The dramatic works of Moliere : rendered into English by Henri Van Laun ; illustrated with nineteen engravings on steel from paintings and designs by Horace Vernet, Desenne, Johannot and Hersent; complete in six volumes..

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THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF MOLIERE.

THE DRAMATIC WORKS

OF

M O L I E R E

RENDERED INTO ENGLISH

BY HENRI VAN LAUN

A NEW EDITION
With a Prefatory Memoir, Introductory Notices and Notes

ILLUSTRATED WITH

NINETEEN ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL

FROM PAINTINGS AND DESIGNS BY

Horace Vernet, Desenne, Johannot and Hersent

COMPLETE IN SIX VOLUMES

VOLUME I

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE BARRIE, PUBLISHER

Stack
Annex

5"

V,
GENERAL INDEX

TO THE

SIX VOLUMES.

VOL. PAGB

PREFACE i i

PREFATORY MEMOIR i xix

AMPHITRYON 4 161

BLUNDERER (THE) i i

BORES (THE) 2 43

CITIZEN WHO APES THE NOBLEMAN (THE) . . 5 193

COMIC PASTORAL (A) 4 27

COUNTESS OF ESCARBAGNAS (THE) 6 57

DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; OR, THE JEALOUS

PRINCE i 201

DON JUAN; OR, THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE 3 69

FLYING DOCTOR (THE) 6 255

FORCED MARRIAGE (THE) 2 215

GEORGE DANDIN; OR, THE ABASHED HUSBAND 4 221

:GG39iO

GENERAL INDEX TO THE SIX VOLUMES.

VOL. PAGE

IMAGINARY INVALID (THE) 6 145

IMPROMPTU OF VERSAILLES (THE) 2 179

JEALOUSY OF LE BARBOUILLE (THE) 6 235

LEARNED LADIES (THE) 6 83

LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR 3 135

LOVE-TIFF (THE) I 73

MAGNIFICENT LOVERS (THE) 5 139

MELICERTE 4 i

MISANTHROPE (THE) 3 171

MISER (THE) 5 i

MONSIEUR DE POURCEAUGNAC 5 83

PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF (THE) .... 3 247

PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES (THE) ...... I 133

PRINCESS OF ELIS (THE) 3 i

PSYCHE 5 277

ROGUERIES OF SCAPIN (THE) 6 I

SCHOOL FOR HUSBANDS (THE) 2 I

SCHOOL FOR WIVES CRITICISED (THE) .... 2 145

SCHOOL FOR WIVES (THE) 2 83

SGANARELLE ; OR, THE SELF-DECEIVED HUS-
BAND 2 169

SICILIAN (THE); OR, LOVE MAKES THE PAINTER 4 39

TARTUFFE ; OR, THE HYPOCRITE 4 67

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

VOLUME ONE.

PAGE

PREFACE i

PREFATORY MEMOIR xix

THE BLUNDERER.

L'Etourdi, ou les Contre-temps I

THE LOVE- TIFF.

Le Depit Amoureux 73

THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES.

Les Predeuses Ridicules 133

SGANARELLE ; OR, THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND.

Sganarelle ; ou, le Cocu Imaginaire 169

DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE.

Don Garde de Navarre ; ou, le Prince Jaloux .... 201

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

VOLUME ONE.

PAGE

PORTRAIT OF MOLIFRE Frontispiece

BLUNDERER. Act IV., Scene 8.

L? Etourdi, ou les Contre-temps 56

LOVE- TIFF. Act IV., Scene 3.

Le Depit Amoureux 116

PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. Scene 12.

Les Pr&cieuses Ridicules 1 60

COUNTRY OF TENDERNESS 168

PREFACE.

I THINK it will be generally admitted that Moliere is
the greatest comic poet France has produced, and that
he is equal, if not superior, to any writer of character-
comedies on the ancient or modern stage. His plays
may be divided into six classes or groups : First, the
small dramatic poems or pastorals, such as Psyche, Ics
Amants magnifiques, la Princesse d 'Elide, Ics FacJieux,
Melicerte, la Pastorale comique, and Amphitryon, which-
he wrote for court festivals, by order of Louis XIV. ;
Second, his farces, written to suit the taste of the less
refined, such as Ics Fourbcrics de Scapin, le Bourgeois-
gentilhomme , la Comtesse d'Escarbagnas, Monsieur de
Pourceaugnac, le Medecin malgre lui, George Dandin, le
Sicilien, V Amour Medecin, le Manage force, Sganarellet
and les Precieuses Ridicules, — and yet, notwithstanding
their absurdity, attracting the higher classes by their
witty descriptions of grotesque characters ; Third, his
comedies — r Etourdi, I'Ecole des Maris, lEcole des
femmes, /' Avare, Don Garde de Navarre, le Depit
amour eux, and le Malade imaginaire, — in each of which
the principal object seems to have been to bring into
prominence one particular vice or folly, with all its
necessary consequences ; Fourth, those splendidly con-

i

11 PREFACE.

ceived plays, Don Juan, Ics Femmes savantes, Tartuffe,
and Ic Misanthrope, which pourtray humanity in all its
aspects ; Fifth, those critical short pieces, la Critiqiie de
I Ecole des femmes and r Impromptu de Versailles, in
which, with masterly acumen, he defends his own
plays and attacks his adversaries ; and Sixth, those
early attempts of his comic muse le Medecin volant
and/a Jalousie duBarbouille, which gave ample promise
of what he afterwards became.

It is always difficult to state when a playwright has
taken from any other author, for the saying, " Je
prends mon bien partout ou je le trouve" has covered,
and still covers, a multitude of literary sins. More-
over, Moliere possessed a power of absorption and
assimilation which enabled him so to vivify the ma-
terials he borrowed that they became new creations
of incomparable value. In this sense, to take an idea
or a mere thought from another author can hardly be
called an imitation ; and though Moliere, in his first
two or three plays, translated several scenes from
Italian authors, he has scarcely ever done so in his
latter pieces. To mention which of his comedies I
consider, or rather which are generally thought, the
best, would be difficult, where everything is so emi-
nent ; for in all his plays characters will be found
which demonstrate his thorough knowledge of human
nature, and display his genius. To discover these
little peculiarities in which the specific difference of
character consists ; to distinguish between what men
do from custom or fashion, and what they perform
through their own natural idiosyncracy ; to select,

PREFACE. Ill

unite, and draw these peculiarities to a dramatic point,
demands real genius, and that of the highest order.

Generally Moliere's satire is directed against hypo-
crites, against quacks, against the affectation of learn-
ing amongst ladies, and against snobbishness. If I
were to enumerate, however, all the characters our
author has created, I should arrive at the sum total
of all human passions, all human feelings, all human
vices, and at every type of the different classes of
society. In I'Avare sordid avarice is represented by
Harpagon, and want of order and lavish prodigality by
his son Cleante ; in le Festin de Pierre the type of
shameless vice is Don Juan, Donna Elvira displays
resignation amidst love disgracefully betrayed, Ma-
thurine primitive and uncultivated coquetry, and
Mons. Dimanche the greed of a tradesman who wishes
to make money. Tartuffe, in the comedy of that
name, represents hypocrisy and downright wicked-
ness. M. Jourdain, a tradesman who has made
money and who imitates a nobleman, is, in le Bour-
geois-gentilhomme, no bad specimen of self-sufficient
vanity, folly, and ignorance ; whilst Dorantc, in the
same play, is a well-copied example of the fashionable
swindler of that period. In le Misanthrope, Alceste
pourtrays great susceptibility of tenderness and hon-
our, Celimene, wit without any feeling, and Philinte,
quiet common sense, amiability, intelligence, instruc-
tion, knowledge of the world, and a spirit of refined
criticism. This is also displayed by Chrysalde in
rEcole des Femmes, by Beralde, in le Malade imaginaire,
and by Ariste in VEcole des Marts; whilst Sganerelle

IV PREFACE.

in the latter play is an example of foolish and coarse
jealousy. George Dandin, in the comedy of that
name, is a model of weakness of character and irreso-
lution. Angelique, an impudent and heartless woman,
and her father, Monsieur de Sotenville, the coarse,
proud, country squire of that age. Argan, in le Ma-
lade imaginare, represents egotism and pusillanimity ;
Vadius and Trissotin, in les Femmes savantes, pedantic
foolishness and self-conceit ; Agnes, in I 'Ecole des
Femmes, cunning as well as ingenuity ; and Aglaure,
in Psyche, feminine jealousy. Finally, Nicole, Dorine,
Martine, Marotte, Toinetfe, and Lisette personify the
homely servant-girls, who, possessing plain, down-
right common sense, point out the affectation and
ridiculous pretensions of their companions and supe-
riors; whilst Claudine, in George Dandin, Nerine, in
Mons. de Pourceaugnac, and Frosine, in the Avare,
represent the intriguant in petticoats, — a female Mas-
carille.

In how far it is true that many of Moliere's cha-
racters were copied from persons well known at the
time his plays were represented, there is now no cer-
tain means of judging ; but I think it extremely un-
likely that he should have brought on the stage and
ridiculed persons of the highest rank, as it is said he
has done ; though it is very probable that a general
likeness existed between the character produced and
the person whom it was thought he imitated. In the
Introductory Notice to each play of this translation,
due attention will be paid to any such inuendos, and
to the degree of credence which they deserve.

PREFACE. V

The style of Moliere is the style suitable for comedy,
and therefore extremely difficult, if not impossible, to
render into any other language. Perhaps of no writer
are so many phrases quoted in French conversation ;
not seldom by people who have never read him, and
who only, parrot-like, repeat what they have heard.
Several of his expressions have become proverbial, or
are used as wise saws to be uttered with solemn face
and bated breath.

Another not less remarkable faculty of Moliere is
that the language his personages employ is precisely
suited to them. It varies according to their age,
character, rank, and profession, whilst the very sen-
tence becomes long or short, stilted or tripping, pe-
dantic or elastic, finical or natural, coarse or over-
refined, according as an old or young man, a marquis
or a citizen, a scholar or a dunce, has to speak. It
can be said of Moliere, more than of any other author
we know, that he always employs the right word in
the right place. Hence different commentators have
tried to show that he was a kind of Admirable Crich-
ton, and that he knew and understood everything.
Mons. Castil-Blaze wrote a book to prove that Mo-
liere was a perfect musician ; MM. Truinet and Parin-
gault, barristers, printed one to convince the world he
was a most able and learned lawyer ; Mons. M. Ray-
naud, that he must have studied medicine most tho-
roughly in order to be able to imitate so accurately
the medical jargon of his time. And still a number
of books might have been written to prove that he
knew perfectly many more things. Even his peasants

vi PREFACE.

speak correctly the dialect of the province or county
Moliere gives them as the land of their birth ; all his
creations bear proofs of his genius in an incisiveness
of expression and clearness of thought which no other
writer has equalled.

Moliere has written some of his comedies in prose,
others in verse, — and in verse that has none of the
stiffness of the ordinary French rhyme, but which
becomes in his hands a delightful medium for spark-
ling sallies, bitter sarcasms, well sustained and sprightly
conversations. He has also managed blank verse with
wonderful precision, — a rare gift among French au-
thors. The whole of le Sicilien, the love scenes of the
Avare, the monologues of Georges Dandin, and certain
scenes of le Fcstin de Pierre, are written in this metre.

Moliere's plays have been translated into every
language of Europe, and some of them even into the
classical tongues ; they have found admirers wherever
intellectual beings are congregated ; they have been
carefully conned and studied by literary men of every
age and clime; and Goethe himself read some of
these comedies every year.

I have attempted to give a new translation of all
Moliere's plays. After mature consideration the idea
has been abandoned of reproducing, either in rhyme
or blank verse, those which in the original are in
poetry. The experiments which have been made to
represent some of these in metre have not greatly
charmed me ; and as they were tried by men of talent,
and as I do not pretend to possess greater gifts than
my predecessors, I have come to the conclusion that

PREFACE. VI 1

an imitation of Moliere's style in any metre is next to
an impossibility, but that a faithful and literal transla-
tion in prose, even if it cannot preserve the fire of the
original, may still render the ideas, and represent to
the English reader as clear a perception of Moliere's
characters as can be obtained in a foreign tongue.

I have however endeavoured not to be satisfied with
a mere verbal version, but to preserve and convey the
genuine spirit, as far as is consistent with the differ-
ence of the two languages. In the Introductory No-
tices a compact, critical judgment of the merits or
demerits of each play is also given. But in order to
place ourselves on a right standpoint for judging
them, we must not forget that Moliere wrote his plays
to be represented on the stage, and not to be read in
the study only; that therefore we must recall, on
reading him, the change of voice, the step, the smile,
the gesture, the twinkle of the eye or movement of
the head in the actor. Thus we are never tired of
perusing him ; he never cloys ; we can remember
all his good sayings, quote them, study him again
and again, and every time discover fresh beauties.

A remarkable characteristic of Moliere is that he
does not exaggerate; his fools are never over-witty,
his buffoons too grotesque, his men of wit too anxious
to display their smartness, and his fine gentlemen too
fond of immodest and ribald talk. His satire is always
kept within bounds, his repartees are never out of
place, his plots are but seldom intricate, and the moral
of his plays is not obtruded, but follows as a natural
consequence of the whole. He rarely rises to those

Viii PREFACE.

lofty realms of poetry where Shakespeare so often
soars, for he wrote, not idealistic but character-come-
dies ; which is, perhaps, the reason that some of his
would-be admirers consider him rather common-place.
His claim to distinction is based only on strong
common sense, good manners, sound morality, real
wit, true humor, a great facile, and accurate command
of language, and a photographic delineation of nature.
It cannot be denied that there is little action in his
plays, but there is a great deal of natural conversation :
his personages show that he was a most attentive
observer of men, even at court, where a certain varnish
of over-refinement conceals nearly all individual fea-
tures. He always makes vice appear in its most ridi-
culous aspect, in order to let his audience laugh at and
despise it ; his aim is to correct the follies of the age
by exposing them to ridicule. Shakespeare, on the
contrary, has no lack of incidents ; he roves through
camp, and court, and grove, through solitary forests
and populous cities ; he sketches in broad outlines
rather than with minute strokes ; he defines classes
rather than individuals, and instead of pourtraying
petty vanities and human foibles prefers to deal with
deep and tumultuous passions, to such an extent that
some of his comedies are highly dramatic. But both
poets are great, and perhaps unsurpassed in their own
way, and both have many similar passages. When-
ever these occur I have taken notice of them. As
specimens, let me refer to Mascarille's soliloquy in the
Blunderer (iii. i), and Launcelot Gobbo's speech in
the Merchant of Venice (ii. 2) ; in the same play Mas-

PREFACE. IX

carille refusing money, and Autolycus in the Win-
ter's Tale, (iv. 3) doing the same ; the speech of Gros-
Rene in Sganarellc (i. 7), and the scene between Sir
Valentine and Speed (ii. i) in the Two Gentlemen of
Verona. Monsieur Jourdain, in The Citizen iv/io apes
the Nobleman (le Bourgeois-gcntilJwmme), when putting
on his hat at the entreaty of Dorante, says " J'aime
mieux etre civil qit' importnn ; Master Slender, upon
entering the house before Mrs. Page, says, in the
Merry Wives of Windsor, (i. i), " I'll rather be un-
mannerly than troublesome ; " Sosia, in Amphitryon
(i. 2), sings, in order to show that he is not afraid
when Mercury appears; Nick Bottom, in A Midsum-
mer Night's Dream (iii. i) says, " I will sing, that they
shall hear I am not afraid." The description of the
horse in the Bores (les Fdcheux) is also worthy of
being compared with that spoken by the Dauphin in
Henry V. (iii. 6), and with the " round-hoof d, short-
jointed " horse in Venus and Adonis.

Moliere's plays have been already several times
translated into English. I shall give a short history
of each of these translations, observing however, be-
forehand, that though many faults may be found in
them, I have no inclination to cavil at anything that
my predecessors may have badly done or wholly
omitted. And I here once and for all state that I
have never scrupled to adopt any expression, turn of
thought, or even page, of any or every translation of
my predecessors, whenever I found I could not im-
prove upon it.

The oldest of these English translations is by Mr.

X PREFACE.

John Ozell, appeared in six volumes, was published in
London, and printed for Bernard Lintott, at the
Cross-Keys, between the Two Temple Gates, in Fleet
Street, MDCCXIV. It is full of racy and sometimes
even witty expressions. Unfortunately where Mo-
liere slightly hints at something indelicate, Ozell em-
ploys the broadest language possible. Moreover, he
very often paraphrases or imitates, and on the whole
translates rather too freely. This work is dedicated to
the Earl of Dorset, in words which are rather a genea-
logical history of the Sackville family than an intro-
duction to Moliere.

The second translation is called, " Select Comedies
of M. de Moliere, French and English, in eight vol-
umes, with a frontispiece to each Comedy ; to which
is prefix'd a curious print of the author, with his life
in French and English. Hie meret aera liber Sociis ;
hie et mare transit et longum noto scriptori prorogat
aevum. Horat. London, printed for John Watts, at
the Printing-Office in Wild-Court near Lincoln' s-Inn
Fields, MDCCXXXII." This translation is less racy, but
far more literal than the former. One of the transla-
tors, in the Preface to The Self-deceived Husband (see
page 172), oddly enough dedicated to Miss Wolsten-
holme, dates from Enfield, Jan. ist, 1731-2, and signs
himself " H. B.," probably Henry Baker; the other,
in the Preface to Tartuffe, dedicated to Mr. Wyndham,
dates from the Academy in Soho-Square, London,
July 25, 1732, and subscribes himself, " Your most
obliged and obedient humble servant, Martin Clare;"
who appears to fame unknown. Some of the pictures

PREFACE. XI

in this edition have been drawn by Hogarth, of which
the one before Sganarelle ou le Cocu imaginaire is the
best. Of the thirty-one plays then known to have
been written by Moliere, only seventeen are translated ;
each of them is dedicated to a separate person, and
the whole to the Queen, in the following words : —

TO THE QUEEN.

MADAM, — When MAJESTY vouchsafes to patronize the wise
and the learned, and a QUEEN recommends KNOWLEDGE and
VERTUE to her people, what blessings may we not promise
ourselves in such happy circumstances ? That this is the
great intention and business of your MAJESTY'S Life, witness
the reception, which the labours of a Clark, a Newton, a Locke,
and a Wollaston have met with from your MAJESTY, and the
immortal honours you have paid their names. Whatever
therefore can any ways conduce to those glorious ends, need
not question your royal approbation and favour; and upon
this presumption MOLIERE casts himself at your MAJESTY'S
feet for protection.

This merry philosopher, MADAM, hath taken as much pains
to laugh ignorance and immorality out of the world, as the
other great sages did to reason 'em out ; and as the general-
ity of mankind can stand an argument better than a jest, and
bear to be told how good they ought to be, with less concern
than to be shown how ridiculous they are, his success, we con-
ceive, has not been much inferior.

Your MAJESTY need not be informed how much the manners
and conduct of a people are dependent on their diversions ;
and you are therefore convinced how necessary it is (since
diversions are necessary) to give 'em such as may serve to
polish and reform 'em. With this view, MADAM, was the
following translation undertaken. By a perusal of these
scenes, every reader will plainly perceive that obscenities and
immoralities are no ways necessary to make a diverting com-
edy ; they'll learn to distinguish betwixt honest satire and

scurrilous invective ; betwixt decent repartee and tasteless
ribaldry ; in short, between vicious satisfactions and rational
pleasures. And if these plays should come to be read by the
generality of people (as your Majesty's approbation will un-
questionably make 'em), they'll by degrees get a more just
and refined taste in their diversions, be better acquainted, and
grow more in love with the true excellencies of dramatick
writings. By this means our poets will be encouraged to aim
at those excellencies, and blush to find themselves so much
outdone in manners and vertue by their neighbours. Nay,
there's no reason can possibly be given, MADAM, why these
very pieces should not most of 'em be brought upon the Eng-
lish stage. For, tho' our translation of 'em, as it now stands,
may be thought too literal and close for that purpose, yet the
dramatick writers might, with very little pains, so model and
adapt them to our theatre and age, as to procure 'em all the
success could be wished; and we may venture to affirm, that
'twould turn more to their own account, and the satisfaction
of their audiences, than anything they are able to produce
themselves. This, too, they ought to be the more earnest to
attempt, as the most probable means of drawing down a
larger share of royal influence on the stage, which has been
too justly forfeited by the licentious practice of modern play-
wrights.

We might here, MADAM, take occasion to particularize our
author's perfections and excellencies, but those your MAJESTY
wants no information of. All we shall therefore observe to
your MAJESTY is, that wherever learning, wit, and politeness
flourish, MOLIERE has always had an extraordinary reputa-
tion ; and his plays, which are translated into so many lan-
guages, and acted in so many nations, will gain him admiration
as long as the stage shall endure. But what will contribute
more than all to his glory and happiness, will be the patronage
of a BRITISH PRINCESS, and the applause of a BRITISH audi-
ence.

We dare not think, MADAM, of offering anything in this
address that might look like panegyrick, lest the world should

PREFACE. XI 11

condemn us for meddling with a task above our talents, and
saying too little— Your MAJESTY, for presuming to say
anything at all. There are many vertues and perfections, so
very peculiar in your MAJESTY'S character, and so rarely
found amongst the politicks of princes, that they require a
masterly and deliberate hand to do 'em justice — Such a zeal
for religion moderated by reason — such a benevolent study
for composing all factions and dissensions — such a laudable
ambition, which aims at power only in order to benefit man-
kind, and yet such a glorious contempt, even of empire itself,
when inconsistent with those Principles whose Truth, you
were satisfy'd of. These are such elevated and shining ver-
tues, as even the vicious themselves must have a secret vene-
ration for — But as your MAJESTY'S great pleasure is privately
to merit applause, not publickly to receive it ; for fear we
should interrupt you in that noble delight, we'll beg leave to
subscribe Our Selves, — May it please your MAJESTY, your
MAJESTY'S most obedient and most devoted humble servants,

THE TRANSLATORS.

The third translation is "The works of Moliere,
French and English, in ten volumes, a new edition,
London, printed for John Watts, MDCCXXXIX." This
translation appears to be precisely the same as the
former one, a few words slightly altered ; the motto
from Horace on the title-page is the same ; and the
plays not found in the " Select Comedies " are here
translated. The pictures are identical with those of
the translation mentioned above, with the exception of
those in front of the fourteen comedies added, which
have engravings, and very good ones too, drawn by
the celebrated Boucher. According to Lowndes, this
translation was executed by Henry Baker and the
Rev. Mr. Miller. The work is dedicated to the Prince

Xiv PREFACE.

and Princess of Wales, and the dedication of the for-
mer translation to the Queen does duty here, some-
what abridged. The chief difference is, that whilst,
in the former, the virtues of the Queen are all specified
and catalogued in the paragraph beginning, " We dare
not think," under the headings " zeal for religion,"
" benevolent study," " laudable ambition," and " glor-
ious contempt," they are only mentioned in the pre-
sent preface in a lump as "many vertues and perfec-
tions ;" but, to make up for it, the Prince and Princess
of Wales are praised for their " unparallel'd union of
hearts and affections."

The dedication begins thus : —

To THEIR ROYAL HIGHNESSES THE
PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES.

May it please your Royal Highnesses, — The refined taste
your Royal Highnesses are both so celebrated for in the Belles
Lettres, and the peculiar countenance you have shewn to thea-
trical performances, have embolden'd the editors and transla-
tors of the following work to lay it at your feet.

Moliere has been translated into most of the languages, and
patroniz'd by most of the 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
patrons, he'll be more happy in speaking English than all
the rest.

The rest of the dedication is taken from that to the
queen, beginning from " Your Majesty (your Royal
Highnesses) need not be informed " until " with the
true excellencies of Dramatick Writings." The end-
ing varies, and we give it here below : —

PREFACE. XV

By this means our poets will be encourag'd to aim at those
excellencies, and be assisted in producing entertainments
more agreeable to nature, good sense, and your Royal High-
nesses taste.

We dare not think of offering anything in this address that
might look like panegyrick ; there are many vertues and per-
fections so singular in your Royal Highnesses characters, that
they require a masterly and deliberate hand to do 'em justice.
Give us leave, SIR and MADAM, only to hint at one, which is
that unparallel'd union of hearts and affections so rarely
found in the palaces of princes, and which shines so conspic-
uously in your Royal Highnesses that we durst not presume
so much as to separate your very names, or make our ad-
dress to either singly.

That your Royal Highnesses may long enjoy that mutual bliss
is the universal prayer of mankind, and of none more than
of your Royal Highnesses' most obedient and most devoted
humble servants,

THE TRANSLATORS.

Another similar edition of our author was pub-
lished by the same firm in MDCCXLVIII.

Two editions of the same translation of Moliere's
works were also published by D. Browne and A.
Millar in MDCCXLVIII. and in MDCCLV.

The next Moliere, an elegant Scottish reprint of the
English part of the above edition in ten volumes, was
published in Glasgow in five volumes, "printed by
Robert Urie, and sold by John Gilmour, Bookseller
in the Saltmarcat, MDCCLI."

An edition of our author, according to Lowndes,
Was also published in Berwick-on-Tweed, 1770, 6
vols., but I have not been able to get hold of a copy
of this translation. In the British Museum there is

Xvi PREFACE.

however a translation of five plays by Moliere, pub-
lished in one volume, and printed at Berwick for R.
Taylor, 1771.

Seven comedies of Moliere, most spiritedly trans-
lated from the fourth and fifth volumes of the " Comic
Theatre, being a free translation of all the best French
Comedies by Samuel Foote, Esq., and others, London :
printed by Dry den Leach, for J. Coote, in Paternoster
Row ; G. Kearsly, in Ludgate Street ; and S. Crow-
der & Co., in Paternoster Row, MDCCLXII." The pro-
prietors state, however, to the public, "One Comedy
in each volume of this work will be translated by Mr.
Foote, his other avocations not permitting him to
undertake more ; and the rest by two other gentlemen,
who, it is presumed, will acquit themselves in such a
manner as to merit the approbation of the public."

It appears that of the above " Comic Theatre " an
edition was prepared for Ireland. At least I have
seen a volume with a separate printed title page;
" printed for J. Coote, and sold by R. Bell, in Stephen
Street, Dublin. MDCCLXV."

Of single translated comedies of Moliere no notice
has been taken, in order not to increase these already
too long bibliographical remarks.

Generally the proper names used by Moliere have
not been Italianized or rendered into an English form
in this translation, for wherever the scene of his play is
laid, his characters, manners, and customs are always
thoroughly French, and should therefore as much as
possible remain so.

English dramatic authors have borrowed, and then

PREFACE. XV11

adapted or imitated from Moliere. Dryden, Van-
brugh, Flecknoe, Fielding, Bickerstaffe, Murphy, Miller,
Ravenscroft, Shadwell, Mrs. Centlivre, Mrs. Aphra Behn,
Crowne, Lacy, Wycherley, Colman, Garrick, Swiney,
Sheridan, Otway, Foote, Gibber, and several other less
known dramatic authors, are among the borrowers ;
and though not rarely showing great talent in their
adaptation, yet as a general rule they have always
been careful to leave nothing to the imagination, and
to emphasize the slightest mot of our author in the
broadest language possible. Too often they have veri-
fied the saying of one of the admirers of our poet, "La
ou Moliere glisse, ses traducteurs apptcyent ct s1 enfoncent."

Several farces which have never been printed have
been attributed to Moliere. Two of these, Ic Medcdn
volant and lajealonsie du Barbouille, have of late been
added to the complete edition of his works. They
give indications of what our author promised to be-
come, and will be found in the last volume of this
edition, for the first time rendered into English.

Nearly all known editions of Moliere have been
consulted by me whilst engaged upon this translation ;
but in any cases of doubt I always referred to the
literal reprints of the original editions published in
1666 and 1682, and only lately republished in eight
volumes by Mons. A. Lemerre, of Paris; as distin-
guished for their accuracy and good and pithy notes
as for their typographical excellence.

In the Prefatory Memoir I have admitted no hypo-
thetical or fanciful assertions, but have only stated
what is really known of him.

Xviil PREFACE.

My best thanks are due to Mons. Eugene Despois,
the learned editor of the new edition of Moliere, now
in course of publication by Messrs. Hachette, for val-
uable advice and elucidations kindly given.

I have likewise to express my great obligations to
Mons. Guillard, the archiviste of the Comedie Fran-
qaise, for willing and kind assistance rendered with
regard to the correct costumes of the times of Louis
XIV.

Last, but not least, I have to thank the superin-
tendents and employes of the reading-room in the
British Museum, for many kind suggestions, which
have often shortened my labours, and for their untiring
willingness to aid me, whenever required.

H. VAN LAUN.

PREFATORY MEMOIR.

JEAN BAPTISTE POQUELIN, afterwards Moliere, was born at
Paris, January I5th, 1622. His father, Jean Poquelin, was a
well-to-do upholsterer in the Rue St. Honore, who in 1631
attained to the height of his ambition in becoming one of the
" tapissiers ordinaires," and later one of the "valets de
chambre tapissiers " to the king. It was a post which Jean
Poquelin's brother had held before ; and he coveted nothing
better for his son than that he should pursue the path thus
clearly mapped out for him. But the boy did not take kindly
to the upholsterer's shop ; and his maternal grandfather,
Louis de Cresse, is said to have secretly encouraged him in
his rebellion. His mother died when he was ten years old,
and the father lost no time in providing the house with a new
mistress. Tradition states that it was partly due to the un-
genial influence of the stepmother that Louis de Cresse took
every opportunity of carrying off his grandson to the hotel de
Bourgogne, where the king's tragedians gave their bombastic
interpretation of the classical drama. Here, the future come-
dian was inoculated with a passion for the histrionic art, and
when Moliere, later in life, became an actor, his father shud-
dered at the notion of so vast a.descent from the level of re-
spectability and prosperity to which the family had risen.

The young Poquelin was brought up at the College de
Clermont, at that time (1637) the best and most popular school
in Paris. Amongst its four hundred scholars were many

xix

XX PREFATORY MEMOIR.

members of the first families in France ; and during this at-
tendance on its classes, tradition mentions that he was the
schoolfellow of the Prince de Conti, the poet Hesnaut, the
rollicking Chapelle, Bernier the traveller, and the astronomer
Gassendi. Poquelin distinguished himself at the College, both
in classics and in philosophy ; and afterwards, following the
usual course of a complete education, he proceeded to Orleans
to attend a series of lectures on civil law.1

The period of Moliere's life was the period of France's
greatest glory. Louis XIII. died in 1643, and gave place to
Louis le Grand— then only five years old, but destined to be a
patron of literature, science, and art ; and in particular, the
unvarying, though selfish protector of Moliere. Corneille had
written some of his most famous tragedies before Moliere
came of age, La Fontaine wrote his charming allegories, Pas-
cal and Bossuet added the sparkle of literature to the dignity
of religion, Descartes and Gassendi advanced the limits of
scientific knowledge, Madame de Sevigne combined the
masculine strength of her intellect with feminine grace, whilst
Racine in his tragedies, and Boileau in his satires, aimed at
raising and sustaining the literary taste of the age of Louis
XIV. Port Royal, within three leagues of Versailles, made
its conscientious effort after moral and ethical reform ; whilst
in Paris itself, the hotel de Rambouillet — the domain of three
generations of magnificent women — gathered to its alcove the
wits, fops, and litterateurs of the Metropolis, until Moliere, in
1659, gave a death-blow to the Precieuses. The court of Louis

1 Grimarest (La Vie de M. de Moliere, 1705, p. 14), says, "guand Mo-
liere eut acheve ses etudes, ilfut oblige a cause du grand age de son pere,
cTexercer sa charge pendant quelque temps, et meme il Jit le voyage de
Narbonneala suite de Louis XI II" This journey was in 1642, at which
time Beffara (Dissertation sur J. B. Poquelin-Moliere, 1821, p. 25), has
conclusively proved that the elder Poquelin was no more than forty-seven
years old. It is also said that Jean Baptiste Poquelin studied at Orleans
in 1642. Others of his biographers mention that Moliere performed tem-
porarily the duties of valet- tapissier to Louis XIII. The circumstance
appears hardly probable ; but our knowledge is not sufficiently definite
to warrant us in describing it as absolutely impossible.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXI

the Grand was by far more splendid than the court of Louis
Treize. The new and gorgeous palace at Versailles welcomed
all who offered a fresh entertainment to the self-indulgent
monarch and his crowd of pleasure-seeking courtiers.
Amongst such entertainments none was more acceptable to
the cultivated taste of the Parisians than the drama. Even in
the time of Louis XIII. the earlier plays of Corneille obtained
the first recognition of their merit, but before Moliere came
French comedy was meagre in the extreme. The court and
the people were addicted to the rounded periods and sono-
rous enunciation of the hotel de Bourgogne ; and Torelli's
Italian farces at the Petit Bourbon were never sufficiently
popular to excite in the tragedians the envy and alarm after-
wards aroused by Moliere.

In the latter part of the year 1643 a number of young men
and women, members of certain well to-do families of Parisian
bourgeois, established in Paris a dramatic company, to which
they gave the high-sounding name of L Illustre Theatre*
One Madeleine Bejart,? the daughter of a procureur, was the
life and soul of the undertaking. At the time when she com-
menced her role of impressario and manageress she was
twenty-seven years old, and had been the mistress of Esprit
de Raymond de Moirmoiron, Marquess of Modene, gentil-
homme ordinaire de Monsieur (Gaston duke of Orleans),
brother of Louis XIII. With her were her brother Joseph,4
and a sister Genevieve, scarcely twenty years old ; Clerin,
Pinel, Bonenfant, Madeleine Malingre, Catherine des Urlis,
and Catherine Bourgeois, Denis or Charles Beys, and Des-
fontaines, two writers of comedies, and Jean Baptiste Poque-
lin, who, on adopting the career of an actor, no doubt
in deference to the scruples of his family, assumed the sur-

3 The biographers of Moliere are not agreed about the date of the open-
ing of the Illustre Theatre. Moland and several others say 1645 ; Soulie,
in his Recherches sur Moliere, 1863, proves by official documents that it
was either December 3ist, 1643, or at the very beginning of 1644.

* Bejart is sometimes written *' Bejard." Soulie always spells it thus,
though the members of that family generally wrote it with a /.

4 Several commentators say he was called Jacques, Soulie1 says Joseph.

XXli PREFATORY MEMOIR.

name of Moliere. He never explained the reason for this
assumption in particular ; but the name of a popular dancer
and musician, attached to the private chapel of the king, Louis
de M oilier, was often written Molikre ; a novel-writer, who at
that time enjoyed a certain reputation, was also called Fran-
cois de Moliere, whilst the name itself was not uncommon.

Moliere was on terms of intimate friendship with Madeleine
Bejart, and it is natural that he should at once have obtained
a supreme influence over the company. After trying their
fortune successively on three stages — one near the Tour de
Nesle, another in the rue des Barres, a third in the faubourg
St. Germain — and meeting with scant fortune, seven of them
quitted Paris in 1646, and for nearly twelve years were en-
gaged in a tour through the provinces. Before leaving Paris
they had run considerably into debt, and that in spite of the
fact that they were partially supported by Gaston, duke of
Orleans. The widowed mother of the Bejarts, Marie Herv6,
became surety for her children, and for Moliere ; whilst the
other associates gave bonds to their creditors for a consider-
able amount. For the non-payment of one obligation
Moliere was arrested and imprisoned ; nor does this seem to
have been the only debt which brought about the like result
during the career of the Illustre Th'e&tre in Paris. Documents
have been discovered whfch show that he was successively
arrested at the suit of a number of tradesmen who had fur-
nished or supplied the different theatres. Over and over
again he was rescued by his friends ; often at the cost of his
entering into new engagements, bearing more or less exorbi-
tant interest. Fourteen years later we find him discharging
one of those debts, with interest, expenses, and " loyaux
cotits " which had in the meantime accumulated.5

The plays with which the undaunted company commenced
their histrionic career were of indifferent merit. Amongst
them were the comedies of Scarron, and no doubt, of Denis
Beys, such as f Hopital des fous, and of Desfontaines, such a'
Eurymedon ou Fillustre Pirate, and nilustre Comedien, ou le
Martyre de Saint-Genest. It would be difficult to fix the exact

5 Eud. Soulie, Recherches sur Afolure, 1863, p. 42.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XX111

date at which Moliere's earliest plays were produced, but it is
probable that he began to write for his company as soon as he
had enlisted in it. He seems, like Shakespeare, to have in
part at least adapted the plays of others ; but in the year 1653,
if not earlier, he had produced F Etourdi and in 1656 le Dcpit
amoureux.

In 1648 we hear of the Bejart-Moliere company at Nantes,
Limoges, and Bordeaux. From Bourdeaux they went to Tou-
louse ; and in 1650 they were at Narbonne ; after which time
they appear to have peregrinated to the south of France, until
in 1653 we find them at Lyons, where / ' fetourdi, Moliere's
earliest important venture in verse, is supposed to have been
represented for the first time, and where Berthelot, generally
known as Duparc, and Gros-Rene, joined them. Here the
tide of their fortune was caught at the flood. The whole town
flocked to hear them ; and during the next two or three years
they made Lyons their head-quarters, from whence they
visited the populous places in the south-east of France. Occa-
sionally they were invited to the castles of the nobility, as for
instance, in 1653, to the country-seat of the Prince de Conti,
near Pezenas. Le Depit amoureux was produced in 1656
at Beziers, during the meeting of the States of Languedoc in
that town. It was at Grenoble, in the early spring of 1658,
that Moliere's friends — among them the painter Mignard —
persuaded him once more to try his fortune in Paris. After a
summer trip to Rouen, he returned to Paris in the autumn,
where he was introduced to Cardinal Mazarin, and renewed
his acquaintance with the Prince de Conti. Through the
latter's friend, the bishop of Valence, he was brought under
the notice of the king's brother, Philippe, then Duke of Anjou,
who was at that time but eighteen years of age, but who had
already formed the design of supporting a dramatic company.
The lllustre Theatre acted before him, and pleased him ; he
invited Moliere to repeat the experiment before the court.
This was what the company most desired ; the opportunity
for which they had been conscientiously labouring through
their twelve years' apprenticeship. They accepted the offer
with gratitude.

xxiv PREFATORY MEMOIR.

The company was not precisely the same on its return to
Paris as it had been in 1646. There were now four ladies,
Madeleine Bejart, Genevieve Bejart, Duparc and Debrie ;
the two brothers Bejart, Duparc, Debrie, Dufresne, and
Croisac, making, with Moliere himself, eleven persons. It
may be concluded that their tour — or at all events the part of
it which dated from Lyons — had been very successful ; for we
find that Joseph Bejart, who died early in 1659, left behind
him a fortune of twenty-four thousand golden crowns. So at
least we are told by the physician, Guy-Patin, in a letter dated
May 27, 1659 ; and he adds, " Is it not enough to make one
believe that Peru is no longer in America, but in Paris ?"

It was on the 24th of October, 1658 — about the same time, in
fact, as Sir William D'Avenant was establishing his theatre in
London — that Moliere and his fellow-actors played before Louis
le Grand in a theatre which had been raised in the " salle des
Gardes " of the Louvre. The piece chosen was Corneille's
Nicomcde, and after that Moliere's farce le Docteur amoureux.
From that time forward the Illustre Theatre was called the
Comediens de Monsieur ; and the company was allowed the
use of the Petit Bourbon on alternate days with Torelli's
Italians. Moliere paid Torelli 1500 livres a-year for the mo-
nopoly of four days in the week. On November 3d r fctourdi
was given, with Moliere in the part of Mascarille ; and le De-
pit amoureux followed in December. The success of those
pieces was so great that the prices of admission had to be
raised ; and at the close of the season each actor's share of the
profits amounted to about 800 livres.

There were in Paris at this time at least six theatres ; one at
the hotel de Bourgogne, one at the Marais, the companies of
Monsieur, of which Moliere was the manager, and of Made-
moiselle,6 a Spanish company, and Torelli's. The latter was

6 Mademoiselle was the title given to Madlle de Montpensier, the
daughter of Gaston, duke of Orleans, uncle of Louis XIV. She was
sometimes called la grande Mademoiselle to distinguish her from the
daughter of Philip of Orleans, brother of Louis XIV. See also note 14,
page xxxii.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXV

broken up at the Easter of 1659, when Moliere had the Petit
Bourbon to himself. This theatre was 108 feet long, by 48
broad and high, the stage being raised six feet above the floor.

The taste of the age, before Moliere's plays had cultivated
an appreciation for high-class comedy, was centred in the
tragedies of Corneille and his school, or in the grotesque
farces of Scarron and Scudery. Moliere's own earliest efforts
were in the latter vein, and his first encouragement arose
from the discovery that his intermezzos were more successful
on the stage than those of his juvenile models. Several of his
best comedies were founded upon the less ambitious efforts
which had laid the basis of his company's fame, such as le
Docteur amoureux, les trots Docteurs rivaux, le Alaitre d'ecole,
Gorgibus dans le sac, le Fagoteux, le Docteur pedant, la Ca-
saque, la Jealousie du Barboidlle, and le Medecin -volant. The
fourth farce appears to be the foundation of a scene of les
Fourberies de Scapin, the fifth as well as the last that of the
Medecin malgre lui, and the eighth that of George Diindin.

At the commencement of the next season, November 18,
1659, appeared les Precieuses ridicules. This admirably con-
ceived satire upon the imitations of the hotel de Rambouillet
was Moliere's first grand hit in the metropolis. Paris was en-
tranced by the novelty and precision of the delineation, and
flocked to see it. The Precieux and Precieuses themselves
went down to the theatre of the Petit Bourbon, in order to
criticise their critics. Madame de Rambouillet, the head of
that famous coterie, Madame de Grignan, Chapelle and Me-
nage, Scudery and Benserade, all were compelled to praise the
author who ridiculed them. Chapelle sought out his old school-
fellow, and facilitated his good reception by the Parisians. Me-
nage, quitting the theatre on the first night, is reputed to have
said to Chapelle, " Now, like Clovis, we must burn what we
have adored and adore what we have burnt." According to
tradition, a spectator was so overcome by admiration that he
called out in the middle of the piece, "Courage Moliere ! Voilti
la bonne comedie I " The king, who disliked the Rambouillet
coterie, but who was at this time at the foot of the Pyrenees,
commanded that the play should be represented before him.

XXVi PREFATORY MEMOIR.

Moliere's success was unequivocal, but the incisiveness of
his satire had raised up many enemies, and the shrinking
receipts of the other theatres added many more. Those who
were in authority during the king's absence were induced to
forbid les Precieuses ridicules ; but the Parisians would not
consent to lose the best comedy in the language. In fourteen
days the prohibition was removed ; and then, although the
prices of nearly the whole house was raised by about one
half, public curiosity would hardly be satisfied.7

As we have already mentioned, Joseph Bejart died in 1659,
ere he had recognized to what a height of fame and fortune the
company was destined to reach, but having already succeeded
in amassing a competence. In 1660 another member of the com-
pany, Jodelet, died ; and Duparc and his wife, who had with-
drawn, again placed themselves at Moliere's disposal fora time.

In the month of May, 1660, was produced Sganarelle ou le
Cocu Imaginaire, the poet again taking the leading part. It is
recorded that one Neufvillenaine, after a few representations
of this one-act comedy, had learned it thoroughly by heart.
He wrote it down, had it printed, and put it up for sale through
the bookseller Ribou. Moliere was advised to invoke the
law in defence of his copyright, and he did so successfully. He
did not, however, publish his play before 1663, and then it
was found word for word the same with Neufvillenaine's copy.

7 In general people have not a correct idea about the prices of admit-
tance to the theatre in Moliere's time. In the theatre of the Palais Royal,
where all his pieces were played, with the exception of the first four, the
prices for the billets de theatre (tickets admitting on the stage) were five
livres ten sous, representing about eighteen francs at the present time ;
those for the boxes four livres ; those for the amphitheatre three livres ;
for the boxes on the second tier, one livre ten sous ; for the upper boxes,
one livre ; and for the pit, fifteen sous. In representations au double or
a /' extraordinaire all the prices are raised except those of five livres ten
sous. During ordinary representations, the salle du Petit-Bourbon could
hold 1400 livres, that of the Palais Royal 2860 livres ; the Comedie Fran-
9aise can at present hold 6000 francs : so that, considering tne relative
value of money, the latter place cannot make more, though it has room
for 1650 persons.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXV11

In August 1660 Louis le Grand returned to Paris with his
young wife, and the Louvre being committed to Claude Per-
rault for renovation and re-decoration, the theatre of the Petit
Bourbon was doomed. Moliere's company was transferred to
the Palais Royal, the great hall being capable of holding four
thousand spectators.8 Whilst this building was preparing, the
actors played several times at the houses and seats of the
nobility, and even in the Louvre itself, where, on the 26th of
October, the fctourdi and the Precieuses were performed be-
fore the king and Cardinal Mazarin, the latter being carried
in on his sick-bed. On this occasion the company was pre-
sented with 3000 livres. The Palais Royal was ready by the
2oth of January 1661, and opened with the Depit amourcaux
and Sganarelle. In honour of the King's Spanish spouse the
poet now wrote an inflated piece called Don Garde de Na-
varre. It met with no success, and was dropped after five
representations. A few of the scenes were afterwards adopted
in the Misanthrope, Amphitryon, the Facheux, Tartuffe, and
the Femmes savantes.

The office of "tapissier valet de chambre," which had been
held by Moliere's father, was probably transferred by the latter
to his younger son, Jean Poquelin, who exercised it during his
elder brother's absence from Paris. Jean Poquelin the younger
died in 1660, and Moliere then assumed the office to himself.
Apart from the emoluments attached to this position, the poet
no doubt found it extremely useful in bringing him constantly
into the presence of the king, and in providing him with
abundant opportunities for making the necessary studies of
the foibles of humanity. That he suffered somewhat in his
dignity as a poet we may well imagine ; but Moliere's mind
was sufficiently strong to bear the rebuffs of smaller men with
equanimity. On one occasion a fellow-valet declined to assist
the comedian in making the king's bed. Bellocq, a courtier,

8 Sauval in his Histoire et Recherches des Antiquites de la ville de Paris,
1724, 3 vols., iii., p. 47, says the theatre of the Palais Royal could contain
4000 persons, M. Taschereau states 1000 ; the last number appears to be
the most probable, considering the money the room could hold. See also
note 7, page xxv.

2

PREFATORY MEMOIR.

known by some pretty verses, heard this remark, and walking
towards them, said, "M. de Moliere, permit me to have the
honour of making his majesty's bed with you." But the king
himself delighted to honour Moliere ; and the latter made his
own position wherever he went. He was recognised not only
as -an admirable actor, but as an author of the first rank ;
from this time forward, although he wrote a few complimen-
tary or farcical pieces which were not quite worthy of his
genius, he continued to throw off, with great rapidity and yet
with marvellous finish, the series of comedies on which his
fame is securely built. Well might he say, " I need no longer
Study Plautus and Terence, and filch the fragments of Me-
nander; my models henceforth are the world and the living."

In June 1661 Moliere produced his Ecole des Marts, and in
August, at a grand entertainment given by Fouquet to the
king and queen, to the former duke of Anjou, who had be-
come duke of Orleans, and to the Princess Henrietta of
England, a few days before he was replaced by Colbert, les
Fctcheux made another good impression. It was during the
representation of this play that Louis XIV. pointed out to
Moliere his future Master of the Hunt, the marquis de Soye-
court, as a character well worthy of his attention. In a few
days the piece was richer by a part ; though some critics
maintained that Moliere did not actually write the principal
scene which sprang out of this suggestion of the king, but that
he merely versified what had been supplied to him by another.

On the 2oth February 1662 Moliere married Armande-Gre-
sinde-Claire-Elizabeth Bejart, the youngest sister of Madeleine
Bejart, and at this time aged about twenty years.9 Her dowry
was ten thousand livres ; her widow's portion four thousand.
The marriage-contract and other documents relating to this
period of Moliere's life, which were discovered by Beffara,"
the most able of his earlier biographers, show clearly that

9 Some of Moliere's biographers state that Armande de Bejart, at the
time of her marriage, was not yet seventeen years old ; Souli6 gives the
very marriage-contract, which proves that she was twenty or thereabout.
This contract is dated January 23, 1662.

10 Dissertation sur J. B. Poquelln- Moliere, 1821, p. 7.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXIX

Armande's mother, brother, and eldest sister were present at
and consenting to the ceremony — so that Grimarest, and sev-
eral of Moliere's early biographers must have been mistaken
in saying that Madeleine was opposed to this union, and that
it was kept secret for some time. Genevieve Bejart, however,
the second daughter of Marie Herve, does not seem to have
been present at the marriage; and it is surmised by Soulie
that whatever opposition existed may have come from her,
and that Moliere's connection with her may have dated back
to the time at which he first resolved to follow the career of
an actor. Genevieve married two years after her younger
sister. The affection between Moliere and Armande had been
sincere from the beginning. Armande was brought up, if not
born, in the company; and her wit and manners seem to have
secured for her in after-life the tenderness which the poet dis-
played towards her when a child. Moliere's enemies have
coupled his name injuriously with those of Madeleine and
Genevieve Bejart. There is hardly any evidence in support
of such suggestions ; but there is abundant proof of his love
and respect for his wife. His happiness with her was not,
however, as great as he had hoped to find it. Armande was
fond of pleasure and admiration ; Moliere, amidst the avoca-
tions and anxieties of his position, could not always attend
upon her with the devotion and ardour of a lover ; and she
sought and found adulation at the hands of others. On the
stage, therefore, he acted Sganarelle to the life, and in his
most melancholy moods could not hold himself free from the
twinges of but too well founded jealousy.

In the latter part of 1662 the fccole des Femmes was per-
formed. This play met with some opposition, and was an-
swered by our author's La Critique de f Ecole des Femmes,
which was brought out the ist of June 1663. The comedians
of the hotel de Bourgogne had long envied and hated Mo-
liere, and they took now the opportunity of attacking him.
Boursault wrote a piece entitled le Portrait du Pelntre ou la
Contra- critique de f Ecole des Femmes. Moliere replied in
t Impromptu de Versailles. De Villiers and Montfleury took up
the cudgels on the other side, and wrote la Vengeance des

XXX PREFATORY MEMOIR.

Marquis and I1 Impromptu de t hotel de Monde. At the same
time Montfleury's father was base enough to accuse Moliere
before the king of having married his own daughter ; the in-
sinuation being that Armande was the child of Madeleine Be-
jart. The court did not listen to this tale, and presently after
the king and Henrietta, duchess of Orleans, stood sponsors for
Moliere's eldest son, who was born on the ipth January, i664.n
Moliere was satisfied with his triumph, and soon after stopped
the sale of the Impromptu de Versailles.

Moliere regarded himself henceforth as the court dramatist
par excellence, and he was anxious to show by every means
in his power the gratitude aroused in him by the king's favour.
In January 1664 he wrote, for a court high festival, /<? Mar-
riage force a one-act piece with eight entrees de ballet™ and in
which Sganarelle re-appears ; who had figured in several pre-
vious plays. Louis himself danced in one of the acts. In May
of the same year the Grand Monarque gave a grand festival
in honour of Louise de Valliere, lasting over a week, to which
Moliere contributed the Princesse d'£lide, a five-act piece,
strung together in such haste that only the first act was in
verse, and — a far more ambitious flight of the Muse, which
had no doubt been for some time past in preparation — the
first three acts of Tartuffe.

Tartuffe was a protest and satire against the ecclesiastical
intolerance and religious hypocrisy which were amongst the
characteristics of the day. A revival of orthodoxy had fol-
lowed upon the restless period of the Ligue and the Fronde ;
and this reaction had brought in its train more of the outward
show than of the reality of religion. Moliere hated cant with

11 Eud. Soulie', Recherches sur Moliere, p. 59. " This child died in the
same year,"

12 The ballets de cour, according to M. Bazin's Notes historiques sur la.
vie de Moliere, 1851, were composed of entrees, vers, and recits. The
entrees were represented by persons who said nothing, but whose gestures,
dancing, and dress sufficiently showed what the author intended to repre-
sent ; this was, moreover, elucidated by the vers, which were not spoken
on the stage, but only printed in the libretto. The recits were verses
spoken, or couplets sung, generally by professional actors or actresses.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. xxxi

an unfeigned hatred ; and besides, he had a private quarrel
of his own against the ecclesiastics, who had excommunicated
himself and his brother actors. In Tartuffe he hit the priests
and the hypocrites very hard, and multiplied the number of
his enemies. The play seems to have been acted tentatively
from the first, and then only before the king, or certain select
audiences at Versailles, Villers-Cotterets, and Raincy. Paris
did not see it at the Palais Royal for years after ; but this par-
tial publicity was sufficient to secure for it the abhorrence of
those who regarded themselves as the guardians of popular
morality and orthodoxy. Their objection to Tartuffe, and to
le Festin de Pierre, which was first acted in February 1665, and
which treated hypocrisy in the like ungentle fashion, was
much akin to those raised against Paul by the coppersmiths
of Ephesus. But it was successful ; and both pieces were
interdicted, after the last-named had been represented for fif-
teen days before crowded houses. Pierre Roules, cure of St. Bar-
thelemy, and another clergyman, de Rochemont,1* wrote trea-
tises to counteract the evil effects of Moliere's works ; and the
enemies of the latter produced a disreputable pasquinade in his
name, wherein he was made to cast shameful reflections against
the priests. He subsequently thought it worth his while to expose
this trick in the fifth act of the Misanthrope. The king hardly
dared to withstand the Church in the then existing condition
of the public mind. Unwilling to remove the prohibition by
his royal fiat, he paid Moliere the compliment of permitting
his troupe to be styled " Comediens du Roi," which title they
held from this time forward : and they were subsidized by a
yearly pension of seven thousand livres.

An intermittent source of trouble and anxiety to Moliere was
found in the ingratitude of his company, who now and again
forgot that he had made the fortunes of every one of them.
When a play did not draw, or when the public found a mo-

13 In the re-impression of Observations sur le Festin de Pierre par de
Rochemont et Reponses aux Observations, edited by the bibliophile Jacob,
Geneve, 1869, it is stated, p. n, that though de Rochemont may have
been an advocate, as many of Moliere's biographers had said, he was a
clergyman at the time he wrote his Observations.

XXXli PREFATORY MEMOIR.

mentary attraction elsewhere, they seem generally to have
laid the blame upon their manager. Such was the case when
"Scaramouch" (Torelli), the manager of the Italian farce-
company, who had earned enough to buy an estate at Florence
of about ten thousand livres per annum, being driven from
his retirement by his wife and children, returned to Paris and
resumed his career as an actor. The public had not lost their
appreciation of the Italian harlequinades, — the receipts of
Moliere's theatre began to fall off, and his company — espe-
cially one of the Bejarts and Maddle.14 Duparc — pretended
that the cause of the failure originated with him.

Moliere's path was by no means an easy one to tread ; the
following anecdote may serve as another illustration of the
fact. The king's body guards, and other household troops,
had formerly been allowed to see the play for nothing, and
Moliere, who was doubtless more troubled by the abuse of
"paper" than are the managers of to-day, was urged by his
company to obtain the removal of this privilege from the king.
His request was granted ; but the change gave great umbrage
to the soldiers. They came down to the house in a body,
killed the door-keeper, and uttered loud threats against the
actors. On the next day the king had them drawn up on
parade, and sent for Moliere to harangue them. This he did
with so much tact and good humour, and he gave them such
excellent reasons why they should pay for their seats like
gentlemen, and leave the free admissions for such as could
not afford a trifle, that they made no further difficulty in the
matter.

Like many comic actors, Moliere was often melancholy,
morose, and timid off the stage ; and the lack of sympathy
from the young wife he loved so much tended to aggravate
those symptoms. He was, moreover, afflicted by a spasmodic
cough and pulmonary attacks, very possibly due to frequent

UA11 ladies who were not of noble birth, or those of inferior nobility,
were in Moliere's time called Mademoiselle, the others Madame ; never-
theless the expressions une demoiselle, une femme demoiselle, were often
used for a noble-born married or unmarried lady. For the use of Made-
moiselle as a special name see note 6, page xxiv.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXlli

exposures during his provincial tours, and compelled to live a
most abstemious life. He had taken a house at Auteuil, where
he passed all the time that could be spared from his arduous
duties ; hither his friends were wont to come and visit him,
trying, with but little success, to rouse him from his character-
istic melancholy. A very touching story is related of one of
these visits, which we may quote as an instance of the genuine
friendship which existed between the poet and his friends,
and of the essentially dramatic constitution of Moliere's mind.
Chapelle, La Fontaine, Lulli, director of the Royal Academy
of Music, Boileau, Mignard the artist, and Corneille, came one
evening to Auteuil to make merry with their friend. Moliere
was obliged to excuse himself on the ground of ill-health, but
he requested Chapelle to do the honours of his house. The
guests sat down, and presently, warmed with wine, they fell to
talking of religion, futurity, the vanity of human life, and such
other lofty and inexhaustible topics as are wont to occupy the
vinous moments of intellectual men. Chapelle led the con-
versation, and indulged in a long tirade against the folly of
most things counted wise ; at length one of them suggested
the idea of suicide, and proposed that they should all go and
drown themselves in the river. This splendid notion was re-
ceived with acclamation ; the tipsy philosophers hurri«d down
to the bank, and seized upon a boat in order to get into the
middle of the stream. Meanwhile Baron, Moliere's favourite
pupil,15 who lived in the house with him, and who had been
present at the debauch, aroused his master, and sent off the
servants in quest of the would-be suicides. The latter were
already in the water when assistance arrived, and they were
pulled out ; but, resenting such an impertinence, they drew
their swords on their deliverers, and pursued them to Moliere's
house. The poet displayed complete presence of mind, and
pretended to approve of the plan which had been formed ; but
he professed to be much annoyed that they should have
thought of drowning themselves without him. They admitted
their error, and invited him to come back with them and finish

15 Subsequently the most finished actor in France.

XXXIV PREFATORY MEMOIR.

the business. "Nay," said Moliere, "that would be very
clumsy. So glorious a deed should not be done at night, and
in darkness. Early to-morrow, when we have all slept well,
we will go, fasting and in public, and throw ourselves in." To
this all assented, and Chapelle proposed that in the meantime
they should finish the wine that had been left. It need not be
added that the next day found them in a different mood.16

In September, 1665, I 'Amour Medecin was written, studied,
and rehearsed within a period of five days, and acted first at
Versailles, afterwards in Paris. In December the Palais Royal
had to be closed on account of Moliere's serious illness. It
was the beginning of the end, but he fought against his weak-
ness valiantly. The death of Anne of Austria delayed the re-
opening of the theatre until June, 1666, in which month Moliere
produced his Misanthrope, a play which has been ranked as
high in comedy as Athalie is ranked in French tragedy. The
circumstances under which it was written were such as might
almost warrant us in calling it a tragedy itself ; for the great
satirist, who had spent his life in copying the eccentricities of
others, had now employed the season of his illness and con-
valescence to commit to paper a drama in which he was
himself the principal actor. The misanthrope, Alceste, loves
the coquette Celimene almost against his will ; and we can
imagine the feelings with which Moliere himself took the
role of Alceste to his wife's Celimene. The general sarcasm
of the piece is very bitter; but Paris heard it eagerly for close
upon a month. It was succeeded by the Medecin malgre lui ;
and at the beginning of the next year followed the charming
operetta of le Sicilien ou r Amour peintre. Shortly after the
appearance of this piece the author was again confined to his
bed for upwards of two months.

Philip IV. of Spain died in September 1665, and Louis XIV.
claimed Brabant, Flanders, Hainault, and Limburg in the right
of his wife. He went in the spring of 1667 with a corps

16 Boileau repeated this story to Racine, whose son has recorded it in
his Memoirs. A sceptic might perhaps suspect that the attempted suicide
was only a trick to get Moliere to join in the revets.

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXV

d'armee to take possession of this territory, and with him went
the Queen, Madame de Montcspan, Mademoiselle de la Val-
liere, and the whole court. During their absence Moliere re-
lying on a previously implied permission of the King, once
more produced Tartujfe, the name of which he had changed
to / ' Imposteur. It was immediately prohibited by the Presi-
dent de Lamoignon, and Moliere sent off two of his company
to ask for the King's sanction. The latter gave an evasive
reply, undertaking to inquire into the matter on his return.
Louis returned on the yth of September, but his promise was
not at once redeemed. In January 1668, Amphitryon appeared,
and a little later, in the course of a festival given in the honour
of Conde's victories in Franche-Comte, George Dandin. In
the autumn of this year /* Avare was first acted, but it was
coldly received by the public. It was not until February 1669
that Tartujfe finally made its appearance before a Parisian
audience, with the full permission and protection of the king.
The objections raised against it were as strong as ever, but
Louis was less anxious than formerly to please the ecclesiastics.
The play had an immense success, and appears to have run
for several months. In the same month (February) died
Moliere's father, and in the papers he left behind him there is
a bitter allusion to "Monsieur Moliere." In October of the
same year Moliere played the title-role in his new farce Mon-
sieur de Pourceaugnac. In reference to this bright play
Diderot has remarked that it would be a mistake to suppose
that there are many more men capable of writing Pourceaugnac
than the Misanthrope ; and the judgment of later critics has
confirmed the observation.

