after your wives at home, lest 
 they make you monsters to be stared at ; I believe I shall laugh at some 
 of you before I leave the town : and haw, how, haw, too, the devil take 
 me if I do not give the next I see laugh a douce o' th' chops. 
 
 Trickmore. How now, what's the matter here, gentlemen? what 
 mean ye ? who have ye got here 1 have you nothing else to do but run 
 staring and gajsing after a gentleman, as if ye were all out of your 
 wits] 
 
 Sir S. Here is a man has some reason in him. [Aside. 
 
 Trick. What is your business 1 what do ye snear at % 
 
 Sir S. Aye, Aye ; at what, at what ? 
 
 Trick. Do you see anything about him that is ridiculous ? 
 
 Sir S. Aye, have I. 
 
 Trick. Is he not like other people ? 
 
 Sir S. Aye, have I horns upon my head as some of you? or am I 
 cloven-footed ? 
 
 Trick. Go, go home, and learn better breeding. 
 
 Sir S. That's good counsel, and take it y 'ad best. 
 
 Trick. The Gentleman is a Knight. 
 
 Sir S. Aye. 
 
 Trick. The heir of an honourable Family. 
 
 Sir S. Aye. 
 
 Trick. His ancestors deserv'd well of his country. 
 
 Sir S. Aye.
 
 174 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 
 
 Trick. And he no less. 
 
 Sir S. Aye. 
 
 TrieL His behaviour challenges respect. 
 
 Sir S. Aye. 
 
 Tricl: He is one of singular parts. 
 
 Sir S. Aye. 
 
 Trick. He has been a traveller. 
 
 Sir S. Aye, marry have I. 
 
 Trick. He honours the Town with his presence. 
 
 Sir S. An understanding fellow this, I believe he's well-bred. 
 
 Trick. He is not a person to be affronted and laugh'd at. 
 
 Sir S. No, they are mistaken in their man if they think so. 
 
 Trick. If ye go not abovit your business, I will handle some of ye 
 without mittens : go, be gone. [Trickmore drives the people out. 
 
 Sir S. Sir, I am most hugeously obliged to you. 
 
 Trick. I am troubled, Sir, to see such a })crson as you treated so 
 rudely, and I ask your pardon for the whole Town. 
 
 Sir S. Your servant. Sir. 
 
 Trick. Sir, I had the honour to lodge in the same Inn with you last 
 night, when I understood by your servant who you was, I had a great 
 presumption to do you some piece of service. 
 
 Sir S. What does this fellow expect now? Money 1 [Aside. 
 
 Trick. And it was my good fortune to pass by the door of your 
 Eoom where you was at supper, just as the out-cry was, and these hands 
 had the honour to disengage you from being smother'd by the gentle- 
 woman of the house, when you was overthrown by that unlucky 
 accident, and your Hostess whelm'd over you. 
 
 Sir S. Was you there then ? 
 Trick. I was. Sir. 
 
 Sir S. I was so blinded with Sack-posset I could not see my de- 
 liverers. 
 
 Trick. I am glad I am again so happy to do you another piece of 
 
 service. 
 
 Sir S. [Aside] I must give him something. Sir, pray let me requite 
 your services with a piece of gold. 
 
 Trick. By no means. Sir, I am not covetous of anything but to do 
 you service ; pray put it up again. I have conceived a great inclination 
 to serve you, and the honour shall be the only reward. 
 
 Sir S. An honest fellow this. [Aside] Well, Sir, I remain behindhand 
 with you in courtesies. 
 
 Trick. Pray let me kiss your hand. 
 
 [Trickmore kisses Sir Simon^s hand. 
 
 Sir S. In my life I never met with such a civil fellow. 
 
 Trick. Your physiognomy takes me extrcamly. 
 
 SirS. Ah, ha! 
 
 Trick. 1 see much gallantry in it.
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 175 
 
 Sir S. Ah, ha. 
 
 Trick. Something very taking. 
 
 SirS. Ah, ha. 
 
 TricL Manly and brave. 
 
 SirS. Ah, ha. 
 
 Trick. Frank and generous. 
 
 Sir S. Ah, ha. 
 
 TricL I swear to you I am wholly engaged to serve you. 
 
 Sir S. I find it. 
 
 TricL If I had the honour to be known to you, you'd say I was a man 
 very sincere. 
 
 Sir S. I doubt not. 
 
 Trick. An utter enemy to knavery. 
 
 Sir S. I believe it. 
 
 TricL And one that is not capable to disguise his thoughts. 
 
 Sir S. Plain dealing is a Jewel. 
 
 Trick. And I use it ; yet in spight of the fag end of the Proverb am 
 no beggar. 
 
 Enter to them Cleverwit. 
 
 Cleverioit. Ha ! who is this I see 1 Sir Simon Softhead ! I am 
 ravisht to see you ; oh, what a Joy I feel at sight of you ! What, it 
 seems you scarce know me. 
 
 Sir S. Sir Simon is your servant. Sir. 
 
 Clev. Out of sight out of Mind I see : but is 't possible six or seven 
 years should blot me out of your memory ? It's strange that in so short 
 a time you should forget one that professes himself the greatest friend 
 and servant to the family of the Softheads of any man breathing. 
 
 Sir S. Oh, pray pardon me there Faith I know him not. 
 
 [To Trickmore aside. 
 
 Clev. There is scarce one of that family that I do not know as well 
 
 as I know you, when I lived at Berry, there was no doing without me, 
 
 I was always amongst 'em, I had the honour to see you there almost 
 
 every day. 
 
 Sir S. You shall excuse me, Sir, 'twas I received the honour 1 
 
 never saw his face before \To Trickmore. 
 
 Clev. You cannot call me to mind yet. 
 
 Sir S. Pray excuse me for that 1 know not who it is, not I. 
 
 [7b Trickmore. 
 Clev. Don't you remember we went often together to drink ? 
 
 Sir S. O yes But let me be hang'd if I remember any thing like 
 
 i^^ \To Trickmore. 
 
 Clev. How do you call the witty little knave that used to make us so 
 welcome at his house 1 
 Sir S. Oh, little John. 
 
 Clev. Pight, we went often thither to be merry : but what is be- 
 come of his pretty daughter.
 
 176 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 
 
 Sir S. He had ne'er a daughter. 
 
 Clev. He ne'er a daughter ! What not a witty little baggage you 
 us'd to run after to kiss from one room to another 1 
 
 Sir S. Oh, I know where abouts you are now, you mean, I warrant 
 you, little Peffg>/. 
 
 Clev. Aye, Peggy, by the same token was her name. 
 
 Sir S. She was George Goodale^s Daughter at the Rose. Why, she's 
 marryed. 
 
 Clev. Is she ? Pray how do you call the place at Berry, where they 
 us'd to walk ? 
 
 Sir S. Oh, the Green. 
 
 Clev. Directly, 'twas there I passed so many hours of delight in your 
 good company ; you do not remember this 1 
 
 Sir S. I not remember 't 1 Not in the least : if I do, I wish the 
 Devil fetch me. [To Trichnore. 
 
 Trick. There are a hundred of these things a man forgets. 
 
 Clev. Let us embrace then, and renew our ancient amity. 
 
 Trick. See now, there is a man that loves you cordially. 
 
 Clev. Pray tell me some news of your family. Sir Simon, how does 
 that gentleman your he that is such an honest good man ? 
 
 Sir S. My Brother-in-Law, the Justice of Peace 1 
 
 Clev. The same, the same. 
 
 Sir S. Why, he is very well. 
 
 Clev. I am very glad, I assure you ; and he that's of so good an 
 humour, the gentleman, your 
 
 Sir S. What, my cousin Small-Brain ? 
 
 Clev. Aye, Mr Small-Brain, that I should forget his name ! to 
 
 see how quickly things run out of a man's head. But pray how does 
 he do? 
 
 Sir S. He keeps his old humour, always merry and jocund. 
 
 Clev. Troth you tell me good news. And pray Sir Simon how does 
 your Uncle, the 
 
 Sir S. My Uncle ? I have no Uncle. 
 
 Clev. No ? But you had at that time perhaj^s. 
 
 Sir S. No, only an Aunt. 
 
 Clev. Oh, 'tis her I mean : The Lady your Aunt, pray how does 
 she? 
 
 Sir S. She has been dead these six years. 
 
 Clev. Indeed, I heard so, now I think on 't, i)resently after I left the 
 Country. AVell, rest her soul, she was as good a Gentlewoman as 
 lived. 
 
 Sir S. We had also a nephew that dyed of the small Pox. 
 
 Clev. Oh, what pity it was, he wjis a hopeful young man. 
 
 Sir S. Did you know him I 
 
 Clev. Know him ? he was a comely proper young youth. 
 
 Sir S. Not very projier.
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC 177 
 
 Clev. Yes, for his age. 
 
 Sir S. Oh yes, for his age. 
 
 Clev. If he was your Nephew, that I mean, he was the Son of your 
 Sister and Brother. 
 
 Sir S. Eight, he was so. 
 
 Clev. 'T was the same. 
 
 Sir S. He knows all my Relations. 
 
 Trick. He knows you better than you are aware of. 
 
 Clev. I hope I shall oblige you to make my house your home while 
 you stay in Town. 
 
 Sir S. I am obh'ged to be at my Father-in-Law's. 
 
 Clev. Are you married then. Sir Simon ? 
 
 Sir S. No, but all 's agi'eed on. 
 
 Clev. But, however, you shall dine with me to-day. 
 
 Sir S. I have sent Mr Jorden word I was coming, and he '11 expect 
 me, I know, at dinner. 
 
 Clev. Mr Jorden, then, is your Father-in-Law. Well, well, that 
 shall not hinder my design, he is my Neighbour and intimate friend, 
 we are as it were brothers. 
 
 Sir S. Indeed ! 
 
 Clev. You shall stay, and I '1 send for him to dinner too. 
 
 Sir S. 'T will be a trouble, and 
 
 Clev. No excuse, Sir Simon, for by my soul you shaU ; I have sworn it. 
 
 Trick. Since he so importunes you, accept it ; he has sworn it, and 
 'twill not be courteous to refuse him now. 
 
 Clev. Where are your Servants, and Portmanteau ? 
 
 Sir S. Truly, my coming was in great haste, and for expedition, I left 
 all but one man behind, and he is at the Inn where the Coach lyes. 
 
 Trick. Sir Simon, I will, if you please, wait on you to the Inn where 
 your man stays, and then help you to find this Gentleman's house. 
 Pray, where abouts is it. Sir ? 
 
 Clev. This is the house. 
 
 Trick. We '1 be with you in a trice. 
 
 Clev. I will in, and give orders for your reception. 
 
 B, Page 131. 
 
 In Eavenscroft's The Citizen turned Gentleman (Act iii.), M. de Pour- 
 ceauffnac is imitated as foUows, from the ninth to the sixteenth Scene 
 of the first Act. The first Doctor is called Cureal, and Trickmore dis- 
 guises himself as a physician. 
 
 JEiiter Mr Cleverwit and Cureal. 
 Clev. Be sure you look well to him ; keep all the doors shut and 
 lock'd. 
 
 Cur. When he is once in Lobs-pound, he shall not easily escape. 
 V. M
 
 178 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 
 
 Enter Sir Simon and Servant. 
 
 Clev. Here he comes. Sir Simon, you are welcome. 
 
 Sir S. You see I make bold. 
 
 Clev. You honour my house. But where is the Gentleman that was 
 to show you the way ? 
 
 Sir S. He left me but just now, he showed me the house, and begg'd 
 leave for an hour. 
 
 Clev. I shou'd have been glad he had been here to bear you company 
 till my return. I '1 step cross the street and fetch Mr Jorden to you. 
 But see here a person into whose hands I commend you, he wiU treat 
 you with all courtesie possible. 
 
 Cur. My profession obliges me, and 't is enough you command my 
 care. 
 
 Sir S. This is the Stewart of 's house : He must be a person of 
 quality. [Aside. 
 
 Cur. Yes, I assure you, I '1 treat Sir Simon according to the method 
 and rules of Art. 
 
 Sir S. Oh, pray make no ceremony, I beseech you, treat me as a 
 friend, let me be no trouble. 
 
 Cur. Such an imploy is not my trouble but delight. 
 
 Clev. Here, Sir, is ten pounds advance of what I promis'd you. 
 
 Sir S. I beseech you. Sir, I understand not wherefore you should put 
 your self to charge for me : Pray, Sir, let him not buy any thing extra- 
 ordinary, but let me partake of the usual entertainment of your Family. 
 
 Clev. Pray, Sir, give me leave : it is not for what you imagine. 
 
 Cur. Not for provision. Sir ; a spare dyet is wholesome ; much 
 meat sends up fumes from the stomach to the head, and that is very 
 hurtful for the brain, especially to one that is a little disordered. 
 
 Sir S. He talks learnedly. But I beseech you. Sir, let me fare like a 
 friend, and not a stranger. 
 
 Clev. 'Tis that I intend : I pray, Sir, excuse tlie incivility I commit 
 in leaving you. 
 
 Sir S. Oh, Sir, you leave me in good company. [Exit Cleverwit. 
 
 Cur. It is a gi'eat honour to me, Sir, to be chosen one to do you 
 service. 
 
 Sir S. I am your servant. 
 
 Enter Trickmore in a physician^s habit. 
 
 Cur. See there an able man, my gi'eat friend, with whom I will con- 
 sult the manner how to treat you. 
 
 Sir S. Once more I request you to make no such ceremony, I am a 
 man content with ordinary usage. 
 
 Cur. Come, set chairs here. Sir, please you take that place. 
 
 [Sir Simon sits dow)i in the middle chair, which is biggest, and 
 with arms, wh ich locks him in that he cannot stir.
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 179 
 
 Sir S. Ha, what 's the meaning of this ? I am fast. 
 
 Trick. An Italian device, we meant to surprise you with a rarity. 
 
 Sir S. I cannot get up. 
 
 Cur. We can soon set you at liberty, it may be you don't sit easie. 
 
 Sir S. Oh, very well, I thank you : I shou'd be loth, were it not 
 among friends, to be so engag'd. 
 
 Cur. Come friend, pray draw youi- cliair neaier. Now to our busi- 
 ness. Give me your hand. Sir. 
 
 Trick. Your hand. Sir, I beseech you. [Sir Simon gives his hands, 
 
 as in coicrtesie, to friends ; the.y feel his pulse. 
 
 Sir S. Oh, your servant, Gentlemen, your servant. 
 
 Cur. Oh, Sir, I beseech you, hold still a little. 
 
 Sir S. What means this ? 
 
 Cur. Have you a good stomach ] do you eat well, Sir ? 
 
 Sir S. Ay, and drink well too. 
 
 Cur. So much the worse, this great apijetition of cold and humidity 
 is an indication of the heat and driness within. Do you sleep sound ? 
 
 Sir S. Yes, when I have eat a good Supper. 
 
 Trick. Do you dream. Sir 1 
 
 Sir S. Sometimes. 
 
 C^(r. Of what nature are your dreams ? 
 
 Sir S. Why, of the nature of dreams. A Devil, what kind of enter- 
 tainment is this ■? 
 
 Cur. How do yovi go to stool. Sir ? 
 
 Sir S. As others do. A plague on 't, I know not what they mean by 
 these Questions ; pray let me be so bold to call for a glass of wine. 
 
 Cur. Have patience. Sir : I doubt whether it be good for you ; we 
 will begin and discourse of the thing it self, and that you may the better 
 understand we '1 dispute in English, and resolve upon your food, what 
 meats and drinks are properest for you, and will do you the least harm. 
 
 Sir S. What needs so much discourse about my eating and drinking ? 
 
 Trick. Patience, Sir, you must be patient. 
 
 Sir S. What a devil wou'd they be at ? 
 
 Cur. I say with your permission, Sir, that our patient here present 
 is very much assaulted, aft'ected, afflicted, possessed, and o'ercome with 
 this sort of folly, which is very well called Hypochondriack melancholy. 
 
 Sir S. These are Doctors, now shall I have a lecture read o'er me. 
 
 Trick. I beseech you. Sir, sit still. 
 
 Cur. This Hypochondriack Melancholy proceeds from the deprav'd 
 constitution of some part of the neather belly, and inferior region : but 
 particularly from the spleen. To be assured that this is his disease, 
 you need but observe this great dulness which you see, this heaviness 
 accompanied with fear and diffidence, signs, pathognomiques and in- 
 dividuals of this disease so well observed by the divine Hippocrates ; 
 this Physiognomy, these eyes, red, heavy, and dull ; this grisly beard, 
 and grumness ; this swarthy, tawney complexion ; this constitution
 
 180 MONSIEUR DE POURGEAUGNAC. 
 
 of body, lean, spare, and haggard, rough, lihxck, and hairy ; all which 
 signs denote him to be very mvich o'ercome with this disease proceed- 
 ing from the depravedness of the HyjDochondria. 
 Trick. Sir, you must sit still. 
 
 Cur. Now I mean to touch the Therapeia, and remedies wliich 
 ought to be prescribed to effect a j^erfect cure. First, then to remedy 
 this Plethora, and this cacochymia, or general depravation of humours 
 throughout all the body ; my advice is for Phlebotomy ; that he bleed 
 freely ; that is to say, plentifully ; first of the Basilick, then of the 
 Cephalick vein ; and if the disease prove obstinate and refractor)^, 
 that a vein be opened in his forehead, and that the orifice be very 
 large, that the thick corrupted blood may have passage ; and at the 
 same time that he purge, deopitulate and evacuate by proper and con- 
 venient i^urgations ; that is to say, by Cholagogues, Melanogogues, 
 etc. But before all these, I find it meet to exhilarate his spirits with 
 harmony resulting from Musick, instrumental and vocal, with which 
 it will not be amiss to joyn some Dancers ; to the end that their 
 motions, 23ostures, and agility of bodies, may excite, stirr up, and 
 quicken his spirits stupified with idleness, which occasions the thick- 
 ness of his blood ; from whence proceeds the Malady ! these are the 
 Remedies I prescribe, which may be much advantag'd by some others 
 of 3^ours much better and more efficacious, having by your daily prac- 
 tice gain'd great experience, judgment, and knowledge in our Art. Dixi. 
 
 Sir S. Amen. 
 
 Cur. Nay, now Sir, you must have a little longer patience to hear 
 my Brother Docter. 
 
 Trick. There remains nothing for me to say to the Gentleman, but 
 that he was a luckie man to fall into your hands, and that he is even 
 too happy in being a fool, in that he shall experiment the efficacie 
 and admirable virtues of these Remedies you have propounded with 
 so mucli judgment : I approve of all, Manibus et pedibus descendo 
 in tuam sententiam : All that I say is, let the number of his bleedings 
 and purgations be odd, Numero IJevs impari gaudet : To drink often 
 clarified Whey, to bathe often, to have a strait band made with salt in 
 it to bind upon his forehead, for salt is the emblem of Wisdom ; and 
 to new whiten the walls of his chamber, to dissipate the darkness of 
 his spirits, Albuia est disgregativum visits: A gentle glister to serve for 
 the introduction of these judicious Remedies, with which he is to be 
 cured, and he ought to receive consolation. Heaven grant that these 
 Remedies you mentioned may according to our intention work their 
 effects upon your patient. 
 
 Sir S. Gentlemen, I have li.stened to ye all this while, and I have no 
 more patience left. What, do you sport with me I 
 
 Cur. Oh, Sir, we don't .sjiort with you. 
 
 Sir S. What means all this what would ye with your mouutibank 
 canting \
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 181 
 
 Cur. Good, see a Diagnostick wliicli we wanted for the confirmation 
 of his disease, and this may well turn to madness. 
 
 Sir S. . . . Who am I left here with ? [ZTe spits three or four times. 
 
 Trick. Another diagnostick, his frequent spitting. 
 
 Sir S. Let me out here, let me be gone. 
 
 Cur. Yet another ! and unquietness, his desire to change, and shift 
 places. 
 
 Sir S. What's the matter 1 what a devil ayl ye ? what wou'd you do 
 with me. 
 
 Trick. Cure you, according to order given. 
 
 Sir S. Cure me ? 
 
 Cur. Yes. 
 
 Sir S. What a devil, I am not sick. 
 
 Cur. A very ill sign, when a sick man perceives not his own disease. 
 
 Sir S. I tell you I am very well. 
 
 Cur. Oh, we know better than you how you do ; we can see intcj 
 your constitution. 
 
 Sir S. I tell you I was never better since I was born. 
 
 Trick. Worse and worse, he has been a fool from his cradle. 
 
 Cur. Let him be rul'd by us ; we'l cure him, I'l warrant you. 
 
 Sir S. I'l be ruled by none of ye, ye are a couple of knaves. 
 
 Trick. We are your Physicians, Sir. 
 
 Sir S. Worse and worse, ye are the greater knaves for that. Physi- 
 cians ! what have I to do with Physicians \ . . . for you, and your 
 physic too : a caudle. Ale-berry, or a good Posset is worth all your 
 damn'd drugs. 
 
 Cur. A hone, a hone, the man is a greater fool than we thought him. 
 
 Sir S. My father and mother never took physic in their lives, and 
 they are both dead without the help of Physicians. 
 
 Cur. I wonder no longer then, that they had a son no wiser ; come, 
 let us proceed to the cure, and by the sweet exhilai'ating of harmony, 
 sweeten, allay, and abate the acrimony of the spirits, which I see ready 
 to inflame him. O here come mj Operators. 
 
 Sir S. What in the Devil's name is all this ? are all the people in this 
 Town mad 1 I never saw the like in my days, what should it mean ? 
 
 Enter Two Chtmists dress'd in antic habits, with broad black caps on 
 their heads, that flap down about their ears, no haJr seen; Ruffs 
 about their necks, strait lodged doublets, with long close sleeves ; 
 Spaiiish scant breeches, and pumps ; followed by four Operators in 
 antic dresses, singing the symphony, sustained with a medley of strange 
 instruments. 
 
 Two Chymists sing. 
 
 1 Chy. What ailest thee thou musing man \ 
 
 2 Chy. What art thou melancholy ? 
 
 1 Chy. Come let's cure him if we can. 
 
 2 Chy. Sadness is the greatest folly.
 
 182 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 
 
 Four Operators Sing. 
 
 1 Oper. Let's cure this wight. 
 
 2 Oper. He's a gallant knight. 
 
 3 Oper. 'Tis great pity. 
 
 4 Oper. That he should dy 
 All. Of folly. 
 
 Or of melancholy. 
 
 Two Chymists sing. 
 
 1 Chy. We to cure thy sadness come. 
 
 2 Chy. Mirth with us we bring along. 
 
 1 Chy. Throats let's clear with crying hum. 
 
 2 Chy. Then treat this gallant with a song. 
 
 Four Operators sing. 
 
 1 Oper. With song we'l advance, 
 
 2 Oper. With Musick and dance ; 
 
 3 Oper. With these we will clear him. 
 
 4 Oper. Then give him glisters half a dozen. 
 
 1 Oper. To purge away melancholy and clear him. 
 
 2 Oper. Then rinze his body with Canary and Sherry. 
 
 3 Oper. If this will not make him merry, 
 
 4 Oper. 'Tis we 
 
 1 Oper. That be 
 
 2 and 3 Oper. More fools than he, 
 
 1 and 4 Oper. And our art will us couzen. 
 AU. And our art will us couzen. 
 
 Song. 
 
 1. 
 
 Let him that's melancholy, 
 Each morning when he gets up 
 
 Take of Sack a good cup ; 
 
 Sing a catch, and again sup ; 
 Sip and sing, sing and sip again and again, 
 Till he find the Canary doth work in his brain. 
 
 2. 
 
 Then to dinner go, and after 
 
 Let him sit and catch a laughter ; 
 
 Sing t'other catch, take t'other cup, 
 
 Till each hath drunk his bottle up. 
 
 Thus laugh, thus quaff, thus quaff, thus laugh again and again. 
 
 Till he find the Canary doth work in his brain.
 
 MONSIEUR DE POUECEAUGNAC. 183 
 
 3. 
 
 At supper let him eat 
 
 But light and little meat ; 
 
 Yet trowl the cup roundly away ; 
 
 But avoid foggy Ale, 
 
 And Beer new or stale : 
 
 For wine is the liqueur 
 Makes the wits to grow quicker, 
 And each o'er his glass to tell a merry tale. 
 
 4. 
 
 This melancholy evil 
 
 Is a sort of a Devil, 
 Which wine and not holy water will drive away ; 
 
 Nothing is so sure, 
 
 Ajid perfect a cure 
 As wine, as mirth, and good companie ; 
 
 And if aught doth lack o 
 
 'Tis a pipe o Tobac-coco-coco-coco — 
 
 Which taken may be 
 When to bed he doth go, gogo, gogo, gogo. 
 [The Dance ended, Cureal a«<^ Trickmore rise from their seats. 
 
 Cur. Come let's have him up to his Chamber, and there give him 
 the remedies per force, which he refuses to take here. 
 
 Trick. Help to let him out of his stool of repentance. 
 
 Sir S. Stay, let me take out my handkerchief to blow my nose. The 
 Devil take ye aU for Rogues. 
 
 [ The?/ let Sir Simon out of the chair, he puts his hand into his pocket, and 
 takes out a pistol; they start hack, he runs out, they discharge their 
 glisttrs, and run out after /a'm.] 
 
 Enter again Trickmore and Cureal. 
 Trick. He is gone, gone beyond recovery, all my designs are ruin'd. 
 
 C, Page 133. 
 
 Miller in The Mother in Laio (Act ii. Scene 3), has imitated as follows 
 Moliere's scene between M. de Pourceaugnac and the two doctors. The 
 hero of the piece is called in the English play Looby Headpiece, and the 
 Physicians Mummy and Diascordium. 
 
 Loo. Well, Mr Steward, we'll take a Crust and a Bottle together, and 
 
 then I'll e'en go look out my Uncle, and hear when this same Match is 
 
 to be made up. 
 
 Mum. I am very much honour'd, Sir, in being made choice of to serve 
 
 you.
 
 184 MONSIEUR DE POUECEAUGNAC. 
 
 Loo. Your Servant, Sir. 
 
 Mum. Brother Diascordium, will you walk this way] \Enter DiAS- 
 CORDIUM.] Here's a learned Brother of the Faculty, with whom I shall 
 consult in what manner to treat you, Sir. 
 
 Loo. No Ceremony, Gentlemen, pray now. I'm one that am easily 
 satisfied. 
 
 Mum. Chairs here. 
 
 Loo. These are sorrowful kind of Domestics for a voung gentleman, 
 tho'. 
 
 Mum. Come, Sir, take your Place, Sir. 
 
 \The two Physicians sit down on each side of Looby, 
 and take hold of his hands to feel his pulse. 
 
 Loo. Your very humble Servant. [Giving his hands'] What does this 
 mean now ] I supj^ose 't is the fashion here. [Aside. 
 
 Mum. Do you eat well, Sir ? 
 
 Loo. Yes, and drink bettei-. 
 
 Dias. So much the worse ; that great Appetition of Frigid and 
 Humid, is an indication of Heat and Aridity within. Do you sleep 
 much ? 
 
 Loo. Yes, when I have made a good Supper. 
 
 Mum. Do you dream ? 
 
 Loo. Sometimes. 
 
 Dias. Of what Nature are those Dreams 1 
 
 Loo. Of the Nature of all Dreams, I think. 'S bud ! I'm in a Dream 
 now, by what I can find. [Aside. 
 
 [All through this scene Looby looks with amazement 
 and terror, first on one Doctor then on t'other. 
 
 Mum. Is your Body open. Sir ? 
 
 Loo. Hoop, hoop ! the Men are mad, I think — my Body's empty, 
 Sir, and I want a little Victuals and Drink, with your Leave. 
 
 Dias. A Little Patience, Sir, we are going to reason upon your case, 
 and then — 
 
 Loo. Hoity, toity! there does not want much Eeasoniug to eat a 
 Bit. 
 
 Mum. As it is so, that no Malady can be cur'd, unless we are 
 acquainted with it ; and as we cannot be acquainted with it without 
 establishing an Idea of it, by Symptoms Diagnostick and Prognostick ; 
 permit me, my ancient Friend and Brother, to observe, that our Patient 
 here present is unfortunately affected, possess'd, and oppress'd with that 
 sort of Madness which we justly term Hypochondriack Melancholy ; so 
 call'd not only by the Latins, but also by the Greeks, which is very neces- 
 sary to be taken notice of in this Case. 
 
 Loo. Sir ! What ! How ! 
 
 3/um. No interruption. Sir, I crave. Now the cause of this Distem- 
 per lies chiefly in the Splean, the Heat and Inflammation of which con- 
 veys to the Brain abundance of crass and fuliginous Ellluvia, whose
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 185 
 
 black and malignant Vapours obscurify, modify, and infest the Animal 
 Spirits, and cause a Depravation of the Functions of the cogitaut Faculty. 
 And for an incontestable symptom that our Patient liere is tainted with 
 that Distemper, you may only observe that Sadness of Countenance with 
 which he beholds us ! that Sorrowfulness of Face, accompanied with 
 Fear and Distrust ; that haggard Physiognomy, and those rolling Eye- 
 balls : All this being premis'd and taken for granted, let us proceed to 
 the Remedies necessary to Curation. 
 
 Loo. Where the murrain am I ! and what the Plague are they going 
 to do to me ! 
 
 Mum. Good Sir, be silent. First of all, then, I'm of opinion that he 
 should be copiously Phlebotomis'd, especially in the Jugular, where the 
 Orifice ought to be sufficiently large ; in the next Place, some potent 
 Catherticks may safely be administer'd ; and lastly, an Emetick or two 
 of the roughest kind may rationally take place — dixi — Brother. 
 
 Dias. Heaven forbid, Brother, that I should add anything to what 
 you have said. The Arguments you have us'd are so weighty and 
 learned, that 't is impossible but his Distemper must be what you have 
 pronounced ; or if it were not, it must necessai'ily become so for the 
 Beauty and Justness of yorir Ratiocination. Nothing therefore remains 
 to be done by me, but to comjaliment the gentleman upon being so happy 
 as to be out of his Wits, that he may experience the Efficacy and 
 Gentleness of your Medicines. 
 
 Loo. Gentlemen, 't is an Hour since you began, and so long I have 
 hearken'd to you ; be pleas'd to satisfy me if you ben't acting a Comedy 
 here ? 
 
 Mwn. Heaven forbid. Sir . No, no, w'e are not in jest. No- 
 body ever found us so yet, nor is Physic a thing to be jested 
 with. 
 
 Loo. What the murrain d' ye mean by aU this, then ? And what 
 the Devil would ye be at with your Hognostics and Dognostics ? 
 
 Mum. Good. Injurious Language ; this is a Symptom we wanted for 
 a confirmation of his Malady. This may turn to Phrensy. 
 
 Loo. Who the Deuce have they put me among here \ 
 
 Dias. Ajiother Diagnostic, frequent Soliloquy. 
 
 Loo. No more of this — but let's be gone. 
 
 Mam. Another — Inquietude to change Place. 
 
 Loo. In one Word, Friend, what's the Meaning of this Affair / 
 What would you have of me ? 
 
 Mum. We would make a Cure of you, as we were desired to do. 
 
 Loo. Cure me ! 
 
 Dias. Yes. 
 
 Loo. S' blood ! I an't sick. 
 
 Mum. A bad Symptom. A Patient not to be sensible of his Illness. 
 Look ye. Sir, we know how ye are, better than you do yourself ; we are 
 Physicians that can see clearly into your constitution.
 
 18G MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC 
 
 Loo. If you are Physicians, avant ! I abominate all Doctors and 
 Apothecaries. 
 
 Mum. Um ! the Man's more mad than we imagiu'd. 
 
 Loo. I never took so much as a single Pill in my Life. My Father 
 and Mother were o' the same mind, and died both o 'em without the 
 HeljD of a Doctor. 
 
 Mum. I don't wonder then that they got such a Fool of a Son. 
 
 Loo. No, no, the Family of the Loobie's had always more sense 
 than to deal in Drugs. 
 
 Mum. What do I hear ? 
 
 Dias. Brother Mummy, you have the Symptoms of Amazement upon 
 you! 
 
 Loo. Who ! Brother Mummy ! this is not my Uncle, sure ! 
 
 Mum. Merry o' me ! it is my Cousin Looby that I have been treating 
 as a Madman all this while. 
 
 D, Page 154. 
 
 Ravenscroft, in the Canterbury Guests (Act ii., Scene 2), has imitated 
 the Ninth and Tenth Scenes of the Second Act of M. de Poiirceaugnac, as 
 follows : The two women come up together in the English play as Mrs 
 Breeder and Mrs Dazie; M. de Pourceaugnac is called Sir Barnaby 
 Buffler ; and Oronte becomes a justice under the name of Greed. 
 
 Enter Mrs Breeder, and Mrs Dazie and Children. 
 
 Breeder. We are come, and please you, to make Oath against a person 
 that is fled to this Town to be married, and disowns both us and his 
 children. 
 
 Greed. Who is it ? 
 
 Dazie. One Sir Barnaby Buffler. 
 
 Gr. Here he is, speak to his face. 
 
 Daz. Sir Barnaby, have we found you ? 
 
 Br. Were you so cunning, to go so far from home to steal a Mar- 
 riage, that we might not hear on't? But we are here to forbid the 
 
 Banes. 
 
 Sir B. What mean you Woman ? 
 
 Br. Ah, Gentlemen, wonder not at us, for this wicked Sir Bar- 
 naby, five years ago, tempted my honesty, and with solemn promises 
 of marriage prevailed over my weakness, and got me with child. 
 
 Gr. What ! and eat no suppers. 
 
 Fur. How 's this ! 
 
 Br. And to increase my sorrow, — I had two at a birth. 
 
 Gr. What, and he eat no suppers. 
 
 Ilil. O rare Sir Barnaby. 
 
 I'\r. Hold you your Clack, Gossip. [To Hilaria.]
 
 MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC. 187 
 
 Sir B. An impudent Quean — I never saw her — I should not know 
 her if I had met her in my dish. 
 
 Br. If I had never known you, I had never [^Breeder weeps]— 
 known sorrow. 
 
 Jac. Alas poor woman. 
 
 Sir B. Mind her not, she 's a quean ; ^Tis no more pity to see her weep 
 than to see a Goose go barefoot. 
 
 Daz. You '11 say you don't know me too, I warrant you. 
 
 Gr. What ! has Sir Bamaby been Tennant to your copy-hold too % 
 
 Daz. E'en so to my sorrow. 
 
 Fur. What, both ? 
 
 Sir B. A Couple of Carryons — n^er a Barrel better Herring. 
 
 Gr. Come, come, here 's matter for me, \Greed tnrns his chair from 
 the Table] give me my Chair. 
 
 Sir B. Ay Mr Justice, take him Coram Nobis. 
 
 Gr. I '11 examine these matters according to Authority. 
 
 Br. Though he won't know us, let 's see if he don't know these, 
 
 come here children, kneel Johnny, kneel down little Sarah, ask 
 
 Father's blessing, and let's see if he can be so unnatural to disown his 
 own Flesh and Blood. 
 
 Daz. And do thou kneel Tommy, ask blessing — \_The children all 
 kneel down] 'tis Nown Daddy. 
 
 3 Chil. Pray Father— pray Daddy — pray Father, pray Daddy. 
 
 Sir B. Pray Father, pray Daddy [Sir Bamaby sits down upon his 
 Hams, and mocks the children.] Pray Father, pray Daddy, you Jack- 
 daws you, hold your gaping. 
 
 Gr. Come before Justice — here you that han't told your story yet 
 But first, what 's your name. 
 
 Br. Elizabeth Breeder. 
 
 Gr. And Yours. 
 
 Daz. Sarah Dazie, and please you 
 
 Gr. And what come you for ? what 's your complaint 1 
 
 Daz. And please your worship, Mr Justice. 
 
 Gr. Speak out 
 
 Daz. And please you this. Sir Bamaby 
 
 Gr. Well bvit first what are you- 
 
 Daz. I am a very honest Farmer's Daughter 
 
 Gr. I believe it wou'd a been better for you, that you had been a 
 Farmer's honest Daughter. 
 
 Daz. I had been so and ijlease you had it not been for Sir 
 
 Barnaby. 
 
 Gr. ^Yliy, what did he do ? 
 
 Daz. He knows well enough what was done in the great barn. 
 
 Gr. What he thrashed you there did he ? 
 
 Daz. Here is the fruit of his labour, hold up thy Head Tommy; look 
 you Gentlewoman, is he not as like, as if he was spit out of his mouth ]
 
 188 MONSIEUr. DE POUPX'EAUGNAC. 
 
 Hit. He has his very Eyes, and the make of his Face. 
 
 Br. And see here a pair of pretty Twins, so like the Father. 
 
 Jac. These have his Nose, his Forehead, and Chin exactly. 
 
 Fur. It cannot be deny'd, but they are pretty Children. 
 
 aSY/- B. Ye all Dream, they are neither like, nor pretty nor nothing. 
 
 These are impudent queans. 
 
 Arab. This is an abuse to my Brother, designed to hinder his 
 Marriage. 
 
 Lov. 'Tis combination, Mr Justice, take care of these baggages; 
 Let 'em kiss the Whipping-post. 
 
 Gr. Let me alone \Justice goes step hy step]. Well, and you Mrs 
 Breeder, you say these two Children were begotten on your natural 
 body, by Sir Barnahy and boi'u out of lawful Wedlock. 
 
 Br. Yes Sir, but not without a Contract. 
 
 Gr. Well stand you by — but hold, hold, one question or tw^o 
 
 more, What were you wdien this was done ? 
 
 Br. A Chambermaid. 
 
 Gr. And this was your Chamber practice, what, he did not Ravish 
 you did he ? 
 
 Br. Not against my Will. 
 
 Om. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Sir B. They both lie faster than a dog can troe. 
 
 Gr. Trouble not yourself Sir Barnahy, they have both confess'd 
 that these are bastard Children, consequently themselves to be Whores, 
 I '11 send 'em to the house of Correction. 
 
 Br. No, I lay claim to him for my Husband. 
 
 Daz. And so do I. 
 
 Gr. And the Whipping post lays claim to you both. Come, give 
 me Pen, Ink and Pajser, I '11 make their Mittimus. 
 
 Dash. Here and please your Worship, I have both. 
 
 [^Dash. pulls out Pen and Ink. 
 
 Carl. Now Baggages present, present, 
 
 Br. A word and please your Worship. 
 
 [C'arl speaks to Breed and Daz. 
 
 Gr. Well 
 
 Br. Here is a Collar of Braw^n, which my Father sends you as a 
 token of his respect, for your prudent moderation in this affair. 
 
 Gr. Hum]jh — Brawn — Brawn ! 1 say you are a notorious 
 
 Baggage, Eare Brawn, Bare Brawn ! [Alotid. 
 
 Br. 'Tis ready souc'd for your Worshijj's eating. 
 
 Gr. Speak Softly abuse so worthy a Person as Sir Barnahy ! 
 
 rare Brawn, there will be no living without Justice; delicate Brawn 
 
 1 '11 make you an example Set it behind my Chair — rare 
 
 Brawn, rare Brawn ! 
 
 Carl. He swallows the l>ribe. 
 
 Lov. The Jades act it well.
 
 MON.STEUE DE POURCEAUGNAC 189 
 
 Daz. Mr Justice. 
 
 Gr. What, now you'll sing the second jmrt to the same Tune, 
 will ye. 
 
 Daz. My Mother has sent your Worship this couple of fat Capons, 
 for a present. 
 
 Gr. Dainty Birds, speak for you ! hang you ! 
 
 Daz. She was dairy Maid to your Worship's Mother 
 
 Gr. No, no, not I — you are a most impudent strumpet dainty 
 
 birds, dainty birds. 
 
 Daz. They are of her own Cramming. 
 
 Gr. Softly abuse such a Person as Sir Barnahy, dainty birds 
 
 indeed, I '11 swinge you both dainty birds I am enrag'd, I shall 
 
 never be able to do Justice with moderation. He He He 
 
 Ah dainty birds. 
 
 Corl. Mr Justice, being these Women are come a great way, and 
 have small Children to provide for, were it not better to send 'em home 
 again than to keep 'em here, and put the Town to charge. 
 
 Hll. Od's life, old Sir discharge 'em ; or let me be their bail. 
 
 Gr. Truly Sir, my Heart is mollified. I think with you 'twere 
 best to send them back to their own Country, and Sir Barnahy may do 
 well to give 'em a small Sum to bear their charges back. 
 
 Sir B. Hang 'em Not a Cross to bless themselves ivith e'en 
 
 let 'em go Byard or ten Toes for me. 
 
 Fur. Well here's Angels a piece upon condition they trouble us no 
 more with their clamour. 
 
 Br ) 
 
 ■ V We thank your Worship. 
 
 Gr. Dainty Birds, dainty birds. 
 
 Fur. And hereafter if we find good ground for what you say, I '11 
 prevail with Sir Barnahy to allow something yearly for maintenance of 
 yovir children. 
 
 Gr. Dainty Birds 
 
 Br. Dazie, Thank you Sir, thank you. 
 
 Gr. Go, go, get you gone you are beholden to these Friends. 
 
 Br. Go Johnny go Sarah, you may never see your Father 
 
 more, therefore ask him blessing. 
 
 Daz. Ay, do Tommy, ask Father blessing too. 
 
 3 Chil. Pray Father pray Father. 
 
 Sir B. Bastards, Whores-birds ! the Devil take ye all. 
 
 3 Chil. Pray Father, pray Daddy, [The three children run 
 
 after him] pray Father pray Daddy pray Father. 
 
 Hil. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Arah. Poor Infants. [Sir Barnahy and Children Exeunt.
 
 LES AMANTS MAGNIFIQUES. 
 
 COMEDIE-BALLET. 
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS, 
 
 A COMEDY-BALLET IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 {the comedy in prose, the interludes in verse.) 
 
 February 4th, KJTO.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 On the 4th of Februaiy 1670 was represented at Saint Genuain-en-Laye J 
 before tlie King and the whole Court, The Magnificent Lovers — of 
 which " his Majesty chose the subject." For this reason it was called,] 
 with the interludes. The Divertissement Royal. Louis XIV. danced, in 
 the first interlude, the part of Neptune, and that of Apollo in the 
 sixth ; but only during the first representation of the play.^ It was 
 never represented at Paris, and was printed only after Moliere's death, 
 in the first collected edition of his works. It has no particular merit, 
 as far as I can see, and seems to be borrowed from the same soui-ce as 
 Corneille's Don Sancho of Arragon. 
 
 In the two plays, a man of inferior birth is in love with, and beloved by 
 a princess whose hand is sought by two rivals ; but Don Sancho, before 
 his marriage, is discovered to be a King's son, whilst Sostrates, 
 Moliere's hero, remains his own ancestor. The expenses for the 
 machinery of this play were considerable ; the engineer de Vigarani 
 received 27,092 livres, while 16,000 livres were spent for the entertain- 
 ment and salary of Moliere's troupe and assistants for the 4th of Feb- 
 ruaiy only. 
 
 In a little book just published ^ I find an account of the expenses of 
 the representation of Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, as given at Saint-Ger- 
 main-en-Laye on the 6th of March 1670, as well as of the two last 
 re})resentations of The Magnificent Lovers, given at the same place. 
 Every article is mentioned there, even the price of the carriage which 
 brought Moliere from Paris to Saint-Germain and back again; the cost 
 of the dresses of the danseuses ; the sum paid for the cravats, breeches, 
 stockings, dancing pumps, garters, scarfs, ribands, gloves, wigs, beards, 
 and even the pomatum and powder for the chief actors, as well as for 
 the supernumeraries. The cost of printing 1760 ordinary books of the 
 ballet is also given, as well as that of 280 books for the King, the royal 
 family, and their immediate followers, — which latter libretti were in 
 marble covers, and ornamented with ribands. Among the different 
 items specified, I find one for glasses, bottles, bread, wine, &c. ; one for 
 the horses' feed ; one for the carriage of personal luggage and musical 
 instruments ; and even one for the door-keepers : the whole, certiiieil 
 
 * See Vol. IV., page 6, note 7. 
 
 '^ Emile Cainpardon, JVoucellcs Pieces sur Molievc, kc, 187*5, pi>. 92-103. 
 V. N
 
 194 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 
 
 by Louis-Marie d' Aumont de Eocliebaron, Duke and Peer of France, 
 First Gentleman of the Chamber of the King, at 16,808 livres 2 sols. 
 On the 6th of September of the same year, The Magnificent Lovers was 
 played before the Duke of Buckingham, in a theatre built on purpose, 
 and at a cost of about 9000 livres. 
 
 Moliere was now the regular provider of Court entertainments, and 
 of the five plays in this volume, four were written for the special delec- 
 tation of Louis XIV., then thirty-one years old, and at the height of 
 his lustful and gluttonous appetites. The King had become at this 
 time so infatuated with his ideas of royal dignity, so saturated with the 
 nauseous flattery of his courtiers, so thoroughly convinced that he could 
 do whatever he wished to do, that he jarobably thought he was really 
 confeiTing a favour on Moliere when he chose a subject for his play. 
 But kings are seldom good collaborateurs, and the Grand Monarque 
 proved no exception to this rule ; hence TJie Magnificent Lovers is 
 perhaps the least able play of Moliere. 
 
 StiU it is not wholly without talent ; Clitidas is something like 
 Mox'on, the Court fool from The Princess of Elis (See Vol. III., page 1), 
 another comedy written by order of Louis XIV., and certainly not one 
 of Moliere's best ; and Anaxarchus, as the astrologer, with his tricks and 
 sham- Venus, with his taking money from two rivals, and promising 
 both of them to favour their suits, is very amusing. Astrology had not 
 completely gone out of fashion, for an astrologer drew Louis XIV.'s 
 horoscope, officially, at his birth ; and about twenty years before this play 
 had been represented, a certain physician Morin, who had abandoned 
 the practice of medicine for that of astrology, — thinking, perhaps, that 
 there was less guess-work in the latter science than in the first — was 
 the honoured coi'resjiondent of the celebrated Descartes, and of many, 
 I shall not say high-born, but highly intellectual, people of the time. 
 He lost, however, a great deal of his influence by predicting the death 
 of the well-known jihilosopher Gassendi, who, however, did not die 
 until five years afterwards. 
 
 The Divertissement Royal was acted again on the 13th and 17th of 
 February, and on the 4th and 8th of March of the year 1670, and had 
 the honour of being officially described in an Extraordinary Gazette. 
 We shall give oid}^ the beginning of that descripticm : — 
 
 " Let people not boast any longer about the Olympic games and the 
 other amusements of the Greeks, nor about the Circuses and other 
 spectacles of the Romans. Those, which have been the best organised 
 and the most brilliant, ought to lose all the reputation which history 
 I lias given them when compared to the festivals of the first Court of the 
 World . . . All grace and gallantry have been reserved for the rejoicings 
 >f a monarch who serves in this as an examjjle even to the most 
 lV)lished princes of his century, and who is the first in the fine manner 
 oR these amusement.s, as he is the greatest in power and in glory ; and 
 wlV), in short, does not understand less to honour the days of peace
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 195 
 
 which he has so generously given to Europe, by sur})risiiig magui li- 
 cences and rejoicings, than in displaying in war victories and conquests 
 wholly marvellous. This is proved by many festivals which he has 
 already given to his Court, in which nothing has been seen but what 
 was extraordinary and worthy of being described for posterity ; and 
 this has been confirmed by this last amusement with which his Majesty 
 has wished to treat his Court-during this carnival, in the interval of the 
 great cares which He incessantly takes for the happiness of his peoples 
 and for the glory of his State." 
 
 It has been said that Benserade, who had until lately written the 
 verses for the ballets danced by the King, — verses in which there Avas 
 always some political, courtly, or amorous allusion, — and who had abdi- 
 cated his official Court-jjoet ]50sition in the month of February of the 
 year before, felt rather annoyed when Moliere took his place. On 
 having been told, probably before the play was represented, two lines of 
 the third interlude, "And trace on the verdure the image of our songs," 
 he said aloud that it ought to be " the image of our dancing-pumps," 
 playing on the similarity between the words chansons, songs, and 
 chcmssons, dancing-pumps. When the verses on the King representing 
 Neptune, in the first interlude, and those on the King representing the 
 Sun, in the sixth, were read the courtiers, who were ignorant that Ben- 
 serade had not composed these coujjlets, comj^limented the latter on his 
 elegant diction ; and this gentleman did not deny the impeachment, until 
 Moliere declared that he had written them, to the great confusion of the 
 discomfited pretender. Another rumour of the period says that Moliere 
 wished to parody Benserade's style and manner ; but this is more 
 than doubtful, for to ridicule the praises bestowed on Louis XIV., and 
 to say in a sjjirit of irony " that virtue never suflfei'S shipwreck" with 
 the King, would undoubtedly have ended seriously for our dramatist. 
 
 It has also been mentioned that Mademoiselle de Montpensier, then 
 forty years old, a niece of the King, washed to marry the Count de 
 Lauzun, and that Moliere knew of this, and endeavoured to predispose 
 the minds of the courtly public by sketching the love of the high-born 
 Princess Eriphila for the low-born general Sostrates. This is possible ; 
 for The Magnificent Rivals was jilayed on the 4th of February 1670, and 
 it was only at the end of that year that Mademoiselle de Montpensier. 
 mentioned her project to the King, who gave his consent to the mar- i 
 riage on the 15th of December, and withdrew it on the 18th of the 1 
 same mouth. But is it not natural to supj^ose that Mademoiselle de 
 Montj^ensier, after seeing the play of Moliere, may have plucked up 
 courage to inform the Grand Monarque of her proposed espousal I 
 
 Wonderful to relate, nothing has been borrowed from this play by 
 English dramatists, at least as far as I have been able to trace.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The King Avho will have nothing but what is extraordinary in 
 all that he undertakes, proposed to give his court a diversion made 
 up of all those that the stage could furnish ; and, to take in so 
 vast an idea, and chain together so many different things, His 
 Majesty chose for the subject two rival princes, who, in the Vale 
 of Tempe, where the Pythian games were to be celebrated, vie with 
 each other in treating a young princess and her mother with all 
 the gallantries that could be thought of.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON^:. 
 
 IN THE COMEDY. 
 
 Iphicrates, a prime, in love with Erijjhila. 
 
 TiMOCLES, a prince, in love with Eriphila. 
 
 SosTRATES, a general in the army, in love with Eriphila. 
 
 Anaxarchus, an astrologer. 
 
 Cleon, his son. 
 
 Chorebus, m the suite of Aristione. 
 
 C'LiTiDAS, a court jester, among the attendants of Eriphila.^ 
 
 Aristione, a princess, mother to Eriphila. 
 
 Eriphila, a ptrincess, her daughter. 
 
 Cleonice, her confidante. 
 
 A Sham Venus, in concert luith Anaxarchus. 
 
 IN THE INTEELUDES. 
 
 Eirst Interlude. 
 EoLus, Singing Tritons, Singing Streams, Singing Cupids, 
 Dancing Coral-Fishers, Neptune, Six Sea-Deities 
 (dancing). 
 
 Second Interlude. 
 Three Dancing Mimes. 
 
 Third Interlude. 
 The Nymph of the Valley of Tempk 
 
 3 This part was played by Moliere, In the inventory taken after his death, 
 we find "a theatrical classical cuirass (tonueht), a chemisette, a skirt, a pair of 
 drawers and cuishes ; the above cuirass of green moire, ornamented vvitli two 
 kinds of lace, gold and silver ; the chemisette of velvet with a gold ground ; the 
 shoes, garters, stockings, scallops, ruff and riiffles, the whole ornamented with 
 tine silver."
 
 DR A^r AXIS PE RSON^.—Contmued. 
 
 IN THE PASTORAL. 
 
 Mimcal. 
 
 TiRCis, a shepherd, in love with I Six Dancing Fawns. 
 
 Cnliste. ' Three Small Dancing Fawns. 
 
 LiCASTE, a shepherd, his friend. Caliste, a shepherdess. 
 
 ME^.x-SBEn, a shepherd, his friend. 
 First Satyr, in love with Caliste. 
 
 Climene, a shepherdess. 
 Six Dancing Dryads. 
 
 SecondSatyr,^ love with Caliste. Three Small Dancing Dryads. 
 Philinte, a shepherd. , 
 
 Fovrth Interlude. 
 Eight Dancing Statues. 
 
 Fifth Interlude. 
 Four Dancing Mimes. 
 
 Sixth Interlude. 
 Feast of the Pythian Games. 
 
 The priestess, tivo singing sacrificers, six ministers of the sacrifice 
 (carrying hatchets, dancing), cho^-us of people, six acrobats (on 
 wooden horses), four slave leaders (dancing), eight dancing slaves ; 
 four men in Greek dresses, four ivomen in Greek dresses, a 
 herald, six trumpeters, a cup-hearer, Apollo, attendants on Apollo, 
 (dancing). 
 
 Scene — Thessaly, in the Vale of Tempe.
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 
 
 (LES AM ANTS MAGNIFIQUES). 
 
 FIRST INTERLUDE. 
 
 The scene opens with the -pleasant soiind of a quantity of instru- \ 
 meiits ; ami represents at first a sea bordered on each side by four 
 large rocks. On the summit of each is a River-god leaning upon the 
 insignia of these kinds of deities. At the foot of these rocks are twelve 
 Tritons on each side ; and in the middle of the sea, four Cupids on 
 dolphins, and behind them the god Eolus, floating on a small cloud 
 above the waves. Eolus commands the winds to withdraw ; and while 
 the four Cupids, twelve Tritons, and eight River-gods answer him, the 
 sea becomes calm, and an island rises from, the tvaves. Eight fisher- 
 men come Old of the sea with mother of pearl and branches of coral in 
 their hands, and, after a charming dance, seat themselves each on a rock 
 above a River-god. The musical chorus announces the advent of Nep- 
 tune ; and ■while tins god is dancing loith his suite, the fishermen, 
 Tritons, and River-gods accompany his steps xvith various movements, and 
 the clattering of the pearl shells. The wh ole of this ^ sj2mQ cle is a 
 splendid compliment yaiiLhiLO Ii^ <^.f i^e princes to JIu^mtMssesjMmig- 
 t heir mari ti me excur sion. 
 
 First Entry of the Ballet. 
 Neptime and Six Sea-gods. 
 
 Second Entry of the Ballet. 
 Eight Coral Fishers. 
 
 VERSES SUNG. 
 
 Recital of Eolus. 
 
 Ye winds, who trouble the fairest days, 
 Retire into your deepest grottos ; 
 And leave the Cupids and the Zephyrs 
 To reiern over the waves. 
 
 *to'
 
 202 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 
 
 A Triton. 
 What charming eyes have penetrated to our moist 
 
 atodes ? 
 Come, come, ye Tritons ; hide yourselves, ye Nereids. 
 
