Act 3

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_ ACT III

SCENE I.--MR. JOURDAIN, TWO LACKEYS.

MR. JOUR. Follow me, that I may go and show my clothes about the town; and be very careful, both of you, to walk close to my heels, so that people may see that you belong to me.

LACK. Yes, Sir.

MR. JOUR. Just call Nicole. I have some orders to give her. You need not move; here she comes.

SCENE II.--MR. JOURDAIN, NICOLE, TWO LACKEYS.

MR. JOUR. Nicole!

NIC. What is it, Sir?

MR. JOUR. Listen.

NIC. (_laughing_). Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. What are you laughing at?

NIC. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. What does the hussy mean?

NIC. Hi, hi, hi. What a figure you cut! Hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. Eh? What?

NIC. Ah! ah! my goodness! Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. What an impertinent jade! Are you laughing at me?

NIC. Oh no, Sir. I should be very sorry to do so. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. I'll slap your face if you laugh again.

NIC. I can't help it, Sir. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. Will you leave off?

NIC. Sir; I beg your pardon, Sir; but you are so very comical that I can't help laughing. Hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. Did you ever see such impudence?

NIC. You are so odd like that. Hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. I'll....

NIC. I beg of you to excuse me. Hi, hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. Look here, if you laugh again ever so little, I swear I will give you a box on the ears such as you never had before in all your life.

NIC. Well, Sir, I have done. I won't laugh any more.

MR. JOUR. Mind you don't. You must for this afternoon clean....

NIC. Hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. You must clean thoroughly....

NIC. Hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. You must, I say, clean the drawing-room, and....

NIC. Hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. Again?

NIC. (_tumbling down with laughing_). There, Sir, beat me rather, but let me laugh to my heart's content. I am sure it will be better for me. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. I am boiling with rage.

NIC. For pity's sake, Sir, let me laugh. Hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. If I begin....

NIC. Si-r-r, I shall bur-r-st if I d-don't laugh. Hi, hi, hi.

MR. JOUR. But did you ever see such a hussy? She comes and laughs at me to my face, instead of attending to my orders.

NIC. What is it you wish me to do, Sir.

MR. JOUR. I want you to get this house ready for the company which is to come here by and by.

NIC. (_getting up_). Ah, well! All my wish to laugh is gone now; your company brings such disorder here that what you say is quite sufficient to put me out of temper.

MR. JOUR. I suppose that, to please you, I ought to shut my door against everybody?

NIC. Anyhow, you would do just as well to shut it against certain people, Sir.

SCENE III.--MRS. JOURDAIN, MR. JOURDAIN, NICOLE, TWO SERVANTS.

MRS. JOUR. Ah me! Here is some new vexation! Why, husband, what do you possibly mean by this strange get-up? Have you lost your senses that you go and deck yourself out like this, and do you wish to be the laughing-stock of everybody wherever you go?

MR. JOUR. Let me tell you, my good wife, that no one but a fool will laugh at me.

MRS. JOUR. No one has waited until to-day for that; and it is now some time since your ways of going on have been the amusement of everybody.

MR. JOUR. And who may everybody be, please?

MRS. JOUR. Everybody is a body who is in the right, and who has more sense than you. For my part, I am quite shocked at the life you lead. I don't know our home again. One would think, by what goes on, that it was one everlasting carnival here; and as soon as day breaks, for fear we should have any rest in it, we have a regular din of fiddles and singers, that are a positive nuisance to all the neighbourhood.

NIC. What mistress says is quite right. There is no longer any chance of having the house clean with all that heap of people you bring in. Their feet seem to have gone purposely to pick up the mud in the four quarters of the town in order to bring it in here afterwards; and poor Francoise is almost off her legs with the constant scrubbing of the floors, which your masters come and dirty every day as regular as clockwork.

MR. JOUR. I say there, our servant Nicole; you have a pretty sharp tongue of your own for a country wench.

MRS. JOUR. Nicole is right, and she has more sense by far than you have. I should like to know, for instance, what you mean to do with a dancing master at your age?

NIC. And with that big fencing master, who comes here stamping enough to shake the whole house down and to tear up the floor tiles of our rooms.

MR. JOUR. Gently, my servant and my wife.

MRS. JOUR. Do you mean to learn dancing for the time when you can't stand on your legs any longer?

NIC. Do you intend to kill anybody?

MR. JOUR. Hold your tongues, I say. You are only ignorant women, both of you, and understand nothing concerning the prerogative of all this.

MRS. JOUR. You would do much better to think of seeing your daughter married, for she is now of an age to be provided for.

MR. JOUR. I shall think of seeing my daughter married when a suitable match presents itself; but, in the meantime, I wish to think of acquiring fine learning.