As his infirmities increased upon him, and his short life
drew to a close, Moliere's pen was more fruitful than ever. In
the year 1670 he produced in addition to a comedy-ballet, les
Amants magnifiques, an excellent comedy, le Bourgeois Gen-
tilhomme, in which he played the title-role. The same year
died Marie Herve, the mother of the Bejarts. Baron took this
year also the place of Louis B6jart. In the following year
(1671) were brought out Psyche, a tragedie-ballet, of which he
only wrote a part, and two farces, les Fourberies de StQtpin and

XXXvi PREFATORY MEMOIR.

la Comtesse d' Escarbagnas. In 1672 was played a satire-
comedy in the highest mood of his trenchant mind, les Femmes
savantes, a sort of sequel to les Precieuses ridicules, though
with more general application.

In 1671 his friends succeeded in bringing about a better
understanding between Moliere and his wife, who for some
time past had rarely met except on the stage. One cause of
disagreement between them had been the absurd jealousy with
which Armande regarded the affection of her husband for the
young actor, Baron, whom on one occasion she drove from the
house by her petulant reproaches. The reconciliation extended
to this faithful pupil of the great comedian, and the last scenes
of Moliere's life were brightened by the affectionate devotion
of the two people whom he loved best. The year 1672 was
nevertheless a sad one ; and as it were by an omen of his ap-
proaching end, more than one of the ties which bound him
with his earlier career were broken. Madeleine Bejart, the
companion of his life-long labours, died in February, leaving
many legacies to religious foundations, but the bulk of her
property to her favourite sister Armande, with reversion to
Madeleine Esprit, Moliere's only surviving child, whose sec-
ond son had died a few days previously. Of the famous com-
pany which in 1646 had quited Paris on its twelve years' pro-
vincial tour, only two now remained — the poet and Genevieve
Bejart.

Bowed down by sorrow and pain, weakened by a racking
cough which never left him a day's peace, he could not be
persuaded to spare himself. Within a few months of his
death he wrote his Malade fmagtnaire, a happy conception,
which must have done much to rob his bodily sufferings of
their sting. On the iyth of February 1673, in spite of the dis-
suasion of his wife and Baron, he played the part of Argan,
and acted the piece through, though he was very ill. In the
evening of the same day, in his house in the Rue Richelieu, he
burst a blood-vessel. Two nuns who had for some time past
been living in the house stood by his bed, and to them he
expressed his complete resignation to the will of God. They
sent in succession for two priests to administer the last conso-

PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXV11

lations of religion, but both refused to come. Before a third
could be found, Moliere was dead. He was buried four days
later, almost without the rites of religion, in a church-yard
adjoining the Rue Montmartre.

The daughter of the actor Du Croisy, Madame Poisson, her-
self an actress, and one who had seen Moliere, when she was
very young, has left us an exact description of his personal
appearance, which she wrote in the Mercure de France for
May, 1740 . "He was neither too stout nor too thin ; his stature
was rather tall than short ; his carriage was noble ; and he
had a remarkable good leg. He walked measuredly ; had a
very serious air ; a large nose, an ample mouth, with full lips ;
brown complexion, and eyebrows black and thick ; while the
varied motion he gave to these latter rendered his physiognomy
extremely comic."17

17 In that monument of accuracy and erudition, Dictionaire critique de
Biographic et d' Histoire, by A. Jal, Paris, 1872, it is stated in the article
" Poisson," p. 983, that this actress died at St. Germain en Laye, the lath
of December, 1756, at the age of ninety. Moliere died in 1673 ; there-
fore, if she saw him even in 1672, she must have been six years old, a
rather early age to receive impressions of personal appearance. Moland,
in his life of Moliere, states that she was fifteen years old at our author's
death, but Jal is always exact. I suppose Madame Poisson, who in 1740,
was seventy-four years old, gave as her own personal impression what
she could only have known by hearsay.

L'ETOURDI, OU LES CONTRETEMPS.

COMEDIE.

THE BLUNDERER: OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS.

A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.

(THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE.)
I653- (?)

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

77ie Blunderer is generally believed to have been first acted at Lyons in
1653, whilst Moliere and his troupe were in the provinces. In the month
of November 1658 it was played for the first time in Paris, where it ob-
tained a great and well-deserved success. It is chiefly based on an Ital-
ian comedy, written by Nicolo Barbieri, known as Beltrame, and called
L'Inawertito, from which the character of Mascarille, the servant, is
taken, but differs in the ending, which is superior in the Italian play. An
imitation of the classical boasting soldier, Captain Bellorofonte, Marteli.
one, and a great number of concetti, have also not been copied by Mo-
liere. The fourth scene of the fourth act of I'Etourdi contains some
passages taken from the Angelica, a comedy by Fabritio de Fornans, a
Neapolitan, who calls himself on the title-page of his play " il Capitano
Coccodrillo, comico confidente.1' A few remarks are borrowed from la.
Emilia, a comedy by Luigi Grotto, whilst here and there we find a rem-
iniscence from Plautus, and one scene, possibly suggested by the six-
teenth of the Conies et Discours d Eutrapel, written by Noel du Fail,
Lord of la He>issaye. Some of the scenes remind us of passages in sev-
eral Italian Commedia. deC arte between Arlecchino and Pantaleone, the
personifications of impudence and ingenuity, as opposed to meekness and
stupidity ; they rouse the hilarity of the spectators, who laugh at the
ready invention of the knave, as well as at the gullibility of the old man.
Before this comedy appeared the French stage was chiefly filled with plays
full of intrigue, but with scarcely any attempt to delineate character or
manners. In this piece the plot is carried on, partly in imitation of the
Spanish taste, by a servant, Mascarille, who is the first original personage
Moliere has created ; he is not a mere imitation of the valets of the Ital-
ian or classical comedy ; he has not the coarseness and base feelings of
the servants of his contemporaries, but he is a lineal descendant of Villon,
a free and easy fellow, not over-nice in the choice or execution of his
plans, but inventing new ones after each failure, simply to keep in his
hand ; not too valiant, except perhaps when in his cups, rather jovial and
chaffy, making fun of himself and everybody else besides, no respecter of
persons or things, and doomed probably not to die in his bed. Moliere
must have encountered many such a man whilst the wars of the Fronde
were raging, during his perigrinations in the provinces. Even at the
present time, a Mascarille is no impossibility ; for, " like master like
man." There are also in The Blunderer too many incidents, which take

3

4 THE BLUNDERER;

place successively, without necessarily arising one from another. Some
of the characters are not distinctly brought out, the style has often been
found fault with, by Voltaire and other competent judges,1 but these de-
fects are partly covered by a variety and vivacity which are only fully dis-
played when heard on the stage.

In the third volume of the " Select Comedies of M. de Moliere, London,
1732," The Blunderer is dedicated to the Right Honorable Philip, Earl
of Chesterfield, in the following words : —

MY LORD, — The translation of L' Etourdi, which, in company with the
original, throws itself at your lordship's feet, is a part of a design form'd
by some gentlemen, of exhibiting to the public a Select Collection of Mo-
liere 's Plays, in French and English. This author, my lord, was truly a
genius, caress'd by the greatest men of his own time, and honour'd with
the patronage of princes. When the translator, therefore, of this piece
was to introduce him in an English dress, in justice he owed him an
English patron, and was readily determined to your lordship, whom all
the world allows to be a genius of the first rank. But he is too sensible
of the beauties of his author, and the refined taste your lordship is univer-
sally known to have in polite literature, to plead anything but your can-
dour and goodness, for your acceptance of this performance. He
persuades himself that your lordship, who best knows how difficult it is to
speak like Moliere, even when we have his sentiments to inspire us, will
be readiest to forgive the imperfections of this attempt. He is the rather
encouraged, my lord, to hope for a candid reception from your lord-
ship, on account of the usefulness of this design, which he flatters
himself will have your approbation. 'Tis to spirit greater numbers of
our countrymen to read this author, who wou'd otherwise not have at-
tempted it, or, being foil'd in their attempts, wou'd throw him by in des-
pair. And however generally the French language may be read, or
spoke in England, there will be still very great numbers, even of those
who are said to understand French, who, to master this comic writer, will
want the help of a translation ; and glad wou'd the publishers of this
work be to guide the feebler steps of some such persons, not only till they
should want no translation, but till some of them should be able to make
a much better than the present. The great advantage of understanding
Moliere your Lordship best knows. What is it, but almost to understand
mankind ? He has shown such a compass of knowledge in human nature,
as scarce to leave it in the power of succeeding writers in comedy to be
originals ; whence it has, in fact, appear'd, that they who, since his time,
have most excelled in the Comic way, have copied Moliere, and therein
were sure of copying nature. In this author, my lord, our youth will find
the strongest sense, the purest moral, and the keenest satyr, accompany'd
with the utmost politeness ; so that our countrymen may take a French
polish, without danger of commencing fops and apes, as they sometimes
do by an affectation of the dress and manners of that people ; for no man

1 Victor Hugo appears to be of another opinion. M. Paul Stapfer, in his les Art-
istes juges et parties (2" Causerie, the Grammarian of Hauteville House, p. 55),
states : — " the opinion of Victor Hugo about Moliere is very peculiar. According
to him, the best written of all the plays of our great comic author is his first work,
C Etourdi. It possesses a brilliancy and freshness of style which still shine in le
Depit amoureux, but which gradually fade, because Moliere, yielding unfortunately
to other inspirations than his own, enters more and more upon a new way."

OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 5

has better pourtray'd, or in a finer manner expos'd fopperies of all kinds,
than this our author hath, in one or other of his pieces. And now, 'tis
not doubted, my lord, but your lordship is under some apprehensions,
and the reader under some expectation, that the translator should at-
tempt your character, in right of a dedicator, as a refin'd wit, and con-
summate statesman. But, my lord, speaking the truth to a person of
your lordship's accomplishments, wou'd have the appearance of flattery,
especially to those who have not the honour of knowing you ; and those
who have, conceive greater ideas of you than the translator will pretend
to express. Permit him, then, my lord, to crave your lordship's accep-
tance of this piece, which appears to you with a fair and correct copy of
the original ; but with a translation which can be of no manner of conse-
quence to your lordship, only as it may be of consequence to those who
would understand Moliere if they could. Your lordship's countenance to
recommend it to such will infinitely oblige, my lord, your lordship's most
devoted, and most obedient, humble servant, THE TRANSLATOR."

To recommend to Lord Chesterfield an author on account of ''the
purest moral," or because '' no man has ... in a finer manner exposed
fopperies of all kinds," appears to us now a bitter piece of satire ; it may
however, be doubted if it seemed so to his contemporaries.2

Dryden has imitated The Blunderer in Sir Martin Mar-all ; or the
Feigned Innocence, first translated by William Cavendish, Duke of New-
castle, and afterwards adapted for the stage by " glorious John. ' It must
have been very successful, for it ran no less than thirty-three nights, and
was four times acted at court. It was performed at Lincoln's Inn Fields
by the Duke of York's servants, probably at the desire of the Duke of
Newcastle, as Dryden was engaged to write for the King's Company.
It seems to have been acted in 1667, and was published, without the au-
thor's name, in 1668. But it cannot be fairly called a translation, for
Dryden has made several alterations, generally not for the better, and
changed double entendres into single ones. The heroine in the English
play, Mrs. Millisent, (Celia), marries the roguish servant, Warner (Mas-
carille), who takes all his master's blunders upon himself, is bribed by
nearly everybody, pockets insults and money with the same equanimity,
and when married, is at last proved a gentleman, by the disgusting Lord
Dartmouth, who "cannot refuse to own him for my (his) kinsman."
With a fine stroke of irony Millisent's father becomes reconciled to his
daughter having married a serving-man as soon as he hears that the latter
has an estate of eight hundred a year. Sir Martin Mar-all is far more
conceited and foolish than Lelio ; Trufaldin becomes Mr. Moody, a
swashbuckler ; a compound of Leander and Andres, Sir John Swallow,
a Kentish knight ; whilst of the filthy characters of Lord Dartmouth,
Lady Dupe, Mrs. Christian, and Mrs. Preparation, no counterparts are
found in Moliere's play. But the scene in which Warner plays the lute,
whilst his master pretends to do so, and which is at last discovered by
Sir Martin continuing to play after the servant has finished, is very clev-

1 Lord Chesterfield appeared not so black to those who lived in his own time as
he does to us, for Bishop Warburton dedicated to him his Necessity and Equity of
an Established Religion and a Test-Law Demonstrated, and says in his preface :
" It is an uncommon happiness when an honest man can congratulate a patriot on
his becoming minister, and expresses the hope, that " the temper of the times will
suffer your Lordship to be instrumental in saving your country by a reformation of
the general manners."

6 THE BLUNDERER ; OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS.

s Drvden is also said to have consulted TAmant indiscret of Quinault,
5r' order to furbish forth the Duke of Newcastle's labours. Sir Walter
Scott states in his introduction : " in that part of the play, which occasions
its second title of ' the feigned Innocence,' the reader will hardly find wit
enough to counterbalance the want of delicacy ." Murphy has borrowed
from The Blunderer some incidents of the second act of his School for
Guardians, played for the first time in 1767.

» According to Geneste, Some Accounts of the English Stage 10 yols., 1832, vol.
i p 76 Bishop Warburton, in his Alliance of Church and Mate (the same work
is mentioned in Note 2), and Porson in his Letters to Travis alludes to this scene.

DRAMATIS PERSON^.4

LELIO, son to PANDOLPHUS.

LEANDER, a young gentleman of good birth.

ANSELMO, an old man.

PANDOLPHUS, an old man.

TRUFALDIN, an old man.

ANDRES, a supposed gipsy.

MASCARILLE,* servautto Lelio.

ERGASTE, a servant.

A MESSENGER.

Two Troops of Masquer aders.

CELIA, slave to TRUFALDIN.
HIPPOLYTA, daughter to ANSELMO.

Scene. — MESSINA.

4 Moliere, Racine, and Corneille always call the dramatis personae
acteun, and not personnages.

6 Mascarille is a name invented by Moliere, and a diminutive of the
Spanish mascara, a mask. Some commentators of Moliere think that the
author, who acted this part, may sometimes have played it in a mask, but
this is now generally contradicted. He seems, however, to have performed
it habitually, for after his death there was taken an inventory of all his
dresses, and amongst these, according to M. EudoreSouli^, Recherches sur
Moliere, 1863, p. 278, was: 4<a . . . dress for /' £tourdi, consisting in
doublet, knee-breeches, and cloak of satin." Before his time the usual
name of the intriguing man-servant was Philipitt.

THE BLUNDERER: OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS.

(L'ETOURDI, ou LES CONTRE-TEMPS.}

ACT I.
SCENE I. — LELIO, alone.

LEL. Very well ! Leander, very well ! we must quarrel
then, — we shall see which of us two will gain the day ;
and which, in our mutual pursuit after this young miracle
of beauty, will thwart the most his rival's addresses. Do
whatever you can, defend yourself well, for depend upon
it, on my side no pains shall be spared.

SCENE II. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

LEL. Ah ! Mascarille !

MASC. What's the matter?

LEL. A great deal is the matter. Everything crosses
my love. Leander is enamoured of Celia. The Fates
have willed it, that though I have changed the object of
my passion, he still remains my rival.

MASC. Leander enamoured of Celia !

LEL. He adores her, I tell you.6

MASC. So much the worse.

LEL. Yes, so much the worse, and that's what annoys
me. However, I should be wrong to despair, for since
you aid me, I ought to take courage. I know that your
mind can plan many intrigues, and never finds anything

6 In French, tit, tot, thee, thou, denote either social superiority or
familiarity. The same phraseology was also employed in many English
comedies of that time, but sounds so stiff at present, that the translator
has everywhere used " you."

9

io THE BLUNDERER: [ACTI.

too difficult ; that you should be called the prince of ser-
vants, and that throughout the whole world. .

MASC. A truce to these compliments; when people
have need of us poor servants, we are darlings, and in-
comparable creatures ; but at other times, at the least fit
of anger, we are scoundrels, and ought to be soundly
thrashed.

LEL. Nay, upon my word, you wrong me by this re-
mark. But let us talk a little about the captive. Tell me,
is there a heart so cruel, so unfeeling, as to be proof
against such charming features ? For my part, in her con-
versation as well as in her countenance, I see evidence of
her noble birth. I believe that Heaven has concealed a
lofty origin beneath such a lowly station.

MASC. You are very romantic with all your fancies. But
what will Pandolphus do in this case ? He is your father,
at least he says so. You know very well that his bile is
pretty often stirred up ; that he can rage against you finely,
when your behaviour offends him. He is now in treaty
with Anselmo about your marriage with his daughter,
Hippolyta ; imagining that it is marriage alone that may-
hap can steady you : now, should he discover that you
reject his choice, and that you entertain a passion for a
person nobody knows anything about ; that the fatal
power of this foolish love causes you to forget your duty
and disobey him ; Heaven knows what a storm will then
burst forth, and what fine lectures you will be treated to.

LEL. A truce, I pray, to your rhetoric.

MASC. Rather a truce to your manner of loving, it is
none of the best, and you ought to endeavour .
- LEL. Don't you know, that nothing is gained by making
me angry, that remonstrances are badly rewarded by me,
and that a servant who counsels me acts against his own
interest ?

MASC. (Aside}. He is in a passion now. (Aloud}. All
that I said was but in jest, and to try you. - Do I look so
very much like a censor, and is Mascarille an enemy to
pleasure ? You know the contrary, and that it is only too
certain people can tax me with nothing but being too
good-natured. Laugh at the preachings of an old grey-
beard of a father ; go on, I tell you, and mind them not.

SCENE n.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. I!

Upon my word, I am of opinion that these old, effete and
grumpy libertines come to stupify us with their silly
stories, and being virtuous, out of necessity, hope through
sheer envy to deprive young people of all the pleasures of
life ! You know my talents ; I am at your service.

LEL. Now, this is talking in a manner I like. More-
over, when I first declared my passion, it was not ill re-
ceived by the lovely object who inspired it ; but, just
now, Leander has declared to me that he is preparing to
deprive me of Celia ; therefore let us make haste ; ransack
your brain for the speediest means to secure me possession
of her ; plan any tricks, stratagems, rogueries, inventions,
to frustrate my rival's pretensions.

MASC. Let me think a little upon this matter. (Aside}.
What can I invent upon this urgent occasion ?

LEL. Well, the stratagem ?

MASC. Wha.t a hurry you are in ! My brain must always
move slowly. I have found what you want ; you must . . .
No, that's not it ; but if you would go ...

LEL. Whither?

MASC. No, that's a flimsy trick. I thought that . . .

LEL. What is it ?

MASC. That will not do either. But could you not . . ?

LEL. Could I not what ?

MASC. No, you could not do anything. Speak to An-
selmo.

LEL. And what can I say to him ?

MASC. That is true ; that would be falling out of the
frying-pan into the fire. Something must be done how-
ever. Go to Trufaldin.

LEL. What to do ?

MASC. I don't know.

LEL. Zounds ! this is too much. You drive me mad
with this idle talk.

MASC. Sir, if you could lay your hand on plenty of
pistoles,7 we should have no need now to think of and try
to find out what means we must employ in compassing

T The pistole is a Spanish gold coin worth about four dollars ; formerly
the French pistole was worth in France ten livres — about ten francs —
they were struck in Franche-Comte.

12 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTI.

our wishes ; we might, by purchasing this slave quickly,
prevent your rival from forestalling and thwarting you.
Trufaldin, who takes charge of her, is rather uneasy about
these gipsies, who placed her with him. If he could get
back his money, which they have made him wait for too
long, I am quite sure he would be delighted to sell her;
for he always lived like the veriest curmudgeon ; he would
allow himself to be whipped for the smallest coin of the
realm. Money is the God he worships above everything,
but the worst of it is that . . .

LEL. What is the worst of it? . . .

MASC. That your father is just as covetous an old hunk,
who does not allow you to handle his ducats, as you would
like ; that there is no way by which we could now open
ever so small a purse, in order to help you. But let us
endeavour to speak to Celia for a moment, to know what
she thinks about this affair ; this is her window.

LEL. But Trufaldin watches her closely night and day;
Take care.

MASC. Let us keep quiet in this corner. What luck !
Here she is coming just in the nick of time.

SCENE III. — CELIA, LELIO, MASCARILLE.

LEL. Ah ! madam, what obligations do I owe to Heaven
for allowing me to behold those celestial charms you are
blest with ! Whatever sufferings your eyes may have
caused me, I cannot but take delight in gazing on them in
this place.

CEL. My heart, which has good reason to be astonished
at your speech, does not wish my eyes to injure any one;
if they have offended you in anything, I can assure you I
did not intend it.

LEL. Oh ! no, their glances are too pleasing to do me
an injury. I count it my chief glory to cherish the wounds
they give me ; and . . .

MASC. You are soaring rather too high ; this style is by
no means what we want now; let us make better use of
our time ; let us know of her quickly what . . .

TRUF.(#Sfib»). Celia!

MASC. (To Lelio). Well, what do you think now?

SCENE iv.] OR, THE COUNTER PLOTS. 13

LEL. O cruel mischance ! What business has this
wretched old man to interrupt us !

MASC. Go, withdraw, I'll find something to say to him.

SCENE IV. — TRUFALDIN, CELIA, MASCARILLE, and LELIO
in a corner.

TRUF. (To Celia). What are you doing out of doors?
And what induces you to go out, — you, whom I have
forbidden to speak to any one ?

CEL. I was formerly acquainted with this respectable
young man ; you have no occasion to be suspicious of him.

MASC. Is this Signer Trufaldin ?

CEL. Yes, it is himself.

MASC. Sir, I am wholly yours; it gives me extreme
pleasure to have this opportunity of paying my most
humble respects to a gentleman who is everywhere so
highly spoken of.

TRUF. Your most humble servant.

MASC. Perhaps I am troublesome, but I have been
acquainted with this young woman elsewhere ; and as I
heard about the great skill she has in predicting the future,
I wished to consult her about a certain affair.

TRUF. What ! Do you dabble in the black art ?

CEL. No, sir, my skill lies entirely in the white.8

MASC. The case is this. The master whom I serve
languishes for a fair lady who has captivated him. He
would gladly disclose the passion which burns within him
to the beauteous object whom he adores, but a dragon
that guards this rare treasure, in spite of all his attempts,
has hitherto prevented him. And what torments him
still more and makes him miserable, is that he has just
discovered a formidable rival ; so that I have come to
consult you to know whether his love is likely to meet
with any success, being well assured that from your
mouth I may learn truly the secret which concerns us.

CEL. Under what planet was your master born ?

MASC. Under that planet which never alters his love.

8 The white art (magie blanche) only dealt with beneficent spirits, and
wished to do good to mankind ; the black art (magie noire) invoked evil
spirits.

14 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTI.

CEL. Without asking you to name the object he sighs
for, the science which I possess gives me sufficient infor-
mation. This young woman is high-spirited, and knows
how to preserve a noble pride in the midst of adversity ;
she is not inclined to declare too freely the secret senti-
ments of her heart. But I know them as well as herself,
and am going with a more composed mind to unfold
them all to you, in a few words.

MASC. O wonderful power of magic virtue !

CEL. If your master is really constant in his affections,
and if virtue alone prompts him, let him be under no ap-
prehension of sighing in vain : he has reason to hope, the
fortress he wishes to take is not averse to capitulation, but
rather inclined to surrender.

MASC. That's something, but then the fortress depends
upon a governor whom it is hard to gain over.

CEL. There lies the difficulty.

MASC. (Aside, looking at Lelid). The deuce take this
troublesome fellow, who is always watching us.

CEL. I am going to teach you what you ought to do.

LEL. {Joining them). Mr. Trufaldin, give yourself no
farther uneasiness; it was purely in obedience to my
orders that this trusty servant came to visit you ; I dis-
patched him to offer you my services, and to speak to you
concerning this young lady, whose liberty I am willing
to purchase before long, provided we two can agree about
the terms.

MASC. (Aside). Plague take the ass !

TRUF. Ho ! ho ! Which of the two am I to believe ?
This story contradicts the former very much.

MASC. Sir, this gentleman is a little bit wrong in the
upper story : did you not know it ?

TRUF. I know what I know, and begin to smell a rat.
Get you in (to Celta), and never take such a liberty again.
As for you two, arrant rogues, or I am much mistaken,
if you wish to deceive me again, let your stories be a
little more in harmony.

SCENE V. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.
MASC. He is quite right. To speak plainly, I wish he

SCENE vi.J OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 1 5

had given us both a sound cudgelling. What was the
good of showing yourself, and, like a Blunderer, coming
and giving the lie to all that I had been saying ?

LEL. I thought I did right.

MASC. To be sure. But this action ought not to sur-
prise me. You possess so many counterplots that your
freaks no longer astonish anybody.

LEL. Good Heavens ! How I am scolded for nothing !
Is the harm so great that it cannot be remedied ? How-
ever, if you cannot place Celia in my hands, you may at
least contrive to frustrate all Leander's schemes, so that
he cannot purchase this fair one before me. But lest my
presence should be further mischievous, I leave you.

MASC. (Alone). Very well. To say the truth, money
would be a sure and staunch agent in our cause ; but as this
mainspring is lacking, we must employ some other means.

SCENE VI. — ANSELMO, MASCARILLE.

ANS. Upon my word, this is a strange age we live in ;
I am ashamed of it ; there was never such a fondness for
money, and never so much difficulty in getting one's own.
Notwithstanding all the care a person may take, debts now-
a-days are like children, begot with pleasure, but brought
forth with pain. It is pleasant for money to come into
our purse ; but when the time comes that we have to give
it back, then the pangs of labour seize us. Enough of this,
it is no trifle to receive at last two thousand francs which
have been owing upwards of two years. What luck !

MASC. {Aside}. Good Heavens ! What fine game to
shoot flying ! Hist, let me see if I cannot wheedle him a
little. I know with what speeches to soothe him. (Join-
ing him). Anselmo I have just seen. . . .

ANS. Who, prithee?

MASC. Your Nerina.

ANS. What does the cruel fair one say about me ?

MASC. Say ? that she is passionately fond of you.

ANS. Is she ?

MASC. She loves you so that I very much pity her.

ANS. How happy you make me !

MASC. The poor thing is nearly dying with love. "Oh,
my dearest Anselmo," she cries every minute, "when

1 6 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTI.

shall marriage unite our two hearts? When will you
vouchsafe to extinguish my flames ? ' '

ANS. But why has she hitherto concealed this from me ?
Girls, in troth, are great dissemblers ! Mascarille, what do
you say, really? Though in years, yet I look still well
enough to please the eye.

MASC. Yes, truly, that face of yours is still very passa-
ble ; if it is not of the handsomest in the world, it is very
agreeable.9

ANS. So that

MASC. {Endeavouring to take the purse}. So that she
dotes on you ; and regards you no longer

ANS. What?

MASC. But as a husband : and fully intends ....

ANS. And fully intends . . . . ?

MASC. And fully intends, whatever may happen, to steal
your purse

ANS. To steal . . . . ?

MASC. (Taking the purse, and letting it fall to the ground}.
To steal a kiss from your mouth.10

ANS. Ah ! I understand you. Come hither ! The next
time you see her, be sure to say as many fine things of me
as possible.

MASC. Let me alone.

ANS. Farewell.

MASC. May Heaven guide you !

ANS. (Returning). ~R.Q\& \ I really should have committed
a strange piece of folly ; and you might justly have
accused me of neglect. I engage you to assist me in serv-
ing my passion. You bring good tidings, and I do not
give you the smallest present to reward your zeal. Here,
be sure to remember .

9 The original has a play on words which cannot be translated, as, ce
visage est encore fort mettable. . . . s'il n'est pas des plus beaux, il est
des agreables ; which two last words, according to pronunciation, can also
mean disagreeable. This has been often imitated in French. After the
Legion of Honour was instituted in France in 1804, some of the wdts of
the time asked the Imperialists : etes-vous des honores f

10 There is here again, in the original, a play on the words bourse, purse,
and bouche, mouth, which cannot be rendered in English.

SCBNBVIII.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 17

MASC. O, pray, don't.11

ANS. Permit me ....

MASC. I won't, indeed : I do not act thus for the sake
of money.

ANS. I know you do not. But however ....

MASC. No, Anselmo, I will not. I am a man of hon-
our \ this offends me.

ANS. Farewell then, Mascarille.

MASC. (Aside). How long-winded he is !

ANS. (Coming bacK). I wish you to carry a present to
the fair object of my desires. I will give you some money
to buy her a ring, or any other trifle, as you may think
will please her most.

MASC. No, there is no need of your money ; without
troubling yourself, I will make her a present ; a fashion-
able ring has been left in my hands, which you may pay
for afterwards, if it fits her.

ANS. Be it so ; give it her in my name ; but above all,
manage matters in such a manner that she may still desire
to make me her own.

SCENE VII. — LELIO, ANSELMO, MASCARILLE.

LEL. {Taking up the purse). Whose purse is this ? "
ANS. Oh Heavens ! I dropt it, and might have after-
wards believed somebody had picked my pocket. I am
very much obliged to you for your kindness, which saves
me a great deal of vexation, and restores me my money.
I shall go home this minute and get rid of it.

SCENE VIII. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

MASC. Od's death ! You have been very obliging, very
much so.

LEL. Upon my word ! if it had not been for me he
would have lost his money.

11 Compare inShakspeare's Winter's Tale Autolycus' answer to Camillo
(Act IV., Scene 3), who gives him money, " I am a poor fellow, sir, . . .
I cannot with conscience take it."'

M During the whole of the preceding scene Mascarille has quietly
kicked the purse away, so as to be out of sight of Anselmo, intending to
pick it up when the latter has gone.

VOL. I. B

18 THE BLUNDERER: [ACT i.

MASC. Certainly, you do wonders, and show to-day a
most exquisite judgment and supreme good fortune. We
shall prosper greatly ; go on as you have begun.

LEL. What is the matter now ? What have I done ?

MASC. To speak plainly as you wish me to do, and as I
ought, you have acted like a fool. You know very well
that your father leaves you without money; that a formid-
able rival follows us closely; yet for all this, when to
oblige you I venture on a trick of which I take all the
shame and danger upon myself . . .

LEL. What ? was this . . . ?

MASC. Yes, ninny ; it was to release the captive that I
was getting the money, whereof your officiousness took
care to deprive us.

LEL. If that is the case, I am in the wrong. But who
could have imagined it ?

MASC. It really required a great deal of discernment.

LEL. You should have made some signs to warn me of
what was going on.

MASC. Yes, indeed ; I ought to have eyes in my baek.
By Jove,13 be quiet, and let us hear no more of your non-
sensical excuses. Another, after all this, would perhaps
abandon everything; but I have planned just now a
master-stroke, which I will immediately put into execu-
tion, on condition that if ...

LEL. No, I promise you henceforth not to interfere
either in word or deed.

MASC. Go away, then, the very sight of you kindles my
wrath.

LEL. Above all, don't delay, for fear that in this busi-
ness . . .

MASC. Once more, I tell you, begone ! I will set about
it. {Exit Lelio). Let us manage this well; it will be a
most exquisite piece of roguery ; if it succeeds, as I think
it must. We'll try. . . . But here comes the very man
I want.

18 The play is supposed to be in Sicily; hence Pagan oaths are not out
of place. Even at the present time Italians say, per Jove I per Bacco I

SCBNK ix.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 19

SCENE IX. — PANDOLPHUS, MASCARILLE.

PAND. Mascarille !

MASC. Sir?

PAND. To tell you the truth, I am very dissatisfied with
my son.

MASC. With my master ? You are not the only one
who complains of him. His bad conduct which has grown
unbearable in everything, puts me each moment out of
patience.

PAND. I thought, however, you and he understood one
another pretty well.

MASC. I ? Believe it not, sir. I am always trying to
put him in mind of his duty : we are perpetually at dag-
gers drawn. Just now we had a' quarrel again about his
engagement with Hippolyta, which, I find he is very
averse to. By a most disgraceful refusal he violates all
the respect due to a father.

PAND. A quarrel ?

MASC. Yes, a quarrel, and a desperate one too.

PAND. I was very much deceived then, for I thought you
supported him in all he did.

MASC. I ? See what this world is come to ! How is
innocence always oppressed ! If you knew but my integ-
rity, you would give me the additional salary of a tutor,
whereas I am only paid as his servant. Yes, you yourself
could not say more to him than I do in order to make him
behave better. "For goodness' sake, sir," I say to him'1
very often, " cease to be driven hither and thither with
every wind that blows, — reform ; look what a worthy
father Heaven has given you, what a reputation he has.
Forbear to stab him thus to the heart, and live, as he
does, as a man of honour."

PAND. That was well said ; and what answer could he
make to this?

MASC. Answer? Why only nonsense, with which he
almost drives me mad. Not but that at the bottom of his
heart he retains those principles of honour which he de-
rives from you ; but reason, at present, does not sway him.
If I might be allowed to speak freely, you should soon see
him submissive without much trouble.

20 THE BLUNDERER : £ACT ,.

PAND. Speak out.

MASC. It is a secret which would have serious conse-
quences for me, should it be discovered ; but I am quite
sure I can confide it to your prudence

PAND. You are right.

MASC. Know then that your wishes are sacrificed to the
love your son has for a certain slave.

PAND. I have been told so before ; but to hear it from
your mouth pleases me.

MASC. I leave you to judge whether I am his secret
confidant . . .

PAND. I am truly glad of it.

MASC. However, do you wish to bring him back to his
duty, without any public scandal ? You must ... (I am
in perpetual fear lest anybody should surprise us. Should
he learn what I have told you, I should be a dead man.)
You must, as I was saying, to break off this business,
secretly purchase this slave, whom he so much idolizes, and
send her into another country. Anselmo is very intimate
with Trufaldin ; let him go and buy her for you this very
morning. Then, if you put her into my hands, I know
some merchants, and promise you to sell her for the money
she costs you, and to send her out of the way in spite of
your son. For, if you would have him disposed for matri-
mony, we must divert this growing passion. Moreover,
even if he were resolved to wear the yoke you design for
him, yet this other girl might revive his foolish fancy, and
prejudice him anew against matrimony.

PAND. Very well argued. I like this advice much.
Here comes Anselmo ; go, I will do my utmost quickly to
obtain possession of this troublesome slave, when I will
put her into your hands to finish the rest.

MASC. {Alone). Bravo, I will go and tell my master of
this. Long live all knavery, and knaves also !

SCENE X. — HIPPOLYTA, MASCARILLE.
HIPP. Ay, traitor, is it thus that you serve me ? I over
heard all, and have myself been a witness of your treach-
ery. Had I not, could I have suspected this ? You are
an arrant rogue, and you have deceived me. You pro-
mised me, you miscreant, and I expected, that you would

SCBNK x.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 21

assist me in my passion for Leander, that your skill and
your management should find means to break off my
match with Lelio ; that you would free me from my father's
project ; and yet you are doing quite the contrary. But
you will find yourself mistaken. I know a sure method
of breaking off the purchase you have been urging Pan-
dolphus to make, and I will go immediately ....

MASC. How impetuous you are ! You fly into a passion
in a moment ; without inquiring whether you are right or
wrong, you fall foul of me. I am in the wrong, and I
ought to make your words true, without finishing what I
began, since you abuse me so outrageously.

HIPP. By what illusion do you think to dazzle my eyes,
traitor ? Can you deny what I have just now heard ?

MASC. No ; but you must know that all this plotting
was only contrived to serve you ; that this cunning advice,
which appeared so sincere, tends to make both old men fall
into the snare ; that all the pains I have taken for getting
Celia into my hands, through their means, was to secure
her for Lelio, and to arrange matters so that Anselmo, in
the very height of passion, and finding himself disappointed
of his son-in-law, might make choice of Leander.

HIPP. What ! This admirable scheme, which has an-
gered me so much, was all for my sake, Mascarille ?

MASC. Yes, for your sake ; but since I find my good
offices meet with so bad a return, — since I have thus to
bear your caprices, and as a reward for my services, you
come here with a haughty air, and call me knave, cur,
and cheat, I shall presently go, correct the mistake I
have committed, and undo what I had undertaken to
perform.

HIPP. (Holding him.) Nay, do not be so severe upon
me, and forgive these outbursts of a sudden passion.

MASC. No, no ; let me go. I have it yet in my power
to set aside the scheme which offends you so much.
Henceforth you shall have no occasion to complain of my
zeal. Yes, you shall have my master, I promise you.

HIPP. My good Mascarille, be not in such a passion. I
judged you ill ; I was wrong; I confess I was. (Pulls out
her purse). But I intend to atone for my fault with this.
Could you find it in your heart to abandon me thus?

22 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT i.

MASC. No, I cannot, do what I will. But your impetu-
osity was very shocking. Let me tell you that nothing
offends a noble mind so much as the smallest imputation
upon its honour.

HIPP. It is true ; I treated you to some very harsh lan-
guage, but here are two louis to heal your wounds.

MASC. Oh ! all this is nothing. I am very sensitive on
this point; but my passion begins to cool a little already.
We must bear with the failings of our friends.

HIPP. Can you, then, bring about what I so earnestly
wish for? Do you believe your daring projects will be as
favourable to my passion as you imagine ?

MASC. Do not make yourself uneasy on that account. I
have several irons in the fire, and though this stratagem
should fail us, what this cannot do, another shall.

HIPP. Depend upon it, Hippolyta will at least not be
ungrateful.

MASC. It is not the hope of gain that makes me act.

HIPP. Your master beckons and wishes to speak with
you. I will leave you, but remember to do what you
can for me.

SCENE XI. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

LEL. What the deuce are you doing there ? You pro-
mised to perform wonders, but I am sure your dilatory
ways are unparalleled. Had not my good genius inspired
me, my happiness had been already wholly overthrown.
There was an end to my good fortune, my joy. I should
have been a prey to eternal grief; in short, had I not gone
to this place in the very nick of time, Anselmo would have
got possession of the captive, and I should have been de-
prived of her. He was carrying her home, but I parried
the thrust, warded off the blow, and so worked upon Tru-
faldin's fears as to make him keep the girl.

MASC. This is the third time ! When we come to ten
we will score. It was by my contrivance, incorrigible
scatterbrains, that Anselmo undertook this desirable pur-
chase ; she should have been placed into my own hands,
but your cursed officiousness knocks everything on the
head again. Do you think I shall still labour to serve
your love ? I would sooner a hundred times become a fat

scKNm i.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 23

old woman, a dolt, a cabbage, a lantern, a wehrwolf, and
that Satan should twist your neck !

LEL. {Alone. .) I must take him to some tavern and let
him vent his passion on the bottles and glasses.

ACT II.
SCENE I. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

MASC. I have at length yielded to your desires. In
spite of all my protestations I could hold out no longer ;
I am going to venture upon new dangers, to promote your
interest, which I intended to abandon. So tender-hearted
am I ! If dame nature had made a girl of Mascarille, I
leave you to guess what would have happened. However,
after this assurance, do not deal a back stroke to the pro-
ject I am about to undertake ; do not make a blunder
and frustrate my expectations. Then, as to Anselmo, we
shall anew present your excuses to him, in order to get
what we desire. But should your imprudence burst forth
again hereafter, then you may bid farewell to all the
trouble I take for the object of your passion.

LEL. No, I shall be careful, I tell you ; never fear; you
shall see. . . .

MASC. Well, mind that you keep your word. I have
planned a bold stratagem for your sake. Your father is
very backward in satisfying all your wishes by his death.
I have just killed him (in words, I mean) ; I have spread a
report that the good man, being suddenly smitten by a fit
of apoplexy, has departed this life. But first, so that I
might the better pretend he was dead, I so managed that
he went to his barn. I had a person ready to come and
tell him that the workmen employed on his house acciden-
tally discovered a treasure, in digging the foundations.
He set out in an instant, and as all his people, except us
two, have gone with him into the country, I shall kill him
to-day in everybody's imagination and produce some
image which I shall bury under his name. I have already
told you what I wish you to do ; play your part well ;
and as to the character I have to keep up, if you perceive

24 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT 11.

that I miss one word of it, tell me plainly I am nothing
but a fool.

SCENE II. — LELIO, alone.

It is true, he has found out a strange way to accomplish
my wishes fully ; but when we are very much in love with
a fair lady, what would we not do to be made happy ? If
love is said to be an excuse for a crime, it may well serve
for a slight piece of imposture, which love's ardour to-day
compels me to comply with, in expectation of the happy
consequences that may result from it. Bless me ! How
expeditious they are. I see them already talking together
about it ; let us prepare to act our part.

SCENE III. — MASCARILLE, ANSELMO.

MASC. The news may well surprise you.

ANS. To die in such a manner !

MASC. He was certainly much to blame. I can never
forgive him for such a freak.

ANS. Not even to take time to be ilt

MASC. No, never was a man in such a hurry to die.

ANS. And how does Lelio behave ?

MASC. He raves, and has lost all command over his
temper ; he has beaten himself till he is black and blue in
several places, and wishes to follow his father into the grave.
In short, to make an end of this, the excess of his grief has
made me with the utmost speed wrap the corpse in a
shroud, for fear the sight, which fed his melancholy, should
tempt him to commit some rash act.

ANS. No matter, you ought to have waited until even-
ing. Besides, I should have liked to see Pandolphus once
more. He who puts a shroud on a man too hastily very
often commits murder; for a man is frequently thought dead
when he only seems to be so.

MASC. I warrant him as dead as dead can be. But
now, to return to what we were talking about, Lelio has
resolved (and it will do him good) to give his father a fine
funeral, and to comfort the deceased a little for his hard
fate, by the pleasure of seeing that we pay him such honours
after his death. My master inherits a goodly estate, but as
he is only a novice in business, and does not see his way

SCENE iv.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 2$

clearly in his affairs, since the greater part of his property
lies in another part of the country, or what he has here con-
sists in paper, he would beg of you, after having entreated
you to excuse the too great violence which he has shewn
of late, to lend him for this last duty at least. . . .

ANS. You have told me so already, and I will go and
see him.

MASC. (Alone}. Hitherto, at least, everything goes on
swimmingly ; let us endeavour to make the rest answer as
well; and lest we should be wrecked in the very harbour,
let us steer the ship carefully and keep a sharp look out.

SCENE IV. — ANSELMO, LELIO, MASCARILLE.

ANS. (Coming out of Pandolphus1 house}. Let us leave
the house. I cannot, without great sorrow, see him wrapped
up in this strange manner. Alas ! in so short a time ! He
was alive this morning.

MASC. We go sometimes over a good deal of ground in
a short time.

LEL. (Weeping). Oh!

ANS. Dear Lelio, he was but a man after all ; even
Rome can grant no dispensation from death.

LEL. Oh!

ANS. Death smites men without giving warning, and
always has bad designs against them.

LEL. Oh!

ANS. That merciless foe would not loosen one grip
of his. murderous teeth, however we may entreat him.
Everybody must feel them.

LEL. Oh!

MASC. Your preaching will all be in vain ; this sorrow
is too deep-rooted to be plucked up.

ANS. If, notwithstanding all these arguments, you will
not cast aside your grief, at least, my dear Lelio, endeav-
our to moderate it.

LEL. Oh!

MASC. He will not moderate it ; I know his temper.

ANS. However, according to your servant's message, I
have brought you the money you want, so that you might
celebrate your father's funeral obsequies !

LEL. Oh! oh!

26 THE BLUNDERER :

[ACT ii.

MASC. How his grief increases at these words ! It will
kill him to think of his misfortune.

ANS. I know you will find by the good man's books
that I owe him a much larger sum, but even if I should
not owe anything, you could freely command my purse.
Here it is; I am entirely at your service, and will show it.

LEL. (Going away). Oh!

MASC. How full of grief is my master !

ANS. Mascarille, I think it right he should give me
some kind of receipt under his hand.

MASC. Oh!

ANS. Nothing in this world is certain.

MASC. Oh ! oh !

ANS. Get him to sign me the receipt I require.

MASC. Alas ! How can he comply with your desire in
the condition he now is ? Give him but time to get rid
of his sorrow ; and, when his troubles abate a little, I
shall take care immediately to get you your security.
Your servant, sir, my heart is over-full of grief, and I
shall go to take my fill of weeping with him. Hi ! Hi !

ANS. (Alone). This world is full of crosses ; we meet
with them every day in different shapes, and never here
below . . .

SCENE V. — PANDOLPHUS, ANSELMO.

ANS. Oh Heavens ! how I tremble ! It is Pandolphus
who has returned to the earth ! God grant nothing dis-
turbed his repose ! How wan his face is grown since his
death ! Do not come any nearer, I beseech you ; I very
much detest to jostle a ghost.

PAND. What can be the reason of this whimsical ter-
ror?

ANS. Keep your distance, and tell me what business
brings you here. If you have taken all this trouble to bid
me farewell, you do me too much honour ; I could really
have done very well without your compliment. If your
soul is restless, and stands in need of prayers, I promise
you you shall have them, but do not frighten me. Upon
the word of a terrified man, I will immediately set prayers
agoing for you, to your very heart's content.

SCBNB v.j OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 2J

" Oh, dead worship, please to go !

Heaven, if now you disappear,
Will grant you joy down there below,

And health as well, for many a year."14

PAND. (Laughing). In spite of my indignation, I can-
not help laughing.

ANS. It is strange, but you are very merry for a dead
man.

PAND. Is this a joke, pray tell me, or is it downright
madness to treat a living man as if he were dead ?

ANS. Alas ! you must be dead ; I myself just now saw
you.

PAND. What ? Could I die without knowing it ?

ANS. As soon as Mascarille told me the news, I was
ready to die of grief.

PAND. But, really, are you asleep or awake ? Don't you
know me?

ANS. You are clothed in an aerial body which imitates
your own, but which may take another shape at any mo-
ment. I am mightily afraid to see you swell up to the size
of a giant, and your countenance become frightfully dis-
torted. For the love of God, do not assume any hideous
form ; you have scared me sufficiently for the nonce.

PAND. At any other time, Anselmo, I should have con-
sidered the simplicity which accompanies your credulity
an excellent joke, and I should have carried on the plea-
sant conceit a little longer ; but this story of my death, and
the news of the supposed treasure, which I was told upon
the road had not been found at all, raises in my mind a
strong suspicion that Mascarille is a rogue, and an arrant
rogue, who is proof against fear or remorse, and who in-
vents extraordinary stratagems to compass his ends.

ANS. What ! Am I tricked and made a fool of? Really,
this would be a compliment to my good sense ! Let me
touch him and be satisfied. This is, indeed, the very
man. What an ass I am ! Pray, do not spread this story
about, for they will write a farce about it, and shame me

uThis seems to be an imitation of a spell, charm, or incantation to lay
the supposed ghost, which Anselmo says kneeling and hardly able to
speak for terror.

28 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTII.

for ever. But, Pandolphus, help me to get the money
back which I lent them to bury you.

PAND. Money, do you say? Oh! that is where the
shoe pinches ; that is the secret of the whole affair ! ' So
much the worse for you. For my part, I shall not trouble
myself about it, but will go and lay an information against
this Mascarille, and if he can be caught he shall be
hanged, whatever the cost may be.

ANS. (Alone). And I, like a ninny, believe a scoundrel,
and must in one day lose both my senses and my money.
Upon my word, it well becomes me to have these gray
hairs and to commit an act of folly so readily, without ex-
amining into the truth of the first story I hear . . . ! But
I see ....

SCENE VI. — LELIO, ANSELMO.

LEL. Now, with this master-key, I can easily pay Tru-
faldin a visit.

ANS. As far as I can see, your grief has subsided.

LEL. What do you say? No; it can never leave a
heart which shall ever cherish it dearly.

ANS. I came back to tell you frankly of a mistake I
made in the money I gave you just now ; amongst these
louis-d'or, though they look very good, I carelessly put
some which I think are bad. I have brought some money
with me to change them. The intolerable audacity of our
coiners is grown to such a height in this state, that no one
can receive any money now without danger of his being
imposed upon. It would be doing good service to hang
them all !

LEL. I am very much obliged to you for being willing
to take them back, but I saw none among them that were
bad, as I thought.

ANS. Let me see the money; let me see it; I shall
know them again. Is this all ?

LEL. Yes.

ANS. So much the better. Are you back again? my
dear money ! get into my pocket. As for you, my gallant
sharper, you have no longer got a penny of it. You kill
people who are in good health, do ye ? And what would
you have done, then, with me, a poor infirm father-in-law?

SCENE vii ] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 29

Upon my word, I was going to get a nice addition to my
family, a most discreet son-in-law. Go, go, and hang
yourself for shame and vexation.

LEL. {Alone}. I really must admit I have been bit this
time. What a surprise this is ! How can he have dis-
covered our stratagem so soon ?

• SCENE VII. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

MASC. What, you were out ? I have been hunting for
you everywhere. Well, have we succeeded at last ? I will
give the greatest rogue six trials to do the like. Come,
give me the money that I may go and buy the slave ; your
rival will be very much astonished at this.

LEL. Ah ! my dear boy, our luck has changed. Can
you imagine how ill fortune has served me ?

MASC. What ? What can it be ?

LEL. Anselmo having found out the trick, just now got
back every sou he lent us, pretending some of the gold-
pieces were bad, and that he was going to change them.

MASC. You do but joke, I suppose ?

LEL. It is but too true.

MASC. In good earnest?

LEL. In good earnest ; I am very much grieved about
it. It will put you into a furious passion.

MASC. Me, sir ! A fool might, but not I ! Anger
hurts, and I am going to take care of myself, come what
will. After all, whether Celia be captive or free, whether
Leander purchases her or whether she remains where she
is, I do not care one stiver about it.

LEL. Ah ! do not show such indifference, but be a little
more indulgent to my slight imprudence. Had this last
misfortune not happened, you would have confessed that I
did wonders, and that in this pretended decease I deceived
everybody, and counterfeited grief so admirably that the
most sharp-sighted would have been taken in.

MASC. Truly you have great reason to boast.

LEL. Oh ! I am to blame, and I am willing to acknow-
ledge it ; but if ever you cared for my happiness, repair
this mishap, and help me.

MASC. I kiss your hands, I cannot spare the time.

3°

THE BLUNDERER :

LEL. Mascarille, my dear boy !

MASC. No.

LEL. Do me this favour.

MASC. No, I will not.

LEL. If you are inflexible, I shall kill myself

MASC. Do so — you may.

LEL. Can I not soften your hard heart ?

MASC. No.

LEL. Do you see my sword ready drawn ?

MASC. Yes.

LEL. I am going to stab myself.

MASC. Do just what you please.

LEL. Would you not regret to be the cause of my
death ?

MASC. No.

LEL. Farewell, Mascarille.

MASC. Good bye, Master Lelio.

LEL. What . . . ?

MASC. Kill yourself quick. You are a long while
about it.

LEL. Upon my word, you would like me to play the
fool and kill myself, so that you might get hold of my
clothes.

MASC. I knew all this was nothing but a sham ; what-
ever people may swear they will do, they are not so hasty
now-a-days in killing themselves.

SCENE VIII. — TRUFALDIN, LEANDER, LELIO, MASCARILLE.

{Trufaldin taking Leander aside and whispering to him).

LEL. What do I see ? my rival and Trufaldin together !
He is going to buy Celia. Oh ! I tremble for fear.

MASC. There is no doubt that he will do all he can; and
if he has money, he can do all he will. For my part I
am delighted. This is a just reward for your blunders,
your impatience.

LEL. What must I do ? Advise me.

MASC. I don't know.

LEL. Stay, I will go and pick a quarrel with him.

MASC. What good will that do ?

LEL. What would you have me do to ward off this blow?

MASC. Well, I pardon you ; I will yet cast an eye of

SCENE ix.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 3 1

pity on you. Leave me to watch them ; I believe I shall
discover what he intends to do by fairer means. {Exit
Lelid}.

TRUF. {To Leander). When you send by and by, it
shall be done.

MASC. {Aside and going ouf). I must trap him and
become his confidant, in order to baffle his designs the
more easily.

LEAND. (Alone). Thanks to Heaven, my happiness is
complete. I have found the way to secure it, and fear
nothing more. Whatever my rival may henceforth at-
tempt, it is no longer in his power to do me any harm.

SCENE IX. — LEANDER, MASCARILLE.

MASC. (Speaking these words within, and then coming
on the stage}. Oh ! oh ! Help ! Murder ! Help ! They
are killing me ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! Traitor ! Barbarian !

LEAND. Whence comes that noise? What is the
matter ? What are they doing to you ?

MASC. He has just given me two hundred blows with a
cudgel.

LEAND. Who?

MASC. Lelio.

LEAND. And for what reason ?

MASC. For a mere trifle he has turned me away and
beats me most unmercifully.

LEAND. He is really much to blame.

MASC. But, I swear, if ever it lies in my power I will
be revenged on him. I will let you know, Mr. Thrasher,
with a vengeance, that people's bones are not to be broken
for nothing ! Though I am but a servant, yet I am a
man of honour. After having been in your service for
four years you shall not pay me with a switch, nor affront
me in so sensible a part as my shoulders ! I tell you
once more, I shall find a way to be revenged ! You are
in love with a certain slave, you would fain induce me
to get her for you, but I will manage matters so that
somebody else shall carry her off ; the deuce take me if I
don't!

LEAND. Hear me, Mascarille, and moderate your pas-
sion. I always liked you, and often wished that a young

32 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTH.

fellow, faithful and clever like you, might one day or other
take a fancy to enter my service. In a word, if you think
my offer worthy of acceptance, and if you have a mind to
serve me, from this moment I engage you.

MASC. With all my heart, sir, and so much the rather
because good fortune in serving you offers me an oppor-
tunity of being revenged, and because in my endeavours
to please you I shall at the same time punish that wretch.
In a word, by my dexterity, I hope to get Celia for . . .

LEAND. My love has provided already for that. Smitten
by a faultless fair one, I have just now bought her for less
than her vahie.

MASC. What ! Celia belongs to you, then ?

LEAND. You should see her this minute, if I were the
master of my own actions. But alas ! it is my father who
is so ; since he is resolved, as I understand by a letter
brought me, to make me marry Hippolyta. I would not
have this affair come to his knowledge lest it should ex-
asperate him. Therefore in my arrangement with Trufal-
din (from whom I just now parted), I acted purposely in
the name of another. When the affair was settled, my
ring was chosen as the token, on the sight of which Tru-
faldin is to deliver Celia. But I must first arrange the
ways and means to conceal from the eyes of others the
girl who so much charms my own, and then find some re-
tired place where this lovely captive may be secreted.

MASC. A little way out of town lives an old relative of
mine, whose house I can take the freedom to offer you;
there you may safely lodge her, and not a creature know
anything of the matter.

LEAND. Indeed ! so I can : you have delighted me with
the very thing I wanted. Here, take this, and go and get
possession of the fair one. As soon as ever Trufaldin sees
my ring, my girl will be immediately delivered into your
hands. You can then take her to that house, when . . .
But hist ! here comes Hippolyta.

SCENE X. — HIPPOLYTA, LEANDER, MASCARILLE.

HIPP. I have some news for you, Leander, but will you
be pleased or displeased with it ?

LEAND. To judge of that, and make answer off-hand, I
should know it.

SCKNB xiii.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 33

HIPP. Give me your hand, then, as far as the church,15
and I will tell it you as we go

LEAND. ( To Mascarille}. Go, make haste, and serve me
in that business without delay.

SCENE XL — MASCARILLE, alone.

Yes, I will serve you up a dish of my own dressing.
Was there ever in the world so lucky a fellow. How
delighted Lelio will be soon ! His mistress to fall into our
hands by these means ! To derive his whole happiness from
the man he would have expected to ruin him! To become
happy by the hands of a rival! After this great exploit, I
desire that due preparations be made to paint me as a hero
crowned with laurel, and that underneath the portrait be
inscribed in letters of gold : Vivat Mascarillus, rogum im-
perator.

SCENE XII. — TRUFALDIN, MASCARILLE.

MASC. Soho, there!

TRUF. What do you want?

MASC. This ring, which you know, will inform you
what business brings me hither.

TRUF. Yes, I recognise that ring perfectly ; stay a little,
I will fetch you the slave.

SCENE XIII. — TRUFALDIN, A MESSENGER, MASCARILLE.

MESS. (To Trufaldin). Do me the favor, sir, to tell me
where lives a gentleman ....

TRUF. What gentleman ?

MESS. I think his name is Trufaldin.

TRUF. And what is your business with him, pray? I
am he.

MESS. Only to deliver this letter to him.

TRUF. (Reads). "Providence, whose goodness watches
over my life, has just brought to my ears a most welcome
report, that my daughter, who was stolen from me by some
robbers when she was four years old, is now a slave at your

15 Generally it was thought preferable, during Moliere's lifetime, to use
the word temple tor " church," instead oieglise.

VOL. I. C

34 THE BLUNDERER: [AC™.

house, under the name of Celia. If ever you knew what ii
was to be a father, and if natural affection makes an impres-
sion on your heart, then keep in your house this child so dear
to me, and treat her as if she were your own flesh and blood.
I am preparing to set out myself in order to fetch her. You
shall be so well rewarded for your trouble, that in everything
that relates to your happiness (which I am determined to
advance} you shall have reason to bless the day in which you
caused mine."

DON PEDRO DE GUSMAN,
From Madrid. Marquess of MONT ALCANA.

Though the gipsies can be seldom believed, yet they who
sold her to me told me she would soon be fetched by
somebody, and that I should have no reason to complain.
Yet here I was going, all through my impatience, to lose
the fruits of a great expectation. (To the Messenger).
Had you come but one moment later, your journey would
have been in vain ; I was going, this very instant, to give
the girl up into this gentleman's hands ; but it is well, I
shall take great care of her. {Exit Messenger}. {To
Mascarille). You yourself have heard what this letter says,
so you may tell the person who sent you that I cannot
keep my word, and that he had better come and receive
his money back.

MASC. But the way you insult him . . .

TRUF. Go about your business, and no more words.

MASC. (Alone). Oh, what a curse that this letter came
now ! Fate is indeed against me. What bad luck for
this messenger to come from Spain when he was not
wanted ! May thunder and hail go with him ! Never,
certainly, had so happy a beginning such a sad ending in
so short a time.

SCENE XIV. — LELIO laughing, MASCARILLE.

MASC. What may be the cause of all this mirth ?

LEL. Let me have my laugh out before I tell you.

MASC. Let us laugh then heartily, we have abundant
cause so to do.

LEL. Oh ! I shall no longer be the object of your ex-
postulations : you who always reproach me shall no longer

SCENE xiv.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 35

say that I am marrying all your schemes, like a busy-body
as I am. I myself have played one of the cleverest tricks
in the world. It is true I am quick-tempered, and now
and then rather too hasty ; but yet, when I have a mind
to it, I can plan as many tricks as any man alive ; even
you shall own that what I have done shows an amount of
sharpness rarely to be met with.

MASC- Let us hear what tricks you have invented.

LEL. Just now, being terribly frightened on seeing
Trufaldin along with my rival, I was casting about to find
a remedy for that mischief, when, calling all my invention
to my aid, I conceived, digested, and perfected a stra-
tagem, before which all yours, however vain you may be
of them, ought undoubtedly to lower their colours.

MASC. But what may this be ?

LEL. May it please you to have a little patience. With-
out much delay I invented a letter, written by an imagi-
nary nobleman to Trufaldin, setting forth that, having
fortunately heard that a certain slave, who lives in the
latter's house, and is named Celia, was this grandee's
daughter formerly kidnapped by thieves, it was his inten-
tion to come and fetch her ; and he entreats him at least
to keep her and take great care of her ; for, that on her
account he was setting out from Spain, and would acknow-
ledge his civility by such handsome presents, that he
should never regret being the means of making him happy.

MASC. Mighty well.

LEL. Hear me out ; here is something much cleverer
still. The letter I speak of was delivered to him, but can
you imagine how ? Only just in time, for the messenger
told me, had it not been for this droll device, a fellow,
who looked very foolish, was waiting to carry her off that
identical moment.

MASC. And you did all this without the help of the devil ?

LEL. Yes. Would you have believed me capable of
such a subtle piece of wit ? At least praise my skill, and
the dexterity with which I have ^utterly disconcerted the
scheme of my rival.

MASC. To praise you as you deserve, I lack eloquence ;
and feel unequal to the task. Yes, sufficiently to com-
mend this lofty effort, this fine stratagem of war achieved

36 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTIH.

before our eyes, this grand and rare effect of a mind
which plans as many tricks as any man, which for smart-
ness yields to none alive, my tongue wants words. I
wish I had the abilities of the most refined scholars, so
that I might tell you in the noblest verse, or else in
learned prose, that you will always be, in spite of every-
thing that may be done, the very same you have been all
your life ; that is to say, a scatter-brain, a man of dis-
tempered reason, always perplexed, wanting common
sense, a man of left-handed judgment, a meddler, an ass, a
blundering, hare-brained, giddy fellow, — what can I think
of? A ... a hundred times worse than anything I can
say. This is only an abridgement of your panegyric.

LEL. Tell me, what puts you in such a passion with
me ? Have I done anything ? Clear up this matter.