 All the Tritons. 
 
 Let us all advance to meet these divinities ; 
 
 And to their charms let us render homage by our songs. 
 
 A Cupid. 
 Ah ! How fair are these princesses ! 
 
 Another Gufid. 
 What hearts could withstand them ? 
 
 Another Cupid. 
 
 The fairest of immortals, 
 
 Our mother has less charms than they. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Let us all advance to meet these divinities ; 
 
 And to their charms let us render homage by our songs. 
 
 A Triton. 
 
 What noble spectacle now meets our eyes ? 
 Neptune, the great god Neptune, with his court. 
 Comes with his august presence 
 To slied honour on this charming spot. 
 
 CI tor us. 
 
 Let us our songs increase 
 
 And make the air resound 
 
 With our rejoicings. • 
 
 Verses for the Icing, representing Neptune.'^ 
 
 Heaven, among the gods most I'enowned, 
 Has given me a considerable rank, 
 
 4 See Vol. I., page xxix. note 13,
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 203 
 
 And, in vesting me with sway over the azure waves, 
 
 RenJers~mvpower feared by tlie _whole universe. 
 
 There is no land, if it look well at me, 
 But what must tremble at my spreading over it ; 
 No state but what at any moment I could inundate 
 With the impetuous waves which my power commands. 
 
 Nothing could stay their fierce overflow ; 
 And if a threefold dyke opposes their force, 
 We would see them break down the obstacle, 
 And easily clear for themselves a way anywhere. 
 
 But I know how to curb the fury of these waves 
 By the wise equity of the power I wield. 
 And to maintain everywhere, to the sailors' delight, 
 The sweet liberties of a peaceful commerce. 
 
 ! Sometimes there are shoals found in my States ; 
 We perceive that some vessels are lost there by storms ; 
 But against my power there is no murmuring, 
 And with me virtue never suffers shipwreck.'^ 
 
 For M. Le Grand, representing a sea-god. JL».,<-J^ 
 The empire in which we live is fertile in treasures. 
 All mortals in crowds rush to its banks. 
 And, to make in a short time a very great fortune, 
 We need nothing but the favour of Neptune . 
 
 For M. the Marquis De Villeroi, representing a sea-god. 
 On the word of this god of the watery empire. 
 We may safely embark with all assurance. 
 The waves themselves may inconstant be, 
 Not so Neptune, he is ever constant. 
 
 For M. the Marquis De Rassent, representing a sea-god. 
 Journey on this sea with indomitable zeal ; 
 These are the means to curry favour with Neptune. 
 
 5 It has been said that our author parodied in the above verses the 
 way in which Benserade wrote his poetic flatteries, but we doubt if 
 Moliere would have dared to have taken this liberty. See Introductory 
 Notice, i^age 195.
 
 204 THE MAOxNIFICENT LOVERS. [act i. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 SOSTRATES, ClITIDAS. 
 
 cut. \^Aside\ He is buried in thought. 
 
 So8. [^Believing himself alone] No, Sostrates, I see no- 
 thing to which you can have recourse, and your ills are of 
 such a nature as to leave you no hope of getting rid of them. 
 
 cut. \^Aside] He argues with himself 
 
 Sos. [^Believing himself alone'] Alas ! 
 
 cut. [^Aside] These are sighs that mean something, and 
 my conjectures may become true. 
 
 Sos. [Believing himself alone] On what fancies, tell me, 
 could you build any hope, and what else stares you in the 
 face but a horrible, protracted and wretched life, and annoy- 
 ances to be ended only by death ? 
 
 cut. [Aside] This head is more confused than my own. 
 
 Sos. ^Believing himself alone'j Ah ! my heart ! ah ! my 
 heart ! to what have you brought me ? 
 
 cut. Your servant, my lord Sostrates. 
 
 Sos. Where go you, Clitidas ? 
 
 cut. But you rather, what are you doing here ? and 
 what secret melancholy, what sombre humour, if it please 
 you, retains you in these woods, while every one is rush- 
 ing to the magnificent festival with which the love of 
 prince Iphicrates is regaling the maritime excursion of the 
 princesses ; while they are receiving marvellous entertain- 
 ments of music and dancing, and while even the rocks and 
 the waves deck themselves with divinities to do honour 
 to their charms ? 
 
 Sos. Without seeing it, I can imagine this magnificence 
 well enough ; and, as a rule, so many people are anxious to 
 add to the crowds at these festivals, that I have thousrht it 
 right not to augment the number of nuisances.
 
 sc. I.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 205 
 
 cut. You know Avell enough that your presence never 
 spoils anything, and that you are never one too many, no 
 matter where you go. Your countenance is welcome every- 
 where; and it is not one of these ill-favoured countenances 
 which are never well received by sovereign looks. You stand 
 equally well with the two princesses ; and the mother and 
 the daughter show you sufficiently the esteem in which they 
 hold you, to prevent all dread of your tiring their sight ; 
 and, in short, it is not that fear which has kept you back. 
 
 Sos. I confess that 1 have no great natural curiosity for 
 these kinds of things. 
 
 cut. Good Heavens ! even if one had no curiosity for 
 these things, one has always somewhere to go where one finds 
 everybody else ; and, whatever you may say, people do not 
 remain all alone, during a festival, dreaming among the 
 trees, as you do, without having something on their minds 
 that troubles them. 
 
 Sos. What shoiild I have on my mind ? 
 
 cut. Ay, I do not know where it comes from ; but there 
 is a scent of love somewhere here. It is not I. Ah ! 
 upon my word, it is you. 
 
 Sos. How foolish you are, Clitidas ! 
 
 cut. I am not foolish. You are in love ; I have a deli- 
 cate nose, and I smelt it directly. 
 
 Sos. On what do you found this idea ? 
 
 cut. On what ? You would be very much surprised if I 
 told you, besides, with whom you are in love. 
 
 Sos. I? 
 
 cut. Yes. I wager that I shall guess on the spot the 
 one whom you love. I have my secrets as well as our 
 astrologer, with whom the princess Aristione is so taken up ; 
 and, if he be possessed of the science of reading in the stars 
 the fate of men, I possess the one of being able to read in 
 the eyes the name of the person Avith whom one is in love.
 
 206 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act i. 
 
 Hold up your head a little, and open your eyes. E, mak- 
 ing a syllable by itself;^ e, r, i, eri ; p, h, i, phi, ; 1, a, la ; 
 Eriphila. You are in love with the princess Eriphila. 
 
 Sos. Ah ! Clitidas, I confess that I cannot conceal my 
 trouble, and you strike me with a thunderbolt. 
 
 cut Do you see how clever I am ! 
 
 Sos. Alas ! if, by some accident, you have been able to 
 discover the secret of my heart, I beseech you at least not 
 to reveal it to any one, and above all to keep it concealed 
 from the fair princess whose name you have just mentioned. 
 
 cut. And, seriously speaking, if I have been able from 
 your actions for some time to find out the passion which 
 you wish to keep secret, do you think that the princess 
 Eriphila could have been so obtuse as not to perceive it ? 
 The fair, believe me, are always the most clear-sighted in 
 discovering the passions which they ins2;)ire; and the language 
 of the eyes and of sighs is better understood than any other 
 by the one to whom it is addressed. 
 
 Sos. Let us leave her, Clitidas, let us leave her to per- 
 ceive, if she can, in my sighs and looks, the passion with 
 which her charms have inspired me ; but let us take great 
 care that she never find it out in any other way. 
 
 cut. And what do you dread ? Is it possible that this 
 same Sosti'ates, who feared neither Brennus nor all the 
 Gauls, and whose arm has so gloriously contributed to rid us 
 of that deluge of barbarians which ravaged Greece ; is it pos- 
 sible, I say, that a jnan so dauntless in war can be so timid 
 in love, and that I see him tremble at the very mention 
 that he does love ? 
 
 Sos. Ah ! Clitidas, I tremble with reason ; and all the 
 Gauls in the world are nuich less to be dreaded than two 
 beautiful eyes full of charms. 
 
 <» In the original pe?' soi, being an old formula for " making a syllable 
 by itself."
 
 sc. r.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 207 
 
 Clit. I am not of that opinion ; and I know well, as far as 
 I am concerned, that one single Gaul, sword in hand, would 
 make me tremble more than fifty beautiful eyes, though 
 they were altogether the most charming in the world. But, 
 just tell me, what do you intend to do ? 
 
 Sos. To die without declaring my passion. 
 
 Clit That is a fair prospect ! Come, come, you are jest- 
 ing ; a little boldness always succeeds with lovers : the bash- 
 ful only lose in the game of love ; and I would declare my 
 passion to a goddess, if I fell in love with her. 
 
 Sos. Too many things, alas ! condemn my passion to an 
 eternal silence. 
 
 cut. Eh ! what ? 
 
 Sos. The humbleness of my condition, with which it 
 pleases Heaven to abate the ambition of my love ; the rank of 
 the princess, which puts between her and my desires a dis- 
 tance so vexatious ; the rivalry of two princes supported by 
 all the great titles, which can sustain the pretensions of 
 their affection ; of two princes disputing with each other, at 
 every moment, through many thousand splendours, the glory 
 of winning her, and whose love we expect daily to be decided 
 by her choice ; but more than all, Clitidas, that inviolable 
 respect with which her beautiful eyes subjugate all the 
 violence of my passion. 
 
 Clit. Respect very often does not lay us under the many 
 obligations that love does ; and unless I am very much mis- 
 taken, the young princess is aware of your affection, and is 
 not insensible to it. 
 
 Sos. Ah ! Do not endeavour to flatter out of pity the 
 heart of a poor wretch. 
 
 Clit. My conjecture is well founded. I see her postpone 
 the choice of a husband for a long time, and I wish to find 
 out something of this little matter. You know that I am 
 somewhat in favour with her, that I have free access to
 
 208 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act i- 
 
 her, and that by dint of giving myself a deal of trouble I 
 have acquired the privilege of mixing in the conversation, 
 and of speaking at random upon all subjects. Sometimes it 
 does not succeed, but again at times it does. Let me 
 manage it ; I am one of your friends ; people of merit 
 gain my heart, and I shall watch my time to entertain 
 the princess with . . . 
 
 Sos. Ah ! for pity's sake, with whatever kindness my 
 misfortune may inspire you, be very careful not to tell her 
 anything of my passion. I would rather die than lay myself 
 open to be accused by her of the slightest impertinence ; 
 and this profound respect with which her divine charms . . . 
 
 cut. Silence, here comes everyone. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Aristione, Iphicrates, Timocles, Sostrates, Anaxarchus, 
 
 Cl^on, Clitidas. 
 
 Avis. \To Iphicrates] Prince, I cannot get tired of saying 
 so, that there has never been a spectacle in the universe to 
 vie in magnificence with the one which you have just given 
 us. This festival has had some decorations which, without 
 doubt, surpass everything which one could see ; and it has 
 shown us something so noble, so grand, and so majestic, 
 that Heaven itself could no farther go ; and I can say 
 with confidence that there is nothing in the universe that 
 could equal it. 
 
 Tim. They are decorations with which we could not ex- 
 pect every festival to be adorned ; and I have reason to fear, 
 Madam, for the simplicity of the little entertainment which 
 I am preparing for you in the wood of Diana. 
 
 Aris. I think that we shall see nothing there but what 
 is very agreeable ; and we must certainly admit that the 
 country ought to appear beautiful to us, and that we have
 
 so. II.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 209 
 
 had no time to become weary in this charming spot which 
 all the poets have celebrated under the name of Tcmpe. 
 For, after all, not to speak of the pleasures of the chase 
 which we can enjoy at any hour, and of the solemnity of the 
 Pythian games which are about to be celebrated, you both 
 take care to glut us with all the entertainments that can 
 charm the most melancholy grief. How is it, Sostrates, 
 that we did not see you at our maritime excursion ? 
 
 Sos. Madam, a slight indisposition prevented me from 
 going there. 
 
 Iphw. Sostrates is one of those men, Madam, who think 
 it unbecoming to be curious like others ; and it is nice to 
 affect not to go where everyone goes. 
 
 Sos. My Lord, affectation has no share whatever in 
 aught that I do ; and, without wishing to compliment you, 
 there were things at this entertainment which could have 
 attracted me, if some other cause had not detained me. 
 
 Aris. And has Clitidas seen it all ? 
 
 cut. Yes, Madam, but from the banks! 
 
 Aris. And why from the banks ? 
 
 cut Really, Madam, I was afraid of one of those acci- 
 dents which generally occur in these confusions. Last night 
 I dreamt of dead fishes and broken eggs ; ^ and I have 
 gleaned from Anaxarchus that broken eggs and dead fishes 
 mean mishap. 
 
 Anax. I always remark one thing ; that Clitidas would 
 have nothing to say, if he did not speak of me. 
 
 cut. It is because there are so many things to say of 
 you that one cannot speak enough of them. 
 
 Anax. You might choose some different gubjects of con- 
 versation, since I have asked you to do so. 
 
 7 See The Love- Tiff, Vol. I. page 171, note 43, about the dreaming 
 of "broken eggs." 
 
 V.
 
 210 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act i. 
 
 Clit But how can I ? Do not you say that destiny is 
 stronger than everything ? and if it be written in the 
 stars that I should be inclined to speak of you, how would 
 you have me resist my fate ? 
 
 Anax. With all due respect to you, Madam, there is 
 something that is very annoying at your court, that every 
 one there takes the liljerty of speaking, and that the most 
 honourable man is exposed to the raillery of the first spite- 
 ful wag whom he meets. 
 
 cut. I thank you for the compliment. 
 
 Avis. [To Anaxarchus] How foolish of you to fret your- 
 self about what he says. 
 
 cut With every respect for you. Madam, there is one 
 thing that astonishes me in astrology : how people who 
 know all the secrets of the gods, and who possess the know- 
 ledge^ to place themselves above all men, should be in need 
 of paying court, and of asking for something. 
 
 Anax. You ought to earn your money a little better, 
 and utter some wittier jokes to this lady. 
 
 cut. Upon my word, one gives them as one can. It is 
 very easy for you to speak thvis ; and the trade of a wit is 
 not like that of an astrologer : to tell lies well, and to tell 
 jokes well are two very different things ; and it is far easier 
 to deceive people than to make them laugh. 
 
 Aris. Eh ! what does this mean ? 
 
 cut. [Speaking to himself] Peace, impertinent fellow 
 that you are ! do not you know that astrology is an affair 
 of State, and that you must not touch upon that point ? I 
 have told you so several times, you are too forward, and 
 you are taking ccrtiiin liberties which will play you a 
 scurvy trick, I warrant you. You will find that one of 
 these days you will be kicked out, and that you will be 
 bundled off like a rogue. Hold your tongue if you be wise. 
 
 Aris. Where is my daughter ?
 
 ISC. II.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 211 
 
 Tirii. She has strolled away, Madam ; and I offered her 
 rny arm, which she refused to accept. 
 
 Aris. Princes, since the affection which you have for Eri- 
 phila has been content to submit itself to the laws which it 
 has been my pleasure to impose upon you ; since I have been 
 able to obtain from you that you should be rivals without 
 becoming enemies, and that with full submission to the senti- 
 ments of my daughter you are awaiting a choice in which 
 I have left her sole mistress, open to me, both of you, the 
 recesses of your minds, and tell me truly what progress you 
 think you have made on her lieart. 
 
 Tim. Madam, I will not Hatter myself. I have done 
 all I could to move the heart of the princess Eriphila, and I 
 have set about it, I belie ve, in every tender way that a lover 
 could adopt. I have rendered her the submissive homage of 
 my affection ; I have shown assiduity ; I have paid my atten- 
 tions every day ; I have ordered my passion to be sung to her 
 with the most melting voices, and have given it expression 
 in verses composed for me by the most delicate of pens ; I 
 have complained of my martyrdom in the most impassioned 
 terms ; I have made my eyes as well as my lips speak of 
 the despair of my love ; I have uttered languishing sighs at 
 her feet ; I have even shed tears ; but all that was useless, 
 and I am not aware that in her heart she reciprocates my 
 love. 
 
 Aris. And you, prince ? 
 
 Ijyh. As for me, Madam, knowing her indifference, and 
 the little value which she sets upon the attentions paid to 
 her, I did not wish to waste complaints, sighs, or tears upon 
 her. I know that she is entirely submissive to your wishes, 
 and that it is from your hand alone that she will accept a hus- 
 band ; thus, it is only to you that I address myself to 
 obtain her ; to you rather than to her that I offer all my 
 attentions and all my homage. And Avould to Heaven,
 
 212 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act i. 
 
 Madam, that you could have resolved to take her place; 
 that you had been willing to enjoy the conquests which you 
 make for her, and to receive for yourself the affection which 
 you refer to her ! 
 
 Arts. Prince, the compliment is that of a skilful lover, 
 and you have heard it said that one must cajole the 
 mothers in order to obtain the daughters ; but, in this case, 
 unfortunately, all that becomes of no use, and I have bound 
 myself to leave the choice entirely to the inclination of my 
 daughter. 
 
 I'ph. With whatever power you may have invested her 
 for this choice, it is not a compliment. Madam, that I have 
 uttered to you. I pretend to the princess Eriphila only be- 
 cause she is of your blood ; I find her charming through 
 everything which she derives from you, and it is you whom 
 I adore in her. 
 
 Aris. That is very pretty. 
 
 J/j/l Yes, Madam, every one sees in you attractions 
 and charms, which I . . . 
 
 Aris. Pray, prince, let us leave those charms and attrac- 
 tions ; you know that they are words which I eliminate 
 from the compliments which people wish to pay me. I 
 allow folks to praise my sincerity ; to say that I am a 
 worthy princess, that I have a good word for everybody, a 
 warm feeling for my friends, and esteem for merit and virtue ; 
 I can digest all that, but as for charms and attractions, I am 
 very glad that they are not served up to me ; and whatever 
 truth there may be fovind in them, one must have some 
 scruple in tasting praises, when one is mother to a daughter 
 like mine. 
 
 Iph. Ah ! Madam, it is you who will play the mother 
 in spite of all the world ; there is not an eye that does not 
 oppose itself to it ; and if you wished it, the princess 
 Eripliila might pass for your sister.
 
 so. 11.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 213 
 
 Axis. Good Heavens ! prince, I have no taste for all 
 this nonsense which most women like : I wish to be a 
 mother because I am one, and it would be in vain not to 
 wish it. This title has nothing to shock me, since, Avith 
 my own consent, I have exposed myself to receive it. This 
 is a weakness of our sex, from which, thank Heaven, I am 
 exempt ; and I do not trouble myself about these grand 
 disputes about age, so common with many foolish women. 
 Let us come back to our conversation. Is it possible that 
 up till now you have been unable to find out which way the 
 inclination of Eriphila tends ? 
 
 Iph. It is a mystery to me. 
 
 Tim. And to me an impenetrable one. 
 
 Aris. Modesty perhaps hinders her from explaining herself 
 to you and to me. Let us make use of some one else to find 
 out the secret of her heart. Sostrates, do this for me, and ren- 
 der this good office to these princes, to discover skilfully from 
 my daughter towards which of the two her feelings may turn. 
 
 Sos. Madam, you have a hundred persons at your court 
 on whom you might better bestow the honour of such a task ; 
 and I feel myself ill-fitted to execute wdiat you desire of me. 
 
 Aris. Your merit, Sostrates, is not confined to the em- 
 ployment of war only ; you have brain, aptitude, skill ; and 
 my daughter sets store by you. 
 
 Sos. Some one better than I, Madam . . . 
 
 Aris. No, no ; your refusal is useless. 
 
 Sos. Since it is your wish. Madam, I must obey ; but 
 I swear to you that, in all your court, you could not have 
 chosen any one who would not have been able to acquit 
 himself far better than I can of such a commission. 
 
 Aris. You are too modest ; and you will always acquit 
 youi-self well of whatever you may be charged with. Gently 
 find out the sentiments of Eriphila, and make her remem- 
 ber that she is to g-o in good time to the wood of Diana.
 
 2 1 4 THE MAGXIFICEXT LOVERS. [act i. 
 
 SCENE III 
 Iphicrates, Timocles, Sostrates, Clitidas. 
 
 I ph. [To Sostrates] Rest assured that I share in the 
 esteem which the princess shows you. 
 
 Tim. [To Sostrates] Rest assured that I am delighted at 
 the choice that has been made of you. 
 
 Iph. Now you are in a position to serve your friends, 
 
 Tim. You have now the means of rendering good ser- 
 vice to the people whom it may please you to serve. 
 
 Iph. I do not commend my interests to you. 
 
 Tim. I do not ask you to speak for me. 
 
 80s. It would be useless, gentlemen. I should be 
 wrong to exceed my orders ; and you will not think it amiss 
 if I speak neither for the one nor the other. 
 
 Iph. I leave you to do as you please. 
 
 Tim. You shall act as you judge best. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Iphicrates, Timocles, Clitidas. 
 
 Iph. [Aside to Clitidas] Will Clitidas be kind enough 
 to remember that he is one of my friends ; I recommend 
 him always to forward my interests with his mistress 
 against those of my rival. 
 
 cut. [Aside to Iphicrates] Let me manage it. There 
 is no comparison between you and him ! and he is a 
 finely-built prince to dispute her with you I 
 
 Iph. [Aside to Clitidas] I shall remember this service.
 
 sc. v.-vi.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 215 
 
 SCENE V. 
 TlMOCLES, ClITIDAS. 
 
 Tim. My rival pays his court to Clitidas ; but Clitidas 
 knows well that he has promised me to support the preten- 
 sions of my love. 
 
 cut. Assuredly ; and he is but jesting to think to gain 
 the day over you. A nice specimen of a prince he is, 
 compared with you ! 
 
 Tim. There is nothing which I could refuse to Clitidas. 
 
 cut. \^Alone\ Sweet words on all sides ! Here comes 
 the princess ; I shall watch my opportunity of speaking to 
 her. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 ErIPHILA, CLjfiONICE. 
 
 Cle. People will think it strange, Madam, that you have 
 thus strolled away from every one. 
 
 Eri. Ah ! how agreeable a little solitude sometimes is to 
 persons like us, who are always pestered with so many 
 people ! and how sweet it is, after a thousand impertinent 
 conversations, to commune with one's own thoughts ! Let 
 me walk here all alone. 
 
 Cle. Would you not like, Madam, to see a little specimen 
 of the agility of these admirable personages, who wish to 
 enter your service. They are people who, by their steps, 
 their gestures and movements, express everything to the 
 eye ; and we call them pantomi mists ? I have trembled 
 to say this word to you;* and there are people in your 
 court who would not forgive me for it. 
 
 Eri. You look to me much, Gldonice, as if you intended 
 to treat me here to an annoying entertainment ; for, thank 
 
 8 A proof that the art and the word were new in France ; pantomime, 
 meaning " pantomime," was introduced much later.
 
 / 
 
 216 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act ii. 
 
 Heaven, you always wish to produce indiscriminately every- 
 thing that is offered to you ; and yours is an affability that 
 rejects nothing : thus it is to you alone we see that the 
 Muses, when in want, have recourse ; you are the great 
 patroness of unrecognised merit ; and everything in the 
 shaj)e of indigent virtue in the world steps down at your 
 place. 
 
 Cle. If you have no wish to see them, Madam, you have 
 only to leave them where they are. 
 
 Eri. No, no ; let us see them : let them come. 
 
 Cle. But their dance may be bad, perhaps, Madam. 
 
 Eri. Bad or not, we must see it. It would be only 
 postponing the thing with you ; and it is better to have 
 done with it. 
 
 Cle. It will be only an ordinary dance now ; Madam, 
 another time . . . 
 
 Eri. No preamble ; Cl^onice, let them dance. 
 
 .. SECOND INTERLUDE. 
 
 / The confidante of the young Princess calls forth three dancers, 
 under the name of Pantomimists, that is, who express all sorts of things 
 hy their movements. The Princess sees them dance, and receives them 
 into her service. 
 
 b 
 
 Entry of the Ballet 
 of the three Pantomimists. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 Eriphila, Cli^onice. 
 
 Eri. Very admirable, indeed. I do not think that people 
 could dance better, and I am very glad to have them 
 belongincf to me.
 
 sc. II. -in.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 217 
 
 Cle. And I, Madam, am very glad that you have seen 
 that I have not such bad taste as you thouglit. 
 
 Eri. Do not boast too much ; you will not be long 
 in giving me an opportunity of vindicating my opinion. 
 Leave me now. 
 
 « 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Eriphila, Gl^onice, Clitidas. 
 
 Cle. [Coming to meet Clitidas^ I warn you, Clitidas, 
 that the princess wishes to be alone. 
 
 cut. Let me manage it, I know my court etiquette 
 well enough. 
 
 O' 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Eriphila, Clitidas. 
 
 cut. [Singing'\ La, la, la, la. [Pretending to he sur- 
 prised at seeing Eriphila'] Ah ! 
 
 Eri. [To Clitidas, ivho makes a show of going] Clitidas ! 
 
 cut. I did not see you there, Madam. 
 
 Eri. Come here. Where do you come from ? 
 
 cut. I have just left the princess, your mother, who is 
 going towards the temple of Apollo, accompanied by a great 
 many people. 
 
 Eri. Do you not find that these spots are the most 
 charming in the world ? 
 
 cut. Assuredly. The princes, your lovers, were there. 
 
 Eri. The stream Peneus has some agreeable windings 
 here. 
 
 cut. Very agreeable. Sostrates was also there. 
 
 Eri. How is it that he did not come to the excursion ? 
 
 cut. He has something on his mind which prevents him 
 from taking pleasure in all these beautiful entertainments. 
 He wished to speak to me about it ; but you have so ex-
 
 218 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act n. 
 
 pressly forbidden me to charge myself with any affair for 
 you, that I did not wish to listen to him, and I told him 
 at once that I had no time to hear him. 
 
 Eri. You were wrong to tell him so, and you ought to 
 have listened to him. 
 
 cut. I told him at first that I had no time to listen, but 
 I gave him a hearing afterwards. 
 Eri. You have done well, 
 
 Clit. Truth to tell, he is a man who pleases, a man such 
 as I should like men to be, not assuming boisterous manners 
 and a provoking tone of voice ; prudent and careful in all 
 things, never speaking but to the point, not too prompt in 
 deciding, not at all annoying by exaggeration ; and, what- 
 ever beautiful verses our poets may recite to him, I have 
 never heard him say. There ! that is more beautiful than 
 anything Homer ever wrote. In short, he is a man for 
 whom I feel some inclination ; and, were I a princess, he 
 would not be unhappy. 
 
 Eri. He is a man of great merit, no doubt. But of 
 what did he speak to you ? 
 
 cut. He asked me whether you showed much pleasure 
 at the magnificent entertainment which they have given 
 you, spoke of you with the greatest possible transports, 
 lauded you to the skies, and gave you all the praises that 
 one could give to the most accomplished princess on earth, 
 intermixing them with sundry sighs that told more than 
 he intended. In short, by dint of turning him on all sides, 
 and of urging him to tell the cause of that profound 
 melancholy which is noticed by the whole court, he has 
 been obliged to acknowledge to mc that he is in love. 
 
 Eri. What, in love ! what boldness is his ! He is 
 a hare-brained fellow whom I will never see again in my 
 life. 
 
 cut. Of what do you complain, IMadam ?
 
 so. III.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 219 
 
 Eri. To have the audacity to love me ! and what is more, 
 to have the audacity to say so ! 
 
 cut. It is not you with whom he is in love, Madam. 
 
 Eri. It is not I ? 
 
 Clit. No, Madam ; he respects you too much for that, 
 and is too sensible to think of it. 
 
 Eri. And with whom then, Clitidas ? 
 
 Clit. With one of your ladies-in-waitiug, young Arsino^.^ 
 
 Eri. Has she so many charms that he could find no one 
 worthier of his love than she ? 
 
 Clit. He loves her madly, and beseeches you to honour 
 his flame with your protection. 
 
 Eri. I? 
 
 Cli. No, no. Madam. I see that the affair does not 
 please you. Your anger has obliged me to use this subter- 
 fuge ; and, to tell you the truth, it is you whom he loves to 
 madness. 
 
 Eri. You are an insolent fellow to come thus to surprise 
 my feelings. Come, leave this ; you would read into peoples' 
 thoughts, penetrate into the secrets of a princess's heart ! 
 Out of my sight, and let me never set eyes upon you again, 
 Clitidas. 
 
 Clit. Madam ? 
 
 Eri. Come here ; I forgive you this affair. 
 
 Clit. You are too kind, Madam ... 
 
 Eri. But on condition — mind well what I say to you — 
 that you open your lips to no one, at the peril of your life. 
 
 Clit. That is sufficient. 
 
 Eri. Sostrates has told you then that he loved me ? 
 
 cut. No, Madam. I must tell you the truth. I have 
 wrung from his heart, by surprise, a secret which he wishes 
 to hide from all the world, and with which, he says, he is 
 
 » In the first Scene of the fourth Act of The Princess of Elis (See 
 Vol. III., p. 1), thei-e is a simihxr ruse employed by the princess.
 
 220 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act n. 
 
 resolved to die. He is in despair at the subtle theft which 
 1 have committed ; and very far from charging me to discover 
 it to you, he has besought me, with all the fervent prayers 
 one could utter, to reveal nothing of it to you ; and what I 
 have said to you just now is treason against him. 
 
 Eri. So much the better ! it is by his respect only that 
 he can please me; and, if he were bold enough to declare 
 his love to me, he would for ever lose both my presence and 
 my esteem. 
 
 cut. Have no fear Madam, that .... 
 
 Eri. Here he comes. Remember, at least, if you are 
 wise, what I have forbidden you. 
 
 cut. That is already done. Madam. One must not be 
 an indiscreet courtier. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Ekiphila, Sostrates. 
 
 Sos. I have an excuse, Madam, for daring to disturb 
 your solitude ; and I have received from the princess, your 
 mother, a commission which authorises the liberty which I 
 now take. 
 
 Eri. What commission, Sostrates ? 
 
 Sos. This one. Madam, to endeavour to learn from you 
 towards which of the two princes your heart inclines. 
 
 Eri. The princess, my mother, shows a judicious spirit 
 in the choice which she has made of you for such a task. 
 This commission, Sostrates, has, no doubt, been very agree- 
 able to you, and you have accepted it with great joy ? 
 
 Has. I have accepted it. Madam, through the necessity 
 which my duty imposes upon me to obey ; and if the prin- 
 cess would have been satisfied with my excuses, she would 
 have honoured some one else with this commission. 
 
 Eri. What reason, Sostrates, obliged you to refuse it ?
 
 SG. rv.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 221 
 
 Sos. The fear, Madam, of acquitting myself ill in it. 
 
 Fi'i. Do yon think that I do not esteem you sufficiently 
 well to open my heart to you, and to give you all the in- 
 formation that you could wish about these two princes ? 
 
 Sos. I desire none for myself upon the subject, Madam ; 
 and I ask for no other than that which you may deem 
 yourself obliged to accord to the commands which bring me 
 here. 
 
 fJri. Till now, I have avoided explaining myself, and 
 the princess, my mother, has been kind enough always to 
 allow me to postpone the choice which is to bind me ; 
 but I should be very glad to show the world that I would 
 do something for the love of you ; and, if you press me 
 to it, I shall pronounce the verdict for which they have 
 already been waiting so long. 
 
 Sos. It is a matter, Madam, in which you shall not be 
 troubled by me ; and I could not make up my mind to 
 press a princess who so well knows what she has to do. 
 
 Eri But that is what the princess my mother expects 
 from you. 
 
 Sos. Have I not told her also that I should but ill acquit 
 myself of this commission ? 
 
 Eri. Come now, Sostrates, people like you have always 
 far-seeing eyes ; and I think that there must be few things 
 that escape yours. Have your eyes not been able to dis- 
 cover that which everybody is so much concerned about ! 
 and have they not given you some small glimpse of the 
 inclination of my heart ? You see the attentions that are 
 paid to me, the homage shown to me. Upon which of the 
 two princes, think you, do I look with the most favourable 
 eyes ? 
 
 Sos. The doubts which one forms upon these sorts of 
 matters are generally regulated by the interest which one 
 takes in them.
 
 222 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act n 
 
 Ei'i. For which of the two, Sostrates, would j'ou incline ? 
 Which is the one, tell me, whom you would wish me to 
 marry ? 
 
 Sos. Ah ! Madam, not my wishes, but your inclination 
 shall decide the matter. 
 
 Eri. But if I consulted you upon this choice ? 
 
 Sos. If you consulted me, I should be very much at 
 a loss. 
 
 Eri. Could not you say, which of the two seems to 
 you the most worthy of this preference ? 
 
 Sos. If from my own eyes I were to judge, there would 
 be no one worthy of this honour. All the princes of the 
 world are not good enough to aspire to you ; the gods only 
 might pretend to do so ; and you should accept from men 
 only incense and sacrifice. » 
 
 Eri. That is very kind, and you are one of my friends : 
 but I wish you to tell me for which of the two you feel the 
 gTeatest inclination, which is the one whom you would place 
 first in the rank of your friends.^'' 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Eriphila, Sostrates, Chorebus. 
 
 Chor. Madam, here is the princess who comes hither to 
 take you to the wood of Diana. 
 
 Sos. [Aside] Alas ! how seasonably you come in, little 
 boy! 
 
 10 It has been well said that princesses are condemned, in friendshij) 
 as well as in love, to make overtures, and that the respect which 
 •surrounds them often obliges the most disci'eet and the most {n-oud to 
 make advances, which other ladies would not dare to do. See, in con- 
 firmation of this, the introductory notice to this play.
 
 sc. VI.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 223 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Aristione, Eripeiila, Iphicrates, Timocles, Sostrates, 
 Anaxarchus, Clitidas. 
 
 Aris. You have been asked for, daughter ; and there are 
 some people whom your absence frets very much. 
 
 Eri. I think, Madam, that I have been asked for out 
 of compliment ; and that people do not fret so much as you 
 say. 
 
 Aris. There is such a series of entertainments here, 
 given for our sakes, that all our time is occupied ; and 
 we have not a moment to lose, if we wish to enjoy them 
 all. Let us quickly enter the wood, and see what awaits 
 us there. This is the most charming spot in the world ; 
 let us take our places quickly. 
 
 THIRD INTERLUDE. 
 
 The stage represents a forest to which the pincess has been invited. 
 A nyniph does the honours, singing ; and, to amuse them, a small 
 musical comedy is played, the subject of which is as follows: — A shep- 
 herd complains to two others, his friends, of the coldness of her whom 
 he loves; the two friends console him; at that moment the beloved 
 shepherdess appears, and the three retire to observe her. After a 
 plaintive love ditty, she reclines on the turf, and abandons herself to 
 sweet slumber. The lover makes his two friends approach to C07item- 
 pilate the charms of his shepherdess, and invokes cdl things to contribute 
 to her rest. The ■■shepherdess, on leaking, finds her sivain at her feet, 
 complains of his 'persecution ; but, faking his constancy into considered ion, 
 grants to him what he tvishes, and consents to be beloved by him, in the 
 presence of the two shepherd friends. Upon this two satyrs arrive, up- 
 braid her itith her change of affection, and feeling the disgrace info 
 ivhich they have fallen, seek their consolation in wine. 
 
 THE PERSONAGES OF THE PASTORAL. 
 
 The Nymph of the Vale of Tempe, Tircis, Ly caste, 
 Menander, Caliste, Two Satyrs.
 
 224 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act ii. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The Nymph of Tenipe, alone. 
 
 Come, great princess, with all your charms. 
 
 Come, view the innocent delights 
 
 Which our wilderness presents to you ; 
 
 Do not seek here the splendour of the court festivals ; 
 
 Nothing but love is felt in these spots, 
 
 Love is the sole burden of our songs. 
 
 Scene I. Tircis, alone. 
 
 You sing in your leafy retreat. 
 
 Sweet nightingales replete with love ; 
 
 And with your tender strains 
 
 You awake by turns 
 
 The echoes of these groves. 
 
 Alas ! ye little birds, alas ! 
 
 Had you my griefs, you would not sing. 
 
 Scene II. Lycaste, Menandev, Tircis. 
 
 Lye. Eh, what ! ever languishing, sombre and 
 
 cast down ? 
 
 Men. Eh, what ! to tears, as always, wed ? 
 
 Tire. Ever adoring Caliste, 
 
 And ever unhappy. 
 
 Lye. Then overcome, overcome, ye shepherd, the 
 
 grief that haunts you. 
 
 Tire. Alas ! how can I, alas ! 
 
 Men. Make, make an effort for yourself. 
 
 Tire. Alas ! how can I, when the evil is too great? 
 
 Lye. The evil will find its remedy. 
 
 Tire. I shall not be cured except through death. 
 
 Lye. & Men. Ah ! Tyrcis ! 
 
 Tire. Ah ! shepherds I 
 
 Lye. & Men. Control your feelings more. 
 
 Tire. Nothing can come to my aid. 
 
 Lye. & Men. It is giving way too much, too much. 
 
 Tire. It is suffering too much, too much.
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 225 
 
 Lyc. & Men. What weakness ! 
 Tire. What martyrdom ! 
 
 Lyc. & Men. You must take courage. 
 Tire. Rather let me die. 
 
 Lyc. There is no shepherdess 
 
 So cold and so severe, 
 
 But what the pressing ardour 
 
 Of a heart that perseveres, 
 
 Can overcome her coldness. 
 Men. Th^re are, in these affairs 
 
 Of amorous mystery, 
 
 Certain little moments 
 
 In which the most severe change, 
 
 And make lovers happy. 
 Tire. I behold the cruel one 
 
 Bending her steps towards this spot. 
 
 Let us take care not to he seen by her ; 
 
 For, alas ! the ungrateful one 
 
 Would not then come hither. 
 
 Scene III. Caliste, alone. 
 
 Ah, how on our hearts 
 The cruel honour's law 
 Exercises merciless sway ! 
 For Tircis I show nought but coldness ; 
 And all the while, too sensible to his poignant grief, 
 I sigh in secret over his langour, 
 And would like to relieve his martyrdom. 
 To you alone I breathe this much. 
 Ye trees, do not repeat the words. 
 Since Heaven has been pleased to create 
 Within us hearts which love can kindle. 
 What pitiless rigour 
 
 Forces us to arm ourselves against his sweetest darts ! 
 And why, without aught to be blamed. 
 Can we not love 
 What we find loveable ? 
 Alas ! how happy are ye, 
 
 P
 
 22G THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 
 
 I 
 
 Ye guileless beasts, to live without restraint, 
 
 And to be able to follow without fear 
 
 The sweet transports of your amorous hearts ! 
 
 Alas ! ye little birds, how happy are you 
 
 To feel no restraint, 
 
 And to be able to follow without fear 
 
 The sweet transports of your amorous hearts ! 
 
 But slumber on my eyelids 
 
 Sheds the agreeable coolness of its poppies ; 
 
 I yield to it with all my heart ; 
 
 There is no severe law 
 
 Forbidding our senses to taste its sweetness. 
 
 Scene IV. Caliste (asleep), Tlrcis, Lycaste, Menander. 
 
 Tire. Towards my charming foe 
 
 Let us without noise bend our steps. 
 
 Yet taking care not to awaken 
 
 Her coldness, which now slumbers. 
 All three. Sleep on, sleep on, fair eyes, lovely conquerors ; 
 
 And taste that peace which you wrest from all 
 hearts ; 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, fair eyes. 
 Tire. Now silence keep, ye little birds ; 
 
 Ye winds, stir nought around ; 
 
 Ye streams, run sweetly on : 
 
 For Caliste is slumbering. 
 All three. Sleep on, sleep on, fair eyes, lovely conquerors ; 
 
 And taste that peace which you wrest from all 
 hearts ; 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, fair eyes. 
 Calis. (aivakening, to Tlrcis). 
 
 Ah ! what exceeding cruelty ! 
 
 To dog my steps where'er I go ! 
 Tire. What else would you have me follow, alas ! 
 
 But the beloved ? 
 Calis. Say, shepherd, what would you with me ? 
 
 Tire. To die, fair shepherdess, 
 
 To die at your feet,
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 227 
 
 And end my misery. 
 
 Since, in vain, at your feet I sigh, 
 
 I must die there. 
 Calls. Hence, Tircis ; I fear that this day 
 
 The pity in my heart is but the harbinger 
 of love. 
 Lye. & Men. (one after another) Be it pity, be it love, 
 
 It well becomes to be tender ; 
 
 You too long have been unbending ; 
 
 Shepherdess, you must yield 
 
 To his constant flame. 
 
 Be it pity, be it love, 
 
 It well becomes to be tender, 
 Cal. (to Tircis) Too severe, too cruel I have been. 
 
 Your ardour I have treated ill. 
 
 While loving you all the time. 
 
 Avenge yourself on my heart, 
 
 Tircis, which I now yield to you. 
 Tire. O, Heavens, shepherds ! Caliste, I am be- 
 
 side myself 
 
 If joy can kill, then I shall lose my life. 
 Lye. Worthy reward of your love ! 
 
 Men. O fate to be envied ; 
 
 Scene V. Two Satyrs, Caliste, Tircis, Lycaste, 
 Menander. 
 
 \st Satyr (to Caliste) What, you fly from me ; and I see 
 you, 
 UngTateful woman, prefer this shepherd to 
 me ! 
 2d Satyr. Have my vows no effect upon your indif- 
 ference ? 
 And for this languid swain your heart is 
 softened ! 
 Cal. Fate wills it thus ! 
 
 Take patience both of you. 
 1st Satyr. To swains who are driven to despair 
 Love causes to shed tears ;
 
 228 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 
 
 But this is not to our taste, 
 And the bottle has some charms, 
 Which console us for everything. 
 
 2d Satyr. Our passion does not aye obtain 
 Whate'er it may desire ; 
 But we have another resource, 
 And good wine makes us laugh 
 When others mock our loves. 
 
 All. Ye rustic divinities, 
 
 Ye fauns, and dryads, come out 
 From 3^our peaceful retreats ; 
 Join your steps to our sounds. 
 And trace on the verdure 
 The image of our songs. ^^ 
 
 Fii'st Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 At the same time, six Dryads and six Fauns come out of their 
 grottos, and execute a beautiful dance ; then they open their ranks all at 
 once, and reveal a shepherd and shepherdess who perform a small 
 musical scene of a love-tiff. 
 
 THE LOVE-TIFF. 
 
 Climene, Philinte. 
 
 Phil. Wheu I was pleasing to your eyes, 
 
 I with my life was satisfied. 
 
 And saw nor king nor god, 
 
 Whose lot inspired me with envy. 
 Clim. When to every one else 
 
 Your affection preferred me, 
 
 I would have left a crown 
 
 To reign over your heart. 
 Phil. Another has cured my heart 
 
 Of the passion which I had for you. 
 Cli'in. Another has revenged my flame 
 
 Of your perjured faith. 
 Phil. Chloris, who is lauded much, 
 
 11 See Introductory Notice to this play.
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 229 
 
 Loves me with a faithful love ; 
 If her eyes told me to die 
 Gladly I would expire for. her. 
 
 Cliiii. Myi'til, so worthy of envy, 
 
 Cherishes me more than the day ; 
 And I, I would lose my life 
 To show him my affection. 
 
 Phil. What, if returning love again 
 
 Should make me your bright charms adore. 
 Should Chloris from my bosom chase, 
 And re-instate you in her stead ? 
 
 Clim. Though with the utmost tenderness, 
 
 Myrtil might ever cherish me, 
 With you, I still confess, I would 
 And live, and die.-^^ 
 
 The two together. More than ever let us love 
 
 And live and die in bonds so sweet. 
 
 All the Actors in the Pastoral. 
 
 Ye lovers, how sweet and nice 
 
 Are your quarrels and bickerings ! 
 
 How we see follow, one after another, 
 
 Pleasure and tenderness! 
 
 Quarrel continually 
 
 To make it up again. 
 
 Ye lovers, how sweet and nice 
 
 Are your quarrels and bickeriugs ! &c. 
 
 Second Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 The Fauns and the Dryads recommence their dancing, ivhich the 
 Shepherds and Shepherdesses accompany by their music and song, while 
 three little female Dryads and three little Fauns reproduce, at the back 
 of the stage, everything that goes on in front. 
 
 12 Moliere had akeady attenuated a paraphrase of Horace's ode, 
 Donee grains eram tibi, in the Love Tiff, (See Vol. I. page 105) as well as 
 in Tartuffe (See Vol. EV., page 95), and in The Citizen who apes the Noble- 
 man, (See seg.) The above piece bears the same title as the first men- 
 tioned play.
 
 230 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act in. 
 
 The Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 
 
 Let us enjoy, let us enjoy, the innocent pleasures 
 With which the fire of love charms our senses. 
 Let those who like care for grandeur ; 
 All these honours so greatly envied, 
 Cause grief which is often too poignant. 
 
 Let us enjoy, let us enjo}^, the innocent pleasures 
 With which the fire of love charms our senses. 
 
 While we love, everything pleases in life ; 
 
 Two united hearts are contented with their lot, 
 
 Such ardour, followed up by pleasure. 
 
 Makes of our days eternal spring. 
 
 Let us enjoy, let us enjoy, the innocent pleasures 
 With which the fire of love charms our senses. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 Aristione, Eriphila, Iphicrates, Timocles, Anaxarchus, 
 
 SOSTRATES, ClITIDAS. 
 
 Aris. The same words come continually to our lips ; one 
 must always exclaim : That is admirable ! nothing could be 
 more beautiful ! it surpasses aught that has ever been 
 seen ! 
 
 Tmi. The praise is too great for such trifles, Madam. 
 
 Aris. Trifles like these may agreeably occupy the most 
 serious persons. In truth, daughter, you are very much 
 obliged to these princes, and you cannot acknowledge 
 sufficiently all the trouble which they take for you. 
 
 Eri. I am as grateful as possible for it. Madam. 
 
 Aris. Still you make them languish a long while for 
 what they expect from you. I have promised not to 
 constrain you ; but their affection urges you to declare your-
 
 •sc. I.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 231 
 
 self, and no longer to delay the reward for their services. 
 I have charged Sostrates gently to discover the sentiments 
 of your heart ; and I do not know if he has begun to 
 acquit himself of this commission. 
 
 Eri. Yes, Madam ; but it seems to me that I cannot too 
 long postpone the choice for which I am pressed, and 
 which I am unable to make without being, to some 
 extent, to blame. I feel equally obliged for the love, the 
 zeal, and the services of these two princes ; and I think it 
 somewhat of a great injustice to show myself ungrateful, 
 either to the one or the other, 'by the refusal I should have 
 to make in my preference for his rival. 
 
 Iph. This is certainly. Madam, a very pretty compliment, 
 in order to refuse us both. 
 
 Aris. This scruple, daughter, ought not to trouble you ; 
 and these two princes have submitted, long ago, to the pre- 
 ference which your inclination might cause you to make. 
 
 Eri. Inclination, Madam, is very apt to be mistaken, 
 and disinterested eyes are much more capable of choosing 
 justly. 
 
 Aris. You know that I have pledged my word to give 
 no opinion upon this ; and between these two princes, your 
 inclination cannot go wrong, or make a choice that can 
 be bad. 
 
 Eri. In order not to violate your promise or my 
 scruples, please to accept. Madam, a way which I make 
 bold to propose. 
 
 AHs. What, daughter ? 
 
 Eri. Let Sostrates decide whom I should prefer. You 
 have selected him to find out the secret of my heart, now 
 permit me to choose him to get me out of the plight in 
 which I find myself. 
 
 Aris. I value Sostrates so much, that, whether you wish 
 to employ him to explain your sentiments, or whether you
 
 232 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act m. 
 
 will be absolutely guided by him ; I value, say I, his virtue 
 and judgment so much, that I consent with all my heart to 
 the proposal which you make to me. 
 
 Iljli. That means, Madam, that we must pay our court 
 to Sostrates ? 
 
 Sos. No, my lord, you will have to pay me no court ; 
 and with all the respect due to the princesses, I decline the 
 glory to which they intend to raise me. 
 
 Aris. Whence comes that, Sostrates ? 
 
 Sos. I have reasons, Madam, which do not allow me to 
 receive the honour which you offer to me. 
 
 Iph. Do you fear, Sostrates, to make yourself an enemy ? 
 
 Sos. I would little fear, my lord, the enemies whom I 
 might make, while obeying the will of my sovereigns. 
 
 T'iDi. For what reason, then, do you refuse to accept 
 the power given to you, and to acquire the friendship of 
 that prince who shall owe all his happiness to you ? 
 
 Sos. For the reason that I am unable to grant that 
 prince what he would wish from me. 
 
 Iph. What might that reason be ? 
 
 Sos. Why press me so much on the subject ? I may, 
 perhaps, my lord, have some secret interest that opposes itself 
 to the pretensions of your love. I may, perhaps, have a friend 
 whose heart, without daring to avow it, burns with a re- 
 spectful flame for the divine charms by which you are 
 captivated. This friend is perhaps making me a daily 
 confidant of his martyrdom, is daily bewailing to me the 
 cruelty of his fate, and is looking upon the nuptials of the 
 princess as the terrible verdict that consigns him to the 
 grave ; and if this were so, my lord, would it be just that 
 he should receive his death-blow from my hands. 
 
 /p/i. You, Sostrates, might perhaps yourself be that 
 friend whose interests you have so much at heart. 
 
 Sos. Do not seek, I j^ray you, to render me odious to the
 
 s<^' 1] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 233 
 
 persons who are listening to you. I know myself, my lord ; 
 and unfortunate men like me well know to what their 
 position permits them aspire. 
 
 Aris. Let us drop this ; we shall find the means of 
 overcoming the irresolution of my daughter. 
 
 Ana. Can there be a better way. Madam, to conclude 
 matters to the satisfaction of everyone than the light 
 which Heaven can throw upon this match. I have, there- 
 fore, begun, as I told you, to cast the mysterious figures 
 which our art teaches us ; and I hope to be able to show 
 you by-and-bye what the future has in store regarding this 
 much-desired union. Can there be any vacillation after this ? 
 Shall the glory and prosperity which Heaven promises to 
 the one or the other choice, not be sufficient to determine 
 it ; and can the rejected one be offended, when Heaven 
 itself shall decide this preference ? 
 
 JpA. As for me, I submit entirely to it ; and I declare 
 that this way seems to me the most reasonable. 
 
 Tim. I am of the same opinion ; and Heaven could do 
 nothing but what I would subscribe to without repugnance. ^^ 
 
 Eri. But my lord Anaxarchus, do you really see so clearly 
 into destiny that you are never deceived, and who, pray, will 
 be the guarantee for this glory and prosperity, which, say 
 you. Heaven promises us ? 
 
 Aris. Daughter, you have some trifling incredulity that 
 does not leave you. 
 
 Ana. The proofs, Madam, which everybody has seen of 
 the infallibility of my predictions, are sufficient guarantees 
 for the promises which I can make. But, in short, when I 
 shall have shown you what Heaven marks out for you, you 
 shall regulate your conduct after your own fancy ; and it will 
 be for you to choose the lot of either the one or the other. 
 
 13 We shall see, farther on, in the fourth Scene of the third Act that the 
 astrologer had promised to be favourable to each of the two rival princes.
 
 234 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVEES. [act iii. 
 
 Eri. Will Heaven, Anaxarchus, show me the good or bad 
 fortune^* which shall attend me ? 
 
 Ana. Yes, Madam ; the happiness which shall be your 
 lot, if you marry the one ; and the misfortunes which shall 
 accompany you, if you wed the other. 
 
 Eri. But as it is impossible that I should wed them 
 both, it must then be written down in Heaven, not only 
 what is to occur, but also what is not to occur. 
 
 cut. \_A8ide\ Behold my astrologer non-plussed. 
 
 Anax. I should have to make a long discussion upon the 
 principles of astrology, Madam, to make you understand 
 this. 
 
 cut. Well answered. Madam, I say no harm of astro- 
 logy : astrology is a good thing, and my lord Anaxarchus is a 
 great man. 
 
 Ipli. The truth of astrology is incontestable ; and there 
 is no one who can dispute against the certainty of its prog- 
 nostications. 
 
 cut. Assuredly. 
 
 Tim. I am incredulous enough about many things ; but 
 as regards astrology, there is nothing more sure and more 
 constant than the certainty of the horoscopes which it draws. 
 
 cut. They are the clearest things in the world. 
 
 Iph. A hundred foretold adventures happen every day, 
 which convince the most stubborn. 
 
 cut. That is true. 
 
 Tim. Can we contest, on this matter, the famous 
 incidents which are vouched for by history ? 
 
 J-^ The original has fortune, which, in Moliere's time, meant " fate, 
 lot, kick," but not " riclies," as it does generally now. Still the woi-il 
 is sometimes used in its proper sense, above all, with an adjective, as 
 bonne fortune, mauvaise fortune, also la fortune me sourit. In English 
 we have kept generally to the primary meaning, as " fortune favours 
 the brave ; " but with the indefinite article it often means " wealth," 
 as " he has a fortune of ten thousand i>ounds."
 
 sc. I.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 235 
 
 cut. It would not be common sense. To contest what 
 is ordained. ^^ 
 
 Aris. Sostrates does not say a word. What is his 
 opinion ? 
 
 Sos. Madam, every mind is not born with the qualities 
 required for the delicacy of these grand sciences, which we 
 call abstruse ; and there are some so material, that they 
 cannot conceive what others understand in the easiest 
 manner possible. There is nothing more agreeable, 
 Madam, than all the great promises of these sublime 
 studies. To transform everything into gold ; to cause 
 people to live for ever ; to cure by words ; to make 
 ourselves beloved by whom we wish ; to know all the 
 secrets of the future ; to cause to descend from Heaven, 
 at one's will, impressions of good fortune on metals ; to com- 
 mand demons ; to create invisible armies, and invulnerable 
 soldiers : all this is charming, no doubt ; and there are 
 people who have not the slightest trouble in comprehending 
 the possibility of it ; for them it is the easiest thing to 
 conceive. But, as for me, I confess candidly that ray coarse 
 mind has some difficulty in understanding and in believing it ; 
 and I have always found it too good to be true. All these 
 beautiful arguments of sympathy, of magnetic force, and of 
 occult influence, are so subtle and delicate, that they escape 
 my material understanding; and, without speaking about 
 the rest, it has never been in my power to conceive how 
 the smallest particulars of the least important man's fate 
 could be found written in Heaven. What relation, what 
 connection, what correspondence can there be between us 
 and globes so immeasurably distant from our earth ? and 
 whence, in short, can this beautiful science have come to 
 man ? Which god has revealed it ? or what experience can 
 
 15 The original has moule, printed. Moliere perhaps did not like to 
 use the word imprinie, so as to avoid an anachronism.
 
 23G THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act in. 
 
 have been formed from observing this great number of stars 
 which no one as yet has been able to see twice in the same 
 order ? 
 