MASC. No, you have done nothing at all ; but do not
come after me.

LEL. I will follow you all over the world to find out
this mystery.

MASC. Do so. Come on, then ; get your legs in order,
I shall give you an opportunity to exercise them.

LEL. (Alone). He has got away from me ! O misfortune
which cannot be allayed ! What am I to understand by
his discourse ? And what harm can I possibly have done
to myself?

ACT III.

SCENE I. — MASCARILLE, alone.16

Silence, my good nature, and plead no more; you are a
fool, and I am determined not to do it. Yes, my anger,
you are right, I confess it ! To be for ever doing what a
meddler undoes, is showing too much patience, and I ought
to give it up after the glorious attempts he has marred. But
let us argue the matter a little without passion ; if I should
now give way to my just impatience the world will say I
sank under difficulties, that my cunning was completely
exhausted. What then becomes of that public esteem,

16 Compare Launcelot Gobbo's speech about his conscience in Shak-
speare's Merchant of Venice (\\.z).

SCENB n.J OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 37

which extols you everywhere as a first-rate rogue, and
which you have acquired upon so many occasions, because
you never yet were found wanting in inventions? Honour,
Mascarille, is a fine thing : do not pause in your noble
labours ; and whatever a master may have done to incense
you, complete your work, for your own glory, and not to
oblige him. But what success can you expect, if you are
thus continually crossed by your evil genius ? You see he
compels you every moment to change your tone ; you may
as well hold water in a sieve as try to stop that resistless
torrent, which in a moment overturns the most beautiful
structures raised by your art. Well, once more, out of
kindness, and whatever may happen, let us take some pains,
even if they are in vain ; yet, if he still persists in baffling
my designs, then I shall withdraw all assistance. After all,
our affairs are not going on badly, if we could but supplant
our rival, and if Leander, at last weary of his pursuit,
would leave us one whole day for my intended operations.
Yes, I have a most ingenious plot in my head, from which
I expect a glorious success, if I had no longer that obstacle
in my way. Well, let us see if he still persists in his love.

SCENE II. — LEANDER, MASCARILLE.

MASC. Sir, I have lost my labour ; Trufaldin will not
keep his word.

LEAND. He himself has told me the whole affair ; but,
what is more, I have discovered that all this pretty rigma-
role about Celia being carried off by gypsies, and having
a great nobleman for her father, who is setting out from
Spain to come hither, is nothing but a mere stratagem, a
merry trick, a made-up story, a tale raised by Lelio to
prevent my buying Celia.

MASC. Here is roguery for you !

LEAND. And yet this ridiculous story has produced
such an impression on Trufaldin, and he has swallowed
the bait of this shallow device so greedilv, that he will not
allow himself to be undeceived.

MASC. So that henceforth he will watch her carefully.
I do not see we can do anything more.

LEAND. If at first I thought this girl amiable, I now
find her absolutely adorable, and I am in doubt whether I

38 THE BLUNDERER: [ACT m.

ought not to employ extreme measures to make her my
own, thwart her ill fortune by plighting her my troth, and
turn her present chains into matrimonial ones.

MASC. Would you marry her ?

LEAND. I am not yet determined, but if her origin is

somewhat obscure, her charms and her virtue are gentle at-

ractions, which have incredible force to allure every heart.

MASC. Did you not mention her virtue ?

LEAND. Ha! what is that you mutter? Out with it;
explain what you mean by repeating that word "virtue."

MASC. Sir, your countenance changes all of a sudden ;
perhaps I had much better hold my tongue.

LEAND. No, no, speak out.

MASC. Well, then, out of charity I will cure you of
your blindness. That girl. . . .

LEAND. Proceed.

MASC. So far from being merciless, makes no difficulty
in obliging some people in private ; you may believe me,
after all she is not stony-hearted, to any one who knows
how to take her in the right mood. She looks demure,
and would fain pass for a prude ; but I can speak of her
on sure grounds. You know I understand something of
the craft, and ought to know that kind of cattle.

LEAND. What ! Celia ? . . .

MASC. Yes, her modesty is nothing but a mere sham,
the semblance of a virtue which will never hold out, but
vanishes, as any one may discover, before the shining
rays11 emitted from a purse.

LEAND. Heavens ! What do you tell me ? Can I be-
lieve such words ?

MASC. Sir, there is no compulsion ; what does it matter
to me ? No, pray do not believe me, follow your own in-
clination, take the sly girl and marry her ; the whole city,
in a body, will acknowledge this favour ; you marry the
public good in her.

LEAND. What a strange surprise !

1T This is an allusion to the rays of the sun, placed above the crown,
and stamped on all golden crown-pieces, struck in France from Louis XI.
(November a, 1475) until the end of the reign of Louis XIII. These
crowns were called ecus au soleil. Louis XIV. took much later for his
device the sun shining in full, with the motto, Nee pluribvs imfar.

SCENE in.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 39

MASC. (Aside). He has taken the bait. Courage, my
lad ; if he does but swallow it in good earnest, we shall
have got rid of a very awkward obstruction on our path.

LEAND. This astonishing account nearly kills me.

MASC. What ! Can you . . .

LEAND. Go to the post-office, and see if there is a letter
for me. (Alone, and for a while lost in thought). Who
would not have been imposed upon ? If what he says
be true, then there never was any countenance more de-
ceiving.

SCENE III. — LELIO, LEANDER.

LEL. What may be the cause of your looking so sad ?

LEAND. Who, I?

LEL. Yes, yourself.

LEAND. I have, however, no occasion to be so.

LEL. I see well enough what it is ; Celia is the cause
of it.

LEAND. My mind does not run upon such trifles.

LEL. And yet you had formed some grand scheme to
get her into your hands ; but you must speak thus, as your
stratagem has miscarried.

LEAND. Were I fool enough to be enamoured of her, I
should laugh at all your finesse.

LEL. What finesse, pray ?

LEAND. Good Heavens ! sir, we know all.

LEL. All what?

LEAND. All your actions, from beginning to end.

LEL. This is all Greek to me ; I do not understand one
word of it.

LEAND. Pretend, if you please, not to understand me ;
but believe me, do not apprehend that I shall take a pro-
perty which I should be sorry to dispute with you. I
adore a beauty who has not been sullied, and do not wish
to love a depraved woman.

LEL. Gently, gently, Leander.

LEAND. Oh ! how credulous you are ! I tell you once
more, you may attend on her now without suspecting
anybody. You may call yourself a lady-killer. It is true,
her beauty is very uncommon, but, to make amends for
that, the rest is common enough.

40 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT HI.

LEL. Leander, no more of this provoking language.
Strive against me as much as you like in order to obtain
her ; but, above all things, do not traduce her so vilely.
I should consider myself a great coward if I could tamely
submit to hear my earthly deity slandered. I can much
better bear your rivalry than listen to any speech that
touches her character.

LEAND. What I state here I have from very good au-
thority.

LEL. Whoever told you so is a scoundrel and a rascal.
Nobody can discover the least blemish in this young lady ;
I know her heart well.

LEAND. But yet Mascarille is a very competent judge in
such a cause ; he thinks her guilty.

LEL. He?

LEAND. He himself.

LEL. Does he pretend impudently to slander a most
respectable young lady, thinking, perhaps, I should only
laugh at it ? I will lay you a wager he eats his words.

LEAND. I will lay you a wager he does not.

LEL. 'Sdeath ! I would break every bone in his body
should he dare to assert such lies to me.

LEAND. And I will crop his ears, if he does not prove
every syllable he has told me.

SCENE IV. — LELIO, LEANDER, MASCARILLE.

LEL. Oh ! that's lucky ; there he is. Come hither, cur-
sed hangdog !

MASC. What is the matter ?

LEL. You serpent's tongue ! so full of lies ! dare you
fasten your stings on Celia, and slander the most consum-
mate virtue that ever added lustre to misfortune ?

MASC. (In a whisper to Lelio). Gently ; I told him so
on purpose.

LEL. No, no ; none of your winking, and none of your
jokes. I am blind and deaf to all you do or say. If it
were my own brother he should pay dear for it ; for to
dare defame her whom I adore is to wound me in the most
tender part. You make all these signs in vain. What
was it you said to him ?

SCBNB iv.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 41

MASC. Good Heavens ! do not quarrel, or I shall leave
you.

LEL. You shall not stir a step.

MASC. Oh!

LEL. Speak then ; confess.

MASC. {Whispering to Lelio}. Let me alone. I tell
you it is a stratagem.

LEL. Make haste ; what was it you said ? Clear up
this dispute between us.

MASC. (/« a whisper to Lelid). I said what I said. Pray
do not put yourself in a passion.

LEL. {Drawing his sword}. I shall make you talk in
another strain.

LEAND. (Stopping him). Stay your hand a little ; mode-
rate your ardour.

MASC. (Aside). Was there ever in the world a creature
so dull of understanding?

LEL. Allow me to wreak my just vengeance on him.

LEAND. It is rather too much to wish to chastise him in
my presence.

LEL. What ! have I no right, then, to chastise my own
servant ?

LEAND. What do you mean by saying "your servant ?"

MASC. (Aside}. He is at it again ! He will discover all.

LEL. Suppose I had a mind to thrash him within an
inch of his life, what then ? He is my own servant.

LEAND. At present he is mine.

LEL. That is an admirable joke. How comes he to be
yours ? Surely . . .

MASC. (In a whisper). Gently.

LEL. What are you whispering ?

MASC. (Aside}. Oh! the confounded blockhead. He
is going to spoil everything, He understands not one of
my signs.

LEL. You are dreaming, Leander. You are telling me
a pretty story ! Is he not my servant ?

LEAND. Did you not discharge him from your service
for some fault ?

LEL. I do not know what this means.

LEAND. And did you not, in the violence of your pas-
sion, make his back smart most unmercifully ?

42 • THE BLUNDERER : [ACT m.

LEL. No such thing. I discharge him ! cudgel him !
Either you make a jest of me, Leander, or he has been
making a jest of you.

MASC. (Aside). Go on, go on, numskull ; you will do
your own business effectually.

LEAND. (To Mascarille). Then all this cudgelling is
purely imaginary ?

MASC. He does not know what he says ; his memory . . .

LEAND. No, no ; all these signs do not look well for
you. I suspect some prettily contrived trick here ; but
for the ingenuity of the invention, go your ways, I forgive
you. It is quite enough that I am undeceived, and see
HOW why you imposed upon me. I come off cheap, be-
cause I. trusted myself to your hypocritical zeal. A word
to the wise is enough. Farewell, Lelio, farewell ; your
most obedient servant.

SCENE V. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

MASC. Take courage, my boy, may fortune ever attend
us ! Let us draw and bravely take the field ; let us act
Olibrius, the slayer of the innocents™

LEL. He accused you of slandering . .

MASC. And you could not let the artifice pass, nor let
him remain in his error, which did you good service, and
which pretty nearly extinguished his passion. No, honest
soul, he cannot bear dissimulation. I cunningly get a foot'
ing at his rival's, who, like a dolt, was going to place his
mistress in my hands, but he, Lelio, prevents me getting
hold of her by a fictitious letter ; I try to abate the passion
of his rival, my hero presently comes and undeceives him.
In vain I make signs to him, and show him it was all a
contrivance of mine ; it signifies nothing ; he continues
to the end, and never rests satisfied till he has discovered
all. Grand and sublime effect of a mind which is not in-
ferior to any man living ! It is an exquisite piece, and
worthy, in troth, to be made a present of to the king's
private museum.

LEL. I am not surprised that I do not come up to your

18 Olibrius was, according to ancient legends, a Roman governor ol
Gaul, in the time of the Emperor Decius, very cruel, and a great boaster.

SCBNK v.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 43

expectations ; if 1 am not acquainted with the designs
you are setting on foot, I shall be for ever making mis-
takes.

MASC. So much the worse.

LEL. At least, if you would be justly angry with me,
give me a little insight into your plan ; but if I am kept
ignorant of every contrivance, I must always be caught
napping.19

MASC. I believe you would make a very good fencing-
master, because you are so skilful at making feints, and at
parrying of a thrust.20

LEL. Since the thing is done, let us think no more
about it. My rival, however, will not have it in his
power to cross me, and provided you will but exert your
skill, in which I trust . . .

MASC. Let us drop this discourse, and talk of something
else ; I am not so easily pacified, not I ; I am in too great
a passion for that. In the first place, you must do me a
service, and then we shall see whether I ought to under-
take the management of your amours.

LEL. If it only depends on that, I will do it ! Tell me,
have you need of my blood, of my sword ?

MASC. How crack-brained he is! You are just like
those swashbucklers who are always more ready to draw
their sword than to produce a tester, if it were necessary
to give it.

LEL. What can I do, then, for you?

19 The original is, je suis pris sans vert, ''I am taken without green,"
because in the month of May, in some parts of France, there is a game
which binds him or her who is taken without a green leaf about them to
pay a forfeit.

*° In the original we find prendre les contretemps, and rompre les
mesures. In a little and very curious book, "The Scots Fencing Master,
or Compleat Smal-Sword Man," printed in Edinburgh 1687, and written
by Sir William Hope of Kirkliston, the contre-temps is said to be : "When
a man thrusts without having a good opportunity, or when he thrusts at
the same time his adversarie thrusts, and that each of them at that time
receive a thrust." Breaking of measure is, according to the same booklet,
done thus: "When you perceive your adversary thrusting at you, and
you are not very certain of the parade, then break his measure, or make
his thrust short of you, by either stepping a foot or half a foot back, with
the single stepp, for if you judge your adversaiy's distance or measure
well, half a foot will break his measure as well as ten ells."

44 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT „,.

MASC. You must, without delay, endeavour to appease
your father's anger.

LEL. We have become reconciled already.

MASC. Yes, but I am not ; I killed him this morning
for your sake ; the very idea of it shocks him. Those
sorts of jokes are severely felt by such old fellows as he,
which, much against their will, make them reflect sadly on
the near approach of death. The good sire, notwith-
standing his age, is very fond of life, and cannot bear
jesting upon that subject ; he is alarmed at the prognosti-
cation, and so very angry that I hear he has lodged a com-
plaint against me. I am afraid that if I am once housed
at the expense of the king, I may like it so well after the
first quarter of an hour, that I shall find it very difficult
afterwards to get away. There have been several warrants
out against me this good while ; for virtue is always envied
and persecuted in this abominable age. Therefore go and
make my peace with your father.

LEL. Yes, I shall soften his anger, but you must promise
me then . . .

MASC. We shall see what there is to be done. (Exit
Lelio). Now, let us take a little breath after so many
fatigues; let us stop for a while the current of our in-
trigues, and not move about hither and thither as if we
were hobgoblins. Leander cannot hurt us now, and Celia
cannot be removed, through the contrivance of ...

SCENE VI. — ERGASTE, MASCARILLE.

ERG. I was looking for you everywhere to render you a
service. I have a secret of importance to disclose.

MASC. What may that be ?

ERG. Can no one overhear us?

MASC. Not a soul.

ERG. We are as intimate as two people can be ; I am
acquainted with all your projects, and the love of your
master. Mind what you are about by and by; Leander
has formed a plot to carry off Celia ; I have been told he
has arranged everything, and designs to get into Trufal-
din's house in disguise, having heard that at this time of
the year some ladies of the neighbourhood often visit him
in the evening in masks.

SCENE vin. J OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 45

MASC. Ay, well ! He has not yet reached the height of
his happiness; I may perhaps be beforehand with him;
and as to this thrust, I know how to give him a counter-
thrust, by which he may run himself through. He is not
aware with what gifts I am endowed. Farewell, we shall
take a cup together next time we meet.

SCENE VII. — MASCARILLE, alone.

We must, we must reap all possible benefit from this
amorous scheme, and by a dexterous and uncommon
counterplot endeavour to make the success our own, with-
out any danger. If I put on a mask and be beforehand
with Leander, he will certainly not laugh at us ; if we
take the prize ere he comes up, he will have paid for us
the expenses of the expedition ; for, as his project has
already become known, suspicion will fall upon him ; and
we, being safe from all pursuit, need not fear the conse-
quences of that dangerous enterprise Thus we shall not
show ourselves, but use a cat's paw to take the chesnuts
out of the fire. Now, then, let us go and disguise our-
selves with some good fellows ; we must not delay if we
wish to be beforehand with our gentry. I love to strike
while the iron is hot, and can, without much difficulty,
provide in one moment men and dresses. Depend upon
it, I do not let my skill lie dormant. If Heaven has en-
dowed me with the gift of knavery, I am not one of those
degenerate minds who hide the talents they have received.

SCENE VIII. — LELIO, ERGASTE.

LEL. He intends to carry her off during a masquerade !

ERG. There is nothing more certain ; one of his band
informed me of his design, upon which I instantly ran to
Mascarille and told him the whole affair ; he said he would
spoil their sport by some counter-scheme which he planned
in an instant ; so meeting with you by chance, I thought
I ought to let you know the whole.

LEL. I am very much obliged to you for this piece of
news ; go, I shall not forget this faithful service.

[JSxt't Ergaste.

46 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT in.

SCENE IX. — LELIO, alone.

My rascal will certainly play them some trick or other ;
but I, too, have a mind to assist him in his project. It
shall never be said that, in a business which so nearly
concerns me, I stirred no more than a post ; this is the
time ; they will be surprised at the sight of me. Why did
I not take my blunderbuss with me ? But let anybody
attack me who likes, I have two good pistols and a trusty
sword. So ho ! within there ; a word with you.

SCENE X. — TRUFALDIN at his window, LELIO.

TRUF. What is the matter ? Who comes to pay me a
visit ?

LEL. Keep your door carefully shut to-night.

TRUF. Why?

LEL. There are certain people coming masked to give
you a sorry kind of serenade ; they intend to carry off
Celia.

TRUF. Good Heavens !

LEL. No doubt they will soon be here. Keep where
you are, you may see everything from your window.
Hey ! Did I not tell you so ? Do you not see them
already? Hist! I will affront them before your face.
We shall see some fine fun, if they do not give way.21

SCENE XL — LELIO, TRUFALDIN, MASCARILLE, and his
company masked,

TRUF. Oh, the funny blades, who think to surprise me.

LEL. Maskers, whither so fast ? Will you let me into
the secret ? Trufaldin, pray open the door to these gentry,
that they may challenge us fora throw with the dice.22 ( To

21This is one of the passages of Moliere about which commentators
do not agree; the original is, nous aliens -voir beau jeu, st la corde ne
rompt. Some maintain that corde refers to the tight rope of a rope
dancer; others that corde means the string of a bow, as in the phrase
avoir deux cordes a son arc, to have two strings (resources) to one's
bow. Mons. Eugene Despois, in his carefully edited edition of Moliere,
(i., 187), defends the latter reading, and I agree with him.

22 The original has jouer un momon. Guy Miege, in his Dictionary of
barbarous French, London, 1679, has "Mammon, a mummer, also a com-
pany of mummers ; also a visard, or mask ; also a let by a mummer at
dice."

SCBNK XHI.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 47

Mascarille, disguised as a woman). Good Heavens ! What
a pretty creature ! What a darling she looks ! How now !
What are you mumbling? Without offence, may I re-
move your mask and see your face.

TRUF. Hence ! ye wicked rogues ; begone, ye raga-
muffins ! And you, sir, good night, and many thanks.

SCENE XII. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

LEL. {After having taken the mask from Mascarille' s
face). Mascarille, is it you ?

MASC. No, not at all ; it is somebody else.

LEL. Alas ! How astonished I am ! How adverse is
our fate ! Could I possibly have guessed this, as you did
not secretly inform me that you were going to disguise
yourself? Wretch that I am, thoughtlessly to play you
such a trick, while you wore this mask. I am in an awful
passion with myself, and have a good mind to give myself
a sound beating.

MASC. Farewell, most refined wit, unparalleled inventive
genius.

LEL. Alas ! If your anger deprives me of your assist-
ance, what saint shall I invoke ?

MASC. Beelzebub.

LEL. Ah ! If your heart is not made of stone or iron,
do once more at least forgive my imprudence ; if it is
necessary to be pardoned that I should kneel before you,
behold . . .

MASC. Fiddlesticks ! Come, my boys, let us away ; I
hear some other people coming closely behind us.

SCENE XIII. — LEANDER and his company masked;
TRUFALDIN at the window.

LEAND. Softly, let us do nothing but in the gentlest
manner.

TRUF. {At the window). How is this? What ! mum-
mers besieging my door all night. Gentlemen, do not
catch a cold gratuitously ; every one who is catching it
here must have plenty of time to lose. It is rather a little
too late to take Celia along with you ; she begs you will
excuse her to-night ; the girl is in bed and cannot speak
to you ; I am very sorry ; but to repay you for all the

48 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTW.

trouble you have taken for her sake, she begs you will be
pleased to accept this pot of perfume.

LEAND. Faugh ! That does not smell nicely. My
clothes are all spoiled ; we are discovered ; let us be gone
this way.

ACT IV.
SCENE I. — LELIO, disguised as an Armenian; MASCARILLE.

MASC. You are dressed in a most comical fashion.

LEL. I had abandoned all hope, but you have revived
it again by this contrivance.

MASC. My anger is always too soon over ; it is vain to
swear and curse, I can never keep to my oaths.

LEL. Be assured that if ever it lies in my power you
shall be satisfied with the proofs of my gratitude, and
though I had but one piece of bread . . .

MASC. Enough: Study well this new project; for if
you commit now any blunder, you cannot lay the blame
upon ignorance of the plot ; you ought to know your part
in the play perfectly by heart.

LEL. But how did Trufaldin receive you ?

MASC. I cozened the good fellow with a pretended zeal
for his interests. I went with alacrity to tell him that,
unless he took very great care, some people would come
and surprise him ; that from different quarters they had
designs upon her of whose origin a letter had given a false
account ; that they would have liked to draw me in for a
share in the business, but that I kept well out of it ; and
that, being full of zeal for what so nearly concerned him,
I came to give him timely notice that he might take his
precautions. Then, moralizing, I discoursed solemnly
about the many rogueries one sees every day here below ;
that, as for me, being tired with the world and its in-
famies, I wished to work out my soul's salvation, retire
from all its noise, and live with some worthy honest man,
with whom I could spend the rest of my days in peace ;
that, if he had no objection, I should desire nothing more
than to pass the remainder of my life with him ; that I
had taken such a liking to him, that, without asking for
any wages to serve him, I was ready to place in his hands,
knowing it to be safe there, some property my father had

SCKNBI.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 49

left me, as well as my savings, which I was fully deter-
mined to leave to him alone, if it pleased Heaven to take
me hence. That was the right way to gain his affection.
You and your beloved should decide what means to use to
attain your wishes. I was anxious to arrange a secret
interview between you two ; he himself has contrived to
show me a most excellent method, by which you may
fairly and openly stay in her house. Happening to talk
to me about a son he had lost, and whom he dreamt last
night had come to life again, he told me the following
story, upon which, just now, I founded my stratagem.

LEL. Enough ; I know it all ; you have told it me
twice already.23

MASC. Yes, yes ; but even if I should tell it thrice, it
may happen still, that with all your conceit, you might
break down in some minor detail.

LEL. I long to be at it already.

MASC. Pray, not quite so fast, for fear we might stumble.
Your skull is rather thick, therefore you should be per-
fectly well instructed in your part. Some time ago
Trufaldin left Naples; his name was then Zanobio Ruberti.
Being suspected in his native town of having participated
in a certain rebellion, raised by some political faction
(though really he is not a man to disturb any state), he
was obliged to quit it stealthily by night, leaving behind
him his daughter, who was very young, and his wife.
Some time afterwards he received the news that they were
both dead, and in this perplexity, wishing to take with
him to some other town, not only his property, but also
the only one who was left of all his family, his young son,
a schoolboy, called Horatio, he wrote to Bologna, where
a certain tutor, named Alberto, had taken the boy when
very young, to finish there his education ; but though for
two whole years he appointed several times to meet them,
they never made their appearance. Believing them to be

m Though Lelio says to Mascarille, " Enough, I know it all," he has
not been listening to the speech of his servant, but, in the meanwhile, is
arranging his dress, and smoothing his ruffles, and making it clear to the
spectator that he knows nothing, and that he will be a bad performer of
the part assigned to him. This explains the blunders he makes afterwards
in the second and fifth scenes of the same act.

VOL. I. j

50 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT ,v.

dead, after so long a time, he came to this city, where he
took the name he now bears, without for twelve years
ever having discovered any traces of this Alberto, or of
his son Horatio. This is the substance of the story, which
I have repeated so that you may better remember the
groundwork of the plot. Now, you are to personate an
Armenian merchant, who has seen them both safe and
sound in Turkey. If I have invented this scheme, in
preference to any other, of bringing them to life again
according to his dream, it is because it is very common
in adventures for people to be taken at sea by some
Turkish pirate, and afterwards restored to their families
in the very nick of time, when thought lost for fifteen or
twenty years. For my part, I have heard a hundred of
that kind of stories. Without giving ourselves the trouble
of inventing something fresh, let us make use of this one ;
what does it matter ? You must say you heard the story
of their being made slaves from their own mouths, and
also that you lent them money to pay their ransom ; but
that as urgent business obliged you to set out before them,
Horatio asked you to go and visit his father here, whose
adventures he was acquainted with, and with whom you
were to stay a few days till their arrival. I have given you
a long lesson now.

LEL. These repetitions are superfluous. From the very
beginning I understood it all.

MASC. I shall go in and prepare the way.

LEL. Listen, Mascarille, there is only one thing that
troubles me ; suppose he should ask me to describe his
son's countenance ?

MASC. There is no difficulty in answering that ! You
know he was very little when he saw him last. Besides it
is very likely that increase of years and slavery have com-
pletely changed him.

LEL. That is true. But pray, if he should remember
my face, what must I do then ?

MASC. Have you no memory at all ? I told you just
now, that he has merely seen you for a minute, that there-
fore you could only have produced a very transient im-
pression on his mind ; besides, your beard and dress dis-
guise you completely.

SCBNB HI.J OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 5 1

LSL. Very well. But, now I think of it, what part of
Turkey . . . ?

MASC. It is all the same, I tell you, Turkey or Barbary.

LEL. But what is the name of the town I saw them in ?

MASC. Tunis. I think he will keep me till night. He
tells me it is useless to repeat that name so often, and I have
already mentioned it a dozen times.

LEL. Go, go in and prepare matters ; I want nothing
more.

MASC. Be cautious at least, and act wisely. Let us have
none of your inventions here.

LEL. Let me alone ! Trust to me, I say, once more.

MASC. Observe, Horatio, a schoolboy in Bologna ; Tru-
faldin, his true name Zanobio Ruberti, a citizen of Naples ;
the tutor was called Alberto . . .

LEL. You make me blush by preaching so much to me ;
do you think I am a fool ?

MASC. No, not completely, but something very like it.

SCENE II. — LELIO, alone.

When I do not stand in need of him he cringes, but now,
because he very well knows of how much use he is to me,
his familiarity indulges in such remarks as he just now
made. I shall bask in the sunshine of those beautiful
eyes, which hold me in so sweet a captivity, and, without
hindrance, depict in the most glaring colours the tortures
I feel. I shall then know my fate. . . . But here they1
are.

SCENE III. — TRUFALDIN, LELIO, MASCARILLE.

TRUF. Thanks, righteous heaven, for this favourable
turn of my fortune !

MASC. You are the man to see visions and dream
dreams, since you prove how untrue is the saying that
dreams are falsehoods. 24

TRUF. How can I thank you ? what returns can I make
you, sir ? You, whom I ought to style the messenger sent
from Heaven to announce my happiness !

24 In French there is a play on words between songes, dreams, and
mensonges, falsehoods, which cannot be rendered into English.

52 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT iv.

LEL. These compliments are superfluous ; I can dis-
pense with them.

TRUF. {To Mascarille). I have seen somebody like
this Armenian, but I do not know where.

MASC. That is what I was saying, but one sees surpris-
ing likenesses sometimes.

TRUF. You have seen that son of mine, in whom all my
hopes are centred ?

LEL. Yes, Signer Trufaldin, and he was as well as well
can be.

TRUF. He related to you his life and spoke much about
me, did he not ?

LEL. More than ten thousand times.

MASC. (Aside to Lelio}. Not quite so much, I should
say.

LEL. He described you just as I see you, your face, your
gait.

TRUF. Is that possible ? He has not seen me since he
was seven years old. And even his tutor, after so long a
time, would scarcely know my face again.

MASC. One's own flesh and blood never forget the
image of one's relations; this likeness is imprinted so
deeply, that my father . . .

TRUF. Hold your tongue. Where was it you left him?

LEL. In Turkey, at Turin.

TRUF. Turin ! but I thought that town was in Pied-
mont.

MASC. (Aside). Oh the dunce ! (To Trufaldin). You
do not understand him ; he means Tunis ; it was in re-
ality there he left your son ; but the Armenians always
have a certain vicious pronunciation, which seems very
harsh to us ; the reason of it is because in all their words
they change nis into rin; and so, instead of saying Tunis,
they pronounce Turin.

TRUF. I ought to know this in order to understand him.
Did he tell you in what way you could meet with his
father ?

MASC. (Aside}. What answer will he give?25 (To

46 Trufaldin having found out that Mascarille makes signs to his mas-
ter, the servant pretends to fence.

SCENE in.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 53

Trufaldin, after pretending to fence). I was just practising
some passes ; I have handled the foils in many a fencing
school.

TRUF. {To Mascarille). That is not the thing I wish to
know now. {To Lelio). What other name did he say I
went by ?

MASC. Ah, Signer Zanobio Ruberti. How glad you
ought to be for what Heaven sends you !

LEL. That is your real name ; the other is assumed.

TRUF. But where did he tell you he first saw the light?

MASC. Naples seems a very nice place, but you must
feel a decided aversion to it.

TRUF. Can you not let us go on with our conversation,
without interrupting us ?

LEL. Naples is the place where he first drew his breath.

TRUF. Whither did I send him in his infancy, and
under whose care ?

MASC. That poor Albert behaved very well, for having
accompanied your son from Bologna, whom you com-
mitted to his care.

TRUF. Pshaw !

MASC. (Aside). We are undone if this conversation
lasts long.

TRUF. I should very much like to know their adven-
tures ; aboard what ship did my adverse fate . . . ?

MASC. I do not know what is the matter with me, I do
nothing but yawn. But, Signer Trufaldin, perhaps this
stranger may want some refreshment ; besides, it grows
late.

LEL. No refreshment for me.

MASC. Oh sir, you are more hungry than you imagine.

TRUF. Please to walk in then.

LEL. After you, sir.26

MASC. (To Trufaldin). Sir, in Armenia, the masters
of the house use no ceremony. ( To Lelio, after Trufaldin
has gone in). Poor fellow, have you not a word to say for
yourself?

28 It shows that Lelio knows not what he is about when he does the
honours of the house to the master of the house himself, and forgets that
as a stranger he ought to go in first.

54 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT IV.

LEL. He surprised me at first ; but never fear, I have
rallied my spirits, and am going to rattle away boldly . .

MASC. Here comes our rival, who knows nothing of
our plot. {They go into Trufaldiri 's house).

SCENE IV. — ANSELMO, LEANDER.

ANS. Stay, Leander, and allow me to tell you something
which concerns your peace and reputation. I do not
speak to you as the father of Hippolyta, as a man inter-
ested for my own family, but as your father, anxious for
your welfare, without wishing to flatter you or to disguise
anything ; in short, openly and honestly, as I would wish
a child of mine to be treated upon the like occasion. Do
you know how everybody regards this amour of yours,
which in one night has burst forth ? How your yester-
day's undertaking is everywhere talked of and ridiculed ?
What people think of the whim which, they say, has made
you select for a wife a gipsy outcast, a strolling wench,
whose noble occupation was only begging? I really
blushed for you, even more than I did for myself, who am
also compromised by this public scandal. Yes, I am com-
promised, I say, I whose daughter, being engaged to you,
cannot bear to see her slighted, without taking offence at
it. For shame, Leander ; arise from your humiliation ;
consider well your infatuation ; if none of us are wise at
all times, yet the shortest errors are always the best.
When a man receives no dowry with his wife, but beauty
only, repentance follows soon after wedlock ; and the
handsomest woman in the world ; can hardly defend her-
self against a lukewarmness caused by possession. I re-
peat it, those fervent raptures, those youthful ardours and
ecstacies, may make us pass a few agreeable nights, but
this bliss is not at all lasting, and as our passions grow
cool, very unpleasant days follow those pleasant nights ;
hence proceed cares, anxieties, miseries, sons disinherited
through their fathers' wrath.

LEAND. All that I now hear from you is no more than
what my own reason has already suggested to me. I know
how much I am obliged to you for the great honour you
are inclined to pay me, and of which I am unworthy. In
spite of the passion which sways me, I have ever retained

SCENE v.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 5 5

a just sense of your daughter's merit and virtue: therefore
I will endeavour . . .

ANS. Somebody is opening this door ; let us retire to
a distance, lest some contagion spreads from it, which may
attack you suddenly.

SCENE V. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

MASC. We shall soon see our roguery miscarry if you
persist in such palpable blunders.

LEL. Must I always hear your reprimands ? What
can you complain of? Have I not done admirably
since . . . ?

MASC. Only middling ; for example, you called the
Turks heretics, and you affirmed, on your corporal oath,
that they worshipped the sun and moon as their gods. Let
that pass. What vexes me most is that, when you are with
Celia, you strangely forget yourself; your love is like por-
ridge, which by too fierce a fire swells, mounts up to the
brim, and runs over everywhere.

LEL. Could any one be more reserved ? As yet I have
hardly spoken to her.

MASC. You are right ! but it is not enough to be silent ;
you had not been a moment at table till your gestures
roused more suspicion than other people would have ex-
cited in a whole twelvemonth.

LEL. How so ?

MASC. How so ? Everybody might have seen it. At
table, where Trufaldin made her sit down, you never kept
your eyes off her, blushed, looked quite silly, cast sheep's
eyes at her, without ever minding what you were helped
to ; you were never thirsty but when she drank, and took
the glass eagerly from her hands ; and without rinsing it,
or throwing a drop of it away, you drank what she left in
it, and seemed to choose in preference that side of the
glass which her lips had touched ; upon every piece which
her slender hand had touched, or which she had bit, you
laid your paw as quickly as a cat does upon a mouse, and
you swallowed it as glibly as if you were a regular glutton.
Then, besides all this, you made an intolerable noise,
shuffling with your feet under the table, for which Tru-
faldin, who received two lusty kicks, twice punished a

$6 THE BLUNDERER: fAcnv.

couple of innocent dogs, who would have growled at you
if they dared ; and yet, in spite of all this, you say you
behaved finely ! For my part I sat upon thorns all the
time ; notwithstanding the cold, I feel even now in a per-
spiration. I hung over you just as a bowler does over his
bowl after he has thrown it, and thought to restrain your
actions by contorting my body ever so many times.

LEL. Lack-a day ! how easy it is for you to condemn
things of which you do not feel the enchanting cause. In
order to humour you for once I have, nevertheless, a good
mind to put a restraint upon that love which sways me.
Henceforth . . .

SCENE VI. — TRUFALDIN, LELIO, MASCARILLE.

MASC. We were speaking about your son's adventures.

TRUF. (To Lelio). You did quite right. Will you do
me the favour of letting me have one word in private
with him ?

LEL. I should be very rude if I did not. (Lelio goes
into Trufaldiri s House}.

SCENE VII. — TRUFALDIN, MASCARILLE.

TRUF. Hark ye ! do you know what I have just been
doing ?

MASC. No, but if you think it proper, I shall certainly
not remain long in ignorance.

TRUF. I have just now cut off from a large and sturdy
oak, of about two hundred years old, an admirable branch,
selected on purpose, of tolerable thickness, of which im-
mediately, upon the spot, I made a cudgel, about . . .
yes, of this size (showing his arm) ; not so thick at one
end as at the other, but fitter, I imagine, than thirty
switches to belabour the shoulders withal ; for it is well
poised, green, knotty, and heavy.

MASC. But, pray, for whom is all this preparation ?

TRUF. For yourself, first of all ; then, secondly, for that
fellow, who wishes to palm one person upon me, and trick
me out of another ; for this Armenian, this merchant in
disguise, introduced by a lying and pretended story.

MASC. What ! you do not believe . . . ?

TRUF. Do not try to find an excuse ; he himself, fortu-

SCENE vin.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 57

nately, discovered his own stratagem, by telling Celia,
whilst he squeezed her hand at the same time, that it was
for her sake alone he came disguised in this manner. He
did not perceive Jeannette, my little god-daughter, who
overheard every word he said. Though your name was
not mentioned, I do not doubt but you are a cursed
accomplice in all this.

MASC. Indeed, you wrong me. If you are really de-
ceived, believe me I was the first imposed upon with his
story.

TRUF. Would you convince me you speak the truth ?
Assist me in giving him a sound drubbing, and in driving
him away ; let us give it the rascal well, and then I will
acquit you of all participation in this piece of rascality.

MASC. Ay, ay, with all my soul. I will dust his jacket
for him so soundly, that you shall see I had no hand in
this matter. (Aside}. Ah ! you shall have a good lick-
ing, Mister Armenian, who always spoil everything.

SCENE VIII. — LELIO, TRUFALDIN, MASCARILLE.

TRUF. (Knocks at his door, and then addresses Lelio}. A
word with you, if you please. So, Mr. Cheat, you have
the assurance to fool a respectable man, and make game of
him ?

MASC. To pretend to have seen his son abroad, in order
to get the more easily into his house !

TRUF. (Beating JLelio). Go away, go away immedi-
ately.

LEL. ( To Mascarille, who beats him likewise). Oh ! you
scoundrel !

MASC It is thus that rogues . . .

LEL. Villain !

MASC. Are served here. Keep that for my sake !

LEL. What ? Is a gentleman . . . ?

MASC. (Beating him and driving him off}. March off,
begone, I tell you, or I shall break all the bones in your
body.

TRUT. I am delighted with this ; come in, I am satis-
fied. {Mascarille follows Trufaldin into his house}.

LEL. (Returning) This to me ! To be thus affronted

58 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT ,v.

by a servant ! Could I have thought the wretch would
have dared thus to ill-treat his master ?

MASC. (from Trufaldin's window}. May I take the
liberty to ask how your shoulders are ?

LEL. What ! Have you the impudence still to address me?

MASC. Now see what it is not to have perceived Jean-
nette, and to have always a blabbing tongue in your head !
However, this time I am not angry with you, I have done
cursing and swearing at you j though you behaved very
imprudently, yet my hand has made your shoulders pay
for your fault.

LEL. Ha ! I shall be revenged on you for your treach-
erous behaviour.

MASC. You yourself were the cause of all this mischief.

LEL. I?

MASC. If you had had a grain of sense when you were
talking to your idol you would have perceived Jeannette
at your heels, whose sharp ears overheard the whole affair.

LEL. Could anybody possibly catch one word I spoke
to Celia ?

MASC. And what else was the cause why you were sud-
denly turned out of doors ? Yes, you are shut out by your
own tittle-tattle. I do not know whether you play often
at piquet, but you at least throw your cards away in an
admirable manner.

LEL. Oh ! I am the most unhappy of all men. But
why did you drive me away also ?

MASC. I never did better than in acting thus. By these
means, at least, I prevent all suspicion of my being the in-
ventor or an accomplice of this stratagem.

LEL. But you should have laid it on more gently.

MASC. I was no such fool ! Trufaldin watched me most
narrowly ; besides, I must tell you, under the pretence of
being of use to you, I was not at all displeased to vent my
spleen. However, the thing is done, and if you will give
me your word of honour, never, directly or indirectly, to
be revenged on me for the blows on the back I so heartily
gave you, I promise you, by the help of my present sta-
tion, to satisfy your wishes within these two nights.

LEL. Though you have treated me very harshly, yet
what would not such a promise prevail upon me to do ?

SCBNB ix.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 59

MASC. You promise, then?

LEL. Yes, I do.

MASC. But that is not all ; promise never to meddle in
anything I take in hand.

LEL. I do.

MASC. If you break your word may you get the cold
shivers !

LEL. Then keep it with me, and do not forget my un-
easiness.

MASC. Go and change your dress, and rub something
on your back.

LEL. (Alone). Will ill-luck always follow me, and heap
upon me one misfortune after another ?

MASC. (Coming out of Trufaldirt s house). What! Not
gone yet ? Hence immediately ; but, above all, be sure
you don't trouble your head about any thing. Be satis-
fied, that I am on your side ; do not make the least at-
tempt to assist me ; remain quiet.

LEL. ( Going). ' Yes, to be sure, I will remain quiet.

MASC. (Alone). Now let me see what course I am to
steer.

SCENE IX. — ERGASTE, MASCARILLE.

ERG. Mascarille, I come to tell you a piece of news,
which will give a cruel blow to your projects. At the
very moment I am talking to you, a young gipsy, who
nevertheless is no black, and looks like a gentleman, has
arrived with a very wan -looking old woman, and is to call
•upon Trufaldin to purchase the slave you wished to re-
deem. He seems to be very anxious to get possession of
her.

MASC. Doubtless it is the lover Celia spoke about.
Were ever fortunes so tangled as ours ? No sooner have
we got rid of one trouble than we fall into another. In vain
do we hear that Leander intends to abandon his pursuit,
and to give us no further trouble; that the unexpected
arrival of his father has turned the scales in favour of
Hippolyta; that the old gentleman has employed his
parental authority to make a thorough change, and
that the marriage contract is going to be signed this
very day ; as soon as one rival withdraws, another and a

60 THE BLUNDERER: [AC-TV.

more dangerous one starts up to destroy what little hope
there was left. However, by a wonderful stratagem, I
believe I shall be able to delay their departure and gain
what time I want to put the finishing stroke to this famous
affair. A great robbery has lately been committed, by
whom, nobody knows. These gipsies have not generally
the reputation of being very honest ; upon this slight sus-
picion, I will cleverly get the fellow imprisoned for a few
days. I know some officers of justice, open to a bribe,
who will not hesitate on such an occasion ; greedy and ex-
pecting some present, there is nothing they will not
attempt with their eyes shut; be the accused ever so
innocent, the purse is always criminal, and must pay for
the offence.

ACT V.
SCENE I. — MASCARILLE, ERGASTE.

MASC. Ah blockhead ! numskull ! idiot ! Will you
never leave off persecuting me ?

ERG. The constable took great care everything was
going on smoothly ; the fellow would have been in jail,
had not your master come up that very moment, and, like
a madman spoiled your plot. "I cannot suffer," says he
in a loud voice, "that a respectable man should be dragged
to prison in this disgraceful manner ; I will be responsible
for him, from his very looks, and will be his bail." And
as they refused to let him go, he immediately and so vigo-
rously attacked the officers, who are a kind of people much
afraid of their carcasses, that, even at this very moment,
they are running, and every man thinks he has got a Lelio
at his heels.

MASC. The fool does not know that this gipsy is in the
house already to carry off his treasure.

ERG. Good-bye, business obliges me to leave you.

SCENE II. — MASCARILLE, alone.

Yes, this last marvellous accident quite stuns me. One
would think, and I have no doubt of it, that this bungling
devil which possesses Lelio takes delight in defying me,
and leads him into every place where his presence can do

SCUNE m.J OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 6l

mischief. Yet I shall go on, and notwithstanding all these
buffets of fortune, try who will carry the day. Celia has
no aversion to him, and looks upon her departure with
great regret. I must endeavour to improve this opportu-
nity. But here they come; let me consider how I shall
execute my plan. Yonder furnished house is at my dis-
posal, and I can do what I like with it; if fortune but
favours us, all will go well ; nobody lives there but my-
self, and I keep the key. Good Heavens ! what a great
many adventures have befallen us in so short a time, and
what numerous disguises a rogue is obliged to put on.

SCENE III. — CELIA, ANDRES.

AND. You know it, Celia, I have left nothing undone
to prove the depth of my passion. When I was but very
young, my courage in the wars gained me some considera-
tion among the Venetians, and one time or other, and
without having too great an opinion of myself, I might,
had I continued in their service, have risen to some em-
ployment of distinction ; but, for your sake, I abandoned
everything; the sudden change you produced in my heart,
was quickly followed by your lover joining the gipsies.
Neither a great many adventures nor your indifference
have been able to make me abandon my pursuit. Since
that time, being by an accident separated from you much
longer than I could have foreseen, I spared neither time
nor pains to meet with you again. At last I discovered
the old gipsy-woman, and heard from her that for a cer-
tain sum of money, which was then of great consequence
to the gipsies, and prevented the dissolution of the whole
band, you were left in pledge in this neighbourhood.
Full of impatience, I flew hither immediately to break
these mercenary chains, and to receive from you whatever
commands you might be pleased to give. But, when I
thought to see joy sparkle in your eyes, I find you pensive
and melancholy ; if quietness has charms for you, I have
sufficient means at Venice, of the spoils taken in war, for
us both to live there ; but if I must still follow you as
before, I will do so, and my heart shall have no other am-
bition than to serve you in whatever manner you please.

CEL. You openly display your affection for me. I

62 THE BLUNDERER :

[ACT v.

should be ungrateful not to be sensible of it. Besides, just
now, my countenance does not bear the impress of the
feelings of my heart; my looks show that I have a violent
headache. If I have the least influence over you, you
will delay our voyage for at least three or four days, until
my indisposition has passed away.

AND. I shall stay as long as you like ; I only wish to
please you ; let us look for a house where you may be
comfortable. Ho ! here is a bill up just at the right time.

SCENE IV. — CELIA, ANDRES, MASCARILLE, disguised as
a Swiss.

AND. Monsieur Swiss, are you the master of the house ?

MASC. I am at your service."27

AND. Can we lodge here ?

MASC. Yes, I let furnished lodgings to strangersj but
only to respectable people.

AND. I suppose your house has a very good reputation ?

MASC. I see by your face you are a stranger in this
town.

AND. I am.

MASC. Are you the husband of this lady ?

AND. Sir?

MASC. Is she your wife or your sister ?

AND. Neither.

MASC. Upon my word, she is very pretty ! Do you
come on business, or have you a la wsuit going on before
the court ? A lawsuit is a very bad thing, it costs so
much money; a solicitor is a thief, and a barrister a rogue.

AND. I do not come for either of these.

MASC. You have brought this young lady then to walk
about and to see the town ?

AND. What is that to you ? (To Celia). I shall be

2TIn the original, Mascarille speaks a kind of gibberish, which is
only amusing when the play is acted; but it can serve no purpose to
translate " mot, pour serfir a fous," " Oui, moi pour d'estrancher chap-
pon champre garni, mais che non point locker te gent te mechant vi,''
etc., by "me be at your serfice,'1 "yes, me have de very goot sham-
bers, ready furnish for stranger, but me no loge de people scandaluse,''
etc. A provincial pronunciation, an Irish brogue, or a Scotch tongue,
are no equivalent for this mock Swiss German-French

SCBNB vi.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 63

with you again in one moment ; I am going to fetch the
old woman presently, and tell them not to send the tra-
velling-carriage which was ready.

MASC. Is the lady not quite well ?

AND. She has a headache.

MASC. I have some good wine and cheese within ; walk
in, go into my small house. (Cetia, Andres and Masca-
rille go into the house}.

SCENE V. — LELIO, alone.

However impatient and excited I may feel, yet I have
pledged my word to do nothing but wait quietly, to let
another work for me, and to see, without daring to stir,
in what manner Heaven will change my destiny.

SCENE VI. — ANDRES, LELIO.

LEL. (Addressing Andres, who is coming out of the house).
Do you want to see anybody in this house ?

AND. I have just taken some furnished apartments
there.

LEL. The house belongs to my father, and my servant
sleeps there every night to take care of it.

AND. I know nothing of that ; the bill, at least, shows
it is to be let ; read it.

LEL. Truly this surprises me, I confess. Who the
deuce can have put that bill up, and why . . . ? Ho,
faith, I can guess, pretty near, what it means ; this can-
not possibly proceed but from the quarter I surmise.

AND. May I ask what affair this may be ?

LEL. I would keep it carefully from anybody else, but
it can be of no consequence to you, and you will not men-
tion it to any one. Without doubt, that bill can be
nothing else but an invention of the servant I spoke of ;
nothing but some cunning plot he has hatched to place
into my hands a certain gipsy girl, with whom I am
smitten, and of whom I wish to obtain possession. I have
already attempted this several times, but until now in vain.

AND. What is her name ?

LEL. Celia.

AND. What do you say ? Had you but mentioned this,

64 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT v.

no doubt I should have saved you all the trouble this pro-
ject costs you.

LEL. How so ? Do you know her ?

AND. It is I who just now bought her from her master.

LEL. You surprise me !

AND. As the state of her health did not allow her to
leave this town, I just took these apartments for her; and
I am very glad that on this occasion you have acquainted
me with your intentions.

LEL. What ! shall I obtain the happiness I hope for by
your means ? Could you . . . ?

AND. {Knocks at the door). You shall be satisfied im-
mediately.

LEL. What can I say to you ? And what thanks . . . ?

AND. No, give me none ; I will have none.

SCENE VII. — LELIO, ANDRES, MASCARILLE.

MASC. (Aside). Hallo ! Is this not my mad-cap mas-
ter ? He will make another blunder.

LEL. Who would have known him in this grotesque
dress ? Come hither, Mascarille, you are welcome.

MASC. I am a man of honour ; I am not Mascarille,*8
I never debauched any married or unmarried woman.

LEL. What funny gibberish ! It is really very good !

MASC. Go about your business, and do not laugh at me.

LEL. You can take off your dress ; recognise your
master.

MASC. Upon my word ! by all the saints, I never knew
you !

LEL. Everything is settled, disguise yourself no longer.

MASC. If you do not go away I will give you a slap in
the face.

LEL. Your Swiss jargon is needless, I tell you, for we
are agreed, and his generosity lays me under an obliga-
tion. I have all I can wish for; you have no reason to be
under any farther apprehension.

MASC. If you are agreed, by great good luck, I will no
longer play the Swiss, and become myself again.

28 Mascarille answers in his gibberish, " Mot non point Masquerille" an
allusion to maquerelle a female pander ; hence his further remarks.

SCENE x.J OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 65

AND. This valet of yours serves you with much zeal ;
stay a little ; I will return presently.

SCENE VIII. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

LEL. Well, what do you say now?

MASC. That I am delighted to see our labours crowned
with success.

LEL. You were hesitating to doff your disguise, and
could hardly believe me.

MASC. As I know you I was rather afraid', and still find
the adventure very astonishing.

LEL. But confess, however, that I have done great
things — at least I have now made amends for all my blun-
ders— mine will be the honour of having finished the
work.

MASC. Be it so ; you have been much more lucky than
wise.

SCENE IX. — CELIA, ANDRES, LELIO, MASCARILLE.

AND. Is not this the lady you were speaking of to me ?

LEL. Heavens ! what happiness can be equal to mine !

AND. It is true ; I am indebted to you for the kind-
ness you have shown me ; I should be much to blame if I
did not acknowledge it ; but this kindness would be too
dearly bought were I to repay it at the expense of my
heart. Judge, by the rapture her beauty causes me,
whether I ought to discharge my debt to you at such a
price. You are generous, and would not have me act
thus. Farewell. Let us return whence we came, and stay
there for a few days. (He leads Celia away).

SCENE X. — LELIO, MASCARILLE.

MASC. I am laughing, and yet I have little inclination
to it. You two are quite of the same mind ; he gives
Celia to you. Hem ! . . . You understand me, sir?

LEL. This is too much. I am determined no longer to
ask you to assist me; it is useless; I am a puppy, a
wretch, a detestable blockhead, not worthy of any one
taking any trouble for me, incapable of doing anything.
Abandon all endeavours to aid an unfortunate wretch, who
will not allow himself to be made happy ; after so many
VOL. i. E

66 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT v.

misfortunes, after all my imprudent actions, death alone
should aid me.

SCENE XL — MASCARILLE, alone.

That is the true way of putting the finishing stroke to
his fate ; he wants nothing now but to die, to crown all
his follies. But in vain his indignation, for all the faults
he has committed urges him to renounce my aid and my
support. I intend, happen what will, to serve him in spite
of himself, and vanquish the very devil that possesses him.
The greater the obstacle, the greater the glory ; and the
difficulties which beset us are but a kind of tire-women who
deck and adorn virtue.

SCENE XII. — CELIA, MASCARILLE.

CELT A. (7<? Mascarille, who has been whispering to
her). Whatever you may say, and whatever they intend
doing, I have no great expectation from this delay. What
we have seen hitherto may indeed convince us that they
are not as yet likely to agree. I have already told you
that a heart like mine will not for the sake of one do an
injustice to another, and that I find myself strongly at-
tached to both, though by different ties. If Lelio has
love and its power on his side, Andres has gratitude plead-
ing for him, which will not permit even my most secret
thoughts ever to harbour anything against his interests.
Yes ; if he has no longer a place in my heart, if the gift
of my hand must not crown his love, I ought at least to
reward that which he has done for me, by not choosing
another, in contempt of his flame, and suppress my own
inclinations in the same manner as I do his. You have
heard the difficulties which duty throws in my way, and
you can judge now whether your expectations will be re-
alized.

MASC. To speak the truth, they are very formidable
obstacles in our way, and I have not the knack of working
miracles ; but I will do my utmost, move Heaven and
earth, leave no stone unturned to try and discover some
happy expedient. I shall soon let you know what can be
done.

SCBNB xiv.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 6/

SCENE XIII. — HIPPOLYTA, CELIA.

HIPP. Ever since you came among us, the ladies of this
neighbourhood may well complain of the havoc caused by
your eyes, since you deprive them of the greatest part of
their conquests, and make all their lovers faithless. There
is not a heart which can escape the darts with which you
pierce them as soon as they see you ; many thousands load
themselves with your chains, and seem to enrich you daily
at our expense. However, as regards myself, I should
make no complaints of the irresistible sway of your exqui-
site charms, had they left me one of all my lovers to con-
sole me for the loss of the others ; but it is inhuman in you
that without mercy you deprive me of all ; I cannot for-
bear complaining to you.

CEL. You rally in a charming manner, but I beseech
you to spare me a little. Those eyes, those very eyes of yours,
know their own power too well ever to dread anything
that I am able to do ; they are too conscious of their own
charms, and will never entertain similar feelings of fear.

HIPP. Yet I advance nothing in what I have said which
has not already entered the mind of every one, and with-
out mentioning anything else, it is well known that Celia
has made a deep impression on Leander and on Lelio.

CEL. I believe you will easily console yourself about
their loss, since they have become so infatuated ; nor can
you regret a lover who could make so ill a choice.

HIPP. On the contrary, I am of quite a different opi-
nion, and discover such great merits in your beauty, and
see in it so many reasons sufficient to excuse the incon-
stancy of those who allow themselves to be attracted by it,
that I cannot blame Leander for having changed his love
and broken his plighted troth. In a short time, and with-
out either hatred or anger, I shall see him again brought
under my sway, when his father shall have exercised his
authority.

SCENE XIV. — CELIA, HIPPOLYTA, MASCARILLE.

MASC. Great news ! great news ! a wonderful event
which I am now going to tell you !
CEL. What means this?
MASC. Listen. This is, without any compliments. 4 .

68 THE BLUNDERER : [ACT v.

CEL. What?

MASC. The last scene of a true and genuine comedy.
The old gipsy-woman was, but this very moment . . .

CEL. Well?

MASC. Crossing the market-place, thinking about
nothing at all, when another old woman, very haggard-
looking, after having closely stared at her for some time,
hoarsely broke out in a torrent of abusive language, and
thus gave the signal for a furious combat, in which, in-
stead of swords, muskets, daggers, or arrows, nothing was
seen but four withered paws, brandished in the air, with
which these two combatants endeavoured to tear off the
little flesh old age had left on their bones. Not a word
was heard but drab, wretch, trull. Their caps, to begin
with, were flying about, and left a couple of bald pates
exposed to view, which rendered the battle ridiculously
horrible. At the noise and hubbub, Andres and Trufal-
din, as well as many others, ran to see what was the mat-
ter, and had much ado to part them, so excited were they
by passion. Meanwhile each of them, when the storm
was abated, endeavoured to hide her head with shame.
Everybody wished to know the cause of this ridiculous
fray. She who first began it having, notwithstanding the
warmth of her passion, looked for some time at Trufaldin,
said in a loud voice, — " It is you, unless my sight mis-
gives me, who, I was informed, lived privately in this
town ; most happy meeting ! Yes, Signer Zanobio
Ruberti, fortune made me find you out at the very mo-
ment I was giving myself so much trouble for your sake.
When you left your family at Naples, your daughter, as
you know, remained under my care. I brought her up
from her youth. When she was only four years old she
showed already in a thousand different ways what charms
and beauty she would have. That woman you see there —
that infamous hag — who had become rather intimate with
us, robbed me of that treasure. Your good lady, alas !
felt so much grief at this misfortune, that, as I have reason
to believe it shortened her days; so that, fearing your
severe reproaches because your daughter had been stolen
from me, I sent you word that both were dead ; but now,
as I have found, out the thief, she must tell us what has be-

SCENB XIV. I

OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 69

come of your child." At the name of Zanobio Ruberti,
which she repeated several times throughout the story,
Andres, after changing colour often, addressed to the sur-
prised Trufaldin these words: " What ! has Heaven most
happily brought me to him whom I have hitherto sought
in vain ! Can I possibly have beheld my father, the
author of my being, without knowing him ? Yes, father,
I am Horatio, your son ; my tutor, Albert, having died, I
felt anew certain uneasiness in my mind, left Bologna, and
abandoning my studies, wandered about for six years in
different places, according as my curiosity led me. How-
ever, after the expiration of that time, a secret impulse
drove me to revisit my kindred and my native country ;
but in Naples, alas ! I could no longer find you, and could
only hear vague reports concerning you ; so that having
in vain tried to meet with you, I ceased to roam about
idly, and stopped for a while in Venice. From that time
to this I have lived without receiving any other informa-
tion about my family, except knowing its name." You
may judge whether Trufaldin was not more than ordinarily
moved all this while ; in one word (to tell you shortly that
which you will have an opportunity of learning afterwards
more at your leisure, from the confession of the old gipsy-
woman), Trufaldin owns you (to Celia) now for his
daughter ; Andres is your brother ; and as he can no
longer think of marrying his sister, and as he acknow-
ledges he is under some obligation to my master, Lelio, he
has obtained for him your hand. Pandolphus being
present at this discovery, gives his full consent to the
marriage; and to complete the happiness of the family,
proposes that the newly-found Horatio should marry his
daughter. See how many incidents are produced at one
and the same time !

CEL. Such tidings perfectly amaze me.

MASC. The whole company follow me, except the two
female champions, who are adjusting their toilet after the
fray. Leander and your father are also coming. I shall go
and inform my master of this, and let him know that
when we thought obstacles were increasing, Heaven almost
wrought a miracle in his favour. (£xit Mascarille).

HIPP. This fortunate event fills me with as much as joy
as if it were my own case. But here they come.

70 THE BLUNDERER: [ACTV.

SCENE XV. — TRUFALDIN, ANSELMO, ANDRES, CELIA,
HIPPOLYTA, LEANDER.

TRUF. My child !

GEL. Father !

TRUF. Do you already know how Heaven has blest us ?

CEL. I have just now heard this wonderful event.

HIPP. (To Leander). You need not find excuses for
your past infidelity. The cause of it, which I have before
my eyes, is a sufficient excuse.

LEAND. I crave nothing but a generous pardon. I call
Heaven to witness that, though I return to my duty sud-
denly, my father's authority has influenced me less than
my own inclination.

AND. (To Celid). Who could ever have supposed that
so chaste a love would one day be condemned by nature ?
However, honour swayed it always so much, that with a
little alteration it may still continue.

CEL. As for me, I blamed myself, and thought I was
wrong, because I felt nothing but a very sincere esteem for
you. I could not tell what powerful obstacle stopped me
in a path so agreeable and so dangerous, and diverted my
heart from acknowledging a love which my senses endea-
voured to communicate to my soul.

TRUF. (To Celia). But what would you say of me if,
as soon as I have found you, I should be thinking of
parting with you ? I promised your hand to this gentle-
man's son.

CEL. I know no will but yours

SCENE XVI. — TRUFALDIN, ANSELMO, PANDOLPHUS, CELIA,

HIPPOLYTA, LELIO, LEANDER, ANDRES, MASCARILLE.

MASC. Now, let us see whether this devil of yours will
have the power to destroy so solid a foundation as this ;
and whether your inventive powers will again strive against
this great good luck that befalls you. Through a most
unexpected favourable turn of fortune your desires are
crowned with success, and Celia is yours.

LEL. Am I to believe that the omnipotence of
Heaven . . . ?

TRUF. Yes, son-in-law, it is really so.

PAND. The matter is settled.

SCENE xvi.] OR, THE COUNTERPLOTS. 71

AND. ( To Lelio). By this I repay the obligation you
lay me under.

LEL. {To Mascarille). I must embrace you ever so
many times in this great joy . . .

MASC. Oh ! oh ! gently, I beseech you ; he has almost
choked me. I am very much afraid for Celia if you em-
brace her so forcibly. One can do very well without such
proofs of affection.

TRUF. (To Lelio). You know the happiness with which
Heaven has blessed me ; but since the same day has caused
us all to rejoice, let us not part until it is ended, and let
Leander's father also be sent for quickly.

MASC. You are all provided for. Is there not some
girl who might suit poor Mascarille ? As I see, every Jack
has his Gill, I also want to be married.

ANS. I have a wife for you.

MASC. Let us go, then ; and may propitious Heaven
give us children, whose fathers we really are.

LE DEPIT AMOUREUX,

COMEDIE.

THE LOVE-TIFF.

A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS,

(THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE.)
1656.

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

The Love-tif (Le Depit-amoureux) is composed of two pieces joined
together The first and longest is a comparatively modest imitation of a
very coarse and indecent Italian comedy, L'Interesse, by Signer Nicolo
Secchi- its intrigue depends chiefly on the substitution of a female for a
male child, a change which forms the groundwork of many plays and
novels and of which Shakespeare has also made use. The second and
best part of the Love-tiff belongs to Moliere alone, and is composed
chiefly of the whole of the first act, the first six verses of the third scene,
and the whole of the fourth scene of the second act ; these, with a few
alterations and a few lines added, form the comedy which the Theatre
Francaise plays at the present time. It was first represented at Beziers
towards the end of 1656, when the States General of Languedoc were as-
sembled in that town, and met with great success ; a success which con-
tinued when it was played in Paris at the Theatre du Petit-Bourbon in
1658. Why in some of the former English translations of Moliere the
servant Gros-Rend is called '' Gros-Renard " we are unable to under-
stand, for both names are thoroughly French. Mr. Ozell, in his transla-
tion, gives him the unmistakably English, but not very euphonious name
of "punch-gutted Ben, alias Renier," whilst Foote calls him " Hugh.''
The incidents of the Love-tiff are arranged artistically, though in the
Spanish taste ; the plot is too complicated, and the ending very unnatural.
But the characters are well delineated, and fathers, lovers, mistresses, and
servants all move about amidst a complication of errors from which there is
no visible disentangling. The conversation between Valere and Ascanio in
man's clothes, the mutual begging pardon of Albert and Polydore, the na-
tural astonishment of Lucile, accused in the presence of her father, and the
stratagem of Eraste to get the truth from his servants, are all described in
a masterly manner, whilst the tiff between Eraste and Lucile, which gives
the title to the piece, as well as their reconciliation, are considered among
the best scenes of this play.

Nearly all actors in France who play either the valets or the soubrettes
have attempted the parts of Gros-Rene' and Marinette, and even the
great tragedienne Madlle. Rachel ventured, on the ist of July, 1844, to
act Marinette, but not with much success.

Dryden has imitated, in the fourth act of An Evening's Love, a small
part of the scene between Marinette and Eraste, the quarrelling scene be-
tween Lucile, Eraste, Marinette, and Gros-Rene", as well as in the third
act of the same play, the scene between Albert and Metaphrasrus. Van-
brugh has very closely followed Moliere's play in the Mistake, but has laid

75

76 THE LOVE-TIFF.

the scene in Spain. This is the principal difference I can perceive. He
has paraphased the French with a spirit and ease which a mere transla-
tion can hardly ever acquire. The epilogue to his play, written by M.
Motteux, a Frenchman, whom the revocation of the Edict of Nantes
brought into England, is filthy in the extreme. Mr. J. King has curtailed
Vanbrugh's play into an interlude, in one act, called Lovers Quarrels, or
Like Master Like Man,

Another imitator of Moliere was Edward Ravenscroft, of whom Baker
says in his Biographia Dramatica, that he was " a writer or compiler of
plays, who lived in the reigns of Charles II. and his two successors." He
was descended from the family of the Ravenscrofts, in Flintshire ; a
family, as he himself, in a dedication asserts, so ancient that when Wil-
liam the Conqueror came into England, one of his nobles married into it.
He was some time a member of the Middle Temple ; but, looking on the
dry study of the law as greatly beneath the attention of a man of genius,
quitted it. He was an arrant plagiary. Dryden attacked one of his
plays, The Citizen turned Gentleman, an imitation of Moliere's Bourgeois-
Gentilhomme, in the Prologue to The Assignation. Ravenscroft wrote
" The Wrangling Lovers, or the Invisible Mistress. Acted at the Duke's
Theatre, 1677. London, Printed for William Crook, at the sign of the
Green Dragon, without Temple-Bar, 1677.'' Though the plot was partly
taken from a Spanish novel, the author has been inspired by Moliere's
Depit amoureux. The scene is in Toledo : Eraste is called Don Diego de
Stuniga, Valere Don Gusman de Haro, " a well-bred cavaliere," Lucile
is Octavia de Pimentell, and Ascanio is Elvira ; Gros-Rene's name is
Sanco, " vallet to Gusman, a simple pleasant fellow," and Mascarille is
Ordgano, " a cunning knave;" Marinette is called Beatrice and Frosine
Isabella. The English play is rather too long. Don Gusman courts El-
vira veiled, whilst in the French play Ascanio, her counterpart, is believed
to be a young man. There is also a brother of Donna Elvira, Don Ruis
de Moncade, who is a rival of Don Diego, whilst in le Depit-amoureux
Valere is not the brother but the husband of Ascanio and the rival of
Eraste (Don Diego) as well. The arrangement of the English comedy
differs greatly from the French. Though the plot in both plays is nearly
identical, yet the words and scenes in The Wrangling Lovers are totally
different, and not so amusing. Mascarille and Gros-Ren£ are but faintly
attempted ; Marinette and Frosine only sketched in outline ; and in the
fifth act the ladies appear to have nothing else to do but to pop in and out
of closets. The scenes of" the French play between Albert and Meta-
phrastus (ii. 7) ; the very comical scene between Albert and Polydore (iii. 4)
and the reconciliation scene between Lucile and Eraste (iv. 3), are also
not rendered in the English comedy. There are very few scenes which
can be compared with those of le Depit amoureux.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

ERASTE, in love with Luc He.
ALBERT, father to Lucile.1

s

GROS-RENE, servant to Eraste.
VALERE, son to Polydore.
POLYDORE, father to Valere.
MASCARILLE, servant to Valere.
METAPHRASTUS, a pedant.
LA RAPIERE, a bully.

LUCILE, daughter to Albert.
ASCANIO, Albert's daughter, in man's clothes.
FROSINE, confidant to Ascanio.
MARINETTE, maid to Lucile.

1 This part was played by Moliere himself.

THE LOVE-TIFF.

(LE DEPIT AMOUR EUX.)

ACT I.

SCENE I. — ERASTE, GROS-RENE.

ERAS. Shall I declare it to you? A certain secret
anxiety never leaves my mind quite at rest. Yes, what-
ever remarks you make about my love, to tell you the
truth, I am afraid of being deceived ; or that you may be
bribed in order to favour a rival ; or, at least, that you
may be imposed upon as well as myself.

GR-RE. As for me, if you suspect me of any knavish
trick, I will say, and I trust I give no offence to your
honour's love, that you wound my honesty very unjustly,
and that you show but small skill in physiognomy. People
of my bulk are not accused, thank Heaven ! ' of being
either rogues or plotters. I scarcely need protest against
the honour paid to us, but am straightforward in every
thing.1 As for my being deceived that may be ; there is
a better foundation for that idea ; nevertheless, I do not
believe it can be easily done. I may be a fool, but I do
not see yet why you vex yourself thus. Lucile, to my

1 Du Pare, the actor who played this part, was very stout ; hence the
allusion in the original, " et suis homme fort rond de toutes Its manieres."
I have, of course, used in the translation the word " straightforward "
ironically, and with an eye to the rotundity of stomach of the actor.
Moliere was rather fond of making allusions in his plays to the infirmities
or peculiarities of some of his actors. Thus, in the Miser (rAvare), Act
i, Scene 3, he alludes to the lameness of the actor Be"jart, " Je ne me
plats point a voir ce chien de doitevx-la" "I do not like to see that lame
dog; '' in the Citizen who apes the Nobleman (le Bourgeois gentilhomme),
Act iii. sc, 9, he even gives a portrait of his wife.

79

8o THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT i.

thinking, shows sufficient love for you ; she sees you and
talks to you, at all times ; and Valere, after all, who is the
cause of your fear, seems only to be allowed to approach
her because she is compelled so to act.

ERAS. A lover is often buoyed up by false hope. He
who is best received is not always the most beloved. The
affection a woman displays is often but a veil to cover her
passion for another. Valere has lately shown too much
tranquillity for a slighted lover ; and the joy or indif-
ference he displays at those favours, which you suppose be-
stowed upon me, embitters continually their greatest
charms, causes this grief, which you cannot understand,
holds my happiness in suspense, and makes it difficult for
me to trust completely anything Lucile says to me. I
should feel delighted if I saw Valere animated by a little
more jealousy ; his anxiety and impatience would then re-
assure my heart. Do you as yourself think it possible for
any one to see a rival caressed and be as satisfied as he
is ; if you do not believe it, tell me, I conjure you, if I
have not a cause to be perplexed ?

GR.-RE. Perhaps he has changed his inclination, upon
finding that he sighed in vain.

ERAS. When love has been frequently repelled it frees
itself, and wishes to flee from the object it was charmed
with ; nor does it break its chain so quietly as to be able
to continue at peace. When once we have been fond of
anyone who influenced our destiny we are never afterwards
indifferent in her presence ; if our dislike does not in-
crease when we behold her our love is upon the point of
returning again. Believe me, however much a passion may
be extinguished, a little jealousy still dwells in our breast ;
no one can see, without feeling some pang, the heart he
has lost possessed by another.

GR.-RE. For my part, I do not understand so much
philosophy. I candidly believe what my eyes see, and am
not such a mortal enemy to myself as to become melan-
choly without any cause. Why should I try to split hairs,
and labour hard to find out reasons to be miserable ? Shall
I alarm myself about castles in the air ? Let Lent come
before we keep it ! I think grief an uncomfortable thing ;
and, for my part, I never foster it without good and just

SCENE n.j THE LOVE-TIFF. 8l

cause. I might frequently find a hundred opportunities to
become sad, but I do not want to see them. I run the
same risk in love as you do ; I share in your bad or good
luck. The mistress cannot deceive you but the maid will
do the same by me ; yet I carefully avoid thinking about
it. I like to believe people when they say "I love you."
In order to be happy, I do not try to find out whether
Mascarille tears the hair out of his head or not. Let
Marinette allow herself to be kissed and caressed by
Gros-Rene2 as much as he likes, and let my charming rival
laugh at it like a fool, I will laugh too as much as I like,
and follow his example ; we shall then see who will laugh
the heartiest.

ERAS. That is like your talk.

GR. RE. But here she comes.

SCENE II. — MARINETTE, ERASTE, GROS-RENE.

GR.-RE. Hist ! Marinette.

MAR. Hallo ! what are you doing there ?

GR. -RE. Faith ! do you ask ? We were just talking
about you.

MAR. Are you there too, sir? Upon my word you have
made me trot about like a flunkey for this hour past.

ERAS. How so ?

MAR. I have walked ten miles to look for you, and give
you my word that . . .

ERAS. What?

MAR. That you were neither at church, in the fashion-
able walk, at home, nor in the market-place.

GR.-RE. You may swear to that.

ERAS. But pray, tell me who sent you?

MAR. One, in good truth, who bears you no great
ill-will ; in a word, my mistress.

ERAS. Ah ! dear Marinette, do your words really express
what she feels ? Do not hide some ominous secret from
me. I should not dislike you for this. For Heaven's

1 In several editions of Moliere we find, instead of Cros-Rene" the name
of Jodelet. The latest, and if I might be permitted to say so, the most
careful editor of our author, Mons. E. Despois, thinks that "Gros-Rene1'
ought to be mentioned here. The sense shows he is right.

VOL. I. F

82 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT i.

sake tell me if your charming mistress does not merely
pretend to love me ?

MAR. Ha ! ha ! ha ! What has put that funny notion
into your head ? Does she not sufficiently show her in-
clination? What further security does your love demand?
What does it require?

GR.-RE. Unless Valere hangs himself, or some such
trifle, he will not be reassured.

MAR. How so ?

GR.-RE. He is so very jealous.

MAR. Of Valere ? Ha ! a pretty fancy indeed ! It
could only be hatched in your brain. I thought you a
man of sense, and until now had a good opinion of your
intellect ; but I see I was very much deceived. Have you
also got a touch of this distemper in your head ?

GR.-RE. I jealous ? Heaven forbid ! and keep me from
being so silly as to go and make myself lean with any
such grief. Your heart guarantees your fidelity ; besides,
I have too good an opinion of myself to believe that any
other could please you after me. Where the deuce could
you find any one equal to me ?

MAR. You really are right ; that is as it should be. A
jealous man should never show his suspicions ! All that
he gains by it is to do himself harm, and in this manner
furthers the designs of his rival. Your distrust often is
the cause that a mistress pays attention to a man, before
whose merits your own have paled. I know a certain
person who, were it not for the preposterous jealousy of a
rival, had never been so happy as he now is. But, in any
case, to show suspicion in love is acting a foolish part,
and after all is to make one's-self miserable for nothing.
This, sir (to Eraste), I mean as a hint to you.

ERAS. Very well, let us talk no more about it. What
have you to say to me ?

MAR. You deserve to be kept in suspense. In order to
punish you, I ought to keep from you the great secret
which has made me hunt for you so long. Here, read this
letter, and doubt no more. Read it aloud, nobody listens.

ERAS. (Reads). "You told me that your love was capa-
ble of doing anything. It may be crowned this very day, if
you can but get my father's consent. Acquaint him with the

SC.NBII.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 83

power you have oi>er my heart; I give you leave so to do ;
if his reply be favourable, I can answer for it that I shall
obey." Ah! how happy am I! I ought to look upon
you, the bearer of this letter, as a divine creature.

GR.-RE. I told you so. Though you do not believe it,
I am seldom deceived in the things I ponder on.

ERAS. {Reading the letter again). " Acquaint him with
the power you have over my heart j I give you leave so to
do; if his reply be favourable, I can answer for it that I
shall obey. ' '

MAR. If I should tell her you are weak- minded enough
to be jealous, she would immediately disown such a letter
as this.

ERAS. I beseech you, conceal from her a momentary
fear, for which I thought I had some slight foundation ;
or, if you do tell it her, say to her at the same time that I
am ready to atone for my fit of madness with my life, and
would die at her feet, if I have been capable of displeas-
ing her.

MAR. Let us not talk of dying ; this is no time for it.

ERAS. However, you have laid me under a great obli-
gation ; I intend shortly to acknowledge in a handsome
manner the trouble so gentle and so lovely a messenger
has taken.

MAR. That reminds me. Do you know where I looked
for you just now ?

ERAS. Well?

MAR. Quite near the market-place ; you know where'
that is.

ERAS. Where did you say ?

MAR. There ... in that shop where last month you
generously and freely promised me a ring.

ERAS. Um ! I understand you.

GR.-RE. What a cunning jade !

ERAS. It is true ; I have delayed too long to make good
my promise to you, but . . .

MAR. What I said, sir, was not because I wished you
to make haste.

GR.-RE. Oh, no !

ERAS. (Giving her his ring). Perhaps this ring may
please you ; accept it instead of the one I owe.

84 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT i.

MAR. You are only jesting, sir ; I should be ashamed
to take it.

GR.-RE. Poor shame-faced creature ! Take it without
more ado ; only fools refuse what is offered them.

MAR. I will only accept it so that I may have something
to remember you by.

ERAS. When may I return thanks to that lovely angel ?

MAR. Endeavour to gain over her father.

ERAS. But if he rejects me, should I . . . ?

MAR. We will think about that when he does so ! We
will do our utmost for you : one way or another she must
be yours ; do your best, and we will do ours.

ERAS. Farewell ! we shall know our fate to-day. {Eraste
reads the letter again to himself^).

MAR. {To Gros-Rene). Well, what shall we say of our
love ? You do not speak to me of it.

GR.-RE. If such people as we wish to be married, the
thing is soon done. I will have you. Will you have me ?

MAR. Gladly.

GR.-RE. Shake hands, that is enough.

MAR. Farewell, Gros-Rene, my heart's delight.

GR.-RE. Farewell, my star.

MAR. Farewell, fair fire-brand of my flame.

GR.-RE. Farewell, dear comet, rainbow of my soul.
{Exit Marinette). Heaven be praised, our affairs go on
swimmingly. Albert is not a man to refuse you anything.

ERAS. Valere is coming here.

GR.-RE. I pity the poor wretch, knowing what I do
know.

SCENE III. — ERASTE, VALERE, GROS-RENE. '

ERAS. Well, Valere ?
VAL. Well, Eraste ?
ERAS. How does your love prosper ?
VAL. And how does yours ?
ERAS. It grows stronger and stronger every day.
VAL. So does mine.
ERAS. For Lucile ?
VAL. For her.

ERAS. Certainly, I must own, you are a pattern of un-
common constancy.

SCENE in.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 85

VAL. And your perseverance will be a rare example to
posterity.

ERAS. As for me, I am not very fond of that austere
kind of love which is satisfied with looks only ; nor do I
possess feelings lofty enough to endure ill-treatment with
constancy. In one word, when I really love, I wish to be
beloved again.

VAL. It is very natural, and I am of the same opinion.
I would never do homage to the most perfect object by
whom I could be smitten, if she did not return my passion.

ERAS. However, Lucile . . .

VAL. Lucile does willingly everything my passion can
desire.

ERAS. You are easily satisfied then.

VAL. Not so easily as you may think.

ERAS. I, however, may, without vanity, believe that I
am in her favour.

VAL. And I know that I have a very good share of it.

ERAS. Do not deceive yourself; believe me.

VAL. Believe me, do not be too credulous, and take too
much for granted.

ERAS. If I might show you a certain proof that her
heart . . . but no, it would too much distress you.

VAL. If I might discover a secret to you . - . but it
might grieve you, and so I will be discreet.

ERAS. You really urge me too far, and though much
against my will, I see I must lower your presumption.
Read that.

VAL. (After having read the letter). These are tender
words.

ERAS. You know the handwriting ?

VAL. Yes, it is Lucile's.

ERAS. Well ! where is now your boasted certainty . . . ?

VAL. (Smiling and going away). Farewell, Eraste.

GR.-RE. He is mad, surely. What reason has he to
laugh ?

ERAS. He certainly surprises me, and between ourselves
I cannot imagine what the deuce of a mystery is hidden
under this.

GR. -RE. Here comes his servant, I think.

ERAS. Yes, it is he ; let us play the hypocrite, to set
him talking about his master's love.

86 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT I.

SCENE IV. — ERASTE, MASCARILLE, GROS-RENE.

MASC. (Asidi). No, I do not know a more wretched
situation, than to have a young master, very much in love.

GR.-RE. Good morning.

MASC. Good morning.

GR.-RE. Where is Mascarille going just now? What is
he doing? Is he coming back ? Is he going away? Or
does he intend to stay where he is ?

MASC. No, I am not coming back, because I have not
yet been where I am going ; nor am I going, for I am
stopped ; nor do I design to stay, for this very moment I
intend to be gone.

ERAS. You are very abrupt, Mascarille ; gently.

MASC. Ha ! Your servant, sir.

ERAS. You are in great haste to run away from us :
what ! do I frighten you ?

MASC. You are too courteous to do that.

ERAS. Shake hands ; all jealousy is now at an end be-
tween us; we will be friends; I have relinquished my
love ; henceforth you can have your own way to further
your happiness.

MASC. Would to Heaven it were true !

ERAS. Gros-Rene knows that I have already another
flame elsewhere.

GR.-RE. Certainly; and I also give up Marinette to
you.

MASC. Do not let us touch on that point ; our rivalry
is not likely to go to such a length. But is it certain, sir,
that you are no longer in love, or do you jest ?

ERAS. I have been informed that your master is but too
fortunate in his amours ; I should be a fool to pretend
any longer to gain the same favours which that lady grants
to him alone.

MASC. Certainly, you please me with this news. Though
I was rather afraid of you, with regard to our plans, yet
you do wisely to slip your neck out of the collar. You
have done well to leave a house where you were only
caressed for form's sake ; I, knowing all that was going
on, have many times pitied you, because you were allured
by expectations, which could never be realized. It is a

SCENE iv.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 87

sin and a shame to deceive a gentleman ! But how the
deuce, after all, did you find out the trick? For when
they plighted their faith to each other there were no wit-
nesses but night, myself, and two others ; and the tying
of the knot, which satisfies the passion of our lovers, is
thought to have been kept a secret till now.

ERAS. Ha ! What do you say?

MASC. I say that I am amazed, sir, and cannot guess
who told you, that under this mask, which deceives you
and everybody else, a secret marriage unites their match-
less love.

ERAS. You lie.

MASC. Sir, with all my heart.

ERAS. You are a rascal.

MASC. I acknowledge I am.

ERAS. And this impudence deserves a sound beating on
the spot.

MASC. I am completely in your power,

ERAS. Ha ! Gros-Ren6.

GR.-RE. Sir?

ERAS. I contradict a story, which I much fear is but
too true. ( To Mascarille). You wanted to run away.

MASC. Not in the least.

ERAS. What ! Lucile is married to ...

MASC. No, sir, I was only joking.

ERAS. Hey ! you were joking, you wretch ?

MASC. No, I was not joking.

ERAS. Is it true then ?

MASC. No, I do not say that.

ERAS. What do you say then ?

MASC. Alas ! I say nothing, for fear of saying some-
thing wrong.

ERAS. Tell me positively, whether you have spoken the
truth, or deceived me.

MASC. Whatever you please. I do not come here to
contradict you.

ERAS. {Drawing his sworcf). Will you tell me ? Here
is something that will loosen your tongue without more
ado.

MASC. It will again be saying some foolish speech or
other. I pray you, if you have no objection, let me

88 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT ,.

quickly have a few stripes, and then allow me to scam-
per off.

ERAS. You shall suffer death, unless you tell me the
whole truth without disguise.

MASC. Alas ! I will tell it then ; but perhaps, sir, I
shall make you angry.

ERAS. Speak : but take great care what you are doing ;
nothing shall save you from my just anger, if you utter but
one single falsehood in your narration.

MASC. I agree to it; break my legs, arms, do worse to
me still, kill me, if I have deceived you in the smallest
degree, in anything I have said.

ERAS. It is true then that they are married?

MASC. With regard to this, I can now clearly see that
my tongue tripped ; but, for all that, the business happened
just as I told you. It was after five visits paid at night,
and whilst you were made use of as a screen to conceal
their proceedings, that they were united the day before
yesterday. Lucile ever since tries still more to hide the
great love she bears my master, and desires he will only
consider whatever he may see, and whatever favours she
may show you, as the results of her deep-laid scheme, in
order to prevent the discovery of their secrets. If, not-
withstanding my protestations, you doubt the truth of what
I have told you, Gros-Ren6 may come some night along
with me, and I will show him, as I stand and watch, that
we shall be admitted into her house, after dark.

ERAS. Out of my sight, villain.

MASC. I shall be delighted to go ; that is just what I
want. (Exit.

SCENE V. — ERASTE, GROS-RENE.

ERAS. Well?

GR. -RE. Well ! Sir, we are both taken in if this fellow
•speaks the truth.

ERAS. Alas ! The odious rascal has spoken the truth
too well. All that he has said is' very likely to have hap-
pened ; Valere's behaviour, at the sight of this letter, de-
notes that there is a collusion between them, and that it
is a screen to hide Lucile's love for him.

SCBNBVI.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 89

SCENE VI. — ERASTE, MARINETTE, GROS-RENE.

MAR. I come to tell you that this evening my mistress
permits you to see her in the garden.

ERAS. How dare you address me, you hypocritical
traitress ? Get out of my sight, and tell your mistress not
to trouble me any more with her letters ; that is the re-
gard, wretch, I have for then^

(He tears the letter and goes out.

MAR. Tell me, Gros-Rene, what ails him ?

GR.-RE. Dare you again address me, iniquitous female,
deceitful crocodile, whose base heart is worse than a satrap
or a Lestrigon ? 3 Go, go, carry your answer to your
lovely mistress, and tell her short and sweet, that in spite
of all her cunning, neither my master nor I are any longer
fools, and that henceforth she and you may go to the devil
together. (Exit.

MAR. My poor Marinette, are you quite awake ? What
demon are they possessed by? What? Is it thus they
receive our favours ? How shocked my mistress will be
when she hears this !

ACT II.
SCENE I. — ASCANIO, FROSINE.

FROS. Thank Heaven ! I am a girl who can keep a
secret, Ascanio.

Asc. But is this place private enough for such a conver-
sation ? Let us take care that nobody surprises us, or that
we be not overheard from some corner or other.

FROS. We should be much less safe within the house ;
here we can easily see anybody coming, and may speak in
perfect safety.

Asc. Alas ! how painful it is for me to begin my tale !

FROS. Sure, this must be an important secret then ?

Asc. Too much so, since I even entrust it to you with
reluctance ; even you should not know it, if I could keep
it concealed any longer.

FROS. Fie ! you insult me when you hesitate to trust in
me, whom you have ever found so reserved in everything

8 See Homer's Odyssey, X., v. 81-132.

90 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT 11.

that concerns you — me, who was brought up with you, and
have kept secret things of so great an importance to you ;
me, who know . . .

Asc. Yes, you are already acquainted with the secret
reason which conceals from the eyes of the world my sex
and family. You know that I was brought into this house,
where I have passed my infancy, in order to preserve an
inheritance which, on the death of young Ascanio (whom
I personate), should have fallen to others ; that is why I
dare to unbosom myself to you with perfect confidence.
But before we begin this conversation, Frosine, clear up a
doubt which continually besets me. Can it be possible
that Albert should know nothing of the secret, which thus
disguises my sex, and makes him my father?

PROS. To tell you the truth, what you now wish to
know has also greatly puzzled me. I have never been
able to get at the bottom of this intrigue, nor could my
mother give me any further insight. When Albert's son
died, who was so much beloved, and to whom a very rich
uncle bequeathed a great deal of property, even before his
birth ; his mother kept his death secret, fearing that her
husband, who was absent at the time, would have gone
distracted, had he seen that great inheritance, from which
his family would have reaped such advantage, pass into the
hands of another. She, I say, in order to conceal this
misfortune formed the plan of putting you into the place
of her lost son; you were taken from our family, where
you were brought up. Your mother gave her consent to
this deceit ; you took the son's place, and every one was
bribed to keep the secret. Albert has never known it
through us, and as his wife kept it for more than twelve
years, and died suddenly, her unexpected death prevented
her from disclosing it. I perceive, however, that he keeps
up an acquaintance with your real mother, and that, in
private, he assists her ; perhaps all this is not done with-
out a reason. On the other hand, he commits a blunder
by urging you to marry some young lady ! Perhaps he
knows that you took the place of his son, without knowing
that you are a girl. But this digression might gradually
carry us too far ; let us return to that secret which I am
impatient to hear.

SCENE i.j THE LOVE-TIFF. 9!

Asc. Know then that Cupid cannot be deceived, that I
have not been able to disguise my sex from love's eyes,
and that his subtle shafts have reached the heart of a weak
woman beneath the dress I wear. In four words, I am
in love !

FROS. You in love !

Asc. Gently, Frosine ; do not be quite so astonished ;
it is not time yet ; this love-sick heart has something else
to tell you that will surprise you.

FROS. What is it ?

Asc. I am in love with Valere.

FROS. Ha ! I really am surprised. What ! you love a
man whose family your deceit has deprived of a rich in-
heritance, and who, if he had the least suspicion of your
sex, would immediately regain everything. This is a still
greater subject of astonishment.

Asc. I have a more wonderful surprise for you yet in
store — I am his wife.

FROS. Oh, Heavens ! his wife !

Asc. Yes, his wife.

FROS. Ha ! this is worse than all, and nearly drives
me mad.

Asc. And yet this is not all.

FROS. Not all !

Asc. I am his wife, I say, and he does not think so, nor
has he the least idea of what I really am.

FROS. Go on, I give it up, and will not say any thing
more, so much every word amazes me. I cannot compre-
hend anything of these riddles.

Asc. I shall explain if you will but hear me. Valere
who admired my sister, seemed to me a lover worthy of
being listened to ; I could not bear to see his addresses
slighted without feeling a certain interest in him. I wished
that Lucile should take pleasure in his conversation, I
blamed her severity, and blamed it so effectually, that I
myself, without being able to help it, became affected with
that passion which she could not entertain. He was talking
to her, and persuaded me ; I suffered myself to be over-
come by the very sighs he breathed ; and the love, rejected
by the object of his flame, entered, like a conqueror, into
my heart, which was wounded by an arrow, not aimed at

92 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT „.

it, and paid another's debt with heavy interest. At last,
my dear, the love I felt for him forced me to declare my-
self, but under a borrowed name. One night I spoke to
him, disguising my voice as if it were Lucile's, and this
too amiable lover thought she returned his love ; I ma-
naged the conversation so well that he never found out
the deception. Under that disguise which pleased so
much his deluded imagination, I told him that I was en-
amoured of him, but that, finding my father opposed to
my wishes, I ought at least to pretend to obey him ; that
therefore it behooved us to keep our love secret, with
which the night alone should be acquainted ; that all
private conversation should be avoided during the day,
for fear of betraying everything ; that he should behold
me with the same indifference as he did before we had
come to an understanding ; and that on his part, as
well as mine, no communication should take place either
by gesture, word, or writing. In short, without dwelling
any longer upon all the pains I have taken to bring this
deception to a safe termination, I went on with my bold
project as far as it was possible to go, and secured the
husband I mentioned to you.

FROS. Upon my word, you possess great talents. Would
any one think so, on seeing her passionless countenance ?
However, you have been pretty hasty, and though I grant
that the affair has succeeded until now, what do you think
will be the end of it, for it cannot be long concealed ?

Asc. When love is strong it overcomes all obstacles,
until it is satisfied ; provided it reaches the wished-for
goal, it looks upon everything else as a mere trifle. I
have told you all to-day, so that your advice . . . But
here comes my husband.

SCENE II. — VALERE, ASCANIO, FROSINE.

VAL. If you are conversing, and if my presence is any
interruption, I shall withdraw.

Asc. No ; you may well interrupt it, since we were
talking about you.

VAL. About me ?

Asc. About yourself.

SCENE ii.J THE LOVE-TIFF. 93

VAL. How so ?

Asc. I was saying, that if I had been a woman, Valere
would have been able to please me but too well, and that
if I had been beloved by him, I should not have delayed
long to make him happy.

VAL. This declaration does not cost you much, as there
is such an if in the way ; but you would be finely caught
if some miraculous event should put to the proof the truth
of so obliging a declaration.

Asc. Not in the least ; I tell you that if I reigned in
your heart, I would very willingly crown your passion.

VAL. And what, if you might contribute to my happi-
ness, by assisting me to further my love?

Asc. I should then, certainly, disappoint you.

VAL. This admission is not very polite.

Asc. What, Valere? Supposing I were a woman and
loved you tenderly, would you be so cruel as to make me
promise to aid you in your love for another lady ? I could
not perform such a painful task.

VAL. But you are not a woman.

Asc. What I said to you I said in the character of a
woman, and you ought to take it so.

VAL. Thus I ought not to imagine you like me, Ascanio,
unless Heaven works a miracle in you. Therefore, as you
are not a woman, I bid farewell to your affection ; you do
not care in the least for me.

Asc. My feelings are far more nice than people imagine,
and the smallest misgiving shocks me when love is in the
case. But I am sincere ; I will not promise to aid you,
Valere, unless you assure me that you entertain precisely
the same sentiments for me ; that you feel the same warmth
of friendship for me as I feel for you ; and that if I were
a woman you would love no one better than me.

VAL. I never before heard of such a jealous scruple, but
though quite unexpected, this affection obliges me to
make some return for it ; I here promise you all you re-
quire of me.

Asc. But sincerely?

VAL. Yes, sincerely.

Asc. If this be true, I promise you that henceforth
your interests shall be mine.

94 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT ii.

VAL. I have a secret of the utmost consequence to re-
veal to you by and by, and then I shall remind you of
your words.

Asc. And I have likewise a secret to discover to you,
wherein your affection for me may show itself.

VAL. Indeed ! what can that be ?

Asc. I have a love affair which I dare not reveal, and
you have influence enough over the object of my passion
to promote my happiness.

VAL. Explain yourself, Ascanio, and be assured before-
hand that, if your happiness lies in my power, it is certain.

Asc. You promise more than you imagine.

VAL. No, no ; tell me the name of the person whom I
have to influence.

Asc. It is not yet time, but it is a person who is nearly
related to you.

VAL. Your words amaze me ; would to Heaven my
sister . . .

Asc. This is not the proper time to explain myself, I
tell you.

VAL. Why so?

Asc. For a certain reason. You shall know my secret
when I know yours.

VAL. I must have another person's permission before I
can discover it to you.

Asc. Obtain it then ; and when we shall have explained
ourselves we shall see which of us two will best keep his
word.

VAL. Farewell, I accept your offer.

Asc. And I will be bound by it, Valere. (Exit Valere.}

FROS. He thinks you will help him as a brother.

SCENE III. — LUCILE, ASCANIO, MARINETTE, FROSINE.

Luc. (Saying the first words to Marinette}. I have done
it; it is thus I can revenge myself; if this step torments
him, it will be a great consolation to me . . . Brother,
you perceive a change in me ; I am resolved to love
Valere, after so much ill-usage ; he shall become the ob-
ject of my affection.

Asc. What do you say, sister? How do you change so
suddenly ? This inconstancy seems to me very strange.

SCBNB iv.j THE LOVE-TIFF. 95

Luc. Your change of disposition has more cause to sur-
prise me. You formerly used always to plead in favour
of Valere ; for his sake you have accused me of caprice,
blind cruelty, pride and injustice ; and now, when I wish
to love him, my intention displeases you, and I find you
speaking against his interest.

Asc. I abandon his interest, sister, out of regard to
yours. I know he is under the sway of another fair one ;
it will be a discredit to your charms if you call him back,
and he does not come.

Luc. If that is all, I shall take care not to suffer a de-
feat ; I know what I am to believe of his passion ; he has
shown it very clearly, at least so I think ; you may safely
discover my sentiments to him : or if you refuse to do it,
I, myself, shall let him know that his passion has touched
me. What ! you stand thunderstruck, brother, at those
words !

Asc. Oh, sister, if I have any influence over you, if
you will listen to a brother's entreaties, abandon such a
design ; do not take away Valere from the love of a young
creature, in whom I feel great interest, and for whom,
upon my word, you ought to feel some sympathy. The
poor unfortunate woman loves him to distraction ; to me
alone she has disclosed her passion ; I perceive in her heart
such a tender affection, that it might soften even the most
relentless being. Yes, you yourself will pity her condi-
tion when she shall become aware with what stroke you
threaten to crush her love ; so sure am I of the excess of
her grief, that I am certain, sister, she will die, if you rob
her of the man she adores. Eraste is a match that ought
to satisfy you, and the mutual affection you have for one
another . . .

Luc. Brother, it is sufficient ! I do not know in whom
you take such an interest ; but let us not continue this
conversation, I beg of you ; leave me a little to my own
thoughts.

Asc. Cruel sister, you will drive me to despair if you
carry your design into execution.

SCENE IV. — LUCILE, MARINETTE.
MAR. Your resolution, madam, is very sudden.

96 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT „.

Luc. A heart considers nothing when it is once af-
fronted, but flies to its revenge, and eagerly lays hold of
whatever it thinks can minister to its resentment. The
wretch ! To treat me with such extreme insolence !

MAR. You see I have not yet recovered the effects ;
though I were to brood over it to all eternity, I cannot
understand it, and all my labour is in vain. For never
did a lover express more delight on receiving good news ;
.so pleased was he with your kind note that he called me
nothing less than a divine creature; and yet, when I
brought him the other message, there was never a poor
girl treated so scurvily. I cannot imagine what could
happen in so short a time to occasion so great a change.

Luc. Do not trouble yourself about what may have
happened, since nothing shall secure him against my
hatred. What ! do you think there is any secret reason
for this affront but his own baseness ? Does the unfor-
tunate letter I sent him, and for which I now blame my-
self, present the smallest excuse for his madness ?

MAR. Indeed, I must say you are right ; this quarrel is
downright treachery ; we have both been duped, and yet,
madam, we listen to these faithless rascals who promise
everything ; who, in order to hook us, feign so much ten-
derness; we let our severity melt before their fine speeches,
and yield to their wishes, because we are too weak ! A
sharn,e on our folly, and a plague take the men !

Luc. Well, well ! let him boast and laugh at us ; he
shall not long have cause to triumph ; I will let him see
that in a well-balanced mind hatred follows close on
slighted favours.

MAR. At least, in such a case, it is a great happiness to
know that we are not in their power. Notwithstanding
all that was said, Marinette was right the other night to
interfere when some people were in a very merry mood.
Another, in hopes of matrimony, would have listened to
the temptation, but nescio vos, quoth I.*

Luc. How foolishly you talk ; how ill you choose your

4 These two Latin words, which were in very common use in France,
during MoliSre's time, are taken from the Vulgate, Matthew xxv. 1 2 :
"Doming, doming, apgri nobis.'' — At ille rgspondens ait: "Amen dico
vobis, nescio vos."

SCENE vi.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 97

time to joke ! My heart is full of grief. If ever fate wills
it that this false lover, — but I am in the wrong to conceive
at present any such expectation ; for Heaven has been too
well pleased to afflict me to put it in my power to be re-
venged on him, — but if ever a propitious fate, I say, should
cause Eraste to come back to me, and lay down his life as
a sacrifice at my feet, as well as declare his sorrow for
what he has done to-day, I forbid you, above all things,
to speak to me in his favour. On the contrary, I would
have you show your zeal by setting fully befcfre me the
greatness of his crime ; if my heart should be tempted
ever to degrade itself so far, let your affection then show
itself; spare me not, but support my anger as is fit.

MAR. Oh ! do not fear ! leave that to me ; I am at
least as angry as you; I would rather remain a maid all my
life than that my fat rascal should give me any inclination
for him again. If he comes . . .

SCENE V. — MARINETTE, LUCILE, ALBERT.

ALB. Go in, Lucile, and tell the tutor to come to me ;
I wish to have a little talk with him ; and as he is the
master of Ascanio, find out what is the cause that the
latter has been of late so gloomy.

•

SCENE VI. — ALBERT, alone.

Into what an abyss of cares and perplexities does one
unjust action precipitate us. For a long time I have suf-
fered a great deal because I was too avaricious, and passed
off a stranger for my dead son. When I consider the
mischief which followed I sincerely wish I had never
thought of it. Sometimes I dread to behold my family in
poverty and covered with shame, when the deception will
be found out ; at other times I fear a hundred accidents
that may happen to this son whom it concerns me so
much to preserve. If any business calls me abroad, I am
afraid of hearing, on my return, some such melancholy
tidings as these : " You know, I suppose? Have they not
told you ? Your son has a fever ; or he has broken his
leg or his arm." In short, every moment, no matter
VOL. i. G

98 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT n.

what I do, all kinds of apprehensions are continually
entering into my head. Ha !

SCENE VII. — ALBERT, METAPHRASTUS.

MET. Mandatum tuum euro diligenter?

ALB. Master, I want to ...

MET. Master is derived from magi's ter j it is as though
you say " thrice greater."

ALB. May I die if I knew that ; but, never mind, be it
so. Master, then . . .

MET. Proceed.

ALB. So I would, but do not proceed to interrupt me
thus. Once more, then, master, for the third time, my
son causes me some uneasiness. You know that I love
him, and that I always brought him up carefully.

MET. It is true : filio non potest prceferri nisi filius.

ALB. Master, I do not think this jargon at all necessary
in common conversation. I believe you are a great Latin
scholar and an eminent doctor, for I rely on those who
have told me so ; but in a conversation which I should like
to have with you, do not display all your learning — do not
play the pedant, and utter ever so many words, as if you
were holding forth in a pulpit. My father, though he
was a very clever man, never taught me anything but my
prayers ; and though I have said them daily for fifty years,
they are still High-Dutch to me. Therefore, do not em-
ploy your prodigious knowledge, but adapt your language
to my weak understanding.

MET. Be it so.

ALB. My son seems to be afraid of matrimony ; when-
ever I propose a match to him, he seems indifferent, and
draws back.

MET. Perhaps he is of the temper of Mark Tully's
brother, whom he writes about to Atticus. This is what
the Greeks call athanaton . . . . 7

ALB. For Heaven's sake ! you ceaseless teacher, I pray
you have done with the Greeks, the Albanians, the Scla-

6 " I hasten to obey your order."

6" To a son one can only prefer a son." An allusion to an article of
feudal law.

7 Immortal.

SCENE vn.J THE LOVE-TIFF. yy

vonians, and all the other nations you have mentioned ;
they have nothing to do with my son.

MET. Well then, your son . . . ?

ALB. I do not know whether a secret love does not burn
within him. Something disturbs him, or I am much de-
ceived ; for I saw him yesterday, when he did not see me,
in a corner of the wood, where no person ever goes.

MET. In a recess of a grove, you mean, a remote spot,
in Latin seccssus. Virgil says, est in sec ess u locus . . . 8

ALB. How could Virgil say that, since I am certain that
there was not a soul in that quiet spot except us two ?

MET. I quote Virgil as a famous author, who employed
a more correct expression than the word you used, and
not as a witness of what you saw yesterday.

ALB I tell you I do not need a more correct expression,
an author, or a witness, and that my own testimony is suf-
ficient.

MET. However, you ought to choose words which are
used by the best authors ; tu vivendo bonos, scribendo se-
quare peritos? as the saying is.

ALB. Man or devil, will you hear me without disputing ?

MET. That is Quintilian's rule.

ALB. Hang the chatterbox !

MET. He has a very learned sentence upon a similar
subject, which, I am sure, you will be very glad to hear.

ALB. I will be the devil to carry you off, you wretch.
Oh ! I am very much tempted to apply something to those
chops.

MET. Sir, what is the reason that you fly in such a pas-
sion ! What do you wish me to do ?

ALB. I have told you twenty times ; I wish you to listen
to me when I speak.

MET. Oh ! undoubtedly, you shall be satisfied if that
is all. I am silent.

ALB. You act wisely.

MET. I am ready to hear what you have to say.

ALB. So much the better.

8 There is a remote spot.

9 " Regulate your conduct after the example of good people your style
after good authors."

100 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT n.

MET. May I be struck dead if I say another word !
ALB. Heaven grant you that favour.
MET. You shall not accuse me henceforth of talkative-
ness.

ALB. Be it so.

MET. Speak whenever you please

ALB. I am going to do so.

MET. And do not be afraid of my interrupting you.

ALB. That is enough.

MET. My word is my bond.

ALB. I believe so.

MET. I have promised to say nothing.

ALB. That is sufficient.

MET. From this moment I am dumb.

ALB. Very well.

MET. Speak ; go on ; I will give you a hearing at least ;
you shall not complain that I cannot keep silent ; I will
not so much as open my mouth.

ALB. (Aside). The wretch !

MET. But pray, do not be prolix. I have listened
already a long time, and it is reasonable that I should
speak in my turn.

ALB. Detestable torturer !

MET. Hey ! good lack ! would you have me listen to you
for ever? Let us share the talk, at least, or I shall be gone.

ALB. My patience is really . . .

MET. What, will you proceed? You have not done
yet ? By Jove, I am stunned.

ALB. I have not spoken . . .

MET. Again ! good Heavens ! what exuberant speechi-
fying ! Can nothing be done to stop it ?

ALB. I am mad with rage.

MET. You are talking again ! What a peculiar way of
tormenting people ! Let me say a few words, I entreat
you ; a fool who says nothing cannot be distinguished from
a wise man who holds his tongue.

ALB. Zounds ! I will make you hold yours. (Exit.

SCENE VIII. — METAPHRASTUS, alone.

Hence comes very properly that saying of a philoso-
pher, " Speak, that I may know thee." Therefore, if the

SCENE ix.] THE LOVE-TIFF. IOI

liberty of speaking is taken from me, I, for my part, would
as soon be divested of my humanity, and exchange my
being for that of a brute. I shall have a headache for a
week. Oh ! how I detest these eternal talkers ! But if
learned men are not listened to, if their mouths are for
ever to be stopped, then the order of events must be
changed ; the hens in a little time will devour the fox ;
young children teach old men ; little lambs take a delight
in pursuing the wolf ; fools make laws ; women go to
battle ; judges be tried by criminals ; and masters whipped
by pupils ; a sick man prescribe for a healthy one ; a timo-
rous hare . . .

SCENE IX. — ALBERT, METAPHRASTUS.

ings a dell in the ears of

drives him off}.
MET. Mercy on me ! Help ! help !

(Albert rings a dell in the ears of Metaphrastus, and
drives him o.

ACT III.
SCENE I. — MASCARILLE, alone.

Heaven sometimes favours a bold design ; we must get
out of a bad business as well as we can. As for me, after
having imprudently talked too much, the quickest remedy
I could employ was to go on in the same way, and imme-
diately to tell to our old master the whole intrigue. His
son is a giddy-brained mortal, who worries me ; but if the
other tells what I have discovered to him, then I had bet-
ter take care, for I shall get a beating. However, before
his fury can be kindled, some lucky thing may happen to
us, and the two old men may arrange the business between
themselves. That is what I am going to attempt ; with-
out losing a moment I must, by my master's order, go
and see Albert. (Knocks at Alberf s door).

SCENE II. — ALBERT, MASCARILLE.

ALB. Who knocks?

MASC. A friend.

ALB. What brings you hither, Mascarille?

MASC. I come, sir, to wish you good-morning.

102 THE LOVE-TIFF.

! ACT III.

ALB. Hah! you really take a great deal of pains. Good-
morning, then, with all my heart. (He goes in).

MASC. The answer is short and sweet. What a blunt
old fellow he is. (Knocks).

ALB. What, do you knock again ?

MASC. You have not heard me, sir.

ALB. Did you not wish me good-morning ?

MASC. I did.

ALB. Well, then, good morning I say.

(Is going ; Mascarille stops him.

MASC. But I likewise come to pay Mr. Polydore's com-
pliments to you.

ALB. Oh ! that is another thing. Has your master
ordered you to give his compliments to me ?

MASC. Yes.

ALB. I am obliged to him ; you may go ; tell him I wish
him all kind of happiness. (Exit).

MASC. This man is an enemy to all ceremony. (^Knocks).
I have not finished, sir, giving you his whole message ; he
has a favour to request of you.

ALB. Well, whenever he pleases, I am at his service.

MASC. (Stopping him). Stay, and allow me to finish in
two words. He desires to have a few minutes' conversa-
tion with you about an important affair, and he will come
hither.

ALB. Hey ! what affair can that be which makes him
wish to have some conversation with me ?

MASC. A great secret, I tell you, which he has but just
discovered, and which, no doubt, greatly concerns you
both. And now I have delivered my message.

SCENE III. — ALBERT, alone.

ALB. Righteous Heavens ! how I tremble ! Polydore
and I have had little acquaintance together ; my designs
wiU all be overthrown ; this secret is, no doubt, that of
which I dread the discovery. They have bribed somebody
to betray me ; so there is a stain upon my honour which
can never be wiped off. My imposture is found out. Oh !
how difficult it is to keep the truth concealed for any length
of time ! How much better would it have been for me
and my reputation had I followed the dictates of a well-

SCENE iv. J THE LOVE-TIFF. 103

founded apprehension ! Many times and oft have I been
tempted to give up to Polydore the wealth I withhold
from him, in order to prevent the outcry that will be
raised against me when everything shall be known, and so
get the whole business quietly settled. But, alas ! it is
now too late ; the opportunity is gone ; and this wealth,
which wrongfully came into my family, will be lost to
them, and sweep away the greatest part of my own pro-
perty with it.

SCENE IV. — ALBERT, POLYDORE.

POL. (Not seeing Albert}. To be married in this fashion,
and no one knowing anything about it ! I hope it may
all end well ! I do not know what to think of it; I much
fear the great wealth and just anger of the father. But I
see him alone.

ALB. Oh, Heavens ! yonder comes Polydore.

POL. I tremble to accost him.

ALB. Fear keeps me back.

POL. How shall I begin ?

ALB. What shall I say ?

POL. He is in a great passion.

ALB. He changes colour.

POL. I see, Signer Albert, by your looks, that you
know already what brings me hither.

ALB. Alas ! yes.

POL. The news, indeed, may well surprise you, and I
could scarcely believe what I was told just now.

ALB. I ought to blush with shame and confusion.

POL. I think such an action deserves great blame, and
do not pretend to excuse the guilty.

ALB. Heaven is merciful to miserable sinners.

POL. You should bear this in mind.

ALB. A man ought to behave as a Christian.

POL. That is quite right.

ALB. Have mercy ; for Heaven's sake, have mercy,
Signer Polydore.

POL. It is for me to implore it of you.

ALB. Grant me mercy; I ask it on my bended knees.

POL. I ought to be in that attitude rather than you.10

10 The two old men are kneeling opposite to one another.

104 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT in.

ALB. Pity my misfortune.

POL. After such an outrage I am the postulant.

ALB. Your goodness is heart-rending.

POL. You abash me with so much humility.

ALB. Once more, pardon.

POL. Alas ! I crave it of you.

ALB. I am extremely sorry for this business.

POL. And I feel it greatly.

ALB. I venture to entreat you not to make it public.

POL. Alas, Signer Albert, I desire the very same.

ALB. Let us preserve my honour.

POL. With all my heart.

ALB. As for money, you shall determine how much you
require.

POL. I desire no more than you are willing to give ;
you shall be the master in all these things, I shall be but
too happy if you are so.

ALB. Ha ! what a God-like man ! how very kind he is !

POL. How very kind you are yourself, and that after
such a misfortune.

ALB. May you be prosperous in all things !

POL. May Heaven preserve you !

ALB. Let us embrace like brothers.

POL. With all my heart ! I am overjoyed that every-
thing has ended so happily,

ALB. I thank Heaven for it.

POL. I do not wish to deceive you ; I was afraid you
would resent that Lucile has committed a fault with my
son ; and as you are powerful, have wealth and friends. . .

ALB. Hey ! what do you say of faults and Lucile ?

POL. Enough, let us not enter into a useless conversa-
tion. I own my son is greatly to blame ; nay, if that
will satisfy you, I will admit that he alone is at fault ; that
your daughter was too virtuous, and would never have
taken a step so derogatory to honour, had she not been
prevailed upon by a wicked seducer ; that the wretch has
betrayed her innocent modesty, and thus frustrated all
your expectations. But since the thing is done, and my
prayers have been granted, since we are both at peace and
amity, let it be buried in oblivion, and repair the offence
by the ceremony of a happy alliance.

SCBNKVI.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 105

ALB. (Aside}. Oh, Heavens ! what a mistake I have
been under ! What do I hear ! I get from one difficulty
into another as great. I do not know what to answer
amidst these different emotions ; if I say one word, I am
afraid of betraying myself.

POL. What are you thinking of, Signer Albert ?

ALB. Of nothing. Let us put off our conversation for
a while, I pray you. I have become suddenly very un-
well, and am obliged to leave you.

SCENE V. — POLYDORE, alone.

I can look into his soul and discover what disturbs
him ; though he listened to reason at first, yet his anger
is not quite appeased. Now and then the remembrance
of the offence flashes upon him ; he endeavours to hide
his emotion by leaving me alone. I feel for him, and his
grief touches me. It will require some time before he re-
gains his composure, for if sorrow is suppressed too much,
it easily becomes worse. O ! here comes my foolish boy,
the cause of all this confusion.

SCENE VI. — POLYDORE, VALERE.

POL. So, my fine fellow, shall your nice goings-on dis-
turb your poor old father every moment ? You perform
something new every day, and we never hear of anything
else.

VAL. What am I doing every day that is so very crimi-
nal ? And how have I deserved so greatly a father's
wrath ?

POL. I am a strange man, and very peculiar to accuse
so good and discreet a son. He lives like a saint, and is
at prayers and in the house from morning to evening. It
is a great untruth to say that he perverts the order of
nature, and turns day into night ! It is a horrible false-
hood to state that upon several occasions he has shown no
consideration for father or kindred ; that very lately he
married secretly the daughter of Albert, regardless of the
great consequences that were sure to follow ; they mistake
him for some other ! The poor innocent creature does
not even know what I mean ! Oh, you villain ! whom
Heaven has sent me as a punishment for my sins, will you

106 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT in.

always do as you like, and shall I never see you act dis-
creetly as long as I live ? (Exit.
VAL. (Alone, musing). Whence comes this blow ? I
am perplexed, and can find none to think of but Mas-
carille , he will never confess it to me ; I must be cun-
ning, and curb my well-founded anger a little.

SCENE VII. — VALERE, MASCARILLE.

VAL. Mascarille, my father whom I just saw knows our
whole secret.

MASC. Does he know it?

VAL. Yes.

MASC. How the deuce could he know it ?

VAL. I do not know whom to suspect ; but the result
has been so successful, that I have all the reason in the
world to be delighted. He has not said one cross word
about it ; he excuses my fault, and approves of my love ;
I would fain know who could have made him so tractable.
I cannot express to you the satisfaction it gives me.

MASC. And what would you say, sir, if it was I who had
procured you this piece of good luck ?

VAL. Indeed ! you want to deceive me.

MASC. It is I, I tell you, who told it to your father, and
produced this happy result for you.

VAL. Really, without jesting ?

MASC. The devil take me if I jest, and if it is not as I
tell you.

VAL. (Drawing his sword}. And may he take me if I
do not this very moment reward you for it.

MASC. Ha, sir ! what now? Don't surprise me.

VAL. Is this the fidelity you promised me ? If I had
not deceived you, you would never have owned the trick
which I rightly suspected you played me. You rascal !
your tongue, too ready to wag, has provoked my father's
wrath against me, and utterly ruined me. You shall die
without saying another word.

MASC. Gently ; my soul is not in a fit condition to die.
I entreat you, be kind enough to await the result of this
affair. I had very good reasons for revealing a marriage
which you yourself could hardly conceal. It was a master-
piece of policy ; you will not find your rage justified by

SCENE vin.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 107

the issue. Why should you get angry if, through me, you
get all you desire, and are freed from the constraint you
at present lie under ?

VAL. And what if all this talk is nothing but moon-
shine ?

MASC. Why, then, it will be time enough to kill me ;
but my schemes may perchance succeed. Heaven will
assist his own servants ; you will be satisfied in the end,
and thank me for my extraordinary management.

VAL. Well, we shall see. But Lucile . . .

MASC. Hold, here comes her father.

SCENE VIII. — ALBERT, VALERE, MASCARILLE.

ALB. {Not seeing Valere). The more I recover from
the confusion into which I fell at first, the more I am
astonished at the strange things Polydore told me, and
which my fear made me interpret in so different a manner
to what he intended. Lucile maintains that it is all non-
sense, and spoke to me in such a manner as leaves no
room for suspicion . . . Ha ! sir, it is you whose
unheard-of impudence sports with my honour, and in-
vents this base story ?

MASC. Pray, Signor Albert, use milder terms, and do
not be so angry with your son-in-law.

ALB. How ! son-in-law, rascal ? You look as if you
were the main-spring of this intrigue, and the originator
of it.

MASC. Really I see no reason for you to fly in such a
passion.

ALB. Pray, do you think it right to take away the
character of my daughter, and bring such a scandal upon
a whole family ?

MASC. He is ready to do all you wish.

ALB. I only want him to tell the truth. If he had any
inclination for Lucile, he should have courted her in an
honourable and open way ; he should have acted as he
ought, and asked her father's leave ; and not have had
recourse to this cowardly contrivance, which offends mo-
desty so much.

MASC. What ! Lucile is not secretly engaged to my
master ?

108 THE LOVE-TIFF.

[ACT in.

ALB. No, rascal, nor ever will be.

MASC. Not quite so fast ! If the thing is already done,
will you give your consent to ratify that secret engage-
ment ?

ALB. And if it is certain that it is not so, will you have
your bones broken ?

VAL. It is easy, sir, to prove to you that he speaks the
truth.

ALB. Good ! there is the other ! Like master, like
man. O ! what impudent liars !

MASC. Upon the word of a man of honour, it is as
I say.

VAL. Why should we deceive you ?

ALB. (Aside) They are two sharpers that know how to
play into each other's hands.

MASC. But let us come to the proof, and without quar-
relling. Send for Lucile, and let her speak for herself.

ALB. And what if she should prove you a liar ?

MASC She will not contradict us, sir ; of that I am
certain. Promise to give your consent to their engage-
ment ; and I will suffer the severest punishment if, with
her own mouth, she does not confess to you that she is
engaged to Valere, and shares his passion.

ALB. We shall see this presently.

(He knocks at his door).

MASC. (To Valere}. Courage, Sir ; all will end well.

ALB. Ho ! Lucile, one word with you.

VAL. (To Mascarille}. I fear. . .

MASC. Fear nothing.

SCENE IX. — VALERE, ALBERT, LUCILE, MASCARILLE.

MASC. Signer Albert, at least be silent. At length,
madam, everything conspires to make your happiness com-
plete. Your father, who is informed of your love, leaves
you your husband and gives his permission to your union,
provided that, banishing all frivolous fears, a few words
from your own mouth corroborate what we have told him.

Luc. What nonsense does this impudent scoundrel
tell me?

MASC. That is all right. I am already honoured with a
fine title.

SCENE ix. ] THE LOVE-TIFF. 109

Luc. Pray, sir, who has invented this nice story which
has been spread about to-day?

VAL. Pardon me, charming creature. My servant has
been babbling ; our marriage is discovered, without my
consent.

Luc. Our marriage ?

VAL. Everything is known, adorable Lucile ; it is vain
to dissemble.

Luc. What ! the ardour of my passion has made you
my husband ?

VAL. It is a happiness which causes a great many heart-
burnings. But I impute the successful result of my court-
ship less to your great passion for me than to your kindness
of heart. I know you have cause to be offended, that it
was the secret which you would fain have concealed. I
myself have put a restraint on my ardour, so that I might
not violate your express commands ; but . . .

MASC. Yes, it was I who told it. What great harm is
done ?

Luc. Was there ever a falsehood like this ? Dare you
mention this in my very presence, and hope to obtain my
hand by this fine contrivance ? What a wretched lover
you are — you, whose gallant passion would wound my
honour, because it could not gain my heart ; who wish to
frighten my father by a foolish story, so that you might
obtain my hand as a reward for having vilified me.
Though everything were favourable to your love — my
father, fate, and my own inclination — yet my well-founded
resentment would struggle against my own inclination,
fate, and my father, and even lose life rather than be
united to one who thought to obtain my hand in this
manner. Begone ! If my sex could with decency be
provoked to any outburst of rage, I would let you know
what it was to treat me thus.

VAL. (To Mascarille). It is all over with us; her anger
cannot be appeased.

MASC. Let me speak to her. Prithee, madam, what is
the good of all these excuses ? What are you thinking of?
And what strange whim makes you thus oppose your own
happiness ? If your father were a harsh parent, the case
would be different, but he listens to reason ; and he him-

110 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT m.

self has assured me that if you would but confess the truth,
his affection would grant you everything. I believe you
are a little ashamed frankly to acknowledge that you have
yielded to love ; but if you have lost a trifling amount of
freedom, everything will be set to rights again by a good
marriage. Your great love for Valere may be blamed a
little, but the mischief is not so great as if you had mur-
dered a man. We all know that flesh is frail, and that a
maid is neither stock nor stone. You were not the first,
that is certain ; and you will not be the last, I dare say.

Luc. What ! can you listen to this shameless talk, and
make no reply to these indignities ?

ALB. What would you have me say ? This affair puts
me quite beside myself.

MASC. Upon my word, madam, you ought to have con-
fessed all before now.

Luc. What ought I to have confessed ?

MASC. What ? Why, what has passed between my mas-
ter and you. A fine joke, indeed !

Luc. Why, what has passed between your master and
me, impudent wretch ?

MASC. You ought, I think, to know that better than I ;
you passed that night too agreeably, to make us believe
you could forget it so soon.

Luc. Father, we have too long borne with the insolence
of an impudent lackey. (Gives him a box on the ear).

SCENE X. — ALBERT, VALERE, MASCARILLE.

MASC. I think she gave me a box on the ear.

ALB. Begone ! rascal, villain ! Her father approves the
way in which she has made her hand felt upon your cheek.

MASC. May be so ; yet may the devil take me if I said
anything but what was true !

ALB. And may I lose an ear if you carry on this impu-
dence any further !

MASC. Shall I send for two witnesses to testify to the
truth of my statements ?

ALB. Shall I send for two of my servants to give you a
3ound thrashing ?

MASC. Their testimony will corroborate mine.

SCENE xi.J THE LOVE-TIFF. 1 1 1

ALB. Their arms may make up for my want of
strength.

MASC. I tell you, Lucile behaves thus because she is
ashamed.

ALB. I tell you, you shall be answerable for all this.

MASC. Do you know Ormin, that stout and clever
notary ?

ALB. Do you know Grimpant, the city executioner ?

MASC. And Simon, the tailor, who used formerly to
work for all the people of fashion ?

ALB. And the gibbet set up in the middle of the mar-
ket-place ?