 Anax. It will not be difficult to make you conceive it. 
 
 Sos. You will be more clever than ali others. 
 
 cut. [To Sostrates] He will deliver you a lecture upon 
 all this, whenever you like. 
 
 Iph. [To Sostrates] If you do not understand things, 
 at least you can believe them from what we see every 
 day. 
 
 Sos. As my understanding is too coarse to comprehend 
 anything, my eyes are also so unfortunate that they have 
 never seen anything. 
 
 I2)h. As for myself, I have seen, and convincing things 
 too. 
 
 Tim. And I also. 
 
 Sos. Since you have seen, you do well to believe ; and 
 your eyes must be differently made from mine. 
 
 Iph. But, in short, the princess believes in astrology, and 
 it seems to me that one may well believe after her. Has she 
 not her sense, and wits about her, Sostrates ? 
 
 Sos. The question is somewhat startling, my lord. 
 The understanding of the princess is no rule for mine ; and 
 her intelligence may lift her to glimpses of certain things to 
 which my senses cannot soar. 
 
 Ai'is. No, Sostrates, I will not say anything about a 
 number of matters to which I give no more credence than 
 you do ; but, as for astrology, I have been told and have 
 been shown things so positive, that I cannot doubt them. 
 
 Sos. There can be no answer to that, Madam. 
 
 Aris. Let us drop this conversation, and please to leave 
 us for a moment. Let us direct our walk towards this 
 beautiful grotto, daughter, whither I have promised to go. 
 Delicate attentions at every step !
 
 sc- I] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 237 
 
 FOURTH INTERLUDE. 
 
 The stage represents a grotto, tchere the princesses go to take a walk ; 
 and whilst they are entering if, eight statues, each bearing two torches 
 in their hands, come doion from their recesses, and execute a varied 
 dance of different figures and several fine attitudes in ichich they pose at 
 intervals. 
 
 Entry of the Ballet 
 of Eight Statues. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 Aristione, Eriphila. 
 
 Aris. From whomsoever it comes, nothing could be more 
 gallant and better arranged. Daughter, I have wished to 
 separate from the crowd to converse with you ; and I wish 
 you to hide nothing of the truth from me. Have you not 
 in your heart some secret inclination which you will not 
 reveal to us ? 
 
 Erii^h. I, Madam ? 
 
 Aris. Speak openly, daughter. WTiat I have done for 
 you well deserves that you should be candid with me. 
 To turn all my thoughts upon you, to prefer you to aught 
 else, to close my ears, in the position which I occupy, to all 
 the proposals which a hundred princesses, in my place, would 
 have listened to with satisfaction ; all this ought to persuade 
 you sufficiently that I am a good mother, and that I am 
 not likely to treat with severity the laying bare of your heart. 
 
 Eriph. If I had so badly followed your example, as to 
 have allowed myself to be carried away by some feelings of 
 inclination which I had reason to hide, I should have suffi- 
 cient self-control. Madam, to impose silence on such a pas- 
 sion, and to prevent myself from displaying aught that were 
 unworthy of your blood.
 
 238 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act iv. 
 
 Aris. No, no, daughter ; you may, without scruple, kiy 
 bare your feelings to me. I have not confined your 
 inclination to the choice between the two princes ; you may 
 extend it to wherever you wish ; and merit, with me, 
 has so gTeat an influence, that I consider it equal 
 to everything ; and if you. frankly avow matters to me, you 
 will find me subscribe without repugnance to the choice 
 which your heart has made. 
 
 Eriph. Madam, I cannot sufficiently extol your kindness 
 to me : but I shall not j)ut it to the test in the matter on 
 which you are speaking ; and all that I ask from it is not to 
 urge me to a marriage upon which I am as yet not resolved. 
 
 Aris. Till now I have left you mistress in everything ; 
 and the impatience of the princes, your suitors. . . . But 
 what is this noise which I hear ? Ah ! daughter, what 
 spectacle meets our sight ! Some divinity descends hither, 
 and it is the goddess Venus who apparently wishes to speak 
 
 to VIS. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Venus, accortipanied by four little Cupids in a machi7ie ; 
 
 Aristione, Eriphila. 
 
 Venus. [To Aristione] — 
 
 Princess, in your cares there shines an exemplary 
 
 zeal 
 "Which by immortals ought to be rewarded ; 
 And that you may have a son-in-law illustrious 
 
 and happy. 
 Their hand will point }'ou out the choice that 
 
 you ought to make. 
 They all by my voice announce to you 
 The glory and the grandeur which, by this 
 
 worthy choice. 
 Your house for ever shall enjoy.
 
 sc. lu.-iv.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 239 
 
 Then, there is an end to your difficulties ; 
 
 Give your daughter 
 
 To him who shall save your life. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 AkISTIONE, EUIPHILA. 
 
 Aris. Daughter, the gods impose silence on all our 
 arguments. After this, we have nothing more to do than 
 to receive what they are preparing to give us, and you 
 have just now distinctly heard their will. Let us go into 
 the first temple to assure them of our obedience, and to 
 render them thanks for their favours. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Anaxarchus, Cl^on. 
 
 Cle. Behold the princess just going ; do you not wish 
 to speak to her ? 
 
 Ana. Let us wait until her daughter is away. She has 
 a spirit which I fear, and which is not of a stamp to be led 
 like that of her mother. At last, as we have seen, my son, 
 through this gap, our stratagem has succeeded. Our Venus 
 has done wonders ; and the admirable engineer who has 
 prepared this trick has so well arranged everything, has so 
 cleverly cut the floor of this grotto, so dexterously hidden his 
 wires and all his springs, so nicely adjusted his lights, and 
 tastefully dressed his personages, that there are few people 
 who would not have been deceived ; and as the princess 
 Aristione is very superstitious, there is no doubt that she 
 fully believes in this deception. I have prepared this 
 machine a long while, my son, and I shall soon have 
 reached the goal of my ambition. 
 
 Cle. But for which of these two princes have you 
 invented this contrivance ?
 
 240 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act iv. 
 
 Ana. Both have invited my assistance, and to both I 
 have promised the influence of ray art. But the presents 
 of prince Iphicrates and the promises which he has made me 
 by far exceed all that the other could have done. Thus it Avill 
 be he who shall receive the favourable effects of all the springs 
 which I have set in motion ; and as his ambition will owe me 
 everything, our fortune, my son, is as good as made. I shall 
 take my time to keep up the error in the mind of the prin- 
 cess, to dispose her the better still by the connection which 
 I shall skilfully show her between the words of Venus and 
 the prognostications of the heavenly signs which I shall tell 
 her that I have cast. Go you, and look to the rest of the 
 work ; prepare our six men to hide themselves carefully in 
 their boat behind the rock, to wait quietly until the prin- 
 cess Aristione comes to take her evening's walk by herself 
 on the shore ; to pounce upon her, at the right time, 
 as if they were pirates, so as to give prince Iphicrates an 
 opportunity of bringing her that aid which, according to the 
 decrees of Heaven, is to place in his hands the prin- 
 cess Eriphila. This prince has been warned by me ; and, 
 on the faith of my prediction, is to hold himself in readiness 
 in this little wood which abuts on the shore. But let us 
 get out of this grotto ; while we are walking along, I shall 
 inform you of all things to be observed. Here comes the 
 princess Eriphila : let us avoid a meeting with her. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Eriphila, alone. 
 
 Alas ! what a destinv is mine ! and what have T done to 
 the gods to merit all the care which they wish to take of 
 me ?
 
 «c. vi.-vii.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 241 
 
 SC£^^E VI. 
 
 Ekiphila, Cleonice. 
 
 CU. I have found him, Madam, and here he is ; and, at 
 your first commands, he has followed me here. 
 
 Eri. Let him come hither, Cleonice ; and leave us 
 together for a moment. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 £riphila, Sostrates. 
 
 Eri. Sostrates, you love me. 
 
 Sos. I, Madam ? 
 
 Eri. Enough, Sostrates ; I know it, I approve of it, and 
 allow you to tell me so. Your passion seemed to me accom- 
 panied by all the worth that could make it agreeable. 
 Were it not for the rank in which Heaven has given me 
 birth, I might tell you that this passion would not have 
 been an unhappy one, and that a hundred times I should 
 have wished for it the support of a fate which might have 
 allowed me openly to show the secret feelings of my soul. 
 It is not, Sostrates, because merit alone has not in my eyes all 
 the value which it ought to have, and because I do not prefer, 
 in my inmost heart, the virtues which you possess to all the 
 magnificent titles with which the others are clothed. It is 
 not even because the princess, my mother, has not left me 
 the disposal of my feelings ; and I do not doubt, I confess to 
 you, but that my prayers could have turned her consent the 
 way which I would have desired. But there are stations in 
 life, Sostrates, in which it would not be honourable to do all 
 that one would wish. It is sad to be put above all things ; 
 and the vexatious reports of fame often make us pay too 
 dearly for the pleasure which we might have had in satisfying 
 our inclinations. To this, Sostrates, I could never have made 
 
 V. Q
 
 242 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVEKS. [act iv. 
 
 up my mind ; and I deemed it sufficient to avoid the engage- 
 ments which I was entreated to make. But, in short, the 
 gods themselves will take the burthen of providing me with 
 a husband ; and all these long delays with which I have 
 postponed my marriage, and which the kindness of the 
 princess, my mother, has granted to my wishes ; these 
 delays, I, say, are no longer permitted to me, and I must 
 resolve to submit to the decree of Heaven. Be assured, 
 Sostrates, that it is with the utmost repugnance that I 
 submit to this marriage ; and that, had I been mistress of 
 myself, I should have been yours, or no one's. This, Sos- 
 trates, is what I had to tell you ; this is what I thought 
 was due to your worth, and is all the consolation which my 
 tenderness can afford to your affection. 
 
 Sos. Ah ! Madam, this even is too much for an unhappy 
 wretch ! I was not prepared to die with so much glory ; 
 and, from this moment, I shall cease to complain of my fate. 
 If it caused me to be born in a station less elevated than I could 
 have desired, it has at least caused me to be born sufficiently 
 fortunate to attract some pity from the heart of a great 
 princess ; and this glorious pity is worth crowns and scep- 
 tres, is worth the fortune of the greatest princes of the 
 earth. Yes, Madam, from the moment I have dared to 
 love you (it is 3'ou, Madam, who gave me leave to use this 
 bold word), from the moment, I say, that I have dared to love 
 you, I first condemned the pride of my aspirations ; I have 
 myself prepared that fate which I ought to expect. My death- 
 blow. Madam, will have nothing to surprise me, as I was 
 prepared for it ; but your kindness loads it with an honour 
 for which my affection never dared to hope ; and I shall 
 die, after this, the most contented and glorious of all mor- 
 tals. If I could still wish for aught, there are two favours. 
 Madam, which I make bold to ask of you on my knees : to 
 be willing to endure my presence until this happy mariiage
 
 sc. vm.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVEKS. 243 
 
 which is to end my life ; and amidst this great glory and 
 long prosperity which Heaven promises to your union, to 
 think sometimes of the love-stricken Sostrates. May I, 
 divine princess, flatter myself with this so precious favour. 
 
 Eri. Go, Sostrates, depart from this. You do not care 
 for my peace in asking me to remember you. 
 
 Sos. Ah ! Madam, if your peace ... 
 
 Eri. Away, I tell you, Sostrates, spare my Aveakness, and 
 expose me to no more than I have resolved upon. 
 
 SCENE Fill. 
 Eriphila, Cleonice. 
 
 Cle. Madam, I see you are very sad in spirit : will it 
 please you that your dancers, who express all passions so 
 well, shall give you a sample of their skill ? 
 
 Eri. Yes, Cleonice ; anything they like, as long as they 
 leave me to my thoughts. 
 
 FIFTH INTERLUDE. 
 
 Four pantomimists, as a sample of their skill, adjust their movements 
 and their steps to the uneasiness of the young pincess Eriphila. 
 
 Entry of the Ballet 
 Of four pantomimists.
 
 244 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act v. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 Eriphila, Clitidas. 
 
 Cli. Which way shall I turn ? whither can I go ? and 
 where am I now likely to find princess Eriphila ? It is no small 
 advantage to be the first to carry news. Ah ! there she is T 
 Madam, I have come to announce to you that Heaven has 
 just now given you the husband it allotted to you. 
 
 Eri. Eh ! leave me, Clitidas, to my gloomy melancholy. 
 
 Cli. Madam, I ask your pardon. I thought I was 
 doing well in coming to tell you that Heaven has just now 
 given you Sostrates for a husband ; but, as it seems to 
 annoy you, I shall pocket my news, and go back again as 
 straight as I came. 
 
 Eri. Clitidas! Clitidas! 
 
 Cli. I leave you. Madam, to your gloomy melancholy. 
 
 Eri. Stay, I tell you ; come here. What have you come 
 to tell me ? 
 
 Cli. Nothing, Madam. One is sometimes hasty to come 
 to tell great people about certain things, for which they 
 do not care, and I pray you to excuse me. 
 
 Eri. How cruel you are ! 
 
 Cli. Another time I shall have the discretion not to 
 come to interrupt you. 
 
 Eri. Keep me no longer in suspense. What have you 
 come to tell me ? 
 
 Cli. Just a trifle about Sostrates, Madam, which T will 
 tell you another time, when you shall be less engaged. 
 
 Eri. Do not tire me any longer, I say, and tell me the 
 news. 
 
 Cli. You wish to know it, Madam ? 
 
 Eri. Yes ; make haste. What have you to tell me 
 about Sostrates ? 
 
 Cli. A marvellous adventure, which no one expected.
 
 sc. I.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 245 
 
 Eri. Tell me quickly what it is. 
 
 Cli. It will not trouble your gloomy melancholy, Madam ? 
 
 Uri. Come, speak promptly. 
 
 Cli. I must tell you then, Madam, that the princess, 
 your mother, was passing nearly alone through the forest, 
 by those little paths which are so pleasant, when a hideous 
 wild boar (those nasty wild boars always cause such disorders, 
 and they ought to be banished from well-kept forests), when, 
 I say, a hideous wild boar, driven at bay, I believe, by some 
 hunters, crossed the road where we were.^^ In order to 
 adorn my tale, I ought to give you an elaborate description 
 of the boar of which I speak ; but you will dispense with 
 it, if you please, and I shall content myself by telling you 
 that it was a formidable animal. It was going its way, and 
 it would have been as well not to meddle with it, to pick no 
 quarrel with it ; but the princess wished to show her 
 dexterity, and inflicted with her dart, which, with all re- 
 spect to her, she used somewhat untimely, quite a small 
 wound just above the ear. The boar, ill-behaved, imperti- 
 nently turned round on us : we were two or three wretches 
 there, who turned pale with fright ; each one made for his 
 tree, and the princess, defenceless, remained exposed to the 
 fury of the brute, when suddenly Sostrates appeared, as if 
 he had been sent by the gods. 
 
 Fri. Well ! Clitidas ? 
 
 Cli. If my story wearies you. Madam, I shall put off the 
 remainder till another time. 
 
 Uri. Finish quickly. 
 
 Cli. Indeed, it is quickly that I shall finish, for a little 
 bit of cowardice has prevented me from noticing all the 
 details of the struggle ; and all that I can tell you is, that, 
 
 16 In The Princess of Elis (see Vol. III.), a wild boar threatens also 
 the life of the Princess, and terribly frightens Moron, who is even a 
 greater coward than Clitidas.
 
 246 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act v. 
 
 returning to the spot, we found the boar dead, weltering 
 in his blood ; and the princess full of joy, proclaiming Sos- 
 trates her deliverer, and the worthy and fortunate husband 
 whom the gods destined for you. At these words, I thought 
 that I had heard enough, and I hastened, before every one 
 else, to come and bring you the news. 
 
 Eri. Ah ! Clitidas, could you have given me any that 
 was more agreeable ? 
 
 Cli Here they come to look for you. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Aristione, Sostrates, Eriphila, Clitidas. 
 
 Aris. I see, daughter, that you already know everything 
 that we can tell you. You see that the gods have explained 
 themselves sooner than we thought : my danger has not 
 been long in revealing their wishes to us ; and it will be suffi- 
 ciently clear that it is they who have interfered with this 
 choice, since merit alone shines out in this selection. Can 
 you have any repugnance to reward with your heart one 
 to whom I owe my life ? and would 3^ou refuse Sostrates for 
 your husband ? 
 
 Eri. Both from the hands of the gods and from yours, 
 Madam, I could receive no gift more agreeable to me. 
 
 (Sfo.s. Heaven ! is not this some dream replete with glory, 
 with which the gods wish to flatter me ? and shall not some 
 wretched awakening replunge me into the misery of my fate ? 
 
 SCENE HI. 
 
 Aristione, Eriphila, Sostrates, Cleonice, Clitidas. 
 
 Cleon. Madam, I have come to tell you that, till now, 
 Anaxarchus has been deceiving both princes, by holding out 
 the hope that the selection would take place, for which they
 
 sciv.] THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 247 
 
 have been waiting so long ; and that, at the riiraoiTr of your 
 accident, they have both given way to their resentment 
 against him, to that extent that, from words to words, matters 
 have become more warm, and lie has received some wounds, 
 of which the issue is very uncertain. But here they come. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Aristione, Eriphila, Iphicrates, Timocles, Sostrates, 
 
 Cleonice, Clitidas. 
 
 Avis. You both act with too great a violence, princes ; 
 and if Anaxarchus has offended you, I was the one to do you 
 justice. 
 
 Iph. And Avhat justice, Madam, could you have done us 
 with him, seeing that you give so little consideration to our 
 rank in the choice which you make ? 
 
 Aris. Did you not both submit to what the decrees of 
 Heaven, or the inclination of my daughter, might decide in 
 this matter i 
 
 Tim. Yes, Madam, we submitted to what they might 
 decide between prince Iphicrates and myself, but not to 
 find both of us repulsed. 
 
 Aris. And if each of you could have submitted to see 
 the other preferred, what has occurred for which you should 
 not be prepared ? and what difference can the interests of 
 his rival make to either the one or the other ? 
 
 Ijjh. Yes, Madam, it does make a difference. It is 
 some consolation to see a man equal to one's self preferred ; 
 but your bliudness is a frightful matter. 
 
 Aris. Prince, I do not wish to fall out with one who has 
 been so gracious as to pay me many compliments ; and I 
 pray you, with all possible honesty, to base your grief upon 
 a more reasonable foundation ; to remember, if you please, 
 that Sostrates is invested with a worth which has shown
 
 248 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. [act v. 
 
 itself to all Greece, and that the rank to which Heaven 
 raises him to-day, will fill up every gulf which has existed 
 between him and you. 
 
 I2)h. Yes, yes. Madam, we shall remember it. But 
 perhaps you will please also to remember that two outraged 
 princes are not two enemies to be lightly overlooked. 
 
 Tim.. Perhaps, Madam, the joy of having despised us 
 will not be tasted long in peace. 
 
 Avis. I forgive all these threats for the sake of the grief for 
 an affection which believes itself insulted ; and we shall not 
 the less assist at the feast of the Pythian games with the 
 utmost tranquillity. Let us go there immediately, and let 
 us crown, by this glorious spectacle, this marvellous day. 
 
 .S7AT// INTERLUDE 
 
 WHICH IS THE SOLEMNITY OF THE PYTHIAN GAMES. 
 
 The scene represents a great hall in the form of an amphitheatre 
 opening upon a grand arcade at the farther end, above which is a tribune, 
 closed by a curtain, and in the distance is seen an altar prepared for 
 sacrifice. Six men, dressed as if they were almost naked, each carrying 
 a hatchet on his shoulder, as if they were going to sacrifice, enter by 
 the portico, to the sound of violins, and are followed by two sacrificers 
 who play, by a friestess also playing, and by their suite. 
 
 The Priestess. 
 
 Sing in thousand spots, ye people, sing 
 
 The brilliant marvels of the god wliom we serve ; 
 
 Range Heaven and earth : 
 
 No song so precious you could sing 
 
 Nothinof so dulcet to the ear. 
 
 "O 
 
 A Greek Woman. 
 
 Nothing resists this god 
 
 So full of charm, this god so full of strength.
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 24-9 
 
 Another Greek Woman. 
 
 Nothing on earth exists 
 Except by his goodness. 
 
 Another Greek Woman. 
 
 AH the earth is sad 
 When he is not seen. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Let us to his memory sing 
 Such touching concerts, 
 That from, his glory's height, 
 He may listen to our song. 
 
 First Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Six men carrying hatchets execute among themselves a dance 
 exhibiting all the postures in icMch strength can be expressed ; then they 
 file off to the two sides of tJie stage to make room for six vaulters. 
 
 Second Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Six vaulters sliow, to music, their sJcill upon wooden horses, tvhich are 
 brougJit bij slaves. 
 
 Third Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Four leaders of slaves bring in, to music, twelve slams, who dance and 
 show their joy at Jiaving recovered their freedom. 
 
 Fourth Entry of the Bcdlet. 
 
 Four men and four icomen, armed in the Greelc fashion, execute a 
 kind of assault at arms. 
 
 The tribune opens. A herald, six trumpeters, and a kettle-drum 
 player, joining the other instruments, proclaim, tvith great noise, the 
 arrival of Apollo. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Let us all open our eyes 
 To the supreme brilliancy 
 Which flashes in these places.
 
 250 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 
 
 What extreme grace ! 
 What glorious bearing ! 
 Where else can gods be seen 
 Fashioned as he is. 
 
 Apollo, to the sound of trumpets and violins, enters hy the jmiico, 
 preceded hy six young men, rcho hear laurel wreathed round a stick, and 
 a golden sun at the top, loith the royal device in the form of a trophy. 
 The six yotmg men, in order to dance with Apollo, give their trophy to 
 the six men with hatchets to take care of, and begin, with Apjollo, a lieroic 
 dance, in ivhich there joins, in various attitudes, the six men carrying the 
 trophy, the four ivomen with their cymhals, and the four m,en with their 
 drums, while the six trumjieters, the kettle-drum player, the sacrificers, the 
 priestess, and the chm'us of music accompany all this, joining it at dif- 
 ferent intervals ; which finishes the Pythian games, and the whole enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Fifth and Last Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Apollo, and six young men of his suite, chorus of music. 
 
 <•" — ■ - ■ ■ ■ • 
 
 For the king representing the sun. 
 
 I ara the source of all lioht ; 
 And the most vaunted stars, _ 
 Whose beauteous circle is around me, 
 Are only brilliant and respected, 
 By the splendour which I give them. 
 
 From the car on which I sit, 
 I see the wish to behold me 
 Shared by the whole of nature ; 
 And the wide world has but its hope 
 In the sole blessings of my light. 
 
 Very happy everywhere, 
 And full of exquisite wealth, 
 The lands on which I throw 
 The sweet caresses of my glances ! '" 
 
 17 These verses are sufficiently fulsome. Can we wonder that Louis 
 XIV. thought himself made of a different clay from tlie rest of humanity \
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVERS. 2')! 
 
 For M. Le Grand, attendant of Aiwllo. 
 
 Though near the sun all other brilliancy must faxle. 
 One does not the"Tess desire to remainj: — 
 Andtlrus you see, that whatever he may do, _ 
 One always remains as near as possible to hi m. 
 
 For the Marquis De Villeroi, attendant of Apollo. 
 
 Fro m our incompa rable mas ter. 
 
 You behold me inseparable ; 
 
 Thepowerful zeal, whicETbinds me to his command 
 
 Fo llows him thr ough the waters and the flames. _ 
 
 For the Marquis de Rassent, attendant of Apollo. 
 
 ■Ljgoul d not be vain, if I did not believe 
 That another better than myself can follow his st eps 
 ev£ryaLlie¥©r
 
 LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME. 
 
 COMEDIE-BALLET. 
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAX. 
 
 COMEDY-BALLET IN FIVE ACTS. 
 (the original in prose, the interludes in verse.) 
 
 October L3th, 1670.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 On tlie 13tli of October, 1670, was played at Chambord, before the 
 court, The Citizen who apes the Nobleman,'^ and this play was repeated 
 on the 20th and 21st of the same month ; tlien at Saint Germain-en- 
 Laye on the 9th, 11th, and 13th of November. On the 23d of the latter 
 month, it was played for the first time at the Palais-Royal, and was 
 acted alternately with CorneiUe's Berenice from the 26th of the same 
 month. Moliere's comedy was represented twenty-four times, until the 
 theatre closed for Easter. 
 
 In M. Jourdain, Moliere attacks a folly more pre-eminently Gallic 
 than any other — the folly of strutting about in the dress of a Mama- 
 mouchi — of becoming a somebody, of wearing a nice embroidered coat, 
 of being the cjniosure of an admiring set of gajaers. The desire of 
 showing off one's personal air and graces ; of pretending to be more 
 than one really is ; of taking a title to wliich one has no right : of 
 wearing a coloured ribband whicli one is not entitled to fasten to one's 
 button-hole ; of pluming one's self on imaginary intellectual or amatory 
 conquests, was, and is still, characteristically French ; — and something 
 like an epitome of these follies may be seen in Moliere's citizen. The 
 purse-proud vulgarian, who desires to ally himself to a noble family, 
 is to be found in all countries. 
 
 Doraute, the representative nobleman, is in this play not much better 
 than the bumptious citizen. He is not so insolent as Don Juan, nor 
 most probably so well liorn ; but he is mean enough to borrow 
 money from a man whom he despises and mocks ; bad enough to let that 
 man pay for the entertainments and presents which he offers to the 
 
 1 It is difficult to give the correct meaning of the French title, Le Bourgeois 
 Gentilhomme. Mr Ozell translates it The Gentleman Cit, which to my mind gives 
 the idea of a yentlemau who was also a citizen. In the translation of the select 
 Comedies, published in 1732, and afterwards brought out in ten volumes, this 
 play is called The Cit hirned Gentleman, which is not con-ect, for Monsieur Jour- 
 dain never became a gentleman. Besides, in Moliere's time the word fjentilhomme 
 indicated a certain noble descent or rank, and was also bestowed upon the holders 
 of some offices ; in the same sense as we even say now in English, " the Honour- 
 able Corps of Gen tlenien-at- Arms." M. Jourdain was not a noble by manners or 
 birth, but does his best to imitate one. I first intended to call the play The 
 Citizen who u-ould become a Nobleman; but Jourdain does not desire to be en- 
 nobled, but only strives to imitate the man of quality's elegant manners, splendid 
 apparel, loose way of living, and learning.
 
 256 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 object of his love ; and sufficiently a scoundrel to pretend to pander to 
 Jourdain'a worst vices. Such a character was not improbable ; and 
 many of the courtly gallants who listened to the remarks of Do- 
 rante might have thought himself pourtrayed, and felt jjerhaps flattered 
 by the delineation. The Memoir es of the Count de Grammont prove at- 
 least that cheating at play, and defrauding even with violence, were not 
 unknown to the courtiers of Louis XIV. 
 
 Dorimene and Mrs Jourdain offer also a pretty contrast. The first 
 is a titled widow of some experience who has seen the world, but who 
 pretends to be innocence itself, and who does not at all suspect that the 
 presents which her swindling lover give, come from the old idiot who 
 is in love with her. The second is an honest but rather common-place 
 woman, endowed with a good deal of shrewd common-sense, nearly 
 always right in her remarks ; although wrong in the way of express- 
 ing herself. Mrs Jourdain has been compared to Teresa, the wife of 
 Sancho Panza, the worthy squire of Don Quixote, and it is certain that 
 they who will read the fifth chapter of the second part of that celebrated 
 Spanish novel, may discover a great analogy between the domestic con- 
 sultation of Sancho and his wife about the marriage of their daughter 
 Mary, whom Sancho refuses to give to Lope, " old Joan Tocho's son, a 
 hale jolly young fellow," and whom he wishes to marry a nobleman. 
 
 It has been said that Moliere intended to sketch, in M. Jourdain, a 
 certain hat manufacturer, Gandouin, who had sjjent fifty thousand 
 crowns with a woman whom Moliere knew, afterwards tried to 
 commit a murder, and was locked up in a lunatic asylum, whence he 
 escaped. But all this is mere guess-work ; for Moliere simply formed 
 one fool from the many who surrounded him, and put him upon the 
 stage, as a lesson for others. 
 
 It has also been mentioned that Moliere invented the reception of 
 Jourdain as Mamamouchi, in order to avenge Louis XIV. for an im- 
 aginary slight which the Turkish ambassador is supposed to have done 
 to the King, by saying that the Sultan had more precious stones on 
 the trappings of his horse than there were on the royal dress ; and 
 that the only remark which that ambassador made when he saw the 
 Citizen's investiture, was, " that the bastinado was always apjilied to 
 the soles of the feet, and not to the back." This again appears to be a 
 mere piece of groundless gossip ; for the Turkish ambassador extra- 
 ordinary, Muta Ferrace, had left on the 29th of May 1670, and The. 
 Citizen who apes the Nobleman was not rejiresented until the 13th of 
 October of the same year. Moreover, according to the Me'moires of the 
 Chevalier d'Arvieux, who had lived twelve years in the Levant, and 
 spoke Turkish and Arabic perfectly well, it was the King himself 'who 
 had ordered him to arrange with Moliere and Lulli about the di'esses, 
 manners, and customs of the Turks for the play of The Citizen luho apes 
 the Nobleman. To him we owe also the few Turkish and Arabic 
 words which are found there.
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 257 
 
 The giillability of M. Jourdain in being made a Mamanuiuclii may 
 appear incredible ; but sixteen years after the first representation of this 
 play, a certain Abbe de Saint Martin was jjersuaded that the Emperor 
 of Siam had sent an embassy to France, to create him a mandarin and 
 Marquess of Miskou ; and he received his new dignity with ceremonies 
 still more extraordinary than those employed for our Citizen. And be- 
 sides, does not every day produce sufficient evidence that credulity 
 knows no bounds, and that in the financial, social, political, and even 
 literary world, nothing is easier to discover than " blind belief ] " There 
 are many people wandering about only too anxious to be literally and 
 figuratively basted and roasted. 
 
 LuUi composed the music for this comedy, and played the part of 
 the IMufti ; but this gave great offence to the secretaries of the king, of 
 whom LuUi wished to be one, and they incited M. de Louvois to speak 
 to the Italian miisician. The minister did so, and said that he was 
 astonished that "a mere musician, whose only service was to make the 
 king laugh, could aspire to become one of tliat monarch's secretaries." 
 " You would do the same, if you could," replied LuUi. However, Louis 
 XIV. had only to say one word, and the musician was elected. 
 Nay, more, he gave his colleagues a splendid repast, aiid afterwards 
 invited them to come at the representation of The Triumph of Love, 
 then playing at the Opera. M. de Louvois, meeting Lulli sometime 
 afterwards in the Gallery of Versailles, said to him, with a grim 
 smile, " Good morning, colleague." 
 
 Tradition says that Louis XIV., during the first representation of 
 Moliere's comedy, did not utter a single word, nor give any sign that 
 he was satisfied. The courtiers therei;pon fell foul of the dramatist, 
 said that his vein was exhausted, that his hala hala hala chou proved 
 his poverty of invention, and showed at the same time that he mistook 
 them for fools. During the seven days which passed between the first 
 and second representations Moliere kept his room at Chaubord, and sent 
 Baron to find out what was thought of his piece ; but the latter brought 
 back always bad tidings. After the second rejoresentation, the King said 
 to Moliere : " I have not spoken to you about your play since it was first 
 performed, because I was afraid of being prejudiced by the way in 
 which it was acted ; but, really, Moliere, you have as yet not written 
 anything which has amused me more, and your piece is excellent ! " 
 Immediately, the courtiers began to stammer forth a chorus of praises, 
 declared that Moliere was inimitable, and that he had more comic power 
 than all the ancients taken together ! 
 
 In the second volume of the translations of " the select Comedies of 
 M. de Moliere," this play, under the title of The Cit turned Gentleman, 
 is dedicated to His Koyal Highness, the Duke, in the following 
 words : — 
 
 Sir, — The following Attempt to make the Burgeois of Moliere .speak English, 
 implores Your Royal High>'ESs's Acceptance and Patronage. Your Name is 
 V. E
 
 258 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 Ornamental, and will be auspicious to the Work ; For who sees, or hears, or but 
 reads of the Duke of Cumberland without Pleasure ? 
 
 That Fair Form, SiE, which so much captivates the Eye, that Sweetness and 
 Condescension, which so strongly engage the Heart, tho' most conspicuous, are 
 look'd upon as Graces of an inferior Rank, in Your Royal Highness, by those 
 who have the Honour to be near Your Person. 
 
 They see you copy, Sir, the Princely Virtues of the Royal Pair, who gave you 
 Birth ; and prove You more lovely in Your Mind than in Your Person. They 
 have almost ceas'd to wonder at that quick Apprehension, that nice Discernment, 
 that delicate Taste, which have so often surpriz'd and prevented Your Preceptors. 
 You no less charm the Public, Sir, whether You appear in the Courtly Circle, 
 or at the Head of Your little Military Company, marshalling and training that 
 Band of blooming Heroes, whose Names, under Yours, may adorn future 
 Histories : Or, whether You show Your Skill and Address in the Menage, by 
 provoking, curbing, and mastering the generous Steed. 
 
 Think, YouNG Prince, what a Figure our Imaginations represent You as 
 making hereafter, in our Fleets, our Armies, or our Councils ; and aspire to the 
 arduous Task of rising above our Expectations. 
 
 In the meantime. Sir, when relax'd from Your Princely Studies, and Exercises, 
 Mollere waits upon You to divert You with his CiT : An Author justly grown to 
 the Authority of a classic ; than whom none understood or copy'd Nature better ; 
 as pure in his Moral as he is terse in his Wit ; whose Writings therefore can be 
 no improper Entertainment for a Young Prince of Virtue and Genius. The Folly 
 and Affectation of a Cit tuni'd Oentleman , is what Your Royal Highness cannot 
 fail of observing about a Court ; and as the Original has given you Diversion, so 
 'tis hop'd, will a Copy drawn at full Length by Moliere. 
 
 The Translator of this Piece, Sir, presumes to affirm that the Text of Moliere 
 presents it self to Your Royal Highness more correct and beautiful than it ever 
 yet appear'd. But he is too conscious of the fine Taste Your Highness has 
 already in both Languages, and his own Imperfections, to aspire to any thing 
 more than Your Amusement, by giving You an Opportunity of judging how hard 
 it is to transplant the Beauties of Moliere, or to hit the Delicacy of his Sentiments, 
 in any other Language or Words than his own. 
 
 The Persons, Sir, for whose Use this Work is chiefly calculated, are such who 
 neither want the Taste, nor the good Sense to be charm 'd with Moliere, yet are 
 not Masters enough of his Language to read him without Assistance, to whom, 
 that He may have the strongest Recommendation, Your Royal Higuness's 
 Name is presum'd to be plac'd at the Head of this Piece, hoping that Good- 
 ness, which is so natural to You, will pardon this Presumption in, — Sir, Your 
 Royal Hi(]kiiess's 7>iost Deooted, most Ohedient, Hvmhle Serrant, 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
 Eavenscroft has imitated Moliere's play in his Mamamouchi ; or the 
 Citizen turned Gentleman ; (see Introductory Notice to M. de Pour- 
 ccaugnac, Vol. V., p. Ill) ; and also in his Scaramouche, a Philosopher, 
 Harlequin a School Boy, Bravo, Merchant and Magician. (See Intro- 
 ductory Notice to The Forced Marriage, Vol. II., p. 329.) In Eavens- 
 croft's first play, which is dedicated to Prince Rupert, and is a medley 
 of M. de Povrceaugnac and The Citizen who apes the Nohlenian, it is 
 Lucia the daughter who takes the part of the Master of Philosophy. In 
 his second play he makes use of whatever he did not emi)loy of Moliere's 
 comedy in his Mamamouchi.
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 2o9 
 
 Farquhar, in his Love and a Bottle, acted at Drurj'-Laue Theatre 
 in 1699, has partly imitated M. Jourdain in " Mockmode, a young 
 Squire, come newly from the University, and setting up for a Beau ; " 
 and the scenes between the Squire, Rig;\doon, the dancing-master, and 
 Nimblewrist, a fencing-master, appear to be freely followed from 
 Moliere's comedy. 
 
 Foote's The Commissary, acted at the Hajinarket in 1765, is also 
 borrowed partly from Moliere. Zachary Fungus had acquired a large 
 fortune as a Commissary in Germany, and though a man of low birth, 
 wishes to be made a complete gentleman. For this purpose he places 
 himself under several masters, Mr Gruel and Dr Catgut, — by whom it 
 is said Dr Arne was meant, — and these scenes are certainly more or less 
 borrowed from Moliere. The Commissary's brother Isaac is also partly 
 an imitation of Madam Jourdain. The fencing scene (Act ii.. Scene 1) be- 
 tween the Commissary and Mrs Mechlin, is nearly identical with the 
 scene between M. Jourdain and Nicole (Act iii., Scene 3), in Moliere's 
 play. 
 
 There exists also an alteration of Moliere's pLay, called, He would he a 
 Lord, a comedy in three acts, in prose, published in 1874, adapted for 
 male characters, and which is a curiosity in its way. It appeal's to have 
 been arranged for Eoman Catholic boys' schools. Instead of Madam 
 Jourdain we have "George, brother to M. Jourdain;" Nicole becomes 
 "Nicholas," and Cleonte, Captain Dubar. The pupil of the music- 
 master sings in the first act a song to the air of " Tara's Halls," of which 
 the last four lines are : — 
 
 " I\ly eye runs wet when niem'ry brings 
 Thy imagfe to my soul, 
 And hounds my heart, whene'er I see. 
 The jjieture of thy pole." 
 
 M. JouKlain sings to the festive tune of " We'U not g\) home until 
 morning," the song " Malbrougli has gone to war," etc. The scene in 
 which M. Jourdain is made a Mamamouchi is omitted, as well as several 
 others. When the marriage-contract has been signed, in which, of 
 course, the chief character, Lucile, being a young lady, is absent, M. 
 Jourdain discovers that his daughter has not married the son of the 
 Grand Turk, but Gustavns Dubar. He endeavours to refuse his consent, 
 is threatened by the notary with " ten yeai-s' imprisonment in Cayenne 
 and perpetual degradation," is taken prisoner by "an officer" on a 
 charge of procuring and wearing a dress worn only and exclusively by 
 the peers of France, is accused of " high treason, and that means death," 
 imagines that he is shot dead, and falls down ; and finally accepts 
 Captain Dubar as his son-iu-law.
 
 DEAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 m THE 
 
 Mr Jourdain, citizen.'^ 
 Cleonte, in love with Lucille. 
 DoRANTE, a count, Dorimhne's 
 
 love? . 
 CoviELLE, CUonte's valet. 
 A Teacher of Music. 
 A Pupil of the Teacher of 
 
 Music. 
 A Dancing-Master. 
 
 IN THE 
 
 First Act. 
 A Female Musician. 
 Two Musicians. 
 Dancers. 
 
 Second Act. 
 Dancing Tailor's Assistants. 
 
 Third Act. 
 Dancing Cooks. 
 
 Fourth Act (Turkish Interlude). 
 The Mufti. 
 Turks, the Mufti's Assistants 
 
 {Singing). 
 Singing Dervishes. 
 Dancing Turks. 
 
 Fifth Act {Ballet of Nations). 
 A Distributor of Books 
 {Dancing). 
 
 Scene — Paris, in M, 
 
 COMEDY. 
 
 A Fencing-Master. 
 
 A Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 A Master Tailor. 
 
 His Assistant. 
 
 Two Lacqueys. 
 
 Mrs Jourdain. 
 
 LuciLE, Jourdnin's daughter. 
 
 Dorimene, a marchioness. 
 
 Nicole, Jourdain's maid servant. 
 
 BALLET. 
 
 Hangers-on {Dancing). 
 Troop of Spectators {Singing.) 
 First and Second Man, 
 First and Second AYoman. 
 First and Second Gascon. 
 A Swiss. 
 
 An Old Chattering Citizen. 
 An Old Chattering Female 
 
 Citizen. 
 Singing and Dancing 
 
 Spaniards. 
 An Italian Man and Woman. 
 Two Sprites, 
 Two Jesters. 
 Harlequin. 
 Two Poitevins {Singing and 
 
 Dancing). 
 Men and Wojien {Poitevins 
 
 Singing and Dancing). 
 Jourdain's House. 
 
 2 Moliere played this part himself. In the Inventory, taken after his death, 
 we find: — "A striped dressing gown, lined with deep yellow and green taffeta, 
 breeches of red plush, a morning jacket of blue plush, a night-cap and a skull- 
 cap, hose and a scarf of linen, painted like chintz, a Tui'kish waistcoat and tur- 
 ban, a sword, hose of flowered silk also ornamented with green and deep yellow 
 ribbands and two Sedan laces. The doublet of green taffeta, ornamented with 
 imitation silver lace. The belt, green silk stockings and gloves, with a hat with dark 
 yellow and green feathers." M. Soulie justly remarks that M. Jourdain "showed 
 his music-master his tight red velvet breeches and his green velvet jacket ; and 
 that therefore the valuer must have made a mistake in the inventory."
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 (LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME.) 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 [The overture is played by a great viany mstriiminits ; and in the middle 
 of the stage, the ])^ipil of the music-master is busy composing a 
 sereiuide, oi'dered by 31. Jownkmi.] 
 
 A Music-Master, A Dancing-Master, Three Musicians, 
 Two Violin Players, Four Dancers, 
 
 Mus.-Mas. [To the Musicians] Come^_ retire _into that, 
 room, and rest_your selves until he^ comes. 
 " Dan.-Mas. [To the Dancers] And you also, on that side. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. [To his Pupil] Is it done ? 
 
 Pup. Yes. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Let me look. . . . That is right. 
 
 Dan. -Mas. It is something new ? 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Yes, it is an air for a serenade, which I made 
 him compose here, while waiting till our gentleman is 
 awake. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. May one have a look at it? 
 
 Mus.-Mas. You shall hear it by-and-by with the dia- 
 logue, when he comes ; he will not be long. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Our occupations, yours and mine, are no small 
 matter just at present. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. True : we have both of us found here the 
 very man whom we want. It is a nice little income for us
 
 26-t THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE XOBLEM AN. [act i. 
 
 this Mr Jourdain, with his notions of nobility and gallantry, 
 which he has taken into his head ; and your dancing and my 
 music might wish that everyone were like him. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Not quite ; and I should like him to be 
 more of a judge than he is, of the things we provide for 
 him. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. It is true that he knows little about them, 
 but he pays well ; and that is what our arts require just 
 now above aught else. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. As for myself, I confess, I hunger somewhat 
 after glory. I am fond of applause, and I think that, in all 
 the fine arts, it is an annoying torture to have to exhibit 
 before fools, to have one's compositions subjected to the bar- 
 barism of a stupid man. Do not argue ; there is a delight 
 in having to work for people who are capable of appreciating 
 the delicacy of an art, who know how to give a sweet recep- 
 tion to the beauties of a work, and who, by approbations which 
 tickle one's fancy, reward one fur his labour. Yes, the most 
 pleasant recompence one can receive for the things which 
 one does, is to find them understood, and made much of by 
 applause which does one honour. There is nothing, in my 
 opinion, that pays us better for all our troubles; and 
 enlightened praises are exquisitely sweet.^ 
 
 Mus.-Mas. I quite agree with you, and I enjoy them 
 as much as you do. Assuredly, there is nothing that tickles 
 our fancy more than the applause you speak of; but such 
 incense does not give us our livelihood. Praise pure and 
 simple does not provide for a rainy day : there must be 
 .something solid mixed withal ; and the best way to praise is 
 to put one's hand in one's pocket. M. Jourdain is a man, 
 
 3 The dancing-master speaks in the language of tlie Pr^cieiises. 
 Dancing-masters were held in higli estimation at the ccnirt of Louis 
 XIV.; hence it was not so strange, as it would ai)pear at the present 
 time, to have a dancing-master prefer praise to money.
 
 sc. II.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 2G5 
 
 it is true, whose knowledge is very small, who discourses 
 at random upon all things, and never applauds but at the 
 wrong time ; but his money makes up for his bad judg- 
 ment ; he has discernment in his purse ; his praises are 
 minted, and this ignorant citizen is of more value to us, as 
 you see, than the great lord who introduced us here. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. There is some truth in what you say; but 
 I think you make a little too much of money ; and the 
 interest in it is something so grovelling, that no gentleman 
 ought ever to show any attachment to it. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. You are glad enough, however, to receive the 
 money which our gentleman gives you. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Assuredly ; but I do not make it my whole 
 happiness ; and I could wish that with all his wealth he had 
 also some good taste. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. I could wish the same; and that is what we 
 are aiming at both of us. But, in any case, he gives us the 
 means of becoming known in the world ; and he shall pay 
 for others, and others shall applaud for him. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Here he comes. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 M. JouRDAiN \in dressing-goivn and night-cap], Music- 
 Master, Dancing-Master, Pupil of Music-Master, 
 A Female Musician, Two Musicians, Dancers, 
 Two Lacqueys. 
 
 M. Jour. Well, gentlemen ! What is it ? Will you show 
 me your little drollery ? 
 
 Dan.-Mas. How now ! What little drollery ? 
 
 M. Jour. Eh ! the . . . What do you call it ? Your 
 prologue or dialogue of songs and dancing. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Mus.-Mas. We are quite prepared.
 
 266 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act i. 
 
 M. Jour. I have kept you waiting a little ; but that is 
 because I am to be dressed to-day like your people of 
 quality ; and my tailor has sent me some silk stockings 
 which I thought I would never get on. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. We ai-e here only to await your leisure. 
 
 M. Jour. I pray you both not to go away until my 
 dress has been brought, so that you may see it. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Whatever may please you. 
 
 M. Jour. You shall see me equipped in style, from head 
 to foot. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. We do not doubt it. 
 
 M. Jour. I have had this chintz dressing-gown made 
 for me. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. It is very handsome. 
 
 M. Jour. My tailor told me that people of quality wear 
 one like this in the morning. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. It becomes you marvellously. 
 
 M. Jour. Fellows ! hullo ! where are my two lac- 
 queys ? 
 
 1st Lac. What do you wish, Sir ? 
 
 M. Jour. Nothing. It is only to see whether you hear 
 me readily. [To the Music-Master and Dancing-Master^ 
 What do you think of my liveries ? 
 
 Dan.-Mas. They are magnificent. 
 
 M. Jour. [Partly opening his dress ing-goiun, and 
 shoiving his tight scarlet velvet breeches, and green velvet 
 morning jacket^ This is a kind of undress to go about in 
 the morning. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. It is charming. 
 
 M. Jour. Fellow ! 
 
 Ist Lac. Sir ? 
 
 M. Jour. The other fellow ! 
 
 2d Lac. Sir ? 
 
 M. Jour. [Taking his dressing-gown off] Hold my
 
 sc. Ti.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 267 
 
 gown. [To the Mumc-Master and Dancing- Mastei'] Do 
 you think I look well like this ? 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Very well indeed ; it could not be better. 
 
 M. Jour. Now let us have a look at this matter of 
 yours. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. I should like you to hear beforehand an air 
 which [Pointing to his 2)upil] he has composed just now 
 for the serenade which you asked of me. He is one of my 
 pupils, who has an admirable talent for this kind of thing. 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, but you ought not to have left this to a 
 pupil ; and you were not too good for this business yourself. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. You must not let the name of pupil impose 
 upon you, Sir. These sort of pupils know as much as the 
 greatest masters ; and the air is as beautiful a one as could 
 be composed. Only listen. 
 
 M. Jour. [To his lacqueys^ Hand me my gown, so that 
 I may hear better . . . Stay, I think I shall be better 
 without it. No, give it me back again; that will be best. 
 
 Fein. M. I languish night and day, past bearing is 
 my pain, 
 Since those fair eyes imposed their cruel 
 
 chain. 
 If thus, fair Iris, you treat those who love 
 
 you, 
 Alas ! what could you do to your enemies. 
 
 M. Jour. This song seems to me somewhat lugubrious; 
 it sends one to sleep, and I should like you to enliven it a 
 little here and there. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. It is necessary that the air should be suited 
 to the words. Sir. 
 
 M. Jour. Somebody taught me a very pretty one a 
 little while ago. Wait a moment .... the . . . How 
 is it? 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Really, I do not know.
 
 y 
 
 268 THE CITIZEX WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act i. 
 
 M. Jour. There is a sheep in it. 
 
 Dan.- Mas. A sheep ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes. Ah ! \He sings] — 
 
 I fancied my Jenny, 
 
 As gentle as fair ; 
 
 I fancied my Jenny, 
 
 More gentle than a sheep. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 
 She is a hundred times, 
 
 A thousand times more cruel 
 
 Than a tisjer in the woods. 
 Is it not pretty ? 
 
 Mns.-Mas. The prettiest thing in the world. 
 Dan.-Mas. And you sing it well. 
 M. Jour. And that without having learnt music. 
 Mus.-Mas. You ought to learn it, Sir, as you d o 
 dancing. They are two arts which ^"^^ plnaoly Ijound to- 
 
 Dan.-Mas. And which open a man's mind to the 
 beauty of things. 
 
 M. Jour. Do people of quality learn music too ? 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Yes, Sir. 
 
 M. Jour. I shall learn it then. But I do not know 
 what time I could take for it ; for besides the fencing-master 
 who teaches me, I have engaged a professor of philosophy 
 who is to begin this morning, 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Philosophy is something, but music. Sir, 
 music . . '. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Music and dancing . . . Music and dancing, 
 that is all that is necessary. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. There is nothing so useful in a State as 
 
 y jnusic. 
 
 Dan.-Mas . There is nothing so neces sary to men as 
 dancing.
 
 sc. 11.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 269 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Without music, a State cannot exist. 
 Dan.-Mas. With ou "tHanci u ir, a man can do nothino-. 
 Mus.-Mas. All the disorders, all the wars that occur 
 
 in the world, happen because people have not l earned 
 music. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. All the misfortunes of mankind, all the sad 
 reverses with which history is tilled, the~~poTiIiMr"1jlun(feTgr 
 .th e^ misc arriage of great commanders, all this comes froin 
 want of skill in dancing. 
 
 M. JawF. How" is that ? 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Does not war proceed from want of concord 
 among men ? 
 
 M. Jour. That is true. « 
 
 Mus.-Mas. And if every one were to learn music, would 
 that not be the means of harmonising together, and of 
 seeing universal peace inTthe world ? 
 
 31. Jour. You are right. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. When a man has committed an error in his 
 
 i/ 
 
 conduct, be it in family affairs, or in t he government 6f~a" 
 State, or in the command of an army, is it not alway s 
 said : So-an d-so has made a false step in such-and-such an 
 Jif[air? ■ 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, that is what people say. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. And ca n a false step_^groce ed from aught else 
 th an from not knowing how to dance? 
 
 M. Jour. That is true, and you are right, both of 
 you. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. That will show you the excellence and the 
 utility of dancing and music.^ 
 
 * It is said that Marcel, a well-known male dancer of the last centiuy, 
 pretended to know a politician by his stejis in dancing ; and that Vestris, 
 another gentleman of the same profession, and of neaiiy the same 
 jjeriod, said in a serious manner, " There are only three gi'eat men in 
 Europe : the King of Prussia, Voltaire, and myself."
 
 270 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act i. 
 
 M. Jour. I perceive it at a glance. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Will you look at our two compositions ? 
 
 M. Jovur. Yes. 
 
 Mils. -Mas. I have already told you that it is a short 
 essay that I composed formerly upon the different passions 
 which music can express. 
 
 M. Jour. Very well. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. [To the MusiciaAis] Come, step forward. [To 
 M. Jourdaiii] You ar e to imagine that they are dressed a s 
 shepherds. 
 
 M. Jour. Why always as shepherds ? Nothing else is 
 seen anywhere. 
 
 DoTL-^Ias. When we have to make people speak in 
 music, it is necessary that, for probability's sake, we take to 
 the pastoral. Song has from the earliest times been a ffected 
 by shepherds ; and it is not at all nat ur al that princes or 
 c itizens should sing their passions in dialogue.^ 
 
 M. Jour. Proceed, proceed. Let us see Avhat it is. 
 
 DIALOGUE IN MUSIC. 
 
 .^ 
 
 A FEMALE MUSICIAN AND TWO MALE MUSICIANS. 
 
 Feyn. M. A heart, when under love's empire, 
 
 By thousand cares is always swayed. 
 
 It's said that people find a pleasure in languish- 
 ing, in sighing ; 
 
 But whatever may be said. 
 
 Nothing is so sweet as liberty. 
 Ist Mu.s. There's nought so sweet as the tender ardour 
 
 Which binds two hearts in self-same flame ; 
 
 ' This is a hit against the grand Italian opera which Mazarin had 
 introduced in 1645. Only one year ])cfore T/ie Citizen irho apes the 
 Nobleman was represented, the Academic romle de Musique had 
 been instituted.
 
 sc. 11.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 271 
 
 People cannot be happy without an amorous 
 passion ; 
 
 Take love away from life, 
 
 You take away its pleasures. 
 2d Mils. Sweet it would be to bow to love's sway 
 
 If constancy were to be found in love ; 
 
 But, alas ! severe cruelty ! 
 
 We see no faithful shepherdess ; 
 
 And this fickle sex, too unworthy to live, 
 
 Is the cause that we for ever abandon love. 
 Ist Mils. Amiable ardour ! 
 Fem. M. Happy independence ! 
 2d Mus. Deceitful sex ! 
 Ist Mus. How dear you are to me ! 
 Fem. M. How you delight my heart ! 
 2d Mus. How I abhor you ! 
 1st Mus. Abandon, for love, this mortal hate ! 
 Fe7)r. M. We can, we can show you 
 
 A faithful shepherdess. 
 2d Mus. Alas ! where could we see one now ? 
 Fem. M. In defence of our glory, 
 
 I offer you my heart. 
 2d Mus. But can I believe, shepherdess, 
 
 That you will not deceive me ? 
 Fem. M. Let us see, by experience. 
 
 Who of us two shall love best. 
 2d Mus. Whoever shall be inconstant, 
 
 May the gods punish him 1 
 A II three. Let our hearts be kindled 
 
 By so fair a flame ; 
 
 Ah ! how sweet it is to love, 
 
 When two hearts are faithful. 
 
 M. Jour. Is this all ? 
 Mus.-Mas. Yes. 
 
 M. Jour. I think it nicely arranged, and there are some 
 little sayings in it which are rather pretty. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Now for my share, a little essay of the
 
 272 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act ii. 
 
 nicest movements and the most beautiful attitudes with 
 which a dance can be varied. 
 
 M. Jour. Are they shepherds too ? 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Tliey will be what you please. [To the 
 Dancers] Come ! 
 