MASC. You shall see they will confirm the truth of this
marriage.

ALB. You shall see they will make an end of you.

MASC. They were the witnesses chosen by them.

ALB. They shall shortly revenge me on you.

MASC. I myself saw them at the altar.

ALB. And I myself shall see you with a halter.

MASC. By the same token, your daughter had a black
veil on.

ALB. By the same token, your face foretells your doom.

MASC. What an obstinate old man.

ALB. What a cursed rascal ! You may thank my ad-
vanced years, which prevent me from punishing your in-
sulting remarks upon the spot : but I promise you, you
shall be paid with full interest.

SCENE XI. — VALERE, MASCARILLE.

VAL. Well, where is now that fine result you were to
produce . . . ?

MASC. I understand what you mean. Everything goes
against me : I see cudgels and gibbets preparing for me
on every side. Therefore, so that I may be at rest amidst
this chaos, I shall go and throw myself headlong from a
rock, if, in my present despair, I can find one high
enough to please me. Farewell, sir.

VAL. No, no ; in vain you wish to fly. If you die, I
expect it to be in my presence.

MASC. I cannot die if anybody is looking on : it would
only delay my end.

112 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT iv.

VAL. Follow me traitor ; follow me. My maddened
love will soon show whether this is a jesting matter or not.

MASC. {Alone'). Unhappy Mascarille, to what misfor-
tunes are you condemned to-day for another's sin !

ACT IV.

SCENE I. — ASCANIO, FROSINE.

FROS. What has happened is very annoying.

Asc. My dear Frosine, fate has irrevocably decreed my
ruin. Now the affair has gone so far, it will never stop
there, but will go on ; Lucile and Valere, surprised at
such a strange mystery, will, one day, try to find their
way amidst this darkness, and thus all my plans will mis-
carry. For, whether Albert is acquainted with the decep-
tion, or whether he himself is deceived, as well as the rest
of the world, if ever it happens that my family is dis-
covered, and all the wealth he has wrongfully acquired
passes into the hands of others, judge if he will then en-
dure my presence ; for, not having any interest more in
the matter, he will abandon me, and his affection for me
will be at an end. Whatever, then, my lover may think
of my deception, will he acknowledge as his wife a girl
without either fortune or family ?

FROS. I think you reason rightly ; but these reflections
should have come sooner. What has prevented you from
seeing all this before? there was no need to be a witch
to foresee, as soon as you fell in love with Valere, all
that your genius never found out until to-day. It is the
natural consequence of what you have done ; as soon as I
was made acquainted with it I never imagined it would
end otherwise.

Asc. But what must I do ? There never was such a mis-
fortune as mine. Put yourself in my place, and give me
advice.

FROS. If I put myself in your place, you will have to
give me advice upon this ill-success ; for I am you, and
you are I. Counsel me, Frosine, in the condition I am
in. Where can we find a remedy ? Tell me, I beg of you.

Asc. Alas ! do not make fun of me. You show but

SCENE ii.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 113

little sympathy with my bitter grief, if you laugh in the
midst of my distress.

FROS. Really, Ascanio, I pity your distress, and would
do my utmost to help you. But what can I do, after all ?
I see very little likelihood of arranging this affair so as to
satisfy your love.

Asc. If no assistance can be had, I must die.

FROS. Die ! Come, come ; it is always time enough
for that. Death is a remedy ever at hand ; we ought to
make use of it as late as possible.

Asc. No, no, Frosine. If you and your invaluable
counsels do not guide me amidst all these breakers, I
abandon myself wholly to despair.

FROS. Do you know what I am thinking about ? I
must go and see the . . . ." But here comes Eraste ; he
may interrupt us. We will talk this matter over as we go
along. Come, let us retire.

SCENE II. — ERASTE, GROS-RENE.

ERAS. You have failed again ?

GR.-RE. Never was an ambassador less listened to. No
sooner had I told her that you desired to have a moment's
conversation with her, than, drawing herself up, she an-
swered haughtily, " Go, go, I value your master just as
much as I do you ; tell him he may go about his business ; "
and after this fine speech she turned her head away
from me and walked off. Marinette, too, imitating her
mistress, said, with a disdainful sneer, " Begone, you low
fellow, ' ' " and then left me ; so that your fortune and
mine are very much alike.

ERAS. What an ungrateful creature, to receive with so
much haughtiness the quick return of a heart justly in-

11 Frosine means by " the . . . , " the woman who knows the se-
cret of all this intrigue, and who is supposed to be the mother of Ascanio,
This is explained later on, in Act V., Scene 4, page 125.

12 In the original it is beau valet de carreau. Littre\ in his '' Diction-
naire de la langue francaise," says that this word which means literally
" knave of diamonds, was considered an insult, because in the old packs
of cards of the beginning of the seventeenth century, that knave was called
valet de cfiasse, hunting servant, a rather menial situation ; while the
knave of spades, valet de pique, was called valet de noblesse, nobleman's
servant : the knave of hearts, valet de cctur, valet de cour, court servant ;
and the knave of clubs, valet de trefle, valet de pied, foot-servant.

VOL. I. H

114 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT iv

censed. Is the first outburst of a passion, which with so
much reason thought itself deceived, unworthy of excuse?
Could I, when burning with love, remain insensible, in
that fatal moment, to the happiness of a rival ? Would
any other not have acted in the same way as I did, or
been less amazed at so much boldness? Was I not quick
in abandoning my well-founded suspicions? I did not
wait till she swore they were false. When no one can tell
as yet what to think of it, my heart, full of impatience,
restores Lucile to her former place, and seeks to find
excuses for her. Will not all these proofs satisfy her of
the ardour of my respectful passion ? Instead of calming
my mind, and providing me with arms against a rival who
wishes to alarm me, this ungrateful woman abandons me
to all the tortures of jealousy, and refuses to receive my
messages and notes, or to grant me an interview. Alas !
that love is certainly very lukewarm which can be extin-
guished by so trifling an offence; that scornful rigour,
which is displayed so readily, sufficiently shows to me the
depth of her affection. What value ought I to set now
upon all the caprices with which she fanned my love ?
No ! I do not pretend to be any longer the slave of one
who has so little love for me; since she does not mind
whether she keeps me or not, I will do the same.

GR.-RE. And so will I. Let us both be angry, and put
our love on the list of our old sins ; we must teach a
lesson to that wayward sex, and make them feel that we
possess some courage. He that will bear their contempt
shall have enough of it. If we had sense enough not to
make ourselves too cheap, women would not talk so big.
Oh ! how insolent they are through our weakness ! May
I be hanged if we should not see them fall upon our neck
more often than we wished, if it was not for those servili-
ties with which most men, now-a-days, continually spoil
them.

ERAS. As for me, nothing vexes me so much as con-
tempt; and to punish her's by one as great, I am resolved
to cherish a new passion.

GR.-RE. So will I, and never trouble my head about
women again. I renounce them all, and believe honestly
you could not do better than to act like me. For, master,

SCENE ii.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 115

people say that woman is an animal hard to be known,
and naturally very prone to evil ; and as an animal is
always an animal, and will never be anything but an
animal, though it lived for a hundred thousand years, so,
without contradiction, a woman is always a woman, and
will never be anything but a woman as long as the world
endures.13 Wherefore, as a certain Greek author says : a
woman's head is like a quicksand ; for pray, mark well
this argument, which is most weighty : As the head is the
chief of the body, and as the body without a chief is
worse than a beast, unless the chief has a good under-
standing with the body, and unless everything be as well
regulated as if it were measured with a pair of compasses,
we see certain confusions arrive ; the animal part then en-
deavours to get the better of the rational, and we see one
pull to the right, another to the left ; one wants something
soft, another something hard ; in short, everything goes
topsy turvy. This is to show that here below, as it has
been explained to me, a woman's head is like a weather-
cock on the top of a houje, which veers about at the
slightest breeze ; that is why cousin Aristotle often com-
pares her to the sea ; hence people say that nothing in the
world is so stable as the waves.14 Now, by comparison —
for comparison makes us comprehend an argument dis-
tinctly,— and we learned men love a comparison better
than a similitude, — by comparison, then, if you please,
master, as we see that the sea, when a storm rises, begins
to rage, the wind roars and destroys, billows dash against
billows with a great hullabaloo, and the ship, in spite of
the mariner, goes sometimes down to the cellar and some-
times up into the garret ; so, when a woman gets whims
and crotchets into her head, we see a tempest in the form
of a violent storm, which will break out by certain . . .

18 This passage is paraphrased from Erasmus, Colloquia famlliaria et-
Encomium Morite, in which, after having called a woman animal stultvm
atque ineptum verum ridiculum, et suave. Folly adds, Quemadmodum,
juxta Grcecorum proverbium, simia semper est simia, etiamsi purpura
vestiatur, ita mulier semper mulier est, hoc est stulta, quamcunque per-
sonam induxerit. ,

14 Though *' stable'1 is here used, it is only employed to show the con-
fusion of Gros-Rene^s ideas, who, of course, wishes to say " unstable.1'

Il6 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT iv.

words, and then a ... certain wind, which by ... cer-
tain waves in ... a certain manner, like a sand-bank
. . . when ... In short, woman is worse than the devil.15

ERAS. You have argued that very well.

GR.-RE. Pretty well, thanks to Heaven ; but I see them
coming this way, sir, — stand firm.

ERAS. Never fear.

GR.-RE. I am very much afraid that her eyes will en-
snare you again.

SCENE III. — ERASTE, LUCILE, MARINETTE, GROS-RENE.

MAR. He is not gone yet, but do not yield.

Luc. Do not imagine I am so weak.

MAR. He comes towards us.

ERAS. No, no, madam, do not think that I have come
to speak to you again of my passion ; it is all over ; I am
resolved to cure myself. I know how little share I have
in your heart. A resentment kept up so long for a slight
offence shows me your indifference but too plainly, and I
must tell you that contempt, above all things, wounds a
lofty mind. I confess I saw in you charms which I never
found in any other ; the delight I took in my chains
would have made me prefer them to sceptres, had they
been offered to me. Yes, my love for you was certainly
very great ; my life was centred in you ; I will even own
that, though I am insulted, I shall still perhaps have diffi-
culty enough to free myself. Maybe, notwithstanding the
cure I am attempting, my heart may for a long time smart
with this wound. Freed from a yoke which I was happy
to bend under, I shall take a resolution never to love again.
But no matter, since your hatred repulses a heart which

15 This long speech of Gros-Ren6 ridicules the pedantic arguments of
some of the philosophers of the time of Moliere. It also attributes to the
ancients some sayings of authors of the day ; for example, the comparison,
from a Greek author, " that a woman's head is like a quicksand," is from
a contemporary ; the saying from Aristotle, comparing woman to the sea,
is from Malherbe. Words very familiar look more homely when em-
ployed with high-flown language, and Gros- Rene's speech is no bad ex-
ample of this, whilst at the same time it becomes more muddled the longer
it goes on. There exists also a tradition that the actor who performs the
part of Gros-Rene should in-order to shew his confusion, when he says
"goes sometimes down the cellar," point to his head, and when he men-
tions " up into the garret," point to his feet. •

Act I\r Jc 3.

SCENE in,] THE LOVE-TIFF. I 17

love brings back to you, this is the last time you shall ever
be troubled by the man you so much despise.

Luc. You might have made the favour complete, sir,
and spared me also this last trouble.

ERAS. Very well, madam, very well, you shall be satis-
fied. I here break off all acquaintance with you, and
break it off for ever, since you wish it ; may I lose my life
if ever again I desire to converse with you !

Luc. So much the better, you will oblige me.

ERAS. No, no, do not be afraid that I shall break my
word ! For, though my heart may be weak enough not to
be able to efface your image, be assured you shall never
have the pleasure of seeing me return.

Luc. You may save yourself the trouble.

ERAS. I would pierce my breast a hundred times should
I ever be so mean as to see you again, after this unworthy
treatment.

Luc. Be it so ; let us talk no more about it.

ERAS. Yes, yes ; let us talk no more about it ; and to
make an end here of all unnecessary speeches, and to give
you a convincing proof, ungrateful woman, that I forever
throw off your chain, I will keep nothing which may re-
mind me of what I must forget. Here is your portrait ;
it presents to the eye many wonderful and dazzling
charms, but underneath them lurk as many monstrous
faults ; it is a delusion which I restore to you.

GR.-RE. You are right.

Luc. And I, not to be behind-hand with you in the
idea of returning everything, restore to you this diamond
which you obliged me to accept.

MAR. Very well.

ERAS. Here is likewise a bracelet of yours.16

Luc. And this agate seal is yours.

ERAS. (Reads). " You love me with the most ardent
passion, Eraste, and wish to know if I feel the same. If
I do not love Eraste as much, at least I am pleased that

18 Formerly lovers used to wear bracelets generally made of each others
hair, which no doubt were hidden from the common view, Shakespeare,
in his Mid-rummer Nighfs Dream, Act i., Scene i, says, " Thou, Lysan-
der, thou hast . . . stol'n th' impression of her fantasy with bracelets of
thy hair."

Il8 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT iv.

Eraste should thus love me. — LUCILE." You assure me
by this letter that you accept my love ; it is a falsehood
which I punish thus. (Tears the letter).

Luc. (.Reading). "I do not know what may be the
fate of my ardent love, nor how long I shall suffer ; but
this I know, beauteous charmer, that I shall always love
you. — ERASTE." This is an assurance of everlasting love ;
both the hand and the letter told a lie. (Tears the
letter].

GR.-RE. Go on.

ERAS. (Showing another letter). This is another of your
letters ; it shall share the same fate.

MAR. (To Lucile). Be firm.

Luc. (Tearing another letter]. I should be sorry to
keep back one of them.

GR.-RE. (To Eraste). Do not let her have the last word.

MAR. (To Lucile). Hold out bravely to the end.

Luc. Well, there are the rest.

ERAS. Thank Heaven, that is all ! May I be struck
dead if I do not keep my word !

Luc. May it confound me if mine be vain.

ERAS. Farewell, then.

Luc. Farewell, then.

MAR. (To Lucile). Nothing could be better.

GR.-RE. (To Eraste). You triumph.

MAR. (To Lucile). Come, let us leave him.

GR.-RE. (7<? Eraste}. You had best retire after this
courageous effort.

MAR. (To Lucile). What are you waiting for ?

GR.-RE. ( To Eraste). What more do you want?

ERAS. Ah, Lucile, Lucile ! you will be sorry to lose a
heart like mine, and I know it.

Luc. Eraste, Eraste, I may easily find a heart like
yours.

ERAS. No, no, search everywhere ; you will never find
one so passionately fond of you, I assure you. I do not
say this to move you to pity ; I should be in the wrong
now to wish it ; the most respectful passion could not bind
you. You wanted to break with me ; I must think of you
no more. But whatever any one may pretend, nobody will
ever love you so tenderly as I have done.

SCENE m.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 1 19

Luc. When a woman is really beloved she is treated
differently, and is not condemned so rashly.

ERAS. Those who love are apt to be jealous on the
slightest cause of suspicion, but they can never wish to lose
the object of their adoration, and that you have done.

Luc. Pure jealousy is more respectful.

ERAS. An offence caused by love is looked upon with
more indulgence.

Luc. No, Eraste, your flame never burnt very bright.

ERAS. No, Lucile, you never loved me.

Luc. Oh ! that does not trouble you much, I suppose ;
perhaps it would have been much better for me if . . .
But no more of this idle talk ; I do not say what I think
on the subject.

ERAS. Why?

Luc. Because, as we are to break, it would be out of
place, it seems to me.

ERAS. Do we break, then ?

Luc. Yes, to be sure ; have we not done so already?

ERAS. And you can do this calmly ?

Luc. Yes ; so can you.

ERAS. I?

Luc. Undoubtedly. It is weakness to let people see
that we are hurt by losing them.

ERAS. But, hard-hearted woman, it is you who would
have it so.

Luc. I ? not at all ; it was you who took that resolution.

ERAS. I ? I thought it would please you.

Luc. Me ; not at all ; you did it for your own satis-
faction.

ERAS. But what if my heart should wish to resume its
former chain ? If, though very sad, it should sue for
pardon . . . ?"

Luc. No, no ; do no such thing ; my weakness is too
great. I am afraid I might too quickly grant your request.

ERAS. Oh ! you cannot grant it, nor I ask for it, too
soon, after what I have just heard. Consent to love me

17 An imitation from Horace, book iii., ode ix., vers. 17 and 18.
Quid? si prisca redet Venus
Diductosque jugo cogit aheneo f

120 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT iv.

still, madam ; so pure a flame ought to burn for ever, for
your own sake. I ask for it, pray grant rne this kind
pardon.

Luc. Lead me home.

SCENE IV. — MARINETTE, GRQS-RENE.

MAR. Oh ! cowardly creature,

GR.-RE. Oh! weak courage.

MAR. I blush with indignation.

GR.-RE. I am swelling with rage; do not imagine I
will yield thus.

MAR. And do not think to find such a dupe in me.

GR.-RE. Come on, come on; you shall soon see what
my wrath is capable of doing.

MAR. I am not the person you take me for ; you have
not my silly mistress to deal with. It is enough to look
at that fine phiz to be smitten with the man himself!
Should I fall in love with your beastly face ? Should I
hunt after you ? Upon my word, girls like us are not for
the like of you.

GR. -RE. Ay ! and you address me in such a fashion ?
Here, here, without any further compliments, there is your
bow of tawdry lace, and your narrow ribbon ; it shall not
have the honour of being on my ear any more.

MAR. And to show you how I despise you, here, take
back your half hundred of Paris pins, which you gave me
yesterday with so much bragging.

GR.-RE. Take back your knife too ; a thing most rich
and rare ; it cost you about twopence when you made me
a present of it.

MAR. Take back your scissors with the pinchbeck chain.

GR.-RE. I forgot the piece of cheese you gave me the
day before yesterday— here it is; I wish I could bring
back the broth you made me eat, so that I might have
nothing belonging to you.

MAR. I have none of your letters about me now, but I
shall burn every one of them.

GR.-RE. And do you know what I shall do with yours ?

MAR. Take care you never come begging to me again
to forgive you.

GR. RE. {Picking up a bit of straw}. To cut oft' every

SCKNB iv.J THE LOVE-TIFF. 121

way of being reconciled, we must break this straw between
us ; when a straw is broken, it settles an affair between
people of honour.18 Cast none of your sheep's eyes at
me ; 19 I will be angry.

MAR. Do not look at me thus ; I am too much provoked.

GR.-RE. Here, break this straw; this is the way of
never recanting again ; break. What do you laugh at,
you jade ?

MAR. Yes, you make me laugh.

GR.-RE. The deuce take your laughing ! all my anger
is already softened. What do you say? shall we break or
not?

MAR. Just as you please.

GR.-RE. Just as you please.

MAR. Nay, it shall be as you please.

GK.-RE. Do you wish me never to love you?

MAR. I? As you like.

GR.-RE. As you yourself like ; only say the word.

MAR. I shall say nothing.

GR.-RE. Nor I.

MAR. Nor I.

GR.-RE. Faith! we had better forswear all this non-
sense ; shake hands, I pardon you.

MAR. And I forgive you.

GR.-RE. Bless me! how you bewitch me with your
charms.

18 A wisp of straw, or a stick, was formerly used as a symbol of investi-
ture of a feudal fief. According to some authors the breaking of the straw
or stick was a proof that the vassals renounced their homage ; hence the
allusion of Moliere. The breaking of a staff was also typical of the
voluntary or compulsory abandonment of power. Formerly, after the
death of the kings of France, the grand maitre (master of the household)
broke his wand of office over the grave, saying aloud three times, le roi
est mart, and then Vive le roi. Hence also, most likely, the saying of
Prospero, in Shakespeare's "Tempest" Act v. Sc. i, " I'll break my staff,"
»'. e., I voluntarily abandon my power. Sometimes the. breaking of a staff
betokened dishonour, as in Shakespeare's second part of "Henry VI." Act
i. Sc. 2, when Gloster says : " Methought this staff, mine office-badge in
court was broke in twain."

19 According to tradition, Gros-Ren6 and Marinette stand on the stage
back to back ; from time to time they look to the right and to the left ;
when their looks meet they turn their heads abruptly away, whilst Gros-
Ren6 presents over his shoulder to Marinette the piece of straw, which the
latter takes very good care not to touch.

122 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT v.

MAR. What a fool is Marinette when her Gros-Rene
is by.

ACT V.

SCENE I. — MASCARILLE, alone.

"As soon as darkness has invaded the town, I will enter
Lucile's room; go, therefore, and get ready immediately
the dark lantern, and whatever arms are necessary."
When my master said these words, it sounded in my ears
as if he had said, "Go quickly and get a halter to hang
yourself." But come on, master of mine, for I was so
astonished when first I heard your order, that I had no
time to answer you; but I shall talk with you now, and
confound you ; therefore defend yourself well, and let us
argue without making a noise. You say you wish to go
and visit Lucile to-night? "Yes, Mascarille." And
what do you propose to do? "What a lover does who
wishes to be convinced." "What a man does who has
very little brains, who risks his carcass when there is no
occasion for it. "But do you know what is my motive?
Lucile is angry." Well, so much the worse for her.
"But my love prompts me to go and appease her." But
love is a fool, and does not know what he says : will this
same love defend us against an enraged rival, father, or
brother? "Do you think any of them intend to harm
us?" Yes, really, I do think so; and especially this rival.
"Mascarille, in any case, what I trust to is, that we shall
go well armed, and if anybody interrupts us we shall
draw." Yes, but that is precisely what your servant does
not wish to do. I draw! Good Heavens! am I a
Roland, master, or a Ferragus?20 You hardly know me.

50 Roland, or Orlando in Italian, one of Charlemagne's paladins and
nephew", is represented as brave, loyal, and simple-minded. On the re-
turn of Charlemagne from Spain, Roland, who commanded the rear-
guard, fell into an ambuscade at Roncezvalles, in the Pyrenees (778), and
perished, with the flower of French chivalry. He is the hero of Ariosto's
poem, " Orlando Furioso.'1 In this same poem Cant. xii. is also men-
tioned Ferragus, or Ferrau in Italian, a Saracen giant, who dropped his
helmet into the river, and vowed he would never wear another till he had
won that worn by Orlando ; the latter slew him in the only part where he
was vulnerable.

scBNBii.j THE LOVE-TIFF. 123

When I, who love myself so dearly, consider that two
inches of cold steel in this body would be quite sufficient
to send a poor mortal to his last home, I am particularly
disgusted. "But you will be armed from head to foot."
So much the worse. I shall be less nimble to get into the
thicket ; besides, there is no armour so well made but
some villainous point will pierce its joints. "Oh! you
will then be considered a coward." Never mind; pro-
vided I can but always move my jaws. At table you may
set me down for as good as four persons, if you like ; but
when fighting is going on, you must not count me for
anything. Moreover, if the other world possesses charms
for you, the air of this world agrees very well with me. I
do not thirst after death and wounds; if you have a mind
to play the fool, you may do it all by yourself, I assure
you.

SCENE II. — VALERE, MASCARILLE.

VAL. I never felt a day pass more slowly; the sun
seems to have forgotten himself; he has yet such a course
to run before he reaches his bed, that I believe he will
never accomplish it ; his slow motion drives me mad.

MASC. What an eagerness to go in the dark, to grope
about for some ugly adventure ! You see that Lucile is
obstinate in her repulses. . . .

VAL. A truce to these idle remonstrances. Though I
were sure to meet a hundred deaths lying in ambush, yet
I feel her wrath so greatly, that I shall either appease it,
or end my fate. I am resolved on that.

MASC. I approve of your design ; but it is unfortunate,
sir, that we must get in secretly.

VAL. Very well.

MASC. And I am afraid I shall only be in the way.

VAL. How so ?

MASC. I have a cough which nearly kills me, and the
m>ise it makes may betray you. Every moment . . .
(He coughs). You see what a punishment it is.

VAL. You will get better ; take some liquorice.

MASC. I do not think, sir, it will get better. I should
be delighted to go with you, but I should be very sorry if
any misfortune should befall my dear master through me.

124 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACTV.

SCENE III. — VALERE, LA RAPIERE, MASCARILLE.

LA RA. Sir, I have just now heard from good authority
that Eraste is greatly enraged against you, and that Albert
talks also of breaking all the bones in Mascarille's body,
on his daughter's account.

MASC. I ? I have nothing to do with all this confusion.
What have I done to have all the bones in my body bro-
ken ? Am I the guardian of the virginity of all the girls
in the town, that I am to be thus threatened ? Have I any
influence with temptation? Can I help it, I, poor fel-
low, if I have a mind to try it ?

VAL. Oh ! they are not so dangerous as they pretend to
be ; however courageous love may have made Eraste, he
will not have so easy a bargain with us.

LA RA. If you should have any need for it, my arm is
entirely at your service. You know me to be at all times
staunch.21

VAL. I am much obliged to you, M. de la Rapiere.

LA RA. I have likewise two friends I can procure, who
will draw against all comers, and upon whom you may
safely rely.

MASC. Accept their services, sir.

VAL. You are too kind.

LA RA. Little Giles might also have assisted us, if a sad
accident had not taken him from us. Oh, sir, it is a great
pity ! He was such a handy fellow, too ! You know the
trick justice played him ; he died like a hero ; when the exe-
cutioner broke him on the wheel, he made his exit with-
out uttering a word.

VAL. M. de la Rapiere, such a man ought to be la-
mented, but, as for your escort, I thank you, I want them
not.

LA RA. Be it so, but do not forget that you are sought
after, and may have some scurvy trick played upon you.

VAL. And I, to show you how much I fear him, will

21 It is thought the introduction of Mons. de la Rapiere contains an
allusion to the poor noblemen of Languedoc, who formerly made a kind
of living by being seconds at duels, and whom the Prince de Conti com-
pelled to obey the edicts of Louis XIV. against duelling. The Love-tiff
was first played in 1656 at Be"ziers, where the States of Languedoc were
assembled.

SCENE v.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 12$

offer him the satisfaction he desires, if he seeks me ; I will
immediately go all over the town, only accompanied by
Mascarille.

SCENE IV. — VALERE, MASCARILLE.

MASC. What, sir? will you tempt Heaven? Do not be
so presumptuous ! Lack-a-day ! you see how they threaten
us. How on every side . . .

VAL. What are you looking at yonder?

MASC. I smell a cudgel that way. In short, if you will
take my prudent advice, do not let us be so obstinate as to
remain in the street ; let us go and shut ourselves up.

VAL. Shut ourselves up, rascal ? How dare you propose
to me such a base action ? Come along, and follow me,
without any more words.

MASC. Why, sir, my dear master, life is so sweet ! One
can die but once, and it is for such a long time !

VAL. I shall half kill you, if I hear anything more. Here
comes Ascanio ; let us leave him; we must find out what
side he will choose. However, come along with me into
the house, to take whatever arms we may want.

MASC. I have no great itching for fighting. A curse on
love and those darned girls, who will be tasting it, and
then look as if butter would hot melt in their mouth.

SCENE V. — ASCANIO, FROSINE.

Asc. Is it really true, Frosine, do I not dream ? Pray
tell me all that has happened, from first to last.

FROS. You shall know all the particulars in good
time ; be patient ; such adventures are generally told over
and over again, and that every moment. You must know
then that after this will, which was on condition of a male
heir being born, Albert's wife who was enceinte, gave birth
to you. Albert, who had stealthily and long beforehand laid
his plan, changed you for the son of Inez, the flower-
woman, and gave you to my mother to nurse, saying it
was her own child. Some ten months after, death took
away this little innocent, whilst Albert was absent ; his
wife being afraid of her husband, and inspired by mater-
nal love, invented a new stratagem. She secretly took
her own daughter back ; you received the name of the

126 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT v.

boy, who had taken your place, whilst the death of that
pretended son was kept a secret from Albert, who was told
that his daughter had died. Now the mystery of your
birth is cleared up, which your supposed mother had
hitherto concealed. She gives certain reasons for acting
in this manner, and may have others to give, for her in-
terests were not the same as yours. In short, this visit,22
from which I expected so little, has proved more serviceable
to your love than could have been imagined- This Inez
has given up all claim to you. As it became necessary to
reveal this secret, on account of your marriage, we two
informed your father of it ; a letter of his deceased wife
has confirmed all. Pursuing our reasoning yet farther, and
being rather fortunate as well as skilful, we have so cun-
ningly interwoven the interests of Albert and of Polydore,
so gradually unfolded all this mystery to the latter, that
we might not make things appear too terrible to him in
the beginning, and, in a word, to tell you all, so pru-
dently led his mind step by step to a reconciliation, that
Polydore is now as anxious as your father to legitimize
that connection which is to make you happy.

Asc. Ah ! Frosine, what happiness you prepare for me.
. . . What do I not owe to your fortunate zeal ?

FROS. Moreover, the good man is inclined to be merry,
and has forbidden us to mention anything of this affair to
his son.

SCENE VI. — POLYDORE, ASCANIO, FROSINE.

POL. Come hither, daughter, since I may give you this
name now, for I know the secret which this disguise con-
ceals You have shown so much resolution, ingenuity,
and archness in your stratagem, that I forgive you ; I
think my son will esteem himself happy when he knows
that you are the object of his love. You are worth to him
more than all the treasures in this world ; and I will tell
him so. But here he comes : let us divert ourselves with
this event. Go and tell all the people to come hither im-
mediately.

Asc. To obey you, sir, shall be the first compliment I
pay you.

82 That is the visit of which Frosine speaks, Act iv.. Scene i, p. 113.

SCKNB vii.] THE LOVE-TIFF. I2/

SCENE VII. — MASCARILLE, POLYDORE, VALERE.

MASC. Misfortunes are often revealed by Heaven : I
dreamt last night of pearls unstrung and broken eggs,asir.
This dream depresses my spirits.

VAL. Cowardly rascal !

POL. Valere, an encounter awaits you, wherein all your
valour will be necessary : you are to cope with a powerful
adversary.

MASC. Will nobody stir to prevent people from cutting
each other's throats ? As for me, I do not care about it ;
but if any fatal accident should deprive you of your son,
do not lay the blame on me.

POL. No, no ; in this case I myself urge him to do what
he ought.

MASC. What an unnatural father !

VAL. This sentiment, sir, shows you to be a man of
honour; I respect you the more for it. I know I have
offended you, I am to blame for having done all this with-
out a father's consent ; but however angry you may be
with me, Nature always will prevail. You do what is truly
honourable, in not believing that I am to be terrified by
the threats of Eraste.

POL. They just now frightened me with his threats, but
since then things have changed greatly; you will be
attacked by a more powerful enemy, without being able to
flee from him.

MASC. Is there no way of making it up ?

VAL ! I flee ! — Heaven forbid ! And who can this be ?

POL. Ascanio.

VAL. Ascanio?

POL. Yes ; you shall see him appear presently.

VAL. He, who- has pledged his word to serve me !

POL. Yes, it is he who says he has a quarrel with you ;
he, who is determined to decide the quarrel by single
combat, to which he challenges you.

MASC. He is a good fellow : he knows that generous
minds do not endanger other people's lives by their
quarrels.

M In a little book still sold on the quays of Paris, and called la Cle des
Songes, it is said that to dream of pearls denotes " embarrassed affairs,"
and of broken eggs, " loss of place and lawsuits."

128 THE LOVE-TIFF.

POL. He accuses you of deceit. His anger appears to
me to have so just a cause, that Albert and I have agreed
you should give Ascanio satisfaction for this affront, but
publicly, and without any delay, according to the for-
malities requisite in such a case.

VAL. What ! father ; and did Lucile obstinately . . . ?

POL. Lucile is to marry Eraste, and blames you too ;
and the better to prove your story to be false, is resolved
to give her hand to Eraste before your very face.

VAL. Ha ! this impudence is enough to drive me mad.
Has she lost, then, all sense, faith, conscience, and
honour ?

SCENE VIII. — ALBERT, POLYDORE, LUCILE, ERASTE,
VALERE, MASCARILLE.

ALB. Well ! where are the combatants ? They are
bringing ours. Have you prepared yours for the en-
counter ?

VAL. Yes, yes ; I am ready, since you compel me to it ;
if I at all hesitated, it was because I still felt a little re-
spect, and not on account of the valour of the champion
who is to oppose me. But I have been urged too far.
This respect is at an end; I am prepared for any ca-
tastrophe ! I have been treated so strangely and treacher-
ously, that my love must and shall be revenged. (To
Lucile}. Not that I still pretend to your hand : my former
love is now swallowed up in wrath ; and when I have made
your shame public, your guilty marriage will not in the
least disturb me. Lucile, your behaviour is infamous :
scarcely can I believe my own eyes. You show yourself
so opposed to all modesty, that you ought to die for
shame.

Luc. Such reproaches might affect me, if I had not one
at hand to avenge my cause. Here comes Ascanio ; he
shall soon have the pleasure, and without giving himself
much trouble, of making you change your language.

SCENE IX. — ALBERT, POLYDORE, ASCANIO, LUCILE,
ERASTE, VALERE, FROSINE, MARINETTE, GROS-RENE,
MASCARILLE.

VAL. He shall not make me change my language,

SCENBIX.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 129

though he had twenty arms besides his own. I am sorry
he defends a guilty sister; but since he is foolish enough
to pick a quarrel with me, I shall give him satisfaction,
and you also, my valiant gentleman.

ERAS. A short time ago I took an interest in this, but
as Ascanio has taken the affair upon himself, I will have
nothing more to do with it, but leave it to him.

VAL. You do well ; prudence is always timely, but . .

ERAS. He shall give you satisfaction for us all.

VA-L. He?

POL. Do not deceive yourself; you do not yet know
what a strange fellow Ascanio is.

ALB. He is- blind to it now, but Ascanio will let him
know in a little time.

VAL. Come on, then ; let him do so now.

MAR. What! before everybody?

GR.-RE. That would not be decent.

VAL. Are you making fun of me ? I will break the
head of any fellow who laughs. But let us see what
Ascanio is going to do.

Asc. No, no. I am not so bad as they make me out;
in this adventure, in which every one has put me forward,
you shall see my weakness appear more than anything
else ; you will discover that Heaven, to which we must all
submit, did not give me a heart to hold out against you,
but that it reserved for you the easy triumph of putting an
end to Lucile's brother. Yes; far from boasting of the
power of his arm, Ascanio shall receive death from your
hands; nay, would gladly die, if his death could contri-
bute to your satisfaction, by giving you, in the presence
of all this company, a wife who lawfully belongs to you.

VAL. No, even the whole world, after her perfidy and
shamelessness . . .

Asc. Ah ! Valere, allow me to tell you that the heart
which is pledged to you is guilty of no crime against you;
her love is still pure, and her constancy unshaken ; I call
your own father himself to witness that I speak the truth.

POL. Yes, son, we have laughed enough at your rage ;

I see it is time to undeceive you ; she to whom you are

bound by oath is concealed under the dress you here

behold. Some question about property was the cause of

VOL. i. i

130 THE LOVE-TIFF. [ACT v.

this disguise, which from her earliest youth deceived so
many people. Lately love was the cause of another which
deceived you, whilst it made of the two families but one.
Yes, in a word, it is she whose subtle skill obtained your
hand at night, who pretended to be Lucile, and by this
contrivance, which none discovered, has perplexed you
all so much. But since Ascanio now gives place to Doro-
thea, your love must be free from every appearance of
deceit, and be strengthened by a more sacred knot.

ALB. This is the single combat by which you were to
give us satisfaction for your offence, and which is not for-
bidden by any laws.24

POL. Such an event amazes you, but all hesitation is
now too late.

VAL. No, no, I do not hesitate ; if this adventure as-
tonishes me, it is a flattering surprise ; I find myself seized
with admiration, love, and pleasure. Is it possible that
those eyes . . . ?

ALB. This dress, dear Valere, is not a proper one to
hear your fine speeches in. Let her go and put on another,
and meanwhile you shall know the particulars of the event.

VAL. Pardon me, Lucile, if my mind, duped by ...

Luc. It is easy to forget that.

ALB. Come, these compliments will do as well at home ;
we shall then have plenty of time to pay them to one
another.

ERAS. But in talking thus you do not seem to think
that there is still occasion for manslaughter here. Our
loves are indeed crowned, but who ought to obtain the
hand of Marinette, his Mascarille or my Gros-Rene?
This affair must end in blood.

MASC. No, no, my blood suits my body too well ; let
him marry her in peace, it will be nothing to me. I know
Marinette too well to think marriage will be any bar to
my courting her.

MAR. And do you think I will make my gallant of you ?
A husband does not matter ; anything will do for that.
We do not stand, then, upon so much ceremony ; but a

24 Severe laws were promulgated in the preceding reign against duel-
ling; Louis XIV. also published two edicts against it in 1643 and in 1651.
The Love- Tiff was first performed in 1656.

SCENE ix.] THE LOVE-TIFF. 13!

gallant should be well made enough to make one's mouth
water.

GR.-RE. Listen ! When we are united by marriage, I
insist that you should turn a deaf ear to all sparks.

MASC. Do you think, brother, to marry her for yourself
alone ?

GR.-RE. Of course ; I will have a virtuous wife, or else
I shall kick up a fine row.

MASC. Ah ! lack-a-day, you shall do as others, and
become more gentle. Those people who are so severe
and critical before marriage, often degenerate into pacific
husbands.

MAR. Make yourself easy, my dear husband, and do
not have the least fear about my fidelity ; flattery will pro-
duce no impression on me, and I shall tell you everything.

MASC. Oh ! what a cunning wench to make of a hus-
band a confidant.

MAR. Hold your tongue, you knave of clubs.25

ALB. For the third time, I say, let us go home, and
continue at leisure such an agreeable conversation.

^The original has as de pique, and different commentators have of
course given various explanations. But why, says M. Despois, should
Marinette, who appears to be fond of cards, not call people by names de-
rived from her favourite game ? She calls Gros-Rene in another place
beau valet de carreau. (See Note 12, page 113.)

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES;

COMEDIE EN UN ACTE.
1659.

THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES;

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT.

(THE ORIGINAL IN PROSE.)
1659.

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

Moliere began in The Pretentious Young Ladies to paint men and
women as they are ; to make living characters and existing manners the
ground-work of his plays. From that time he abandoned all imitation of
Italian or Spanish imbroglios and intrigues.

There is no doubt that aristocratic society attempted, about the latter
years of the reign of Louis XIII., to amend the coarse and licentious ex-
pressions, which, during the civil wars had been introduced into literature
as well as into manners. It was praiseworthy of some high-born ladies in
Parisian society to endeavour to refine the language and the mind. But
there was a very great difference between the influence these ladies exer-
cised from 1620 until 1640, and what took place in 1658, the year when
Moliere returned to Paris. The Hotel de Rambouillet, and the aristo-
cratic drawing-rooms, had then done their work, and done it well ; but
they were succeeded by a clique which cared only for what was nicely
said, or rather what was out of the common. Instead of using an elegant
and refined diction, they employed only a pretentious and conceitedly
affected style, which became highly ridiculous ; instead of improving the
national idiom they completely spoilt it. Where formerly D'Urfe, Mal-
herbe, Racan, Balzac, and Voiture reigned, Chapelain, Scudery, Menage,
and the Abbe Cotin, " the father of the French Riddle," ruled in their
stead. Moreover, every lady in Paris, as well as in the provinces, no
matter what her education was, held her drawing-room, where nothing
was heard but a ridiculous, exaggerated, and what was worse, a borrowed
phraseology. The novels of Mdlle. de Scudery became the text-book of
the precieux and the precieuses, for such was the name given to these gen-
tlemen and ladies who set up for wits, and thought they displayed ex-
quisite taste, refined ideas, fastidious judgment, and consummate and crit-
ical discrimination, whilst they only uttered vapid and blatant nonsense.
What other language can be used when we find that they called the sun
I'aimable eclairant le plus beau du monde, I'cpoux de la nature, and that
when speaking of an old gentleman with grey hair, they said, not as a
joke, but seriously, il a des quittances d' amour. A few of their expres-
sions, however, are employed even at the present time, such as, chatier
ton style; to correct one's style ; depenser une heure, to spend an hour ;
revettr ses pensees d' expressions nobles, to clothe one's thoughts in noble
expressions, etc.

Though the precieux and precieuses had been several times attacked be-
fore, it remained for Moliere to give them their death blow, and after the
performance of his comedy the name became a term of ridicule and con-
tumely. What enhanced the bitterness of the attack was the difference

'35

136

THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG I.ADIKS.

between Moliere s natural style and the affected tone of the would-be
elegants he brought upon the stage.

This comedy, in prose, was first acted at Paris, at the Theatre du Petit
Bourbon, on the i8th of November, 1659, and met with great success.
Through the influence of some noble precieux and precieuses it was for-
bidden until the 2d of December, when the concourse of spectators was
so great that it had to be performed twice a day, that the prices of nearly
all the places were raised (See Note 7, page xxv.), and that it ran for four
months together. We have referred in our prefatory memoir of Moliere
to some of the legendary anecdotes connected with this play.

It has also been said that our author owed perhaps the first idea of this
play to a scarcely-known work, le Cercle des Femmes, ou le Secret du Lit
Nuptial; entretiens comiques, written by a long-forgotten author, Samuel
Chapuzeau, in which a servant, dressed in his master's clothes, is well re-
ceived by a certain lady who had rejected the master. But as the witty
dialogue is the principal merit in Moliere's play, it is really of no great
consequence who first suggested the primary idea.

The piece, though played in 1659, was only printed on the 2gth of
January, 1660, by Guillaume de Luyne, a bookseller in Pans, with a pre-
face by Moliere, which we give here below :

A strange thing it is, that People should be put in print against their Will. I
know nothing so unjust, and should pardon any other Violence much sooner than
that.

Not that I here intend to personate the bashful Author, and out of a point of
Honour undervalue my Comedy. I should very unseasonably disoblige all the
People of Paris, should I accuse them of having applauded a foolish Thing : as the
Public is absolute Judge of such sort of Works, it would be Impertinence in me to
contradict it ; and even if I should have had the worst Opinion in the World of my
Pretentious Young Ladies before they appeared upon the Stage, I must now believe
them of some Value, since so many People agree to speak in their behalf. But as
great part of the Pleasure it gave depends upon the Action and Tone of the
Voice, it behooved me, not to let them be deprived of those Ornaments ; and that
success they had in the representation, was, I thought, sufficiently favorable for me
to stop there. I was, I say, determined, to let them only be seen by Candlelight,
that I might give no room for any one to use the Proverb ; ! nor was I willing they
should leap from the Theatre de Bourbon into the Galerie da Palais.* Notwith-
standing, I have been unable to avoid it, and am fallen under the Misfortune of see-
ing a surreptitious Copy of my Play in the Hands of the Booksellers, together with
a Privilege, knavishly obtained, for printing it. I cried out in vain, O Times ! O
Manners ! They showed me that there was a Necessity for me to be in print, or
have a Law-suit ; and the last evil is even worse than the first. Fate therefore
must be submitted to, and I must consent to a Thing, which they would not fail to
do without me.

Lord, the strange Perplexity of sending a book abroad ! and what an awkward
Figure an Author makes the first time he appears in print ! Had they allowed me
time, I should have thought it over better, and have taken all those Precautions
which the Gentlemen Authors, who are now my Brethren, commonly make use of
upon the like Occasions. Besides, some noble Lord, whom I should have chosen,
in spite of his Teeth, to be the Patron of my Work, and whose Generosity I should
have excited by an Epistle Dedicatory very elegantly composed, I should have en-
deavoured to make a fine and learned Preface ; nor do I want books which would
have supplied me with all that can be said in a scholarly Manner upon Tragedy and
Comedy; the Etymology of them both, their Origin, their Definition, and so forth.
I should likewise have spoken to my friends, who to recommend my Performance,
would not have refused me Verses, either in French or Latin. I have even some

1 In Moliere's time it was proverbially said of a woman, " Elle est belle a la
chandelle, tnais le grand jour gate tout." She is beautiful by candle-light, but

day-light spoils everything
* The Galerie du Palaii

mt

!s was the place where Moliere's publisher lived.

THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 137

that would have praised me in Greek, and Nobody is ignorant, that a Commenda-
tion in Greek is of a marvellous efficacy at the Beginning of a Book. But I am
sent Abroad without giving me time to look about me ; and I can't so much as ob-
tain the Liberty of sneaking two words, to justify my Intention, as to the subject of
this Comedy. I would willingly have shewn that it is confined throughout within
the Bounds of allowable and decent Satire, that Things the most excellent are liable
to be mimicked by wretched Apes, who deserve to be ridiculed ; that these absurd
Imitations of what is most perfect, have been at all times the Subject of Comedy ;
and that, for the same Reason, that the truly Learned and truly Brave never yet
thought fit to be offended at the Doctor or the Captain in a Comedy, no more than
Judges, Princes, and Kings at seeing Trivelin,3 or any other upon the Stage, ridicu-
lously act the Judge, the Prince, or King ; so the true Precieuses would be in the
wrong to be angry, when the pretentious Ones are exposed, who imitate them
awkwardly. In a Word, as I said, I am not allowed breathing time ; Mr. de
Luyne is going to bind me up this Instant : . . . let it be so, since the Fates so
ordain it.

In the third volume of the " Select Comedies of M. de Moliere," this
comedy is called " The Conceited Ladies." It is dedicated to Miss Le
Bas in the following words : —

MADAM,

Addresses of this Nature are usually fill'd with Flattery: And it is become so
general and known a Practice for Authors of every kind to bedeck with all Perfec-
tions Those to whom they present their Writings, that Dedications are, by most
People, at Present, interpreted like Dreams, directly backwards. I dare not,

therefore, attempt Your Character, lest even Truth itself should be suspected

Thus far, however, I'll venture to declare, that if sprightly blooming Youth, en-
dearing sweet Good-nature, flowing gentile Wit, and an easy unaffected Conversa-
tion, maybe reckon'd Charms, — Miss LE BAS is exquisitely charming.

The following COMEDY of Monsieur MOLIERE, that celebrated Dramatick Writer,
was, by him, intended to reprove a vain fantastical, conceited and preposterous
Humour, which about that time prevailed very much in France. It had thedesir'd
good Effect, and conduced a great deal towards rooting out a Taste so unreasonable
and ridiculous. — As Pride, Conceit, Vanity, and Affectation, are Foibles so often
found amongst the Fair Sex at present, I have attempted this Translation, in hopes

of doing service to my pretty Country- Women. And, certainly, it must have a

double efficacy, under the Patronage of one who is so bright an Example of the
contrary fine Accomplishments, which a large Fortune makes her not the less care-
ful to improve.

I am not so presumptuous to imagine that my English can do sufficient Justice
to the sense of this admir'd AUTHOR; and, therefore, have caused the ORIGINAL to
be placed against it Page for Page, hoping that, both together, may prove an agree-
able and useful Entertainment. But I have detain'd you too long already, and

shall only add,. that I am, with much respect, and every good Wish, MADAM, Your
most Obedient Humble Servant,

THE TRANSLATOR.

The Precieuses Ridicules have been partly imitated in " The Damoiselles
& la Mode, Compos'd and Written by Richard Flecknoe. London : Print-
ed for the Author, 1667. To their graces the Duke and Duchess of
Newcastle, the Author dedicates this his comedy more humbly than by
way of epistle." This gentleman, who was " so distinguished as a
wretched poet, that his name had almost become proverbial," and who
gave the title to Dryden's Mac- Flecknoe, is said to have been originally a
Jesuit. Langbaine states " that his acquaintance with the nobility was
more than with the Muses." In the preface our author says : " This
Comedy is taken out of several excellent pieces of Moltire. The main

•The Doctor and the Captain were traditional personages of the Italian stage ;
their parts need no further explanation ; Trivelin was a popular Italian actor,
who in a humorous and exaggerated way played the parts of Judges, Princes, and
Kings.

138 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES.

plot out of his Pretieusee's Ridiculee's ; the Counterplot of Sganarclle
out of his Escole des Femmes, and out of the Escole des Marys, the two
Naturals ; all which, like so many Pretieuse stones, I have brought out of
France ; and as a Lapidary set in one Jewel to adorn our English
stage."

This motley play was never acted ; at least the author says : " for the
Acting it, those who have the Governing of the Stage, have their Hu-
mours, and wou'd be intreated ; and I have mine and won't intreat them ;
and were all Dramatick Writers of my mind, they shou'd wear their old
Playes Thred-bare, e're they shou'd have any New, till they better under-
stood their own Interest, and how to distinguish betwixt good and bad."

The " Prologue intended for the overture of the Theater 1666," opens
thus ;—

" In these sad Times* our Author has been long
Studying to give you some diversion ;
And he has ta'en the way to do't, which he
Thought most diverting, mirth and Comedy ;
And now he knows there are inough i' the Town
At name of mirth and Comedy will frown,
And sighing say, the times are bad ; what then ?
Will their being sad and heavy better them ?"

According to the list of " The Representers, as they were first design'd,''
I see that Nell Gwyn should have played the part of " Lysette, the Da-
moiselle's waiting Woman."

James Miller, a well-known dramatist, and joint-translator of Moliere,
with H. Baker, has also imitated part of " the Pretentious Young Ladies,''
and with another part borrowed from Moliere's School for Husbands, two
characters taken from Moliere's Learned Ladies, and some short speeches
borrowed from the Countess of Escarbagnas, he composed a comedy, which
was played at Drury Lane, March 6th, 1735, under the title of The Man
of Taste, or, The Guardians. Mr. Miller appears to have been a man of
indomitable spirit and industry. Being a clergyman, with a very small
stipend, he wrote plays to improve his circumstances, but offended both
his bishop and the public. At last he was presented to the very valuable
living of Upcerne, in Dorsetshire, and was also successful with a transla-
tion of Mahomet of Voltaire, but died within the year after his induction.
The Man of Taste was printed for J. Watts, MDCCXXXV., and is dedi-
cated to Lord Weymouth. We give part of the dedication :

" As to the Attempt here made to expose the several Vices and Follies that at
present flourish in Vogue, I hope your Lordship will think it confined within the
bounds of a modest and wholesome Chastisement. That it is a very seasonable
one, I believe, every Person will acknowledge. When what is set up for the
Standard of Taste, is but just the Reverse of Truth and Common Sense ; and that
which is dignify'd with the Name of Politeness, is deficient in nothing — but Decen-
cy and Good Manners : When all Distinctions of Station and Fortune are broke in
upon, so that a Peer and a Meckanick are cloathed in the same Habits, and indulge
in the same Diversions and Luxuries : When Husbands are ruin'd, Children robb'd,
and Tradesmen starv'd, in order to give Estates to a French Harlequin, and Italian
Eunuch, for a Shrug or a Song ;6 shall not fair and fearless Satire oppose this Out-

* In 1665 the plague broke out in London, and in the succeeding year the great
fire took place ; only at Christmas 1666 theatrical performances began again.

6 Farinelli, an eminent Italian soprano, went to England in 1734, remained there
three years, sang chiefly at the Theatre of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, then under the di-
rection of Porpora, his old Master, became a great favorite, and made about .£5,000
a year. As The Man of Taste was performed at a rival house, Drury Lane, the
bitterness of the allusion may be easily understood. The French Comedians acted

THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 139

rage upon all Reason and Discretion. Yes, My Lord, resentment can never better
be shown, nor Indignation more laudably exerted than on such an occasion."

The Prologue, spoken by Mr. Gibber, is racy. We give the first half of
it: —

" Wit springs so slow in our bleak Northern Soil,
It scarce, at best, rewards the Planter's Toil.
But now, when all the Sun-shine, and the Rain,
Are turn'd to cultivate a Foreign grain ;
When, what should cherish, preys upon the Tree,
What generous Fruit can you expect to see ?
Our Bard, to strike the Humour of the Times,
Imports these Scenes from kindlier Southern Climes ;
Secure his Pains will with Applause be crown'd,
If you're as fond of Foreign sense as ... sound :
And since their Follies have been bought so dear,
We hope their Wit a moderate Price may bear.
Terence, Great Master 1 who, with wond'rous Art,
Explor'd the deepest Secrets of the Heart ;
That best Old Judge of Manners and of Men,
First grac'd this Tale with his immortal Pen.'
Moliere, the Classick of the Gallick Stage,
First dar'd to modernize the Sacred Page ;
Skilful, the one thing wanting to supply,
Humour, that Soul of Comic Poesy.
The Roman Fools were drawn so nigh . . . the Pit
Might take 'em now for Modern Men of Wit.
But Moliere painted with a bolder Hand,
And mark'd his Oafs with the Fool's-Cap and Band :
To ev'ry Vice he tagged the just Reproach,
Shew'd Worth on Foot, and Rascals in a Coach."

Mrs. Aphra Behn, a voluminous writer of plays, novels, poems, and
letters, all of a lively and amorous turn, was the widow of a Dutch mer-
chant, and partly occupied the time not engaged in literary pursuits in po-
litical or gallant intrigues. Her comedies are her best works, and al-
though some of her scenes are often indecent, and not a few of her ex-
pressions indelicate, yet her plots are always lively and well sustained and
her dialogues very witty. The date of her birth is unknown, but she
died on the i6th of April, 1689, and was buried in the cloisters of West-
minster Abbey.

In 1682, was performed, at the Theatre, Dorset Garden, her play, The
False Count, or a New Way to Play an Old Game. The prologue attacks
the Whigs most furiously, and the epilogue, spoken by Mrs. Barry, is very
indecent. The plot of this play, or rather farce, is very improbable, and
the language is more than free. Julia, in love with Don Carlos, after-
wards Governor of Cadiz, was forced by her father to marry Francisco,
a rich old man, formerly a leather-seller; the latter going with his
family to sea on a party of pleasure, are taken prisoners by Carlos
and his servants, disguised as Turks. They are carried to a country
house, and made to believe they are in the Grand Turk's seraglio.
There is also an underplot, in which Isabella, Francisco's proud and
vain daughter, is courted by Guilion, a supposed Count, but in reality

at the Haymarket from November 22, 1734 to June 1733, hence the allusion to a
French Harlequin.

* The plot of The Man of Taste, as we have said before, was partly borrowed
from Moliere's School for Husbands, partly from the Pretentious Young Ladies,
and other of his plays. The first-mentioned French comedy owes part of its plot
to Terence's Adelphi, hence the allusion.

14.0 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES.

a chimney-sweep, whose hand she accepts. In the end everything is
discovered, and Guilion comes to claim his wife in his sooty clothes.

Thomas Shadwell, a dramatist, and the poet-laureate of William III..
who has been flagellated by Dryden in his MacFlecknoe and in the
second part of Absalom and Achitophel, and been mentioned with con-
tempt by Pope in his Dunciad, took from the Precieuses Ridicules Mas-
carille and Jodelet, and freely imitated and united them in the character
of La Roch, a sham Count, in his Bury-Fair, acted by His Majesty's
servants in 1689. This play, dedicated to Charles, Earl of Dorset and
Middlesex, was written " during eight months' painful sickness." In the
Prologue Shadwell states :

That every Part is Fiction in his Play ;
Particular Reflections there are none ;
Our Poet knows not one in all your Town.
If any has so very little Wit,
To think a Fop's Dress can his Person fit,
E'en let him take it, and make much of it.

Whilst, in The Pretentious Young Ladies, Mascarille and Jodelet impose
upon two provincial girls, in Bury- Fair, La Roch, " a French peruke-
maker," succeeds in deceiving Mrs. Fan last and Mrs. Gertrude under
the name of Count de Cheveux. The Count is very amusing, and though
a coward to boot, pretends to be a great warrior. His description of war
is characteristic ; he states that " de great Heros always burne and killft
de Man, Woman, and Shilde for deir Glory."

DRAMATIS PERSONS.
LA GRANGE,

E> )

> repulsed

r-i J

, . ,r Lovers.

Du CROISY

GORGIBUS, ' a good citizen.

THE MARQUIS DE MASCARILLE, valet to La Grange*

THE VISCOUNT JODELET, valet to Du Croisy.

ALMANZOR, footman to the pretentious ladies.

Two CHAIRMEN.

MUSICIANS.

MADELON, daughter to Gorgibus, )

>• The pretentious young ladies.

CATHOS, niece to Gorgibus, )

MAROTTE, maid to the pretentious young ladies.

LUCILE. )

>• two female neighbours.
CELIMENE. j

SCENE — GORGIBUS' HOUSE, PARIS.

* Gorgibus was the name of certain characters in old comedies. The
actor, L'Epy, who played this part, had a very loud voice ; hence
Moliere gave him probably this name.

8 Mascarille was played by Moliere, and has a personality quite distinct
from the servant of the same name in the Blunderer and the Love-Tiff.
The dress in which he acted this part, has not been mentioned in the in-
ventory taken after his death, but in a pamphlet, published in 1660, he is
described as wearing an enormous wig, a very small hat, a ruff like a
morning gown, rolls in which children could play hide-and-seek, tassels
like cornucopise, ribbons that covered his shoes, with heels half a foot in
height.

THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES.

(LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES.}

ACT I.

SCENE I. — LA GRANGE, Du CROISY.

Du. CR. Mr. La Grange.

LA. GR. What?

Du. CR. Look at me for a moment without laughing.

LA. GR. Well?

Du. CR. What do you say of our visit ? Are you quite
pleased with it?

LA. GR. Do you think either of us has any reason to
be so?

Du. CR. Not at all, to say the truth.

LA. GR. As for me, I must acknowledge I was quite
shocked at it. Pray now, did ever anybody see a couple
of country wenches giving themselves more ridiculous
airs, or two men treated with more contempt than we
were ? They could hardly make up their mind to order
chairs for us. I never saw such whispering as there was
between them ; such yawning, such rubbing of the eyes,
and asking so often what o'clock it was. Did they answer
anything else but "yes," or "no," to what we said to
them ? In short, do you not agree with me that if we had
been the meanest persons in the world, we could not have
been treated worse?

Du. CR. You seem to take it greatly to heart.

LA. GR. No doubt I do; so much so, that I am re-
solved to be revenged on them for their impertinence. I
know well enough why they despise us. Affectation has

144 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

not alone infected Paris, but has also spread into the
country, and our ridiculous damsels have sucked in their
share of it. In a word, they are a strange medley of co-
quetry and affectation. I plainly see what kind of persons
will be well received by them ; if you will take my ad-
vice, we will play them such a trick as shall show them
their folly, and teach them to distinguish a little better
the people they have to deal with.

Du. CR. How can you do this ?

LA. GR. I have a certain valet, named Mascarille, who,
in the opinion of many people, passes for a kind of wit ;
for nothing now-a-days is easier than to acquire such a
reputation. He is an extraordinary fellow, who has taken
it into his head to ape a person of quality. He usually
prides himself on his gallantry and his poetry, and de-
spises so much the other servants that he calls them brutes.

Du. CR. Well, what do you mean to do with him ?

LA. GR. What do I mean to do with him ? He must

. . . but first, let us be gone.

SCENE II. — GORGIBUS, Du CROISY, LA GRANGE.

GORG. Well, gentlemen, you have seen my niece and
my daughter. How are matters going on ? What is the
result of your visit ?

LA. GR. They will tell you this better than we can. All
we say is that we thank you for the favour you have done
us, and remain your most humble servants.

Du. CR.^ Your most humble servants.

GORG. (Alone). Hoity-toity ! Methinks they go away
dissatisfied. What can be the meaning of this ? I must
find it out. Within there !

SCENE III. — GORGIBUS, MAROTTE.

MAR. Did you call, sir ?
GORG. Where are your mistresses ?
MAR. In their room.
GORG. What are they doing there ?
MAR. Making lip salve.

GORG. There is no end of their salves. Bid them come
down. (Alone). These hussies with their salves have, I

SCENE iv. J THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 145

think, a mind to ruin me. Everywhere in the house I see
nothing but whites of eggs, lac virginal, and a thousand
other fooleries I am not acquainted with. Since we have
been here they have employed the lard of a dozen hogs at
least, and four servants might live every day on the sheep's
trotters they use.

SCENE IV. — MADELON, CATHOS, GORGIBUS.

GORG. Truly there is great need to spend so much money
to grease your faces. Pray tell me, what have you done
to those gentlemen, that I saw them go away with so much
coldness. Did I not order you to receive them as persons
whom I intended for your husbands ?

MAD. Dear father, what consideration do you wish us
to entertain for the irregular behaviour of these people ?

CAT. How can a woman of ever so little understanding,
uncle, reconcile herself to such individuals ?

GORG. What fault have you to find with them ?

MAD. Their's is fine gallantry, indeed. Would you
believe it ? they began with proposing marriage to us.

GORG. What would you have them begin with — with
a proposal to keep you as mistresses ? Is not their proposal
a compliment to both of you, as well as to me ? Can any-
thing be more polite than this ? And do they not prove
the honesty of their intentions by wishing to enter these
holy bonds ?

MAD. O, father ! Nothing can be more vulgar than
what you have just said. I am ashamed to hear you talk
in such a manner ; you should take some lessons in the
elegant way of looking at things.

GORG. I care neither for elegant ways nor songs.9 I
tell you marriage is a holy and sacred affair ; to begin with
that is to act like honest people.

MAD. Good Heavens ! If everybody was like you a
love-story would soon be over. What a fine thing it would

9 The original has a play on words. Madelon says, in addressing her
father, vous devriez un peu vous faire apprendre le bel air des choses, upon
which he answers, je n'ai que faire ni d'air nt de chanson. Air means
tune as well as look, appearance.

VOL. I. K

146 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT I.

have been 'if Cyrus had immediately espoused Mandane,
and if Aronce had been married all at once to Clelie.10.

GORG. What is she jabbering about ?

MAD. Here is my cousin, father, who will tell as well as
I that matrimony ought never to happen till after other
adventures. A lover, to be agreeable, must understand
how to utter fine sentiments, to breathe soft, tender, and
passionate vows; his courtship must be according to the
rules. In the first place, he should behold the fair one of
whom he becomes enamoured either at a place of wor-
ship,11 or when out walking, or at some public ceremony ;
or else he should be introduced to her by a relative or
a friend, as if by chance, and when he leaves her he should
appear in a pensive and melancholy mood. For some
time he should conceal his passion from the object of his
love, but pay her several visits, in every one of which he
ought to introduce some gallant subject to exercise the
wits of all the company. When the day comes to make
his declarations — which generally should be contrived in
some shady garden-walk while the company is at a dis-
tance— it should be quickly followed by anger, which is
shown by our blushing, and which, for a while, banishes
the lover from our presence. He finds afterwards means
to pacify us, to accustom us gradually to hear him depict
his passion, and to draw from us that confession which
causes us so much pain. After that come the adventures,
the rivals who thwart mutual inclination, the persecutions
of fathers, the jealousies arising without any foundation,
complaints, despair, running away with, and its conse-
quences. Thus things are carried on in fashionable life,
and veritable gallantry cannot dispense with these forms.
But to come out point-blank with a proposal of marriage,
— to make no love but with a marriage-contract, and
begin a novel at the wrong end ! Once more, father,
nothing can be more tradesmanlike, and the mere thought
of it makes me sick at heart.

10 Cyrus and Mandane are the two principal charactersof Mademoiselle
de Scudery's novel Artamene, on the Grand Cyrus ; Aronce and Clelie of
the novel Clelie, by the same author.

11 See note 15, page 33.

SCENK iv.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 147

GORG. What deuced nonsense is all this? That is high-
flown language with a vengeance !

CAT. Indeed, uncle, my cousin hits the nail on the
head. How can we receive kindly those who are so awk-
ward in gallantry. I could lay a wager they have not
even seen a map of the country of Tenderness, and that
Love-letters, Trifling attentions, Polite epistles, and Sprightly
verses, are regions to them unknown.12 Do you not see
that the whole person shews it, and that their external ap-
pearance is not such as to give at first sight a good opinion
of them. To come and pay a visit to the object of their
love with a leg without any ornaments, a hat without any
feathers, a head with its locks not artistically arranged,
and a coat that suffers from a paucity of ribbons. Heav-
ens ! what lovers are these ! what stinginess in dress !
what barrenness of conversation ! It is not to be allowed ;
it is not to be borne. I also observed that their ruffs13 were
not made by the fashionable milliner, and that their
breeches were not big enough by more than half-a-foot.

GORG. I think they are both mad, nor can I understand
anything of this gibberish. Cathos, and you Madelon

MAD. Pray, father, do not use those strange names, and
call us by some other.

GORG. What do you mean by those strange names ? Are
they not the names your godfathers and godmothers gave
you?

MAD. Good Heavens ! how vulgar you are ! I confess I
wonder you could possibly be the father of such an intel-
ligent girl as I am. Did ever anybody in genteel style
talk of Cathos or of Madelon ? And must you not admit
that either of these names would be sufficient to disgrace
the finest novel in the world ?

11 The map of the country of Tenderness (la carte de Tendre) is tound
in the first part of Clelie (see note 2, page 146) ; Love-letter (Billet-
doux); Polite epistle (Billet galant) ; Trifling attentions (Petit Soins) ;
Sprightly verses (Jolis vers), are the names of villages to be found in the
map, which is a curiosity in its way.

1JThe ruff (rabaf) was at first only the shirt-collar pulled out and worn
outside the coat. Later ruffs were worn, which were not fastened to the
shirt, sometimes adorned with lace, and tied in front with two strings with
tassels. The rabat was very fashionable during the youthful years of Louis
XIV.

148 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

CAT. It is true, uncle, an ear rather delicate suffers ex-
tremely at hearing these words pronounced, and the name
of Polixena, which my cousin has chosen, and that of
Amintha, which I took, possesses a charm, which you must
needs acknowledge.14

GORG. Hearken ; one word will suffice. I do not allow
you to take any other names than those that were given
you by your godfathers and godmothers ; and as for those
gentlemen we are speaking about, I know their families
and fortunes, and am determined they shall be your
husbands. I am tired of having you upon my hands.
Looking after a couple of girls is rather too weighty a
charge for a man of my years.

CAT. As for me, uncle, all I can say is, that I think
marriage a very shocking business. How can one endure
the thought of lying by the side of a man, who is really
naked ?

MAP. Give us leave to take breath for a short time
among the fashionable world of Paris, where we are but
just arrived. Allow us to prepare at our leisure the
groundwork of our novel, and do not hurry on the con-
clusion too abruptly.

GORG. (Aside], I cannot doubt it any longer ; they are
completely mad. (Aloud). Once more, I tell you, I under-
stand nothing of all this gibberish ; I will be master, and
to cut short all kinds of arguments, either you shall both
be married shortly, or, upon my word, you shall be nuns;
that I swear.15

SCENE VI. — CATHOS, MADELON.

CAT. Good Heavens, my dear, how deeply is your
father still immersed in material things ! how dense is his
understanding, and what gloom overcasts his soul !

MAD. What can I do, my dear? I am ashamed of him.

14 The frecieuses often changed their names into more poetical and ro-
mantic appellations. The Marquise de Rambouillet, whose real name
was Catherine, was known under the anagram of Arthenice.

15 This scene is the mere outline of the well known quarrel between
Chrysale, Philaminte, and Belinda in the " Femmes Savantes" (see vol.
iii.) but a husband trembling before his wife, and only daring to show his
temper to his sister, is a much more tempting subject for a dramatic writer
than a man addressing in a firm tone his daughter and niece.

SCENE VHI.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 149

lean hardly persuade myself I am indeed his daughter;
I believe that an accident, some time or other, will dis-
cover me to be of a more illustrious descent.

CAT. I believe it ; really, it is very likely ; as for me,
when I consider myself . . .

SCENE VII. — CATHOS, MADELON, MAROTTE.

MAR. Here is a footman asks if you are at home, and
says his master is coming to see you.

MAD. Learn, you dunce, to express yourself a little less
vulgarly. Say, here is a necessary evil inquiring if it is
commodious for you to become visible.16

MAR. I do not understand Latin, and have not learned
philosophy out of Cyrus,17 as you have done.

MAD. Impertinent creature ! How can this be borne !
And who is this footman's master?

MAR. He told me it was the Marquis de Mascarille.

MAD. Ah, my dear ! A marquis ! a marquis ! Well, go
and tell him we are visible. This is certainly some wit
who has heard of us.

CAT. Undoubtedly, my dear.

MAD. We had better receive him here in this parlour
than in our room. Let us at least arrange our hair a little
and maintain our reputation. Come in quickly, and reach
us the Counsellor of the Graces.

MAR. Upon my word, I do not know what sort of a
beast that is ; you must speak like a Christian if you would
have me know your meaning.

CAT. Bring us the looking-glass, you blockhead! and
take care not to contaminate its brightness by the commu-
nication of your image.

SCENE VEIL — MASCARILLE, Two CHAIRMEN.

MASC. Stop, chairman, stop. Easy does it ! Easy, easy !
I think these boobies intend to break me to pieces by
bumping me against the walls and the pavement.

16 All these and similar sentences were really employed by the
precieuses.

1T Artamene, ou le Grand Cyrus, (1649-1653) a novel in ten volumes by
Madle. de Scud^ry.

150 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

1 CHAIR. Ay, marry, because the gate is narrow and you
would make us bring you in here.

MASC. To be sure, you rascals ! Would you have me
expose the fulness of my plumes to the inclemency of the
rainy season, and let the mud receive the impression of my
shoes ? Begone ; take away your chair.

2 CHAIR. Then please to pay us, sir.
MASC. What?

2 CHAIR. Sir, please to give us our money, I say.

MASC. {Giving him a box on the ear). Whatf scoundrel,
to ask money from a person of my rank !

2 CHAIR. Is this the way poor people are to be paid ?
Will your rank get us a dinner ?

MASC. Ha, ha ! I shall teach you to keep your right
place. Those low fellows dare to make fun of me !

i CHAIR. {Taking up one of the poles of his chair}. Come,
pay us quickly.

MASC. What?

i CHAIR. I mean to have my money at once.

MASC. That is a sensible fellow.

i CHAIR. Make haste, then.

MASC. Ay, you speak properly, but the other is a scoun-
drel, who does not know what he says. There, are you
satisfied ?

i CHAIR. No, I am not satisfied; you boxed my friend's
ears, and . . . (holding up his pole').

MASC. Gently; there is something for the box on the
ear. People may get anything from me when they go
about it in the right way. Go now, but come and fetch
me by and by to carry me to the Louvre to the petti
coucher.™

SCENE IX. — MAROTTE, MASCARILLE.

MAR. Sir, my mistresses will come immediately.

18 Louis XIV. and several other Kings of France, received their cour-
tiers when rising or going to bed. This was called lever and coucher. The
lever as well as the coucher was divided into petit and grand. All per-
sons received at court had a right to come to the grand lever and coucher,
but only certain noblemen «of high rank and the princes of the royal blood
could remain at the petit lever and coucher, which was the time between
the king putting on either a day or night shirt, and the time he went to
bed or was fully dressed. The highest person of rank always claimed
the right of handing to the king his shirt.

SCENE x.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. Ijl

MASC. Let them not hurry themselves; I am very com-
fortable here, and can wait.
MAR. Here they come.

SCENE X. — MADELON, CATHOS, MASCARILLE, ALMAZOR.

MASC. (After having bowed to them). Ladies, no doubt
you will be surprised at the boldness of my visit, but your
reputation has drawn this disagreeable affair upon you ;
merit has for me such potent charms, that I run every-
where after it.

MAD. If you pursue merit you should not come to us.

CAT. If you find merit amongst us, you must have
brought it hither yourself.

MASC. Ah ! I protest against these words. When fame
mentioned your deserts it spoke the truth, and you are
going to make pic, repic, and capot19 all the gallants from
Paris.

MAD. Your complaisance goes a little too far in the
liberality of its praises, and my cousin and I must take
care not to give too much credit to your sweet adulation.

CAT. My dear, we should call for chairs.

MAD. Almanzor!

ALM. Madam.

MAD. Convey to us hither, instantly, the conveniences
of conversation.

MASC. But am I safe here ? (Exit Almanzor.

CAT. What is it you fear?

MASC. Some larceny of my heart; some massacre of
liberty. I behold here a pair of eyes that seem to be very
naughty boys, that insult liberty, and use a heart most
barbarously. Why the deuce do they put themselves on
their guard, in order to kill any one who comes near
them? Upon my word ! I mistrust them; I shall either
scamper away, or expect very good security that they do
me no mischief.

MAD. My dear, what a charming facetiousness he has !

19 Dryden, in his Sir Martin Mar-all (Act i. sc. i), makes Sir Martin
say : " If I go to picquet ... he will picque and repicque, and capot me
twenty times together." I believe that these terms in Moliere's and Dry-
den's times had a different meaning from what they have now.

152 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

CAT. I see, indeed, he is an Amilcar.20

MAD. Fear nothing, our eyes have no wicked designs,
and your heart may rest in peace, fully assured of their
innocence.

CAT. But, pray, Sir, be not inexorable to the easy
chair, which, for this last quarter of an hour, has held out
its arms towards you; yield to its desire of embracing you.

MASC. {After having combed himself?1 and adjusted the
rolls of his stockings)™ Well, ladies, and what do you
think of Paris?

MAD. Alas! what can we think of it? It would be
the very antipodes of reason not to confess that Paris is
the grand cabinet of marvels, the centre of good taste, wit,
and gallantry.

MASC. As for me, I maintain that, out of Paris, there
is no salvation for the polite world.

CAT. Most assuredly.

MASC. Paris is- somewhat muddy; but then we have
sedan chairs.

MAD. To be sure ; a sedan chair is a wonderful pro-
tection against the insults of mud and bad weather.

MASC. I am sure you receive many visits. What great
wit belongs to your company?

MAD. Alas ! we are not yet known, but we are in the
way of being so ; for a lady of our acquaintance has pro-
mised us to bring all the gentlemen who have written for
the Miscellanies of Select Poetry.83

CAT. And certain others, whom, we have been told,
are likewise the sovereign arbiters of all that is handsome.

MASC. I can manage this for you better than any one ;

20 Amilcar is one of the heroes of the novel Clelie, who wishes to be
thought sprightly.

J1 It was at that time the custom for men of rank to comb their hair or
periwigs in public.

w The rolls (canons) were large round pieces of linen, often adorned
with lace or ribbons, and which were fastened below the breeches, just
under the knee.

23 Moliere probably alludes to a Miscellany of Select Poetry, published
in 1653, by de Sercy, under the title of Poesies choisies de M. M. Corneille
Benserade, de Scudery, Boisrobert, Sarrazin, Desmarets, Baraud, Saint-
Laurent, Colletet, Lamesnardiere, Montreuil, Viguier, Chevreau, Malle-
ville, Tristan, Testu, Maucroy, de Prade, Girard et de L'Age. A great
number of such miscellanies appeared in France, and in England also,
about that time.

SCENE x.J THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 153

they all visit me ; and I may say that I never rise without
having half-a-dozen wits at my levee.

MAD. Good Heavens ! you will place us under the
greatest obligation if you will do us the kindness; for, in
short, we must make the acquaintance of all those gentle-
men if we wish to belong to the fashion. They are the
persons who can make or unmake a reputation at Paris ;
you know that there are some, whose visits alone are suffi-
cient to start the report that you are a Connaisseuse,
though there should be no other reason for it. As for me,
what I value particularly is, that by means of these inge-
nious visits, we learn a hundred things which we ought ne-
cessarily to know, and which are the quintessence of wit.
Through them we hear the scandal of the day, or whatever
niceties are going on in prose or verse. We know, at the
right time, that Mr. So-and-so has written the finest piece
in the world on such a subject ; that Mrs. So-and-so has
adapted words to such a tune ; that a certain gentleman
has written a madrigal upon a favour shown to him ; an-
other stanzas upon a fair one who betrayed him; Mr.
Such-a-one wrote a couplet of six lines yesterday evening
to Miss Such-a-one, to which she returned him an answer
this morning at eight o'clock; such an author is engaged
on such a subject; this writer is busy with the third
volume of his novel ; that one is putting his works to
press. Those things procure you consideration in every
society, and if people are ignorant of them, I would not
give one pinch of snuff for all the wit they may have.

CAT. Indeed, I think it the height of ridicule for any
one who possesses the slightest Claim to be called clever
not to know even the smallest couplet that is made every
day ; as for me, I should be very much ashamed if any
one should ask me my opinion about something new, and
I had not seen it.

MASC. It is really a shame not to know from the very
first all that is going on ; but do not give yourself any
farther trouble, I will establish an academy of wits at your
house, and I give you my word that not a single line of
poetry shall be written in Paris, but what you shall be able
to say by heart before anybody else. As for me, such as
you see me, I amuse myself in that way when I am in the

I 54 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

humour, and you may find handed about in the fashiona-
ble assemblies24 of Paris two hundred songs, as many
sonnets, four hundred epigrams, and more than a thou-
sand madrigals all made by me, without counting riddles
and portraits.25

MAD. I must acknowledge that I dote upon portraits ;
I think there is nothing more gallant.

MASC. Portraits are difficult, and call for great wit ; you
shall see some of mine that will not displease you.

CAT. As for me, I am awfully fond of riddles.

MASC. They exercise the intelligence ; I have already
written four of them this morning, which I will give you
to guess.

MAD. Madrigals are pretty enough when they are neatly
turned.

MASC. That is my special talent ; I am at present
engaged in turning the whole Roman history into madri-
gals. *

MAD. Goodness gracious ! that will certainly be super-
latively fine ; I should like to have one copy at least, if
you think of publishing it.

MASC. I promise you each a copy, bound in the hand-
somest manner. It does not become a man of my rank
to scribble, but I do it only to serve the publishers, who
are always bothering me.

MAD. I fancy it must be a delightful thing to see one's
self in print.

MASC. Undoubtedly ; but, by the by, I must repeat to

M In the original French the word is ruelle, which means literally " a
small street," " a lane," hence any narrow passage, hence the narrow
opening between the wall and the bed. The Precieuses at that time re-
ceived their visitors lying dressed in a bed, which was placed in an alcove
and upon a raised platform. Their fashionable friends (alcovistes) took
their places between the bed and the wall, and thus the name ruelle
came to be given to all fashionable assemblies. In Dr. John Ash's New
and Complete Dictionary of the English Language, published in London
1755, I still find ruelle denned: " a little street, a circle, an assembly at a
private house."

25 This kind of literature, in which one attempted to write a portrait of
one's self or of others, was then very much in fashion. La Bruyere and
de Saint-Simon in France, as well as Dryden and Pope in England, have
shown what a literary portrait may become in the hands of men of talent.

M Seventeen years after this play was performed, Benserade published
les Metamorphoses d' Ovide mises en rondeaux.

SCENHX.J THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 155

you some extempore verses I made yesterday at the house
of a certain duchess, an acquaintance of mine. I am
deuced clever at extempore verses.

CAT. Extempore verses are certainly the very touch-
stone of genius.

MASC. Listen then.
MAD. We are all ears.
MASC. Oh ! oh ! quite withmit heed was I,
As harmless you I chanced to spy,
Slily your eyes
My heart surprise,
Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief I cry !

CAT. Good Heavens ! this is carried to the utmost pitch
of gallantry.

MASC. Everything I do shows it is done by a gentleman ;
there is nothing of the pedant about my effusions.

MAD. They are more than two thousand miles removed
from that.

MASC. Did you observe the beginning, oh! oh? there
is something original in that oh! oh! like a man who all
of a sudden thinks about something, oh .' oh ! Taken by
surprise as it were, oh! oh!

MAD. Yes, I think that oh / oh ! admirable.

MASC. It seems a mere nothing.

CAT. Good Heavens ! How can you say so ? It is one
of these things that are perfectly invaluable.

MAD. No doubt on it ; I would rather have written that
oh ! oh ! than an epic poem.

MASC. Egad, you have good taste.

MAD. Tolerably; none of the worst, I believe.

MASC. But do you not also admire quite without heed
was 1? quite without heed was I, that is, I did not pay
attention to anything; a natural way of speaking, quite
without heed was I, of no harm thinking, that is, as I was
going along, innocently, without malice, like a poor
sheep, you I chanced to spy, that is to say, I amused my-
self with looking at you, with observing you, with con-
templating you. Slily your eyes. . . . What do you
think of that word slily — is it not well chosen ?

CAT. Extremely so.

156 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

MASC. Slily, stealthily ; just like a cat watching a
mouse — slily.'

MAD. Nothing can be better.

MASC. My heart surprise, that is, carries it away from
me, robs me of it. Stop thief! stop thief ! stop thief !
Would you not think a man were shouting and running
after a thief to catch him? Stop thief '/ stop thief! stop
thief!'1'1

MAD. I must admit the turn is witty and sprightly.

MASC. I will sing you the tune I made to it.

CAT. Have you learned music ?

MASC. I ? Not at all.

CAT. How can you make a tune then ?

MASC. People of rank know everything without ever
having learned anything.

MAD. His lordship is quite in the right, my dear.

MASC. Listen if you like the tune : hem, hem, la, la.
The inclemency of the season has greatly injured the de-
licacy of my voice ; but no matter, it is in a free and easy
way. (He sings). Oh ! Oh ! quite without heed was
I, etc.

CAT. What a passion there breathes in this music. It
is enough to make one die away with delight !

MAD. There is something plaintive in it.

MASC. Do you not think that the air perfectly well ex-
presses the sentiment, stop thief, stop thief? And then as
if some one cried out very loud, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,
stop thief! Then all at once like a person out of breath,
Stop thief !

MAD. This is to understand the perfection of things,
the grand perfection, the perfection of perfections. I de-
clare it is altogether a wonderful performance. I am
quite enchanted with the air and the words.

CAT. I never yet met with anything so excellent.

27 The scene of Mascarille reading his extempore verses is something
like Trissotin in Les Femmes savantes (see vol. m.) reading his sonnet
for the Princess Uranie. But Mascarille comments on the beauties of his
verses with the insolent vanity of a man who does not pretend to have
even one atom of modesty ; Trissotin, a professional wit, listens in silence,
but with secret pride, to the ridiculous exclamations of the admirers of his
genius.

ECBNEX.J THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 157

MASC. All that I do comes naturally to me; it is with-
out study.

MAD. Nature has treated you like a very fond mother ;
you are her darling child.

MASC. How do you pass away the time, ladies ?

CAT. With nothing at all.

MAD. Until now we have lived in a terrible dearth of
amusements.

MASC. I am at your service to attend you to the play,
one of those days, if you will permit me. Indeed, a new
comedy is to be acted which I should be very glad we
might see together.

MAD. There is no refusing you anything.

MASC. But I beg of you to applaud it well, when we
shall be there; for I have promised to give a helping hand
to the piece. The author called upon me this very morn-
ing to beg me so to do. It is the custom for authors to
come and read their new plays to people of rank, that
they may induce us to approve of them and give them a
reputation. I leave you to imagine if, when we say any-
thing, the pit dares contradict us. As for me, I am very
punctual in these things, and when I have made a promise
to a poet, I always cry out " Bravo " before the candles
are lighted.

MAD. Do not say another word : Paris is an admirable
place. A hundred things happen every day which people
in the country, however clever they may be, have no
idea of.

CAT. Since you have told us, we shall consider it our
duty to cry up lustily every word that is said.

MASC. I do not know whether I am deceived, but you
look as if you had written some play yourself.

MAD. Eh ! there may be something in what you say.

MASC. Ah ! upon my word, we must see it. Between
ourselves, I have written one which I intend to have
brought out.

CAT. Ay ! to what company do you mean to give it ?

MASC. That is a very nice question, indeed. To the
actors of the hotel de Bourgogne ; they alone can bring
things into good repute ; the rest are ignorant creatures
who recite their parts just as people speak in every-day

158 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

life ; they do not understand to mouth the verses, or to
pause at a beautiful passage ; how can it be known where
the fine lines are, if an actor does not stop at them, and
thereby tell you to applaud heartily?28

CAT. Indeed ! that is one way of making an audience
feel the beauties of any work ; things are only prized when
they are well set off.

MASC. What do you think of my top-knot, sword-knot,
and rosettes ? M Do you find them harmonize with my
coat ?

CAT. Perfectly.

MASC. Do you think the ribbon well chosen ?

MAD. Furiously well. It is real Perdrigeon.30

MASC. What do you say of my rolls ? 31

MAD. They look very fashionable.

MASC, I may at least boast that they are a quarter of
a yard wider than any that have been made.

MAD. I must own I never saw the elegance of dress
carried farther.

MASC. Please to fasten the reflection of your smelling
faculty upon these gloves.

MAD. They smell awfully fine.

CAT. I never inhaled a more delicious perfume.

MASC. And this ? (He gives them his powdered wig to
smell}.

MAD. It has the true quality odour; it titillates the
nerves of the upper region most deliciously.

MASC. You say nothing of my feathers. How do you
like them ?

CAT. They are frightfully beautiful.

26 The company of actors at the hotel de Bourgogne were rivals to the
troop of Moliere ; it appears, however, from contemporary authors, that
the accusations brought by our author against them were well-founded.

29 In the original petite oie ; this was first, the name given to the giblets
of a goose, oie ; next it came to mean all the accessories of dress, rib-
bons, laces, feathers, and other small ornaments. In one of the old transla-
tions of Moliere petite oie is rendered by " muff," and Perdrigeon (see
note 30), I suppose, with a faint idea of perdrix, a partridge, by "bird of
paradise feathers ! ! "

30 Perdrigeon was the name of a. fashionable linen-draper in Paris at
that time.

31 See note 21, page 152. According to Ash's Dictionary, 1775, canons,
are " cannions, a kind of boot hose, an ancient dress for the legs."

SCENE xi.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 159

MASC. Do you know that every single one of them cost
me a Louis-d'or? But it is my hobby to have generally
everything of the very best.

MAD. I assure you that you and I sympathize. I am
furiously particular in everything I wear ; I cannot endure
even stockings, unless they are bought at a fashionable
shop.82

MASC. (Crying out suddenly). O ! O ! O ! gently.
Damme, ladies, you use me very ill ; I have reason 33 to
complain of your behaviour ; it is not fair.

CAT. What is the matter with you ?

MASC. What ! two at once against my heart ! to attack
me thus right and left ! Ha ! This is contrary to the
law of nations, the combat is too unequal, and I must cry
out, "Murder! "

CAT. Well, he does say things in a peculiar way.

MAD. He is a consummate wit.

CAT. You are more afraid than hurt, and your heart
cries out before it is even wounded.

MASC. The devil it does ! it is wounded all over from
head to foot.

SCENE XI. — CATHOS, MADELON, MASCARILLE, MAROTTE.

MAR. Madam, somebody asks to see you.

MAD. Who !

MAR. The Viscount de Jodelet.

MASC. The Viscount de Jodelet ?

MAR. Yes, sir.

CAT. Do you know him ?

MASC. He is my most intimate friend.

"Without going into details about the phraseology of the precieuses, of
which the ridiculousness has appeared sufficiently in this scene, it will be
observed that they used adverbs, as "furiously, terribly, awfully, extraor-
dinarily, horribly, greatly," and many more, in such a way that they often
appear absurd, as, " I love you horribly," or, "he was greatly small."
Such a way of speaking is not unknown even at the present time in Eng-
land ; we sometimes hear, " I like it awfully," "it is awfully jolly."

88 1 employ here the words " to have reason," because that verb, in the
sense of " to have a right, to be right," seems to have been a courtly ex-
pression in Dryden's time. Old Moody answers to Sir Martin Marall
(Act iii., Scene 3), "You have reason, sir. There he is again, too ; the
town phrase; a great compliment I wis ! you have reason, sir; that is, you
are-no beast, sir."

l6o THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT i.

MAD. Shew him in immediately.

MASC. We have not seen each other for some time ; I
am delighted to meet him.
CAT. Here he comes.

SCENE XII. — CATHOS, MADELON, JODELET, MASCARILLE,
MAROTTE, ALMANZOR.

MASC. Ah, Viscount !

JOD. Ah, Marquis ! (Embracing each other').

MASC. How glad I am to meet you !

JOD. How happy I am to see you here.

MASC. Embrace me once more, I pray you.34

MAD. ( To Cathos). My dearest, we begin to be known ;
people of fashion find the way to our house.

MASC. Ladies, allow me to introduce this gentleman to
you. Upon my word, he deserves the honour of your
acquaintance.

JOD. It is but just we should come and pay you what
we owe ; your charms demand their lordly rights from all
sorts of people.

MAD. You carry your civilities to the utmost confines
of flattery.

CAT. This day ought to be marked in our diary as a
red-letter day.

MAD. (To Almanzor). Come, boy, must you always
be told things over and over again ? Do you not observe
there must be an additional chair?

MASC. You must not be astonished to see the Viscount
thus ; he has but just recovered from an illness, which, as
you perceive, has made him so pale.35

JOD. The consequence of continual attendance at court
and the fatigues of war.

MASC. Do you know, ladies, that in the Viscount you

34 It was then the fashion for young courtiers to embrace each other
repeatedly with exaggerated gestures, uttering all the while loud exclama-
tions. The "Viscount de Jodelet is the caricature of a courtier of a former
reign; he is very old, very pale, dressed in sombre colours, speaks slowly
and through the nose. Geoffrin, the actor, who played this part, was at
least seventy years old.

35 Moliere here alludes to the complexion of the actor Geoffrin. See
Note i, page 79.

SCHNK xil.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. l6l

behold one of the heroes of the age. He is a very valiant
man.3*

JOD. Marquis, you are not inferior to me ; we also know
what you can do.

MASC. It is true we have seen one another at work
when there was need for it.

JOD. And in places where it was hot.

MASC. (^Looking at Cathos and Made Ion}. Ay, but not
so hot as here. Ha, ha, ha !

JOD. We became acquainted in the army; the first time
we saw each other he commanded a regiment of horse
aboard the galleys of Malta.

MASC. True, but for all that you were in the service
before me; I remember that I was but a young officer
when you commanded two thousand horse.

JOD. War is a fine thing; but, upon my word, the court
does not properly reward men of merit like us.

MASC. That is the reason I intend to hang up my sword.

CAT. As for me, I have a tremendous liking for gentle-
men of the army.37

MAD. I love them, too ; but I like bravery seasoned
with wit.

MASC. Do you remember, Viscount, our taking that
half-moon from the enemy at the siege of Arras?38

JOD. What do you mean by a half-moon? It was a
complete full moon.

MASC. I believe you are right.

JOD. Upon my word, I ought to remember it very well.
I was wounded in the leg by a hand-grenade, of which I
still carry the marks. Pray, feel it, you can perceive
what sort of a wound it was.

CAT. (Putting her hand to the place). The scar is really
large.

36 In the original un brave a trots polls, literally, "a brave man with
three hairs." This is an allusion to the moustache and pointed beard on
the chin, then called royale. We have seen the fashion revived in our
days by the late emperor of the French, Napoleon III. and his courtiers ;
of course, the royale was then called imperiale.

87 Cathos. who only repeats what her cousin says, and has observed
that Mascarille admires Madelon, is resolved to worship more particularly
the Viscount de Jodelet.

M Turenne compelled the Prince de Cond6 and the Spanish army to
raise the siege of Arras in 1654.

VOL. I. L

1 62 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT I.

MASC. Give me your hand for a moment, and feel this;
there, just at the back of my head. Do you feel it?

MAD. Ay, I feel something.

MASC. A musket shot which I received the last cam-
paign I served in.

JOD. (Unbuttoning his breasf). Here is a wound which
went quite through me at the attack of Gravelines.39

MASC. {Putting his hand upon the button of his breeches}.
I am going to show you a tremendous wound.

MAD. There is no occasion for it, we believe it without
seeing it.

MASC. They are honour's marks, that show what a man
is made of.

CAT. We have not the least doubt of the valour of you
both.

MASC. Viscount, is your coach in waiting?

JOD. Why?

MASC. We shall give these ladies an airing, and offer
them a collation.

MAD. We cannot go out to-day.

MASC. Let us send for musicians then, and have a
dance.

JOD. Upon my word, that is a happy thought.

MAD. With all our hearts, but we must have some ad-
ditional company.

MASC. So ho ! Champagne, Picard, Bourguignon, Cas-
caret, Basque, La Verdure, Lorrain, Provencal, La
Violette.40 I wish the deuce took all these footmen ! I
do not think there is a gentleman in France worse served
than I am ! These rascals are always out of the way.

MAD. Almanzor, tell the servants of my lord marquis
to go and fetch the musicians, and ask some of the gentle-
men and ladies hereabouts to come and people the soli-
tude of our ball. {Exit Almanzor.

MASC. Viscount, what do you say of those eyes?

39 In 1658, the Marshal de la Ferte took this town from the Spaniards.

40 These names, with the exception of Cascaret, La Verdure and La
Violette are those of natives of different provinces, and were often given

to footmen, according to the place where they were born. Cascaret is
of Spanish origin, and not seldom used as a name for servants ; La Ver-
dure means, verdure ; La Violette, violet.

SCENE xin.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 163

JOD. Why, Marquess, what do you think of them your-
self?

MASC. I ? I say that our liberty will have much diffi-
culty to get away from here scot free. At least mine has
suffered most violent attacks ; my heart hangs by a single
thread.

MAD. How natural is all he says ! he gives to things a
most agreeable turn.

CAT. He must really spend a tremendous deal of wit.

MASC. To show you that I am in earnest, I shall make
some extempore verses upon my passion. (Seems to think.

CAT. O ! I beseech you by all that I hold sacred, let us
hear something made upon us.

JOD. I should be glad to do so too, but the quantity
of blood that has been taken from me lately, has greatly
exhausted my poetic vein.

MASC. Deuce take it ! I always make the first verse
well, but I find the others more difficult. Upon my word,
this is too short a time; but I will make you some extem-
pore verses at my leisure, which you shall think the finest
in the world.

JOD. He is devilish witty.

MAD. He — his wit is so gallant and well expressed.

MASC. Viscount, tell me, when did you see the Countess
last?

JOD. I have not paid her a visit these three weeks.

MASC. Do you know that the duke came to see me this
morning; he would fain have taken me into the country
to hunt a stag with him ?

MAD. Here come our friends.

SCENE XIII. — LUCILE, CELIMENE, CATHOS, MADELON,
MASCARILLE, JODELET, MAROTTE, ALMANZOR, AND
MUSICIANS.

MAD. Lawk! my dears, we beg your pardon. These
gentlemen had a fancy to put life into our heels; we sent
for you to fill up the void of our assembly.

Luc. We are certainly much obliged to you for doing
so.

MASC. This is a kind of extempore ball, ladies, but one

164 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT I.

of these days we shall give you one in form. Have the
musicians come ?

ALM. Yes, sir, they are here.

CAT. Come then, my dears, take your places.

MASC. {Dancing by himself and singing). La, la, la, la,
la, la, la, la.

MAD. What a very elegant shape he has.

CAT. He looks as if he were a first-rate dancer.

MASC. {Taking out Madelon to dance). My freedom
will dance a Couranto 41 as well as my feet. Play in time,
musicians, in time. O what ignorant wretches ! There is
no dancing with them. The devil take you all, can you
not play in time? La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la? Steady,
you country-scrapers !

JOD. {Dancing also). Hold, do not play so fast. I
have but just recovered from an illness.

SCENE XIV. — Du CROISY, LA GRANGE, CATHOS, MADELON,

LUCILE, CELIMENE, JODELET, MASCARILLE, MAROTTE,

AND MUSICIANS.

LA GR. ( With a stick in his hand}. Ah ! ah ! scoun-
drels, what are you doing here? We have been looking
for you these three hours. (He beats Mascarille).

MASC. Oh ! oh ! oh ! you did not tell me that blows
should be dealt about.

JOD. ( Who is also beaten). Oh ! oh ! oh !

LA GR. It becomes you well, you rascal, to pretend to
be a man of rank.

Du CR. This will teach you to know yourself.

SCENE XV. — CATHOS, MADELON, LUCILE, CELIMENE,
MASCARILLE, JODELET, MAROTTE, AND MUSICIANS.

MAD. What is the meaning of this ?

JOD. It is a wager.

CAT. What, allow yourselves to be beaten thus?

MASC. Good Heavens ! I did not wish to appear to
take any notice of it ; because I am naturally very vio-
lent, and should have flown into a passion.

MAD. To suffer an insult like this in our presence !

41 A Couranto was a very grave, Spanish dance, or rather march, but
in which the feet did not rise from the ground.

SCENE xvi.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 165

MASC. It is nothing. Let us not leave off. We have
known one another for a long time, and among friends one
ought not to be so quickly offended for such a trifle.

SCENE XVI. — Du CROISY, LA GRANGE, MADELON, CA-
THOS, LUCILE, CELIMENE, MASCARILLE, JODELET, MA-
ROTTE, AND MUSICIANS.

LA GR. — Upon my word, rascals, you shall not laugh
at us, I promise you. Come in, you there. {Three or
four men enter).

MAD. What means this impudence to come and disturb
us in our own house?

Du CR. What, ladies, shall we allow our footmen to be
received better than ourselves? Shall they come to make
love to you at our expense, and even give a ball in your
honour ?

MAD. Your footmen ?

LA GR. Yes, our footmen ; and you must give me leave
to say that it is not acting either handsome or honest to
spoil them for us, as you do.

MAD. O Heaven ! what insolence !

LA GR. But they shall not have the advantage of our
clothes to dazzle your eyes. Upon my word, if you are
resolved to like them, it shall be for their handsome looks
only. Quick, let them be stripped immediately.

JOD. Farewell, a long farewell to all our fine clothes.**

MASC. The marquisate and viscountship are at an end. ,

Du. CR. Ah ! ah ! you knaves, you have the impudence
to become our rivals. I assure you, you must go somewhere
else to borrow finery to make yourselves agreeable to your
mistresses.

LA GR. It is too much to supplant us, and that with
our own clothes.

MASC. O fortune, how fickle you are !

Du CR. Quick, pull off everything from them.

LA GR. Make haste and take away all these clothes.

42 The original has braverie ; brave, and bravery, had formerly also the
meaning of showy, gaudy, rich, in English. Fuller in The Holy State,
bk. ii., c. 18, says: "If he (the good yeoman) chance to appear in clothes
above his rank, it is to grace some great man with his service, and then
he blusheth at his own bravery.1'

166 THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. [ACT I.

Now, ladies, in their present condition you may continue
your amours with them as long as you please ; we leave
you perfectly free ; this gentleman and I declare solemnly
that we shall not be in the least degree jealous.

SCENE XVII. — MADELON, CATHOS, JODELET, MASCARILLE,
AND MUSICIANS.

CAT. What a confusion !
MAD. I am nearly bursting with vexation,
i Mus. (To Mascarille). What is the meaning of this?
Who is to pay us ?

MASC. Ask my lord the viscount.

i Mus. (To Jodelef). Who is to give us our money ?

JOD. Ask my lord the marquis.

SCENE XVIII. — GORGIBUS, MADELON, CATHOS, JODELET,
MASCARILLE, AND MUSICIANS.

GORG. Ah ! you hussies, you have put us in a nice
pickle, by what I can see ; I have heard about your fine
goings on from those two gentlemen who just left.

MAD. Ah, father ! they have played us a cruel trick.

GORG. Yes, it is a cruel trick, but you may thank your
own impertinence for it, you jades. They have revenged
themselves for the way you treated them ; and yet, un-
happy man that I am, I must put up with the affront.

MAD. Ah ! I swear we will be revenged, or I shall die
in the attempt. And you, rascals, dare you remain here
after your insolence ?

MASC. Do you treat a marquis in this manner? This is
the way of the world ; the least misfortune causes us to be
slighted by those who before caressed us. Come along,
brother, let us go and seek our fortune somewhere else; I
perceive they love nothing here but outward show, and
have no regard for worth unadorned. (They both leave.

SCENE XIX. — GORGIBUS, MADELON, CATHOS, AND
MUSICIANS.

i Mus. Sir, as they have not paid us, we expect you to
do so, for it was in this house we played.

GORG. (Beating them). Yes, yes, I shall satisfy you ;
this is the coin I will pay you in. As for you, you sluts,

SCENE xix.] THE PRETENTIOUS YOUNG LADIES. 167

I do not know why I should not serve you in the same
way ; we shall become the common talk and laughing-stock
of everybody ; this is what you have brought upon your-
selves by your fooleries. Out of my sight and hide your-
selves, you jades ; go and hide yourselves forever. {Alone}.
And you, that are the cause of their folly, you stupid
trash, mischievous amusements for idle minds, you novels,
verses, songs, sonnets, and sonatas, the devil take you all.

SGANARELLE; OU, LE COCU IMAGINA1RE.

COMEDIE EN UN ACTE.

SGANARELLE:

OR THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND.
A COMEDY IN ONE'ACT.

(THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE.)
28xH MAY, 1660.

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

Six months after the brilliant success of the Precieuses Ridicules, Moliere
brought out at the Theatre du Petit-Bourbon a new comedy, called
Sg-anarelle, ou le Cocu Imaginaire, which I have translated by Sgana-
relle, or the self-deceived Husband. It has been said that Moliere owed
the first idea of this piece to an Italian farce, // Ritratto ovvero Arlichino
comuto per opinione, but, as it has never been printed, it is difficult to de-
cide at the present time whether or not this be true. The primary idea
of the play is common to many commedia dell' arte, whilst Moliere has
also been inspired by such old authors as Noel Du Fail, Rabelais, those
of the Qitinzejoyes de Manage, of the Cent nouvelles Nouvelles, and per-
haps others.

The plot of Sganarelle is ingenious and plausible ; every trifle becomes
circumstantial evidence, and is received as conclusive proof both by the
husband and wife. The dialogue is sprightly throughout, and the anxious
desire of Sganarelle to kill his supposed injurer, whilst his cowardice pre-
vents him from executing his valorous design, is extremely ludicrous.
The chief aim of our author appears to have been to show how dangerous
it is to judge with too much haste, especially in those circumstances where
passion may either augment or diminish the view we take of certain ob-
jects. This truth, animated by a great deal of humour and wit, drew
crowds of spectators for forty nights, though the play was brought out in
summer and the marriage of the young king kept the court from Paris.

The style is totally different from that employed in the Precieuses Ridi-
cules, and is a real and very good specimen of the style g aulois, adapted
to the age in which Molidre lived. He has often been blamed for not
having followed up his success of the Precieuses Ridicules by a comedy
in the same style, but Moliere did not want to make fresh enemies. It
appears to have been a regular and set purpose with him always to pro-
duce something farcical after a creation which provoked either secret or
open hostility, or even violent opposition.

Sganarelle appears in this piece for the first time, if we except the
farce, or rather sketch, of the Medecin volant, where in reality nothing is
developed, but everything is in mere outline. But in Sganarelle Mo-
liere has created a character that is his own just as much as Falstaff
belongs to Shakespeare, Sancho Panza to Cervantes, or Panurge to Ra-
belais. Whether Sganarelle is a servant, a husband, the father of Lu-
ciode, the brother of Ariste, a guardian, a faggot-maker, a doctor, he

171

172 SGANARELLE ; OR,

always represents the ugly side of human nature, an antiquated, grumpy,
sullen, egotistical, jealous, grovelling, frightened character, ever and anon
raising a laugh on account of his boasting, mean, morose, odd qualities.
Moliere was, at the time he wrote Sganarelle, more than thirty years old,
and* could therefore no longer successfully represent Mascarille as the
rollicking servant of the Blunderer.

This farce was published by a certain Mr. Neufvillenaine, who was so
smitten by it that, after having seen it represented several times, he knew
it by heart, wrote it out, and published it, accompanied by a running
commentary, which is not worth much, and preceded by a letter to a
friend in which he extols its beauties. Moli&re got, in 1663, his name in-
serted, instead of that of Neufvillenaine, in the privilege du roi.
• Mr. Henry Baker, the translator of this play, in the " Select Comedies
of M. de Moliere, London, 1732,'' oddly dedicates it to Miss Wolsten-
holme * in the following words : —

MADAM,

Be so good to accept this little Present as^n Instance of my high Esteem. Who-
ever "has any Knowledge of the French Language, or any Taste for COMEDY, must
needs distinguish the Excellency of Moliere' s Plays : one of which is here trans-
lated. What the English may be, I leave others to determine ; but the ORIGINAL,
which you receive along with it, is, I am certain, worthy your Perusal.

Tho' what You read, at present, is called a DEDICATION, it is, perhaps, the most
unlike one of any thing You ever saw : for, You'll find not one Vford, in Praise,
either of Your blooming Youth, Your agreeable Person, Your genteel Behaviour,
Your easy Temper, or Your good Sense . . . and, the Reason is, that I cannot for
my Life "bring myself to such a Degree of Impertinence, as to sit down with a solemn
Countenance, and Take upon me to inform the World, that the Sun is bright, and
that the Spring is lovely.

My Knowledge of You from Your Infancy, and the many Civilities I am obliged
for to Your Family, will, I hope, be an Excuse for this Presumption in,
MADAM. Your most obedient humble servant.

H, B.
Enfield,

Jan. ist 1731-8.

This play seems to have induced several English playwrights to imi-
tate it. Fiist, we have Sir William D'Avenant's The Playhouse to be Let,
of which the date of the first performance is uncertain. According to the
Biographia Britannica, it was " a very singular entertainment, composed
of five acts, each being a distinct performance. The first act is introduc-
tory, shows the distress of the players in the time of vacation, that obliges
them to let their house, which several offer to take for different purposes ;
amongst the rest a Frenchman, who had brought over a troop of his
countrymen to act a farce. This is performed in the second act, which is
a translation of Moliere's Sganarelle, or the Cuckold Conceit ; all in broken
French to make the people laugh. The third act is a sort of comic opera,
under the title of The History of Sir Francis Drake. The fourth act is a
serious opera, representing the cruelties of the Spaniards in Peru. The
fifth act is a burlesque in Heroicks on the Amours of Caesar and Cleo-
patra, has a great deal of wit and humour, and was often acted afterwards
by itself."

*I suppose the lady was a descendant of Sir John Wolstenholme, mentioned in
one of the notes of Pepy's Diary, Sept. 5, 1662, as created a baronet, 1664, an inti-
mate friend of Lord Clarendon's, and collector outward for the Port of London—
ob. 1679.

THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 173

With the exception of the first act, all the others, which are separate
and distinct, but short dramatic pieces, were written in the time of Oliver
Cromwell, and two of them at least were performed at the Cockpit, when
Sir William D'Avenant had obtained permission to present his entertain-
ments of music and perspective in scenes.

The second imitation of Sganarelle is " Tom Essence, or the Modish
Wife, a Comedy as it is acted at the Duke's Theatre, 1677. London,
printed by T. M. for W. Cademan, at the Pope's Head, in the Lower
Walk of the New Exchange in the Strand, 1677." This play is written
by a Mr. Thomas Rawlins, printer and engraver to the Mint, under
Charles the First and Second, and is founded on two French comedies —
viz., Moliere's Sganarelle, and Thomas Corneille's Don Cesar d' Avalos.
The prologue is too bad to be quoted, and I doubt if it can ever have been
spoken on any stage. This play is written partly in blank verse, partly in
prose ; though very coarse, it is, on the whole, clever and witty. Old
Moneylove, a credulous fool, who has a young wife (Act ii., Scene i), re-
minds one at times of the senator Antonio in Otway's Venice Preserved,
and is, of course, deceived by the gallant Stanley ; the sayings and doings
of Mrs. Moneylove, who is " what she ought not to be," and the way she
tricks her husband, are very racy, perhaps too much so for the taste of
the present times. I do not think any dramatist would now bring upon
the stage a young lady like Theodocia, daughter of old Moneylove, read-
ing the list about Squire Careless. Tom Essence is a seller of perfumes, a
•'jealous coxcomb of his wife ;'' and Courtly is " a sober gentleman, ser-
vant to Theodocia ;" these are imitations of Sganarelle and Lelio. Love-
all, "a wilde debaucht blade," and Mrs. Luce, ' a widdow disguis'd, and
passes for Theodocia's maid," are taken from Corneille.

In the epilogue, the whole of which cannot be given, Mrs, Essence
speaks the following lines :

" But now methinks a Cloak-Cabal I see,
Whose Prick-ears glow, whilst they their Jealousie
In Essence find ; but Citty-Sirs, I fear,
Most of you have more cause to be severe.
We yield you are the truest Character."

Nearly all the scenes imitated in this play from Moliere's Sganarelle
contain nothing which merits to be reproduced.

The Perplexed Couple, or Mistake upon Mistake, as it is acted at the
New Theatre in Lancolns- Inn- Fields, by the Company of Comedians,
acting under Letters Patent granted by King Charles the Second. Lon-
don, Printed for W. Meares at the Lamb, and J. Brown, at the Black
Swan without Temple-Bar, 1715, is the third imitation of Moliere's Sga-
narelle. This comedy, printed for two gentlemea, with zoological signs,
was written by a Mr. Charles Molloy, who for a long time was the editor
of a well-known paper, Common Sense, in defence of Tory principles.
This play had little success, and deserved to have had none, for it has no
merit whatever. Our author states in the prologue : —

"The injur'd Muses, who with savage Rage,
Of late have often been expell'd a Tyrant Stage,
Here fly for Refuge ; where, secure from Harms,
By you protected, shall display their Charms . . .
No Jest profane the guilty scene deforms,
That impious way of being dull he scorns ;
No Party Cant shall here inflame the Mind,
And poison what for Pleasure was designed."

174 SGANARELLE J OR,

Mr. Molloy admits in the preface that " the Incident of the Picture in
the Third act, something in the Fourth, and one Hint in the last Act, are
taken from the Cocu Imaginaire ; the rest I'm forced to subscribe to my-
self, for I can lay it to no Body else." I shall only remark on this, that
nearly the whole play is a mere paraphrasing of Moliere's Cocu Imagi-
naire, and several other of his plays. The scene between Leonora, the
heroine, and Sterling, the old usurer and lover (Act i.), is imitated from
Madelon's description in the art of making love in the Pretentious Young
Ladies, and so are many others. The servant Crispin is a medley of
Mascarille from The Blunderer, of Gros-Rene from The Love- Tiff, and
of the servant of the same name in the Cocu Imaginaire ; the interfering
uncle of Lady Thinwit, is taken from George Dandin, whilst Sir Anthony
Thinwit becomes Sganarelle. The only thing new I have been able to
discover in The Perplexed Couple is the lover Octavio disguising himself
as a pedlar to gain admittance to the object of his love ; and old Sterling,
the usurer, marrying the maid instead of the mistress. Moliere's farce
has been lengthened by those means into a five-act comedy, and though
" no jest profane " may be found in it it is more full than usual of coarse
and lewd sayings, which can hardly be called inuendoes. The play is a
mistake altogether ; perhaps that is the reason its second name is called
Mistake upon Mistake.

The Picture, or the Cuckold in Conceit, a Comedy in one act, by Js.
Miller, is founded on Moliere, and is the fourth imitation of Sganarelle.
London, MDCCXLV. This play is, on the whole, a free translation of
Moliere's, interspersed with some songs set to music by Dr. Arne. Sgana-
relle is called Mr. Timothy Dotterel, grocer and common councilman ;
Gorgibus, Mr. Per-cent. ; Lelio, Mr. Heartly ; Gros-Rene, John Broad,
whilst Celia's maid is called Phillis. The Prologue, spoken by Mr. Hav-
ard, ends thus :

" . . ' To-night we serve
A Cuckold, that the Laugh does well deserve ;
A Cuckold in Conceit, by Fancy made
As mad, as by the common Course of Trade :
And more to please ye, and his Worth enhance,
He's carbonado'd a la mode de France ;
Cook'd by Moliere, great Master of his Trade,
From whose Receipt this Harrico was made.
But if that poignant Taste we fail to take,
That something, that a mere Receipt can't make ;
Forgive the Failure — we're but Copies all,
And want the Spirit of th' Original."

The fifth and best imitation is Arthur Murphy's All in the Wrong, a
comedy in five acts, first performed during the summer season of 1761, at
the Theatre Royal, in Drury Lane. Though the chief idea and several
of the scenes are taken from Sganarelle, yet the characters are well drawn,
and the play, as a whole, very entertaining. The Prologue, written and
spoken by Samuel Foote, is as follows :

" To-night, be it known to Box, Gall'ry, and Pit,

Will be open'd the best Summer- Warehouse for Wit ;*
The New Manufacture, Foote and Co., Undertakers ;
Play, Pantomime, Opera, Farce, — by the Makers !

• Mr. Garrick, at this time, had let his playhouse for the summer months.

THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 175

We scorn, like our brethren, our fortunes to owe

To Shakespeare and Southern, to Otway and Rowe.

Though our judgment may err, yet our justice is shewn.

For we promise to mangle no works but our own.

And moreover on this you may firmly rely,

If we can't make you laugh, that we won't make you cry.

For Roscius, who knew we were mirth-loving souls,

Has lock'd up his lightning, his daggers, and bowls.

Resolv'd that in buskins no hero shall stalk,

He has shut us quite out of the Tragedy walk.

No blood, no blank verse ! and in short we're undone.

Unless you're contented with Frolic and Fun.

If tired of her round in the Ranelagh-mill,
There should be but one female inclined to sit stfll ;
If blind to the beauties, or sick of the squall,
A party should shun to catch cold at Vauxhall ;
If at Sadler's sweet Wells the made wine should be thick.
The cheese-cakes turn sour, or Miss Wilkinson sick ;
If the fume of the pipes should oppress you in June,
Or the tumblers be lame, or the bells out of tune;
I hope you will call at our warehouse in Drury ;
We've a curious assortment of goods, I assure you ;
Domestic and foreign, and all kinds of wares ;
English cloths, Irish linnen, and French petenlairs !

If for want of good custom, or losses in trade,
The poetical partners should bankrupts be made ;
If from dealings too large, we plunge deeply in debt,
And Whereas issue out in the Muses Gazette ;
We'll on you our assigns for Certificates call ;
Though insolvent, we're honest, and give up our all."

Otway in his very indecent play, The Soldier's Fortune, performed at
Dorset Garden, 1681, has borrowed freely from Moliere ; namely : one
scene from Sganarelle, four scenes from The School for Husbands, and
a hint from The School for Wives.

The joke from The Pretentious Young Ladies, Scene xii., page 162,
about '' the half moon and the full moon " is repeated in the conversation
between Fourbin and Bloody-Bones in The Soldiers Fortune.

Sir John Vanbrugh also translated Moliere's Sganarelle, which was per-
formed at the Queen's Theatre in the Haymarket, 1706, but has not been
printed.

There was also a ballad opera played at Drury Lane April n, i733>
called the Imaginary Cuckold, which is an imitation of Sganarelle.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

GORGIBUS, a citizen of Paris.

LELIO, in love with Celia.

SGANARELLE,3a citizen of Paris and the self-deceived

husband.

VILLEBREQUIN, father to Valere.
GROS-RENE, servant to Lelio.
A RELATIVE OF SGANARELLE'S WIFE.

CELIA, daughter of Gorgibus.
SGANARELLE'S WIFE.
CELIA'S MAID.

Scene, — A PUBLICK PLACE IN PARIS.

* Moliere acted this part himself. In the inventory of his dresses taken
after his death, and given by M. Eudore Souli£ in his Rccherches sur Mo-
liere, 1863, we find : " a . . . dress for the Cocu imaffinaire, consisting
of knee-breeches, doublet, cloak, collar, and shoes, all in crimson red
satin."

M

SGANARELLE:

OR THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND.
(SGANARELLE: OU LE COCU IMAGINA1RE.)

SCENE I. — GORGIBUS, CELIA, CELIA'S MAID.

CEL. ( Coming out in tears, her father following her).
Ah ! never expect my heart to consent to that.

GORG. What do you mutter, you little impertinent
girl? Do you suppose you can thwart my resolution?
Have I not absolute power over you? And shall your
youthful brain control my fatherly discretion by foolish
arguments? Which of us two has most right to command
the other? Which of us two, you or I, is, in your opi-
nion, best able to judge what is advantageous for you?
Zounds, do not provoke me too much, or you may feel,
and in a very short time too, what strength this arm of
mine still possesses 1 Your shortest way, you obstinate
minx, would be to accept without any more ado the hus-
band intended for you; but you say, "I do not know
what kind of temper he has, and I ought to think about it
beforehand, if you will allow me." I know that he is
heir to a large fortune ; ought I therefore to trouble my
head about anything else? Can this man, who has twenty
thousand golden charms in his pocket to be beloved by
you, want any accomplishments? Come, come, let him
be what he will, I promise you that with such a sum he is
a very worthy gentleman !

CEL. Alas!

GORG. Alas, indeed ! What is the meaning of that ?

179

i8o SGANARELLE; OR, [SCENE i.

A fine alas you have uttered just now ! Look ye ! If
once you put me in a passion you will have plenty of op-
portunities for shouting alas ! This comes of that eager-
ness of yours to read novels day and night ; your head is
so full of all kinds of nonsense about love, that you talk
of God much less than of Clelie. Throw into the fire
all these mischievous books, which are every day cor-
rupting the minds of so many young people ; instead of
such trumpery, read, as you ought to do, the Quatrains of
Pibrac* and the learned memorandum-books of Councillor
Matthieu,5 a valuable work and full of fine sayings for you
to learn by heart; the Guide for Sinners6 is also a good
book. Such writings teach people in a short time how to
spend their lives well, and if you had never read anything
but such moral books you would have known better how
to submit to my commands.

CEL. Do you suppose, dear father, I can ever forget
that unchangeable affection I owe to Lelio ? I should be
wrong to dispose of my hand against your will, but you
yourself engaged me to him.

GORG. Even if you were engaged ever so much, an-
other man has made his appearance whose fortune annuls
your engagement. Lelio is a pretty fellow, but learn that
there is nothing that does not give way to money, that
gold will make even the most ugly charming, and that
without it everything else is but wretchedness. I believe
you are not very fond of Valere, but though you do not

4 Gui du Faur de Pibrac (1528-1584) was a distinguished diplomatist,
magistrate, and orator, who wrote several works, of which the Cinquante
quatrains contenant preceptes et enseignements utilespourla vie de I'homme,
composes a limitation de Phocylides, Epicharmus, et autres poetes grecs,
and which number he afterwards increased to 126, are the best known.
These quatrains, or couplets of four verses, have been translated into
nearly all European and several Eastern languages. A most elegant
reprint has been published of them, in 1874, by M. A. Lemerre, of
Paris.

5 Pierre Matthieu (1563-1621), a French historian and poet wrote,
among other works, his Toilettes de la vie et de la mart, quatrains de la

Vanite du Monde, a collection of 274 moral quatrains, divided in three
parts, each part of which was published separately in an oblong shape,
like a memorandum book ; hence the name Tablettes.

6 La guide des pecheurs, the Guide for Sinners, is a translation in
French of an ascetic Spanish work, la guia de pecadores, written by a
Dominican friar, Lewis, of Granada.

SCBNBH.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. iSl

like him as a lover, you will like him as a husband. The
very name of husband endears a man more than is gen-
erally supposed, and love is often a consequence of mar-
riage. But what a fool I am to stand arguing when I
possess the absolute right to command. A truce then, I
tell you, to your impertinence ; let me have no more of
your foolish complaints. This evening Valere intends to
visit you, and if you do not receive him well, and look
kindly upon him, I shall . . . but I will say no more on
this subject.

SCENE II. — CELIA, CELIA'S MAID.

MAID. What, madam ! you refuse positively what so
many other people would accept with all their heart !
You answer with tears a proposal for marriage, and delay
for a long time to say a " yes " so agreeable to hear !
Alas ! why does some one not wish to marry me ? I
should not need much entreaty : and so far from thinking
it any trouble to say "yes" once, believe me I would
very quickly say it a dozen times. Your brother's tutor
was quite right when, as we were talking about worldly
affairs, he said, "A woman is like the ivy, which grows
luxuriantly whilst it clings closely to the tree, but never
thrives if it be separated from it." Nothing can be truer,
my dear mistress, and I, miserable sinner, have found it
out. Heaven rest the soul of my poor Martin ! when he
was alive my complexion was like a cherub's ; I was plump
and comely, my eyes sparkled brightly, and I felt happy :
now I am doleful. In those pleasant times, which flew
away like lightning, I went to bed, in the very depth of
winter, without kindling a .fire in the room ; even airing
the sheets appeared then to me ridiculous ; but now I
shiver even in the dogdays. In short, madam, believe me
there is nothing like having a husband at night by one's
side, were it only for the pleasure of hearing him say,
" God bless you," whenever one may happen to sneeze.

CEL. Can you advise me to act so wickedly as to for-
sake Lelio and take up with this ill-shaped fellow ?

MAID. Upon my word, your Lelio is a mere fool to stay
away the very time he is wanted ; his long absence makes
me very much suspect some change in his affection.

182 SGANARELLE; OR, [SCENE iv.

CEL. (showing her the portrait of Lelio). Oh ! do not
distress me by such dire forebodings ! Observe carefully
the features of his face ; they swear to me an eternal af-
fection ; after all, I would not willingly believe them to
tell a falsehood, but that he is such as he is here limned
by art, and that his affection for me remains unchanged.

MAID. To be sure, these features denote a deserving
lover, whom you'are right to regard tenderly.

CEL. And yet I must Ah! support me.

(She lets fall the portrait of Lelio.

MAID. Madam, what is the cause of ... Heavens !
she swoons. Oh ! make haste ! help ! help !

SCENE III. — CELIA, SGANARELLE, CELIA'S MAID.

SCAN. What is the matter ? I am here.

MAID. My lady is dying.

SCAN. What ! is that all ? You made such a noise, I
thought the world was at an end. Let us see, however.
Madam, are you dead ? Um ! she does not say one
word.

MAID. I shall fetch somebody to carry her in ; be kind
enough to hold her so long.

SCENE IV. — CELIA, SGANARELLE, SGANARELLE' s WIFE.

SGAN. {passing his hand over Cflia's bosom). She is
cold all over, and I do not know what to say to it. Let
me draw a little nearer and try whether she breathes or
not. Upon my word, I cannot tell, but I perceive still
some signs of life.

SGAN.'S WIFE, (looking from, the window). Ah! what
do I see ? My husband, holding in his arms . . . But I
shall go down ; he is false to me most certainly ; I should
be glad to catch him.

SCAN. She must be assisted very quickly ; she would
certainly be in the wrong to die. A journey to another
world is very foolish, so long as a body is able to stay in
this. (He carries her in).