 ENTRY OF THE BALLET. 
 
 execiLJE -the.jumdo u fi m .niieinients and all kinds 
 
 of steps which the Dancing-Master orders them. 
 
 ACT II . SCENE I. 
 M. JouKDAiN, Music-Master, Dancing-Master.'' 
 
 M. Jour. This is not at all bad ; and these folks trip it 
 very well. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. When the dance shall be accompanied by the 
 music, it will have greater effect still ; and you shall see 
 something very gallant in the little ballet which we have 
 put together for you. 
 
 If. Jour. That will be for by-and-by, mind ! and the 
 personage for whom I have had all this arranged is to do 
 me the honour of coming to dine here. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Everything is ready. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Besides, Sir, this is not enough ; a person 
 like you, who are so splendid, and who have an inclination 
 for beautiful things, should have a concert at his house 
 every Wednesday or Thursday.^ 
 
 6 The acts of this play are separated by iuterhides ; but as the same 
 j^ersons are always on the stage, nothing would be easier tli;ui to unite 
 the five acts ; for Tlie Citizen who apes the Nohleinan is in reality a 
 comedy in one act, separated by entrees de ballet. In the official libretto, 
 it has oidy three acts, and the first "entry" does not <.livide the first 
 and second act. 
 
 ■ 7 These two days appear to have been sjjecially selected for private 
 jinisical parties, because then no representation took ])lace at the Ojiera. 
 Jiut in winter, the Thursday was an opera-night, and generally devoted 
 to the production of new i)ieces.
 
 sc. I.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 273 
 
 M. Jour. Do people of quality have it ? 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Yes, Sir. 
 
 M. Jour. Then I shall have it. Will it be nice ? 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Undoubtedly. You must have three voices, 
 a treble, a counter-tenor, and a bass, which must be accom- 
 panied by a bass viol, a theorbo-lute, and a harpsichord for 
 the thorough-basses, with two violins to play the refrains. 
 
 M. Jour. We ought also to have a trumpet-marine.^ 
 The trumpet-marine is an instrument that pleases me, and 
 is very harmonious. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Let us arrange matters. 
 
 31. Jour. At any rate, do not forget to send me some 
 musicians by-and-by to sing at table. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. You shall have all that is necessary. 
 
 31. Jour. But, above all, let the bal let be nic e. 
 
 3Ius.-Mas. You will be plea sed with it ; and, amon gst 
 other things, with certain minuets which you shall see in it. 
 
 M. Jour. Ah ! minuetsa re my dance, and 1 wish you 
 to s ee me perform one. Come, master. 
 
 Dan.-3Ias. A hat, Sir, if you please. [ii. Jourdain \ 
 takes the hat from his lacqucij, and ijuts~i.t onJheto^_of\ 
 his nig ht-cap, 'ihe teacher takefKold of his hands^mid. 
 makes him dance to a minuet air, which he hums.'] La, 
 la, la, la, la, la ^ la, la, la, la, la, la ^ la, la, la, la, la^ la j 
 la, la, la, la, la, la ; la, la, la, la, la. In time, if you 
 
 please. La, la, la, la, la. The right leg, la, la, la. Do 
 riot move your shoulders so much. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, 
 la, la, la. Your two arms are disabled. La, la, la, la, la. 
 Hold up your head. Turn the point of the foot outwards. 
 La, la, la. Your body erect. 
 
 M. Jour. Eh ! ^ 
 
 8 A trumpet-marine has nothing to do with the navy ; but it is an 
 ancient specimen of one-string instrument, played with a bow, and pro- 
 ducing a sound resembling that of a trumj^et.
 
 274 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act ii. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. It could Dot possibly be better. 
 
 M. Jour. While I think of it ! just teach me how 1 
 must bow to salute a marchioness ; I shall have occasion for 
 it by-and-by, 
 
 Dan.-Mas. A bow to salute a marchioness ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes. A marchioness whose name is Dorimene. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Give me your hand. 
 
 M. Jour. No. You just show me ; I shall remember 
 it quite well. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. If you wish to salute her with a great deal 
 of respect, you must first of all bow, stepping backward, 
 then come towards her, bowing three times, and at the last 
 one down to her very knees. 
 
 M. Jour. Just show me a little. [After the dancing- 
 master has made three hows'] Right. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 M. JoURDAiN, Music-Master, Dancing-Master, 
 
 A Lacquey. 
 
 Lac. Sir, your fencing-master is here. 
 
 M. Jour. Tell him to come in here to give me my lesson. 
 [To the Music and Dancing -Masters] I wish you to see 
 me at it. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 M. JouRDAiN, Fencing-Master, Music-Master, Dancing- 
 Master, Lacquey, carrying two foils. 
 
 Fen.-Mas. [After having taken tivo foils from the hand 
 of the lacquey, and having presented one to M. Jourdain] 
 Come, Sir, salute. Your body straight. Lean a little on 
 the left thigh. Your legs not so far from each other. Your 
 feet on the same line. Your wrist opposite your hip. The 
 point of your sword facing your shoulder. Your arm not
 
 sc. III.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 275 
 
 quite so straight. The left hand on a level with your 
 eye. The left shoulder more squared. Your head erect. 
 A bold look. Advance. Your body steady. Thrust carte, 
 and finish off the same. One, two. Kecover. Once more, 
 your feet firm. A leap back. When you make a pass, 
 your sword should be disengaged, and your body kept in 
 as much as possible. One, two, thrust tierce, and finish 
 the same. Advance, the body firm. Advance. Disengage. 
 One, two. Recover. Once more, one, two. A leap back. 
 Parry, parry, Sir. [The Fencing- Master mahes two or three 
 feints at him, in saying : parry.] 
 
 M. Jour. Eh ! 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Admirable. 
 
 Fen.-Mas. I have already told you, the whole secret of 
 fencing consists but in two things, to give and not to re- 
 ceive ; and as I showed you the other day by demonstrative 
 reason, it is impossible for you to be hit, if you know how 
 to turn the sword of your enemy from the line of your body ; 
 which depends only on a slight motion of the wrist, either 
 inwards or outwards. 
 
 M. Jour. In that manner, then, a man, without having 
 any courage, is sure of killing his man, and of not being 
 killed himself? 
 
 Fen.-Mas. Undoubtedly; did not you see it plainly 
 demonstrated ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes. 
 
 Fen.-Mas. And from this you may see what importance 
 we must be to the State ; and how highly the science of 
 arms excels all the other useless sciences, such as dancing, 
 music . . . 
 
 Dan-Mas. Gently, Mr fencing-master ! please not to 
 speak of dancing except with respect. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Learn, pray, to treat the excellence of music 
 somewhat better.
 
 276 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act ii. 
 
 Fen.-Mas. You are very funny people, truly, to wish to 
 compare your sciences to mine ! 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Just look at the importance of the man ! 
 
 Dan.-Mas. A funny animal, surely, with his plastron. 
 
 Fen.-Mas. My little dancing- master, I shall make you 
 dance properly directly. And you, little musician, I shall 
 make you sing prettily. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Master iron-beater, I shall teach you your 
 trade. 
 
 M. Jour. \To the Dancing -Master'] Are you mad to go 
 and seek a quarrel with him, who understands tierce and 
 carte, and who knows how to kill a man by demonstrative 
 reason ? 
 
 Dan.-Mas. I laugh at his demonstrative reason, and at 
 his tierce, and his carte. 
 
 M. Jour. {To the Dancing-Master'] Gently, I tell you ! 
 
 Fen.-Mas. \To the Dancing-Master] How ! you little 
 impertinent fellow ! 
 
 M. Jour. He ! Mr fencing-master. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. \To the Fencing -Master] How, you great 
 coach-horse ! 
 
 M. Jour. Eh ! Mr dancing-master ! 
 
 Fen.-Mas. If I were to fall upon you . , . 
 
 M. Jour. \To the Fencing-Master] Gently ! 
 
 Dan.-Mas. If I were to lay hands on you . . . 
 
 M. Jour. [To the Fencing -Master] Softly ! 
 
 Fen-Mas. I shall currycomb you in such a manner . . . 
 
 M. Jour. [To the Fencing-Master] Pray ! 
 
 Dan.-Mas. I shall drub you in such style . . . 
 
 M. Jour. [To the Dancing-Master] Let me beg of 
 you. . . . 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Just leave it to us to teach him how to 
 speak. 
 
 M. Jour. Good Heavens ! stop !
 
 sc. IV.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 277 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A Professor of Philosophy, M. Jourdain, Music-Mas- 
 ter, Dancing-Master, Fencing-Master, A Lacquey. 
 
 M. Jour. Hullo ! Mr Philosopher, you arrive just in 
 time with your philosophy. Pray, come and restore peace 
 a little between these people. 
 
 Pro. What is the matter then ? what is amiss, 
 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 M. Jour. They have got angry about the preference of 
 their professions to such an extent as to insult each other, 
 and to wish to come to blows. 
 
 Pro. How now, gentlemen ! is it right to get 
 
 angry in that way ? and have you not read the learned 
 treatise that Seneca has composed about anger ? Is there 
 aught more vile and shameful than this passion, which 
 changes man into a ferocious animal ? and ought reason not 
 to be the mistress of all our actions ? 
 
 Dan.- Mas. What, Sir ! he comes to insult us both, in 
 despising dancing which I practice, and music, which is his 
 profession ! 
 
 Pro. A wise man is above all the insults which one 
 
 caa give him ; and the great answer one ought to give to 
 all outrages, is moderation and patience. 
 
 Fen.-Mas. They both had the audacity to wish to com- 
 pare their professions to mine ! 
 
 Pro. Should that disturb you? Men should not 
 
 dispute about vain-glory and rank among themselves ; and 
 that which distinguishes us perfectly one from another, is 
 wisdom and virtue, 
 
 Dan.-Mas. I maintain to him that dancing is a science 
 to which too great an honour cannot be paid. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. And I, that music is one to which every age 
 has paid reverence.
 
 278 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act ii. 
 
 Fen.-Mas. And I, I maintain against them both that 
 the science of handling arms is the most beautiful and 
 necessary of all sciences. 
 
 Pro. And what will become of philosophy then ? 
 
 I think you all three very impertinent in speaking before me 
 with this arrogance, and in impudently applying the name 
 of science to things which ought not even to be honoured 
 with the name of art, and which can only be comprised 
 under the miserable trade of gladiator, singer, and mounte- 
 bank I 
 
 Fen.-Mas. Away with you, you philosophic cur. 
 
 Mus.-Mas. Away with you, you pedantic noodle. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Away with you, you arrant college-scout. 
 
 Pro. What ! you miserable boobies. . . . [The 
 
 Philosopher falls upon them, and the three belabour him 
 with blows.^ 
 
 M. Jour. Mr Philosopher ! 
 
 Pro. Rogues, infamous, insolent wretches. 
 
 M. Jour. Mr Philosopher ! 
 
 Fen.-Mas. Plague upon the beast ! 
 
 M. Jour. Gentlemen ! 
 
 Pro. Impertinent wretches ! 
 
 M. Jour. Mr Philosopher. 
 
 Dan.-Mas. Devil take the stupid ass! 
 
 M. Jour. Gentlemen ' 
 
 Pro. Wretches ! 
 
 M. Jour. Mr Philosopher ! 
 
 Mus.-Mas. To the devil with the impertinent fellow ! 
 
 M. Jour. Gentlemen ! 
 
 Pro. Rogues, beggars, wretches, impostors ! 
 
 M. Jour. Mr Philosopher ! Gentlemen ! Mr Philoso- 
 pher ! Gentlemen ! Mr Philosopher ! 
 
 [They go out, fighting together.
 
 sc. v.-vi.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 279 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 M. JouRDAiN, A Lacquey. 
 
 M. Jour. Oh ! fight as much as you like : I shall not 
 interfere with you, and spoil my gown in separating you. I 
 should be very foolish to thrust myself among them, and 
 get some blows that might hurt me. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Professor of Philosophy, M. Jourdain, A Lacquey.^ 
 
 Pro. [putting his collar straight] Now for our lesson, 
 
 M. Jour. Ah, Sir, I am sorry for the blows they have 
 given you. 
 
 Pro. It is nothing. A philosopher knows how to 
 
 take these things ; and I shall compose against them a 
 satire in the style of Juvenal, which shall cut them up most 
 gloriously. Let that pass. What have you a mind to learn ? 
 
 31. Jour. Whatever I can ; for I have every possible 
 desire to be learned ; and it drives me mad to think that 
 my father and mother did not make me study all the 
 sciences when I was young. 
 
 Pro. That is a reasonable feeling ; oiain, sine doc- 
 
 trina, vita est quasi mo7iis imago. You understand that, 
 and you know Latin, no doubt ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes ; but do as if I did not know it. Explain 
 to me what that means. 
 
 Pro. It means that, ivithout knoivledge life is as it 
 
 were an image of death. 
 
 M. Jour. That Latin is right. 
 
 Pro. Have you not some principles, some rudiments 
 
 of the sciences ? 
 
 M. Jour. Oh yes ! I know how to read and write. 
 
 9 See Appendix, Note A.
 
 280 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [actii. 
 
 Pro. Where would you have us to begin, if you 
 
 please ?^^ Would you like me to teach you logic ? 
 
 M. Jour. What may this logic be ? 
 
 Pro. It is that which teaches the three operations of 
 
 the mind. 
 
 M. Jour. What are they, these three operations of the 
 mind ? 
 
 Pro. The first, the second, and the third. The first 
 
 is to conceive well, by means of universals ; the second, to 
 judge well, by means of categories ; and the third, to draw 
 a conclusion properly by means of figures ; Barbara, Cela- 
 rent, Darii, Ferio, Baiulipton.^^ 
 
 M. Jour. These words stick in my throat too much. 
 This logic does not seem to suit me. Let us learn some- 
 thing more pretty. 
 
 Pro. Will you learn moral philosophy ? 
 
 M. Jour. Moral philosophy ? 
 
 Pro. Yes. 
 
 M. Jour. What does it say, this moral philosophy ? 
 
 Pro. It treats of happiness, teaches men to mode- 
 
 rate their passions, and . . . 
 
 M. Jour. No ; let us leave that. I am choleric like the 
 very devil ; and in spite of morality, I will put myself in a 
 passion as much as I like, when the fit takes me. 
 
 Pro. Will you learn physics ? 
 
 M. Jour. What does this physics say for itself ? 
 
 ^^ There is some analogy between this dialogue and one from Aristo- 
 phanes' Clouds — between Socrates and Strepsiades. 
 
 11 Universals and categories are words belonging to the antiquated 
 jargon of logic. The barbarous words from Barbara to Baralipton 
 were a kind of memoria technica to remember the nineteen regular 
 syllogisms, formerly taught in the schools. Each word is formed of 
 three syllables, representing the three propositions of a syllogism, and 
 the vowel of each syllable shows the nature of each pi-oposition. See 
 also The Forced Marriage, Vol. II., i)age 342, note 19.
 
 sc. VI.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 281 
 
 Pro. Physics is that which explains the principles 
 
 of things natural, and the properties of bodies ; which dis- 
 courses of the nature of elements, of metals, of minerals, of 
 stones, of plants and animals, and teaches us the causes of 
 all the meteors, the rainbow, vvills-o'-the-wisp, comets, light- 
 ning, thunder, thunder-bolts, rain, snow, hail, winds, and 
 whirlwinds. ^^ 
 
 M. Jour. There is too much hurly-burly in this, too much 
 confusion. 
 
 Pro. What is it you wish me to teach you then ? 
 
 M. Jour. Teach me orthography. 
 
 Pro. With all my heart. 
 
 M. Jour. Afterwards you shall teach me the almanac, 
 that I may know when there is a moon, and when not. i 
 
 Pro. Be it so. To pursue this thought of yours in the 
 
 right way, and treat this matter as a philosopher, we must 
 begin, according to the order of things, with an exact know- 
 ledge of the nature of letters, and the different ways of pro- 
 nouncing them all. And on this head, I must tell you that 
 letters are divided into vowels, called vowels because they 
 express the voice ; and into consonants, called consonants 
 because they are sounded with the vowels, and only mark 
 the various articulations of the voice. There are five vowels 
 or voices : A, E, I, 0, U.^^ 
 
 12 This passage seems to be imitated from Lucretius On the Nature of 
 Things, Book V., line 1189-1193, which says :— "Through the sky the 
 night and the moon are seen to I'evolve ; the moon, I say, the day and 
 the night, and the august constellations of the night, and the nocturnal 
 luminaries of the heavens, and the flying meteors, as well as the clouds, 
 the sun, rain, snow, winds, lightnings, hail, and the vehement noises 
 and loud threatening murmurs of the thunder." See also Introductory 
 Notice to The Misanthrope, Vol. III., page 261. 
 
 13 It is said that Molidre owes the idea of the pronunciation of the 
 vowels in French— which is different from the Englisli — to a work of 
 M. de Cordemoy, called Discotirs physique de la Parole, which was 
 dedicated to Louis XIV., and published two yeai's before Moliere's
 
 282 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act ir. 
 
 M. Jour. I understand all that: 
 
 Pro. The vowel A is formed hy opening the mouth 
 
 very wide : A. 
 
 M. Jour. A, A. Yes. 
 
 Pro. The vowel E is formed by drawing the lower 
 
 jaw near to the upper : A, E. 
 
 31. Jour. A, E, A, E. Indeed it is. Ah ! how pretty 
 that is. 
 
 Pro. And the vowel I, by drawing the jaws still 
 
 nearer to one another, and stretching the two corners of the 
 mouth towards the ears : A, E, I. 
 
 M. Jour. A, E, I, I, I, I. There is truth in that. Long 
 life to science ! 
 
 Pro. The vowel is formed by re-opening the jaws, 
 
 and by drawing in the lips at the two corners, the upper 
 and lower : O. 
 
 M. Jour. O, O. Nothing can be more correct. A, E, 
 I, 0, I, 0. That is admirable ! I, ; I, O. 
 
 Pro. The opening of the mouth makes exactly a little 
 
 ring, which represents an O. 
 
 M. Jour. O, O, O. You are right. O. Ah ! how nice 
 it is to know something ! 
 
 Pro. The vowel U is formed by bringing the teeth 
 
 together without altogether joining them, and pouting both 
 lips outwardly, bringing them likewise together, without 
 absolutely joining them : U. 
 
 M. Jour. U, U. Nothing could be more true : U. 
 
 Pro. Your two lips must pout out, as if you were 
 
 play was acted. This work is a translation of a Latin treatise on the 
 same subject, written in the fifteenth century by Galeotus, which treatise 
 our dramatist seems also to have known. That, however, the pronun- 
 ciation of the vowels may be well and scientifically treated, may be 
 seen in Prof. Max Miiller's Lectures on the Scioice of Language, 'id 
 Series, pp. 115-125.
 
 sc. vr.] THE CITIZEN WHO APE8 THE NOBLEMAN. 283 
 
 making faces ; so that if you wish to make them to some 
 one, and to make fun of him, you have but to say U. 
 
 M. Jour. That is true. U, U. Ah ! why did I not 
 study earlier to know all this ! 
 
 Pro. To-morrow, we shall pass in review the other 
 
 letters, which are the consonants. 
 
 M. Jour. Is there anything as curious in them as in 
 these ? 
 
 Pro. Undoubtedly. The consonant D, for instance, 
 
 is pronounced by clapping the tip of the tongue above the 
 upper teeth : DA. 
 
 M. Jour. DA, DA. Yes ! Ah ! the charming things ! 
 the charming things ! 
 
 P7'o. The F, in pressing the upper teeth on the 
 
 lower lip : FA. 
 
 M. Jour. FA, FA. It is the truth. Ah ! father and 
 mother, what a grudge I owe you ! 
 
 Pro. And the R, by bringing the tip of the tongue to 
 
 the top of the palate ; so that being grazed by the air which 
 rushes out with a certain strength, it yields to it, and 
 always comes back to the same place, causing a kind of thrill : 
 R, RA. 
 
 M. Jour. R, R, RA ; R, R, R, R, R, RA. That is true. 
 Ah ! What a clever man you are, and how have I lost my 
 time ! R, R, R, RA. 
 
 P7'o. I shall explain all these peculiarities more fully 
 
 to you.^* 
 
 M. Jour. Pray do. Besides, I must impart something in 
 great confidence to you. I am in love with a person of 
 great quality, and I should like you to help me to write 
 something to her in a small note which I intend to drop at 
 her feet. 
 
 14 See Appendix, Note B.
 
 284 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act ii. 
 
 Pro. Very well ! 
 
 M. Jour. It will be gallant, will it not ? 
 Pro. Undoubtedly. Are they verses which you wish 
 
 to write to her ? 
 
 M. Jour. No, no ; no verses. 
 
 Pro. You wish only prose ? 
 
 M. Jour. I wish neither prose nor verse. 
 
 Pro. It must be one or the other. 
 
 M. Jour. Why so ? 
 
 Pro. For the reason, Sir, that, to express one's self, 
 
 there is only prose or verse. 
 
 M. Jour. There is nothing but prose or verse ? 
 
 Pro. No Sir. All that is not prose is verse, and all 
 
 that is not verse is prose. 
 
 M. Jour. And what is it when we speak ? 
 
 Pro. Prose. 
 
 M. Jour. What ! when I say : Nicole, bring me my 
 slippers, and give me my night-cap, is that prose 1 ^^ 
 
 Pro. Yes, Sir. 
 
 M. Jour. On my word, I have been speaking prose for 
 more than forty years, without being aware of it ; and I am 
 most obliged to you for having informed me of it. Well, 
 then, I should like to put in a note : Fair marchioness, 
 your beautiful eyes make me die with love ; but I should 
 like this put in a gallant manner, nicely turned. 
 
 Pro. You would like to put, that the fire of her eyes 
 
 has reduced your heart to ashes ; that day and night you 
 suffer on account of her the tortures of . . . 
 
 M. Jour. No, no, no, I do not wish all that. I simply 
 wish what I tell you : Fair marchioness, your beautiful 
 eyes make me die with love. 
 
 15 This exclamation is said to have been uttered by the Count de 
 Soissons, if we may believe a letter of Mad. de Sevign^, dated June 
 12th, 1G81.
 
 sc. VII.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 285 
 
 Pro. The matter must be somewhat amplified. 
 
 M. Jour. No, I tell you. I wish nothing but these 
 words in that note ; but turned fashionably, arranged as they 
 should be. Pray tell me, just that I may see, the various 
 ways in which they could be put. 
 
 Pro. First of all, they could be put as you have said : 
 
 Fair marchioness, your beautiful eyes male me die luith 
 love. Or else : with love they make me die, fair mar- 
 chioness, your beautiful eyes. Or else : your beautiful eyes 
 with love mahe me, fair marchioness, die. Or else : die, your 
 beautiful eyes, fair marchioness, make me. Or else : me 
 make your beautiful eyes die, fair marchioness, with 
 love. 
 
 M. Jour. But of all these ways, which is the best ? 
 
 Pi'o. The one you said : Fair marchioness, your 
 
 beautiful eyes make me die with love. 
 
 M. Jour. Yet for all that, I did not study ; and I did it 
 at once. I thank you with all my heart, and beg of you to 
 come early to-morrow. 
 
 Pro. I shall not fail. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 M. JouRDAiN, A Lacquey. 
 
 M. Jour. [To his Lacquey] What, has my suit not come 
 yet? 
 
 Lac. No, Sir. 
 
 31. Jour. This confounded tailor keeps me waiting long 
 enough, and just a day when I have so much to do. I 
 burst with rage. May the quartan fever catch this villain 
 of a tailor ! To the devil with the tailor ! may the plague 
 choke the tailor. If I had him here now, this detestable 
 tailor, this cur of a tailor, this wretch of a tailor, I . . .
 
 286 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act ii. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 M. JouRDAiN, A Master Tailor, the Assistant, carrying 
 the clothes of M. Jourdcdn, A Lacquey. 
 
 M. Jour. Ah ! you are there. I was just going to get, 
 in a rage with you.^^ 
 
 Tail. I could not come sooner, and I set twenty 
 
 hands to work at your coat. 
 
 M. Jour. The silk stockings you sent me are so tight • 
 that I have had all the trouble in the world to put them 
 on, and there are already two stitches broken in them. 
 
 Tail. They will be but too large soon enough. 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, if I go on breaking the stitches. The 
 shoes which you made for me hurt me also tremen- 
 dously.^^ 
 
 Tail. Not at all, Sir. 
 
 M. Jour. How ! not at all ? 
 
 Tail. No, they do not hurt you. 
 
 ill. Jovr. I tell you they do hurt me. 
 
 Tail. You imagine so. 
 
 M. Jour. I imagine so because I feel it. A nice argu- 
 ment that is. 
 
 Tail. There, this is the handsomest coat at the 
 
 Court, and the most suitable. It is a work of art to have 
 invented a sober coat, that was not black, and I will allow 
 the cleverest tailors to try six times to do the like. 
 
 M. Jour. What is this ? You have put the flowers with 
 the stalks upwards. 
 
 Tail. You did not say that you wanted them down- 
 
 wards. 
 
 M. Jour. Is it necessary to say so ? 
 
 i" The very polite way in which M. Jounlaiu addresses the tailor, 
 after havinf stormed against him, produces a \-ery ridiculous effect. 
 
 17 At the time Moliere wrote, the tailor sold everything belonging to 
 the dress of a gentleman.
 
 sc. VIII.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 287 
 
 Tail. Indeed it is. All people of quality wear them 
 
 in this way. 
 
 M. Jou7\ People of quality wear their flowers with the 
 stalks upwards ? 
 
 Tail. Yes, Sir ! 
 
 if. Jour. Oh ! then it is all right. 
 
 Tail. If you wish, I will put them with the stalks 
 
 downwards. 
 
 M. Jour. No, no. 
 
 Tail. You have but to say so. 
 
 M. Jour. No, I tell you, you have done right. Do you 
 think that my coat suits me ? 
 
 Tail. A pretty question ! I defy a painter, with his 
 
 brush, to make you anything that fits better. I have an 
 assistant at home, who, for mounting a rhingrave^^ is the 
 greatest genius in the world ; another who in putting to- 
 gether a doublet is the hero of our age. 
 
 M. Jour. The wig and the feathers, are they as they 
 ought to be? 
 
 Tail. Everything is right. 
 
 M. Jour. [Looking at the tailor's coat] Ah, ah ! Mr 
 Tailor, here is some of the stuff of the last suit which you 
 made for me. I recognize it well enough. 
 
 Tail. The stuff seemed so nice to me that I wished 
 
 to treat myself to a coat of it. 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, but you ought not to have treated your- 
 self with my stuff. 
 
 Tail. Do you wish to put your coat on ? 
 
 31. Jour. Yes, give it me. 
 
 Tail. Stay ; we must not do things like this. I 
 
 have brought some people with me to dress you to music, 
 and these kinds of coats are put on with ceremony. Hullo ! 
 come in, you. 
 
 ^^ See The Misanthrope, Vol. III., page 301, note 11.
 
 288 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [actii. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 M. JouRDAiN, Master Tailor, Assistant, Assistant 
 Tailors, dancing, a Lacquey. 
 
 Tail. \To his assistants] Vut this gentleman's coa t 
 
 on him, in the way you do to people of quality. 
 
 First Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 The four dancing tailor's assistants draw close to M. 
 Jourdain. Two of them pidl off his breeches, tiuo others 
 his jacket, after which they put on his new suit, always to 
 music. M. Jourdain walks round in the midst of them, 
 to see whether his dress fits him. 
 
 Assis. My lord, please to give the assistants some- 
 thing to drink your health with. 
 
 M. Jour. What do you call me ? 
 
 Tail. My lord. 
 
 M. Jour. My lord ! That comes from being dressed like 
 a person of quality ! If you go on for ever in the garb of 
 a citizen, no one will say to you, my lord. [Giviiig him 
 some mo7iey~\ There, this is for my lord. 
 
 Assis. Your excellency, we are infinitely obliged to 
 you. 
 
 M. Jour. Your excellency ! Oh ! oh ! Wait a minute, 
 friend. Your excellency deserves something ; it is not a 
 small word that, your excellency ! There, that is what 
 your excellency gives you. 
 
 Assis. Your excellency, we shall drink your grace's 
 health. 
 
 M. Jour. Your grace ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! Wait a minute, 
 do not go yet. Your grace ! [Softly, aside'] Upon my word, 
 if he goes as far as Highness, he shall have the whole purse. 
 [Aloiul] There, that is for my grace.
 
 sc. IX.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 289 
 
 Assis. Your excellency, we humbly thank you for 
 your generosity. 
 
 M. Jour. Indeed, he has done right. I was going to 
 give him all. 
 
 Second Entry of the Ballet 
 
 The four assistants rejoice, dancing, over the generosity 
 
 of M. Jourdain. 
 
 ACT III SCENE I. 
 M. Jourdain, Two Lacqueys. 
 
 M. Jour. Follow^ me, that I may go and show my suit in 
 town, and take care, above all, to walk both close to my 
 heels, so that people may see that you belong to me. 
 
 Lac. Yes, sir. 
 
 M. Jour. Just call Nicole, that I may give her some 
 orders. Do not stir ; here she is. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 M. Jourdain, Nicole, Two Lacqueys. 
 
 ' M. Jour. Nicole ! 
 
 Nic. Please ? 
 
 M. Jour. Listen. 
 
 Nic. [Laughing] Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.^^ 
 
 ' M. Jour. What have you to laugh at ? 
 
 Nic. [Laughingi Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi. 
 
 , 19 The actress who played this part was Mademoiselle Beauval, who 
 had the misfortune of nearly always laughing when on the stage, which 
 displeased the King. Moliere wrote Nicole on purpose for her ; and she 
 acted it so well, and laughed so naturally, that Louis XIV. approved of 
 her. 
 
 V. T
 
 290 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [actiii. 
 
 3T. Jour. What does this slut mean ? 
 
 Nie. Hi, hi, hi. How you are built ! Hi, hi, hi. 
 
 31. Jour. How is that ? 
 
 JSHc. Ah ! ah ! good Heaven ! Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. What jade is this ? Are you making a fool of 
 me ? 
 
 Nic. Not at all, Sir ; I should be very sorry. Hi, 
 
 hi, hi, hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. I shall tap you on the nose, if you laugh any 
 more. 
 
 Nic. I cannot help it, Sir. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. Will you not stop ? 
 
 Nic. I really beg your pardon. Sir ; but you look so 
 
 ridiculous, that I cannot keep myself from laughing. Hi, 
 hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. Did one ever see such insolence ! 
 
 Nic. You are altogether so funny. Hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. I shall . . . 
 
 Nic. I beg of you to excuse me. Hi, hi, hi, hi. 
 
 ill. Jour. Look here, if you laugh again in the least, I 
 swear to you that I shall give you one of the finest boxes 
 on the ear that ever was given. 
 
 Nic. Well, then. Sir, I have done ; I shall laugh 
 
 no more. 
 
 M. Jour. You had best be careful. You must by-and- 
 by clean . . . 
 
 Nic. Hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. You must clean properly . . . 
 
 Nic. Hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. You must, I say, clean the drawing-room, 
 and . . . 
 
 Nic. Hi, hi. 
 
 31. Jour. What again ? 
 
 Nic. {Falls doum with laughhKj] There, Sir, beat
 
 sc. HI.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 291 
 
 me rather, but let me have my laugh out ; that will do me 
 more good. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. I am bursting with rage. 
 
 Nic. Pray Sir, I beg of you, let me laugh. Hi, 
 
 hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. If I take you . , . 
 
 Nic. I shall burst if I do not laugh, Sir. Hi, hi, hi. 
 
 M. Jour. Did one ever see such a hussy as this, who 
 comes and laughs insolently in my face, instead of attending 
 to my orders ? 
 
 Kic. What do you wish me to do, Sir ? 
 
 M. Jour. That you take care, you slut, to get the place 
 ready for the company which is to be here by-and-by. 
 
 Kic. [Getting iqj] Ah ! upon my word, I have no 
 
 more inclination to laugh ; for all your company makes such 
 a litter here, that this word is enough to ])ut me out of 
 temper. 
 
 M. Jour. Would you have me shut my door against 
 society to please you ? 
 
 Nic. You ought at least to shut it against certain 
 
 people. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Mrs Jourdain, M. Jourdain, Nicole, Two Lacqueys. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Ha ! ha ! this is something new again ! What 
 is the meaning of this curious get-up, husband ? Are you 
 setting the world at nought to deck yourself out in this 
 fashion ? and do you wish to become a laughing-stock every- 
 where ? 
 
 M. Jour. None but he-fools and she-fools will make a 
 laughing-stock of me, wife. 
 
 3Irs Jour. In truth, they have not waited until now ; 
 and all the world has been laughing for a long while already 
 at your vagaries.
 
 292 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 M. Jour. Who is all this world, pray ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. All this world is a world which is riglit, and 
 which has more sense than you have. As for myself, I am 
 disgusted with the life which you lead. I do not know 
 whether this is our own house or not. One would think it is 
 Shrove Tuesday ^^ every day ; and from early morn, for fear of 
 being too late, one hears nothing but the noise of fiddles and 
 singers disturbing the whole neighbourhood. 
 
 Xic. The mistress is right. I shall never see the 
 
 ship-shape again with this heap of people that 3^ou bring 
 to your house. They have feet that pick up the mud in 
 every quarter of the town to bring it in here afterwards ; 
 and poor Fran^oise is almost worked off her legs, with 
 rubbing the floors which your pretty tutors come to dirty 
 again regularly every day. 
 
 M. Jour. Good gracious ! Miss Nicole, your tongue is 
 sharp enough for a country-lass • 
 
 Mrs Jour. Nicole is right ; and she has more sense than 
 you have. I should much like to know what you want with 
 a dancing-master, at your age. 
 
 Nic. And with a great hulking fencing- master, 
 
 who shakes the whole house with his stamping, and uproots 
 all the floor-tiles in our big room. 
 
 M. Jour. Hold your tongues, you girl and my wife. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Do you wish to learn dancing against the 
 time when you shall have no longer any legs ? 
 
 Nic. Do you want to kill any one ? 
 
 M. Jour. Hold your tongues, I tell you : you are igno- 
 rant women, both of you ; and you do not know the benefits 
 of all this. 
 
 Mrs Jour. You ought rather to think of seeing your 
 daughter married, who is of an age to be provided for. 
 
 20 In the original, carSme-p'enant, the days which precede Lent.
 
 sc. III.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 21)3 
 
 M. Jour. I shall think of seeing my daughter married 
 when a suitable party shall present himself for her ; but I 
 shall also think of acquiring some polite learning. 
 
 Nic. I have also heard, Mistress, that, for fear of 
 
 shortcoming, he has taken a philosophy-master to-day. 
 
 M. Jour. Very good. I wish to improve my mind, and 
 to know how to argue about things amongst gentle-folks. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Shall jou not go, one of these days, to school, 
 to get the birch, at your age ? 
 
 M. Jour. Why not ? Would to Heaven I could have 
 the birch at this hour before everybody, and that I could 
 know all that they teach at school ! 
 
 Nic. Yes, indeed ! that would improve your legs. 
 
 M. Jour. No doubt it would. 
 
 Mrs Jour. All this is highly necessary to manage your 
 house ! 
 
 M. Jour, Assuredly. You both talk like fools, and I 
 am ashamed at jour ignorance. [To Mrs Jourdaiii\ For 
 instance, do you know what you are saying at this moment ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. Yes. I know that what I say is very well 
 said, and that you ought to think of leading a different life. 
 
 M. Jour. I am not speaking of that. I am asking you 
 what these words are which you are speaking just now. 
 
 Mrs Jour. They are very sensible words, and your con- 
 duct is scarcely so. 
 
 M. Jour. I am not speaking of that, I tell you. I ask 
 you, what I am speaking with you, what I am saying to you 
 at this moment, what that is ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. Nonsense. 
 
 M. Jour. He, no, that is not it. What we are saying 
 both of us, the language we are speaking at this moment ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. Well ? 
 
 M. Jour. What is it called ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. It is called whatever you like.
 
 294 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act m. 
 
 M. Jour. It is prose, you stupid. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Prose ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, prose. Whatever is prose is not verse, 
 and whatever is not verse is prose. Eh ! that comes from 
 studying. [To Nicole] And do you know what you are to 
 do to say U ? 
 
 Nic. How ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes. What do you do when you say U ? 
 
 Nic. What ? 
 
 M. Jour. Say U, just to see. 
 
 Nic. Well! U. 
 
 M. Jour. What do you do ? 
 
 Nic. I say U. 
 
 M. Jour. Yes : but when you say U, what do you do ? 
 
 Nic. I do what you tell me to do. 
 
 M. Jour. Oh ! what a strange thing to have to deal with 
 fools ! You pout the lips outwards, and bring the upper jaw 
 near the lower one ; U, do you see ? I make a mouth, U. 
 
 Nic. Yes : that is fine. 
 
 Mrs Jour, That is admirable ! 
 
 M. Jour. It is quite another thing, if you had seen O, 
 and DA, DA, and FA, FA. 
 
 Mrs Jour. But what is all this gibberish ? 
 
 Nic. What are we the better for all this ? 
 
 M. Jour. It drives me mad when I see ignorant women. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Go, you should send all these people about 
 their business, with their silly stuff. 
 
 Nic. And above all, this great lout of a fencing- 
 
 master, who fills the whole of my place with dust. 
 
 M. Jour. Lord ! this fencing-master sticks strangely in 
 your gizzard !^^ I will let you see your impertinence directly. 
 [^After having had the foils brought, and giving one of 
 
 21 See Appeudix, Note C.
 
 sc. III.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 295 
 
 tliein to Nicole] Stay, reason demonstrative. The line of 
 the body. When one thrusts in carte, one has but to do so, 
 and when one thrusts in tierce, one has but to do so. This 
 is the way never to be killed ; and is it not very fine to be 
 sure of one's game when one has to fight somebody ? There, 
 just thrust at me, to see. 
 
 {^Nicole thrusts several times at M. Jourdain. 
 
 Nic. WeU, what ! 
 
 M. Jour. Gently ! Hullo ! ho ! Softly ! The devil take 
 the hussy I 
 
 Kic. You tell me to thrust at you. 
 
 M. Jour. Yes ; but you thrust in tierce, before thrusting 
 at me in carte, and you do not wait for me to parry. 
 
 Mrs Jour. You are mad, husband, with all your fancies ; 
 and this has come to you only since you have taken it in 
 your head to frequent the nobility. 
 
 M. Jour. When I frequent the nobility, I show my 
 judgment ; and it is better than to frequent your citizens. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Indeed !^^ really there is much to gain by 
 frequenting your nobles ; and you have done a great deal of 
 good with this beautiful count, with whom you are so 
 smitten ! 
 
 M. Jour. Peace ; take care what you say. Do you know, 
 wife, that you do not know of whom you are speaking, 
 when you speak of him ? He is a personage of greater im- 
 portance than you think, a nobleman who is held in great 
 consideration at court, and who speaks to the King just as I 
 speak to you. Is it not a great honour to me to see a per- 
 son of such standing come so frequently to my house, who 
 calls me his dear friend, and who treats me as if I were his 
 
 22 The original has gamon vraiment ! G6nin, in his Lexique compart 
 de la langue de Moliere, remarks that gamon is formed from ce a mon, 
 and was used as an affirmative exclamation ; it was also sometimes em- 
 ployed with a negative, as ce ?i' a mon.
 
 296 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 equal ? He has more kindness for me than one would ever 
 imagine, and, before all the world, shows me such affection, 
 that I am perfectly confused by it. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Yes, he shows you kindness and affection ; 
 but he borrows your money. 
 
 IT. Jour. Well ! is it not an honour to lend money 
 to a man of that condition ? and can I do less for a noble- 
 man who calls me his dear friend ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. And this nobleman, what does he do for 
 you? 
 
 M. Jour. Things you would be astonished at, if you 
 knew them, 
 
 Mrs Jour. But what ? 
 
 31. Jour. That will do ! I cannot explain myself It 
 is enough that if I have lent him money, he will return it 
 to me, and before long. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Yes, you had better wait for it. 
 
 M. Jour. Assuredly. Has he not said so ? 
 
 3Irs Jour. Yes, yes, he will be sure not to fail in it. 
 
 M. Jour. He has given me his word as a nobleman. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Stuff ! 
 
 M. Jour. Good gracious, you are very obstinate, wife ! 
 I tell you that he will keep his word ; I am sure of it. 
 
 Mrs Jour. And I, I am sure that he will not, and that 
 all the caresses he loads you with are only so much cajoling. 
 
 M. Jour. Hold your tongue. Here he comes. 
 
 Mrs Jour. It wanted nothing but this. He comes per- 
 haps to ask for another loan ; and the very sight of him 
 spoils my dinner. 
 
 M. Jour. Hold your tongue, I tell you.
 
 sc. IV.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAX. 297 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 DORANTE, M. JOURDAIN, MrS JoURDAIN, NiCOLE. 
 
 Dor. My dear friend, M. Jourdain, how do you do ? 
 
 M. Jour. Very well indeed, Sir, my humble service to 
 you. 
 
 Dor. And Mrs Jourdain, how does she do ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. Mrs Jourdain does as well as she can. 
 
 Dor. Why, M. Jourdain, you look most handsome ! 
 
 M. Jour. Do you see? 
 
 Dor. You look exceedingly well in this dress ; and 
 
 we have no young people at court who are better made 
 than you. 
 
 M. Jour. He, he ! 
 
 Mrs Jour. [Aside] He scratches him where it itches. 
 
 Dor. Just turn round. It gives you quite a gal- 
 
 lant appearance. 
 
 Mrs Jour. \Aside\ Yes, as foolish behind as he is in 
 front. 
 
 Dor. Upon my word, M. Jourdain, I was rather 
 
 anxious to see you. Of all men I esteem you most ; and 
 no later than this morning I was speaking of you in the 
 King's apartments. 
 
 M. Jour. You do me much honour. Sir, [To Mrs 
 Jourdairi] In the King's apartments ! 
 
 Dor. Come ! put on your hat. 
 
 M. Jour. Sir, I know the respect I owe you. 
 
 Dor. Good Heavens ! put on your hat. No cere- 
 
 mony betwixt us, I pray. 
 
 M. Jour. Sir . . . 
 
 Dor. Put on your hat, I tell you, M. Jourdain : you 
 
 are my friend, 
 
 M. Jour. I am your servant, Sir. 
 
 Dor. I shall not put mine on, unless you do.
 
 298 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act in. 
 
 31. Jour. [Putting his hat on] I'll rather be uncivil 
 than troublesome.^^ 
 
 Dor. I am your debtor, as you know. 
 
 Mrs Jour. [Aside] Yes : we know it but too well. 
 
 Dor. You have generously lent me money on 
 
 several occasions ; and, certainly, obliged me with the best 
 possible grace. 
 
 M. Jour. You are jesting, Sir. 
 
 Dor. But I know how to return what is lent to me, 
 
 and to acknowledge services done to me. 
 
 M. Jour. I do not doubt it, Sir. 
 
 Dor. I wish to finish this little business between 
 
 us ; and I have come to settle our accounts. 
 
 M. Jour. [Softly, to Mrs Jourdain] Well ! you see 
 your impertinence now, wife. 
 
 Dor. I am a man who likes to pay my debts as 
 
 soon as I can. 
 
 M. Jour. [Softly, to Mrs Jourdain] I told you so. 
 
 Dor. Just let us see how much I owe you. 
 
 M. Jour. [Softly, to Mrs Jourdain] There you are now, 
 with your ridiculous suspicions. 
 
 Dor. Do you remember rightly all the money you 
 
 have lent me ? 
 
 M. Jour. I think I do. I have made a little memo- 
 randum of it. Here it is. Once to yourself two hundred 
 louis. 
 
 Dor. That is true. 
 
 M. Jour. Another time, six score. 
 
 Dor. Yes, 
 
 M. Jour. And another time, a hundred and forty. 
 
 Dor. You are right. 
 
 23 Compare Shakspeare's Merry ^Vives of Windsor (Act i., Scene 1), 
 when Master Slender, upon taking precedence of IVIrs Page, at her re- 
 Iieatud request, says: " I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome."
 
 sc. IV.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 299 
 
 M. Jour. These three items make four hundred and 
 sixty louis, which come to five thousand and sixty livres.^* 
 
 Dor. The account is quite correct. Five thousand 
 
 and sixty livres. 
 
 . M. Jour. One thousand eight hundred and thirty-two 
 livres to your plume-maker. 
 
 Dor. Correct. 
 
 M. Jour. Two thousand seven hundred and eighty 
 livres to your tailor. 
 
 Do7\ Quite true. 
 
 M. Jour. Four thousand three hundred and seventy- 
 nine livres, twelve sols eight deniers to your merchant. 
 
 Dor. Very good. Twelve sols eight deniers ; the 
 
 account is quite right. 
 
 M. Jour. And one thousand seven hundred and forty- 
 eight livres, seven sols four deniers to your saddler. 
 
 Dor. All that is correct. How much does that 
 
 make ? 
 
 M. Jour. The sum total, fifteen thousand eight hun- 
 dred livres. 
 
 Dor. The sum total is exact. Fifteen thousand 
 
 eight hundred francs. Add to this two hundred pistoles,^^ 
 which you are going to give me: that will make exactly 
 eighteen thousand francs, which I shall pay you at the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 Mrs Jour. \In a whisper, to M. Jourdam] Well ! did I 
 not guess it ? 
 
 31. Jour. [In a whisper, to Mrs Jourdain\ Peace ! 
 
 Dor. Would it incommode you to give me what I 
 
 say? 
 
 M. Jour. Oh ! no. 
 
 24 The louis was worth eleven livres, and the livre was about a franc. 
 
 25 For pistole see Vol. I., page 12, note 7. The louis was worth 
 eleven //-a ftcs/ but in conversation ^j6'^oZe was often used instead of louis.
 
 300 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 Mi's Jour. [In a ivhisper, to M. Jourdairi] This man is 
 making a milch-cow of you. 
 
 M. Jour. [In a whisper, to Mrs Jourdairi] Hold 
 your tongue. 
 
 Dor. If it incommodes you, I shall get it elsewhere. 
 
 M. Jour. No, Sir. 
 
 Mrs Jour. [In a tuhisper, to M. Jourdain'\ He will not 
 be satisfied until he has ruined you. 
 
 M. Jour. [In a whisper, to Mrs Jourdain'] Hold your 
 tongue, I tell you. 
 
 Dor. You have but to tell me if this puts you to 
 
 any strait. 
 
 M. Jour. Not at all, Sir, 
 
 Mrs Jour. [In a tvhisper, to M. Jourdain} He is a 
 regular cajoler. 
 
 M. Jour. [In a whisper, to Mrs Jourdain'] Do hold 
 your tongue, 
 
 Mrs Jour. [In a whisper, to M. Jourdain] He will suck 
 you to the last penny. 
 
 M. Jour. \_In a whisper, to Mrs Jourdain] Will you 
 hold your tongue ? 
 
 Dor. Many people would lend it me with pleasure; 
 
 but as you are my best friend, I thought I was doing you a 
 wrong if I asked it of any one else. 
 
 31. Jour. It is too much honour you do me, Sir. I shall 
 go and fetch what you want. 
 
 Mrs Jour. [To M. Jourdain] What ! you are going to 
 give him that also ? 
 
 M. Jour. [In a whisper, to Mrs Jourdain] What am 
 I to do ? Would you have me refuse a man of that 
 rank, who spoke of me this morning in the King's apart- 
 ments. 
 
 Mo's Jour. [In a whisper, to M. Jourdain] Go, you are 
 a regular dupe.
 
 sc. v.-vi.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 301 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 DoRANTE, Mrs Jourdain, Nicole. 
 
 Dor. You seem very low-spirited. What ails you, 
 
 Mrs Jourdain V 
 
 Mrs Jour. My head is bigger than my fist, and yet it is 
 not swollen. 
 
 Dor. Your daughter, where is she, that I have not 
 
 seen her ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. My daughter is very well where she is. 
 
 Dor. How is she going on ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. She is going on on her two legs.^^ 
 
 Dor. Would you uot like, one of these days, to 
 
 come with her and see the ballet and the comedy that is 
 played at court. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Yes, indeed ! we have great inclination to 
 laugh, great inclination indeed ! 
 
 Dor. I think, Mrs Jourdain, that you must have 
 
 had many lovers in your young days, handsome and good- 
 humoured as you must have been. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Zounds ! Sir, has Mrs Jourdain grown decrepit, 
 and is she shaking her head already ? 
 
 Dor. Ah ! upon my word, Mrs Jourdain, I ask 
 
 your pardon, I was not thinking that you are still young ; 
 and I am often wandering. I beg of you to excuse my im- 
 pertinence. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 M. Jourdain, Mrs Jourdain, Dorante, Nicole. 
 
 M. Jour. [To Dorante^ Here are two hundred louis cash. 
 Dor. I assure you, M. Jourdain, that I am entirely 
 
 yours, and that I long to do you a service at court. 
 
 26 This joke is borrowed from Terence's Eunuch.
 
 302 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 M. Jour. I am infinitely obliged to yon. 
 
 Dor. If Mrs Jourdain has a wish to see the royal 
 
 entertainment,"^ I will procure her the best places in the 
 room. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Mrs Jourdain kisses your hands. 
 
 Dor. [Softly, to 31. Jourdain'\ Our fair marchioness, 
 
 as I informed you by my note, will be here by-and-by to 
 be present at the ballet and the collation ; and I have made 
 her consent at last to accept the present which you wished 
 to give her. 
 
 M. Jour. Let us go a little farther away, for reasons. 
 
 Dor. I have not seen you for eight days, and I did 
 
 not send you any tidings about the diamond which you 
 placed in my hands to make her a present in your name ; 
 but it is because I have had all the trouble in the world to 
 overcome her scruples ; and it is only to-day that she has 
 made up her mind to accept it. 
 
 M. Jour. How did she like it ? 
 
 Dor. Marvellously; and unless I am very much 
 
 mistaken, the beauty of this diamond will have an admirable 
 effect for you upon her mind. 
 
 M. Jour. Would to Heaven ! 
 
 Mrs Jour. \To Nicole\ When once he is with him, he 
 cannot leave him. 
 
 Dor. I have made her estimate properly the richness 
 
 of this present, and the violence of your love. 
 
 M. Jour. This kindness. Sir, overwhelms me ; and I 
 am in the greatest possible confusion to see a man of your 
 standing lower himself for me to do what you do. 
 
 Dor. Are you jesting ? Does one stick at these 
 
 scruples among friends ? and would you not do the same for 
 me, if the opportunity presented itself ? 
 
 27 See Introductory Notice to The Magnificent Lovers, page 193.
 
 sc. VI.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 303 
 
 M. Jour. Oh ! certainly, and with all my heart ! 
 Mrs. Jour. [To Nicole] How his presence weighs me down ! 
 Dor. As for me, I never mind anything when I am 
 
 serving a friend ; and when you made me a confidant of the 
 passion which you had conceived for this charming mar- 
 chioness with whom I was acquainted, you saw that directly 
 I myself made you an offer to serve your love-affair. 
 M. Jour. It is true. These favours confound me. 
 Mrs Jour. [To Nicolel Is he not going ? 
 liic. They are very comfortable together. 
 
 Dor. You have taken the right road to touch her 
 
 heart. Women love above all the expenses which we make for 
 them ; and your frequent serenades, your continual banquets, 
 this superb display of fireworks which she witnessed on the 
 water, the diamond which she received from you, and the 
 entertainment which you are preparing for her ; all this 
 says more in favour of your love than all the words which 
 you could have spoken to her yourself. 
 
 M. Jour. No expense would be too great for me, if by 
 that means I could find the way to her heart. A woman 
 of quality has powerful charms for me ; and it is an honour 
 which I would purchase at any price. 
 
 Mrs Jour. [Softly, to Nicole] What can they have so 
 much to say to each other ? Just go softly and listen. 
 
 Dor. By-and-by you shall enjoy at your ease the 
 
 pleasure of seeing her ; and your eyes shall have ample time 
 to satisfy themselves. 
 
 ill. Jour. To be at full liberty, I have arranged so that 
 my wife shall go and dine with my sister, where she will 
 pass the whole afternoon. 
 
 Dor. You have done wisely, and your wife might 
 
 have been somewhat in the way. I have given the neces- 
 sary orders for you to the cook, and for all the things that 
 are wanted for the ballet. I have invented it myself, and
 
 304 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act m. 
 
 provided the execution comes up to the conception, I am 
 certain that it will be found. . . . 
 
 M. Jour. [Perceiving that Nicole is listening, and giv- 
 ing her a hox on the ear] Good gracious, you are very imperti- 
 nent ! [To Dorante] Let us go out, if you please. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Mrs Jourdain, Nicole. 
 
 Nic. Troth, Mrs, the curiosity has cost me some- 
 
 thing ; but I believe there is a snake in the grass ; and they 
 were talking of some affair at which they do not wish you to 
 be present. 
 
 Mrs Jour. This is not the first time, Nicole, that I have 
 conceived some suspicion, about my husband. Unless I am 
 most cruelly mistaken, there is some love affair going on ; 
 and I am doing my best to discover what it may be. But 
 let us think of my daughter. You know the affection 
 Cleonte has for her : he is a man whom I like ; and I will 
 aid his suit, and give him Lucile, if I can. 
 
 Nic. Really, Mrs, I am infinitely delighted to find 
 
 you in this mind ; for if the master suits you, the servant 
 suits me no less ; and I could wish that our wedding could 
 be close upon theirs. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Go and speak to him in my name, and tell 
 him to come to see me by-and-by, so that we may make 
 together the request for my daughter's hand to my husband. 
 
 Nic. I am hastening thither joyfully, Mrs, and 
 
 I could not receive a more agreeable commission. [J.Zo7i6] 
 T fancy, I shall be giving much pleasure to some people.
 
 sc. viii.-ix.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 805 
 
 SCENE Fill 
 
 Cl:6onte, Covielle, Nicole. 
 
 Kic. [To Cleonte] Ali ! You are just in time ! I am a 
 messenger of joy, and I come. . . 
 
 Cle. Begone, you perfidious woman, and do not come to 
 amuse me with treacherous speeches. 
 
 Nic. Is it thus that you receive. . . 
 
 Cle. Begone, I tell you, and now go and tell your faithless 
 mistress, that she shall never deceive the too simple Cldonte. 
 
 JSFic. What craze is this ? My poor Covielle, just tell me 
 what this means ? 
 
 Cov. Your poor Covielle, you little wretch ! Go quickly 
 out of my sight, hussy, and leave me in peace. 
 
 Nic. What ! you come also to . . . 
 
 Cov. Get out of my sight, I say ; and never in your life 
 speak more to me. 
 
 JSfic. [Aside] Good gracious ! what gad-fly has stung them 
 both ? I had better go and tell my mistress this pretty 
 story.2® 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 Cleonte, Covielle. 
 
 Cle. What ! To treat a lover thus ; and that a lover the 
 most constant and the most passionate of all lovers ! 
 
 Cov. It is a most horrible thing that they have done to 
 us both. 
 
 Cle. I display all the ardour and tenderness imaginable 
 to a lady ; I love no one on earth but her, and think of 
 nothing but her ; she is all my care, all my desire, all my 
 joy ; I speak but of her, think but of her, dream but of her ; 
 
 28 This is the third time Moliere makes use of a tiflF between lovers 
 and of reconciliation afterwards. Fii^st in The Love-Tiff (See Vol. J.) ; 
 secondly in Tartuffe (See Vol. IV.), and thirdly above. 
 V. U
 
 306 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 I live but for her, my heart beats but for her, and this is 
 the worthy reward of so much affection ! I am two days, 
 which to me are two horrible ages, without seeing her : I 
 meet her by accident ; at the sight of her my heart feels quite 
 elated, joy is displayed on my countenance, rapturously I 
 fly towards her, and the faithless one averts her looks, and 
 passes abruptly on, as if she had never seen me in her life ! 
 
 Gov. I have the same story to tell. 
 
 Gle. Has aught like the perfidy of this ungrateful Lucile 
 ever been seen ? 
 
 Gov. Or anything. Sir, like that of that jade Nicole ? 
 
 Gle. After the many ardent sacrifices, sighs and vows 
 which I have paid to her charms ! 
 
 Gov. After such assiduous homage, attentions and services 
 which I have rendered her in the kitchen ! 
 
 Gle. The many tears I have shed at her feet ! 
 
 Gov. The many buckets of water I have drawn from the 
 well for her ! 
 
 Gle. The warmth I liave shown in cherishing her more 
 than my own self I 
 
 Gov. The heat I have suffered in turning the spit in her 
 place ! 
 
 Gle. She flees from me with disdain ! 
 
 Gov. She turns her back upon me shamelessly ! 
 
 Gle. It is a perfidy deserving the greatest punishment. 
 
 Gov. It is a treachery that merits a thousand slaps in the 
 face. 
 
 Gle. Do not you, I pray, attempt ever to speak of her to me. 
 
 Gov. I, Sir ? Heaven forbid ! 
 
 Gle. Do not come to excuse to me the conduct of this 
 faithless girl. 
 
 Gov. You need not fear. 
 
 Gle. No, look you here, all your speeches in her defence 
 will avail nothing.
 
 sc. IX.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAX. 307 
 
 Cov. Who dreams of such a thing ? 
 
 Cle. I shall nurse my spite against her, and break off all 
 connection. 
 
 Cov. You have my consent. 
 
 Cle. This count who visits at her house excites her fancy 
 perhaps ; and her mind — I see it well enough — allows itself 
 to be dazzled by rank. But I am bound, for my honour's 
 sake, to prevent the scandal of her inconstancy. I will go, 
 as far as she goes, towards the change to which I see her 
 hastening, and not leave to her all the glory of jilting me. 
 
 Cov. That is well said ; and as far as I am concerned, I 
 share all your sentiments. 
 
 Cle. Assist me in my resentment, and support my 
 resolution against every remainder of affection which might 
 plead for her. Say, I entreat you, all the harm of her that 
 you can. Give me a portrait of her which shall render her 
 contemptible in my sight, and, to disgust me with her, point 
 me out all the faults which you can see in her. 
 
 Cov. She, Sir ? a pretty mawkin, a well-shaped, preten- 
 tious young woman, ^^ to be so much enamoured of ! I see 
 nothing in her but what is very ordinary ; and you will 
 meet a hundred women more worthy of you. First of all, 
 her eyes are small. 
 
 Cle. That is true, her eyes are small ; but they are full 
 of fire, the most brilliant, the most piercing in the world, 
 and the tenderest which one can see. 
 
 Cov. She has a large mouth. 
 
 Cle. Yes ; but it has charms not to be found in other 
 mouths ; and this very mouth, in looking at it, inspires 
 desire, and is the most attractive and amorous in the world. 
 
 Cov. As for her figure, she is not tall. 
 
 29 The original has pimpesouee, probably from the old verb pimper, 
 to adorn oneself — pimpant still exists in modern French — and the old 
 adjective souef., Latin suavis, sweet, agreeable.
 
 308 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 CU. No ; but it is full of ease, and well shaped. 
 
 Gov. She affects a carelessness in her speech and move- 
 ments. 
 
 CU. It is true, but she is full of grace; and her manners 
 are engaging, and have an indefinable charm which twines 
 round one's heart. 
 
 Gov. As to her wit . . . 
 
 Gle. Ah ! she has that, Covielle, of the finest and of the 
 most delicate. 
 
 Gov. Her conversation . . . 
 
 Gle. Her conversation is charming. 
 
 Gov. It is always grave. 
 
 Gle. Would you have unrestrained liveliness, and ever 
 profuse gaiety ! and is there anything more annoying than 
 these women who giggle at every sally ? 
 
 Gov. But, after all, slie is as whimsical as anyone could 
 well be. 
 
 Gle. Yes, she is whimsical, I agree with you there ; but 
 everything becomes the fair sex ; one allows everything to 
 the fair sex.^*^ 
 
 Gov. Since that is the case, I see plainly that you are 
 inclined to love her always. 
 
 Gle. I ? I would sooner die ; and I mean to hate her 
 as much as I have loved her. 
 
 Gov. But how, if you find her so perfect ? 
 
 Gle. That is where my revenge shall prove itself all the 
 more ; where I shall the better show her the strength of 
 my heart to hate her, to leave her, beautiful, full of attrac- 
 tions, amiable as I may think her. Here she comes. 
 
 30 It is said that Moliere, in delineating Lucile, described his spouse, 
 who played the character. That may be true ; hut the real passion, 
 which is displayed in Cldonte's answers to Covielle, is, in every way, 
 admirable.
 
 sc. X.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 309 
 
 SCENE X. 
 LuciLE, Nicole, Cli^onte, Covielle. 
 
 Nic, \To Lucile] As for me, I was perfectly scandalized 
 at it. 
 
 Luc. It can be nothing else, Nicole, than what I tell you. 
 But here he is. 
 
 Cle. [To Covielle] I will not even speak to her. 
 
 Cov. I will do as you do. 
 
 Luc. What is it, Cl^onte ? what is the matter with you ? 
 
 Nic. What is the matter with you, Covielle ? 
 
 Luc. What grief possesses you ? 
 
 J^ic. What ill-humour has got hold of you ? 
 
 Luc. Are you dumb, Cldonte ? 
 
 Nic. Have you lost your speech, Covielle ? 
 
 Cle. This is villanous ! 
 
 Cov. It is Judas-like ! 
 
 Luc. I see clearly that the meeting just now has disturbed 
 your mind. 
 
 Cle. [To Covielle] Ah ! ah ! people are finding out what 
 they have been doing. 
 
 Nic. Our reception of this morning has made you 
 alarmed. ^^ 
 
 Cov. [To Cle'onte] They have found out the sore.^^ 
 
 Luc. Is it not true, Cleonte, that this is the reason of your 
 huff? 
 
 Cle. Yes, false girl, it is that, since I am to speak ; and 
 I must tell you that you shall not glory, as you think you 
 
 31 Prendre la cMvre, to take the goat, in the original ; hence probably 
 the meaning of to rear, to get frightened, to get alarmed. 
 
 32 The original has o?i a devint^ V enclouure : they have guessed the 
 sore, because in shoeing a hox-se, it was sometimes wounded ; and this 
 wound, not always easy to find out, was called P enclouure. The 
 expression has also been used in the fifth Scene of the second Act of 
 The Blunderer, (See Vol. I.)
 
 310 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act hi. 
 
 shall, in your faithlessness ; that I shall be the first to break 
 with you, and that you shall not have the advantage of 
 driving me away. It will pain me, no doubt, to conquer 
 the love which I have for you ; it will cause me some grief; 
 I shall suffer for some time ; but I will accomplish it, and 
 I will sooner stab myself to the heart than have the weak- 
 ness to come back to you. 
 
 Cov. [To Kicole\ As says the master, so says the man.^^ 
 
 Luc. There is much ado about nothing ! I wish to tell you 
 the reason, Cl^onte, which made me avoid you this morning. 
 
 Cle. [Trying to go away from Lucile] I wish to listen 
 to nothing. 
 
 H'ic. [To Covielle] I wish to tell you the reason that 
 made us pass you so quickly. 
 
 Cov. [Also endeavouring to go, to avoid Nicole'\ I wish 
 to hear nothing. 
 
 Luc. [Following Cleonte'\ You must know, then, that 
 this morning , . . 
 
 Cle. [Moving away, without looking at LuciW] No, I 
 tell you. 
 
 Nic. [Following CovielW] Know then . . . 
 
 Cov. [Moving aiuay, vjithout looking at NicoW] No, you 
 wretch ! 
 
 Luc. Listen. 
 
 Cle. Not a whit. 
 
 Nic. Let me speak. 
 
 Cle. I am deaf. 
 
 Luc. Cleonte ! 
 
 Gil No. 
 
 Nic. Covielle ! 
 
 Cov. Not a bit. 
 
 Luc. Stay. 
 
 ^^ In the original, queussi queumi, :i provincial expression.
 
 sc. X.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 31 1 
 
 CU. Stuff! 
 
 Nic. Hear me. 
 
 Gov. Nonsense ! 
 
 Luc. One moment, 
 
 CU. Not one. 
 
 Nic. A little patience. 
 
 Gov. Fiddle-sticks ! 
 
 Luc. Two words. 
 
 Cle. No ; it is finished. 
 
 Nic. One word. 
 
 Gov. No more dealings. 
 
 Luc. [Sto'p'ping] Very well then ! since you will not hear 
 me, keep to your own opinion, and do as you please. 
 
 Nic. l^Also stopping^ Since you act thus, take it as you 
 will. 
 
 Gle. [Turning towards LuciW] Let us know, then, the 
 reason of such a pretty welcome. 
 
 Luc. [Going in her turn, to avoid Gleonte] It no longer 
 pleases me to tell it. 
 
 Gov. [Turning towards Nicole] Well, just let us learn 
 this story. 
 
 Nic. [Also going, to avoid Govielle] I will no longer tell 
 it to you. 
 
 Gle. [Folloiving Lucile] Tell me . . . 
 
 Luc. [Moving aiuay, without looking at Cleonte'\ No, I 
 shall say nothing. 
 
 Gov. [Following Nicole] Relate to me . . . 
 
 Nic. [Moving away, without looking at Govielle^ No, I 
 shall relate nothing to you. 
 
 Gle. Pray. 
 
 Luc. No, I tell you. 
 
 Gov. For mercy's sake. 
 
 Nic. Not a whit. 
 
 Gle'. I pray you.
 
 812 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act hi. 
 
 Luc. Leave me. 
 
 Cov. I beseech you. 
 
 Nic. Begone from there. 
 
 Cle. Lucile ! 
 
 Luc. No. 
 
 Gov. Nicole ! 
 
 Nw. Not a bit. 
 
 Cle. In Heaven's name. 
 
 Luc. I will not. 
 
 Cov. Speak to me. 
 
 Nic. Not at all. 
 
 Cle. Clear up my doubts. 
 
 Luc. No : I will do nothing of the kind, 
 
 Cov. 'Ease my mind. 
 
 Nic. No : I do not choose. 
 
 Cle. Well ! since you care so little to cure my grief, and 
 to justify yourself for the unworthy treatment which my 
 affection has received from you, this is the last time that 
 you shall see me, ungrateful girl : and I shall go far away 
 from you, to die of grief and love. 
 
 Cov. [To Nicole] And I, I will follow his steps. 
 
 Luc. [To Cleonte, who is going] Cldonte ! 
 
 Nic. [To Covielle, who is about to folloiu his master] 
 Covielle ! 
 
 CU [Stopping] Eh! 
 
 Cov. [Also stopping] Please ? 
 
 Luc. Whither are you going ? 
 
 Cle. Where I have told you. 
 
 Cov. We are going to die. 
 
 Luc. You are going to die, Cldonte ? 
 
 CU. Yes, cruel one, since you will it so. 
 
 Luc. I ! I wish you to die ? 
 
 Cle. Yes, you wish it. 
 
 IjUc. Who says so ?
 
 sc. xi.-xii.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 3 1 3 
 
 CU. [Drawing near to Lucile] Is it not wishing it, 
 when you will not clear up my suspicions ? 
 
 Luc. Is it my fault ? and if you had listened to me, 
 would I not have told you that the adventure of which you 
 complain was caused this morning by the presence of an old 
 aunt, who insists that merely the approach of a man dis- 
 honours a girl, who perpetually lectures us on that chapter, 
 and paints us all men as devils whom we should flee from. 
 
 Nic. [To Covielle] That is the secret of the affair. 
 
 Cle. Are you not deceiving me, Lucile ? 
 
 Cov. [To Nicole] Are you not imposing upon me ? 
 
 Luc. [To Cleonte'] Nothing is more true. 
 
 Nic. [To Covielle'] That is the affair as it is. 
 
 Cov. [To Cleonte] Shall we give in to this ? 
 
 Cle. Ah ! Lucile, how quickly you appease things in my 
 heart by a single word from your mouth, and how easily 
 we are persuaded by those whom we love ! 
 
 Cov. How easily one is wheedled by these confounded 
 animals ! 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 Mks Jouedain, Cleonte, Lucile, Nicole, Covielle. 
 
 Mrs Jour. I am glad to see you, Cleonte ; and you are 
 just in good time. My husband is coming ; quickly choose 
 the moment to ask him for Lucile's hand. 
 
 Cle. Ah ! Madam, how sweet these words are, and 
 
 how they flatter my wishes ! Could I receive a more 
 charming command, a more precious favour ? 
 
 SCENE xn. 
 
 Cleonte, M. Jouedain, Mes Jouedain, Lucile, 
 Covielle, Nicole. 
 
 Cle. Sir, I did not wish to depute any one else 
 
 to prefer a request which I have long meditated. It con-
 
 314 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act m. 
 
 cems me sufficiently to undertake it in person ; and without 
 farther ado, I will tell you that the honour of being your 
 son-in-law is a glorious favour which I beg of you to grant me. 
 
 M. Jour. Before giving you your answer, Sir, I pray 
 you to tell me whether you are a nobleman. 
 
 Cle. Sir, most people, on this question, do not 
 
 hesitate much ; the word is easily spoken. There is no 
 scruple in assuming that name, and present custom 
 seems to authorize the theft. As for me, I confess to you, 
 my feelings on this point are rather more delicate. I 
 think that all imposture is unworthy of an honest man, 
 and that it is cowardice to disguise what Heaven has 
 made us, to deck ourselves in the eyes of the world with a 
 stolen title, and to wish to pass for what we are not. I am 
 born of parents who, no doubt, have filled honourable offices ; 
 I have acquitted myself with honour in the army, where I 
 served for six years ; and I am sufficiently well to do to 
 hold a middling rank in society ; but with all this, I will 
 not assume what others, in my position, might think they 
 had a right to pretend to ; and I will tell you frankly that I 
 am not a nobleman. 
 
 Af. Jour. Your hand, Sir ; my daughter is not for you. 
 
 Cle. How, 
 
 M. Jour. You are not a nobleman : you shall not have 
 my daughter. 
 
 Mrs Jour. What is it you mean by your nobleman ? 
 Is it that we ourselves are descended from Saint Louis ? 
 
 M. Jour. Hold your tongue, wife ; I see what you are 
 driving at. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Are we two descended from aught else than 
 from plain citizens ? " 
 
 M. Jour. If that is not a slander ? 
 
 Afrs Jour. And was your father not a tradesman as well 
 as mine ?
 
 sc. XII.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 315 
 
 31. Jour, Plague take the woman, she always harps 
 upon that. If your father was a tradesman, so much the 
 worse for him ; but as for mine, they are impertinent fellows 
 who say so. All that I have to say to you, is that I will 
 have a nobleman for a son-in-law. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Your daughter wants a husband who is suited 
 to her ; and it is much better for her that she should have a 
 respectable man, rich and handsome, than a beggarly and 
 deformed nobleman. 
 
 Nic. That is true : we have the son of our village 
 
 squire, who is the greatest lout and the most stupid nin- 
 compoop that I have ever seen. 
 
 M. Jour. [To Nicole] Hold your tongue, Miss Imperti- 
 nence ; you always thrust yourself into the conversation. I 
 have sufficient wealth to give my daughter ; I wish only 
 for honours, and I will make her a marchioness. 
 
 3Irs Jour. Marchioness ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, marchioness. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Alas ! Heaven preserve me from it ! 
 
 M. Jour. It is a thing I am determined on. 
 
 Mrs Jour. It is a thing to which I shall never consent. 
 Matches with people above one's own position are always 
 subject to the most grievous inconvenience. I do not wish a 
 son-in-law of mine to be able to reproach my daughter with 
 her parents, or that she should have children who would be 
 ashamed to call me their grandmother. If she were to come 
 and visit me with the equipage of a grand lady, and that, 
 through inadvertency, she should miss curtseying to one of 
 the neighbourhood, people would not fail to say a hundred 
 silly things immediately. Do you see this lady marchioness, 
 they would say, who is giving herself such airs ? She is 
 the daughter of M. Jourdain, who was only too glad, when 
 she was a child, to play at ladyship with us. She has not 
 always been so high up in the world, and her two grand
 
 310 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 fathers sold cloth near the St Innocent gate.^'^ They amassed 
 great wealth for their children, for which they are probably 
 paying very dearly in the other world; for people can 
 scarcely become so rich by remaining honest folks. I will 
 not have all this tittle-tattle, and in one word, I wish for a 
 man who shall be grateful to me for my daughter, and to 
 whom I shall be able to say : Sit down there, son-in-law, 
 and dine with me. 
 
 M. Jour. These are the sentiments of a narrow mind, to 
 wish to remain for ever in a mean condition. Do not answer 
 me any more : my daughter shall be a marchioness in spite 
 of all the world ; and, if you put me in a passion, I shall 
 make her a duchess.^^ 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 Mrs Jourdain, Lucile, Cl^onte, Nicole, Covielle. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Cle^onte, do not lose courage as yet. \To 
 Lucile] Come with me, daughter, and tell your father 
 plainly that if you cannot have him, you will not marry 
 any one. 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 Cl^onte, Covielle. 
 
 Gov. You have made a nice thing of it with your high- 
 flown sentiments ! 
 
 CU. What would you have me to do ? I have scruples 
 upon this subject which no example could conquer. 
 
 Cov. Are you mad to look at it seriously with a man 
 like that ? Do not you see that he is crazy ? and would it 
 cost you aught to accommodate yourself to his fancies ? 
 
 34 There was no gate in Paris called thus. It Avas probably the gate 
 of the well-known cemetery of the Saints-Innocents. 
 
 35 See in the Introductory Notice the conversation between Sancho 
 Panza and Teresa.
 
 sc. XV.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 317 
 
 Cle. You are right ; but I did not think that one had to 
 give proof of noble birth to become the son-in-law of M. 
 Jourdain. 
 
 Gov. [^Laughing] Ah ! ah ! ah ! 
 
 Cle. What are you laughing at ? 
 
 Gov. At a thought that comes into my head of playing a 
 trick upon our man, and of obtaining for you what you wish. 
 
 Gle. How? 
 
 Gov. The idea is altogether amusing. 
 
 Gle. What is it, then ? 
 
 Gov. There was a little masquerade performed some time 
 ago, which would fit in marvellously here, and which I pro- 
 pose to emj)loy in the trick ^^ that I wish to play upon our 
 ridiculous individual. All this smacks a little of comedy ; 
 but, with him, we may risk anything; we have no need to 
 take much trouble, and he is just the man to play his part 
 in it to perfection, and to take for granted all the tales 
 to which we shall treat him. I have the actors and the 
 dresses quite ready ; just let me manage it. 
 
 Gle. But tell me . . . 
 
 Gov. I will let you into the whole of it. Let us with- 
 draw ; here he comes. 
 
 SCENE XV. 
 M. Jourdain, alone. 
 
 What the deuce is it all ? They do nothing but reproach 
 me with my great lords, and I myself can see nothing more 
 beautiful than to keep company with great lords ; there is 
 only honour and civility with them ; and I would have 
 given two fingers of my hand, to have been born a count or 
 a marquis. 
 
 36 The original has bourle, a trick, a joke, from the Italian burla ; the 
 adjective burlesque is still used.
 
 318 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iir. 
 
 SCENE XVI. 
 M. JouRDAiN, A Lacquey, 
 
 Lac. Sir, here is the count, and a lady whom he is 
 
 handing in. 
 
 M. Jour. Eh ! good Heavens ! I have some orders to 
 give. Tell them that I am coming in a minute. 
 
 SCENE XVII. 
 DoRIMfeNE, DORANTE, A LACQUEY. 
 
 Lac. Master says he will be here in a minute. 
 Do7\ It is well. 
 
 SCENE XVIII. 
 
 DORANTE, D0RIMt:NE. 
 
 LoTi. I am not sure Dorante, but I am taking another 
 strange step in allowing you to bring me to a house where 
 I know nobody. 
 
 Lot. What place then, Madam, would you have my love 
 choose to entertain you, since, to avoid scandal, you do not 
 wish to use either your house or mine. 
 
 Doi'i. But you do not mention that I am insensibly in- 
 duced every day to receive too many protestations of your 
 passion. I may defend myself as much as I like from them ; 
 you are tiring my resistance, and you have a civil kind of 
 obstinacy, which is gently leading me on to whatever you 
 please. It began by frequent visits, then came declarations, 
 which led the way for serenades and entertainments, to be 
 followed by presents. I have opposed all this ; but you 
 will not be repelled, and inch by inch you are gaining 
 upon my resolutions. As for me, I can no longer answer 
 for anything, and I believe that in the end you will drive
 
 sc. XIX.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 3 1 9 
 
 me to matrimony, from which I have held myself so much 
 aloof 
 
 Dor. Upon my word, Madam, you ought to have been 
 there already : you are a widow, and your own mistress ; 
 I am my own master, and love you better than my life : 
 what is there to prevent you from completing my happiness 
 from this day forward ? 
 
 Dori. Great Heavens ! Dorante, it requires many qualities 
 on both sides to live happily together, and the two most 
 sensible people in the world often have a difficulty of form- 
 ing a union with which they shall be satisfied. 
 
 Dor. You are jesting. Madam, to imagine so many 
 difficulties ; and the experiment which you have tried con- 
 cludes nothing for others. 
 
 Dori. In short, I am always coming back to this ; the 
 expenses which I find you launch into for me, make me 
 uneasy for two reasons : one, that they bind me more than 
 I could wish ; and the other, that I am sure, no offence to 
 you, that you cannot make them without incommoding your- 
 self; and I do not wish for that. 
 
 Dor. Ah ! Madam, they are mere trifles, and it is not 
 by that . , . 
 
 Dori. I know what I say, and, amongst others the 
 diamond which you have forced upon me is of a value . . . 
 
 Dor. Eh ! Madam, I pray, do not put so much value 
 upon a thing which my love thinks unworthy of you, and 
 allow me . . . Here is the master of the house. 
 
 SCENE XIX. 
 M. JOURDAIN, DORIMi:NE, DORANTE. 
 
 M. Jour. [After having made two hows, finding him- 
 self too close to Dorimene] A little farther away, Madam. 
 Dori. How ?
 
 320 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iii. 
 
 31. Jour. One step, if you please. 
 Dori. ^ What then ? 
 M. Jour. Fall back a little for the third. 
 Dor. Madam, M. Jourdain knows how to be genteel. 
 
 M. Jour. Madam, this is a great honour to me, to be 
 sufficiently fortunate, to be so happy, to have the felicity, 
 that you have had the goodness of granting me the favour, 
 of doing me the honour of honouring me with the favour of 
 your presence ; and if I had also the merit of meriting a 
 merit like yours, and that Heaven . . . envious of my 
 happiness . . . had accorded me . . . the advantage of finding 
 myself worthy . . . of . . . 
 
 Dor. M. Jourdain, that will do. This lady does 
 
 not like elaborate compliments, and she knows that you 
 are a man of wit \in a whisper, to Dorimene]. He is an 
 inoffensive citizen, sufficiently ridiculous, as you see, in all 
 his manners. 
 
 Dori. [In a ivhisper, to Dorante] It is not very 
 
 difficult to perceive it. 
 
 Dor. Madam, this is my best friend. 
 
 M. Jour. You are doing me too much honour. 
 Dor. An out and out gallant man. 
 
 Dori. I have a great esteem for him. 
 
 M. Jour. I have done nothing yet. Madam, to deserve 
 this favour. 
 
 Dor. [In a whisper, to M. Jourdain] Whatever 
 
 you do, take particular care not to mention the diamond, 
 which you have given her. 
 
 M. Jour. [In a ivhisper, to Dorante] May I not even 
 ask her if she likes it ? 
 
 Dor. [In a tvhisper, to M. Jourdain] Not for 
 
 worlds, and take great care you do not ! It would be ill- 
 mannered of you ; and to act gallantly, you must act as if 
 it were not you who had made her that present. [Aloud]
 
 ;,|^^if»|J^ 
 
 /' ^ ^,
 
 sc. xx.-xxi.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 321 
 
 M. Jourdain, Madam, says he is enchanted to see you at his 
 house. 
 
 Dori. He honours me much. 
 
 M. Jour. [In a luhisper, to Dor ante] How obliged I am 
 to you, Sir, for speaking thus to her for me. 
 
 Dor. [In a ivhisper, to M. Jourdain] I have had a 
 
 terrible trouble to make her come here. 
 
 M. Jour. [In a ivhisper, to Dorante] I do not know what 
 thanks to give you. 
 
 Dor. He says, Madam, that he thinks you the most 
 
 charming person on earth. 
 
 Dori. It is a great favour he does me. 
 
 M. Jour. Madam, it is you who do the favours, and . . . 
 
 Dor. Let us see about the dinner. 
 
 SCHNE XX. . 
 
 M. Jourdain, DouiMfcNE, Dorante, A Lacquey. 
 
 Lac. [To M. Jourdain] Every thing is ready, Sir. 
 Dor. Then let us sit down, and have the musicians in. 
 
 SCENE XXI. 
 
 Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Six cooks, who have p-epared the dinner, dance together, and compose 
 the third interlude; after ivhich they bring in a table covered with several 
 dishes. 
 
 X
 
 o 
 
 22 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iv. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 DORIMfeNE, M. JOURDAIN, DORANTE, ThREE MUSICIANS, 
 
 A Lacquey. 
 
 Dori. How now ! Dorante ! this is altogether a most 
 
 magnificent repast. 
 
 M. Jour. You are jesting, madam, and I wish it were 
 more worthy of your acceptance. {Dorhnene, M. Jowrdain, 
 Dorante, and the three musicians sit down at the table'] 
 
 Dor. M. Jourdain is right, Madam, in what he says; 
 
 and he obHges me by doing so well the honours of his house 
 to you. I agree with him that the repast is not worthy of you. 
 As it is I who ordered it, and as I have not, on that head, the 
 knowledge of some of our friends, you have not here a very 
 studied affair, and you will find many incongruities of good 
 cheer, and many barbarisms of good taste. If Damis had 
 had a hand in this, everj^thing would have been done pro- 
 perly ; there would have been elegance and erudition every- 
 where, and he would not have failed to exaggerate to you him- 
 self every item of the repast which he was giving you, and to 
 force you to agree as to his great capacity in the way of gastro- 
 nomy ; to hold forth to you about a fancy bread with golden 
 edges,^^ crusty all round, daintily crackling under your teeth ; 
 about a wine, strong-bodied and deep coloured, with a tart- 
 ness which does not predominate ; about a loin of mutton 
 garnished with parsley ; about a loin of Norman veal,^^ as 
 long as this, white, delicate, and which tastes, under the 
 teeth, like real almond paste ; about partridges of a sur- 
 prising flavour ; and, for his master-piece,^^ about a jelly- 
 
 37 Tlie original lias pain de rive a biseau dor4. 
 
 38 Veau de rivikre because the calves were reared in Normandy, on 
 the bank.s of the Seine. 
 
 39 The original has npeJa which was often employed in Molifere's 
 time for " master-piece."
 
 SCI.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 323 
 
 broth, followed by a young fat turkey, with young pigeons 
 at the four corners, and crowned with bleached onions and 
 chicory.^'' But as for me, I acknowledge my ignorance ; 
 and, as M. Jourdain has very well said, I should wish that 
 the feast was more worthy of being offered to you. 
 
 Doi'i. I only respond to this compliment by eating as 
 
 I do. 
 
 M. Jour. Ah ! what beautiful hands ! 
 
 Dori. The hands are but middling, M. Jourdain ; but 
 
 you are alluding to the diamond which is very beautiful. 
 
 M. Jour. I, Madam ? Heaven preserve me from allud- 
 ing to it ; it would not be gallant on my part ; and the 
 diamond is of very little consequence. 
 
 Dor. You are very fastidious, 
 
 M. Jour. You are too good . . . 
 
 Dor. [After having given a sign to M. Jourdain^ 
 
 Come, pour some wine to M. Jourdain, and to these gentle- 
 men, who will do us the favour to sing us a drinking song. 
 
 Dori. It gives a marvellous relish to good cheer to 
 
 mix music with it ; and I find myself admirably entertained 
 here. 
 
 M. Jour. Madam, it is not . . , 
 
 Dor. M. Jourdain, let us listen to these gentlemen ; 
 
 what they will tell us will be worth much more than all 
 that we could say. 
 
 First Drinking Song. 
 First and Second Musicians together, tcith glasses in their hands. 
 
 A small drop, Phillis, to commence the round. 
 
 Ah ! how agi-eeable and charming a glass looks in your 
 
 hands ! 
 You and the wine, you lend each other arms, 
 
 **> U71 dindon . . . cantovne de jngwimeaux is the expression used. 
 Cantonne, cantoned, is a heraldic term.
 
 324 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iv. 
 
 ifi And I feel my love for both increase, 
 
 Between it, you and I, my fair one, let us swear, let us 
 
 swear. 
 An eternal friendship. 
 
 How by wetting your lips, it receives fresh charms I 
 
 And how we see your lips embellished by it ! 
 
 Ah ! both inspire me with envy. 
 
 And with you and it, I intoxicate myself with long 
 
 draughts. 
 Between it, you and I, my fair one, let us swear, let us 
 
 swear, 
 An eternal friendship. 
 
 Second Drinlcing Song. 
 Second and Third Musicians together. 
 
 Let us drink, dear friends, let us drink ; 
 Fleeting time invites us to it. 
 Let us profit by life 
 As much as we can. 
 
 When we have passed the black gulf, 
 Good bye to wine and love. 
 Let us make haste to drink, 
 For we cannot always drink. 
 
 Let us leave arguing to fools ! 
 On the true happiness of life ; 
 Our philosophy 
 Places it in the bottle. 
 
 Wealth, knowledge and glory. 
 Do not do away Avith carking care ; 
 And it is only in drinking, 
 That we can be happy.
 
 so. II.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 825 
 
 All three together. 
 Come on, come on : wine everywhere : pour out, men, pour out ; 
 Pour out, pour out always, until we say enough. 
 
 Dori. I think no one could sing better ; and it is 
 
 altogether charming. 
 
 M. Jour. I see here. Madam, something more charming 
 
 still. 
 
 Dori. Indeed ! M. Jourdain is more gallant thaii 
 I thought. 
 
 Dor. How so, Madam ! for whom do you take M. 
 Jourdain. 
 
 M. Jour. I wish she would take me for what I could 
 name. 
 
 Dori. What ? Again ? 
 
 Dor. [To Dorimhne] You do not know him. 
 
 M. Jour. She shall know me when it pleases her. 
 
 Dori. Oh ! I shall run away. 
 
 Dor. He has always got his repartee at hand. But 
 you do not see, Madam, that M. Jourdain eats every morsel 
 which you touch. 
 
 Dori. M. Jourdain is a man who charms me. 
 
 M. Jour. If I could charm your heart, I would be . . . 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Mrs Jourdain, M. Jourdain, Dorimhne, Dorante, 
 Musicians, Lacqueys. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Ah ! ah ! 1 find good company here, and 
 I see plainly that I was not expected. It is for 
 this pretty affair then, husband, that you were so anxious 
 to send me out to dine with my sister ! I find a play 
 down below, and here I find a dinner fit for a wedding. 
 That is how you spend your substance ; and it is thus that
 
 826 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iv. 
 
 you feast the ladies in my absence, and give them music 
 and comedy, while you send me out of the way. 
 
 Dor. What do you mean, Mrs Jourdain ? and what 
 
 fancies are yours, to take it into your head that your hus- 
 band spends his substance, and that it is he who gives this 
 entertainment to this lady ? Know, pray, that it is I ; that 
 he is only lending me his house, and that you ought to be 
 somewhat more careful in what you say. 
 
 M. Jou7\ Yes, impertinent woman, it is the count 
 who provides all this for this lady, who is a lady of quality. 
 He does me the honour of borrowing my house, and of 
 wishing me to be with him. 
 
 Mrs Jour. That is all stuff: I know what I know. 
 
 Dor. Take a better pair of spectacles, Mrs Jour- 
 
 dain. 
 
 Mrs Jour. I have no need of spectacles. Sir, and I see 
 clearly enough. I have had a scent of this for some time, and 
 I am not a fool. It is very base in you, who are a great 
 lord, to lend a hand, as you do, to the follies of my husband. 
 And you. Madam, for a lady of quality, it is neither hand- 
 some nor honest in you, to sow dissension in a family, and 
 to allow my husband to be in love with you. 
 
 Do7'i. What does all this mean ? Indeed, Dorante, 
 
 it is too bad in you to expose me to the silly visions of this 
 foolish woman. 
 
 Dor. [Follotuing Dorimhne, who goes out] Madam 
 
 . . . Madam ! where are you running ? 
 
 M. Jour. Madam. . . . Count, make mv excuses to 
 her, and endeavour to bring her back.
 
 sc. Hi.-v.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 327 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Mrs Jourdain, M. Jourdain, Lacquey. 
 
 M. Jour. Ah ! impertinent woman that you are, these 
 are your nice doings! You come to affront me before every- 
 one ; and you drive people of quality from my house ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. I do not care about their quality. 
 
 M. Jour. I do not know what hinders me, you cursed 
 woman, from splitting your head with the fragments of the 
 repast which you have come to disturb. 
 
 [The Lacqueys take the table atvay. 
 
 Mrs Jour. [Going] I do not care a bit for all this. I 
 am defending my rights, and I shall have all the women on 
 my side. 
 
 M. Jour. You do well to get out of the way of my fury. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 M". Jourdain, alone. 
 
 She came back at a most unlucky time. I was in the 
 humour for saying pretty things ; and never did I find 
 myself so witty. But what is this ? 
 
 SCENE V. 
 M. Jourdain ; Covielle, disguised. 
 
 Gov. Sir, I do not know whether I have the honour 
 
 of being known to you. 
 
 M. Jour. No, Sir. 
 
 Gov. [^Holding his hand about a foot from the 
 
 ground^ I have seen you when you were not taller than 
 this. 
 
 M. Jour. Me ? 
 
 Gov. Yes. You were the prettiest child in the world, 
 
 and all the ladies took you in their arms to kiss you.
 
 328 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iv. 
 
 M. Jou7\ To kiss me ? 
 
 Cov. Yes. I was a great friend of the late gentleman, 
 
 your father. 
 
 M. Jour. Of the late gentleman, my father ? 
 
 Cov. Yes. He was a very respectable gentleman. 
 
 M. Jour. How say you ? 
 
 Cov. I say that he was a very respectable gentleman. 
 
 M. Jour. My father ? 
 
 Cov. Yes. 
 
 M. Jour. You have known him well ? 
 
 Cov. Indeed I have. 
 
 M. Jour. And you have known him to be a gentleman ? 
 
 Cov. Undoubtedly. 
 
 M. Jour. Then I do not know what the world means ! 
 
 Cov. How ? 
 
 M. Jour. There are silly people who would tell me that 
 he was a tradesman. 
 
 Cov. He, a tradesman ? It is downright slander, he 
 
 never was one. All that he did, is that he was extremely 
 obliging, and very polite ; and as he was a very great judge 
 of stuffs, he went and chose them everywhere, had them 
 carried to his house, and gave them to his friends for money. 
 
 M. Jour. I am deliglited to know you, so that you may 
 bear this testimony, that my father was a gentleman. 
 
 Cov. I will maintain it before the whole world. 
 
 M. Jour. You will oblige me. What business brings 
 you here ? 
 
 Cov. Since I knew your late father, a respectable 
 
 gentleman as I have told you, I have travelled all over the 
 world. 
 
 M. Jour. All over the world ? 
 
 Cov. Yes. 
 
 M. Jour. I fancy it must be very far to that country. 
 
 Cov. Indeed it is. I have come back from all my
 
 so. v.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 329 
 
 long travels only within the last four days ; and from the 
 interest which I take in everything that relates to you, I 
 have come to announce to you the best news in the world. 
 
 M. Jour. Which ? 
 
 Cov. You know that the son of the Grand Turk is 
 
 here ? 
 
 M. Jour. I ? No. 
 
 Cov. How is that ? He has the most magnificent 
 
 retinue ; everyone goes to see him, and he has been 
 received in this country as an important nobleman. 
 
 M. Jour. Indeed, I did not know that. 
 
 Cov. What is of advantage to you, is that he is in 
 
 love with your daughter. 
 
 M. Jour. The son of the Grand Turk ? 
 
 Cov. Yes ; and he 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 went to see him, understanding his language perfectly, 
 we were conversing together ; and after some talk, he said 
 to me, Acciatn croc soler onch alia moustaph gidelum 
 amanahem varahini oussere carhulath ; wdiich means; have 
 you not seen a handsome young lady, who is the daughter 
 of M. Jourdain, a Parisian gentleman ? 
 
 M. Jour. The son of the Grand Turk said that 
 of me ? 
 
 Cov. Yes. As I answered him that I knew you 
 
 particularly, and that I had seen your daughter ; Ah ! 
 said he to me, niarabaha sahem I which means : Ah ! how 
 enamoured I am of her ! 
 
 M. Jour. Marababa sah6m means : Ah ! how enamoured 
 I am of her ? 
 
 Cov. Yes. 
 
 M. Jour. Upon my word, you do well to tell me ; for, 
 as for me, I should never have thought that marababa
 
 830 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iv. 
 
 sahem, meant : Ah ! how enamoured I am of her ! It is 
 an admirable language, this Turkish ! 
 
 Cov. More admirable than you would think. Do 
 
 you know at all what cacaraco^mouchen means ? 
 
 M. Jour. Cacaracamoucheii ? No. 
 
 Cov. That means, My dear soul. 
 
 M. Jour. Cacaracamouchen means : My dear soul ? 
 
 Cov. Yes. 
 
 M. Jour. That is something marvellous ! Cacaraca- 
 mouchen, My dear soul. Who would ever think so ? 
 That is something that puzzles me. 
 
 Cov. In short, to finish my mission, he comes to 
 
 ask the hand of your daughter ; and in order to have a 
 father-in-law that shall be worthy of him, he wishes to make 
 you mamamouchi,^^ which is an office of dignity in his 
 country. 
 
 M. Jour. Mamamouchi ? 
 
 Cov. Yes, mamamouchi ; that means in our 
 
 language, Paladine. In short, Paladines are those ancient 
 . . . Paladines. There is nothing more noble in the world ; 
 and you will be on a level with the greatest lords of the 
 earth. 
 
 M. Jour. The son of the Grand Turk honours me much, 
 and I pray you to bring him here that I may tender him 
 my thanks. 
 
 Cov. Why ! he is just coming here. 
 
 M. Jour. He is coming here ? 
 
 Cov. Yes; and he brings everything with him for the 
 
 ceremony of investing you with your dignity. 
 
 M. Jour. That is very prompt. 
 
 41 Nearly all the Turkish of Covielle, which is no Turkish at all, is 
 taken from Eotrou's comedy, The Sister. There are, however, a few 
 corrupt Turkish woi-ds among them. The woi-d mamamouchi, created 
 by Molicre, is still used in French.
 
 sc. VI.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 331 
 
 Cov. His passion will brook no delay. 
 
 M. Jour. The only thing that perplexes me in this affair 
 is, that my daughter is an obstinate girl who has her head 
 full of a certain Cldonte, and she swears that she shall marry 
 no one but him. 
 
 Cov. She will change her mind when she shall see 
 
 the son of the Grand Turk ; and the most marvellous 
 adventure in this case is, that the son of the Grand Turk 
 resembles this Cl^onte, with perhaps a slight difference. I 
 have just seen him; he has been pointed out to me; and the 
 love which she has for the one might easily pass to the other, 
 and. ... I hear him coming ; here he is. 
 
 SCIJNE VI . 
 
 Cl^onte, disguised as a Turk; Three Pages, carrying 
 Cleontes jacket ; M. Jourdain, Covielle. 
 
 CU. Amhousahim oqiii boraf, Jordina, salamale- 
 
 • 42 
 
 qmy 
 
 Gov. [To M. Jourdain] That means : M. Jourdain, 
 
 may your heart be all the year like a rose tree in flower. 
 These are the prepossessing ways of speaking in these 
 countries. 
 
 M. Jour. I am his Turkish Highness' most humble 
 servant, 
 
 Cov. Carigar camboto oustin moraf. 
 
 Cle. Oustin yoc catamaleqwi basum base alia 
 
 moran. 
 
 Cov. He says : May Heaven give you the strength 
 
 of a lion, and the cunning of a serpent. 
 
 *2 The last word is the Arabic saldm ale'iqui, may salvation be on your 
 head ; in familiar French, there exists the word scdamalec, a very deep 
 bow.
 
 832 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [alt iv. 
 
 M. Jour. His Turkish Highness honours me too much, 
 and I wish him all sorts of prosperity. 
 
 Gov. Ossa binanien sadoc habally oracaf ouram. 
 
 CM. Bel-men}^ 
 
 Gov. He says you are to go with him quickly to 
 
 prepare yourself for the ceremony, so that he may see your 
 daughter afterwards, and conclude the marriage. 
 
 M. Jour. So many things in two words ? 
 
 Gov. Yes. The Turkish language is like that, it says 
 
 much in few words. ^'* Go quickly where he wishes you. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 CoviELLE, alone. 
 
 Ah ! ah ! ah ! Upon my word, this is very funny. What 
 a dupe ! If he had learned his part by heart, he could not 
 play it better. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 DORANTE, CoviELLE. 
 
 Gov. I beg of you. Sir, to be good enough to assist us 
 in an affair that is going on in this house. 
 
 Dor. Ah ! ah ! Covielle, who would have known you ? 
 How you are got up ! 
 
 Gov. You see. Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Dor. What arc you laughing at ? 
 
 Gov. At something Sir, that well deserves it. 
 
 Dor. What? 
 
 43 Bel-men is perhaps the Turkish bilmen, I ilo nut know. 
 
 44 This remark of Covielle is taken from Rotrou's comedy, The Sister, 
 where a roguish servant also takes six lines to express the meaning of 
 vare hec.
 
 sc. IX.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 333 
 
 Gov. I could give you many chances, Sir, to guess the 
 trick of which we are making use with M. Jourdain, to in- 
 duce him to give his daughter to my master. 
 
 Dor. I cannot guess the stratagem ; but I can guess that 
 it will not fail to produce its effect, since you have taken it 
 in hand. 
 
 Gov. I know. Sir, that the animal is not unknown to you. 
 
 Dor. Tell me what it is. 
 
 Gov. Take the trouble to draw a little aside to make 
 room for what I perceive coming along. You will be able 
 to see a part of the story, while I tell you the rest. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 Turkish Ceremony.'*'^ The Mufti, Dervishes, Turkish 
 Assistants of the Mufti, singing and dancing. 
 
 First Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Six Turks enter gravely two hy tivo, to the sound of instruments. 
 They carry three carpets, %chich they lift very high, after having formed 
 several figures with it, while dancing. The singing Turks pass beneath 
 these carpets, and range themselves on loth sides of the stage. The 
 mufti, accompanied by the dervishes, closes up the procession. Then the 
 Turks lay the carpets on the floor, and kneel down upon them. The 
 mufti and the dervishes remain standing in the midst of them ; and, 
 while the mufti invokes Mahomet, making many contortions ami 
 grimaces, without idtering a single word, the assistant Turks prostrate 
 themselves on the ground, singing, Alii, then raise their hands to heaven, 
 singing, Allah ; which they continue to do until the end of the invoca- 
 tion, after which they all rise, singing. Alia eckber ; and two dervishes 
 go and fetch M. Jourdain. 
 
 ^5 The music for this ceremony was by the celebrated LuUi, who 
 acted the part of the mufti.
 
 334 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iv. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 The Mufti, Dervishes, Turks singing and dancing, 
 M. JoURDAiN dressed in Turkish costume, his head, 
 shaved, toithout turban or sabre. 
 
 Mufti. \To M. Jourdain.] 
 
 If you know, 
 You answer ; 
 If you do not know, 
 You be silent, silent. 
 I am the Mufti, 
 
 Who are you, you ? 
 Not understand, 
 You be silent. 
 [Two dervishes retire with M. Jourdain. 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 The Mufti, Dervishes, Turks, singing and dancing. 
 
 Mufti. Say, Turk, who is that one ? An Anabaptist ? 
 an Anabaptist ? 
 Turks. No. 
 Mufti. A Zwingiian ? 
 Turks. No. 
 Mufti. A Copht ? 
 Turks. No. 
 
 Mufti. A Hussite ? A Moor ? A Contemplative man ? 
 Turks. No, no, no. 
 Mufti. No, no, no. Is he a Pagan ! 
 Tiirlcs. No. 
 
 Mufti. A Lutheran ? 
 Turks. No. 
 
 Mufti. A Puritan 'i 
 
 Turks. No.
 
 sc. xii.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 335 
 
 Mufti. A Brahmin ? A Moffina ? A Zurina ? *^ 
 Turks. No, no, no. 
 
 Mufti. No, no, no. A Mahometan ? A Mahometan ? 
 Turks. Yes, by Allali ! 
 
 Mufti. What is his name ? What is his name ? 
 Turks. Jourdain, Jourdain/^ 
 
 Mufti. [Jumping and looking on all sides'] Jourdain ? 
 Jourdain ? 
 
 Turks. Jourdain, Jourdain. 
 Mufti. Mahomet, for Jourdain, 
 
 I pray, night and morning. 
 
 I wish to make a paladine 
 
 Of Jourdain, of Jourdain. 
 
 Give the turban, and give the scimitar, 
 
 With the galley, and the brigantine 
 
 To defend Palestine. 
 
 Mahomet, for Jourdain, 
 
 I pray, night and morning. 
 \_To the Turks] Will he be a good Turk, Jourdain ? 
 Turks. Yes, by Allah. 
 
 Mufti. Ha la ba, ba la chou, ba la ba, ba la da.^^ 
 Turks. Ha la ba, ba la chou, ba la ba, ba la da. 
 
 SCUNE XII. 
 
 Second Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Singing and Dancing Turks. 
 
 46 These two last words belong to no known sect. 
 
 ■^^ The whole of this ceremony is written in the lingxia franca, the 
 language spoken in the Levant. Some of the words used are not 
 coiTectly spelt. We give the beginning of the original : — The Mufti. 
 Se ti sabir, ti respondir ; se non sabir tazir, tazir. Mi star muphti, ti 
 qui star, ti ? Non intendir ? tazir, tazir. 
 
 48 These words have no sense, but in correcting them we easily get 
 the Turkish words Allah, baba, hou, Allah, baba, God, my father, God, 
 God, my father.
 
 336 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act iv. 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 The Mufti, Dervishes, M. Jourdain. 
 
 Singing and Dancing Turks. 
 
 The Mufti comes hack with Ms state turhan, which is enormously 
 large, and decorated with four or five rows of lighted candles : he is 
 accompanied by two dervishes who carry the Koran, and tolio have 
 pointed cajis, also decorated loith candles. 
 
 Two other dervishes bring in M. Jourdain, and make him kneel 
 down, the hands on the ground, so that his back, on which is placed the 
 Koran, may serve as a desk to the Mufti, who makes a second burlesque 
 invocation, knitting his eye-brows, and opening his mouth, ivithout saying 
 a word ; then speaking vehemently, sometimes softening his tone, some- 
 times raising it tcith such an enthusiasm, as to make one tremble, holding 
 his sides %oith his hands, as if to make the icords come out, beating from 
 time to time on the Koran, and turning over the leaves precipitately, 
 after which, lifting his hands to heaven, the Mufti cries in a loud voice, 
 Hou.^^ During this invocation, the Turkish assistants, bowing down and 
 rising alternately, also sing Hou, hou, hou. 
 
 M. Jour. [After the Koran has been taken from his 
 back^ Ouf. 
 
 Mufti. [To M. Jourdain^ You are not a rogue ? 
 
 Turks. No, no, no. 
 
 Mufti. Are not a cheat ? 
 
 Turlcs. No, no, no. 
 
 Mufti. [To Turks] Give a turban ? 
 
 Turks. You are not a rogue ? 
 
 No, no, no. 
 
 Are not a cheat ? 
 
 No, no, no. 
 
 Give a turban.^^ 
 
 49 Hou, the Arab for him, is one of the names which the Mussulmans 
 give to God. 
 
 50 Ti non star furba — No, no, no. — Non star forfanta / — No, no, no. 
 — Donar turbantii.
 
 sc. XIII.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 337 
 
 Third Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 The dancing Turks place the turban on the head of M. Jourdain to 
 the sound of the instruments. 
 
 Mufti. [Handing a sahre to M. Jourdain.'] 
 
 You be noble, not a fable. 
 
 Take the sabre.^^ 
 Turks. [Draiving their sabres.] 
 
 You be noble, not a fable, 
 
 Take the sabre. 
 
 Fourth Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 The dancing Turhs give M. Jourdain several strokes ivith the sabre, 
 keeping time ivitli the music. 
 
 Mufti. They shall give, they shall give. 
 
 The bastonnade,^^ 
 Turks. They shall give, they shall give, 
 
 The bastonnade. 
 
 Fifth Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 The dancing Ttirks give M. Jourdain several strokes with the stick, 
 keeping time to the music. 
 
 Mufti. Not to have shame 
 
 Is the utmost insult. ^^ 
 Turks. Not to have shame 
 
 Is the utmost insult. 
 
 The mufti commences a third invocation, The dervishes support him 
 under his arms with respect; after ichich the singing and dancing 
 Turks, jumping round the mufti, retire with him, taking M. Jourdain 
 loith them. 
 
 51 Ti star nobile, non star fabbola — Pigliar schiabbola. 
 
 52 Dara, dara, bastonnara. 
 
 53 Non tener honta ; — Qiiesta star I'ultima afFronta. 
 
 V.
 
 338 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act v. 
 
 AOT V. SCENE I. 
 Mrs Joukdain, M. Jourdain. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Have mercy upon us, good Heaven ! What 
 is this ? What a figure ! Are you going to carry a 
 momoii ^^ and is this a time to go out masquerading ? 
 Speak, what is all this ? Who has dressed you out in this 
 fashion ? 
 
 M. Jour. Listen to the impertinent woman ! to speak 
 in this manner to a mamamouchi ! 
 
 Mrs Jour. Wliat is that ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, you will have to show me a little more 
 respect now. I have just been made a ')namamouchi. 
 
 Mrs Jour. What do you mean with your wuTnamouchi ? 
 
 M. Jour. Maonamouchi, I tell you. I am mamamouchi. 
 
 Mrs Jour. What sort of animal is that ? 
 
 M. Jour. MamamoucJd, that means, in our language, 
 paladine. 
 
 Mrs Jour^ Baladin l^" Are you of an age to dance in 
 the ballet ? 
 
 M. Jour. What ignorance ! I say paladine : it is a dignity 
 with which I have just been invested, with great ceremony. 
 
 Mrs Jour. What ceremony, then ? 
 
 M. Jour. Mahameta iier Jordina. 
 
 Mrs Jour. What does that mean. 
 
 M. Jour. Jordina, means Jourdain. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Well ! What, Jourdain ? 
 
 M. Jour. Voter far un paladina de Jordina. 
 
 Mrs Jour. What ? 
 
 M. Jour. Dar turbanfa con galera. 
 
 ^' See Vol. I., page 55, note 34. 
 
 ''■^ Madam Jovirdain is not acquainted with the word " paladine," but 
 knows bcdadiii, a ballet-dancer.
 
 sc. II.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 33iJ 
 
 Mrs Jour. What does it mean, that ? 
 
 M. Jour. Per defender Palestina. 
 
 3Irs Jour. What is it 3^011 wish to say ? 
 
 M. Jour. Dara, dara, bastonnara. 
 
 Mrs Jour. What is all this gibberish ? 
 
 M. Jour. Non tener honta, questa star V ultima 
 ojfronta. 
 
 Mrs Jour. But what is it, all this ? 
 
 M. Jour. [Singing and dancing] Hon la ha, ha la 
 chou, ha la ha, ha la da. [He falls to the ground. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Alas ! good Heavens ! my husband is gone 
 mad ! 
 
 M. Jour. [Getting ujj and walking away] Peace, inso- 
 lent woman. Show resjDect to a mamaniouchi. 
 
 Mrs Jour. [A lone^^ Where could he have lost his senses ? 
 I had better run and prevent his going out. [Perceiving 
 Borimene and Dorante^ Ah ! ah ! it wanted nothing but 
 this/^ I see nothing but grief on all sides. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 DORANTE, DoRIMIcNE. 
 
 Dor. Yes, Madam, you shall witness the most amusing 
 thing that could be seen ; and I do not believe that it would 
 be possible to find in the whole world another man so mad 
 as this one. And besides. Madam, we must try to forward 
 Cleonte's love affair, and to support all his masquerade. He 
 is a very gentlemanly man, and one who deserves that we 
 should interest ourselves in him. 
 
 Dori. I think a great deal of him, and he is worthy of a 
 good fortune. 
 
 Dor. In addition to all this, we have here. Madam, a 
 
 ■^'' lu tlie original roici justement le reste de notre ecu, " here is just the 
 remainder of our crowu," meaning " this completes our misfortune."
 
 840 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act v. 
 
 ballet that is owing to us, and which we must take care 
 not to lose ; and we must see whether my idea shall not 
 succeed. 
 
 Bori. I have noticed some magnificent preparations, but 
 they are things, Dorante, which I can no longer allow. Yes, 
 I will make an end of your profusion : and to put a stop to 
 all the expenses which I see you make for me, I have made 
 up my mind to be married quickly to you. That is the 
 real secret ; and all these things finish with marriage. 
 