SCENE V. — SGANARELLE'S WIFE, alone.
He has suddenly left this spot ; his flight has disap-
pointed my curiosity ; but I doubt no longer that he is
unfaithful to me ; the little I have seen sufficiently proves

SCKNH vi.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 183

it. I am no longer astonished that he returns my modest
love with strange coldness ; the ungrateful wretch reserves
his caresses for others, and starves me in order to feed
their pleasures. This is the common way of husbands ;
they become indifferent to what is lawful ; at the begin-
ning they do wonders, and seem to be very much in love
with us, but the wretches soon grow weary of our fond-
ness, and carry elsewhere what is due to us alone. Oh !
how it vexes me that the law will not permit us to change
our husband as we do our linen ! That would be very
convenient ; and, troth, I know some women whom it
would please as much as myself. ( Taking up the picture
which Celia had let fall~). But what a pretty thing has
fortune sent me here ; the enamel of it is most beautiful,
the workmanship delightful ; let me open it ?

SCENE VI. — SGANARELLE, SGANARELLE'S WIFE.

SCAN. {Thinking himself alone}. They thought her
dead, but it was nothing at all ! She is already recover-
ing and nearly well again. But I see my wife.

SGAN.'S WIFE. {Thinking herself alone). O Heaven ! It
is a miniature, a fine picture of a handsome man.

SCAN. {Aside, and looking over his wife's shoulder).
What is this she looks at so closely? This picture bodes
my honour little good. A very ugly feeling of jealousy
begins to creep over me.

SGAN.'S WIFE. {Not seeing her husband). I never saw
anything more beautiful in my life ! The workmanship
is even of greater value than the gold ! Oh, how sweet it
smells !

SCAN. {Aside). The deuce ! She kisses it ! I am vic-
timized !

SGAN.'S WIFE. {Continues her Monologue.*) I think it
must be a charming thing to have such a fine-looking man
for a sweetheart ; if he should urge his suit very much the
temptation would be great. Alas ! why have I not a hand-
some man like this for my husband instead of my booby,
my clod-hopper . . . ?

SCAN. {Snatching the portrait from her). What, hussey !
have I caught you in the very act, slandering your honoura-
ble and darling husband ? According to you, most worthy

184 SGANARELLE; OR, [SCBNBVI.

spouse, and everything well considered, the husband is not
as good as the wife? In Beelzebub's name (and may he
fly away with you), what better match could you wish for?
Is there any fault to be found with me ? It seems that this
shape, this air, which everybody admires ; this face, so fit
to inspire love, for which a thousand fair ones sigh both
night and day ; in a word, my own delightful self, by no
manner of means pleases you. Moreover, to satisfy your
ravenous appetite you add to the husband the relish of
a gallant.

SGAN.'S WIFE. I see plainly the drift of your jocular re-
marks, though you do not clearly express yourself. You
expect by these means . . .

SCAN. Try to impose upon others, not upon me, I pray
you. The fact is evident ; I have in my hands a convin-
cing proof of the injury I complain of.

SGAN.'S WIFE. I am already too angry, and do not wish
you to make me more so by any fresh insult. Hark ye,
do not imagine that you shall keep this pretty thing;
consider . . .

SCAN. I am seriously considering whether I shall break
your neck. I wish I had but the original of this portrait
in my power as much as I have the copy.

SGAN.'S WIFE. Why?

SGAN. For nothing at all, dear, sweet object of my
love ! I am very wrong to speak out ; my forehead ought
to thank you for many favours received. (Looking at the
portrait of Lelio). There he is, your darling, the pretty
bed-fellow, the wicked incentive of your secret flame, the
merry blade with whom . . .

SGAN.'S WIFE. With whom? Goon.

SGAN. With whom, I say ... I am almost bursting
with vexation.7

SGAN.'S WIFE. What does the drunken sot mean by all
this?

7 The original has : "/«« creve d'ennuis." The French word ennui,
which now only means weariness of mind, signified formerly injury, and
the vexation or hatred caused thereby ; something like the English word
"annoy," as in Shakespeare's Richard III., v. 3 :

" Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy;
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy."

SCENB vii.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. l8$

SCAN. You know but too well, Mrs. Impudence. No
one will call me any longer Sganarelle, but every one will
give me the title of Signer Cornutus ; my honor is gone,
but to reward you, who took it from me, I shall at the very
least break you an arm or a couple of ribs.

SGAN.'S WIFE. How dare you talk to me thus?

SCAN. How dare you play me these devilish pranks ?

SGAN.'S WIFE. What devilish pranks? Say what you
mean.

SCAN. Oh! It is not worth complaining of. A stag's
top-knot on my head is indeed a very pretty ornament for
everybody to come and look at.

SGAN.'S WIFE. After you have insulted your wife so
grossly as to excite her thirst for vengeance, you stupidly
imagine you can prevent the effects of it by pretending to
be angry ? Such insolence was never before known on
the like occasion. The offender is the person who be-
gins the quarrel.

SCAN. Oh ! what a shameless creature ! To see the
confident behaviour of this woman, would not any one
suppose her to be very virtuous ?

SGAN.'S WIFE. Away, go about your business, wheedle
your mistresses, tell them you love them, caress them even,
but give me back my picture, and do not make a jest of
me. (She snatches the picture from him and runs away}.

SCAN. So you think to escape me ; but I shall get hold
of it again in spite of you.

, SCENE VII. — LELIO, GROS-RENE.

GR.-RE. Here we are at last; but, sir, if I might be so
bold, I should like you to tell me one thing.

LEL. Well, speak.

GR.-RE. Are you possessed by some devil or other, that
you do not sink under such fatigues as these ? For eight
whole days we have been riding long stages, and have not
been sparing of whip and spur to urge on confounded
screws, whose cursed trot shook us so very much that, for
my part, I feel as if every limb was out of joint ; without
mentioning a worse mishap which troubles me very much
in a place I will not mention. And yet, no sooner are

1 86 SGANARELLE ; OR, [SCBNB vxi.

you at your journey's end, than you go out well and hearty,
without taking rest, or eating the least morsel.

LEL. My haste may well be excused, for I am greatly
alarmed about the report of Celia's marriage. You know
I adore her, and, before everything, I wish to hear if there
is any truth in this ominous rumour.

GR.-RE. Ay, sir, but a good meal would be of great use
to you to discover the truth or falsehood of this report ;
doubtless you would become thereby much stronger to
withstand the strokes of fate. I judge by my own self,
for, when I am fasting, the smallest disappointment gets
hold of me and pulls me down ; but when I have eaten
sufficiently my soul can resist anything, and the greatest
misfortunes cannot depress it. Believe me, stuff yourself
well, and do not be too cautious. To fortify you under
whatever misfortune may do, and in order to prevent sor-
row from entering your heart, let it float in plenty of
wine.8

LEL. I cannot eat.

GR.-RE. {Aside}. I can eat very well indeed ; If it is
not true may I be struck dead ! (Aloud). For all that,
your dinner shall be ready presently.

LEL. Hold your tongue, I command you.

GR.-RE. How barbarous is that order !

LEL. I am not hungry, but uneasy.

GR.-RE. And I am hungry and uneasy as well, to see
that a foolish love-affair engrosses all your thoughts.'

LEL. Let me but get some information about my heart's

8 This is an imitation of Plautus' Curculio, or the Forgery. The Para-
site of Phaedromus, who gave his name to the piece, says (ii. 3) : — " I am
quite undone. I can hardly see ; my mouth is bitter ; my teeth are blunt-
ed ; my jaws are clammy through fasting ; with my entrails thus lank with
abstinence from food, am I come . . . Let's cram down something first ;
the gammon, the udder, and the kernels ; these are the foundations for
the stomach, with head and roast-beef, a good-sized cup and a capacious
pot, that council enough may be forthcoming."

9 Shakespeare, in The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Act ii., Sc. l), has the
following :

Speed. . . . Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner-time.

Val. I have dined.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon, love, can feed on
the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have
meat. O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved.

SCENE ix.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 187

delight, and without troubling me more, go and take your
meal if you like.

GR.-RE. I never say nay when a master commands.

SCENE VIII. — LELIO, alone.

No, no, my mind is tormented by too many terrors ;
the father has promised me Celia's hand, and she has
given me such proofs of her love that I need not despair.

SCENE IX. — SGANARELLE, LELIO.

SCAN. (Not seeing Lelio, and holding the portrait in his
hand}. I have got it. I can now at my leisure look at
the countenance of the rascal who causes my dishonour.
I do not know him at all.

LEL. (Aside}. Heavens! what do I see? If that be
my picture, what then must I believe?

SCAN. (Not seeing Lelio}. Ah ! poor Sganarelle ! your
reputation is doomed, and to what a sad fate! Must . .
(Perceiving that Lelio observes him he goes to the other
side of the stage}.

LEL. (Aside). This pledge of my love cannot have left
the fair hands to which I gave it, without startling my
faith in her.

SCAN. (Aside}. People will make fun of me henceforth
by holding up their two fingers ; songs will be made about
me, and every time they will fling in my teeth that scan-
dalous affront, which a wicked wife has printed upon my
forehead.

LEL. (Aside}. Do I deceive myself?

SCAN. (Aside). Oh ! Jade ! 10 were you impudent enough
to cuckold me in the flower of my age? The wife too of
a husband who may be reckoned handsome ! and must
be a monkey, a cursed addle-pated fellow . . .

LEL. (Aside, looking still at the portrait in Sganarelle 's
hand}. I am not mistaken ; it is my very picture.

SCAN. ( Turning his back towards him}. This man seems
very inquisitive.

10 The original is truande, which, as well as the masculine truand,
meant, in old French, a vagabond, a rascal ; it is still retained in the
English phrase " to play the truant."

1 88 SGANARELLE; OR, [SCBNKX.

LEL. (Aside). I am very much surprised.

SCAN. What would he be at?

LEL. (Aside). I will speak to him. {Aloud}. May
I ... (Sganare.lle goes farther off). I say, let me have
one word with you.

SCAN. (Aside, and moving still farther). What does he
wish to tell me now?

LEL. Will you inform me by what accident that picture
came into your hands?

SCAN. (Aside). Why does he wish to know? But I
am thinking . . . {Looking at Lelio and at the portrait
in his hand}. Oh ! upon my word, I know the cause of
his anxiety; I no longer wonder at his surprise. This is
my man, or rather, my wife's man.

LEL. Pray, relieve my distracted mind, and tell me how
you come by ...

SCAN. Thank Heaven, I know what disturbs you; this
portrait, which causes you some uneasiness, is your very
likeness, and was found in the hands of a certain acquaint-
ance of yours ; the soft endearments which have passed
between that lady and you are no secret to me. I cannot
tell whether I have the honour to be known by your gal-
lant lordship in this piece of gallantry; but henceforth, be
kind enough to break off an intrigue, which a husband
may not approve of; and consider that the holy bonds
of wedlock . , .

LEL. What do you say? She from whom you received
this pledge . . .

SCAN. Is my wife, and I am her husband.

LEL. Her husband ?

SCAN. Yes, her husband, I tell you. Though married
I am far from merry ; u you, sir, know the reason of it ;
this very moment I am going to inform her relatives about
this affair.

SCENE X. — LELIO, alone,.
Alas ! what have I heard ! The report then was true that

11 The original has mari-tres-marri ; literally, "husband very sad;"
marri being the old French for sad : the ancient plays and tales are full
of allusions to the connection between these two words, mart and marri.

SCENE xiii.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 189

her husband was the ugliest of all his sex. Even if your
faithless lips had never sworn me more than a thousand
times eternal love, the disgust you should have felt at
such a base and shameful choice might have sufficiently
secured me against the loss of your affection . . But this
great insult, and the fatigues of a pretty long journey, pro-
duce all at once such a violent effect upon me, that I feel
faint, and can hardly bear up under it.

SCENE XI. — LELIO, SGANARELLE'S WIFE.

SGAN.'S WIFE. In spite of me, my wretch . . . (Seeing
Lelio). Good lack ! what ails you? I perceive, sir, you
are ready to faint away.

LEL. It is an illness that has attacked me quite sud-
denly.

SCAN'S WIFE. I am afraid you shall faint ; step in here,
and stay until you are better.

LEL. For a moment or two I will accept of your
kindness.

SCENE XII. — SGANARELLE, A RELATIVE OF SGANARELLE'S
WIFE.

REL. I commend a husband's anxiety in such a case,
but you take fright a little too hastily. All that you have
told me against her, kinsman, does not prove her guilty.
It is a delicate subject, and no one should ever be accused
of such a crime unless it can be fully proved.

SCAN. That is to say, unless you see it.

REL. Too much haste leads us to commit mistakes.
Who can tell how this picture came into her hands, and,
after all, whether she knows the man ? Seek a little more
information, and if it proves to be as you suspect, I shall
be one of the first to punish her offence.

SCENE XIII. — SGANARELLE, alone.

Nothing could be said fairer ; it is really the best way
to proceed cautiously. Perhaps I have dreamt of horns
without any cause, and the perspiration has covered my
brow rather prematurely. My dishonour is not at all
proved by that portrait which frightened me so much. Let
me endeavour then by care . . .

IQO SGANARELLE ; OR, [SCENE xvi.

SCENE XIV. SGANARELL*E, SGANARELLE'S WIFE, standing
at the door of her house, with LELIO.

SCAN. (Aside seeing them}. Ha ! what do I see ?
Zounds ! there can be no more question about the por-
trait, for upon my word here stands the very man, in pro-
pria persona.

SCAN. 's WIFE. You hurry away too fast, sir; if you
leave us so quickly, you may perhaps have a return of
your illness.

LEL. No, no, I thank you heartily for the kind assist-
ance you have rendered me.

SCAN. (Aside}. The deceitful woman is to the last
polite to him. (Sganarelle1 s Wife goes into the house
again).

SCENE XV. — SGANARELLE, LELIO.

SCAN. He has seen me, let us hear what he can say
to me.

LEL. (Aside}. Oh ! my soul is moved ! this sight in-
spires me with . . . but I ought to blame this unjust
resentment, and only ascribe my sufferings to my merciless
fate; yet I cannot help envying the success that has
crowned his passion. (Approaching Sganarelle}. O too
happy mortal in having so beautiful a wife.

SCENE XVI. — SGANARELLE, CELIA, at her window, seeing
Lelio go away.

SCAN. (Alone}. This confession is pretty plain. His ex-
traordinary speech surprises me as much as if horns had
grown upon my head. (Looking at the side where Lelio
went ojf). Go your way, you have not acted at all like an
honourable man.

CEL. (Aside, entering). Who can that be ? Just now I
saw Lelio. Why does he conceal his return from me ?

SCAN. (Without seeing Celid}. " O too happy mortal in
having so beautiful a wife ! ' ' Say rather, unhappy mortal
in having such a disgraceful spouse through whose guilty
passion, it is now but too clear, I have been cuckolded
without any feeling of compassion. Yet I allow him to
go away after such a discovery, and stand with my arms
folded like a regular silly-billy ! I ought at least to have

SCBNBXVI.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. IQI

knocked his hat off, thrown stones at him, or mud on his
cloak ; to satisfy my wrath I should rouse the whole
neighbourhood, and cry, " Stop, thief of my honour !"

CEL. (To Sganarelle}. Pray, sir, how came you to
know this gentleman who went away just now and spoke
to you ?

SCAN. Alas ! madam, it is not I who am acquainted
with him ; it is my wife.

CEL. What emotion thus disturbs your mind ?

SCAN. Do not blame me ; I have sufficient cause for my
sorrow ; permit me to breathe plenty of sighs.

CEL. What can be the reason of this uncommon grief?

SCAN. If I am sad it is not for a trifle : I challenge
other people not to grieve, if they found themselves in my
condition. You see in me the model of unhappy husbands.
Poor Sganarelle's honour is taken from him ; but the loss
of my honour would be small — they deprive me of my
reputation also.

CEL. How do they do that ?

SCAN. That fop has taken the liberty to cuckold me —
saving your presence, madam — and this very day my own
eyes have been witness to a private interview between him
and my wife.

CEL. What ? He who just now . . .

SCAN. Ay, ay, it is he who brings disgrace upon me ;
he is in love with my wife, and my wife is in love with
him.

CEL. Ah ! I find I was right when I thought his return-
ing secretly only concealed some base design ; I trembled
the minute I saw him, from a sad foreboding of what
would happen.

SCAN. You espouse my cause with too much kindness,
but everybody is not so charitably disposed ; for many,
who have already heard of my sufferings, so far from taking
my part, only laugh at me.

CEL. Can anything be more base than this vile deed ?
or can a punishment be discovered such as he deserves ?
Does he think he is worthy to live, after polluting himself
with such treachery? O Heaven ! is it possible?

SCAN. It is but too true.

CEL. O traitor, villain, deceitful, faithless wretch!

192 SGANARELLE; OR, [SCENE xvn.

SCAN. What a kind-hearted creature !

CEL. No, no, hell has not tortures enough to punish you
sufficiently for your guilt !

SCAN. How well she talks !

CEL. Thus to abuse both innocence and goodness !

SCAN. (Sighing aloud). Ah !

CEL. A heart which never did the slightest action de-
serving of being treated with such insult and contempt.

SCAN. That's true.

CEL. Who far from . . . but it is too much; nor can
this heart endure the thought of it without feeling on the
rack.

SCAN. My dear lady, do not distress yourself so much ;
it pierces my very soul to see you grieve so at my misfor-
tune.

CEL. But do not deceive yourself so far as to fancy that
I shall sit down and do nothing but lament ; no, my heart
knows how to act in order to be avenged ; nothing can
divert me from it ; I go to prepare everything.

SCENE XVII. — SGANARELLE, alone.

May Heaven keep her for ever out of harm's way ! How
kind of her to wish to avenge me ! Her anger at my dis-
honour plainly teaches me how to act. Nobody should bear
such affronts as these tamely, unless indeed he be a fool.
Let us therefore hasten to hunt out this "rascal who has
insulted me, and let me prove my courage by avenging my
dishonour.12 I will teach you, you rogue, to laugh at my
expense, and to cuckold people without showing them any
respect. (After going three or four steps he comes back
again.} But gently, if you please, this man looks as
if he were very hot-headed and passionate ; he may,
perhaps, heaping one insult upon another, ornament my

12 A similar adventure is told of the renowned fabulist La Fontaine.
One day some one informed him that Poignan, a retired captain of dra-
goons and one of his friends, was by far too intimate with Madame La
Fontaine, and that to avenge his dishonour he ought to fight a duel with
him. La Fontaine calls upon Poignan at four o'clock in the morning,
tells him to dress, takes him out of town, and then coolly says "that he
has been advised to fight a duel with him in order to avenge his wounded
honour." Soon La Fontaine's sword flies out of his hand, the friends go
to breakfast, and the whole affair is at an end.

SCBNK xvii.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 193

back as well as he has done my brow.13 I detest, from the
bottom of my heart, these fiery tempers, and vastly prefer
peaceable people. I do not care to beat for fear of being
beaten; a gentle disposition was always my predominant
virtue. But my honour tells me that it is absolutely neces-
sary I should avenge such an outrage as this. Let honour
say whatever it likes, the deuce take him who listens.
Suppose now I should play the hero, and receive for my
pains an ugly thrust with a piece of cold steel quite through
my stomach ; when the news of my death spreads through
the whole town, tell me then, my honour, shall you be the
better of it. u The grave is too melancholy an abode, and
too unwholesome for people who are afraid of the colic ; as
for me, I find, all things considered, that it is, after all,
better to be a cuckold than to be dead. What harm is
there in it? Does it make a man's legs crooked? does it
spoil his shape ? The plague take him who first invented
being grieved about such a delusion, linking the honour
of the wisest man to anything a fickle woman may do.
Since every person is rightly held responsible for his own
crimes, how can our honour, in this case, be considered
criminal ? We are blamed for the actions of other people.
If our wives have an intrigue with any man, without our
knowledge, all the mischief must fall upon our backs ;
they commit the crime and we are reckoned guilty. It is
a villainous abuse, and indeed Government should remedy
such injustice. Have we not enough of other accidents
that happen to us whether we like them or not? Do not
quarrels, lawsuits, hunger, thirst, and sickness sufficiently
disturb the even tenour of our lives? and yet we must
stupidly get it into our heads to grieve about something
which has no foundation. Let us laugh at it, despise such
idle fears, and be above sighs and tears. If my wife has
done amiss, let her cry as much as she likes, but why
should I weep when I have done no wrong ? After all, I
am not the only one of my fraternity, and that should

18 In the original there is a play on words which cannot be rendered in
English. // pourrait bien. . . . charger de bois man dos cumme, «'/ a fait
man front. Bois means " stick " and " stags' antlers."

14 Compare in Shakespeare's Part First of King Henry IV. v. i, Fal-
staff's speech about honour.

VOL. I. N

194 SGANARELLE ; OR, [SCBNK xx.

console me a little. Many people of rank see their wives
cajoled, and do not say a word about it. Why should I
then try to pick a quarrel for an affront, which is but a
mere trifle? They will call me a fool for not avenging
myself, but I should be a much greater fool to rush on my
own destruction. (Putting his hand upon his stomach). I
feel, however, my bile is stirred up here; it almost per-
suades me to do some manly action. Ay, anger gets the
better of me ; it is rather too much of a good thing to be
a coward too ! I am resolved to be revenged upon the
thief of my honour. Full of the passion which excites my
ardour, and in order to make a beginning, I shall go and
tell everywhere that he lies with my wife.

SCENE XVIII. — GORGIBUS, CELIA, CELIA'S MAID.

CEL. Yes, I will yield willingly to so just a law, father ;
you can freely dispose of my heart and my hand ; I will
sign the marriage contract whenever you please, for I am
now determined to perform my duty. I can command
my own inclinations, and shall do whatever you order me.

GORG. How she pleases me by talking in this manner !
Upon my word ! I am so delighted that I would imme-
diately cut a caper or two, were people not looking on,
who would laugh at it. Come hither, I say, and let me
embrace you ; there is no harm in that ; a father may kiss
his daughter whenever he likes, without giving any occa-
sion for scandal. Well, the satisfaction of seeing you so
obedient has made me twenty years younger.

SCENE XIX. — CELIA, CELIA'S MAID.

MAID. This change surprises me.

CEL. When you come to know why I act thus, you will
esteem me for it.

MAID. Perhaps so.

CEL. Know then that Lelio has wounded my heart by
his treacherous behaviour, and has been in this neighbour-
hood without . . .

MAID. Here he comes.

SCENE XX. — LELIO, CELIA, CELIA'S MAID.
LEL. Before I take my leave of you for ever, I will at
least here tell you that . . .

SCENBXXI.] THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 195

CEL. What! are you insolent enough to speak to me
again?

LEL. I own my insolence is great, and yet your choice
is such I should not be greatly to blame if I upbraided
you. Live, live contented, and laugh when you think of
me, as well as your worthy husband, of whom you have
reason to be proud.

CEL. Yes, traitor, I will live so, and I trust most earn-
estly that the thought of my happiness may disturb you.

LEL. Why this outbreak of passion ?

CEL. You pretend to be surprised, and ask what crimes
you have committed ?

SCENE XXI. — CELIA, LELIO, SGANARELLE armed cap-a-pie ;
CELIA'S MAID.

SCAN. I wage war, a war of extermination against this
robber of my honour, who without mercy has sullied my
fair name.

CEL. (To Lelio, pointing to Sganarelle). Look on this
man, and then you will require no further answer.

LEL. Ah ! I see.

CEL. A mere glance at him is sufficient to abash you.

LEL. It ought rather to make you blush.

SCAN. My wrath is now disposed to vent itself upon
some one ; my courage is at its height ; if I meet him,
there will be blood shed. Yes, I have sworn to kill him,
nothing can keep me from doing so. Wherever I see him
I will dispatch him. {Drawing his sword halfway and
approaching Lelio). Right through the middle of his
heart I shall thrust . . .

LEL. {Turning round}. Against whom do you bear
such a grudge ?

SCAN. Against no one.

LEL. Why are you thus in armour ?

SCAN. It is a dress I put on to keep the rain off.
(Aside). Ah ! what a satisfaction it would be for me to
kill him ! Let us pluck up courage to do it.

LEL. ( Turning round again). Hey ?

SCAN. I did not speak. (Aside, boxing his own ears,
and thumping himself to raise his courage). Ah ! I am

196 SGANARELLE; OR, [SCENE xxi.

enraged at my own cowardice ! Chicken-hearted pol-
troon !

CEL. What you have seen ought to satisfy you, but it
appears to offend you.

LEL. Yes, through him I know you are guilty of the
greatest faithlessness that ever wronged a faithful lover's
heart, and for which no excuse can be found.

SCAN. (Aside). Why have I not a little more cour-
age?

CEL. Ah, traitor, speak not to me in so unmanly and
insolent a manner.

SCAN. (Aside]. You see, Sganarelle, she takes up your
quarrel : courage, my lad, be a trifle vigorous. Now, be
bold, try to make one noble effort and kill him whilst his
back is turned.

LEL. (Who has moved accidentally a few steps back,
meets Sganarelle, who was drawing near to kill him. The
latter is frightened, and retreats}. Since my words kindle
your wrath, madam, I ought to show my satisfaction with
what your heart approves, and here commend the lovely
choice you have made.

CEL. Yes, yes, my choice is such as cannot be blamed.

LEL. You do well to defend it.

SCAN. No doubt, she does well to defend my rights,
but what you have done, sir, is not according to the laws;
I have reason to complain ; were I less discreet, much
blood would be shed.

LEL. Of what do you complain ? And why this . . .

SCAN. Do not say a word more. You know too well
where the shoe pinches me. But conscience and a care for
your own soul should remind you that my wife is my wife,
and that to make her yours under my very nose is not
acting like a good Christian.

LEL. Such a suspicion is mean and ridiculous ! Har-
bour no scruples on that point : I know she belongs to
you ; I am very far from being in love with . . .

CEL. Oh ! traitor ! how well you dissemble !

LEL. What ! do you imagine I foster a thought which
need disturb his mind ? Would you slander me by accu-
sing me of such a cowardly action ?

CEL. Speak, speak to himself; he can enlighten you.

SCBNE xxn.J THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 197

SCAN. ( To Celid). No, no, you can argue much better
than I can, and have treated the matter in the right way.

SCENE XXII. — CELIA, LELIO, SGANARELLE, SGANAREI.LE'S
WIFE, CELIA'S MAID.

SCAN, "s WIFE. (To Celia). I am not inclined, Madam,
to show that I am over-jealous ; but I am no fool, and can
see what is going on. There are certain amours which
appear very strange ; you should be better employed than
in seducing a heart which ought to be mine alone.

CEL. This declaration of her love is plain enough.15

SCAN. (To his wife). Who sent for you, baggage? You
come and scold her because she takes my part, whilst you
are afraid of losing your gallant.

CEL. Do not suppose anybody has a mind to him.
(Turning towards Lelio). You see whether I have told a
falsehood, and I am very glad of it.

LEL. What can be the meaning of this ?

MAID. Upon my word, I do not know when this en-
tanglement will be unravelled. I have tried for a pretty
long time to comprehend it, but the more I hear the less
I understand. Really I think I must interfere at last.
(Placing herself between Lelio and Celia), Answer me one
after another, and ( To Lelio} allow me to ask what do you
accuse this lady of?

LEL. That she broke her word and forsook me for
another. As soon as I heard she was going to be married
I hastened hither, carried away by an irrepressible love,
and not believing I could be forgotten ; but discovered,
when I arrived here, that she was married.

MAID. Married ! To whom ?

LEL. (Pointing to Sganarelle). To him.

MAID. How ! to him ?

LEL. Yes, to him.

MAID. Who told you so ?

LEL. Himself, this very day.

MAID. (To Sganarelle}. Is this true?

SCAN. I? I told him I was married to my own wife.

15 Some commentators think it is Lelio who utters these words, but they
are clearly Celia's.

198 SGANARELLE; OR, [SCENE XXH.

LEL. Just now, whilst you looked at my picture, you
seemed greatly moved.

SCAN. True, here it is.

LEL. (To Sganarelle). You also told me that she,
from whose hands you had received this pledge of her
love, was joined to you in the bonds of wedlock.

SCAN. No doubt {pointing to his wife), for I snatched it
from her, and should not have discovered her wickedness
had I not done so.

SCAN. 's WIFE. What do you mean by your groundless
complaint ? I found this portrait at my feet by accident.
After you had stormed without telling me the cause of
your rage, I saw this gentleman (pointing to Lelio) nearly
fainting, asked him to come in, but did not even then
discover that he was the original of the picture.

CEL. I was the cause of the portrait being lost ; I let it
fall when swooning, and when you (to Sganarelle) kindly
carried me into the house.

MAID. You see that without my help you had still been
at a loss, and that you had some need of hellebore.16

SCAN. (Aside). Shall we believe all this ? I have been
very much frightened for my brow.

SGAN.'S WIFE. I have not quite recovered from my fear ;
however agreeable credulity may be, I am loth to be de-
ceived.

SCAN. (To his wife). Well, let us mutually suppose our-
selves to be people of honour. I risk more on my side
than you do on yours ; accept, therefore, without much
ado, what I propose.

SGAN.'S WIFE. Be it so, but wo be to you if I discover
anything.

CEL. (To Lelio, after whispering together). Ye heavens !
if it be so, what have I done ? I ought to fear the conse-
quences of my own anger ! Thinking you false, and wish-
ing to be avenged, I in an unhappy moment complied
with my father's wishes, and but a minute since engaged
myself to marry a man whose hand, until then, I always
had refused. I have made a promise to my father, and
what grieves me most is ... But I see him coming.

16 Among the ancients the helleborus officinalis or orientalis was held to
cure insanity ; hence the allusion.

SCENE xxiv.J THE SELF-DECEIVED HUSBAND. 199

LEL. He shall keep his word with me.

SCENE XXIII. — GORGIBUS, CELIA, LELIO, SGANARELLE,
SGANARELLE'S WIFE, CELIA'S MAID.

LEL. Sir, you see I have returned to this town, inflamed
with the same ardour, and now I suppose you will keep
your promise, which made me hope to marry Celia, and
thus reward my intense love.

GORG. Sir, whom I see returned to this town inflamed
with the same ardour, and who now supposes I will keep
my promise, which made you hope to marry Celia, and
thus reward your intense love, I am your lordship's very
humble servant.

LEL. What, sir, is it thus you frustrate my expecta-
tions ?

GORG. Ay, sir, it is thus I do my duty, and my daugh-
ter obeys me too.

CEL. My duty compels me, father, to make good your
promise to him.

GORG. Is this obeying my commands as a daughter
ought to do ? Just now you were very kindly disposed to-
wards Valere, but you change quickly ... I see his father
approaching, who certainly comes to arrange about the
marriage.

SCENE XXIV. — VILLEBREQUIN, GORGIBUS, CELIA, LELIO,
SGANARELLE, SGANARELLE'S WIFE, CELIA'S MAID.

GORG. What brings you hither, M. Villebrequin ?

VILL. An important secret, which I only discovered
this morning, and which completely prevents me from
keeping the engagement I made with you. My son,
whom your daughter was going to espouse, has deceived
everybody, and been secretly married these four months
past to Lise. Her friends, her fortune, and her family
connections, make it impossible for me to break off this
alliance ; and hence I come to you . . .

GORG. Pray, say no more. If Valere has married some
one else without your permission, I cannot disguise from
you, that I myself long ago, promised my daughter Celia
to Lelio, endowed with every virtue, and that his return

200 SGANARELLE; OR, THE DECEIVED HUSBAND. [SCENE xxiv.

to-day prevents me from choosing any other husband for
her.

VILL. Such a choice pleases me very much.

LEL. This honest intention will crown my days with
eternal bliss.

GORG. Let us go and fix the day for the wedding.

SCAN. (Alone). Was there ever a man who had more
cause to think himself victimized? You perceive that in
such matters the strongest probability may create in the
mind a wrong belief. Therefore remember, never to be-
lieve anything even if you should see everything.

DON GARCIE DE NAVARRE;

ou,
LE PRINCE JALOUX.

COMEDIE HEROIQUE EN CINQ ACTES.

DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE

OR.
THE JEALOUS PRINCE.

A HEROIC COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.

(THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE.}

FEB. 4TH, 1 66 1.

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

NOTHING can be more unlike The Pretentious Young Ladles or Sgana-
relle than Moliere's Don Garcia of Navarre. The Theatre du Palais-
Royal had opened on the 2oth January, 1661, with The Love- Tiff and
Sganarelle, but as the young wife of Louis XIV., Maria Theresa, daugh-
ter of Philip IV., King of Spain, had only lately arrived, and as a taste for
the Spanish drama appeared to spring up anew in France, Moliere
thought perhaps that a heroic comedy in that style might meet with some
success, the more so as a company of Spanish actors had been performing
in Paris the plays of Lope de Vega and Calderon, since the 24th of July,
1660. Therefore, he brought out, on the 4th of February, 1661, his new
play of Don Garcia of Navarre. It is said that there exists a Spanish
play of the same name, of which the author is unknown ; Moliere seems
to have partly followed an Italian comedy, written by Giacinto Andrea
Cicognini, under the name of Le Gelosie fortunata del principe Rodrigo ;
the style, loftiness and delicacy of expression are peculiar to the French
dramatist.

Don Garcia of Navarre met with no favourable reception, though the
author played the part of the hero. He withdrew it after five representa-
tions, but still did not think its condemnation final, for he played it again
before the King on the zgth of September, 1662, in Octob'er, 1663, at
Chantilly, and twice at Versailles. He attempted it anew on the theatre
of the Palace-Royal in the month of November, 1663 ; but as it was
everywhere unfavourably received, he resolved never to play it more, and
even would not print it, for it was only published after his death in 1682.
He inserted some parts of this comedy in the Misanthrope, the Femmes
Savantes, Amphitryon, Tartuffe, and les Fachevx, where they produced
great effect.

Though it has not gained a place on the French stage, it nevertheless
possesses some fine passages. Moliere wished to create a counterpart of
Sganarelle, the type of ridiculous jealousy, and to delineate passionate
jealousy, its doubts, fears, perplexities and anxieties, and in this he has
succeeded admirably. However noble-minded Don Garcia may be, there
rages within his soul a mean passion which tortures and degrades him in-
cessantly. When at last he is banished from the presence of the fair object
of his love, he resolves to brave death by devoting himself to the destruc-
tion of her foe ; but he is forestalled by his presumed rival, Don Alphonso,
who turns out to be the brother of his mistress, and she receives him once

203

204 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ;

again and for ever in her favour. The delineation of all these passions is
too fine-spun, too argumentative to please the general public ; the style is
sometimes stilted, yet passages of great beauty may be found in it.
Moreover the jealousy expressed by Don Garcia is neither sufficiently ter-
rible to frighten, nor ridiculous enough to amuse the audience ; he always
speaks and acts as a prince, and hence, he sometimes becomes royally mo-
notonous.

Some scenes of this play have been imitated in The Masquerade, a
comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, 1719, London, '' printed
for Bernard Linton, between the Temple Gate," which was itself partly
borrowed from Shirley's Lady of Pleasure. The comedy was written by
Mr. Charles Johnson, who "was originally bred to the law, and was a
member of the Middle Temple ; but being a great admirer of the Muses,
and finding in himself a strong propensity to dramatic writing, he quitted
the studious labour of the one, for the more spirited amusements of the
other; and, by contracting an intimacy with Mr.Wilks, found means, through
that gentleman's interest, to get his plays on the stage without much diffi-
culty . . . he, by a polite and modest behaviour formed so extensive
an acquaintance and intimacy, as constantly ensured him great emolu-
' ments on his benefit night j by which means, being a man of economy,
he was enabled to subsist very genteelly. He at length married a young
widow, with a tolerable fortune ; on which he set up a tavern in Bow
Street, Covent Garden, but quitted business at his wife's death, and
lived privately on an easy competence he had saved. . . . He was born
in 1679 . . . but he did not die till March n, 1748." 1

The Masquerade is a clever comedy, rather free in language and thought,
chiefly about the danger of gambling. Some of the sayings are very
pointed. It has been stated that the author frequented the principal cof-
fee-houses in town, and picked up many pungent remarks there ; however
this may be, the literary men who at the present time frequent clubs, have,
I am afraid, not the same chance. As a specimen of free and easy —
rather too easy — wit, let me mention the remarks of Mr. Smart (Act I.)
on the way he passed the night, and in what manner, " Nine persons are
kept handsomely out of the sober income of one hundred pounds a year."
I also observe the name of an old acquaintance in this play. Thackeray's
hero in the Memoirs of Mr. Charles J. Yellowplush is " the Honourable
Algernon Percy Deuceace, youngest and fifth son of the Earl of Crabs,'1
and in The Masquerade (Act III. Sc. i) Mr. Ombre says : " Did you not
observe an old decay'd rake that stood next the box-keeper yonder . . .
they call him Sir Timothy Deuxace ; that wretch has play'd off one of the
best families in Europe — he has thrown away all his posterity, and reduced
20,000 acres of wood-land, arable, meadow, and pasture within the narrow
circumference of an oaken table of eight foot." The Masquerade as the
title of the play is a misnomer, for it does not conduce at all to the plot.

We give the greater part of the Prologue to The Masquerade, spoken
by Mr. Wilks :—

The Poet, who must paint by Nature's Laws,
If he wou'd merit what he begs, Applause ;
Surveys your changing Pleasures with Surprise,
Sees each new Day some new Diversion rise ;
Hither.thro' all the Quarters of the Sky, "|

Fresh Rooks in Flocks from ev'ry Nation hye, >
To us, the Cullies of the Globe, they fly : J

1 Biographia Dramatica, by Baker, Reed and Jones, 1812, Vol. I. Part i.

OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 205

French, Spaniards, Switzers ; This Man dines on Fire

And swallows Brimstone to your Heart's Desire ;

Another, Handless, Footless, Haifa Man,

Does, Wou'd you think it? what no Whole one can,

A Spaniard next, taught an Italian Frown,

Boldly declares he'll stare all Europe down :

His tortured Muscles pleas'd our English Fools ; -

Why wou'd the Sot engage with English Bulls ?

Our English Bulls are Hereticks uncivil,

They'd toss the Grand Inquisitor, the Devil :

'Twas stupidly contrived of Don Grimace,

To hope to fright 'em with an ugly Face.

And yet, tho' these Exotick Monsters please,

We must with humble Gratitude confess,

To you alone 'tis due, that in this Age,

Good Sense still triumphs on the British Stage :

Shakespear beholds with Joy his Sons inherit

His good old Plays, with good old Bess's Spirit.

Be wise and merry, while you keep that Tether ;

Nonsense and Slavery must die together.

* In the rival House, Lincoln's-Inn-Fields Theatre, Rich was bringing out Pan-
tomimes, which, by the fertility of his invention, the excellency of his own perform-
ance, and the introduction of foreign performers, drew nightly crowded houses
— hence the allusion.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

DON GARCIA, Prince of Navarre, in love with Elvira.*
DON ALPHONSO, Prince of Leon, thought to be Prince of

Castile, under the name of Don Silvio.
DON ALVAREZ, confidant of Don Garcia, in love with Eliza.
DON LOPEZ, another confidant of Don Garcia, in love with

Eliza.

DON PEDRO, gentleman-usher to Inez.
A PAGE.

DONNA ELVIRA, Princess of Leon.

DONNA INEZ, a Countess, in love with Don Silvio, beloved

by Mauregat, the usurper of the Kingdom of Leon.
ELIZA, confidant to Elvira.

Scene. — ASTORGA, a city of Spain, in the kingdom of Leon.

8 In the inventory taken after Moliere's death mention is made of
" Spanish dress, breeches, cloth cloak, and a satin doublet, the whole
adorned with silk embroideries." This is probably the dress in which
Moliere played Don Garcia.

DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE;

OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE.

(DON GARCIE DE NAVARRE, OU LE PRINCE JALOUX.}

ACT I.
SCENE I. — DONNA ELVIRA, ELIZA.

ELVIRA. No, the hidden feelings of my heart were not
regulated by choice: whatever the Prince may be, there is
nothing in him to make me prefer his love. Don Silvio
shows, as well as he, all the qualities of a renowned hero.
The same noble virtues and the same high birth made me
hesitate whom to prefer. If aught but merit could gain
my heart, the conqueror were yet to be named; but these
chains, with which Heaven keeps our souls enslaved, de-
cide me, and, though I esteem both equally, my love is
given to Don Garcia.

ELIZA. The love which you feel for him, seems to have
very little influenced your actions, since I, myself, madam,
could not for a long time discover which of the two rivals
was the favoured one.

ELV. Their noble rivalry in love, Eliza, caused a severe
struggle in my breast. When I looked on the one, I felt
no pangs, because I followed my own tender inclination ;
but when I thought I sacrificed the other, I considered I
acted very unjustly ; and was of opinion, that Don
Silvio's passion, after all, deserved a happier destiny. I
also reflected that a daughter of the late King of Leon
owed some obligation to the house of Castile; that an
intimate friendship had long knit together the interests
of his father and mine. Thus, the more the one made
VOL. i. o 209

210 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT i.

progress in my heart, the more I lamented the ill success
of the other. Full of pity, I listened to his ardent sighs,
and received his vows politely; thus in a slight degree I
tried to make amends for the opposition his love met with
in my heart.

EL. But since you have been informed he previously
loved another, your mind ought to be at rest. Before he
loved you, Donna Inez had received the homage of his
heart. As she is your most intimate friend, and has told
you this secret, you are free to bestow your love upon
whom you wish, and cover your refusal to listen to him
under the guise of friendship for her.

ELV. It is true, I ought to be pleased with the news of
Don Silvio's faithlessness, because my heart, that was tor-
mented by his love, is now at liberty to reject it ; can
justly refuse his addresses, and, without scruple, grant its
favours to another. But what delight can my heart feel,
if it suffers severely from other pangs; if the continual
weakness of a jealous prince receives my tenderness with
disdain, compels me justly to give way to anger, and thus
to break off all intercourse between us?

EL. But as he has never been told that you love him,
how can he be guilty if he disbelieves in his happiness?
And does not that which could flatter his rival's expecta-
tions warrant him to suspect your affection?

ELV. No, no ; nothing can excuse the strange madness
of his gloomy and unmanly jealousy; I have told him but
too clearly, by my actions, that he can indeed flatter him-
self with the happiness of being beloved. Even if we do
not speak, there are other interpreters which clearly lay
bare our secret feelings. A sigh, a glance, a mere blush,
silence itself, is enough to show the impulses of a heart.
In love, everything speaks : in a case like this, the smallest
glimmer ought to throw a great light upon such a subject,
since the honour which sways our sex forbids us ever to
discover all we feel. I have, I own, endeavoured so to
guide my conduct, that I should behold their merits with
an unprejudiced eye. But how vainly do we strive against
our inclinations ! How easy is it to perceive the difference
between those favours that are bestowed out of mere po-
liteness, and such as spring from the heart! The first

SCENE i. ] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 211

seem always forced ; the latter, alas ! are granted without
thinking, like those pure and limpid streams which spon-
taneously flow from their native sources. Though the
feelings of pity I showed for Don Silvio moved the Prince,
yet I unwittingly betrayed their shallowness, whilst my
very looks, during this torture, always told him more than
I desired they should.

EL. Though the suspicions of that illustrious lover have
no foundation — for you tell me so — they at least prove
that he is greatly smitten : some would rejoice at what you
complain of. Jealousy may be odious when it proceeds
from a love which displeases us ; but when we return that
love, such feelings should delight us. It is the best way
in which a lover can express his passion ; the more jealous
he is the more we ought to love him. Therefore since in
your soul a magnanimous Prince . . .

ELV. Ah ! do not bring forward such a strange maxim.
Jealousy is always odious and monstrous ; nothing can
soften its injurious attacks ; the dearer the object of our
love is to us, the more deeply we feel its offensive attempts.
To see a passionate Prince, losing every moment that re-
spect with which love inspires its real votaries ; to see him,
when his whole mind is a prey to jealousy, finding fault
either with what I like or dislike, and explaining every
look of mine in favour of a rival !* No, no ! such suspi-
cions are too insulting, and I tell you my thoughts with-
out disguise. I love Don Garcia ; he alone can fascinate
a generous heart ; his courage in Leon has nobly proved
his passion for me ; he dared on my account the greatest
dangers, freed me from the toils of cowardly tyrants, and
protected me against the horrors of an unworthy alliance
by placing me within these strong walls. Nor will I deny
but that I should have regretted that I owed my deliver-
ance to any other ; for an enamoured heart feels an ex-
treme pleasure, Eliza, in being under some obligations to
the object beloved ; its faint flame becomes stronger and
brighter when it thinks it can discharge them by granting
some favours. Yes, I am charmed that he assisted me and

* Moliere has expressed the same thoughts differently in The Bores,
Act ii. scene 4.

212 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT I.

risked his life for me, for this seems to give his passion a right
of conquest ; I rej'oice that the danger I was in threw me into
his hands. If common reports be true, and Heaven should
grant my brother's return, I wish fervently, and with all
my heart, that his arm may aid my brother to recover his
throne, and punish a traitor ; that his heroic valour may
be successful, and thus deserve my brother's utmost grati-
tude. But for all this, if he continues to rouse my anger;
if he does not lay aside his jealousy, and obey me in what-
ever I command, he in vain aspires to the hand of Donna
Elvira. Marriage can never unite us ; for I abhor bonds,
which, undoubtedly, would then make a hell upon earth
for both of us.

EL. Although one may hold different opinions, the
Prince, Madam, should conform himself to your desires ;
they are so clearly set down in your note that, when he
sees them thus explained, he ...

ELV. This letter, Eliza, shall not be employed for such
a purpose. It will be better to tell him what I think of
his conduct. When we favor a lover by writing to him,
we leave in his hands too flagrant proofs of our inclina-
tion. Therefore take care that that letter is not delivered
to the Prince.

EL. Your will is law ; yet I cannot help wondering
that Heaven has made people's minds so unlike, and that
what some consider an insult should be viewed with a dif-
ferent eye by others. As for me I should think myself
very fortunate if I had a lover who could be jealous, for his
uneasiness would give me satisfaction. That which often
vexes me is to see Don Alvarez give himself no concern
about me.

ELV. We did not think he was so near us. Here he
comes.

SCENE II. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.

ELV. Your return surprises me. What tidings do you
bring ? Is Don Alphonso coming, and when may we ex-
pect him ?

ALV. Yes, Madam; the time has arrived when your
brother, brought up in Castile, will get his own again.
Hitherto, the cautious Don Louis, to whom the late King,

SCENE m.J OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 213

on his death-bed, entrusted the care of Don Alphonso,
has concealed his rank from every one, in order to save
him from the fury of the traitor Mauregat. Though the
miserable but successful tyrant has often inquired after
him, under pretence of restoring him to the throne, yet
Don Louis, who is full of prudence, would never trust to
Mauregat's pretended feelings for justice, with which he
tried to allure him. But as the people became enraged at
the violence which a usurper would have offered you,
generous old Don Louis thought it time to try what could
be done after twenty years' expectation. He has sounded
Leon ; his faithful emissaries have sought to influence
the minds of great and small. Whilst Castile was arming
ten thousand men to restore that Prince so wished for by
his people, Don Louis caused a report to be noised abroad
that the renowned Don Alphonso was coming, but that
he would not produce him save at the head of an army,
and completely ready to launch the avenging thunder-
bolts at the vile usurper's head. Leon is besieged, and
Don Silvio himself commands the auxiliary forces, with
which his father aids you.

ELV. We may flatter ourselves that our expectations will
be realized, but I am afraid my brother will owe Don Silvio
too heavy a debt.6

ALV. But, Madam, is it not strange that, notwithstand-
ing the storm which the usurper of your throne hears
growling over his head, all the advices from Leon agree
that he is going to marry the Countess Inez ?

ELV. By allying himself to the high-born maiden, he
hopes to obtain the support of her powerful family. I am
rather uneasy that of late I have heard nothing of her. But
she has always shown an inveterate dislike to that tyrant.

EL. Feelings of honour and tenderness will cause her to
refuse the marriage they urge upon her, for . . .

ALV. The Prince is coming here.

SCENE III. — DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALVAREZ,

ELIZA.
GARC. I come, Madam to rejoice with you in the good

6 Donna Elvira is afraid that Don Alphonso will owe Don Silvio a
debt so heavy, that he will only be able to repay it by the gift of her hand.

214 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT i.

tidings you have just heard. Your brother, who threatens
a tyrant stained with crimes, allows me to hope that my
love may one day be returned, and offers to my arm an
opportunity to acquire glory in fresh dangers for the sake
of your lovely eyes. If Heaven proves propitious I will
gain amidst these dangers a victory, which divine justice
owes to you, which will lay treachery at your feet, and
restore to your family its former dignity. But what pleases
me still more amidst these cherished expectations is that
Heaven restores you this brother to be King ; for now my
love may openly declare itself, without being accused of
seeking to gain a crown whilst striving to obtain your hand.
Yes, my heart desires nothing more than to show before
the whole world that in you it values but yourself; if I
may say so without giving offence, a hundred times have
I wished you were of less rank. Loving you as I do I
could have desired that your divine charms had fallen to
the lot of some one born in a humbler station, that I
might unselfishly proffer my heart, and thus make amends
to you for Heaven's injustice, so that you might owe to my
love the homage due to your birth.' But since Heaven has
forestalled me, and deprives me of the privilege of proving
my love, do not take it amiss that my amorous flames look
for some slight encouragement when I shall have killed the
tyrant, whom I am ready to encounter; suffer me by noble
services favourably to dispose the minds of a brother and
of a whole nation towards me.

ELY. I know, Prince, that by avenging our wrongs you
can make a hundred deeds of daring speak for your love.
But the favour of a brother and the gratitude of a nation
are not sufficient to reward you ; Elvira is not to be ob-
tained by such efforts ; there is yet a stronger obstacle to
overcome.

GARC. Yes, Madam, I know what you mean. I know
very well that my heart sighs in vain for you ; neither do
I ignore the powerful obstacle against my love, though
you name it not.

ELV. Often we hear badly when we think we hear well.

6 The sentence from " Yes, my heart," &c., until " your birth " is
nearly the same as the words addressed by Alceste to Celimene in the
Misanthrope, Act iv. Sc. 3 (see Vol. II.)

SCENE in.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 21$

Too much ardour, Prince, may lead us into mistakes.
But since I must speak, I will. Do you wish to know
how you can please me, and when you may entertain any
hope ?

GARC. I should consider this, Madam, a very great
favour.

ELV. When you know how to love as you ought.

GARC. Alas! Madam, does there exist anything under
the canopy of heaven that yields not to the passion with
which your eyes have inspired me?

ELY. When your passion displays nothing at which the
object of your love can feel offended.

GARC. That is its greatest study.

ELV. When you shall cease to harbour mean unworthy
sentiments of me.

GARC. I love you to adoration.

ELV. When you have made reparation for your unjust
suspicions, and when you finally banish that hideous mon-
ster which poisons your love with its black venom; that
jealous and whimsical temper which mars, by its out-
breaks, the love you offer, prevents it from ever being
favourably listened to, and arms me, each time, with just
indignation against it.

GARC. Alas, Madam, it is true, that, notwithstanding
my utmost effort, some trifling jealousy lingers in my
heart; that a rival, though distant from your divine
charms, disturbs my equanimity. Whether it be whimsi-
cal or reasonable, I always imagine that you are uneasy
when he is absent, and that in spite of my attentions,
your sighs are continually sent in search of that too happy
rival. But if such suspicions displease you, alas, you may
easily cure them ; their removal, which I hope for, de-
pends more on you than on me. Yes, with a couple of
love-breathing words you can arm my soul against
jealousy, and disperse all the horrors with which that
monster has enshrouded it, by encouraging me to enter-
tain some expectation of a successful issue. Deign there-
fore to remove the doubt that oppresses me ; and, amidst
so many trials, let your charming lips grant me the assur-
ance that you love me, — an assurance, of which, I know, I
am utterly unworthy.

2l6 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT i.

ELY. Prince, your suspicions completely master you.
The slightest intimation of a heart should be understood ;
it does not reciprocate a passion that continually adjures
the object beloved to explain herself more clearly. The
first agitation displayed by our soul ought to satisfy a
discreet lover ; if he wishes to make us declare ourselves
more plainly, he only gives us a reason for breaking our
promise. If it depended on me alone, I know not whether
I should choose Don Silvio or yourself; the very wish I
expressed for you not to be jealous, would have been a
sufficient hint to any one but you ; I thought this request
was worded agreeably enough without needing anything
further. Your love, however, is not yet satisfied, and
requires a more public avowal. In order to remove any
scruples, I must distinctly say that I love you ; perhaps
even, to make more sure of it, you will insist that I must
swear it too.

GARC. Well, Madam, I own I am too bold ; I ought to
be satisfied with everything that pleases you. I desire no
further information. I believe you feel kindly towards
me, that my love inspires you even with a little compas-
sion ; I am happier than I deserve to be. It is over now ;
I abandon my jealous suspicions ; the sentence which con-
demns them is very agreeable ; I shall obey the decision
you so kindly pronounce, and free my heart from their
unfounded sway.

ELV. You promise a great deal, Prince, but I very much
doubt whether you can restrain yourself sufficiently.

GARC. Ah ! Madam, you may believe me ; it is enough
that what is promised to you ought always to be kept,
because the happiness of obeying the being one worships
ought to render easy the greatest efforts. May Heaven
declare eternal war against me ; may its thunder strike me
dead at your feet ; or, what would be even worse than
death, may your wrath be poured upon me, if ever my
love descends to such weakness as to fail in the pro-
mise I have given, if ever any jealous transport of my
soul . . !

SCBNBV.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 217

SCENE IV. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ,
ELIZA, A PAGE presenting a letter to Donna Elvira.

ELV. I was very anxious about this letter, I am very
much obliged to you ; let the messenger wait.

SCENE V. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ,
ELIZA.

ELV. (Low and aside}. I see already by his looks that
this letter disturbs him. What a wonderfully jealous
temper he has ! (Aloud}. What stops you, Prince, in the
midst of your oath.

GARC. I thought you might have some secret together ;
I was unwilling to interrupt you.

ELV. It seems to me that you reply in a much altered
voice ; I see all of a sudden a certain wildness in your
looks ; this abrupt change surprises me. What can be the
cause of it ? May I know ?

GARC. A sudden sickness at heart.

ELV. Such illnesses have often more serious conse-
quences than one believes ; some immediate remedy
would be necessary; but, tell me, have you often such
attacks?

GARC. Sometimes.

ELV. Alas, weak-minded Prince! Here, let this writ-
ing cure your distemper; it is nowhere but in the mind.

GARC. That writing, Madam ! No, I refuse to take it.
I know your thoughts and what you will accuse me of,
if. . .

ELV. Read it, I tell you, and satisfy yourself.

GARC. That you may afterwards call me weak-minded
and jealous? No, no, I will prove that this letter gave me
no umbrage, and though you kindly allow me to read it,
to justify myself, I will not do so.

ELV. If you persist in your refusal, I should be wrong to
compel you; it is sufficient, in short, as I have insisted
upon it, to let you see whose hand it is.

GARC. I ought always to be submissive to you ; if it is
your pleasure I should read it for you, I will gladly do so.

ELV. Yes, yes, Prince, here it is ', you shall read it for
me.

2l8 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT n.

GARC. I only do so, Madam, in obedience to your com-
mands, and I may say . . .

ELV. Whatever you please ; but pray make haste.

GARC. It comes from Donna Inez, I perceive.

ELV. It does, and I am glad of it, both for your sake
and mine.

GARC. (Reads). " In spite of all that I do to show my
contempt for the tyrant, he persists in his love for me; the
more effectually to encompass his designs, he has, since your
absence, directed against me all that violence with which he
pursued the alliance between yourself and his son. Those
who perhaps have the right to command me, and who are in-
spired by base motives of false honour, all approve this un-
worthy proposal. I do not know yet where my persecution
will end; but I will die sooner than give my consent. May
you, fair Elvira, be happier in your fate than lam. DONNA
INEZ." A lofty virtue fortifies her mind.

ELV. I will go and write an answer to this illustrious
friend. Meanwhile, Prince, learn not to give way so
readily to what causes you alarm. I have calmed your
emotion by enlightening you, and the whole affair has
passed off quietly ; but, to tell you the truth, a time may
come when I might entertain other sentiments.

GARC. What? you believe then . . .

ELV. I believe what I ought. Farewell, remember
what I tell you ; if your love for me be really so great as
you pretend, prove it as I wish.

GARC. Henceforth this will be my only desire; and
sooner than fail in it, I will lose my life.

ACT II.
SCENE I. — ELIZA, DON LOPEZ.

EL. To speak my mind freely to you, I am not much
astonished at anything the Prince may do ; for it is very
natural, and I cannot disapprove of it, that a soul in-
flamed by a noble passion should become exasperated by
jealousy, and that frequent doubts should cross his mind :
but what surprises me, Don Lopez, is to hear that you
keep alive his suspicions ; that you are the contriver of

SCENE i.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 2 19

them; that he is sad only because you wish it, jealous only
because he looks at everything with your eyes. I repeat
it, Don Lopez, I do not wonder that a man who is greatly
in love becomes suspicious. But, that a man who is not
in love should have all the anxieties of one who is jealous
— this is a novelty that belongs to none but you.

LOP. Let everybody comment on my actions as much
as they please. Each man regulates his conduct according
to the goal he wishes to reach ', since my love was re-
jected by you, I court the favour of the Prince.

EL. But do you not know that no favour will be granted
to him if you continue to maintain him in this disposi-
tion ?

LOP. Pray, charming Eliza, was it ever known that
those about great men minded anything but their own in-
terest, or that a perfect courtier wished to increase the
retinue of those same grandees by adding to it a censor
of their faults ? Did he ever trouble himself if his con-
versation harmed them, provided he could but derive
some benefit ? All the actions of a courtier only tend to
get into their favour, to obtain a place in as short a time
as possible ; the quickest way to acquire their good graces
is by always flattering their weaknesses, by blindly ap-
plauding what they have a mind to do, and by never
countenancing anything that displeases them. That is
the true secret of standing well with them. Good advice
causes a man to be looked upon as a troublesome fellow,
so that he no longer enjoys that confidence which he had
secured by an artful subservience. In short, we always
see that the art of courtiers aims only at taking advantage
of the foibles of the great, at cherishing their errors, and
never advising them to do things which they dislike.

EL. These maxims may do well enough for a time : but
reverses of fortune have to be dreaded. A gleam of light
may at last penetrate the minds of the deceived nobles,
who will then justly avenge themselves on all such flat-
terers for the length of time their glory has been dimmed.
Meanwhile I must tell you that you have been a little too
frank in your explanations ; if a true account of your
motives were laid before the Prince, it would but ill serve
you in making your fortune.

220 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; [ACT n.

LOP. I could deny having told you those truths I have
just unfolded, and that without being gainsaid ; but I
know very well that Eliza is too discreet to divulge this
private conversation. After all, what I have said is known
by everyone ; what actions of mine have I to conceal ?
A downfall may be justly dreaded when we employ arti-
fices or treachery. But what have I to fear ? I, who
cannot be taxed with anything but complaisance, who by
my useful lessons do but follow up the Prince's natural in-
clination for jealousy. His soul seems to live upon sus-
picions ; and so I do my very best to find him opportuni-
ties for his uneasiness, and to look out on all sides if any-
thing has happened that may furnish a subject for a secret
conversation. When I can go to him, with a piece of
news that may give a deadly blow to his repose, then he
loves me most : I can see him listen eagerly and swallow
the poison, amd thank me for it too, as if I had brought
him news of some victory which would make him happy
and glorious for all his life. But my rival draws near,
and so I leave you together ; though I have renounced all
hope of ever gaining your affection, yet it would pain me
not a little to see you prefer him to me before my face ;
therefore I will avoid such a mortification 7 as much as
I can.

EL. All judicious lovers should do the same.

SCENE II. — DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.

ALV. At last we have received intelligence that the
king of Navarre has this very day declared himself favour-
able to the Prince's love, and that a number of fresh troops
will reinforce his army, ready to be employed in the ser-
vice of her to whom his wishes aspire. As for me, I am
surprised at their quick movements . . . but . . .

SCENE III — DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.
GARC. What is the Princess doing ?
EL. I think, my Lord, she is writing some letters ; but
I shall let her know that you are here.

7 Don Lopez bears a distant resemblance to "honest lago" in Othello,
though Moliere has only faintly shadowed forth what Shakespeare has
worked out in so masterly a, manner.

SCENBV.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 221

GARC. I will wait till she has done.

SCENE IV. — DON GARCIA (Alone).