 Dor. Ah ! Madam, is it possible that you can have 
 taken such a sweet resolution for my sakel 
 
 Dori. It is only to prevent you from ruining yourself ; 
 and without this, I see plainly, that, before long, you will 
 not possess a permy. 
 
 Do7\ How obliged I am to you. Madam, for the care 
 which you take to preserve my estate ! It is entirely yours, 
 as well as my heart, and you shall do with it as you please. 
 
 Bori. I shall use them both well. But here comes your 
 man ; he has a nice figure. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 M. JOURDAIN, DORIMilNE, DORANTE. 
 
 Dor. We come to do homage. Sir, this lady and my- 
 
 self, to your new dignity, and to rejoice with you about the 
 marriage of your daughter with the son of the Grand Turk. 
 
 M. Jour, {/^fter having boived in the Turkish fashionl 
 Sir, I wish you the strength of the serpent and the cunning 
 of the lion. 
 
 Dori. I am very glad to be among the first, Sir, to 
 
 come to congratulate you upon the high degree of honour 
 which you have reached. 
 
 M. Jour. Madam, I wish you all the year your rose-tree 
 in riower. I am infinitely obliged to you lor taking an in-
 
 sc. IV.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 341 
 
 terest in the honours that have come to nie ; and I have 
 much joy in seeing you returned here, in order to tender 
 you my humble excuses for the foolish behaviour of my 
 wife. 
 
 Dori. Do not mention it ; I can excuse this kind of 
 
 feeling in her : your heart must be precious to her ; and it 
 is not at all strange that the possession of a man like you 
 must inspire her with some alarm. 
 
 M. Jour. The possession of my heart is a thing which 
 you have entirely acquired. 
 
 Do7\ You see, Madam, that Mr Jourdain is not one 
 
 of those people who are blinded by prosperity, and that even 
 in his greatness, he knows to value his friends. 
 
 Dori. It is the sign of a perfectly generous heart. 
 
 Dor. But where is his Turkish Highness ? As your 
 
 friends we should like to pay our respects to him. 
 
 Jf. Jour. Here he comes ; and I have sent for my 
 daughter to give him her hand. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 M. Jourdain, DoRiMicNE, Dorante, Cli^onte, dressed as a 
 
 Turk 
 
 Dor. [To Cleonte] Sir, we have come to pay our 
 
 compliments to your Highness, as friends of this gentleman, 
 your father-in-law, and to assure you respectfully of our 
 humble devotion. 
 
 M. Jour. Wliere is the dragoman, to tell him who you 
 are, and to make him understand what you say ? You shall 
 see how he answers you ; he speaks Turkish marvellously. 
 [To Cle'onte'] Hullo ! where the deuce is he gone to? Strouf, 
 strif, strof, straf. This gentleman is grande segnore, grande 
 segnore, grande segnore, and this lady, a granda dama, 
 granda dama. [Seeing that he cannot make himself under-
 
 342 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act v. 
 
 stood] Tliis gentleman, he, French mmnamouchi, and 
 Madam, French female mamamouchi^ I cannot speak more 
 clearly. Good ! here comes the interpreter. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 M. JouRDAiN, DoRiMfeNE, DoRANTE, Cleonte dressecl as a 
 Turk, CoviELLE disguised. 
 
 M. Jour. Where have you been ? We do not know how 
 t-o say anything without you, {^Pointing to Cleonte] Just 
 say this lady and gentleman are people of quality, who have 
 come to pay their respects to him, as my friends, and to 
 assure him of their devotion. [To Dorimene and Dorante] 
 You shall see how he will answer. 
 
 Gov. Alabala crociam acci horam alabamen. 
 
 Cle. Catalequi tubal ourin soter amalouchan. 
 
 M. Jour. [To Dorimene and Dorante] Do you see ? 
 
 Cor. He says. May the rain of prosperity at all 
 
 times water the garden of your family. 
 
 M. Jour. I told you well enough that he speaks Turkish. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 LuciLE, Cleonte, M. Jourdain, DoRiMi:NE, Dorante, 
 
 CoviELLE. 
 
 M. Jour. Come, daughter, draw near, and give your 
 liand to this gentleman, who does you the honour of asking 
 you in marriage. 
 
 Luc. How now, father, how you are dressed out. 
 
 Is it a comedy you are playing ? 
 
 M. Jour. No, it is not a comedy ; it is a very serious 
 affair ; one as full of honour for you as you could wish. 
 [Pointing to Cleonte] This is the husband whom I give 
 you.
 
 sc. vii.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 343 
 
 Luc. To me, father ? 
 
 M. Jour. Yes, to you. Come, give him your hand ; and 
 thank Heaven for your good fortune. 
 
 Luc. I do not wish to marry. 
 
 M. Jour. But I wish it, I, your father. 
 
 Luc. I shall do nothing of the kind. 
 
 M. Jour. Ah ! what noise ! Come, I tell you. Here, 
 your hand. 
 
 Luc. No, father ; I have told you there is no power 
 
 which shall force me to take another husband than Cleonte, 
 and I would sooner resolve to every extremity than to . . . 
 [Recognising Cleonte'] It is true you are my father, I owe 
 you entire obedience ; and it is for you to dispose of me 
 according to your will. 
 
 M. Jour. Ah ! I am delighted to find you so promptly 
 returned to your duty ; and it pleases me much to have a 
 daughter so obedient. 
 
 SCENE VIL 
 Mrs Jourdain, Cli^onte, M. Jourdain, Lucile, 
 
 DORANTE, DORlMi^NE, COVIELLE. 
 
 Mrs Jour. How now ? What is all this ? They say 
 that you wish to give your daughter in marriage to a 
 mummer. ^^ 
 
 M. Jour. Will you hold your tongue, you impertinent 
 woman ? You are always coming to mix your extravagances 
 in everything ; there is no possibility of teaching you to be 
 reasonable. 
 
 Mrs Jour. It is you whom there is no teaching to be 
 sensible, and you go from one folly to another. What is 
 your intention ? What do you mean to do with all this 
 company ? 
 
 ^'> The original has cm'ime-prenant. See page 292, note 20.
 
 34.4< THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act v. 
 
 M. Jour. I wish to marry our daughter to the son of 
 the Grand Turk. 
 
 Mrs Jour. To the son of the Grand Turk ? 
 
 M. Jour. [Pointing to Govielle] Yes, pay him your 
 respects through the dragoman, whom you see there. 
 
 3frs Jour. I have nothing to do with the dragoman ; and 
 I will tell him well enough myself, and to his face, that he 
 shall not have my daughter, 
 
 M. Jour. Once more, will you hold your tongue ? 
 
 Dor. What, Mrs Jourdain, you oppose yourself to 
 
 an honour like this ? You refuse his Turkish Highness for 
 a son-in-law. 
 
 Mi'S Jour. Good Heavens ! Sir, concern yourself with 
 your own affairs. 
 
 Dorim. It is a great honour, which you should not 
 reject. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Madam, I also beg of you not to trouble your- 
 self with what does not concern you. 
 
 Dor. It is the friendship we have for you which 
 
 makes us take an interest in your prosperity. 
 
 Mrs Jour. I will willingly dispense with your friendship. 
 
 M. Jour. Here is your daughter who consents to the 
 wishes of her father. 
 
 Mrs Jour. My daughter consents to marry a Turk ? 
 
 Dor. Undoubtedly. 
 
 Mrs Jour. She can forget Cl(?onte ? 
 
 Dor. What does one not do to become a grand 
 
 lady ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. I would strangle her with my own hands if 
 she played a trick like that. 
 
 M. Jour. There is a lot of cackle ! I tell you that this 
 marriage shall take place. 
 
 Mrs Jour. And I tell you that it shall not take place. 
 
 M. Jour. Ah ! what noise !
 
 sc. VII.] THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 345 
 
 Luc. Mother ! 
 
 Mrs Jour. Go, you are a jade. 
 
 M. Jour. \To Mrs Jourdai7i\ What ! you quarrel with 
 her for obeying me ! 
 
 Mrs. Jour. Yes ! she belongs to me as well as to 
 you. 
 
 Cov. \To Mrs Joui'dain] Madam ! 
 
 Mrs Jour. What do you wish with me, you ? 
 
 Cov. One word. 
 
 Mrs Jour. I do not wish your one word. 
 
 Gov. [To M. Jourdairi] Sir, if she will but listen 
 
 to one word in private, I promise you to make her consent 
 to your wishes. 
 
 Mrs Jour. No. 
 
 M. Jour. [To Mrs Jourdain] Hear him. 
 
 Mrs Jour. No, I shall not hear him. 
 
 M. Jour. He will tell you . . . 
 
 Mrs Jour. I do not wish you to tell me anything. 
 
 M. Jour. Look at the great obstinacy of the woman ! 
 Will it do you any harm to listen ? 
 
 Gov. Do but hear me, afterwards you shall do as 
 
 you please. 
 
 Mrs Jour. Very well ! What ? 
 
 Cov. [In a whisper to Mrs Jourdairi] For the last 
 
 hour we have been making signals to you. Do not you see 
 that all this is done to accommodate ourselves to the fancies 
 of your husband ; that we are deceiving him under this dis- 
 guise ; and that it is Cleonte himself who is the son of the 
 Grand Turk ? . . . 
 
 Mrs Jour. [In a ivhisper to Govielle] Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Gov. [In a whisper to Mrs Jourdain] And that it 
 
 is I, Covielle, who am the dragoman ? 
 
 Mrs Jour. [In a whisper to Govielle'] In that case I 
 surrender.
 
 346 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. [act v. 
 
 Gov. Yin a ivhisper to Afrs Jourdain] Pretend to 
 
 know nothing of the matter. 
 
 Mrs Jour. [Aloud] Yes, it is all over. I consent to the 
 
 match. 
 
 M. Jourd. Ah ! Every one becomes reasonable. [To 
 Mrs Jourdain] You would not hear him. I know well 
 enough that he would explain to you what the son of the 
 Grand Turk was. 
 
 Mrs Jour. He has explained it to me properly, and I am 
 satisfied with it. Let us send for the notary. 
 
 Dor. That is well said. And so that you may 
 
 have your mind altogether at ease, Mrs Jourdain, and may 
 do away from this day with all the jealousy that you may 
 have conceived about your husband, this lady, and I, we 
 will make use of the same notary to get married. 
 
 3Irs Jour. I also consent to this. 
 
 M. Jour. [Jn a ivhisi^er to Dorante] It is to hood- 
 wink her. 
 
 Bor. [In a ivTiisiier to M. Jourdain] We must 
 
 amuse her with this feint. 
 
 M. Jour. Good, good. [Aloud] Let them go and fetch 
 the notary. 
 
 Dor. In the meantime, while he is coming, and 
 
 draws up the contracts, let us see our ballet, and let us give 
 the entertainment to his Turkish Highness. 
 
 M. Jour. Well thought of Let us go and take our 
 seats. 
 
 Mrs Jour. And Nicole. 
 
 M. Jour. I give her to the dragoman, and my wife to 
 whosoever will take her. 
 
 Gov. Sir, I am obliged to you. [Aside] If it be 
 
 possible to find a bigger fool, T uill go and publish it in 
 Rome. [The comedy finishes hy a ballet, which had been 
 'prepared]
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 347 
 
 BALLET OF THE NATIONS. 
 
 FIRST ENTRY. 
 
 [A man comes to hand round the hooks of the ballet, who immediately 
 is worried by a multitude of -people of different jjrovinces, icho cry 
 to have some music, and by three troublesome fellows, who are dog- 
 ging his footsteps.'] 
 
 DIALOGUE OF THE PEOPLE, 
 
 Who ask hoohs to the accomjKiniment of onusic. 
 
 A II. To me, Sir, to me pray, to me, Sir ; a book, if you 
 please, to your humble servant. 
 
 A Fashionable Gentleman.^^ Distinguish us. Sir, from 
 amongst the folks that shout : Some books here, the ladies 
 beg of you. 
 
 Another. Hullo ■ Sir, Sir, have the kindness to throw 
 some to our side. 
 
 A Fashionable Lady. Good Heavens ! how little honour 
 is paid to people of importance in this house ! 
 
 Another. They have no books or seats, except for 
 grisettes.^^ 
 
 A Gascon.^'^ Ah ! you man with the books, just give me 
 some. My lungs are already tired out. Do not you see that 
 everyone laughs at me, and that I am scandalised to see in 
 the hands of the rabble what is being refused to me by you. 
 
 Another. He ! zounds, you Sir, consider who one may 
 be. A book, I pray you, for the Baron of Asvarat. Upon 
 my word, I think that the coxcomb has not the honour of v 
 knowing me. 
 
 A Stviss. You, mister giver away of paper, ''^ what means 
 this way of acting ; I am crying my very throat to "pieces, 
 
 58 In the original, homme du bel air. 
 
 59 This word was used, in Moliere's time, to designate "citizen's 
 daughters." 
 
 60 Tlie Gascons speak in their dialect, which consists chiefly of using 
 a h for a v, as libres for livres, bous for vous, boyez for voyez, and also 
 using V for h, as varon for baron ; they also accent all e's, as_;V, qu^, m^. 
 
 61 The Swiss uses his dialect, of which we give the two lirst lines : 
 " Mon'siur le donneur de papieir, que veul dire sti faqon dejifre."
 
 3 48 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 without being able to obtain a book. Upon my word, you 
 Sir, I think that you are drunk. 
 
 An Old Chattei'ing Citizen. Of all this, plainly speaking, 
 I am very ill-satisfied ; and it is far from nice that our 
 daughter, so well made and so pretty, the object of so many 
 lovers, should not have, according to her wish, a book of 
 the ballet, to read up the subject of the entertainment about 
 to be given ; and that all our family should so stylish have 
 dressed themselves to be placed at the top of the hall where 
 the interlopers ^'^ are generally placed. Of all this, plainly 
 speaking, 1 am very ill satisfied, and it is far from nice. 
 
 Old Cluittei'ing Female Citizen. It is quite true, it is a 
 shame ; the blood rushes to my face ; and this poetaster, who 
 overlooks the principals, understands liis business very 
 badly. He is a brute — no better than a horse — a down- 
 right animal, to take so little notice of a girl who is the 
 principal ornament of the neighbourhood of the Palais- 
 Royal, and with whom, only a few days ago, a count 
 opened the ball. He understands his business badly ; he 
 is a brute — no better than a horse — a downright animal. 
 
 Fops, male and female, together. Ah ! what a noise ! 
 what a row ! what cliaos ! what a medley ! what confusion ! 
 what strange uproar ! what disorder ! what tumult ! One 
 is being dried up here. One can no longer bear it. 
 
 Gascon. Zounds, I am entirely yours. 
 
 Another. I am bursting with rage, hang it ! 
 
 Siuiss. Ah ! how hot it is in this room ! 
 
 Gascon. I am choking ! 
 
 Another. I am losing my breath ! 
 
 Siuiss. Upon my word, I would like to be outside. 
 
 Old Chattering Citizen. Come, my dear, follow my 
 steps I pray you, and do not leave mo. They take too little 
 notice of us; and I am tired of this tumult. All this row, 
 this confusion, is too much for me. If over the inclination 
 takes me to return, any day of my life, to comedy or 
 ballet, I hope they may maim me. Come, my dear, follow 
 
 62 The original has les fjens de rentrif/ttet, of which the meaning is 
 only conjectural.
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 349 
 
 my steps I pray you, do not leave me : . and they take too 
 little notice of us. 
 
 Old Chattering Femiale Citizen. Come along my pet, 
 my son, let us get back to our domicile. And let us depart 
 from this hole where one cannot sit down. They will be 
 astonished enough when they'll find us gone. Too mucli 
 confusion reigns in this room ; and I would sooner be in 
 the midst of the market. If ever I come back to a similar 
 feast, I will allow them to slap my face half-a-dozen times. 
 Come along, my pet, my son, let us get back to our 
 domicile, and depart from this hole where one cannot sit 
 down. 
 
 All. To me, Sir, to me, pray, to me. Sir; a book if you 
 please, to your humble servant. 
 
 SECOND ENTRY. 
 
 The three troublesome fellows dance. 
 
 THIRD ENTRY. 
 
 Three Spaniards [singing].'^^ 
 
 I know that I am dying with love, and I court grief. 
 Though dying with desire, I fade with so much grace, that 
 what I desire to suffer is more than what I suffer ; and the 
 severity of my grief does not exceed my desire for it. I 
 know, &c., &c. 
 
 Fate treats me with so forbearing a pity, that it assures 
 me life in the danger of death. To live of so terrible a 
 stroke is the prodigy of my deliverance. I know, &c., &c. 
 
 [Eight Spaniards dance. 
 
 First Spaniard {singing). Ah ! how foolish to com- 
 plain of love, so harshly ! of the little boy who is gentleness 
 itself ! Ah ! wliat folly ! ah ! what folly ! 
 
 Second Spaniard [singing^ Grief torments him who 
 abandons himself to grief; and no one dies of love, unless 
 it is the one who does not know how to love. 
 
 Both Spaniards. To die of love is sweet when one is 
 
 •5^ The original is in Spanish.
 
 350 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 repaid ; and if we enjoy it to-day, Avhy Avill you trouble 
 death. 
 
 First Spaniard {singing). Let the lover rejoice and take 
 my advice ; for when one desires, everything is to find the 
 means. 
 
 The Tltree together. Come, let us have feasting and 
 dancing. Let us be gay, gay, gay ; grief is nothing but a 
 fancy. 
 
 FOURTH ENTRY ITALIANS. 
 
 An Italian female niitsician sings the first recital in the 
 
 following words. 
 
 Having *^^ armed my breast with sternness, I revolted 
 against Cupid ; but I was conquered, with the swiftness of 
 lightning, by looking at two fair eyes. Ah I how little can 
 a heart of ice resist a dart of fire ! 
 
 My torture is, however, so dear to me, and my wound so 
 sweet, that my pain causes me to be happy, and that to 
 cure me would be tyranny. Ah! the more violent the 
 love, the more charms has it, and causes the more pleasure. 
 
 After the musician has sung this air, two Scaramou ches, ttco 
 Trivelins, and a Harlequin, represent, in t he Italian manner, to the 
 accompaniment of music, night to he falling.^'" An Italian ynusician 
 joinslKe JemcUe musician, and sings with her the following words : — 
 
 3Iusiciun. The glorious time which is flying past, takes 
 also our pleasures away ; in the school of love one must 
 profit by the opportunity. 
 
 Female Musician. As long as our blooming age smiles 
 upon us, which, alas, too promptly leaves us. 
 
 Both. Let us sing, let us enjoy ourselves in the beautiful 
 days of our youth ; a thing lost is never recovered. 
 
 Female Musician. A fair eye enchains many hearts ; 
 its wounds are sweet ; tbe pain it causes is happiness. 
 
 ^* The original is in Italian. 
 
 ^^ ThefaUing Jii ght was rei)resentecl b^r the actors wrapping them- 
 selves in dark cloaks, i)a.ssing slowly across the stage, keeping time to 
 slow music. ~"
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 351 
 
 Female. But when icy old age comes, the stagnant heart 
 has no longer any fire. 
 
 Both. Therefore let us sing and enjoy ourselves in the 
 beautiful days of our youth ; a good thing lost is never 
 recovered. 
 
 Aft er the Italian dialogues, the Scaramouch esjmd...Trivelins perform _ 
 a merry dan ce. 
 
 FIFTH ENTRY FRENCH. 
 
 Two Musicians from Poitou dance and sing the 
 following words : — 
 
 ' Tii'st IlinueL) Ah ! how beautiful it is in these groves, 
 wEat a gioriousuay does Heaven send us. 
 
 Another Musiciam. The nightingale, beneath this 
 verdant foliage, warbles to the echoes the song of his sweet 
 return. This beauteous spot, these glorious woods, this 
 beauteous spot invites us to love. 
 
 Second Minuet. [Both together] Behold, dear Climene, 
 'neath this old oak, these love-sick birds cooing. Nothing 
 obstructs them in their desires ; their hearts are filled with 
 their sweet flames ; how happy they are ! We both might 
 likewise, if you so wish it, be as happy as they. 
 
 Six other Frenchmen come afterwards, beautifully dressed in the 
 Poitou costume, three men and three women, accompanied by eight 
 flutes and hautboys, and dance some minuets. 
 
 SIXTH ENTRY. 
 
 The whole finishes up by a medley of the three nations, and the 
 applause expressed in dancing and music by the whole of the spectators 
 on the scene, who sing the folloiving two verses: — 
 
 What charming spectacle, what pleasures are we enjoying, 
 The gods themselves have none so sweet as these.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A, Paore 279. 
 
 Ravenscroft, in The Citizen turned Gentleman, has imitated as follows 
 the sixth Scene of the second Act of Moliere's Citizen who apes the 
 Nobleman. Lucia is the name of the Citizen's daughter. 
 
 *o' 
 
 Enter Lucia. 
 
 Lucia. Sir, Here's a servant sent to you from the next house, to 
 inform you that there are some persons sick, and to desire they may 
 not be disturbed with your Musick. 
 
 Jord. The Music ha.s been gone a good while. 
 
 Luc. The Neighbours say 'tis fitter for you to exercise j^our Musick, 
 Dancing, and Fencing in the Schools. 
 
 Jord. A company of fools, they'll teach a Gentleman what to do, will 
 they? 
 
 Luc. Your gentility is troublesome to the whole Neighbourhood ; 
 they have often complain'd of the disturbance you make with Musick, 
 Dancing, and Fencing. 
 
 Jord. Pish, a man shan't learn good breedingfor them I warrant you, 
 'tis a sign they want it, they are so rude to talk so : What's a Gentle- 
 man but his Liberty \ 
 
 Luc. Everybody much wonders what you mean by learning to dance 
 at these years. 
 
 Jord. It's a greater wonder they are not so wise as to know, 'tis never 
 to late to learn. 
 
 Luc. And to speak French. 
 
 Jour. It is altogether spoke at Couit. 
 
 Luc. The Court, Sir, is no fit place for you, nor you no fit man for it. 
 
 Jord. I not fit for the Court ! I was bom a Courtier, only I was 
 spoil'd in the bringing up. 
 
 Luc. My Grandfather, Sir, brought you up in his own way. 
 
 Jord. Your Grandfather ! alas poor old silly bit, I cannot but laugh 
 to think what an Ass he was to imagine that I would stand sneaking 
 in my Shop aU. my life with my cap in my hand, crying, What do you 
 
 V. Z
 
 354 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 lack, Gentleman, choice of good Silkes : I'd have you to know Lucia, I 
 have no such Mechanic Spirit in me. Now he is dead, I defie Pater- 
 Noster-Roiv, and all within my Lord Mayor's Jurisdiction. 
 
 Luc. My Grandfather, Sir, was held a wise man. 
 
 Jord. A wise man, and an Alderman, ha, ha, ha. A rich man you 
 mean. 
 
 Luc. No, Sir, I mean a wise man. 
 
 Jord. Alas, L^ice, you are a fool, you know not what you say. 
 
 Luc. Very well. 
 
 Jord. Very well ! ha, ha, ha, why, what is it you say ? 
 
 Luc. That the Court 
 
 Jord. I speak not now of the Court, I ask, if you know, what it is 
 you say ? 
 
 Luc. And I tell you. Sir, I say that the Court 
 
 Jord. Pish, the Girl's a fool ; I say again I talk not now of the Court, 
 but ask you if you know what this is you sjaeak to me and I to you 1 
 
 Luc. What is it 1 'tis English. 
 
 Jord. True, but what else ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing else, 'tis every word English. 
 
 Jord. Was there ever such a Dunce 1 what are these words % 
 
 Imc. What are these W^ords 1 
 
 Jord. Yes: What? 
 
 Luc. Letters makes Syllables, syllables words, words sentences, and 
 sentences a discourse. 
 
 Jord. And is this all you know 1 
 
 L^ic. Yes. 
 
 Jord. God help your head, what a fine fellow shou'd I be ; were I as 
 ignorant as yourself. 
 
 Luc. Where lies my ignorance ] what was it I said, say you 1 
 
 Jord. 'Twas Prose, you fool. 
 
 Luc. Prose ! 
 
 Jord. Yes Prose, all that is prose is not verse, and all that is not 
 verse is not prose ; La you there now : Do you know what it is you do, 
 when you say V? 
 
 Luc. I say V. 
 
 Jord. Pish — but what do you do then 1 Come, say V. 
 
 Luc. Well, Sir, V. 
 
 Jord. Well ; what did you do then ? 
 
 Luc. I did as you bid me. 
 
 Jord. Invincible stupidity, you open'd your mouth, thrust your lips 
 out at length forward, let your underjaw fall almost to meet the upper, 
 and strongly sent out your breath — T' — see there — V — as it were make 
 a mouth at once — V — I cou'd puzzle you too, with asking you how many 
 the five vowels are, and tell you as much of every one of them — this 'tis 
 to be a Virtuoso. — Hah — this fencing-master comes not yet — Boy, run 
 to til' door, and when you see him coming, bring me word. \_Boy Exit.
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 355 
 
 Luc. These exercises of fencing and dancing in my opinion were 
 fitter for my brother, he is not above twenty years old. 
 
 Jord. Your Brother — puh — he can ne'er be a Gentleman. I was 
 born a Citizen myself, and his Mother was a Citizen born, he was not 
 allied to gentility on either side, forty or fifty pounds a year will 
 maintain him in his native quality — but for you daughter, because you 
 are a gentlewoman by your Mother's side, I have provided better ; you 
 shall be married to the Suffolk knight that will be here anon ; the 
 Articles of Marriage are agreed upon by your Uncle who is his towns- 
 man. The writings are already drawn and sent up with the settlement 
 of your Joynture, and provision for younger Children ; if he comes time 
 enough you shall be married to-day, 
 
 Luc. To-day 1 
 
 Jord. Yes, to-day, for I long to have a Gentleman and Knight for 
 my Son-in-law. 
 
 E, Page 283. 
 
 Foote, in The Commissary, has imitated the sixth Scene of the second 
 Act of MoUfere's play. Mi- Gruel is the name of the Master of 
 Philosophy. 
 
 Enter Mr Gruel. 
 
 Zachary Fungus. Mr Gruel, your servant ; I have been holding forth 
 in your praise. 
 
 Gruel. I make no doubt, Mr Fungus ; but to your declamation or 
 recitation (as Qviintilian more properly terms it), I shall be indebted for 
 much future praise, inasmuch as the rejjutation of the scholar does (as I 
 may say) confer, or rather as it were reflect a marvellous kind of lustre 
 on the fame of the master himself. 
 
 Z. Fun. There, Isaac, did'st ever hear the like 1 He talks just as if 
 it were all out of a book. What wou'd you give to be able to utter such 
 words ? 
 
 /. Fun. And what shou'd I do with them ? Them holiday terms 
 wou'd not pass in my shop ; there's no buying and selling with them. 
 
 Gruel. Your observation is pithy and pertinent. Difi"erent stations 
 diff'erent idioms demand ; polished periods accord ill with the mouths of 
 mechanics ; but as that tribe is permitted to circulate a baser kind of 
 coin, for the ease and convenience of inferior traffic, so it is indulg'd 
 with a vernacular or vitious vulgar phi'aseology, to carry on their 
 interlocutory commerce. But I doubt, Sir, I soar above the region of 
 your comprehension. 
 
 /. Fun. Why, if you would come down a step or two, I can't say but 
 I shou'd understand you the better. 
 
 Z. Fun. And I too.
 
 350 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 Gruel. Then to the familiar I fall : if the geutleman has any am- 
 bition to shine at a vestry, a common hall, or even a convivial club, I 
 can supply him with ample materials. 
 
 /. Fun. No, I have no such desire. 
 
 Gruel. Not to lose time ; your brother here (for such I find the 
 gentleman is), in other resi^ects a common man like yourself — 
 
 Z. Fun. No better. 
 
 Gruel. Observe how alter'd bj' means of my art ; are you prepar'd in 
 the speech on the great importance of trade. 
 
 Z. Fun. Pretty well, I believe. 
 
 Gruel. Let your gesticulations be chaste, and your muscular move- 
 ments consistent. 
 
 Z. Fun. Never fear — 
 
 \Enter Jenny and whispers Mrs Mechlin. 
 Mrs Mechlin, you'll stay. 
 
 Mrs Mechlin. A little business ; I'll return in an instant. 
 
 \_Exit Mrs Mechlin. 
 
 Gruel. A little here to the left, if you please. Sir ; there you will 
 only catch his profile — that's right — now you will have the full force of 
 his face ; one, two, three ; now off you go. 
 
 Z. Ftcn. Wlien I consider the vast importance of this day's debate ; 
 when I revolve the various vicissitudes that this soil has sustained ; 
 when I ponder what our j^ainted progenitors were, and what we, their 
 civilized successors, are ; when I reflect that they fed on crab-apples and 
 chesnuts 
 
 Gruel. Pignuts, good Sir, if you please. 
 
 Z. Fun. You are right ; crab-ajJijles and pig-nuts ; and that we feast 
 on green jiease and on custards ; when I trace in the recording histori- 
 cal page, that their floods gave them nothing but frogs, and now know we 
 have fish by land-carriage, I am lost in amazement at the prodigious 
 power of commerce. Hail, Commerce ! daughter of industry, consort to 
 credit, parent of opulence, full sister to liberty, and great-grandmother 
 to the art of navigation 
 
 /. Fun. Why, this gentlewoman has a pedigree as long as your wife's, 
 brr>ther Zac. 
 
 Z. Fun. Prithee, Isaac, be quiet — art of navigation — a — a — vigita- 
 tion — Zook.s, tliat fellow has put me quite out. 
 
 Gruel. It matters not ; this day's performance has largely fulfilled 
 your yesterday's promise. 
 
 Z. Fun. But I han't half done, the best is to come ; let me just give 
 him that pai-t about turnpegs. For the sloughs, the mires, the ruts, the 
 impassable bogs, that the languid but generous steed travell'd through ; 
 lie now pricks up his ears, lie neighs, he canters, he capers through a 
 whole region f)f turnpegs.
 
 THE CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN. 357 
 
 C, Page 294. 
 
 Foote, in The Commissary (Act ii., Scene 1), has imitated the third 
 Scene of the third Act of Moliere's The Citizen loho Apes the Nobleman. 
 Zachary Fungus is M. Jourdain and his brother Isaac takes the part 
 of Mrs Jourdain. 
 
 Z. Fun. Do you know, Isaac, in what the art of fencing consists 1 
 
 I. Fun. How should I ? 
 
 Z. Fun. Why, it is sliort ; there are but two rules : the iirst is to 
 give your antagonist as many thrusts as you can ; the second, to be 
 careful and receive none yourself. 
 
 /. Fun. But how is this to be done ? 
 
 Z. Fun. Oh, easy enough ; for, do you see, if you can but divert your 
 adversary's point from the line of your body, it is impossible he ever 
 should hit you ; and all this is done by a little turn of the wrist, eitlier 
 this way or that way. But I'll show you. J ohn, bring me a toil. Mrs 
 
 Mechlin, it will be worth your observing. Here, brother Isaac 
 
 \Ofers him a foil. 
 
 I. Fun. Not I. 
 
 Z. Ftcn. These bourgeois are so frightful. Mrs Mechlin, will you, 
 ma'am, do me the favour to push at me a little ? Mind, brother, when 
 she thrusts at me in carte, I do so ; and when she pushes in tierce, I do 
 so ; and by this means a man is sure to avoid being killed. But it 
 may not be amiss, brother Isaac, to give you the progress of a regu- 
 lar quarrel ; and then you will see what sort of a thing a gentleman 
 is ... . Draw, Sir. Now jjusli, Mrs Mechlin. [They fence'] There I 
 
 parry tierce, there I parry carte, there I parry . Hold, hold, have 
 
 a care ; zooks ! Mrs Mechlin. 
 
 /. Fun. Ha, ha, ha ! I think you have met with your match ; well 
 push'd, Mrs Mechlin. 
 
 Z. Fun. Ay, but instead of pushing in tierce, she push'd me in carte, 
 and came so thick with her thrusts that it was not in nature to parry 
 them.
 
 PSYCHE. 
 
 TEAGEDIE-BALLET. 
 
 PSYCHE. 
 
 A TEAGEDY-BALLET IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 {THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE.) 
 
 January 17th, 1671.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 Since the death of Cardinal Mazarin, representatious of operas were no 
 longer in vogue ; and in the beginning of Louis XIV.'s reign, it was 
 thought that no audience could endure music for three hours. Tragedies 
 were attempted, with songs and dances in the interludes ; but Lulli 
 and Quinault first showed that all emotions could be expressed by music. 
 In 1670, the King wished a play to be written, in which tragedy, 
 music, and splendid stage-display should be united, and Moliere was 
 entrusted with the composition of it. In the preface of the bookseller 
 to the reader, we see what share he had in Psyche — for so was the 
 tragedy called — and what the great jsoet Pierre Corneille, then sixty- 
 five years old, wrote of it. All the words that were sung were written 
 by Quinault, and the music was by Lulli. Psyche was first represented 
 at the Tuileries, on the 17th of January 1671, before Louis XIV., the 
 Dauphin, Monsieur, Mademoiselle d'Orleans, and the whole court, and 
 was afterwards re^ieated several times before the same high-born 
 audience. It was acted, with somewhat diminished splendour, in the 
 theatre of the Palais-Eoyal, on the 24th of July of the same year, and 
 had thirty-eight consecutive representations. 
 
 The first idea of Psych^is to be found in The Golden Ass, a romance of 
 the second century of the Christian era, written in Latin, by Apuleius, 
 a Greek. An old woman relates the following story to a young damsel, 
 who is a prisoner of " savage robbers." It is the fifth episode of the 
 fourth, fifth, and sixth books, and is called Cupid and Psyche. We give 
 it in an abbreviated form : — 
 
 " Once upon a time, in a certain city, there lived a king and a queen, and they 
 had three fair daughters. The transcendent loveliness of the younger baffled the 
 povcer of human language, and the inhabitants of the country worshipped her, as 
 if she had been Venus herself. This incensed the Goddess, and she sent for her 
 winged son Cupid, and implored him to punish the contumacious beauty, and to 
 inspire her heart with ardent love for a miserable grovelling outcast. Psj-che, in 
 spite of her matchless loveliness, found no suitors, and her father, suspicious of the 
 enmity of the Celestials, consulted the ancient oracle of Apollo, which said that 
 the maid should be left on a rock, in bridal dress arrayed, to find as bridegi-oom 
 * a wicked, cruel, viperous elf. ' She proceeded to the lofty rock, and was left 
 there. Suddenly the mild breath of Zephyrus blew a gentle breeze, and, ten- 
 derly lifting her adown the mountain height, laid her in the flowery lap of the 
 valley below, where there was a spacious extensive palace, not formed by human
 
 362 PSYCHE. 
 
 hands, wherein she entered, and was waited upon by invisible beings, and enter- 
 tained with songs and music by invisible musicians. Psyche had retired to rest, 
 when, at the dead of night, a gentle murmuring sound fell upon her ears. Before 
 the dawn of day, the invisible spouse of Psyche had left her and fled far away, 
 and the voices as before came to render homage to their mistress, and hail the 
 new-made bride. By dint of supplications and remonstrances she obtained per- 
 mission from her husband — who remained always invisible — to see her sisters, 
 but he strictly enjoined her to keep the invisibility of his form a profound secret. 
 The sisters came, and Psyche gave them valuable presents, which only made them 
 very envious. At last they pressed her so often, that she betrayed her husband's 
 secret. They then told her that her own life was in danger, that her husband 
 was a serpent, and advised her to hide a lamp and sharp knife, and when he was 
 asleep, completely to cut off his head. Now when her husband came, and was 
 overwhelmed with sound sleep. Psyche arose, intending to fulfil her purpose, but 
 the rays of the light showed that her spouse was no other than the beautiful God 
 of love, Cupid himself. She stood entranced, when a drop of scalding oil spirted 
 on Cupid's right shoulder. Up sprang the scalded deity, and in spite of Psyche's 
 repentant entreaties, immediately flew away. She wished to drown herself ; but 
 the gentle river tossed her unhurt and safe upon a tuft of green grass. The for- 
 lorn young wife was wandering all over the country, in search of her recreant 
 husband ; her two sisters, as a reward for their perfidy, had been dashed to death 
 against the rocks. Her prayers to Ceres and Juno to grant her assistance were 
 Ineffectual, as these goddesses did not like to offend Venus, who was incensed 
 against her, because Cupid had fallen in love with Psyche, instead of avenging 
 his mother. At last the wretched young wife falls into Venus's hands, who im- 
 mediately flew violently upon her, and, rending open the bosom of her dress, and 
 tearing her clothes in a great many places, shook her by the head, pulled out 
 her hair by the roots, and otherwise grievously ill-used her. Then she commanded 
 her to separate an enormous heap of mixed seeds of wheat, barley, millet, poppy, 
 vetches, lentils, and beans, in which she is assisted by ants who perform the task 
 for her. Another day Venus told her to fetch some wool of a flock of savage sheep, 
 grazing on the brink of whirling eddies. A benevolent reed showed her a grove, 
 where, on the branches of the bushes, she found the golden wool which she needed. 
 Another day she is sent with a crystal flagon to fill it with icy water of the highest 
 spring, on the topmost summit of craggy and distant mountains. An eagle came, 
 seized the flagon in its beak, and flapping its pinions as it steered its course, had 
 it filled, and returned with it to Psyche. Then Venus sent her with a box to Pro- 
 serpine, in the deadly abode of Pluto, to request some of the beauty of the goddess 
 of the infernal regions, were it only sufficient to last a short winter's day. She 
 started with two barley-cakes and two pieces of money ; the cakes to be given to 
 Cerberus, the coins to Charon, and finally returns to the bright light of day with 
 the box which Proserpine had given her. But irresistible curiosity seized her. 
 She wished to take to herself a morsel of divine beauty, were it only for the sake 
 of fascinating her own beautiful lover. She opened the box, from which imme- 
 diately arose an infernal, somniferous, truly Stygian vapour, which made her fall 
 down with limbs collapsed, and motionless as a corpse. But Cupid, who had 
 recovered from the effects of his burn, flew away from his mother's palace, and 
 cutting through the air with more than ordinary rapidity, very soon reached 
 Psyche, whom be relieved from the obnoxious vapour ; thence darted to the abode 
 of Jupiter, before whom he pleaded the pardon of Psyche submissively. The 
 father of gods and men granted it, saying : The good service that I render theo 
 now thou mayest one day requite, if peradventuro a maiden of more than common 
 beauty chance to fall in thy way. He then ordered Mercury to find Psyche, and 
 Ijring her up to Heaven, gave her a cup of ambrosia, to make her immortal,
 
 PSYCHE. 8G3 
 
 afRanced Cupid to her, and in due time she was brought to bed of a daughter, 
 whom we call Pleasure." 
 
 It is clear that Apuleiiis, in this fable, wished to represent aUegori- 
 cally the career of the human soul, through scenes of mortal tribulation, 
 to a state of celestial beatitude after death. But he also desired to 
 teach, I suppose, that we, mortals, ought not to endeavour to fathom the 
 mystery of happiness ; that we should not scrutinize too much men's 
 actions, but accept with gratitude that which the gods in their wisdom 
 have provided for us ! 
 
 In the thirteenth century, Denys Piramus, the author of Partenopeus 
 of Blois, treated the story of Psyche from a chivalric point of view. The 
 Spanish dramatist Calderon composed on the same subject an auto 
 sacramentale, in which Eros represents the Saviour, Psyche the soul of 
 the faithful aspiring to go to Him, and the marriage of the two lovers 
 the union of God and man in the Eucharist. The great painter Eaphael 
 has also immortalised the Greek story by a series of twelve pictures, and 
 by thirty-two drawings, which have been engraved. 
 
 La Fontaine published in 1669 his tale. The Loves of Psyche and 
 Cupid ; and among the three friends to whom the author pretends that 
 he read his work, one of them, Gelaste, who is said to stand for 
 Moliere, defends laughter and comedy against tragedy. 
 
 Moliere had already sketched the plan of his play, written the Pro- 
 logue, the first Act, and the first Scene of the second and third Acts, 
 when Louis XIV. expressed his will to have P',>fj/c/ie' finished before Lent. 
 Moliere, therefore, took Pierre Corneille, then sixty-five years old, 
 to assist him, and the latter wrote the other scenes in a fortnight. 
 Quinault wrote the words of the songs ; and Lulli, the composer of the 
 music, added the Italian verses of the first interlude. 
 
 The tragedie-ballet Psyche is not unworthy of the illustrious men who 
 had a hand in it. The grand scene of the second Act between the 
 king and his daughter is generally considered very heart-stirring ; and 
 it is not impossible that Moliere may have written it under the impres- 
 sion of some loss which he deeply felt. Some commentators suppose 
 that his eldest son died about that time ; but this is impossible, 
 for the child died in the same year in which he was born (1664).i 
 The appearance of the two princes in the infernal regions possesses 
 almost a Shakspearian grandeur. Psyche, declaring her love to Cupid, 
 is one of the most tender and natural siieeches of the French stage ; 
 and as a whole, everything Corneille has written in this tragedy 
 bears the impress of his lofty genius, and of his masterly handling of 
 verse. 
 
 The difference between the influences which envy works in the cha- 
 racters of Psyche's two sisters, Aglaura and Cydippe, is also finely 
 
 * Eud. Soulie, Eecherches sur Moliere.
 
 304 PSYCHE. 
 
 delineated, and reminds one of ihe bi'otlier and sister of Clarissa Har- 
 lowe. 
 
 The author of the pamphlet Histoire de la Gue'rin (See Introductory 
 Notice to the Impromptu of Versailles, Vol. II., page 291) says that 
 Baron, who had qviarrelled with Madame Moliere during the perform- 
 ance of MelicerU, (see Introductory Notice to Melicerte, Vol. IV., page 3), 
 and had left Moliere and his troupe, made his re-ajjpearance as Cupid in 
 Psyche'. He was only eighteen years old ; but Moliere's wife is rumoured 
 to have changed her hatred of the youthful actor into a feeling of warm 
 affection and love, to which Baron is accused of having responded. I 
 have already said that the scandalous gossip from behind the wings 
 ought hardly to deserve any credence. 
 
 In 1678, seven years after the Psyche' of Moliere and Corneille, an 
 opera was brought out, of which the words were by Fontenelle, and the 
 music by Lulli. It was only a transformation of the original play, with 
 the classical ending, and with several of the songs of the old tragMie- 
 ballet. 
 
 The book of the ballet of Psyche has, by some commentators of 
 Molifere, been held as having been written by himself. We dare not 
 decide that question ; but we do not print it, because the chief differ- 
 ence between the interludes given in the book, and those as produced 
 by us, is, that in the first, each of the principal divinities only declaims 
 a 7'^cit, whilst in the latter, they sing also a song. 
 
 Thomas Hey wood, the English dramatist, wrote a play, Lov^s Mistress; 
 or, The Queen^s Masque, which was published in 1636. The second title 
 was added from its having been acted at court. It is the stoiy of Cupid 
 and Psyche, based upon Ai^uleius ; and Apuleius himself apj^ears as the 
 presenter, and explains the meaning of the allegory, as it goes on, 
 to his collocutor Midas. There is in this play a contention between 
 Apollo and Pan, in which the clown, the champion of the latter 
 divinity, sings a song, and states that the God of Vex^se is not like Pan, 
 nor like a dripping-pan, a frying-pan, a pudding-pan, or a warming- 
 pan. Midas, who is the umj^ire of the contest — probably on account of 
 his long ears- - ad j udges the victory to Pan, whom " all the year we fol- 
 low, but semel in anno videt Apollo." 
 
 Thomas Shadvvell wrote also a Psyche, which is chiefly taken from 
 Molitjre's play of the same name, with some additions. It was brought 
 out at the theatre, Dorset Garden, in February 1673, splendidly set 
 out with new scenes, machinery, dances, and costly dresses, and was 
 very successful. It was the first piece Shadwell wrote in verse ; hence, 
 says Langbaine, " most of the Crambo-poets were up in arms against 
 it." 
 
 We have given in the Appendix the first half of the fifth Act of 
 Shadwell's play as a specimen.
 
 THE BOOKSELLER TO THE READER. 
 
 This work was not all done by one hand, M. Quinault wrote the 
 words which were set to music, except the Italian complaint. 
 M. Moliere drew the plan of the piece, and regulated the disposi- 
 tion, in which he regarded beauty and pomp of spectacle more 
 than exact regularity. As for the versification, he had not time 
 to do it. The Carnival approached ; and the pressing orders of 
 the King, who wished to have this magnificent entertainment 
 represented several times before Lent, obliged him to allow a little 
 assistance. Thus only the prologue, the first act, the first scene 
 of the second, and the first of the third acts were put into verse 
 by him. M. Corneille employed a fortnight on the rest ; and, by 
 these means his Majesty was served, in the time he commanded. ^ 
 
 2 It is supposed that this preface of the bookseller was written by Moliere him- 
 self.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Jupiter. 
 Venus. 
 Cupid. 
 Zephyr.* 
 
 ^GIALE, ^ 
 
 V Graces. 
 Ph^ne, J 
 
 The King, father to Psyche. 
 
 Psyche. 
 
 Aglaura, ^ 
 
 \ Psyche's sisters. 
 Cydippe, J 
 
 ClEOMENES, ^ 
 
 y in love with Psyche. 
 Agenor, j 
 
 Lycas, Captain of the Guards. 
 
 A River God. 
 
 Two Small Cupids. 
 
 * This part was played by Molifere himself ; and small as it was, he 
 managed to give it a certain individuality.
 
 PSYCHE. 
 
 {PSYCHE). 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The scene represents in front of the stage a rustic spot, 
 and at the hack, a rock with an opening in the middle, 
 through which the sea appears in the distance. 
 
 Flora is seen in the midst of the stage, accompanied hij Vertumnus, 
 god of the flowers and trees, and by Palemon, god of the streams. Each 
 of these gods conducts a troop of divinities ; one has in his train dryads 
 and sylvans, the other river-gods and naiads. 
 
 Flora sings the folloiuing lines to invite Venus to descend 
 
 to the earth : — 
 
 War has ceased ; the most powerful of kmgs interrupts 
 his exploits to give peace to the world.* Descend, mother 
 of Cupid, come and bestow upon us glorious days. 
 
 Vertumnus and Palemon, tvith the divinities by which they are accom- 
 panied, join their voices to that of Flora, and sing the folloiuing 
 words : — 
 
 Chorus of divinities of the earth and the streams, com- 
 posed of Flora, nymphs, Palemon, Vertumnus, sylvans, 
 fauns, dryads and na/iads. 
 
 We taste profound peace ; the sweetest games are here 
 below. We owe this rest, so full of charms, to the greatest 
 king in the world. Descend, mother of Cupid, and bestow 
 upon us glorious days. 
 
 * Peace was signed at Aix-la-Chapelle on the 2d of May 1668. 
 V. 2 A
 
 S70 PSYCHE. 
 
 Then follows an entry of the hallet, composed of ttoo dryads, four 
 sylvans, tivo streams, and tivo naiads; after tvhich Vertumnus and 
 Palemon sing the following dialogue : — 
 
 Ve7\ Surrender, cruel fair ones, it is now your turn to 
 sigh. 
 
 Pal. Behold the queen of beauty, who comes to inspire 
 love. 
 
 Ver. A beauteous object, ever severe, can never be. loved 
 well. 
 
 Pal. Beauty may be first to please, but gentleness ends 
 by charming. 
 
 The two together. Beauty may be first to please, but 
 gentleness ends by charming. 
 
 Ver. Let us suffer love to wound us ; let us languish, 
 since we must. 
 
 Pal. What is the use of a heart without tenderness ? 
 Can there be a greater fault ? 
 
 Ver. A beauteous object, ever severe, can never be loved 
 well. 
 
 Pal. Beauty may be first to please, but gentleness ends 
 by charming. 
 
 Flora answers the dialogue of Vertumnus and Palemon 
 by this minuet ; and the other divinities join their 
 dances to it. 
 
 Is it wise, in the flower of life, is it wise, not to love ? 
 Let us hasten to taste the pleasures here below, unceas- 
 ingly. The wisdom of youth is to know how to enjoy its 
 pleasures. Love charms those whom he disarms ; love 
 charms ; let us all yield to him. Vain would be our efforts 
 to resist his darts ; with whatever chains a lover may burden 
 himself, liberty has nothing half so sweet. 
 
 Venus descends from the hearens in a great machine, with her son 
 Cupid, and two little Graces called uEgiale and Phcene ; and the 
 divinities of the earth and streams begin to unite their voices, and con- 
 tinue by their dances to testify their joy at her arrival.
 
 PSYCHE. 371 
 
 Chorus of all the divinities of the earth and streams. 
 
 We taste profound peace ; the sweetest games are here 
 below. We owe this rest, so full of charms, to the greatest 
 king in the world. Descend, mother of Cupid, and bestow 
 upon us glorious days. 
 
 Ven. [In her inachine] Cease, cease for me those songs of 
 joy ; such rare honours do not belong to me ; and the homage 
 which your goodness now addresses to me, ought to be 
 reserved for sweeter charms. It is too old a method to 
 come and pay your court to me ; everything has its turn, 
 and Venus is no longer in fashion. There are other 
 new-born attractions to which incense is offered. Psyche, 
 Psyche, the fair one, now-a-days takes my place. Already 
 the Avhole universe hastens to adore her ; and it is too much 
 that, in my disgrace, I still find some one who deigns to 
 honour me. People do not hesitate between the merits of 
 us both ; everyone has been bold enough to leave my side, 
 and of the numerous crowd of favourite Graces, whose cares 
 and friendship followed me everywhere, there remains 
 nothing to me but two of the smallest, who accompany me 
 out of pity. Allow these sombre abodes to lend their 
 solitude to my troubled heart, and let me, amidst their 
 shadows, hide my shame and grief. 
 
 Flora and the other divinities retire, and Venus, 'with her retinue, 
 descends from the machine. 
 
 j^g. We do not know how to act, goddess, in this grief, 
 beneath which we see you bowed down. Our respect tells 
 us to keep silent, while our zeal tells us to speak. 
 
 Ven. Speak ; but if you, by your attentions, aspire to 
 please me, leave all your counsels for another time ; and 
 do not speak of my anger, unless it be to tell me that I am 
 right. It was there, it was there, that the most poignant 
 offence was given that my divinity could ever receive ; but, 
 if the gods have any power, I shall have my revenge. 
 
 Ph. You have more sense and wisdom than we have 
 to judge what may be worthy of you ; but, as for me, I 
 should have thought that a great goddess ought to have 
 put herself less in a rage.
 
 372 PSYCHE. 
 
 Ven. And this ^ is the very reason of my great anger. 
 The more exalted my rank, the more glaring becomes the 
 insult ; and did I not hold snch a supreme degree, the 
 resentment of my heart would be less violent. I, the 
 daughter of the god who launches the thunderbolts ; mother 
 of the god who inspires love; I, the most ardently wished-for 
 by Heaven and earth, and who was born but to charm ; I, 
 who have seen so many vows offered at my altars by everything 
 that breathes, and who, by immortal rights, have held the 
 sovereign empire of beauty at all times ; I, whose eyes 
 have induced two great deities to concede to me the prize 
 of being the most beautiful, I behold my victory and my 
 rights disputed by a puny mortal ! The ridiculous excess 
 of a mad obstinacy goes so far as to oppose to me a little 
 girl ! I have continually to listen to a rash judgment 
 between her features and mine ; and from the height of 
 the Heavens in which I shine, I have to hear prejudiced 
 mortals exclaim : She is more beauteous than Venus ! 
 
 jEg. That is how people do ; it is men's style ; they are 
 impertinent in their comparisons. 
 
 Ph. In the age in which we live now, they cannot 
 praise without at the same time outraging some of the 
 greatest names. 
 
 Ven. Ah ! how well the insolent sternness of these 
 three words avenge Juno and Pallas, and consoles their 
 hearts for the brilliant glory which the famous apple con- 
 ferred upon my charms ! I see them applauding them- 
 selves about my uneasiness, affecting at each moment a 
 malicious laugh, and with a stare, searching out anxiously my 
 confusion in my eyes. Their triumphant joy, in the midst of 
 such an outrage, seems to come and tell me, as an insult 
 to my anger : Boast, boast, Venus ! of the traits of your 
 countenance ! In the judgment of one only you vanquished us ; 
 but, in tlie judgment of all, a simple mortal has the advan- 
 tage over you. Ah ! this blow finishes me ; it pierces my 
 heart ; I can no longer suffer this unparalleled severity ; 
 
 * This speech of Veuns is an imitation of the one which the same 
 goddess utters in Apuleiua' Golden Ass.
 
 SCI.] PSYCHE. 873 
 
 the raptures of my rivals are, iu addition to my poignant 
 sorrow, too much. My son, if ever I had any influence 
 with you, and if ever I were dear to you, if your heart be 
 capable of feeling the resentment which troubles the 
 heart of a mother who so tenderly loves you, then 
 employ, employ now the effort of your power to sustain my 
 interests ; and, by your darts, make Psyche feel the darts of 
 my revenge. To make her heart miserable, take one of 
 your darts most calculated to please me, the most poisonous 
 of those which you launch forth in your anger. Make her 
 become enamoured to madness of the vilest, basest, and 
 most horrible mortal, so that she may suffer the most 
 cruel torture of loving and not being beloved. 
 
 Cu^). Nothing but complaints about Cupid are heard in 
 this world ; everywhere a thousand sins committed are 
 imputed to me, and you would not believe the harm and 
 the nonsense that are told of me every day. If to serve 
 your anger . . . 
 
 Ven. Go, do not oppose the wishes of your mother ; do 
 not apply any arguments, except to look out for the most 
 opportune moments to bring a sacrifice to my outraged 
 glory. Depart, for all response to my solicitations ; and see 
 me not again until I am avenged, 
 
 Cupid flies aivay, and Venus retires with the Graces. The scene 
 changes to a large toivn, with palaces and houses, of different architec- 
 ture, on both sides of the stage. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 Aglaura, Cydippe. 
 
 Agl. There are ills, sister, wdiich silence embitters ; 
 let us, therefore, give speech to your grief and mine, and 
 lay bare the burning resentment of our hearts to each 
 other. We are sisters in misfortune ; and yours and mine 
 are so intimately connected, that we can mix the two into 
 one, and, in our righteous indignation, bewail, iu common
 
 374 PSYCHE. [act I. 
 
 plaint, the cruelties of our fate. What mysterious fatality, 
 sister, subjects the whole universe to the charms of our 
 youngest sister, and why, of the various princes whom acci- 
 dent brings to this spot, does it not throw one into our 
 chains ? What ! to see from every part all hearts eager to 
 yield to her, and pass by our attractions without wishing to 
 be stayed by them ! What fate has befallen our eyes, and 
 what have they done to the gods, that they think them not 
 worthy to enjoy any homage amidst all these tributes of 
 glorious sighs, the proud advantage of which causes others 
 to triumph ? Can there be for us, sister, a more signal 
 disgrace than to see all hearts despise our charms, and to 
 behold the happy Psyche insolently rejoicing in a crowd of 
 lovers bound to her steps ! 
 
 Cyd. Ah ! sister, it is an adventure to make us lose our 
 senses, and all the other ills of nature are nothing in 
 comparison. 
 
 Agl. As for me, it often brings the tears to my eyes. It 
 takes away all pleasure, all rest ; against misfortune like 
 this, ray constancy is without arms. This grief, for ever 
 present to my mind, keeps before my eyes the disgrace of 
 our charms, and the triumph of Psyche. At night, the 
 thought of it is eternally recurring, and prevails over all 
 else. Nothing can drive away this cruel image ; and no 
 sooner comes sweet slumber to free me from it, than some 
 dream immediately recalls it to my senses, and awakens me 
 with a start. 
 
 Cyd. This is my martyrdom, sister ; in your words I see 
 myself; and you have just said what passes within me. 
 
 Agl. But once more, let us argue a little upon this affair. 
 In what lies her powerful charms ? And by what, tell me, 
 has she acquired the honour of that grand secret of pleasing 
 by her slightest looks ? What do they see in her to 
 inspire so much passion ? What right of beauty gives her
 
 sc. I] PSYCHE. 375 
 
 the empire over all hearts ? She has some charms, some 
 of the brilliancy of youth ; we are agreed upon that; I do not 
 gainsay it. But if we concede to her a great deal on the score 
 of age, are we entirely without charms ? Are our figures 
 such as to be sneered at ? Have we not some fine features 
 and some attractions, complexions, eyes, air, and build 
 to fasten some lovers in our chains. Sister, do me the 
 favour of speaking frankly. Am I made in such a manner, 
 tell me, that my merit should give way to hers ? And do 
 you find that she outshines me in dress ? 
 
 Cyd. What ? you, sister. Not at all. Yesterday, at 
 the hunt, near her, I looked at you for a long time, and, 
 without wishing to flatter you, I thought that you were by 
 far the handsomer. But I say, sister, without wishing to 
 flatter me, are they visions which I take into my head, when 
 I think myself made to merit the glory of some conquest ? 
 
 Agl. You, sister, you have, without disguising aught, 
 everything to inspire an amorous flame. Your slightest 
 actions shine with charms which touch my heart, and were 
 I other than woman, I should be your lover. 
 
 Cyd. Whence comes it, then, that she obtains the victory 
 over us ; that at the first glance all hearts lay down their 
 arms, and that by no tribute of sighs and vows the least 
 honour is paid to our charms ? 
 
 Agl. All ladies, with one voice, think very little of her 
 attractions : and I think, sister, that I have discovered the 
 cause of the number of lovers whom she holds beneath her 
 sway. 
 
 Cyd. As for me, I guess it ; and it is to be presumed that 
 some mystery must be concealed underneath this. This 
 secret of inflaming everybody is not a common effect of 
 nature ; the art of Thessalia has something to do with this f 
 
 ^ Thessalia was renowned in classical times for its magicians. 
 
 4
 
 370 PSYCHE. [ACT I. 
 
 and uo doubt, some charm has been given to her to make 
 herself beloved. 
 
 Agl. My belief is founded upon a more solid basis ; and 
 the charm which she possesses for gaining all hearts is simply 
 an air at all times devoid of sternness, caressing looks 
 seconded by her mouth, a smile full of sweetness, which holds 
 out a welcome to everyone, and which promises you nothing 
 but kindness. Our glory now-a-days is no longer kept up ; and 
 we are no longer in the age of that noble haughtiness, which, 
 by a dignified attempt at illustrious cruelties, wished to test 
 the constancy of a lover. We have, indeed, come down, in 
 the present age, from all this noble pride which suited us 
 so well ; and, unless we absolutely throw ourselves at men's 
 heads, we are reduced to hope no longer for anything.^ 
 
 Cyd. Yes, that is the secret of the affair ; and I see that 
 you understand the matter better than I, It is because we 
 keep too much to our decorum that no lover wishes to come 
 to vis, sister ; and we are too anxious to maintain the honour 
 of our sex and of our birth. Men now-a-days love those 
 who smile upon them ; hope, more than love, is what 
 attracts them ; and it is through this that Psyche robs us 
 of all the lovers whom we' see beneath her empire. Let us 
 follow, let us follow the example, and accommodate our- 
 selves to the times ; let us lower ourselves, sister, to make 
 advances, and care no longer about that sad propriety which 
 deprives us of the fruits of our best years. 
 
 Agl. I approve of the idea, and we have the material on 
 which to make the first trial, in the two princes who have 
 recently arrived. They are charming, sister ; and altogether 
 their appearance has . . . Have you noticed them ? 
 
 ^ Thia speech of Aglaura, says Petitot, one of the commentators of 
 Molitire, is a proof that the manners of the age had, perhajos, undergone 
 a great change since the first representation of The Pretentious Young 
 Ladies (1659).
 
 sc. II.] PSYCHE. 377 
 
 Gyd. Ah ! sister, they have both an air which my heart. 
 .... They are two perfect princes. 
 
 Agl. I think that one might try to win their affection 
 without having need to be ashamed. 
 
 Cycl. I think that a fair princess might, without shame, 
 yield them her heart. 
 
 Agl. Here they are both, and I admire their air and 
 their appearance. 
 
 Cyd. They in no way belie what we have just said. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Cleomenes, Agenor, Aglaura, Cydippe. 
 
 Agl. Whence comes it, princes, whence comes it, that 
 you run away thus ? Have you taken fright in seeing us 
 appear ? 
 
 Cle. We were given to understand. Madam, that the 
 princess Psyche might be here. 
 
 Agl. Have these spots no attraction for you, unless you 
 see them adorned by her presence ? 
 
 Ag. These spots may have many sweet charms ; but we 
 are impatiently seeking Psyche. 
 
 Cyd. Something very pressing, no doubt, must make you 
 both so anxiously seek for her ? 
 
 Cle. The motive is sufficiently powerful, since, in one 
 word, our whole happiness depends upon it. 
 
 Agl. It would be too much for us to inquire into the 
 secret which these words may conceal. 
 
 Cle. We do not pretend to make a mystery of it : in 
 spite of us, it would soon be revealed ; and when a secret is 
 connected with love, it does not last long, Madam. 
 
 Cyd. Without going any farther, princes, this means, that 
 you both love Psyche ?
 
 378 PSYCHE. [^fri- 
 
 Ag. Both subject to her sway, we are going, in concert, 
 to declare our passion to her. 
 
 Agl It is a novelty, no doubt, sufficiently strange, to find 
 two rivals so closely united. 
 
 Cle. It is true that the thing is rare, but not altogether 
 impossible to two trusty friends. 
 
 Cyd. Is there no fair one except her in these spots, and 
 can you not divide your affections ? 
 
 Agl. Among those of noble blood, have you seen none 
 but her, who might be deserving of your passion ? 
 
 Cle. Does one argue at the moment one becomes 
 smitten ? Do we choose those whom we would love ? And 
 do we look what right the one to whom we give all our soul 
 has to charm us ? 
 
 Ag. Without the power to select, one follows, in such an 
 ardour, something which attracts us ; and, when love touches 
 a heart, there are no reasons to give. 
 
 Agl. In truth, I pity the sad confusion into which I see 
 that your liearts are rushing. You love one whose provok- 
 ing charms will mix some grief with the hope which they 
 excite in you ; and her heart will not perform all that her 
 eyes may promise you. 
 
 Gyd. The hope which now calls you into the ranks of her 
 lovers will find some disappointment in the gentleness which 
 she displays ; and the sudden changes of her unequal temper 
 are calculated to bring some very sad moments. 
 
 Agl. A clear discernment of your worth makes us pity 
 the fate to which this passion leads you ; and you might 
 both find, if you wished it, a more stable heart, with as many 
 attractions. 
 
 Cyd. By a choice much sweeter by half, you might save 
 your friendship from the clutches of love ; and such rare 
 merit is found in you, that a tender counsel would fain 
 prevent, out of pity, what your heart prepares for itself.
 
 sc. HI.] PSYCHE. 879 
 
 Cle. This generous advice shows a kindness for us which 
 touches our hearts. But Heaven, Madam, has reduced us to 
 the misfortune of not being able to profit by it. 
 
 Ag, Your distinguished pity tries in vain to divert us 
 from a passion of which we both fear the effect ; but what 
 our friendship has been unable to accomplish. Madam, nothing 
 can accomplish it. 
 
 Cyd. The power of Psyche must be . . . Here she comes. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Psyche, Cydippe, Aglaura, Cleomenes, Agenor. 
 
 Cyd. Come, sister, to enjoy what is being prepared for 
 you. 
 
 Agl. Let your charms hold themselves in readiness to 
 receive here the new triumph of an illustrious conquest. 
 
 Cyd. These princes have both so thoroughly felt your 
 darts, that their lips are ready to acquaint you with it. 
 
 Ps. I did not think myself the cause of their stay 
 amongst us ; and I should have believed quite another thing 
 in seeing them speak to you. 
 
 Agl. Having neither beauty nor birth to deserve their 
 affection and attention, they have at least favoured us with 
 the honour of their confidence. 
 
 Cle. [To Psyche] The confession we are about to make, 
 Madam, to your divine charms is, no doubt, a rash avowal ; 
 but so many hearts, near death, are obliged, by similar 
 declarations, to incur your disj)leasure, that you are compelled 
 not to punish them with the bolts of your anger. You 
 behold in us two friends, which a sweet sympathy of dis- 
 position has united from infancy ; and these tender bonds 
 have been more closely tightened by a hundred rivalries of 
 esteem and gratitude. The rigorous assaults of hostile fate, 
 the contempt for death, and the sight of tortures, have, by
 
 880 PSYCHE. [ACT I. 
 
 the distinguished instances of reciprocal services, consolidated 
 the splendid ties of our friendship. But, whatever trials it 
 may have undergone, its greatest triumph is in this day ; and 
 nothing could more plainly show its proved constancy, than 
 to see it preserved in the midst of love. Yes, notwithstand- 
 ing so many charms, its signal constancy has submitted all 
 our desires to the laws which it imposes upon us ; and now 
 it comes, with a gentle and complete deference, to refer the 
 success of our passion to your choice ; and, to give a greater 
 weight to our rivalry, which, for reasons of state, might 
 make the scale incline to the choice of one of us, this same 
 friendship offers, without any repugnance, to .unite our two 
 states with the fate of the most fortunate one. 
 
 Ag. Yes, of these two states, Madam, which we offer to 
 unite according to your choice, we wish to make a support 
 to our love in order to obtain you. That, for this happi- 
 ness, we should both sacrifice ourselves with the king, your 
 father, has nothing difficult for our amorous hearts ; and it 
 is simply making a necessary gift to the most fortunate one, 
 of a power for which the unhappy one. Madam, will no longer 
 have any use. 
 
 Ps. The choice which you offer me, princes, is sufficient 
 to satisfy the desires of the proudest heart ; and you both 
 adorn it in such a manner, that nothing more precious could 
 be offered. Your love, your friendship, your supreme virtue, 
 everything enhances with me the offer of your heart ; and I 
 see a merit in it, which itself opposes what you wish of me. 
 It is not to my own heart that I must defer, to enter into 
 such bond ; my hand, for its bestowal, awaits the commands 
 of a father, and my sisters have claims which go before 
 mine. But, if I were left to my own absolute desires, you 
 might both at the same time have too great a share in them ; 
 and the whole of my esteem, balanced between you, could 
 not determine ujjon selecting either of you. I could well
 
 •sc. III.] PSYCHE. 381 
 
 enough respond to the ardour of your suit by my gentlest 
 affection ; but, amid so much merit, two heai'ts are too 
 much for me alone, one heart between you two is not enough. 
 I should be embarrassed in my fondest wishes by the sacrifice 
 which your friendship makes ; and by seeing with too much 
 pity the fate to which the other was drifting. Yes, princes, 
 of all those whose love has followed your example, I should 
 eagerly prefer you both ; but I should never have the heart 
 to be able to prefer one of you to the other. My tender- 
 ness would make too great a sacrifice to him whom I should 
 choose ; and in the wrong I should do the other, I would 
 impute to myself the most barbarous injustice. Yes, you 
 have both shown too much grandeur of soul to make one of 
 you unhappy ; and you ought to seek in an amorous flame 
 the means of being both happy. If your hearts consider me 
 sufficiently worthy to allow me to dispose of you, I have two 
 sisters capable of pleasing, who could well make your lot 
 sufliciently happy ; and friendship renders their persons 
 sufficiently dear to me to wish you their husbands. 
 
 Cle. Can a heart whose love is so extreme, alas ! con- 
 sent to be given away by her whom it loves ? We concede 
 to your divine charms. Madam, a supreme power over our 
 hearts ; dispose of them even for death ; but have the good- 
 ness not to dispose of them for any one else but for yourself. 
 
 Ag. It would be too great an outrage on the princesses, 
 Madam ; and the remains of another flame are an unworthy 
 portion for their charms. It requires the constant purity of 
 a first love to aspire to that honour to which your goodness 
 invites us. Each one of them deserves a heart that has 
 not sighed except for her. 
 
 Agl. It seems to me, without wishing to be angry, that 
 before defending yourselves from this proposal, princes, you 
 ought to have waited until people had explained themselves 
 about you. Think you that we have so easy and tender a
 
 382 PSYCHE. [act I. 
 
 heart ? And when there is question of giving you to us, 
 do you know whether we are willing to take you ? ^ 
 
 Cyd. I think that we have sufficiently lofty sentiments 
 to refuse a heart which has to be solicited ; and that we 
 wish to owe the conquest of our lovers solely to our own 
 merits. 
 
 Ps. I thought, sisters, that it would have been a suffi- 
 ciently great glory for you, if the possession of so much 
 merit ... 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Psyche, Aglaura, Cydippe, Cleomenes, Agenor, Lygas. 
 
 Ly. [To Psyche:] Ah ! Madam ! 
 
 Ps. What is the matter ? 
 
 Ly. The king . . . 
 
 Ps. Well? 
 
 Ly. Requires your presence. 
 
 Ps. What am I to expect from this so great trouble ? 
 
 fjy. You shall know it but too soon. 
 
 Ps. Alas ; you cause me to fear for the king ! 
 
 Ly. Fear only for yourself; it is you who are to be 
 pitied. 
 
 Ps. Praise be to Heaven ; thus vanishes my fright to 
 know that I have to fear but for myself. But tell me, 
 Lycas, the reason of your emotion. 
 
 Ijy. Allow me to obey him who sends me here, Madam ; 
 it is better that you should learn from his lips that which 
 grieves me so much. 
 
 Ps. Well, let us go and learn in what they fear my 
 feebleness so much. 
 
 8 Compare Arsinoe's remarks in T/te Misanthrope, Act v., Scene 6, 
 (See Vol. III., page 347) ; and also those of Armande in The Blue 
 Stockings, Act i., Scene 2, (See Vol. VI.)
 
 f^c. v.-vi.] PSYCHE. 383 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Aglaura, Cydippe, Lycas. 
 
 Agl. If your order does not extend to us, tell us what 
 great misfortune your grief hides from us. 
 
 Ly. Alas ! this great misfortune, already bruited about 
 the court, behold it yourself, princess, in the oracle which 
 the fates have rendered to the king. These are the very 
 words. Madam, which grief has engraved on my heart : ^ 
 " Let there be no thought of wishing to conclude the marriage 
 of Psyche; but let her be quickly conducted in sombre funeral 
 state to the top of a mount ; and let her there, abandoned 
 by all, wait constantly for her husband, a monster who poisons 
 the sight, a serpent that spreads its venom all round, and 
 in its rage troubles heaven and earth." After so severe 
 a decree, I leave you to judge between yourselves if all the 
 gods could, by more cruel or sensible strokes, have explained 
 their displeasure more fully. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Aglaura, Cydippe. 
 
 Cyd. What do you feel, sister, at this sudden misfortune, 
 into which we see Psyche plunged by rigorous fate ? 
 
 A gl. But you, yourself, what do you feel ? 
 
 Cyd. To tell no lie about it, I feel that, in my heart, I 
 am not grieved at it, 
 
 Agl. I feel something in my own which is not unlike 
 joy. Come, destiny sends us an evil, which we may regard 
 as a blessing, 
 
 " This oracle is taken from Apuleius, and has a double meaning, 
 because all that is said about the monster may be emphatically applied 
 to Cupid.
 
 384 PSYCHE. 
 
 FIRST INTERLUDE. 
 
 The scene is changed to horrible rocJcs, and shoius a dreadful gaping 
 cavern in the distance. This is the desert in ichich Psyche is to be 
 exposed, to obey the m-acle. A troop of afflicted people come to bewail 
 her misfortune. A part of this afflicted troop show their pity by touch- 
 ing complaints and mournful songs ; the others express their grief by a 
 dance full of every mark of the most violent despair. 
 
 Wailings in Italian}^ sung by an afflicted female, and 
 
 tivo afflicted men. 
 
 Woman. Mix your tears with mine, hard rocks, 
 
 and you frightful tigers, bewail the severe fate of an object 
 whose crime it is to possess too many charms. 
 
 First Man. Alas ! what grief ! 
 
 Second Man. Alas ! what martyrdom ! 
 
 First Man. Cruel death ! 
 
 Second Man. Severe fate ! 
 
 All three. To doom to die such beauty ! ye Heavens ! 
 
 ye stars ! what cruelty ! 
 
 Woman. Answer to my complaints, deep caverns, 
 
 hidden rocks ! respond to my plaints, ye echoes of these 
 woods ! May a mournful sound burst forth from the depth 
 of these forests ! 
 
 First Man. Alas ! what grief ! 
 
 Second Man. Alas I what martyrdom ! 
 
 First Man. Cruel death ! 
 
 Woman and Second Man. Severe fate ! 
 
 All three. To doom to die such beauty ! ye Heavens ! 
 
 ye stars ! what cruelty ! 
 
 Second Man. Who of you, ye gods, wishes to destroy, 
 with so much fury, such innocent beauty ! Pitiless Heaven, 
 will ye outdo hell in cruelty by such rancour? 
 
 First Man. Inhuman cruelty ! 
 
 " All the interludes are by Qiiinault, witli the exception of this one, 
 the words of which are by Lulli, tlie author of the whole of the music 
 in this piece. It is possible that MoliOre translated these words into 
 French for the libretto of the Ballet des ballets, published in 1671.
 
 sc. 1.] PSYCHE. 385 
 
 Sf'cond Man. Severe god. 
 
 The Ttvo Men. Why so much severity against an inno- 
 cent heart ? Unheard-of sentence, to cut off such beautiful 
 days when they give birth to so much love ! 
 
 Woman. How vain are useless tears, and super- 
 
 fluous cries, as a help against an irreparable ill ! When 
 Heaven has given absolute commands, hviman effort must 
 altogether cease. 
 
 Araidst these waitings eight afflicted persons enter, dance a 
 ballet, and by their attitudes express their grief. 
 
 ACT II. iSCENE I. 
 The King, Psyche, Aglaura, Cydippe, Lycas, Suite. 
 
 Ps. The reason of your tears, my lord, is very dear to 
 me ; but it is giving way too much to your kindness 
 towards me, to allow the tenderness of a father to penetrate 
 as far as the eyes of a great monarch. The tribute which 
 we behold you pay to nature, my lord, does too much injury 
 to the rank which you hold ; and I must therefore decline 
 to accept its touching favours. Let your grief take less 
 empire over your wisdom ; and cease to honour my fate with 
 tears, which, coming from the heart of a king, show weak- 
 ness. 
 
 King. Ah ! daughter ! let my eyes indulge in tears. My 
 mourning is reasonable, even if it be extreme ; and when one 
 is about to lose for ever what 1 am losing, wisdom itself, be- 
 lieve me, may weep. In vain the pride inseparable from the 
 diadem enjoins us to be insensible to these cruel reverses ; 
 in vain reason comes to our aid to command us to be- 
 hold with dry eyes the death of those whom we love ; the 
 effort to do so is barbarous in tlie sight of the world, and is 
 rather accounted brutality than supreme virtue. I will not, 
 
 V. '1 B
 
 386 PSYCHE. [ACTii. 
 
 in this adversity, encase my heart with insensibility, and 
 liide the grief that moves me. I renounce the vanity of this 
 fierce harshness, which is called firmness ; and by whatever 
 name is designated this poignant grief of which I feel the 
 smart, I will display it, daughter, to the eyes of all, and 
 show in the heart of a king that of a man. 
 
 Ps. I do not deserve this great grief. Oppose, 
 oppose some resistance to the rights which it usurps in 
 your heart, of which a thousand events have shown the 
 power. What ! are you to renounce for my sake, my lord, 
 this royal constancy, of which you have shown such famous 
 proofs, under the strokes of misfortune ! 
 
 King. Constancy is easy in a thousand cases. All the 
 revolutions to which inhuman fate may expose us ; the loss 
 of greatness, persecutions, poisonous envy, and the darts of 
 hatred, have nothing which, if needs must, the resolves of 
 a mind in which reason holds a somewhat sovereign sway, 
 may not brave. But what makes our hearts succumb 
 beneath some rigors, and the burden of bitter grief, are the 
 harsh blows of those cruel destinies, which rob us for ever 
 of those who are dear to us. Against such strokes, reason 
 offers no available arms ; and these are the bolts most to 
 be feared, which the angry gods can launch at us. 
 
 Ps. My lord, a consolation still remains to you. 
 Your marriage has received more than one gift from the gods ; 
 and, by a plainly shown favour, they deprive you of nothing, 
 by taking me away from you, but what they have taken 
 care to make good. There still remains to you wherewith to 
 assuage your grief This decree of Heaven, which you call 
 cruel, leaves still to a father's affection the two princesses, 
 njy sisters, on whom to lavish all its sweets. 
 
 King. Ah ! faint relief to my ills I Nothing, nothing 
 offers itself to me which consoles me for your loss. My 
 eyes see only my misfortunes ; and in a fate so dire, I
 
 sc. I.] PSYCHE. 387 
 
 look but to what I lose, and see not what remains 
 to me. 
 
 Ps. Better still than I, you know, my lord, that to 
 the will of the gods we must submit our own ; and in 
 this sad farewell I can but say to you, what you could 
 so much better say to others. These gods are sovereign 
 masters of the gifts which they deign to bestow upon us ; 
 and leave them in our hands only as long as it pleases 
 them. When they take them back again, we have no right 
 to murmur at the favours which their hands will no longer 
 bestow upon us. My lord, I am a gift which they granted 
 to your affection ; and, when by this decree, they wish to 
 take me back again, they deprive you of nothing but what 
 you hold of them ; and you ought to yield me without 
 a murmur. 
 
 King. Ah ! seek a better foundation for the consolations 
 which your heart offers to me ; and do not make a weapon 
 of the fallacy of this argument, to overwhelm altogether 
 this poignant grief, of which I suffer the torments. Think 
 3^ou in this to give me a powerful reason not to complain of 
 the decree of Heaven ? And cannot you perceive a destroy- 
 ing sternness in the proceedings of the gods, with which 
 you wish me to be satisfied ? Behold the condition in 
 which these gods force me to yield you up, and then look 
 at the one in which my wretched heart received you ; by 
 this you will know that they are about to take from me much 
 more than what they gave me. I received from them in 
 you, daughter, a gift which my heart did not ask from 
 them ; I found little attraction enough in it then, and saw 
 them, without joy, increase my family. But my heart, as 
 well as my eyes, have made a sweet habit of this gift ; it 
 has taken me fifteen years of cares, of watching, and of 
 study to render it precious to me ; I have clothed it with 
 the amiable richness of a thousand brilliant virtues ; and,
 
 388 PSYCHE. [act 11. 
 
 by assiduous cares, I have instilled into it the most beautiful 
 treasures which wisdom could furnish ; I have attached to 
 it all my soul's tenderness ; I have made it the charm 
 and the joy of my heart, the consolation of my wearied 
 senses, the sweet hope of my old age. They take all this 
 from me, these gods ! And you Avish me to have no 
 cause of complaint about this horrible decree of which I 
 suffer the blow ! Ah ! their power plays too rigorously 
 with the tenderness of our hearts. To take away their 
 gift, did they need to wait until I had made it my all-in- 
 all ? Or rather, if they had the design to take it back, would 
 it not have been better never to have given me anything ? 
 
 Ps. My lord, fear the anger of these gods against whom 
 you dare to inveigh. 
 
 King. After this blow, what can they do to me ? They 
 have placed me in a condition no longer to fear aught. 
 
 Ps. Ah ! my lord, I tremble at the crimes I cause you 
 to commit ; and I ought to hate myself . . . 
 
 King. Let them at least allow my legitimate com- 
 plaints ; it is sufficient effort on my part to obey them; 
 let it be sufficient for them that my heart yields to the 
 barbarous respect which we must have for them, without 
 pretending to allay the grief with which the horrible decree 
 of so stern a fate fills me. My just despair does not know 
 how to restrain itself I will, I will indulge my grief for 
 ever ; I will always feel the loss which I sustain ; of 
 Heaven's sternness I will always complain ; I will, unto 
 death, incessantly bewail what the whole universe cannot 
 make good to me. 
 
 Ps. Ah ! my lord, I beseech you, spare my weakness ; 
 I have need of fortitude in the state in which I am. Do 
 not increase tlie excess of my grief by the tears of your 
 tenderness. Aloue they are severe enough, and my fate and 
 your giief are too much for my heart.
 
 St'. IT.] PSYCHE. 389 
 
 King. Yes, I ought to spare you my inconsolable grief. 
 Now is the fatal moment to tear mys^elf from you ; but 
 how can I pronounce this horrible word ? I must, how- 
 ever ; Heaven makes it my law ; relentless fate obliges me 
 to leave you in this ominous spot. Farewell ; I go. . . . 
 Fare well. ^^ 
 
 SCENE IT. 
 Psyche, Aglaura, Cydippe. • 
 
 Ps. Follow the king, sisters ; you will dry his tears, 
 and assuage his grief; and you would overwhelm him with 
 alarm if you were to expose yourselves also to my misfortunes. 
 Preserve for him what remains. The serpent which I 
 expect might be fatal to you, include you in my lot, and 
 deal me a second death-blow in you. Heaven has con- 
 demned me only to its poisonous breath ; nothing can succour 
 me ; and I have no need of an example to die. 
 
 Agl. Do not envy us this cruel advantage of uniting our 
 tears with your sorrows, of mingling our sighs with your last 
 sighs. Grant this last pledge of our tender friendship. 
 
 Ps. It is risking yourself uselessly. 
 
 Cyd. It is to expect a miracle in your favour, or to 
 accompany you as far as the mount. 
 
 Ps. What is there still to hope after such an oracle ? 
 
 Agl. An oracle is never without vagueness. The more 
 one thinks to understand it, the less one does; ^"^ and perhaps, 
 after all, you ought to expect nought but glory and happi- 
 ness from it. Suffer us, sister, to behold this mortal fear 
 happily dispersed, by a favourable issue, or let us at least die 
 with you, if Heaven shows itself relentless to our supplica- 
 tions. 
 
 ^' All that follows was written by Pierre Corneille, with the excep- 
 tion of the first Scene of the third Act, which is by Moliere. 
 12 This sentence is from Corneille's Horace (iii. 3.)
 
 390 PSYCHE. [ACTii. 
 
 Ps. Rather listen to the voice of nature, sister, which 
 calls you near the king. You love me too much ; duty 
 murmurs at it ; you know its indispensable law. A father 
 ought to be still dearer to you than I. Become both the 
 supports of his old age ; you owe him each a son-in-law 
 and nephews. A thousand kings vie with each other in 
 reserving for you their tenderness ; a thousand kings vie with 
 each other in offering you their love. The oracle claims me 
 alone ; and alone also I will die, if I can, without flinching ; 
 or not have you both as witnesses of that, which in spite of 
 myself, nature has instilled into me. 
 
 Agl. To share your fate, is it to worry you ? 
 
 Cyd. I dare say something more, sister, is it displeasing 
 to you ? 
 
 Ps. No ; but in one word, it is embarrassing me, and 
 perhaps redoubling Heaven's anger. 
 
 Agl. You will it so, and we depart. May this same 
 Heaven, more just and less severe, vouchsafe you the lot 
 which we wish you, and which our sincere affection hopes 
 for you in spite of the oracle, and notwithstanding your- 
 self 
 
 Ps. Farewell. This hope, sister, and these wishes, none 
 of the gods shall ever fulfil. 
 
 SCENE in. 
 
 Psyche, alone. 
 
 At last, alone and left to myself, I can face the hideous 
 change, which from the height of my extreme glory, 
 precipitates me down to the tomb. This glory was un- 
 paralleled ; its fame spread from one pole to another ; 
 Every king seemed born to love me; all their subjects, taking 
 me for their goddess, began to accustom me to the incense
 
 sc. IV.] PSYCHE. 391 
 
 which they unceasingly offered to me ; their sighs pursued 
 me everywhere, at no cost of mine ; my soul remained free 
 while captivating many ; and I, amidst so many vows, was 
 queen of every heart, and mistress of mine own. O Heaven ! 
 have you imputed this insensibility as a crime to me ? Do 
 you disjDlay so much severity to me, for having rendered to 
 their love nothing but esteem ? If you imposed this law 
 upon me to make a choice in order not to displease you, 
 since I could not do so, why did you not do so for me ? 
 Why did you not inspire me with that which, in so many 
 others, is inspired by merit, love, and . . . But what do I 
 behold here . . . 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Cleomenes, Agenor, Psyche. 
 
 Gle. Two friends, two rivals, whose only care is to expose 
 their lives to save yours. 
 
 Ps. Can I listen to you, when I have driven two sisters 
 hence? Think you, princes, to defend me against Heaven? 
 To give yourselves up to the serpent which I must here 
 await, this is a despair which ill becomes great hearts ; and 
 to die because I die, is to overwhelm a loving soul which 
 has but too many griefs. 
 
 Ag. A serpent is not invincible ; Cadmus, who loved 
 nothing, vanquished the one which Mars sent ; we love, and 
 Cupid knows how to make everything possible to the heart 
 that follows his standards, to the hand of which he himself 
 guides all the darts. 
 
 Ps. Would you have him serve you in favour of an un- 
 grateful being whom all his arrows have not been able to 
 touch ; to forego his revenge at the moment of its bursting 
 forth, and help you to shield me from it ? Even if you shall
 
 392 PSYCHE. [act 11. 
 
 have served me, when you have given me back my life, what 
 recompense do you expect of one who cannot love ? 
 
 Cle. It is not with the hope of so charming a reward that 
 W we feel ourselves animated ; we seek but to satisfy the dic- 
 
 tates of an affection which dares not presume that, whatever 
 it may do, it can be capable of pleasing you, and worthy of 
 inflaming you. Live, fair princess, and live for another ; we 
 shall behold this with a jealous eye, we shall die of it, but 
 of a death more sweet than if we had to see yours ; and, 
 if we should not die in saving your life, whatever love you 
 may prefer in our sight to ours, we would indeed die of 
 grief and love. 
 
 Ps. Live, princes, live, and think no longer to avert my 
 fate or to share its decree. I believe I have told you. 
 Heaven wants me only ; Heaven has condemned me only. 
 I fancy I can hear already the destroying hisses of its minister 
 that draws near ; my terror depicts and shows him to rne 
 at every moment ; and overmastered, as it has, all my feel- 
 ings, it figures him to me on the summit of this rock. I 
 am falling with weakness, and my dejected heart sustains 
 with difficulty a last remnant of courage. Farewell, princes ; 
 fly, that it may not poison you. 
 
 Ag. Nothing has as yet shown itself to our eyes that 
 surprises them ; and when you imagine your end so near, if 
 your strength leaves you, we both have hearts and arms 
 which hope has not abandoned. A rival may perhaps have 
 dictated this oracle ; gold may have influenced the one who 
 rendered it. It would not be a miracle if a human being 
 had answered for a speechless god; and, in every country we 
 have but too many examples that there are, as elsewhere, 
 wicked men in the temples. 
 
 Cle. Let us oppose, to the base ravisher to whom sacrilege 
 delivers you unworthily, a love which Heaven has chosen 
 as the champion of the only fair one for whom we desire to
 
 «• v.] PSYCHE. 393 
 
 live. If we dare not presume to possess her, permit us, in 
 her dauger, at least to follow the dictates of our ardour and 
 the duty of our passion. 
 
 Ps. Carry them to my other selfs,^'^ princes, carry them 
 to my sisters, these duties, these extreme devotions with 
 which your hearts are filled for me ; live for them, while I 
 die ; bewail the dire rigour of my fate, without giving 
 it new causes of grief in your behaviour. These are my 
 last wishes ; and the commands of the dying have been, at 
 all times, accepted as sovereign laws. 
 
 Cle. Princess . . . 
 
 Ps. Once more, princes, live for them. As long as you 
 love me, you should obey. Do not reduce me to wishing to 
 hate you, and to look upon you as rebels, through your very 
 faithfulness to me. Go, leave me to die alone in this spot, 
 where I find no longer a voice, except to bid you farewell ! 
 But I feel that I am being lifted up, and the air opens a 
 way for me, whence you shall no longer hear this dying 
 voice. Farewell, princes ; farewell for the last time. See 
 whether you can any longer entertain a doubt about my 
 fate. [Psyche is lifted up into the air hy two Zephyrs. 
 
 Ag. We are losing sight of her. Let us both go to seek 
 on the height of this rock, the means, prince, of following 
 her. 
 
 Cle. Let us go and seek the means of not surviving her. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Cupid, in the air.^* 
 
 Go and die, rivals of a jealous god, whose anger you 
 deserve for having had vour hearts alive to the same charms. 
 
 ^^ The original has d'autres moi-memes. 
 
 ^^ This Cupid was probably played by a sou of the actor La 
 Thorilliere. (See Introductory Notice to The Impro)njjtii, of Verifailles, 
 Vol. II., page 29!).) In the following acts, Baron played this part.
 
 81)4 PSYCHE. [ACT II. 
 
 And you, Vulcan, cast a thousand brilliant ornaments where- 
 with to adorn a palace, in which Cupid shall dry Psyche's 
 tears, and surrender his arms to her, 
 
 SECOND INTERLUDE. 
 
 The scene is changed to a magnificent court, adorned inith columns 
 of lapis lazuli, and enriched hy golden figures, forming a gorgeous and 
 dazzling 2)alace which Ciipid has prepared for Psyche. Six Cyclops, with 
 four Fairies, perform an entry of a ballet, in which, keeping time to 
 music, they finish four large silver vases, which the Fairies have 
 brought. This entry is interrup)ted by the recital of Vidcan, which he 
 repeats twice. 
 
 First Couplet. 
 
 Make haste, prepare these spots for the most amiable of 
 gods ; let every one be interested for him ; forget nothing 
 of what is wanted. When Cupid presses, one cannot be too 
 quick. 
 
 Cupid does not like postponing ; work, make haste, 
 strike ; increase your blows : let the desire of pleasing him 
 make your labours of the sweetest. 
 
 Second Couplet. 
 
 Serve him well, this charming god ; he is pleased with 
 great attention. Let every one be interested for him ; for- 
 get nothing of what is wanted. When Cupid presses, one 
 cannot be too quick. 
 
 Cupid does not like postponing ; work, make haste, 
 strike ; increase your blows. Let the desire of pleasing him 
 make your labours of the sweetest.
 
 St. I.] PSYCHE. 305 
 
 A CT III. SCENE I. 
 Cupid/^ Zephyr. 
 
 Ze. Yes, I think I have acquitted myself very gallantly 
 of the commission which you have given me. From the 
 summit of the rock, I have brought this beauty, gently 
 through mid-air into this fair enchanted palace, where, in 
 full liberty, you can dispose of her fate. But you sui-prise 
 me, by the great change which you have made in your 
 appearance ; this figure, these features, and this dress, alto- 
 gether conceal who you are ; and I give it to the sharpest 
 to recognise Cupid in you this day. 
 
 Gup. Neither do I wish to be known ; my heart only I 
 wish to reveal to Psyche, nothing but the beautiful trans- 
 ports of this ardent passion with which her sweet charms 
 have inspired it ; and, to express their amorous langour, and 
 to conceal who I may be from the eyes of her who com- 
 mands me, I have taken the form which you now behold. 
 
 Ze. You are a great master in everything ; it is by this 
 that I recognise it. Beneath disguises of various natures, 
 we have seen the love-sick gods endeavour to relieve the 
 sweet wound which hearts receive from your fiery arrows ; 
 but you have the superiority over them in good sense ; and 
 this is just the very figure to command a happy success 
 with the amiable sex, to whom we offer up our devotions. 
 Yes, the assistance derived from the shape is very great ; 
 and, apart from all rank or wit, whosoever finds the means 
 of making such an appearance never sighs in vain. 
 
 Gup. I have resolved, dear Zephyr, always to remain 
 thus ; and no one will find anything to gainsay in that, to 
 
 ^5 It is most likely that Baron played Cupid in this and the follow- 
 ing acts, otherwise the remarks of Zephyr about the great change in the 
 appearance of Love would be out of place.
 
 896 PSYCHE. [ACT III. 
 
 the eldest of all the love gods. It is time to leave off this 
 long infancy v^hich tries my patience ; it is time that hence- 
 forth I should become grown-up. 
 
 Ze. Very good. You cannot do better ; the more so as 
 you are entering upon an adventure which has nothing 
 childish in it. 
 
 Cwp. This change will, no doubt, vex my mother. 
 
 Ze. I anticipate some little anger at this. Although dis- 
 putes about age should have no place among immortals, 
 your mother, Venus, has in this the temper of all fair ones, 
 who do not like grown-up children. ^*^ But where I think 
 her most offended, is in the proceeding you are engaged in ; 
 and it is avenging her strangely to love the fair one whom 
 she wished to punish ! This hatred, to which it was her 
 desire that the power of a son, whom even the gods fear, 
 should lend itself . . . 
 
 Cuy. Let us leave this. Zephyr, and tell me if you do 
 not think Psyche the fairest maid in the world ? Is there 
 aught on earth, is there aught in the Heavens, that could 
 dispute with her the glorious title of beauty without a 
 rival ? But I see her, dear Zephyr, standing astonished at 
 the splendour of this spot. 
 
 Ze. You can show yourself, to finish her martyrdom, to 
 disclose to her her glorious destiny, and to tell each other, 
 between yourselves, all that sighs, lips, and eyes can convey. 
 As a discreet confidant, I know what I have to do not to 
 interrupt an amorous interview.^' 
 
 ^•^ Apuleius makes Venus say, " Ought I not to be very happy to be 
 called a grandmother in the flower cf my age \ " 
 ^" Moliere wrote this Act himself.
 
 sc. u.] PSYCHE. 397 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Psyche, alone. 
 
 Where am I ? and in a spot which I imagined desolate, 
 what skilful hand has built this palace, which art and 
 nature have adorned with the rarest collection that the 
 eyes may for ever go on admiring ? Everything smiles, 
 shines, and dazzles in these gardens, in these rooms, the 
 splendid belongings of which contain nought but what 
 enchants and pleases ; and in which, wherever my afl'righted 
 looks turn, I behold nought but gold and flowers 'neath my 
 steps. Can Heaven have made this pile of marvels for the 
 abode of a serpent ? And when, by their sight, it amuses and 
 suspends the matchless cruelty of my relentless fate, does it 
 wish to show its repentance thereat ? No, no ; it is the 
 blackest, the severest stroke of its hatred, so fruitful in 
 cruelties, which, by a sternness fresh and without parallel, 
 displays the choice it has made, of everything the most beau- 
 tiful on earth, only for me to leave it with the greater regret. 
 How ridiculous is my expectation,^^ if by this it thinks to 
 assuage my grief ! Each moment that my death is post- 
 poned is a fresh misfortune ; the longer it delays, the 
 oftener I die. Do not make me languish any longer ; come 
 to take your victim, you monster, who are to tear me asunder! 
 Am I to seek you, and am I to stimulate your fury to 
 devour me ? If Heaven will my death, if my life be a 
 crime, then dare, in short, to seize upon the little life 
 Avhich remains to me. I am weary of murmuring against a 
 legitimate punishment ; I am v.'eary of sighing ; come, so 
 that I may finish, and die. 
 
 ^s What can Psyche's exijectation be, unless, as Mohmd suggests, 
 that she, after having upbraided Heaven with its cruelty, hopes for 
 some alleviation of her lot, some repentance of stern Fate.
 
 3.08 PSYCHE. [ACT ITT. 
 
 SCENE HI. 
 Cupid, Psyche, Zephyr. 
 
 Gup. Behold him, this serpent, this pitiless monster, 
 "which a wondrous oracle has prepared for you, and who 
 may, perhaps, not be so horrible as you imagined him to 
 yourself.'" 
 
 Ps. You, my lord, can you be this monster with whom 
 the oracle has threatened my sad days ; you, who rather 
 seem a god who, by a miracle, has vouchsafed to come 
 to my aid ! 
 
 Cup. What need of aid in the midst of an empire in 
 which everything that breathes awaits but your glances to 
 submit to their laws, where you have to fear no other 
 monster but me ? 
 
 Ps. How little fear a monster like you inspires ! And 
 if there be any poison, how little occasion one would have 
 to venture upon the least complaint against a favourable 
 attack of which every heart would fear the cure ! Scarce 
 do I behold you, but my terrors cease, and let the image 
 of my death vanish into air; and I feel rushing through my 
 chilled veins an indefinable fire which I knew not before. 
 I have felt esteem and good-will, friendship, gratitude ; 
 innocent sorrows have caused me to feel the power of com- 
 passion : but I have never felt yet what I feel now. I 
 know not what it is ; but I know that it delights me ; that 
 I conceive not the slightest alarm at it. The more I fix 
 my eyes on you, the more I feel myself charmed. All 
 which I felt before did not produce the same effect; and if 
 I knew what it is to love, my lord, I would tell you that I 
 
 '" A.S we have .seen in the Tntrochictory Notice to this play, Cupid is 
 invisible to Psyche in Apuleius' tale ; Moliere rei)resents him as a 
 young, handsome mortal, having left behind him his wings, his bow and 
 arrows, hi.s torch, and all liis god -like attributes.
 
 sr. in.] PSYCHE. 89 9 
 
 love yon. Do uot turn from me those eyes which poison 
 me, those tender, piercing, but yet amorous eyes, which 
 seem to share in the emotion which they evoke. Alas ! 
 the more dangerous they are, the more pleased am I to 
 gaze upon them. By what command of Heaven, which I 
 cannot understand, do I say to you more than I ought ; I, 
 whose modesty might at least have waited until you ex- 
 plained to me the trouble in which I see you ? You sigh, 
 my lord, as I sigh ; your senses appear stunned as well as 
 mine. It is for me to keep silence, for you to tell me so ; 
 and yet it is I who say it.^" 
 
 Cup. You always had so hard a heart, Psyche, that you 
 must not be surprised if, to repair the injury. Love, at this 
 moment, repays himself with usury for what ought to have 
 been given to him. The moment has come when your lips 
 must breathe sighs so long repressed ; when, tearing you away 
 from this sullen humour, a multitude of transports, as sweet 
 as they are unknown, come all together to touch your heart, 
 as intensely as they ought to have done during the many 
 fine days of which this unfeeling soul has profaned the 
 flight. 
 
 Ps. Is it then so great a crime not to love ? 
 
 Cup. Do not you suffer a great punishment from it ? 
 
 Ps. It is punishing sweetly enough. 
 
 Cup. It is choosing its legitimate penalty, and, on this 
 
 "^' Tradition states that these beautiful lines, in which the passion of 
 love is so well described, were written by Corneille, then sixty-tive 
 years old, and at that time enamoured of Madame Moliere, who repre- 
 sented Psyche. It further mentions that, a year later, he paid her fresh 
 homage in putting some lines, about the power that Cupid possesses in 
 the hearts of old men, into the mouth of Martian, in the tragedy of 
 Puk-heria. It is difficult to say at the present time if Corneille was 
 ever in love with Moliere's wife ; but Pulchcria was acted, not at the 
 Palais-Eoyal, but at the Theatre du Marais, and the part of the heroine 
 was played by Mademoiselle Dupin.
 
 400 P8YCHE. [ACTUi. 
 
 glorious day, is rendering itself justice for a want of love, 
 by au excess of love. 
 
 Ps. Why have I not been punished sooner ? I place 
 all the happiness of my life in it. I ought to blush at it, 
 or say it more softly ; but the punishment has too many 
 charms. Allow me that, aloud, I say it and re-say it ; I 
 would say it a hundred times, and not blush at it. It is 
 not I who speak ; and the astonishing empire, the gentle 
 violence of your presence, take possession of my voice the 
 moment I wish to speak. In vain my modesty is secretly 
 offended by it, in vain my sex and propriety dare prescribe 
 me other laws ; your eyes themselves choose my answer for 
 me, and my lips, enslaved by their mighty power, consult 
 me no longer about what I owe to myself. 
 
 Cup. You may believe, fair Psyche, you may believe 
 what they tell you, these eyes which have no jealousy; let 
 yours vie with them in informing me of all that passes 
 within you. You may believe in this heart which sighs, 
 and which, as long as yours will respond to it, will tell you 
 more in one sigh than a hundred looks could tell. It is the 
 sweetest, the strongest, and the surest language of all. 
 
 Ps. The understanding was due to our hearts to make 
 them equally satisfied. I have sighed, you have under- 
 stood me ; you sigh, I understand you. But leave me no 
 longer in doubt, my lord, and tell me, if, by the same route, 
 Zephyr has conducted you hither after me, to tell me what 
 I am now listening to. "When I arrived, were you expected? 
 And when you speak to him, are you obeyed ? 
 
 Cujy. In these sweet regions I bear sovereign sway, as 
 you bear it over my heart ; Cupid protects me ; and it is 
 for his sake that Eolus has placed Zephyr at my disposal. 
 It is Tupid himself who, to see my devotions rewarded, has 
 dictated this oracle, which, by threatening your charming 
 existence, has rid you of a crowd of lovers, and delivered
 
 sc. III.] PSYCHE. 401 
 
 me of the eteruixl obstacle of so many eager sighs, which 
 were not worthy of being addressed to you. Do not ask 
 me which is this province, nor the name of its prince : you 
 shall know it when the time comes. I wish to win you ; 
 but it is by my attentions, by assiduous care and constant 
 devotion, by the amorous sacrifices of all that I am, of all 
 that I can do, without the dazzle of my rank pleading for 
 me, without making a merit of my power ; and, although I 
 am sovereign in this happy spot, I will not owe you, Psyche, 
 to anything but my love. Come, and admire its wonders, 
 princess, and prepare your eyes and your ears for its 
 delights. In it you shall behold woods and meadows 
 contend by their charms with gold and precious stones ; 
 you shall hear nothing but sweet concerts ; a hundred fair 
 ones shall attend on you, who shall adore without envy- 
 ing, and shall sue at every moment, with subjected and 
 delighted souls, for the honour of your commands. 
 
 Ps. My will does but wait upon yours. I could not 
 have any other ; but, after all, your oracle separates me 
 from two sisters and the king, my father,' whom my 
 imaginary death reduces, all three, to bewail me. To dissi- 
 pate the error by which their bowed-down hearts find 
 themselves filled with mortal grief, suffer my sisters to be 
 witnesses of my glory and of your devotions. Lend them, 
 as you have done to me, the wings of Zephyr, which may 
 facilitate, as they have done to me, access to your empire. 
 Show them in what sjDot I breathe ; make them admire 
 the success of my loss. 
 
 Cujx You do not yield all your heart up to me, Psyche ; 
 this tender recollection of a father and two sisters robs mc 
 in part of the sweets which I claim all in all for my 
 passion. Have no eyes but for me, who have none but for 
 you ; think of nought but of loving me, think of nought 
 
 V. 2 c
 
 402 PSYCHE. [ACT III. 
 
 but of pleasing me ; and, when such cares venture to dis- 
 tract you . . . 
 
 Ps. Can one be jealous of the affections of relatives ? 
 
 Clip. 1 am so, my Psyche ; I am so of all nature. The 
 sun's rays kiss you too frequently ; your tresses have too 
 much of the dallyings of the wind ; the moment it toys 
 with them, I murmur at it. Even the air which you 
 breathe with too much pleasure passes between your lips : 
 Your dress encircles you too closely ; and when you sigh, I 
 know not what makes me uneasy, and fear, amongst your 
 sighs, some errant ones. But you wish for your sisters ; 
 go, depart, Zephyr ; Psyche wills it, I cannot refuse it."^'^ 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Cupid, Psyche. 
 
 Gup. When 3'ou shall show them this happy dwelling, 
 make them a hundred gifts from among these treasures. 
 Lavish caresses upon caresses on them ; and exhaust the 
 tenderness of relationship if you can, to abandon yourself 
 afterwards entirely to my love. I shall not intrude my 
 unwelcome presence. But do not give them too long inter- 
 views : whatever amiability you have for them must be 
 robbed from mine. 
 
 Ps. Your love grants me a grace which I shall never 
 abuse. 
 
 Givp. Let us, meanwhile, go and see these gardens, this 
 palace, in which you shall see nothing but what will pale 
 before your own brilliancy. And you, little Loves, and you, 
 young Zephyrs, who have no souls ^^ but tender sighs, now vie 
 
 21 This passage is imitated from Thd()j)hile de Viau's tragedy of 
 Pyramus and ThUha (Act iv. Scene 1), played in 1621. 
 
 '■^2 Here presents itself a trifling difficulty in the translation. The ori- 
 ginal C()])y of Psyche, ■which I have consulted, ha.s ames, souls, ^vithout 
 the circumflex accent ; so has Lcmerre, in the faithful reiirint of the f'^st
 
 ^c". IV.] PSYCHE. 403 
 
 with each other in sliuwing what you feel in beholding my 
 princess. 
 
 THIRD INTERLUDE. 
 
 An entry of the ballet of four Cupids, and four 
 Zephyrs, twice interrupted by a dialogue, sung by a Cupid 
 and a Zephyr. 
 
 Cupid, Psyche. 
 
 Ze. Amiable youth, follow tenderness ; join to fine 
 
 days the sweets of love. It is to surprise you, that they 
 tell you, that you should avoid their sighs, and fear their 
 desires. Allow them to teach you what their pleasures are. 
 
 Together. Every one is bound to love in his turn ; and 
 the more charms one possesses, the more one owes to Love. 
 
 Ze. A young and tender heart is made to sur- 
 
 render ; it will not avail to turn away from it. 
 
 Together. Every one is bound to love in his turn ; and 
 the more charms one possesses, the more one owes to Love. 
 
 Cup. Why defend one's self ? What boots it to 
 
 delay ? One day lost, is lost without retrieve. 
 
 Together. Every one is bound to love in his turn ; and 
 the more charms one possesses, the more one owes to Love. 
 
 Second Verse. 
 
 Ze. Love has his charms. Let us yield him our 
 
 arms. His cares and his tears are not without sweets. 
 To follow him, a heart abandons itself to a hundred ills. 
 To taste his pleasures, one must suffer almost death. But 
 not to love, is not to live. 
 
 Together. If love entails so many cares and griefs, one 
 happy moment repays a thousand ills. 
 
 Ze. There is fear, there is hope ; there is mystery 
 
 needed ; but nothing good is ever obtained without trouble. 
 
 edition of Moliere's plays ; Moland has dmes. But Taschereau and Lou- 
 andre, in their editions of our author, have amies, arms, which seems 
 to me to make better sense. However, I have followed the original copy.
 
 404 PSYCHE. [ACT IV. 
 
 Together. If love entails so many cares and griefs, one 
 happy moment repays a thousand ills. 
 
 Cup. What can be better than to love and to please ? 
 
 It is a charming care, a lover's task. 
 
 Together. If love entails so many cares and griefs, one 
 happy moment repays a thousand ills. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE 1. 
 
 The scene changes to another magnificent palace, intersected at the 
 Ixick hy a vestibule, across which is seen a charming and magnificent 
 garden, decorated with several vases, -with orange and other trees, 
 laden loith cdl hinds of fruits. 
 
 Aglaura,^^ Cydippe. 
 
 Agl. It is incredible, sister, I have beheld too many 
 marvels ; futurity will have a great difficulty in con- 
 ceiving them ; the sun who sees all, and who shows us 
 all, has never seen the like. They vex my mind ; this 
 brilHant palace, this pompous train, are so much odious 
 display, which fills me with shame as much as with vexa- 
 tion. How niggardly Fortune treats us, and how blindly, 
 in her indiscreet prodigality, she lavishes, nay, exhausts, 
 combines all her efforts to heap together so many treasures 
 for the share of a younger sister ! 
 
 Gyd. I enter into all your feelings ; I have sinular 
 vexations ; and everything that displeases you in this 
 charming spot wounds me also ; all that you take as a 
 mortal insult overwhelms me, as it does you, and leaves me 
 with bitterness in the heart and a blush on the brow. 
 
 Agl. No, sister, there are no queens who, in their own 
 state, speak as sovereigns, as Psyche speaks in these 
 
 ** Aglaura's speech is imitated from Apuleius.
 
 sc. I.] PSYCHE. 405 
 
 regions. With promptitude she is obeyed ; and an amorous 
 studiousness fathoms her desires from her very eyes. A 
 thousand fair ones press around her, and to our jealous 
 glances seem to say : Whatever our attractions may be, she 
 is still more beautiful ; and we, who serve her, are yet 
 more fair than you. She pronounces ; they execute ; no 
 one gainsays, no one cavils. Flora, who attends her every 
 step, strews with lavish hands around her her sweetest gifts ; 
 Zeph3^r flies at the commands which she gives ; and his 
 mistress and he, enchanted by her charms, forget to love 
 each other, in their eagerness to wait upon her. 
 
 Cyd. She has gods in her service ; soon she will have 
 altars ; and we command but paltry mortals, whose audacity 
 and caprice, revolting secretly each moment against us, oppose 
 murmurs or artifice to our desires. 
 
 Agl. It was little that at our court all hearts, vying 
 with each other, would have preferred her to us ; it was not 
 enough that, night and day, she should be idolized there by 
 a host of lovers ; when we were consoling ourselves to see 
 her in her grave by the unforeseen decree of the oracle, 
 she wishes to display the miracle of her fresh destiny to 
 our very face, and to choose our eyes to witness that which 
 we desire the least.^^ 
 
 Cyd. What vexes me most, is this lover so perfect and 
 so worthy to please, who is captive beneath her sway. If 
 we could choose amongst all the monarchs, is there one, 
 from among so many kings, who bears such marks of noble- 
 ness ? To find one's self favoured beyond one's wishes, 
 is often nothing but a happiness which makes one wretched ; 
 there are no pompous trains nor superb palaces but what 
 leave some door open to incurable evils, but to have a lover 
 of consummate Avorth, and to see one's self dearly beloved 
 
 This, again, is taken from Apuleins.
 