Being on the point of seeing her, I feel my soul shaken
by an unusual emotion ; fear as well as excess of feeling
makes me suddenly tremble. Take heed, Don Garcia, lest
a blind caprice lead you to some precipice, and lest the
great disorder of your mind cause you to yield a little too
much to your senses. Consult reason, take her for your
guide ; see whether your suspicions are well founded ; do
not reject their voice, but yet take care not to believe them
too readily, otherwise they might deceive you, and your
first outburst might pass all bounds. Read carefully again
this half of a letter. Ha, what would I, whose heart is
full of agony, not give for the other half of it ? But, after
all, what do I say ? This part suffices and is more than
enough to convince me of my misfortune :

" Though your rival . .
you ought still . . .
It is in your power to . . .
the greatest obstacle . . .
I feel very grateful . . .
for rescuing me from the hands . . .
his love, his homage . . .
but his jealousy is , . .
Remove, therefore, from your love . . .
deserve the regards . . .
and when one endeavours . . .
do not persist . . .

Yes, my destiny is sufficiently explained by these words,
which clearly show that she wrote what she felt ; the im-
perfect meaning of this ominous letter does not require
the other half to be clear to me. Let us, however, act
gently at first ; let us conceal our deep emotion from this
faithless woman ; let us employ against her the same arts
she makes use of. Here she comes. Reason, be thou
mistress of my soul, and for some time at least, keep me
from giving way to my passion !

SCENE V. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA.
ELV. I trust you will pardon me for letting you wait.

222 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; [ACT n.

GARC. (In a low -voice and aside). How well she dis-
sembles.

ELY. We have just now heard that the King, your
father, approves your designs, and consents that his son
should restore us to our subjects. I am extremely re-
joiced at this.

GARC. Yes, Madam, and my heart is rejoiced at it too ;
but ...

ELV. The tyrant will doubtless find it difficult to defend
himself against the thunderbolts which from all sides
threaten him. I flatter myself that the same courage
which was able to deliver me from the brutal rage of the
usurper, to snatch me out of his hands, and place me safe
within the walls of Astorga, will conquer the whole of
Leon, and, lay its noble efforts cause the head of the tyrant
to fall.

GARC. A few days more will show if I am successful.
But pray let us proceed to some other subject of conversa-
tion. If you do not consider me too bold, will you kindly
tell me, Madam, to whom you have written since fate led
us hither ?

ELV. Why this question, and whence this anxiety ?

GARC. Out of pure curiosity, Madam, that is all.

ELV. Curiosity is the daughter of jealousy.

GARC. No ; it is not at all what you imagine ; your com-
mands have sufficiently cured that disease.

ELV. Without endeavouring further to discover what
may be the reasons for your inquiry, I have written twice
to the Countess Inez at Leon, and as often to the Mar-
quis, Don Louis, at Burgos. Does this answer put your
mind at rest ?

GARC. Have you written to no one else, Madam ?

ELV. No, certainly, and your questions astonish me.

GARC. Pray consider well, before you make such a state-
ment, because people forget sometimes, and thus perjure
themselves.

ELV. I cannot perjure myself in what I have stated.

GARC. You have, however, told a very great falsehood.

ELV. Prince !

GARC. Madam!

ELV. Heavens ; what is the meaning of this ! Speak .'
Have you lost your senses ?

SCBNEV.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 223

GARC. Yes, yes, I lost them, when to my misfortune I
beheld you, and thus took the poison which kills me ; when
I thought to meet with some sincerity in those treacherous
charms that bewitched me.

ELV. What treachery have you to complain of?

GARC. Oh ! how double-faced she is ! how well she
knows to dissimulate ! But all means for escape will fail
you. Cast your eyes here, and recognize your writing. 8
Without having seen the other part of this letter, it is easy
enough to discover for whom you employ this style.

ELV. And this is the cause of your perturbation of
spirits?

GARC. Do you not blush on beholding this writing?

ELV. Innocence is not accustomed to blush.

GARC. Here indeed we see it oppressed. You disown
this letter because it is not signed.

ELV. Why should I disown it, since I wrote it?9

GARC. It is something that you are frank enough to own
your handwriting; but I will warrant that it was a note
written to some indifferent person, or at least that the
tender sentiments it contains were intended only for some
lady friend or relative.

ELV. No, I wrote it to a lover, and, what is more, to one
greatly beloved.

GARC. And can I, O perfidious woman . . . ?

ELV. Bridle, unworthy Prince, the excess of your base
fury. Although you do not sway my heart, and I am
accountable here to none but myself, yet for your sole
punishment I will clear myself from the crime of which
you so insolently accuse me. You shall be undeceived ; do
not doubt it. I have my defence at hand. You shall be
fully enlightened ; my innocence shall appear complete.
You yourself shall be the judge in your own cause, and
pronounce your own sentence.

8 The lines, "Heavens! what is the meaning of this?" till "and re-
cognize your writing," have been employed again by Moliere in the
Misanthrope, Act iv., Scene 3, (see vol. II). The misanthrope Alceste
has also in his hand the written proofs of the faithlessness of the object
of his love : but his suspicions are well founded, whilst those of Don
Garcia are inspired only by jealousy.

•The words, " And this is the cause " until " since I wrote it," are , with
a few slight alterations, found also in the Misanthrope, Act iv., Scene 3.

224 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; [ACT „.

GARC. I cannot understand such mysterious talk.
ELV. You shall soon comprehend it to your cost. Eliza
come hither !

SCENE VI. — DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, ELIZA.

EL. Madam.

ELV. (to Don Garcia). At least observe well whether I
make use of any artifice to deceive you ; whether by a
single glance or by any warning gesture I seek to ward off
this sudden blow. (To Eliza). Answer me quickly,
where did you leave the letter I wrote just now ?

EL. Madam, I confess I am to blame. This letter was
by accident left on my table ; but I have just been in-
formed that Don Lopez, coming into my apartment, took,
as he usually does, the liberty to pry everywhere, and
found it. As he was unfolding it, Leonora wished to
snatch it from him before he had read anything ; and
whilst she tried to do this, the letter in dispute was torn
in two pieces, with one of which Don Lopez quickly went
away, in spite of all she could do.

ELV. Have you the other half?

EL. Yes ; here it is.

ELV. Give it to me. (To Don Garcia). We shall see
who is to blame ; join the two parts together, and then
read it aloud. I wish to hear it.

GARC. " To Don Garcia." Ha !

ELV. Go on ! Are you thunderstruck at the first
word?

GARC. (Reads). " Though your rival, Prince, disturbs
your mind, you ought still to fear yourself more than him. It
is in your power to destroy now the greatest obstacle your
passion has to encounter. I feel very grateful to Don Garcia
for rescuing me from the hands of my bold ravishers ; his
love, his homage delights me much ; but his jealousy is odi-
ous to me. Remove, therefore, from your love that foul
blemish; deserve the regards that are bestowed upon it; and
when one endeavours to make you happy, do not persist in re-
maining miserable. ' '

ELV. Well, what do you say to this ?

GARC. Ah ! Madam, I say that on reading this I am
quite confounded ; that I see the extreme injustice of my

SCENBVI.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 22'j

complaints, and that no punishment can be severe enough
for me.

ELV. Enough ! Know that if I desired that you should
read the letter, it was only to contradict everything I stated
in it ; to unsay a hundred times all that you read there in
your favour. Farewell, Prince.

GARC. Alas, Madam ! whither do you fly ?

ELV. To a spot where you shall not be, over-jealous
man.

GARC. Ah, Madam, excuse a lover who is wretched
because, by a wonderful turn of fate, he has become guilty
towards you, and who, though you are now very wroth
with him, would have deserved greater blame if he had
remained innocent. For, in short, can a heart be truly
enamoured which does not dread as well as hope ? And
could you believe I loved you if this ominous letter had
not alarmed me ; if I had not trembled at the thunder-
bolt which I imagined had destroyed all my happiness?
I leave it to yourself to judge if such an accident would
not have caused any other lover to commit the same error ;
if I could disbelieve, alas, a proof which seemed to me so
clear !

ELV. Yes, you might have done so; my feelings so
clearly expressed ought to have prevented your suspicions.
You had nothing to fear; if some others had had such a
pledge they would have laughed to scorn the testimony
of the whole world.

GARC. The less we deserve a happiness which has been
promised us, the greater is the difficulty we feel in believ-
ing in it. A destiny too full of glory seems unstable, and
renders us suspicious. As for me, who think myself so
little deserving of your favours, I doubted the success of
my rashness.19 I thought that, finding yourself in a place
under my command, you forced yourself to be somewhat
kind to me; that, disguising to me your severity . . .

ELV. Do you think that I could stoop to so cowardly an
action? Am I capable of feigning so disgracefully; of

10 Moliere has with a few alterations placed this phrase beginning with
" the less," and ending with " my rashness," in the mouth of Tartuffe in.
the play of the same name, Act iv., Sc. 5, (see Vol. II).

VOL. I. P

226 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; • [ACT n.

acting from motives of servile fear ; of betraying my sen-
timents; and, because I am in your power, of concealing
my contempt for you under a pretence of kindness?
Could any consideration for my own reputation so little
influence me? Can you think so, and dare to tell it me?
Know that this heart cannot debase itself; that nothing
under Heaven can compel it to act thus: if it has com-
mitted the great error of showing you some kindness, of
which you were not worthy, know that in spite of your
power, it will be able now to show the hatred it feels for
you, to defy your rage, and convince you that it is not
mean, nor ever will be so.

GARC.U Well, I cannot deny that I am guilty: but I beg
pardon of your heavenly charms, I beg it for the sake of
the most ardent love that two beautiful eyes ever kindled
in a human soul. But if your wrath cannot be appeased ;
if my crime be beyond forgiveness; if you have no regard
for the love that caused it, nor for my heart-felt repent-
ance, then one propitious blow shall end my life, and free
me from these unbearable torments. No, think not that
having displeased you, I can live for one moment under
your wrath. Even whilst we are speaking, my heart sinks
under gnawing remorse ; were a thousand vultures cruelly
to wound it, they could not inflict greater pangs. Tell
me, madam, if I may hope for pardon ; if not, then this
sword shall instantly, in your sight, by a well-directed
thrust, pierce the heart of a miserable wretch ; that heart,
that irresolute heart, whose weakness has so deeply of-
fended your excessive kindness, too happy if in death this
just doom efface from your memory all remembrance of
its crime, and cause you to think of my affection without
dislike. This is the only favour my love begs of you.

ELV. Oh ! too cruel Prince !

GARC. Speak, Madam.

ELV. Must I still preserve some kind feelings for you,
and suffer myself to be affronted by so many indignities?

GARC. A heart that is in love can never offend, and
finds excuses for whatever love may do.

11 This scene beginning from " Well," until the end, has, with several
alterations rendered necessary by change of metre, been treated by Mo-
liere in his Amphitryon, Act ii., Sc. 6, (see Vol. II.).

SCBNK vii.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 227

ELV. Love is no excuse for such outbursts.

GARC. Love communicates its ardour to all emotions,
and the stronger it is, the more difficulty it finds . . .

ELV. No, speak to me no more of it ; you deserve my
hatred.

GARC. You hate me then ?

ELV. I will at least endeavour to do so. But alas ! I
am afraid it will be in vain, and that all the wrath which
your insults have kindled, will not carry my revenge
so far.

GARC. Do not endeavour to punish me so severely, since
I offer to kill myself to avenge you ; pronounce but the
sentence and I obey immediately.

ELV. One who cannot hate cannot wish anybody to die.

GARC. I cannot live unless you kindly pardon my rash
errors ; resolve either to punish or to forgive.

ELV. Alas ! I have shown too clearly my resolution ; do
we not pardon a criminal when we tell him we cannot
hate him ?

GARC. Ah ! this is too much. Suffer me, adorable
Princess . . .

ELV. Forbear, I am angry with myself for my weakness.

GARC. {Alone). At length I am . . .

SCENE VII. — DON GARCIA, DON LOPEZ.

LOP. My Lord, I have to communicate to you a secret
that may justly alarm your love.

GARC. Do not talk to me of secrets or alarms, whilst I
am in such a blissful rapture. After what has just taken
place, I ought not to listen to any suspicions. The un-
equalled kindness of a divine object ought to shut my
ears against all such idle reports. Do not say anything
more.

LOP. My Lord, I shall do as you wish ; my only care
in this business was for you. I thought that the secret I
just discovered ought to be communicated with all dili-
gence ; but since it is your pleasure I should not mention
it, I shall change the conversation, and inform you that
every family in Leon threw off the mask, as soon as the
report spread that the troops of Castile were approaching;

228 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT in.

the lower classes especially show openly such an affection
for their true King, that the tyrant trembles for fear.

GARC. Castile, however, shall not gain the victory with-
out our making an attempt to share in the glory; our
troops may also be able to terrify Mauregat. But what
secret would you communicate to me? Let us hear it?

LOP. My Lord, I have nothing to say.12

GARC. Come, come, speak, I give you leave.

LOP. My Lord, your words have told me differently ;
and since my news may displease you, I shall know for
the future how to remain silent.

GARC. Without further reply, I wish to know your
secret.

LOP. Your commands must be obeyed ; but, my Lord,
duty forbids me to explain such a secret in this place.
Let us go hence, and I shall communicate it to you; with-
out taking anything lightly for granted, you yourself shall
judge what you ought to think of it.

ACT III.
SCENE I. — DONNA ELVIRA, ELIZA.

ELY. What say you, Eliza, to this unaccountable weak-
ness in the heart of a Princess ? What do you say when
you see me so quickly forego my desire for revenge, and,
in spite of so much publicity, weakly and shamefully par-
don so cruel an outrage.

EL. I say, Madam, that an insult from a man we love
is doubtless very difficult to bear ; but if there be none
which makes us sooner angry, so there is none which we
sooner pardon. If the man we love is guilty, and throws
himself at our feet, he triumphs over the rash outbreak of
the greatest anger; so much the more easily, Madam, if
the offence comes from an excess of love. However great
your displeasure may have been, I am not astonished to
see it appeased ; I know the power which, in spite of your
threats, will always pardon such crimes.

ELV. But know, Eliza, however great the power of my
love may be, I have blushed for the last time ; if hence-
forth the Prince gives me fresh cause for anger, he must no

M Compare lago's reticence in Shakespeare's Othello (iii. 3).

SCKNK n.j OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 22<)

longer look for pardon. I swear, that in such a case, I
will never more foster tender feelings for him: for in
short, a mind with ever so little pride is greatly ashamed
to go back from its word, and often struggles gallantly
against its own inclinations ; it becomes stubborn for
honour's sake, and sacrifices everything to the noble pride
of keeping its word. Though I have pardoned him now,
do not consider this a precedent for the future. What-
ever fortune has in store for me, I cannot think of giving
my hand to the Prince of Navarre, until he has shown that
he is completely cured of those gloomy fits which unsettle
his reason, and has convinced me, who am the greatest
sufferer by this disease, that he will never insult me again
by a relapse.

EL. But how can the jealousy of a lover be an insult
to us?

ELV. Is there one more deserving of our wrath ? And
since it is with the utmost difficulty we can resolve to con-
fess our love; since the strict honour of our sex at all
times strongly opposes such a confession, ought a lover to
doubt our avowal, and should he not be punished? Is he
not greatly to blame in disbelieving that which is never
said but after a severe struggle with one's self?13

EL. As for me, I think that a little mistrust on such an
occasion should not offend us; and that it is dangerous,
Madam, for a lover to be absolutely persuaded that he is
beloved. If ...

ELV. Let us argue no more. Every person thinks dif-
ferently. I am offended by such suspicions; and, in spite
of myself, I am conscious of something which forebodes an
open quarrel between the Prince and me, and which, not-
withstanding his great qualities .... But Heavens!
Don Silvio of Castile in this place!

SCENE II. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALPHONSO, under the

name of Don Silvio, ELIZA.

ELV. Ah ! my Lord, what chance has brought you here?
ALPH. I know, Madam, that my arrival must surprise

1S The words " since it is" until " one's self have been used by Molidre
with some slight alteration in the Misanthrope, Act iv., Scene 3, (see
vol. II.)

230 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; [ACT HI.

you. To enter quietly this town, to which the access has
become difficult through the orders of a rival, and to have
avoided being seen by the soldiers, is an event you did
not look for. But if, in coming here, I have surmounted
some obstacles, the desire of seeing you is able to effect
much greater miracles. My heart has felt but too severely
the blows of merciless fate which kept me away from you ;
to allay the pangs which nearly kill me, I could not refuse
myself some moments to behold in secret your inestimable
person. I come, therefore, to tell you that I return
thanks to Heaven, that you are rescued from the hands of
an odious tyrant. But, in the midst of that happiness, I
feel that I shall always be tortured with the thought that
envious fate deprived me of the honour of performing such
a noble deed, and has unjustly given to my rival the
chance of venturing his life pleasantly to render you so
great a service. Yes, Madam, my readiness to free you
from your chains was undoubtedly equal to his; I should
have gained the victory for you, if Heaven had not robbed
me of that honour.

ELV. I know, my Lord, that you possess a heart capable
of overcoming the greatest dangers ; I doubt not but this
generous zeal which incited you to espouse my quarrel,
would have enabled you, as well as any one else, to over-
come all base attempts ; but even if you have not per-
formed this noble deed — and you could have done it — I
am already under sufficient obligations to the house of
Castile. It is well known what a warm and faithful friend
the Count, your father, was of the late King, and what he
did for him. After having assisted him until he died, he
gave my brother a shelter in his states ; full twenty years
he concealed him, in spite of the cowardly efforts to dis-
cover him, employed by barbarous and enraged enemies ;
and now to restore to his brow a crown, in all its splendour,
you are marching in person against our usurpers. Are you
not satisfied, and do not these generous endeavours place
me under strong obligations to you? Would you, my
Lord, obstinately persist in swaying my whole fate ? Must
I never receive even the slightest kindness unless from
you ? Ah ! amidst these misfortunes, which seem to be
my fate, suffer me to owe also something to another, and

SCENE ii.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRIN'CE. 251

do not complain that another arm acquired some glory,
when you were absent.

ALPH. Yes, Madam, I ought to cease complaining ; you
are quite right when you tell me so ; we unjustly complain
of one misfortune, when a much greater threatens to afflict
us. This succour from a rival is a cruel mortification to
me : but, alas ! this is not the greatest of my misfortunes ;
the blow, the severe blow which crushes me, is to see that
rival preferred to me. Yes, I but too plainly perceive that
his greater reputation was the reason that his love was
preferred to mine ; that opportunity of serving you, the
advantage he possessed of signalizing his prowess, that
brillant exploit which he performed in saving you, was
nothing but the mere effect of being happy enough to
please you, the secret power of a wonderful astral influence
which causes the object you love to become famed. Thus
all my efforts will be in vain. I am leading an army
against your haughty tyrants ; but I fulfil this noble duty
trembling, because I am sure that your wishes will not be
for me, and that, if they are granted, fortune has in store
the rnost glorious success for my happy rival. Ah ! Madam,
must I see myself hurled from that summit of glory I
expected ; and may I not know what crimes they accuse
me of, and why I have deserved that dreadful downfall?

ELY. Before you ask me anything, consider what you
ought to ask of my feelings. As for this coldness of mine,
which seems to abash you, I leave it to you, my Lord, to
answer for me ; for, in short, you cannot be ignorant that
some of your secrets have been told to me. I believe your
mind to be too noble and too generous to desire me to do
what is wrong. Say yourself if it would be just to make
me reward faithlessness ; whether you can, without the
greatest injustice, offer me a heart already tendered to
another ; whether you are justified in complaining, and in
blaming a refusal which would prevent you from staining
your virtues with a crime? Yes, my Lord, it is a crime,
for first love has so sacred a hold on a lofty mind, that it
would rather lose greatness and abandon life itself, than
incline to a second love.14 I have that regard for you which

14 The words " Yes my Lord " until " second love " are also, with some
alterations, found in The Blue Stockings, Act iv. Scene 2, (see Vol. III).

232 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT m.

is caused by an appreciation of your lofty courage, your
magnanimous heart ; but do not require of me more than
I owe you, and maintain the honour of your first choice.
In spite of your new love, consider what tender feelings
the amiable Inez still retains for you ; that she has con-
stantly refused to be made happy for the sake of an un-
grateful man ; for such you are, my Lord ! In her great
love for you, how generously has she scorned the splendour
of a diadem ! Consider what attempts she has withstood
for your sake, and restore to her heart what you owe it.

ALPH. Ah, Madam, do not present her merit to my
eyes ! Though I am an ungrateful man and abandon her,
she is never out of my mind; if my heart could tell you
what it feels for her, I fear it would be guilty towards you.
Yes, that heart dares to pity Inez, and does not, without
some hesitation follow the violent love which leads it on.
I never flattered myself that you would reward my love
without at the same time breathing some sighs for her ;
in the midst of these pleasant thoughts my memory still
casts some sad looks towards my first love, reproaches it-
self with the effect of your divine charms, and mingles
some remorse with what I wish most fervently. And
since I must tell you all, I have done more than this. I
have endeavoured to free myself from your sway, to break
your chains, and to place my heart again under the inno-
cent yoke of its first conqueror. But, after all my en-
deavours, my fidelity gives way, and I see only one remedy
for the disease that kills me. Were I even to be forever
wretched, I cannot forswear my love, or bear the terrible
idea of seeing you in the arms of another ; that same
light, which permits me to behold your charms, will shine
on my corpse, before this marriage takes place. I know
that I betray an amiable Princess ; but after all, Madam,
is my heart guilty ? Does the powerful influence which
your beauty possesses leave the mind any liberty ? Alas !
I am much more to be pitied than she ; for, by losing me,
she loses only a faithless man. Such a sorrow can easily
be soothed ; but I, through an unparalleled misfortune,
abandon an amiable lady, whilst I endure all the torments
of a rejected love.

ELV. You have no torments but what you yourself ere-

SCENE in.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 233

ate. for our heart is always in our own power. It may
indeed sometimes show a little weakness ; but, after all,
reason sways our passions . . .

SCENE III. — DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALPHON-
so, under the name of Don Silvio.

GARC. I perceive, Madam, that my coming is somewhat
unseasonable, and disturbs your conversation. I must
needs say I did not expect to find such good company
here.

ELV. Don Silvio's appearance indeed surprised me very
much ; I no more expected him than you did.

GARC. Madam, since you say so, I do not believe you
were forewarned of this visit ; (to Don Silvio) but you, sir,
ought at least to have honoured us with some notice of
this rare happiness, so that we should not have been sur-
prised, but enabled to pay you here those attentions
which we would have liked to render you.

ALPH. My Lord, you are so busy with warlike prepara-
tions, that I should have been wrong had I interrupted
you. The sublime thoughts of mighty conquerors can
hardly stoop to the ordinary civilities of the world.

GARC. But those mighty conquerors, whose warlike
preparations are thus praised, far from loving secrecy,
prefer to have witnesses of what they do ; their minds
trained to glorious deeds from infancy, make them carry
out all their plans openly ; being always supported by
lofty sentiments, they never stoop to disguise themselves.
Do you not compromise your heroic merits in coming
here secretly, and are you not afraid that people may look
upon this action as unworthy of you ?

ALPH. I know not whether any one will blame my con-
duct because I have made a visit here in secret; but I
know, Prince, that I never courted obscurity in things
which require light. Were I to undertake anything against
you, you should have no cause to remark you were sur-
prised. It would depend upon yourself to guard against
it; I would take care to warn you beforehand. Meanwhile
let us continue upon ordinary terms, and postpone the
settlement of our quarrels until all other affairs are ar-
ranged. Let us suppress the outbursts of our rather

234 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; rACT 11If

excited passions, and not forget in whose presence we are
both speaking. «

ELY. (To Don Garcia). Prince, you are in the wrong;
and his visit is such that you . . .

GARC. Ah ! Madam, it is too much to espouse his quarrel
You ought to dissemble a little better when you pretend
that you were ignorant he was coming here. You defend
him so warmly and so quickly, that it is no very con-
vincing proof of his visit being unexpected.

ELV. Your suspicions concern me so little, that I should
be very sorry to deny your accusation.

GARC. Why do you not go farther in your lofty pride,
and, without hesitation, lay bare your whole heart ? You
are too prone to dissimulation. Do not unsay anything
you once said. Be brief, be brief, lay aside all scruples ;
say that his passion has kindled yours, that his presence
delights you so much . . .

ELV. And if I have a mind to love him, can you hinder
me? Do you pretend to sway my heart, and have I to
receive your commands whom I must love? Know that
too much pride has deceived you, if you think you have
any authority over me ; my mind soars too high to conceal
my feelings when I am asked to declare them. I will not
tell you whether the Count is beloved ; but I may inform
you that I esteem him highly ; his great merits, which I
admire, deserve the love of a Princess better than you ;
his passion, the assiduity he displays, impress me very
strongly ; and if the stern decree of fate puts it out of my
power to reward him with my hand, I can at least promise
him never to become a prey to your love. Without
keeping you any longer in slight suspense, I engage my-
self to act thus, and I will keep my word. I have opened
my heart to you, as you desired it, and shown you my real
feelings. Are you satisfied, and do you not think that, as
you pressed me, I have sufficiently explained myself?
Consider whether there remains anything else for me to do
in order to clear up your suspicions. ( To Don Silvio~). In
the meanwhile, if you persist in your resolution to please
me, do not forget, Count, that I have need of your arm,
and that whatever may be the outbreaks of temper of an ec-
centric man, you must do your utmost to punish our

SCENE iv. J OK, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 235

tyrants. In a word, do not listen to what he may say to
you in his wrath, and in order to induce you so to act,
remember that I have entreated you.

SCENE IV. — DON GARCIA, DON ALPHONSO.

GARC. Everything smiles upon you, and you proudly
triumph oveo* my confusion. It is pleasant to hear the
glorious confession of that victory which you obtain over a
rival ; but it must greatly add to your joy to have that
rival a witness to it. My pretensions, openly set aside,
enhance all the more the triumph of your love. Enjoy
this great happiness fully, but know that you have not yet
gained your point ; I have too just cause to be incensed,
and many things may perhaps ere then come to pass.
Despair, when it breaks out, goes a great way; everything
is pardonable when one has been deceived. If the un-
grateful woman, out of compliment to your love, has just
now pledged her word never to be mine, my righteous
indignation will discover the means of preventing her
ever being yours.

ALPH. I do not trouble myself about your antagonism.
We shall see who will be deceived in his expectations.
Each by his valour will be able to defend the reputation
of his love, or avenge his misfortune. But as between
rivals the calmest mind may easily become irate, and as I
am unwilling that such a conversation should exasperate
either of us, I wish, Prince, you would put me in the way
of leaving this place, so that the restraint I put upon my-
self may be ended.

GARC. No, no, do not fear that you will be compelled
to violate the order you received. Whatever righteous
wrath is kindled within me, and which no doubt delights
you, Count, I know when it should break forth. This
place is open to you ; you can leave it, proud of the ad-
vantages you have gained. But once more I tell you that
my head alone can put your conquest into your hands.

ALPH. When matters shall have reached that point, for-
tune and our arms will soon end our quarrel.

236 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACTIV.

ACT IV.
SCENE I. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALVAREZ.

ELV. You can go back, Don Alvarez, but do not expect
that you shall persuade me to forget this offence. The
wound which my heart received is incurable; all endea-
vours to heal it make it but fester the more. Does the
Prince think I shall listen to some simulated compliments?
No, no, he has made me too angry; and his fruitless re-
pentance, which led you hither, solicits a pardon which I
will not grant.

ALV. Madam, he deserves your pity. Never was any
offence expiated with more stinging remorse; if you were
to see his grief, it would touch your heart, and you would
pardon him. It is well known that the Prince is of an age
at which we abandon ourselves to first impressions; that
in fiery youth the passions hardly leave room for reflection.
Don Lopez, deceived by false tidings, was the cause of his
master's mistake. An idle report that the Count was
coming, and that you had some understanding with those
who admitted him within these walls, was indiscreetly
bruited about. The Prince believed it ; his love, deceived
by a false alarm, has caused all this disturbance. But
being now conscious of his error, he is well aware of your
innocence; the dismissal of Don Lopez clearly proves
how great his remorse is for the outburst of which he has
been guilty.

ELV. Alas! He too readily believes me innocent; he
is not yet quite sure of it. Tell him to weigh all things
well, and not to make too much haste, for fear of being
deceived.

ALV. Madam, he knows too well. . . .

ELV. I pray you, Don Alvarez, let us no longer continue
a conversation which vexes me : it revives in me some
sadness, at the very moment that a more important sorrow
oppresses me. Yes, I have received unexpectedly the news
of a very great misfortune; the report of the death of the
Countess Inez has filled my heart with so much wretched-
ness, that there is no room for any other grief.

ALV. Madam, these tidings may not be true; but when

SCENE iv.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 237

I return, I shall have to communicate to the Prince a cruel
piece of news.

ELV. However great his sufferings may be, they fall
short of what he deserves.

SCENE II. — DONNA ELVIRA, ELIZA.

EL. I waited, Madam until he was gone, to tell you
something that will free you from your anxiety, since this
very moment you can be informed what has become of
Donna Inez. A certain person, whom I do not know, has
sent one of his servants to ask an audience of you, in
order to tell you all.

ELV. Eliza, I must see him ; let him come quickly.

EL. He does not wish to be seen except by yourself ;
by this messenger he requests, Madam that his visit may
take place without any one being present.

ELV. Well, we shall be alone, I will give orders about
that, whilst you bring him here. How great is my impa-
tience just now ! Ye fates, shall these tidings be full of
joy or grief?

SCENE III. — DON PEDRO, ELIZA.

EL. Where ....

PED. If you are looking for me, Madam, here I am.

EL. Where is your master ....

PED. He is hard by ; shall I fetch him ?

EL. Desire him to come ; tell him that he is impatiently
expected, and that no one shall see him. (Alone). I can-
not unravel this mystery ; all the precautions he takes
.* . . . But here he is already.

SCENE IV. — DONNA INEZ, in mari s dress, ELIZA.

EL. My Lord, in order to wait for you, we have pre-
pared .... But what do I see ? Ah ! Madam, my
eyes ....

INEZ. Do not tell any one, Eliza, I am here; allow
me to pass my sad days in peace. I pretended to kill
myself. By this feigned death I got rid of all my tyrants ;
for this is the name my relatives deserve. Thus I have
avoided a dreadful marriage ; rather than have consented,
I would really have killed myself. This dress, and the
report of my death, will keep the secret of my fate from

238 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; [ACT iv.

all, and secure me against that unjust persecution which
may even follow me hither.

EL. My surprise might have betrayed you, if I had seen
you in public ; but go into this room and put an end to
the sorrow of the Princess ; her heart will be filled with
joy when she shall behold you. You will find her there
alone ; she has taken care to see you by herself, and with-
out any witnesses.

SCENE V. — DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.
EL. Is this not Don Alvarez whom I see ?
ALV. The Prince sends me to entreat you to use your
utmost influence in his favour. His life is despaired of,
unless he obtains by your means, fair Eliza, one moment's
conversation with Donna Elvirax; he is beside himself
. . . but here he is.

SCENE VI. — DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.

GARC. Alas, Eliza, feel for my great misfortune ; take
pity on a heart full of wretchedness, and given up to
the bitterest sorrow.

EL. I should look upon your torments, my Lord, with
other eyes than the Princess does ; Heaven or our mood
is the reason why we judge differently about everything.
But, as she blames you, and fancies your jealousy to be a
frightful monster, if I were in your place I should obey
her wishes, and endeavour to conceal from her eyes what
offends them. A lover undoubtedly acts wisely when he
tries to suit his temper to ours ; a hundred acts of polite-
ness have less influence than this unison, which makes two
hearts appear as if stirred by the same feelings. This
similarity firmly unites them ; for we love nothing so
much as what resembles ourselves.

GARC. I know it, but alas ! merciless fate opposes such
a well intentioned plan ; in spite of all my endeavours, it
continually lays a snare for me, which my heart cannot
avoid. It is not because the ungrateful woman, in the
presence of my rival, avowed her love for him, and not for
me ; and that with such an excess of tenderness, that it is
impossible I can ever forget her cruelty. But as too much
ardour led me to believe erroneously that she had intro-

SCENE vii.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 339

duced him into this place, I should be very much an-
noyed if I left upon her mind the impression that she has
any just cause of complaint against me. Yes, if I am
abandoned, it shall be only through her faithlessness ; for
as I have come to beg her pardon for my impetuosity, she
shall have no excuse for ingratitude.

EL. Give a little time for her resentment to cool, and
do not see her again so soon, my Lord.

GARC. Ah ! if you love me, induce her to see me ; she
must grant me that permission ; I do not leave this spot
until her cruel disdain at least ....

EL. Pray, my Lord, defer this purpose.

GARC. No ; make no more idle excuses.

EL. (Aside). The Princess herself must find means to
send him away, if she says but one word to him. ( To Don
Garcia). Stay here, my Lord, I shall go and speak to
her.

GARC. Tell her that I instantly dismissed the person
whose information was the cause of my offence, that Don
Lopez shall never . . .

SCENE VII. — DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ.

GARC. {Looking in at the door which Eliza left half
open). What do I see, righteous Heavens ! Can I believe
my eyes? Alas! they are, doubtless, but too faithful wit-
nesses ; this is the most terrible of all my great troubles !
This fatal blow completely overwhelms me ! When sus-
picions raged within me, it was Heaven itself, vaguely but
ominously foretelling me this horrible disgrace.

ALV. What have you seen, my Lord, to disturb you?

GARC. I have seen what I can hardly conceive; the
overthrow of all creation would less astonish me than this
accident. It is all over with me ... Fate ... I can-
not speak. "

ALV. My Lord, endeavour to be composed.

GARC. I have seen . . . Vengeance ! O Heaven !

ALV. What sudden alarm . . . ?

18 The words from " What have you seen " till " I cannot speak," are
with some slight alterations, found in the Misanthrope, Act iv., Scene a
(see Vol. II).

240 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; LACT ry.

GARC. It will kill me, Don Alvarez, it is but too cer-
tain.

ALV. But, my Lord, what can . . .

GARC. Alas ! Everything is undone. I am betrayed, I
am murdered ! 16 A man, (can I say it and still live) a
man in the arms of the faithless Elvira !

ALV. The Princess, my Lord, is so virtuous . . .

GARC. Ah, Don Alvarez, do not gainsay what I have
seen. It is too much to defend her reputation, after my
eyes have beheld so heinous an action.

ALV. Our passions, my Lord, often cause us to mistake
a deception for a reality ; to believe that a mind nourished
by virtue can ....

GARC. Prithee leave me, Don Alvarez, a counsellor is
in the way upon such an occasion ; I will take counsel
only of my wrath.

ALV. (Aside}. It is better not to answer him when his
mind is so upset.

GARC. Oh ! how deeply am I wounded ! But I shall

see who it is, and punish with my own hand But

here she comes. Restrain thyself, O rage !

SCENE VIII. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA, DON
ALVAREZ.

ELV. Well, what do you want ? However bold you
may be, how can you hope for pardon, after the way you
have behaved ? Dare you again present yourself before
me ? And what can you say that will become me to hear ?

GARC. That all the wickedness of this world is not to
be compared to your perfidy ; that neither fate, hell, nor
Heaven in its wrath ever produced anything so wicked as
you are."

ELV. How is this ? I expected you would excuse your
outrage ; but I find you use other words.

GARC. Yes, yes, other words. You did not think that,
the door being by accident left half open, I should dis-

16 The last sentences of Don Alvarez and Don Garcia are also found in
the Misanthrope, Act iv., Scene 2 (see Vol. II).

17 The above words of Don Garcia are also in the Misanthrope, Act iv.,
Scene 3 (see Vol. II).

SCENE vin.J OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 241

cover the caitiff in your arms, and thus behold your
shame, and my doom. Is it the happy lover who has re-
turned, or some other rival to me unknown ? O Heaven !
grant me sufficient strength to bear such tortures. Now,
blush, you have cause to do so ; your treachery is laid
bare. This is what the agitations of my mind prognosti-
cated ; it was not without cause that my love took alarm ;
my continual suspicions were hateful to you, but I was
trying to discover the misfortune my eyes have beheld ;
in spite of all your care, and your skill in dissembling,
my star foretold me what I had to fear. But do not ima-
gine that I will bear unavenged the slight of being in-
sulted ! I know that we have no command over our in-
clinations ; that love will everywhere spring up spontane-
ously ; that there is no entering a heart by force, and that
every soul is free to name its conqueror; therefore I should
have no reason to complain, if you had spoken to me
without dissembling ; you would then have sounded the
death-knell of my hope, but my heart could have blamed
fortune alone. But to see my love encouraged by a de-
ceitful avowal on your part, is so treacherous and perfidi-
ous an action, that it cannot meet with too great a punish-
ment ; I can allow my resentment to do anything. No,
no, after such an outrage, hope for nothing. I am no
longer myself, I am mad with rage.18 Betrayed on all
sides, placed in so sad a situation, my love must avenge
itself to the utmost ; I shall sacrifice everything here to
my frenzy, and end my despair with my life.

ELY. I have listened to you patiently ; can I, in my
turn, speak to you freely ?

GARC. And by what eloquent speeches, inspired by
cunning. . . .

ELY. If you have still something to say, pray continue;
I am ready to hear you. If not, I hope you will at least
listen for a few minutes quietly to what I have to say.

GARC. Well, then, I am listening. Ye Heavens ! what
patience is mine !

18 The whole of this speech, from "Now blush," until "mad with
rage," has, with few alterations, been used in the Misanthrope, Act iv.,
Scene 3 (see Vol. II).

VOL. I. Q

242 DON GARCIA OK NAVARRE ; rACT VI.

ELY. I restrain my indignation, and will without any
passion reply to your discourse, so full of fury.

GARC. It is because you see . . .

ELV. I have listened to you as long as you pleased ;
pray do the like to me. I wonder at my destiny, and I
believe there was never any thing under Heaven so mar-
vellous, nothing more strange and incomprehensible, and
nothing more opposed to reason. I have a lover, who
incessantly does nothing else but persecute me ; who,
amidst all the expressions of his love, does not entertain
for me any feelings of esteem ; whose heart, on which my
eyes have made an impression, does not do justice to the
lofty rank granted to me by Heaven ; who will not defend
the innocence of my actions against the slightest semblance
of false appearances. Yes, I see . . . {Don Garcia shows,
some signs of impatience, and wishes to speak). Above all,
do not interrupt me. I see that my unhappiness is so
great, that one who says he loves me, and who, even if
the whole world were to attack my reputation, ought to
claim to defend it against all, is he who is its greatest foe.
In the midst of his love, he lets no opportunity pass of
suspecting me ; he not only suspects me, but breaks out
into such violent fits of jealousy that love cannot suffer
without being wounded. Far from acting like a lover who
would rather die than offend her whom he loves, who
gently complains and seeks respectfully to have explained
what he thinks suspicious, he proceeds to extremities as
soon as he doubts, and is full of rage, insults, and threats.
However, this day I will shut my eyes to everything that
makes him odious to me, and out of mere kindness afford
him an opportunity of being reconciled, though he in-
sulted me anew. This great rage with which you attacked
me proceeds from what you accidentally saw ; I should
be wrong to deny what you have seen ; I own you might
have some reason to be disturbed at it.

GARC. And is it not . . .

ELV. Listen to me a little longer, and you shall know
what I have resolved. It is necessary that our fates should
be decided. You are now upon the brink of a great pre-
cipice ; you will either fall over it, or save yourself, ac-
cording to the resolution you shall take. If, notwith-

SCBNBVIII.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 243

standing what you have seen, Prince, you act towards me
as you ought, and ask no other proof but that I tell you
you are wrong ; if you readily comply with my wishes and
are willing to believe me innocent upon my word alone,
and no longer yield to every suspicion, but blindly believe
what my heart tells you ; then this submission, this proof
of esteem, shall cancel all your offences ; I instantly retract
what I said when excited by well-founded anger. And if
hereafter I can choose for myself, without prejudicing
what I owe to my birth, then my honour, being satisfied
with the respect you so quickly show, promises to reward
your love with my heart and my hand. But listen now
to what I say. If you care so little for my offer as to
refuse completely to abandon your jealous suspicions ; if
the assurance which my heart and birth give you do not
suffice ; if the mistrust that darkens your mind compels
me, though innocent, to convince you, and to produce a
clear proof of my offended virtue, I am ready to do so,
and you shall be satisfied ; but you must then renounce
me at once, and for ever give up all pretensions to my
hand. I swear by Him who rules the Heavens, that,
whatever fate may have in store for us, I will rather die
than be yours ! I trust these two proposals may satisfy
you ; now choose which of the two pleases you.

GARC. Righteous Heaven ! Was there ever anything
more artful and treacherous ? Could hellish malice pro-
duce any perfidy so black? Could it have invented a
more severe and merciless way to embarrass a lover ? Ah !
ungrateful woman, you know well how to take advantage
of my great weakness, even against myself, and to employ
for your own purposes that excessive, astonishing, and
fatal love which you inspired.19 Because you have been
taken by surprise, and cannot find an excuse, you cun-
ningly offer to forgive me. You pretend to be good-
natured, and invent some trick to divert the consequences
of my vengeance ; you wish to ward off the blow that
threatens a wretch, by craftily entangling me with your
offer. Yes, your artifices would fain avert an explanation

19 The phrase " Ah ! ungrateful woman " until " inspired " is also found
in the Misanthrope, Act iv.. Scene 3 (see Vol. II).

244 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT iv.

which must condemn you ; pretending to be completely
innocent, you will give convincing proof of it only upon
such conditions as you think and most fervently trust I
will never accept ; but you are mistaken if you think to
surprise me. Yes, yes, I am resolved to see how you can
defend yourself; by what miracle you can justify the
horrible sight I beheld, and condemn my anger.

ELV. Consider that, by this choice, you engage your-
self to abandon all pretensions to the heart of Donna
Elvira.

GARC. Be it so ! I consent to everything ; besides, in
my present condition, I have no longer any pretensions.

ELV. You will repent the wrath you have displayed.

GARC. No, no, your argument is a mere evasion; I
ought rather to tell you that somebody else may perhaps
soon repent. The wretch, whoever he may be, shall not
be fortunate enough to save his life, if I wreak my ven-
geance.

ELV. Ha ! This can no longer be borne ; I am too an-
gry foolishly to preserve longer my good nature. Let me
abandon the wretch to his own devices, and, since he will
undergo his doom, let him — Eliza ! . . . ( To Don Gar-
cia]. You compel me to act thus ; but you shall see that
this outrage will be the last.

SCENE IX. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA, ELIZA, DON
ALVAREZ.

ELV. (To Eliza). Desire my beloved to come forth
. . . Go, you understand me, say that I wish it.

GARC. And can I ...

ELV. Patience, you will be satisfied.

EL. (Aside, going ouf). This is doubtless some new trick
of our jealous lover.

ELV. Take care at least that this righteous indignation
perseveres in its ardour to the end ; above all, do not
henceforth forget what price you have paid to see your
suspicions removed.

SCENE X. — DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA, DONNA INEZ,
ELIZA, DON ALVAREZ.

ELV. (To Don Garcia, showing him Donna Inez),

SCKNB xi.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 245

Thanks to Heaven, behold the cause of the generous sus-
picions you showed. Look well on that face, and see if
you do not at once recognize the features of Donna Inez.

GARC. O Heavens!

ELV. If the rage which fills your heart prevents you
from using your eyes, you can ask others, and thus leave
no room for doubt. It was necessary to pretend she was
dead, so that she might escape from the tyrant who perse-
cuted her : she disguised herself in this manner the better
to profit by her pretended death. (To Donna Inez). You
will pardon me, Madam, for having consented to betray
your secrets and to frustrate your expectations ; but I am
exposed to Don Garcia's insolence ; I am no longer free
to do as I wish ; my honour is a prey to his suspicions, and
is every moment compelled to defend itself. This jealous
man accidentally saw us embrace, and then he behaved
most disgracefully. (To Don Garcia}. Yes, behold the
cause of your sudden rage, and the convincing witness
of my disgrace. Now, like a thorough tyrant, enjoy the
explanation you have provoked ; but know that I shall
never blot from my memory the heinous outrage done to
my reputation. And if ever I forget my oath, may Hea-
ven shower its severest chastisements upon my head ; may a
thunderbolt descend upon me if ever I resolve to listen
to your love. Come, Madam, let us leave this spot, poi-
soned by the looks of a furious monster ; let us quickly
flee from his bitter attacks, let us avoid the consequences
of his mad rage, and animated by just motives, let us
only pray that we may soon be delivered from his hands.

INEZ. {To Don Garcia). My Lord, your unjust and vio-
lent suspicions have wronged virtue itself.

SCENE XI. — DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ.

GARC. What gleam of light clearly shows me my error,
and, at the same time, involves my senses in such a pro-
found horror that, dejected, I can see nothing but the
dreadful object of a remorse that kills me ! Ah ! Don Al-
varez, I perceive you were in the right ; but hell breathed
its poison into my soul ; through a merciless fatality I am
my worst enemy. What does it benefit me to love with
the most ardent passion that an amorous heart ever dis-

246 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; [ACT v.

played, if this love continually engenders suspicions which
torment me, and thus renders itself hateful ! I must, I
must justly revenge by my death the outrage committed
against her divine charms. What advice can I follow now ?
Alas ! I have lost the only object which made life dear to
me ! As I relinquished all hope of ever being beloved by
her, it is much easier to abandon life itself.

ALV. My Lord . . .

GARC. No, Don Alvarez, my death is necessary. No
pains, no arguments shall turn me from it ; yet my
approaching end must do some signal service to the Prin-
cess. Animated by this noble desire, I will seek some
glorious means of quitting life ; perform some mighty
deed worthy of my love, so that in expiring for her sake
she may pity me, and say, it was excess of love that was
my sole offence. Thus she shall see herself avenged ! I
must attempt a deed of daring, and with my own hand
give to Mauregat that death he so justly deserves. My
boldness will forestall the blow with which Castile openly
threatens him. With my last breath, I shall have the
pleasure of depriving my rival of performing such a glori-
ous deed.

ALV. So great a service, my Lord, may perhaps obliter-
ate all remembrance of your offence ; but to risk . . .

GARC. Let me fulfil my duty, and strive to make my
despair aid in this noble attempt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. — DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.

ALV. No, never was anyone more astonished. He had
just planned that lofty undertaking ; inspired by despair,
he was all anxiety to kill Mauregat ; eager to show his
courage, and to reap the advantage of this lawful deed ;
to endeavour to obtain his pardon, and prevent the mortifi-
cation of seeing his rival share his glory. As he was leav-
ing these walls, a too accurate report brought him the sad
tidings, that the very rival whom he wished to forestall had
already gained the honour he hoped to acquire : had an-
ticipated him, in slaying the traitor, and urged the appear-
ance of Don Alphonso, who will reap the fruits of Don

SCENE ii.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 247

Silvio's prompt success, and come to fetch the Princess,
his sister. It is publicly said and generally believed, that
Don Alphonso intends to give the hand of his sister as a
reward for the great services Don Silvio has rendered him,
by clearing for him a way to the throne.

EL. Yes, Donna Elvira has heard this news, which has
been confirmed by old Don Louis, who has sent her
word that Leon is now awaiting her happy return and that
of Don Alphonso, and that there, since fortune smiles
upon her, she shall receive a husband from the hands of
her brother. It is plain enough from these few words that
Don Silvio will be her husband.

ALV. This blow to the Prince's heart . . .

EL. Will certainly be severely felt. I cannot help pity-
ing his distress; yet, if I judge rightly, he is still dear to
the heart he has offended ; it did not appear to me that
the Princess was well pleased when she heard of Don
Silvio's success, and of the approaching arrival of her
brother, or with the letter; but . . .

SCENE II.: — DONNA ELVIRA, DONNA INEZ, ELIZA, DON
ALVAREZ.

ELV. Don Alvarez, let the Prince come hither. {Don
Alvarez leaves}. Give me leave, Madam, to speak to him
in your presence concerning this piece of news, which
greatly surprises me; and do not accuse me of changing
my mind too quickly, if I lose all my animosity against
him. His unforeseen misfortune has extinguished it ; he
is unhappy enough without the addition of my hatred.
Heaven, who treats him with so much rigour, has but too
well executed the oaths I took. When my honour was
outraged, I vowed openly never to be his ; but as I see
that fate is against him, I think I have treated his love with
too great severity ; the ill success that follows whatever he
does for my sake, cancels his offence, and restores him my
love. Yes, I have been too well avenged ; the wayward-
ness of his fate disarms my anger, and now, full of com-
passion, I am seeking to console an unhappy lover for his
misfortunes. I believe his love well deserves the compas-
sion I wish to show him.

INEZ. Madam, it would be wrong to blame the tender

348 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE ; [ACT v.

sentiments you feel for him. What he has done for you
. . . He comes ; and his paleness shows how deeply he
is affected by this surprising stroke of fate.

SCENE III. — DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, DONNA INEZ,
ELIZA.

GARC. Madam, you must think me very bold in daring
to come here to show you my hateful presence . . .

ELV. Prince, let us talk no more of my resentment ;
your fate has made a change in my heart. Its severity,
and your wretched condition have extinguished my anger,
and our peace is made. Yes, though you have deserved
the misfortunes with which Heaven in its wrath has
afflicted you; though your jealous suspicions have so
ignominiously, so almost incredibly, sullied my fame, yet
I must needs confess that I so far commiserate your mis-
fortune, as to be somewhat displeased with our success. I
hate the famous service Don Silvio has rendered us, be-
cause my heart must be sacrificed to reward it ; I would,
were it in my power, bring back the moments when
destiny put only my oath in my way. But you know that
it is the doom of such as we are, to be always the slaves
of public interests; that Heaven has ordained that my
brother, who disposes of my hand, is likewise my King.
Yield, as I do, Prince, to that necessity which rank im-
poses upon those of lofty birth. If you are very unfor-
tunate in your love, be comforted by the interest I take in
you ; and though you have been overwhelmed by fate, do
not employ the power which your valour gives you in this
place : it would, doubtless be unworthy of you to struggle
against destiny ; whilst it is in vain to oppose its decrees,
a prompt submission shows a lofty courage. Do not there-
fore resist its orders ; but open the gates of Astorga to my
brother who is coming ; allow my sad heart to yield to
those rights which he is entitled to claim from me ; perhaps
that fatal duty, which I owe him against my will, may not
go so far as you imagine.

GARC. Madam, you give me proofs of exquisite goodness
in endeavouring to lighten the blow that is prepared for
me, but without such pains you may let fall upon me all
the wrath which your duty demands. In my present condi-

SCENE iv.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 249

tion, I can say nothing. I have deserved the worst punish-
ments which fate can inflict ; and I know that, whatever
evils I may suffer, I have deprived myself of the right to
complain of them. Alas, amidst all my misfortunes, on what
grounds can I be bold enough to utter any complaint against
you? My love has rendered itself a thousand times odious,
and has done nothing but outrage your glorious charms;
when by a just and noble sacrifice, I was endeavouring to
render some service to your family, fortune abandoned me,
and made me taste the bitter grief of being forestalled
by a rival. After this, Madam, I have nothing more to
say. I deserve the blow which I expect; and I see it
coming, without daring to call upon your heart to assist me.
What remains for me in this extreme misfortune is to seek
a remedy in myself, and, by a death which I long for, free
my heart from all those tribulations. Yes, Don Alphonso
will soon be here; already my rival has made his ap-
pearance; he seems to have hurried hither from Leon, to
receive his reward for having killed the tyrant. Do not
fear that I shall use my power within these walls to offer
him any resistance. If you allowed it, there is no being
on earth which I would not defy in order to keep you; but
it is not for me, whom you detest, to expect such an honour-
able permission. No vain attempts of mine shall offer the
smallest opposition to the execution of your just designs.
No, Madam, your feelings are under no compulsion; you
are perfectly free. I will open the gates of Astorga to
the happy conqueror, and suffer the utmost severity of
fate.

SCENE IV. — DONNA ELVIRA, DONNA INEZ, ELIZA.

ELV. Madam, do not ascribe all my afflictions to
the interest which I take in his unhappy lot. You will
do me but justice if you believe that you have a large
share in my heart-felt grief; that I care more for friend-
ship than for love. If I complain of any dire misfortune,
ij is because Heaven in its anger has borrowed from me
those shafts which it hurls against you, and has made my
looks guilty of kindling a passion which treats your kind
heart unworthily.

INEZ. This is an accident caused, doubtless, by your looks,

250 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT v.

for which you ought not to quarrel with Heaven. If the
feeble charms which my countenance displays have exposed
me to the misfortune of my lover abandoning me, Heaven
could not better soften such a blow than by making use
of you to captivate that heart. I ought not to blush for an
inconstancy which indicates the difference between your
attractions and mine. If this change makes me sigh, it is
from foreseeing that it will be fatal to your love; amidst
the sorrow caused by friendship, I am angry for your sake
that my few attractions have failed to retain a heart whose
devotion interferes so greatly with the love you feel for
another.

ELV. Rather blame your silence, which, without reason,
concealed the understanding between your hearts. If I
had known this secret sooner, it might perhaps have
spared us both some sad trouble ; I might then coldly and
justly have refused to listen to the sighs of a fickle lover,
and perhaps have sent back whence they strayed . . .

INEZ. Madam, he is here.

ELV. You can remain without even looking at him.
Do not go away, Madam, but stay, and, though you suffer,
hear what I say to him.

INEZ. I consent, Madam ; though I very well know that
were another in my place, she would avoid being present
at such a conversation.

ELV. If Heaven seconds my wishes, Madam, you shall
have no cause to repine.

SCENE V. — DON ALPHONSO (believed to be Don Silvio),
DONNA ELVIRA, DONNA INEZ.

ELV. Before you say a word, my Lord, I earnestly beg
that you will deign to hear me for a moment. Fame has
already informed us of the marvellous deeds you have per-
formed. I wonder to see, as all do, how quickly and suc-
cessfully you have changed our lot. I know very well that
such an eminent service can never be sufficiently rewarded,
and that nothing ought to be refused to you for that never-
to-be-forgotten deed which replaces my brother on the
throne of his ancestors. But whatever his grateful heart
may offer you, make a generous use of your advantages,

SCENE v.] OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 251

and do not employ your glorious action, my Lord, to
make me bend under an imperious yoke; nor let your
love — for you know who is the object of my passion —
persist in triumphing over a well-founded refusal ; let not
my brother, to whom they are going to present me, begin
his reign by an act of tyranny over his sister. Leon has
other rewards which for the nonce, may do more honour
to your lofty valour. A heart which you can obtain only
by compulsion, would be too mean a reward for your
courage. Can a man be ever really satisfied when, by
coercion, he obtains what he loves? It is a melancholy
advantage ; a generous-minded lover refuses to be happy
upon such conditions. He will not owe anything to that
pressure which relatives think they have a right to employ ;
he is ever too fond of the maiden he loves, to suffer her
to be sacrificed as a victim, even to himself. Not that my
heart intends to grant to another what it refuses to you.
No, my Lord, I promise you, and pledge you my word of
honour, that no one shall ever obtain my hand, that a
convent shall protect me against every other . . .

ALPH. Madam, I have listened long enough to your dis-
course, and might, by two words, have prevented it all, if
you had given less credit to false tidings. I know that a
common report, which is everywhere believed, attributes
to me the glory of having killed the tyrant ; but as we
have been informed, the people alone, stirred up by Don
Louis to do their duty, have performed this honourable
and heroic act, which public rumour ascribed to me.
The reason of these tidings was that Don Louis, the better
to carry out his lofty purpose, spread a report that I and
my soldiers had made ourselves masters of the town ; by
this news he so excited the people, that they hastened to
kill the usurper. He has managed everything by his pru-
dent zeal, and has just sent me notice of this by one of
his servants. At the same time, a secret has been revealed
to me which will astonish you as much as it surprised me.
You expect a brother, and Leon its true master ; Heaven
now presents him before you. Yes, I am Don Alphonso;
I was brought up and educated under the name of Prince
of Castile ; this clearly proves the sincere friendship that
existed between Don Louis and the King, my father.

252 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT v.

Don Louis has all the proofs of this secret, and will estab-
lish its truth to the whole world. But now my thoughts
are taken up with other cares; I am clear how to act
towards you; not that my passion is opposed to such a
discovery, or that the brother in my heart quarrels with
the lover. The revelation of this secret has, without the
least murmur, changed my ardour into a love commanded
by nature ; the tie of relationship which unites us has so
entirely freed me from the love which I entertained for
you, that the highest favour I now long for is the sweet
delights of my first chain, and the means of rendering to
the adorable Inez that which her excessive goodness de-
serves.20 But the uncertainty of her lot renders mine mis-
erable; if what is reported be true, then it will be in vain
for Leon to invite me, and for a throne to wait for me ;
for a crown could not make me happy. I only wished for
its splendour in order to let me taste the joy of placing it
on the head of that maiden for whom Heaven destined
me, and by those means to repair, as far as I could, the
wrong I have done to her extraordinary virtues. It is from
you, Madam, I expect tidings as to what has become of
her. Be pleased to communicate them, and by your
words hasten my despair, or the happiness of my life.

ELV. Do not wonder if I delay answering you ; for this
news, my Lord, bewilders me. I will not take upon me
to tell your loving heart, whether Donna Inez be dead or
alive ; but this gentleman here, who is one of her most
intimate friends, will doubtless give you some informa-
tion about her.

ALPH. {Recognising Donna Inez). Ah, Madam, in this
dilemma I am happy to behold again your heavenly beauty.
But with what eye can you look upon a fickle lover, whose
crime . . .

INEZ. Ah ! do not insult me, and venture to state that a
heart, which I hold dear, could be inconstant. I cannot
bear the thought, and the apology pains me. All the
love you felt for the Princess could not offend rne, because
her great worth is a sufficient excuse. The love you bore

20 Compare the manner in which Andres, in The Blunderer (Act v.,
Scene 15), recognises his sister in Celia.

SCENE vi.J OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE. 253

her is no proof of your guilt towards me. Learn that if
you had been culpable, the lofty pride within me would
have made you sue in vain to overcome my contempt, and
that neither repentance nor commands could have induced
me to forget such an insult.

ELV. Ah, dear brother, — allow me to call you by this
gentle name, — you render your sister very happy ! I love
your choice, and bless fortune, which enables you to crown
so pure a friendship ! Of the two noble hearts I so ten-
derly love . . .

SCENE VI. — DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, DONNA INEZ,
DON ALPHONSO, ELIZA.

GARC. For mercy's sake, Madam, hide from me your
satisfaction, and let me die in the belief that a feeling of
duty compels you. I know you can freely dispose of your
hand ; I do not intend to run counter to your wishes. I
have proved this sufficiently, as well as my obedience to
your commands. But I must confess that this levity sur-
prises me, and shakes all my resolutions. Such a sight
awakens a storm of passion which I fear I cannot command,
though I would punish myself, if this could make me lose
that profound respect I wish to preserve. Yes, you have
ordered me to bear patiently my unfortunate love ; your
behest has so much influence over my heart, that I will
rather die than disobey you. But still, the joy you display
tries me too severely ; the wisest man, upon such an oc-
casion, can but ill answer for his conduct. Suppress it, I
beseech you, for a few moments, and spare me, Madam,
this cruel trial ; however great your love for my rival may
be, do not let me be a wretched witness of his felicity.
This is the smallest favour I think a lover may ask, even
when he is disliked as much as I am. I do not seek this
favour for long, Madam j my departure will soon satisfy
you. I go where sorrow shall consume my soul, and shall
learn your marriage only by hearsay; I ought not to hasten
to behold such a spectacle ; for, without seeing it, it
will kill me.

INEZ. Give me leave, my Lord, to blame you for com-
plaining, because the Princess has deeply felt your mis-
fortunes ; this very joy at which you murmur, arises solely

254 DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE; [ACT v.

from the happiness that is in store for you. She rejoices
in a success which has favoured your heart's desire, and
has discovered that your rival is her brother. Yes, Don
Alphonso, whose name has been so bruited about, is her
brother ; this great secret has just now been told to her.

ALPH. My heart, thank Heaven, after a long torture,
has all that it can desire, and deprives you of nothing, my
Lord. I am so much the happier, because I am able to
forward your love.

GARC. Alas ! my Lord, I am overwhelmed by your
goodness, which condescends to respond to my dearest
wishes. Heaven has averted the blow that I feared ; any
other man but myself would think himself happy. But
the fortunate discovery of this favourable secret, proves
oie to be culpable towards her I adore ; I have again suc-
cumbed to these wretched suspicions, against which I have
been so often warned, and in vain ; through them my love
has becomethateful, and I ought to despair of ever being
happy. Yes, Donna Elvira has but too good reason to
hate me ; I know I am unworthy of pardon ; and what-
ever success fortune may give me, death, death alone, is
all that I can expect.

ELV. No, no, Prince, your submissive attitude brings
more tender feelings into my heart ; I feel that the oath
I took is no longer binding on me ; your complaints, your
respect, your grief has moved me to compassion ; I see an
excess of love in all your actions, and your malady de-
serves to be pitied. Since Heaven is the cause of your
faults, some indulgence ought to be allowed to them ; in
one word, jealous or not jealous, my King will have no
compulsion to employ when he gives me to you.

GARC. Heaven ! enable me to bear the excess of joy
which this confession produces.

ALPH. I trust, my Lord, that after all our useless dissen-
sions, this marriage may forever unite our hearts and king-
doms. But time presses, and Leon expects us ; let us go
therefore, and, by our presence and watchfulness give the
last blow to the tyrant's party.

tw

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