 406 PSYCHE. [ACT IV. 
 
 by him, is a happiness so great, so elevated, that its grandeur 
 cannot be expressed. 
 
 Agl. Let us speak no longer of it, sister, we should die 
 with vexation. Let us rather think about revenge, and let 
 us find the means of breaking this adorable understanding 
 between him and her. Here she comes. I have some blows 
 ready to strike her with, which she will with difficulty 
 avoid. 
 
 SCENE IT. 
 Psyche, Aglaura, Oydippe. 
 
 Ps. I have come to say farewell to you ; my lover sends 
 you back, and is no longer able to endure that you should 
 debar him for one moment from the joy which he takes in 
 seeing himself the only one to attend upon me. In a simple 
 glance, in the least word, his love finds charms of which I 
 am robbing him, in favour of my own blood, in bestowing 
 them on my sisters. 
 
 Agl. The jealousy is sufficiently fine drawn ; and these 
 delicate feelings well deserve the idea that he who has so 
 much warmth for you, surpasses the ordinary run of lovers. 
 I speak to you thus, for want of knowing him. You do 
 not know his name, nor those who gave him birth : our 
 minds are alarmed at it. I hold him to be a gi'eat prince, 
 and of a supreme power, far above that of the diadem ; his 
 treasures, lavishly strewn beneath your steps, are such as to 
 make abundance itself ashamed ; you love him as much 
 as he loves you ; he charms you, and you charm him ; your 
 happiness would be extreme, sister, if you knew whom you 
 loved. 
 
 Ps. What does it matter to me ? I am beloved by him. 
 The more he sees mc, the more I please him. There are 
 no pleasures that could delight the heart but what antici-
 
 sc. n.] PSYCHE. 407 
 
 pate my wishes ; and I do not see how yours need be 
 alarmed, when everything serves me in this palace. 
 
 Agl. What matters it that everything serves you here, 
 if this lover for ever conceals from you who he is ? We are 
 alarmed only in your interest. In vain everything smiles 
 • upon you, in vain everything pleases you here, true love 
 conceals nothing ; and he who persists in hiding himself 
 feels something within with which he might be reproached. 
 If this lover should become fickle, for often in love variety 
 is sufficiently sweet ; and I make bold to say it between 
 ourselves, for great as is the brilliancy with Avhich these 
 features shine, there may be others elsewhere as beautiful 
 as you ; if, I say, another object should draw him beneath 
 another sway ; if, in the position I see you, alone in his 
 hands, and defenceless, he resorts to violence, on whom is 
 the king to avenge you for this change, or for this inso- 
 lence ? 
 
 Ps. Sister, you make me shudder. Just Heaven ! 
 could I be unfortunate enough . . . 
 
 Cyd. Who knows but what the bonds of Hymen may 
 already . . . 
 
 Ps. Proceed not ; it would kill me. 
 
 Agl. I have but one word more to say to you. This 
 prince who loves you, and who commands the winds, who 
 gives us the wings of Zephyr as a car, and with fresh 
 pleasures loads you every moment, mixes perhaps with all 
 his love a little of imposture, when he to your eyes breaks 
 the order of nature ; perhaps this palace is nothing but an 
 illusion, and these gilded wainscoatings, this heap of riches, 
 with which he buys your tenderness, may vanish in a 
 moment, when he shall have become tired of your caresses. 
 You know as well as we what may be done by magic. 
 
 Ps. What cruel alarms I feel in my turn ! 
 
 Agl. Our friendship looks but to your good !
 
 4- 08 PSYCHE. [a«t IV. 
 
 F.s. Farewell, sisters; let us tiiiisii the conversation. I 
 love, and I fear that he may become impatient. Now go ; 
 and to-morrow, if I can, you shall see me more happy, or 
 more overwhelmed by the most mortal grief, 
 
 Agl. We will tell the king what fresh glory, what excess 
 of happiness is being showered upon you. 
 
 Cyd. We will relate to him the surprising and marvellous 
 history of so sweet a change. 
 
 Ps. Do not make him uneasy, sister, by your suspicious; 
 and when you depict to him so charming an empire . . . 
 
 Agl. We both know well enough what to withhold or 
 
 what to tell, and have no need of any lessons on that score. 
 
 [Zephyr emeries the two sisters of Psyche away in a 
 
 cloud, ivhich comes down to the earth, and in tvhieh 
 
 he hears them rapidly avjay.^ 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Cupid, Psyche. 
 
 Gup. At last you are alone, and I can tell you again, 
 without having your two iinportunate sisters for witnesses, 
 what sway these lovel}'^ eyes have gained over me, and 
 what excess there is in the joys inspired by sincere affection, 
 the moment it joins two hearts. I can explain to you the 
 love-sick ardour of my ravished soul, and swear to you that, 
 subjected to you alone, it has no other aim in its delights 
 than to see this ardour met by a similar ardour ; to con- 
 ceive no other wish than to mould my devotions to your 
 desires, and to take all my pleasures in whatever pleases you. 
 But how comes it that a sombre cloud seems to dim the 
 lustre of these beautiful eyes ? Is there aught you wish 
 for in these spots ? Do you disdain the homage of the 
 devotion offered to you here ? 
 
 P-s'. No, my lord.
 
 sc. Tir.] PSYCHE. 409 
 
 GaiJ. What is it then ? and whence comes my mis- 
 fortune ? I hear fewer sighs of love than of grief; I 
 perceive the faded roses in your complexion mark a secret 
 sorrow ; hardly are your sisters gone, than you sigh with 
 regret. Ah ! Psyche, when the passion of two hearts 
 is the same, have they different sighs ? And when one 
 loves sincerely, and beholds what one loves, can one think 
 of relatives ? 
 
 Ps. It is not that which afflicts me. 
 
 Gup. Is it the absence of a rival, and of a beloved rival, 
 which causes me to be neglected ? 
 
 Ps. How little have j^ou penetrated into a heart 
 entirely yours ! I love you, my lord, and my heart is 
 annoyed at the unworthy suspicion which you have formed. 
 You do not know your own worth, if you fear not to be 
 beloved. I love you ; and, since I first saw the light, I 
 have shown myself proud enough to disdain the devotion 
 of more than one king. And, if I am to open my whole 
 heart to you, I have found no one but you who was 
 worthy of me. Nevertheless I have some grief which in 
 vain I would conceal from you ; a carking care mixes with all 
 my affection, from which I cannot separate it. Do not ask 
 me the cause : perhaps, knowing it, you would punish me 
 for it ; and if I still dare to aspire to anything, I am at 
 least sure not to incur it. 
 
 Cuj). What ! are you not afraid that I, in my turn, shall 
 be annoyed that you so little know your worth ; or do you 
 pretend not to know how absolute your sway is over me ? 
 Ah ! if you doubt it, be undeceived. Speak ! 
 
 Ps. I shall have the affront of seeing myself refused. 
 
 Gup. Think better of me ; the trial is easy. Speak, 
 everything holds itself in readiness for your commands. 
 If, to believe me, you require oaths, I swear by your lovely 
 eyes, those masters of my soul, those divine authors of my
 
 4 1 PSYCHE. [ACT IV. 
 
 love ; and if it be not enough to sweai' by your lovely eyes, 
 I swear by the Styx, as the gods swear. 
 
 Ps. I dare to fear a little less, after this assurance. 
 My lord, I here behold pomp and abundance ; I adore you, 
 and you love me ; my heart is delighted at it, my senses 
 charmed by it ; but, amidst this supreme happiness, I have 
 the misfortune not to know whom I love : dissipate this 
 ignorance, and allow me to know so perfect a lover. 
 
 Cup. Psyche, what have you said ? 
 
 Ps. That this is the happiness to which I aspire : and 
 if you do not grant it to me. 
 
 Ciq-). I have sworn it, I am no longer the master of it : 
 but you do not know what you ask. Let me keep my 
 secret. If I make myself known, 1 lose you, and you lose 
 me. Tlie sole remedy is to retract it. 
 
 Ps. Is that my sovereign sway over you ? 
 
 Cu2?. You are all-powerful, and I am entirely yours. 
 But if our flame seems sweet to you, do not place an 
 obstacle to its charming continuation ; do not force me to 
 flight : that is the least misfortune that could result to us 
 from the wish that has seduced you. 
 
 Ps. My lord, you wish to test me ; but I know what 
 I ought to believe. Pray, inform me of the whole extent 
 of my glory, and do not conceal from me for what illustrious 
 choice I have rejected the devotion of so many kings. 
 
 Cup. Do you wish it ? 
 
 Ps. Let me beseech you. 
 
 Cup. If you knew, Psyche, the cruel destiny you draw 
 upon yourself by this . . . 
 
 Ps. You render me desperate, my lord. 
 
 Cup. Reflect well upon it ; I can still keep silent. 
 
 Ps. Do you take oaths not to fulfil them ? 
 
 Cup. Well then ! I am the god, the most powerful of the 
 gods, absolute on eartli, absolute in the Heavens ; on the
 
 s<^'- IV.] PSYCHE. 4 1 1 
 
 waters, in the air, my power is supreme : in one word, I am 
 Cupid himself, who with one of my own darts liad wounded 
 myself for you ; ^^ and, without the violence, alas ! which 
 you have done to me, and which has just changed my love 
 into anger, I should have become your husband. Your 
 wishes are satisfied, you know now whom you have loved ; 
 you know the lover whom you have charmed ; behold, 
 Psyche, what it has brought you to. You yourself force 
 me to leave you ; 3^ou yourself force me to deprive you of 
 all the effect of your victory. Your lovely eyes may 
 perhaps never behold me again. This palace, these gardens, 
 disappearing with myself, will make your new-born glory 
 vanish. You would not trust to me ; and as the fruit of your 
 cleared-up doubts. Fate, beneath whom Heaven trembles, 
 more mighty than my love, than all the gods together, shall 
 show you her hatred, and drives me hence. 
 
 Cupid disapjiears ; and at the same moment that he 
 files aiuay, the Tnagnificent garden vanishes also. 
 Psyche remains alone in the midst of a vast plain, 
 and on the desolate hanks of a, great river, in which 
 she wishes to throw herself The river-god appears, 
 seated on a mass of reeds and water plants, and 
 leaning on a large urn, from ivhich issues a thick 
 jet of woier. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Psyche, The River God. 
 
 Ps. Cruel destiny, dire anxiety ! fatal curiosity ! 
 Horrible solitude ! what have you done with all my 
 happiness ? I loved a god, I was adored by him ; my 
 
 25 This idea is from Apuleius. The difference between the treatment 
 of the fable of Psyche as put down by the Latin author and the French 
 one, will be easily perceived. The opera, Psyche, which was given in 
 1678, followed the original classical idea (see Introductory Notice).
 
 412 PSYCHE. [ACT IV. 
 
 liappiness increased at every moment, and I behold myself 
 alone, all in tears, in the midst of a desert, where, to over- 
 whelm me altogether, confused and despairing, I feel the 
 love grow stronger, when I have lost the lover. The 
 recollection of him charms and poisons me ; its sweetness 
 tj'rannizes over a wretched heart which my passion has 
 condemned to the most poignant grief. Oh Heaven ! 
 when Cupid abandons me, why does he leave me the love 
 which he gave me ? Source of all good inexhaustible and 
 pure, master of men and of gods, dear author of the 
 ills which I endure, are you for ever vanished from my 
 sight ? I myself have banished you from it : in an excess 
 of love, in an extreme happiness, my heart became disturbed 
 by an unworthy suspicion. Ungrateful heart ! yours was a 
 flame but badly kindled ; and one cannot wish, the moment 
 one loves, but what the cherished object also wishes. Let 
 me die, it is the only thing left for me to do, after the loss 
 which I have sustained. For whom, great gods ! could I 
 wish to live ? and for whom could I form desires ? Stream, 
 whose waters bathe these dreary sands, bury my crime in 
 your waves, and to put an end to evils so deplorable, let 
 me insure my rest in your bed. 
 
 The God. Your death would sully my waters,^" Psyche ; 
 Heaven forbids it you ; and perhaps after such profound 
 grief, another fate awaits you. Flee rather from the im- 
 placable anger of Venus : I see her coming to look for you 
 and to punish you ; the love of the son has evoked the 
 hatred of the mother. Fly, I shall know how to detain her. 
 
 Ps. T am prepared for her avenging fury ; what 
 
 could they have in store for me but what would be too sweet ? 
 She who seeks death fears neither gods nor goddesses, and 
 may brave all their anger. 
 
 26 This idea is again boiTowed from Apuleius, though the reason 
 which the river-god gives for his refusal is difreront.
 
 f=<^- v.] PSYCHE. 413 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Venus, Psyche, The River God. 
 
 Ven. Proud Psyche, you dare then await me, after having 
 usurped my honours on earth ; after your seductive features 
 have received the incense which ought to have been offered 
 only to mine ? I have seen my temples deserted, I have 
 seen all mortals, seduced by your charms, idolize your sove- 
 reign beauty, offer you marks of respect undreamt of until 
 then, and not at all considering that there was another 
 Venus ; and after this I see you still bold enough not to fear 
 your just punishments, and to look me in the face, as if 
 my resentment were but a small matter ! 
 
 Ps. If by some mortals I have been adored, is it a crime 
 in me to have had charms with which their thoughtless 
 souls allowed their eyes to be charmed which had not beheld 
 you ? I am what Heaven has made me ; I have nothing but 
 the beauties which it has been good enousjhto lend me. If 
 the devotions that were offered to me ill satisfied you, you 
 had but to present yourself to force all hearts to carry them 
 back to you ; but to hide no lorjger from them this perfect 
 beauty which, to bring them back to their duty, has but to 
 show itself, to make itself adored. 
 
 Ven. You ouoht to have defended vourself better. These 
 marks of respect, this incense ought to have been refused ; 
 and the better to undeceive them, you ought, before their 
 very eyes, to have given them up to me. You cherished 
 the mistake for which you ought to have had nothing but 
 horror ; you have done even more ; your arrogant humour, 
 despising a thousand kings, has, in its extravagant ambition, 
 carried its choice as far as Heaven. 
 
 Ps. I have carried my choice as far as Heaven, 
 goddess ?
 
 41-t PSYCHE. [ACT IV. 
 
 Ven. Your insolence is matchless. To disdain all the 
 kings on earth, is that not aspiring to the gods ? 
 
 Ps. If Cupid had hardened my heart for all of them, 
 and reserved me entirely for himself, can I be blamed for 
 that ? and must I see you to-day wishing to overwhelm me 
 with eternal grief as the price of so sweet a passion ? 
 
 Ven. Psyche, you ought to have known better what you 
 were, and who this god was. 
 
 Ps. Has he given me the time and the opportunity, he 
 who made himself master of my whole heart at the first 
 moment ? 
 
 Veil. Your whole heart allowed itself to be charmed by 
 him, and you loved him the moment he said to you I love. 
 
 Ps. Could I do otherwise than love the god who in- 
 spires love, and who spoke to me for himself ? He is your 
 son : you know his power, you are acquainted with his 
 worth. 
 
 Ven. Yes, he is my son, but a son who annoys me, a son 
 who badly renders me what he knows to be my due ; a son 
 who causes me to be abandoned, and who the better to 
 flatter his unworthy amours, since you love him, no longer 
 wounds any one who comes to implore my assistance at my 
 shrines. You have made of him a rebel against me : I 
 will be revenged, and signally, on you ; and I shall teach 
 you whether a mortal ought to allow a god to sigh at her 
 knees. FoIIoav me ; you shall see, to your cost, to what mad 
 confidence in yourself this ambition carried you. Come, 
 and prepare yourself with as much patience as you have 
 shown presumption. 
 
 FO Ult Til INTERL UDE. 
 
 The scene represents the infernal regions. A sea of fire, the waves 
 of which are in a jMrjJetual state of agitation, is seen. This horrible sea 
 is boi'dered by rains in flames, and in the midst of the seething leaves, 
 through a frightful orifice, appears the infernal palace of Fluto. Eight
 
 «. i.] PSYCHE. 415 
 
 furies come out of it, and form an entry of the ballet, in which tlicy 
 rejoice about the rage they have excited in the soul of the gentlest of all 
 divinities. A sprite interferes with his perilous leaps in their dances, 
 while Psyche, who has passed into the infernal regions by the orders of 
 Venus, repasses, in the boat of Charon, with the casket which she has 
 received from Proserpine for the goddess.-'^ 
 
 ACT V. HCENE I. 
 
 Psyche, aloner^ 
 
 Terrible windings of the infernal waves, black palaces 
 where Megsera and her sisters hold their court, eternal fires 
 of light, amidst your Ixions, amidst your Tantaluses, amidst 
 so many tortures that know no intervals, are there, in your 
 horrible dwelling, penalties equal to the labours to which 
 Venus condemns my love ? There is no satiating her ; and 
 since I have found myself subjected to her laws, since she 
 has given me up to her resentment, I need, in these cruel 
 moments, more than one soul, more than one life to fulfil 
 her commands. I would suffer all with joy, if, amidst the 
 rigours which her hatred displays, my eyes could behold 
 again, were it but for one moment, that dear, that adorable 
 lover. I dare not name him ; my lips, too criminal by 
 having required too much of him, have become unworthy of 
 him ; and in this cruel affliction, the most fatal suffering, 
 with which an ever-recurring death overwhelms me at each 
 moment, is that of not seeing him. If his anger were still 
 to last, no misfortune would ever equal mine ; but if he took 
 
 27 Between tlie fourth act and the fourth interlude, a certain time is 
 supposed to have elapsed, during which Psyche has undergone the 
 different trials to which Venus exposed her. She has now just ac- 
 quitted herself of the last. See the Introductory notice to this play. 
 
 28 See Appendix, Note A.
 
 4 1 G PSYCHE. [ACT V. 
 
 pity on a heart which adores him, whatever I had to suffer 
 would be no suffering at all. Yes, ye Fates, if his just anger 
 were but appeased, all my misfortunes would be at an end : 
 to render me insensible to the fury of the mother, I need 
 but one look of the son. I will no longer doubt it, he shares 
 my sufferings ; he sees what I suffer, and he suffers with 
 me. Whatever T endure pains him ; it becomes a law of 
 love for him. In spite of Venus, in spite of my crime, it is he 
 who supports me, it is he who reanimates me in the midst 
 of the perils which they make me undergo ; he preserves the 
 affection with which his passion inspires him, and takes care 
 to endow me with new life each time I must die. But 
 Avhat do these two shades want with me, whom I behold 
 advancing towards me through the bad light of these gloomy 
 regions ? 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 Psyche, CleojVienes, Agenor. 
 
 Ps. Cleomenes, Agenor, is it you whom T behold ? Who 
 has deprived you of life ? 
 
 Cle. The most righteous grief that could have furnished 
 us with grounds for despairing ; that funeral pomp, where 
 you expected the utmost harshness of the most dismal fate, 
 and the most signal injustice. 
 
 Ag. On that very rock where Heaven in its anger pro- 
 mised you, instead of a spouse, a serpent, which should 
 suddenly devour you, we held ourselves in readiness to 
 repulse its rage, or to die with you. You know it, 
 princess ; and when you disappeared in mid-air from our 
 sight, we both, carried away by love and grief, threw our- 
 selves from the height of that rock, to follow your charms, 
 or rather to taste the amorous joy of offering to the monster 
 a first prey for you.
 
 s<"i.l ^ P8YCHE. 417 
 
 Cle. Happily deceived in the meaning of the oracle, we 
 have found out in this spot the miracle, and have known 
 that the serpent ready to devour you was the god of love ; 
 and who, though a god adoring you himself, could not en- 
 dure that mortals like us should dare to adore you. 
 
 Ag. As a reward for having followed you, we here taste 
 a sufficiently pleasant death. What had we to do with 
 life, if we could not belong to you ? We here behold again 
 your loveliness, which neither of us wovild have looked 
 upon again above. Happy if we but see the slightest of your 
 tears honour the misfortunes which you have caused us ! 
 
 Ps. Can I have any tears left, when misfortunes have 
 been carried to the highest degree ? Let us unite our 
 sighs in so dire a calamity ; sighs do not exhaust them- 
 selves ; but you, princes, will sigh for an ungrateful 
 creature. You did not wish to survive my miseries ; and 
 whatever grief may overwhelm me, it is not for you that I 
 die. 
 
 Cle. Did we deserve it, we, whose whole passion has but 
 wearied you with the story of our sorrows ? 
 
 Ps. You might have deserved, princes, my entire affec- 
 tion, had you not been rivals. Those incomparable 
 qualities which attended the addresses of the one and the 
 other, rendered you both too amiable for either of you to be 
 scorned. 
 
 Ag. You might, without being unjust or cruel, have 
 refused us a heart reserved for a god. But see Venus once 
 more. Fate calls us back, and forces us to bid you fare- 
 well. 
 
 Ps. Does she not leave you time to tell me where, in 
 these regions, you dwell ? 
 
 Cle. In ever verdant groves, where one breathes by 
 love, the moment one has died of love. By love one is 
 born again there, with love one sighs there, beneath the 
 
 V. 2d
 
 4 1 8 PSY(;HE. [act v. 
 
 gentlest laws of his liappy sway ; and eternal nig-ht dares 
 not drive away the day, with which he himself endows the 
 phantoms which he inspires, and of which he makes a court 
 in the infernal regions themselves. 
 
 Ag. Your envious sisters, descended after us to destroy 
 you, have destroyed themselves ; and as'a reward for a sug- 
 gestion which cost them their lives, each, by turns, suffers 
 by the side of Ixion, by the side of Tituos ; sometimes the 
 wheel, and sometimes the vulture. Cupid, through the 
 Zephyrs, took swift vengeance for their envenomed and 
 jealous malice ; these winged ministers of his righteous 
 anger, under the pretext of conducting them once more to 
 you, plunged them both to the bottom of a precipice,"^ where 
 the horrible spectacle of their torn bodies displays but the 
 least and first punishment for these counsels, whereof the 
 cunning causes the ills which you suffer. 
 
 Ps. How I pity them ! 
 
 Cle. You alone are to be jDitied. But we have stayed too 
 long to converse with you ; farewell. May we live in your 
 remembrance ! May you soon have nothing more to fear ! 
 May Cupid transport you shortly to the Heavens, place 
 you there by the side of the gods, and kindling a love 
 which cannot be extinguished, emancipate for ever the 
 lustre of your beauteous eyes to increase the light of these 
 regions ! 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Psyche, alone. 
 
 Unhappy lovers ! Their passion still endures ! Though 
 dead, they both still adore me ; me, whose severity so ill 
 received their affections ! It is not so with you ; you who 
 
 ^^ In Apuleius the two sisters are punished by Psyche herself ; but, 
 nothing is said about their fate in the infernal regions.
 
 sc. IV.] PSYCHE. 419 
 
 alone have charmed me, beloved, whom I love still a 
 hundred times more than my life, and who hreak such 
 beautiful bonds ! Flee no longer from mo, and permit me 
 to hope that one day you will cast your eyes on me ; that, 
 by my suiferings I shall gain something to please you, 
 something to recover your plighted faith. But what I have 
 suffered has too much disfigured me to inspire me with such 
 hopes. With eyes dejected, sad, despairing, languid, and 
 faded, how can I prevail, if by some miracle, impossible 
 to foresee, my beauty, which once pleased you, is not 
 restored ? I have something here to restore it : this treasure 
 of divine beauty, which Proserpine has placed in my hands 
 to remit to Venus, must contain some charms of which I 
 can take possession ; and the splendor of them must be 
 extreme, since Venus, beauty herself, requires them to adorn 
 herself. Would it be so great a crime to abstract a little 
 from them ? To make myself pleasing in the eyes of a god 
 who made himself my lover ; to regain his heart, and put 
 an end to my torment ; is not all this but too legitimate ? 
 Let me open it. What vapours dim my brain ? ^^ And 
 what do I behold coming out of this open box ? CujDid, if 
 your pity does not oppose my destruction, I descend to the 
 grave, never again to revive. 
 
 [She swoons. Cupid corties down to her, flying. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Cupid, Psyche, [mi a s'woon~]. 
 
 Cup. Your peril. Psyche, dispels my anger, or rather the 
 ardour of my flame has not ceased ; and though you have 
 displeased me in the highest degree, I have only interested 
 
 30 This, again, is taken from Apuleius. La Fontaine, in his tale, makes 
 come from the box a thick vapour, which makes Psyche look like an 
 ' Ethiopian woman."
 
 4 20 PSYCHE. [ACTv. 
 
 myself against my mother's wrath. I have seen all your 
 labours, I have followed all j^our misery, my sighs have 
 everywhere accompanied your tears. Turn your eyes to- 
 wards me ; I am still the same. What ! I say and repeat 
 aloud that I love you, and you do not say that you love me. 
 Psyche ! Are your lovely eyes closed for ever ? Is their 
 brightness for ever gone from them ? death ! could you 
 launch so criminal a dart, and, without any respect for my 
 eternal being, attempt my own life ! How many times, 
 ungrateful deity, have I swelled your gloomy empire by 
 the contempt or cruelty of a proud or stern fair one ? 
 Even how many faithful lovers, if I must say so, have 
 I sacrificed to you by excess of transports ! Go ! I will no 
 longer wound souls, I will no longer pierce hearts but with 
 darts dipped in the divine liquid with which immortal 
 flames are nourished by Heaven ; and I will no longer 
 launch any except to make, before your very eyes, so many 
 gods of so many lovers. And you, relentless mother, Avho 
 compelled death to snatch from me all that I held most dear, 
 dread, in your turn, the effect of my anger. You wish to lay 
 down the law to me, you, whom we so often see receive it 
 from me ; you, who have a heart as susceptible as any 
 other, you envy mine the delights which your own enjoys ! 
 But I shall pierce that self-same heart with strokes that 
 shall be followed by nothing but jealous anxieties ; I shall 
 overwhelm you with shameful surprises, and everywhere 
 select, for your sweetest affection. Adonises and Auchiseses 
 who will only hate you. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Venus, Cupid, Psyche, still in a siuoon. 
 
 Veil. The threat is respectful ; and the presumptuous 
 anger of a child who rebels. . . .
 
 sc. v.] PSYCHE. 421 
 
 Cup. I am no longer a child, and I have been too mucli 
 so ; and my anger is as just as it is impetuous. 
 
 Veil. Its impetuosity should be restrained ; and you 
 might remember that you owe your being to me. 
 
 Cup. And you ought not to forget that you have a heart 
 and charms which depend on my power ; that my quiver is 
 the sole support of j^ours ; that without my arrows it is 
 nothing ; and that, if the bravest hearts have allowed 
 themselves to be led in triumph by you, you have never 
 made slaves but those whom it has pleased me to enchain. 
 Boast then no more, about those rights of birth which 
 tyrannize over my desires ; and if you do not wish to lose 
 a thousand sighs, remember, when you see me, to be grate- 
 ful ; you who hold through my power both your glory and 
 your pleasures. 
 
 Ven. How have you defended it, this glory of which you 
 speak ? How have you rendered it to me ? And when 
 you saw my altars desolate, my temples violated, my 
 honours disparaged, if you have sympathized with so much 
 ignominy, how has the world seen Psyche punished, who 
 robbed me of them ? I commanded you to make her 
 charmed with the vilest of all mortals, who should not deign 
 to respond to her enflamed heart, but by eternal repulses, 
 by the most cruel contempt ; and you yourself have loved 
 her ! You have seduced immortal beings to be against me ; 
 it is for you that the Zephyrs hid her from my sight ; that 
 Apollo himself, suborned, by a skilfully tuned oracle had 
 so cleverly borne her away from me, that if her curiosity had 
 not, by a blind mistrust, restored her to my vengeance, she 
 would have escaped my irritated heart. Behold the con- 
 dition to which your love has brought your Psyche ; her 
 soul is about to depart ; see ; and if yours is still enamoured 
 of her, receive her last sigh. Threaten, brave me, while 
 she expires ; so much insolence becomes you well ; and I
 
 422 PSYCHE. [ACT V. 
 
 must endure whatever you please to say, I who can do 
 nothing without your darts. 
 
 Cwp. You can do but too much, relentless goddess ! 
 Fate abandons her entirely to your anger : but be less 
 inexorable to the prayers, to the tears of a son at your feet. 
 It ought to be a sufficiently pleasant sight to you to behold 
 with one eye Psyclie dying, and with the other this son, 
 with a supplicating vcjice, only wishiug to owe his happiness 
 to you. Give me back my Psyche, give her back all her 
 charms ; give her back, goddess, to my tears ; give back to 
 my love, give back to my grief, the charm of my eyes and 
 the choice of my heart. 
 
 Ven. With whatever love Psyche may inspire you, do 
 not expect to see an end to her misfortunes through me. 
 If Fate abandons her to me, I abandon her to her fate. 
 Importune me no more ; and, in this adversity, let her, 
 without Venus, triumph or perish. 
 
 Gup. Alas ! if I importune you, I would not do so if I 
 could die. 
 
 Ven. This is no common grief that forces an immortal to 
 wish for death. 
 
 Cup. Perceive, by the excess of my passion, how strong 
 it is. Will you extend no mercy to her ? 
 
 Ven. I own your passion touches my heart ; it disanns 
 me, it abates my rigour. Your Psyche shall see the 
 light again. 
 
 Guj). How I will make you everywhere adored ! 
 
 Ven. Yes, you shall again behold her in her pristine 
 beauty ; but I claim the entire deference of your grateful 
 vows ; I claim that an unfeigned respect shall leave my 
 affection to choose you another spouse. 
 
 Gup. And I, I do not require mercy any longer ; I 
 resume all my boldness ; I desire Psyche, I desire her love ; 
 I desire her to live again, and to live again for me ; and
 
 s^'- '^^i] PSYCHE. 423 
 
 I am indifferent if your tired-out hatred satiate itself on 
 another, Jupiter, who is appearing, will judge between us 
 of my passionate behaviour, and of your anger. 
 
 [After several Jiashes of lightning and claps of thunder, 
 Jupiter appears in the air, on his eagle.] 
 
 SCENE VL 
 Jupiter, Venus, Cupid, Psyche, still in a swoon. 
 
 Cup. You, to whom alone everything is possible, father 
 of gods, sovereign of mortals, abate the sternness of an 
 unbending mother, who, without me, would have no altars. 
 I have wept, I have prayed, I sigh and threaten ; but in 
 vain are sighs and threats. She will not perceive that on 
 my displeasure depends the happy or mournful aspect of tlie 
 whole world ; and that if Psyche loses her life, if Psyche 
 does not belong to me, I am no longer Cupid. Yes, I shall 
 destroy my bow, I shall break in pieces my arrows ; I shall 
 even quench my torch, and let Nature languish until it dies ; 
 or, if I yet deign to pierce some hearts with these golden 
 points which command obedience, I shall wound you all up 
 there for mortal females, and shall aim none at them but 
 blunted darts that force to hatred, and which will produce 
 nought but rebels, ingrates, and cruel ones.^^< By what 
 tyrannic law should I be bound to keep my weapons ever 
 ready to serve you, and procure for you one conquest after 
 another, if you forbid me to make one for myself ? 
 
 Jiqj. [To Venus] Daughter, be less severe to him : you 
 hold the fate of his Psyche in your hands ; the fatal sister, 
 at your least word, will follow up your anger. Speak, and 
 allow yourself to be overcome by a mother's tenderness, or 
 
 ^^ The idea of the effects of the different arrows is found in Ovid's 
 Metamorphoses, Book I. ; Voltaire has also emjjloyed it in his comedy 
 of Nanine (Act i., Scene 1).
 
 4 2* PSYCHE. [ACTv. 
 
 dread an anger which I fear myself. Will you deliver up 
 the world as a prey to hatred, disorder, and confusion : and 
 make a god of bitterness and strife of a god of union, of a 
 god full of sweetness and of joy ? Consider who w^e are, and 
 if we ought to be swayed by passions. The more vengeance 
 pleases men, the more it becomes the gods to pardon. 
 
 Ven. I pardon this rebellious son ; but do you wash me 
 to submit to the reproach that a miserable mortal, the object 
 of my anger, the proud Psyche, because she is somewhat 
 handsome, should sully my alliance and the bed of my son 
 by a marriage at whicli I blush ? 
 
 Ju}). Well, then ! I will make her immortal, so as to 
 render things equal. 
 
 Ven. I have no longer hatred or contempt for her, and 
 admit her to the honours of this conjugal bond. Psyche, 
 come back to life, never to lose it again. Jupiter has made 
 your peace : and I renounce that haughty disposition which 
 opposed your wishes. 
 
 Ps. [Recovering from her siuoon~\ It is then you, great 
 goddess, who give life again to this innocent heart 1 
 
 Ven. Jupiter has pardoned you, and my anger ceases. 
 Live, Venus commands it ; love, she consents to it. 
 
 Ps. [To Ciq^id] I see you again at last, dear object of 
 my flame ! 
 
 Citp. [To Psyche] You are mine at last, delight of my 
 soul ! 
 
 Ju^). Come, lovers, ascend to Heaven, to consummate so 
 distinguished and worthy a union. Come thither, lovely 
 Psyche, to change your destiny. Come to take your place 
 among the gods.
 
 if. VI.] PSYCHE. 425 
 
 Two large machines descend at the tivo sides of Jupiter, while he is 
 speaking the last verses. Venus, loith her attendants, mount into the 
 onr, Cvpid and Psyche into the other, and they all go together up into 
 the sbj. 
 
 The divinities, who had been divided between Venus and her son, 
 unite, seeing them, agreed ; and all by concerts, songs, and dances, 
 celebrate the nuptials of Cupid. Apollo appears the first, and as 
 the god of liarmony, commences to sing, to incite the other gods to 
 rejoice. 
 
 Recital of A polio. 
 Let us unite, immortal troop ; the god of love becomes a 
 happy lover, and Venus has regained her usual gentleness 
 in favour of so charming a son. He is going to taste, after 
 a long torment, a happiness which shall be eternal. 
 
 All the divinities sing together the follotving verses in 
 
 honour of Cupid. 
 
 Let us celebrate this grand day, let us all celebrate so 
 lovely a feast ; let our songs to all places spread the tidings ; 
 let them re-echo through the heavenly regions. Let us sing, 
 and repeat by turns, that there is no heart so cruel but what 
 sooner or later surrenders to Cupid. 
 
 Apollo continues. 
 
 The god who invites us to pay him his court, forbids us 
 to be too wise. Pleasures have their turn : it is their 
 sweetest use to finish the cares of day. Night is the 
 inheritance of pleasures and love. It would be a great 
 pity that, in this charming spot, one should have a savage 
 heart. Pleasures have their turn : it is their sweetest use 
 to finish the cares of day. Night is the inheritance of 
 pleasures and love. 
 
 Two Muses, who have always avoided to enrol themselves under the 
 laws of Cupid, counsel those fair ones, who have not loved yet, to defend 
 themselves with great care from doing so, according to their example.
 
 42 G PSYCHE. [ACT V. 
 
 Song of the Muses. 
 Take care, severe fair ones, love causes too much trouble ; 
 ever fear to allow yourself to be charmed too much. When 
 one has to sigh with love, all the evil does not consist in 
 becoming enamoured ; the martyrdom of saying it costs a 
 hundred times more than to love. 
 
 Second Couplet of the Muses. 
 One cannot love without pains ; there are few sweet 
 chains ; at every moment one feels alarmed. When one 
 has to sigh with love, all the evil does not consist in becom- 
 ing enamoured ; the martyrdom of saying it costs a hundred 
 times more than love. 
 
 Bacchus proclaims that he is not so dangerous as Cupid. 
 
 Song of Bacchus. 
 If at times, following our sweet laws, reason is lost or 
 forgotten, the follies which wine causes begin and finish in 
 one day ; but when a heart is drunk with love, it is often 
 for the whole of life. 
 
 Entry of the Ballet, 
 
 Composed of two Menades and two jEgijptians ivho attend upon 
 Bacchus. 
 
 Momus declares that he has no sweeter em,ployment than to ridicule, 
 and that it is Cupid only whom he dares not attack. 
 
 Recital of Momus. 
 I seek to ridicule, on earth and iji the heavens ; I sub- 
 ject to my satire the greatest of the gods. There is no one 
 in the universe but Cupid who abashes me. He is the only 
 one whom I now-a-days spare. It is given only to him to 
 spare no one. 
 
 Entry of the Ba llet, 
 Composed of four punchinelloes and two grotesque dancers, who attend 
 upon Momus, and join their pleasantry and their gambols to the attrac- 
 tions of this grand entertainment.
 
 sc. VI.] PSYCHE. 427 
 
 Bacchus and Momus, who conduct them, sing in their midst, each a 
 song, Bacchus in praise of wine, and Momus a song lauding the subject 
 and advantages of ridicule. 
 
 Recital of Baccluis. 
 Let us admire the juice of the grape : how powerful is 
 it, what attractions has it ! It adds to the sweetness of 
 peace, and in war it performs wonders : but above all in 
 love wine is a great help. 
 
 Recital of Momus. 
 Let us gambol and divert ourselves. Let us jeer, we 
 cannot do better ; ridicule is necessary in the sweetest 
 games. Without the pleasure one finds in ridiculing, there 
 are few pleasures without fatigue. Nothing is so pleasant 
 as to laugh, when one laughs at the expense of others. 
 Let us joke, let us spare nothing ; let us laugh, nothing is 
 more in fashion ; one runs the risk of being a bore by 
 saying too much good. Without the pleasure one tastes in 
 ridiculing, there are few pleasures without fatigue. Nothing 
 is so pleasant as to laugh, when one laughs at the expense 
 of others. 
 
 Mars arrives on the stage, followed by his luop of warriors, irhom 
 he excites to profit by their leisure time in talcing part in the recreations. 
 
 Recital of Mars. 
 Let us leave the whole world in peace ; let us seek for 
 sweet amusements. Amongst the most charming games, 
 let us mix the imaoe of war. 
 
 "O^ 
 
 Entry of the Ballet. 
 
 Followers of Mars, loho, dancing, execute with banners and standards 
 a kind of evolution. 
 
 Last Entry of the Ballet. 
 The different troops of the attendants of Apollo, of Bacchus, of 
 Momus, of Mars, after having executed their separate entries, unite,
 
 428 PSYCHE. [AOTv. 
 
 and form the last entry together, u-hich comprises all the others. A 
 choi'us of all the voices, and all the instruments, to the number of forty, 
 accompanies the general dance, and finishes the celebration of the 
 nuptials of Cupid and Psyche. 
 
 Last Chorus. 
 
 Let us sing the charming pleasures of the happy lovers. 
 Let the whole of heaven hasten to pay their court to them. 
 Let us celebrate this glorious day by a thousand sweet songs 
 of joy; let us celebrate this glorious day by a thousand 
 sweet songs full of love. 
 
 In the great hall of the Tuileries, where Psyche has been represented 
 before their Majesties, there were kettledrums, trimip>ets, and drums 
 mixed with the last songs ; and the last song was sung in the folhwing 
 xoay. 
 
 Let us sing the charming pleasures of the happy lovers. 
 Respond to it, ye trumpets, kettledrums, and drums. Be 
 always in accord with the sweet sounds of the bagpipes ; be 
 always in accord with the sweet songs of love.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A, Page 415. 
 
 Thomas Shadwell, in Psyche (Act v. Scene 1), has imitated Moliere's 
 play of the same name (Act v. Scenes 1-5). 
 
 Psi/che. Does my too criminal Love deserve this Pain ] 
 Circled with Horror must I here remain ? 
 Through thousand Terrors I have been convey'd, 
 With dismal Yellings, Shrieks, and Groans dismay'd : 
 O'er troubled Billows of eternal Fire, 
 Where tortur'd Ghosts must howl, and ne'er expire : 
 Where Souls ne'er rest, but feel fresh Torments still, 
 Where furious Fiends their utmost Page fulfil, 
 Tossing poor howling Wretches to and fro, 
 From raging Fires into eternal Snow ; 
 From thence to Flames, from thence to Ice again. ^ 
 In these Extremes they encounter equal Pain, r 
 And no refreshing Intervals can gain. ) 
 
 The cursed Fiends still laughing at their INIoaus, 
 Hugging themselves to liear their Shrieks and Groans ; 
 Upbraiding them with all their Crimes on Earth. 
 Each misei'able Ghost curses in vain his Birth. 
 
 Encomj^ass'd with these Horrors round, 
 
 No Beam of Comfort have I found. 
 Oh, cruel Venus ! Wilt thou ne'er relent ] 
 Canst thou of Love such an Example make 1 
 
 Can Love deserve such Punishment 1 
 
 Oh cruel God ! thus to forsake 
 Me at the Moment when I need him most ! 
 
 I fear he is for ever lost. 
 I could endure the Horrors of this Place, 
 Could I again behold his much lov'd Face. 
 Pluto. [Sings] Refrain your Tears; you shall no Prisoner be; 
 
 Beauty and Innocence in Hell are free: 
 Theifre Treasons, Murder's, Rapes, and Thefts that bring 
 
 Subjects to tK infernal King. 
 
 You are no Subject of this Place: 
 A God you must embrace.
 
 430 PSYCHE. 
 
 From Hell to Heava you must translated be, 
 Where you shall live and love to all Eternity. 
 Proserpine. Psyche, draw near: with thee this Present take. 
 Which, giv'n to Venu.s;, soon thy Peace xoill make: 
 Of Beauty ''tis a Treasury divine, 
 And you're the Messenger she did design: 
 Lost Beauty this will soon restore, 
 And all Defects repair. 
 Mortals ivill now afresh her Beams adore. 
 And ease her Mind of Jealousie and Care. 
 No Beauty that has this can e'er despair. 
 Pluto. Here are your Sisters, who your Life once sought:^ 
 Their Malice to this Place has Psyche brought, > 
 And against her all these dire Mischiefs wrought.) 
 
 For ever here they shall remain, 
 And shall in Hell sniffer eternal Pain: 
 But Psj'che shcdl a Deity embrace. 
 Pros. Be gone, fair Psyche ! * 
 
 Pluto. Be gone, fair Psyche ! 
 
 Both. Be gone, fair Psyche ! from this Place! 
 
 C'hor. of all. For Psyche must the God of Love embrace. 
 
 For Psyche must the God of Love embrace. 
 Aglau. O Mercy, Mercy, Sister ! we implore 
 
 You '11 intercede for a Reprieve. 
 Cydip. No more our Malice can fair Psyche grieve ; 
 
 You '11 be a Goddess, we must you adore. 
 Minos. No Grace for you she shall obtain 
 For you must here remain. 
 Yet for her sake we '11 ease you of some j^ain : 
 No raging Pangs of Sense here you shall know, 
 But must eternal Labours undergo ; 
 And with the Belides for ever live, 
 
 Still shall with Death, but never die ; 
 Each of you must draw "Water in a Sieve 
 
 To all Eternity. 
 \The envious Sisto's sink, with all the Devils and 
 Furies, and the Throne of Pluto va)iishes.^ 
 Psyc. In vain, poor Sisters, I deplore your Fate, 
 
 Though living you pursued me with your Hate : 
 'T is a dark Cloud upon my Happiness ; 
 But I '11 strive to forget what 's past redress. 
 Were 't not for this, my Joys I could not bear : 
 Immoderate Joy would overthrow, 
 Were it not ballasted with Care. 
 My Love ! I shall enjoy thee now, 
 Together we shall happy be, 
 And live and Love to all Eternity !
 
 PSYCHE. 431 
 
 Enter the Ghosts of Polynices and Nicaiider. 
 
 [Psyche starts. 
 This was a dismal Tragedy ! 
 These are the Princes' Ghosts we see. 
 Oh ! what sad Chance has brought you down to me i 
 Nicander. We felt tli' Extreams of Love and Grief, 
 
 Which never cou'd have found Relief : 
 And Hand in Hand we plung'd into the Deep, 
 To seek Repose by Death's last Sleep. 
 Polynices. Since you were lost ; to ease us of our Care, 
 We both obey'd a generous Despair : 
 
 For since we could not live for you, 
 Our miserable Lives we could not bear. 
 To all th' insipid World we bad adieu, 
 Since nothing that remain'd could jalease us there. 
 Aic. Death we enjoy'd, and heavj^ Life remov'd, 
 For we in Death behold your Charms again : 
 Those (Alarms, which both in Life and Death we lov'd, 
 Which we had sigh'd and wept for there in vain. 
 Fsyc. Poor Ghosts ! Why would you suffer for my Sake % 
 In vain too was your Death design'd, 
 Now I no Recompence can make ; 
 And then by Force I was ungrateful and unkind. 
 (Jould I have lov'd, your Merits were so much, 
 Your equal Greatness and your Virtues such, 
 I ne'er had iix'd my Choice on one of you, 
 But must eternally have waver'd betwixt two. 
 
 \8he weeps. 
 Nic. Who would not willingly resign his' Breath, 
 Who by a glorious Death 
 The Honour of your Tears might gain ? 
 Poly. I cannot now of Fate complain, 
 
 Nor would with tedious Fools above remain : 
 Nor can your Pity now or Love implore. 
 
 Since you from hence must mount above. 
 And must embrace th' all-pow'rful God of Love, 
 And at an humble Distance we must you adore. 
 iVVc. Nor can we you of Cruelty accuse, 
 
 Who for a God all mortal Kings refuse. 
 Poly. Farewell : Our Destiny recalls us now. 
 
 And we t' immortal happiness should go, 
 If without you it could be so. 
 Psyc. Stay, Princes ! and declare where, and what 'tis. 
 
 This everlasting Place of Bliss ? 
 Nic. In cool sweet Shades, and in immortal Groves, 
 By Chrystal Rivulets, and eternal Springs ;
 
 1 
 
 4- 3 2 PSYCHE. 
 
 Where the most Beauteous Queens and greatest Kings 
 
 Do celebrate their everlasting Loves. 
 Poly. In ever peaceful, fresh, and fragrant Bowers, 
 
 Adorn'd with never fading Fruits and Flowers : 
 Where perfum'd Winds refresh their Heat, 
 
 And where immortal Choirs tlieir Loves repeat : 
 Where your great Father we have seen, 
 
 Where he afresh enjoys his beauteovis Queen. 
 Nic. Who did for hopeless Loves themselves destroy, 
 Are there the greatest Hero's far ; 
 
 Your God with infinite and endless Joy 
 
 Eewards their meritorious Despair. 
 Poly. Each Moment there does far out-go 
 
 The happiest Minute earthly Lovers know. 
 
 With soft eternal Chains of Love comhin'd, 
 
 There they are ever youthful, ever kind : 
 
 Their endless Pleasure is all Ecstasie, 
 
 And not, like earthly Joys, disturb'd withi^'are ; 
 
 Each fruitful Minute does new Pleasures bear, 
 
 From all unwelcome Interruption free ; 
 
 Each moment there more pleasure is design'd, 
 
 Than mortal Lovers can, when first united, find. 
 Psyc. 'Tis fit that you those gloriovis Crowns shoidd wear. 
 
 Of Friends and Rivals the unequall'd Pair. 
 Nic. The splendid Crowns of Lovers we've receiv'd, 
 But are by Heav'n of you bereav'd. 
 Strangers to Love we are alone ; 
 
 Our Love is up to Adoration grown : 
 
 Our Hours in Contemplation we'll employ, 
 
 Of the transcendent Glory which you share ; 
 
 Our am'rous Sighs shall turn to holy Pray'r ; 
 
 While we that Friendship, which you made, enjoy. 
 Poly. For ever without you we must remain. 
 
 And now we must no longer stay. 
 
 Lest we contribute to your Pain, 
 
 And your immortal Happiness delay. 
 
 Farewell for ever, and remember me. 
 Aic. Farewell for ever, and lemember me. [Ex. Nic. and Pol. 
 
 Psyc. Farewell ! Such Friends and Pivals ne'er were found. 
 
 How much am I by Love and Honour bound ! 
 
 [Ex. Piyc. 
 The Scene changes to the Marsh, xohich ivas in the first Act. 
 
 Enter Psyche. 
 
 Psyc. Tliese Lovers must for ever in my Tlioughts remain ; 
 And would for ever give me Pain,
 
 PSYCHE. 433 
 
 Did not the Tliouglits of Him my Mind employ, 
 Who'll banish all my Cares, and will compleat my Joy. 
 But ah I my Sufferings have transform'd me so, 
 My decay'd Face and languid Eyes, 
 
 My ruin'd Beauty he '11 not know ; 
 (Jr if he does, he will my Looks despise. 
 But I have here a sacred Treasury, 
 
 Which all my Ruins may repair ; 
 Since it can make Venus herself more fair, 
 Is 't an Offence if it be us'd by me 1 \She opens the Box. 
 Oh ! What dark Fumes ojipress my clouded Brain ! 
 I go, and never shall return again. 
 Farewell, my Love, for ever fare thee well. [She swoons. 
 
 Cupid descends. 
 
 ■Clip. Love o'er my Anger has the Victory gain'd ; 
 Thy Pardon is at Length obtain'd : 
 Thy Dangers and thy Sufferings I've known, 
 
 My Love has made them all my own : 
 With thee I languish'd, with thee did complain, 
 With thee I sigli'd and wej^t, and suffer'd all thy Pain. 
 
 Why dost thou hide thy conqu'ring Eyes ? 
 Dost thou a Lover and a God despise ? 
 Open thy pretty Eyes, I am stiU the same, 
 I still retain my unresisted Flame ; 
 And all my Vows are still paid to thy sacred Name. 
 She 's dead ! she 's dead ? O whither art thou gone ? 
 O Tyrant Death ! wdiat has thy bold Hand done ? 
 O cruel Mother, whose insatiate Eage 
 Could thee against such Innocence engage ! 
 Thou hast by this all Ties of Duty broke ; 
 No longer I 'U endure thy Yoke : 
 My filial Duty to Eevenge shall turn. 
 You soon shall feel what to my Pow'r you owe ; 
 With hopeless Love you shall for ever burn. 
 Your unregarded Pains }io Ease shall know : 
 You still shall rage with Love, and to Despair shall bow. 
 
 [ Vemcs descends in her Chariot. 
 Ven. ' What Insolence is this I hear ? 
 
 This from a Son I can no longer beai- 1 
 Resume your Duty, and put on your Fear. 
 Cup. Duty to her, who has made Psyche die ? 
 
 Eevenge shall Piety succeed. 
 Revenge shall make your cruel Heart to bleed. 
 And by your Torments you shall find that I 
 Am much the greater Deity. 
 V. 2 E
 
 484 PSYCHE. 
 
 Ven- Sure the great Thunderer asleej) does lie, 
 
 Or does not hear this Blasphem3^ 
 Cup. My Pow'r can make the Thund'rer bow ; 
 
 You ail the dire Effects of it shall know. 
 For thee, dear Psyche, full Eevenge I '11 take, 
 Arid of my Mother first I 'U the Example make. 
 Wliat hellish Eage provok'd you to this Deed ? 
 Whom Monsters would have spar'd, you have made bleed. 
 Ven. You sufFer'd her my Glory t' invade ; 
 And when I call'd Apollo to my Aid, 
 You did the fraudulent God suborn. 
 For you he that ambiguous Eiddle made, 
 And promis'd Judgment did to Mercy turn : 
 And by that Oracle I was betray'd. 
 Now to deceive me is beyond his Pow'r, 
 Not all his Art can make lier live one Hour ; 
 For none but I cou'd Psyche's Life restore. 
 Oup. Can you 1 O do, and punish me ; 
 
 If there were any Crime, 'twas mine ; 
 For her I 'd lose my Immortality. 
 Oh give me her, I '11 all my Pow'r resign. 
 
 Here take my Quiver, take my Darts ; 
 You, when you please, shall rule all Hearts :. 
 You shall the pow'r of Love to that of Beauty join. 
 i'^en- Psyche and you have so provok'd my Hate, 
 
 Your Pray'rs as soon may alter Fate. 
 Cup. Behold the all-commanding Deity [Kneels 
 
 An humble Suppliant on his Knee ! 
 Look on my Love ! can you this Form destroy ? 
 Oh my lov'd Psyche ! Oh my only Joy ! 
 Oh give me her ! my Duty I '11 retain ; 
 Your Son for ever shall your humblest Slave remain. 
 Ven. 1 must be gone ; you sigh and beg in vain. • 
 
 Cup. Oh hear my Pray'rs ! do not my Tears de6]nse ; 
 
 Behold the humble Off' rings of my Eyes. 
 
 If ever yet true Grief you 've felt. 
 Your marble Heart will at this Object melt. 
 Ah think what Pity to your Son is due ! 
 Think but what Wonders he has wrought for you ! 
 How many Hearts he has wounded for your sake ! 
 Eemember tliis, and then some Pity take. 
 Ven. N(^ more for her will I neglected be, 
 Nor will I be affrontetl more by thee ; 
 I '11 be reveng'd on all your Insolence, 
 And with eternal Death I '11 })unish her Offence. 
 Cup. Oh crael Murdress ! I will take her Part,
 
 PSYCHE. 4 35 
 
 Aiid \\ill revenge my self upou your Heart ; 
 
 Agaiust your Breast I '11 sharpen every Dart. 
 
 You in Despaii' shall languish and decay ; 
 
 Tliose feeble Charms y' have left shall fly away : 
 
 Languid shall be your Looks, and weak your Eyes, 
 
 Your former "Worshippers shall yom- faint Beams despise. 
 No Lover more yoii e'er shall gain, 
 
 I will be deaf, whenever you complain ; 
 
 Without Love's PoVr, all Beauty is but vain. 
 
 Its seeming Essence Beauty does derive 
 
 Only from the Reflection which Love makes, 
 
 Like that 
 
 Which from reflected Light a Colour takes : 
 
 The Body does uio being to it give. 
 
 Tremljle at my Revenge, for well you kn( >v>' 
 
 What I by my resistless Pow'r can do. 
 Ven. Farewell, you insolent and daring Boy : 
 
 A living Psyche you shall ne'er enjoy. ^ 
 
 [She mounts her Chariot, and flies avx-vj. 
 Cup. Oh cruel Mother ! do not fly ; 
 
 Oh think hoAv great must be that miseiy 
 
 Makes an Immortal Being wish to die ! 
 
 Spiglit of myself I must for ever live, 
 
 And without her eternally must grieve : 
 
 You I conjure by all the heaVnly Race, 
 
 By all the Pleasure of each stol'n Embrace ; 
 
 By the most ravishing Moment of Delight 
 
 Y"ou ever had, free from your Husband's Sight, 
 
 By all the Joys of Day, and Raptures of the Night, 
 
 Return, return. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIFTH. 
 
 TURXBULL AKI' SPEARS, PRIKTKU3, EDINBURGH
 
 
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