NIC. I have heard say also, mistress, that, to go the whole hog, he has now taken a professor of philosophy.

MR. JOUR. To be sure I have. I wish to be clever, and reason concerning things with people of quality.

MRS. JOUR. Had you not better go to school one of these days, and get the birch, at your age?

MR. JOUR. Why not? Would to heaven I were flogged this very instant, before all the world, so that I might know all they learn at school.

NIC. Yes, to be sure; that would much improve the shape of your leg.

MR. JOUR. Of course.

MRS. JOUR. And all this is very necessary for the management of your house.

MR. JOUR. Certainly. You both speak like asses; and I am ashamed of your ignorance. (_To_ MRS. JOURDAIN) Let me see, for instance, if you know what you are speaking this very moment.

MRS. JOUR. Yes, I know that what I speak is rightly spoken; and that you should think of leading a different life.

MR. JOUR. I do not mean that. I ask you what the words are which you are now speaking.

MRS. JOUR. They are sensible words, I tell you, and that is more than your conduct is.

MR. JOUR. I am not speaking of that. I ask you what it is that I am now saying to you. That which I am now speaking to you, what is it?

MRS. JOUR. Rubbish.

MR. JOUR. No! no! I don't mean that. What we both speak; the language we are speaking this very moment.

MRS. JOUR. Well?

MR. JOUR. How is it called?

MRS. JOUR. It is called whatever you like to call it.

MR. JOUR. It is prose, you ignorant woman.

MRS. JOUR. Prose?

MR. JOUR. Whatever is prose is not verse, and whatever is not verse is prose. There! you see what it is to study. (_To_ NICOLE) And you, do you even know what you must do to say _u_?

NIC. Eh? What?

MR. JOUR. Yes; what do you do when you say _u_?

NIC. What I do?

MR. JOUR. Say _u_ a little to try.

NIC. Well, _u_.

MR. JOUR. What is it you do?

NIC. I say _u_.

MR. JOUR. Yes; but when you say _u_, what is it you do?

NIC. I do what you ask me to do.

MR. JOUR. Oh! What a strange thing it is to have to do with dunces! You pout your lips outwards, and bring your upper jaw near your lower jaw like this, _u_; I make a face; _u_. Do you see?

NIC. Yes, that's beautiful.

MRS. JOUR. It's admirable!

MR. JOUR. What would you say then if you had seen _o_, and _da, da_, and _fa, fa_?

MRS. JOUR. What is all this absurd stuff?

NIC. And what are we the better for all this?

MR. JOUR. I have no patience with such ignorant women.

MRS. JOUR. Believe me, pack off all those people with their ridiculous fooleries.

NIC. And particularly that great scraggy fencing master, who fills the whole place with dust.

MR. JOUR. Goodness me! The fencing master seems to set your teeth on edge. Come here, and I will show you at once your senseless impertinence. (_He asks for two foils, and gives one to_ NICOLE.) Here, reason demonstrative the line of the body. When you thrust in quart, you have only to do so; and, when you thrust in tierce, only to do so! That is the way never to be killed; and is it not a fine thing to be quite safe when one fights against anybody? There, thrust at me a little to try.

NIC. Well, what? (NICOLE _gives him several thrusts_)

MR. JOUR. Gently! Hold! Oh! Softly. Deuce take the wench!

NIC: You tell me to thrust at you.

MR. JOUR. Yes; but you thrust in tierce before thrusting at me in quart, and you haven't the patience to wait till I parry.

MRS. JOUR. You are crazy, husband, with all your fads; and this has come upon you since you have taken it into your head to frequent the gentlefolk.

MR. JOUR. By frequenting the gentlefolk I show my judgment. It is surely better than keeping company with your citizens.

MRS. JOUR. Yes: there is much good to be got by frequenting your nobility, and you have done a noble stroke of business with that fine count with whom you are so wrapped up.

MR. JOUR. Peace. Be careful what you say. Let me tell you, wife, that you do not know of whom you are speaking when you speak of him! He is a man of more importance than you can imagine, a nobleman who is held in great honour at court, and who speaks to the king just as I speak to you. Is it not a thing which does me great honour that such a person should be seen so often in my house, should call me his dear friend, and should treat me as if I were his equal? He has more kindness for me than you could ever guess, and he treats me before the world with such affection that I am perfectly ashamed.

MRS. JOUR. Yes; he is kind to you, and flatters you, but he borrows your money of you.

MR. JOUR. Well? Is it not a great honour to lend money to a man of his position? And could I do less for a lord who calls me his dear friend?

MRS. JOUR. And this lord, what does he do for you?

MR. JOUR. Things that would astound you if you only knew them.

MRS. JOUR. But what?

MR. JOUR. There! I can't explain myself. It is quite sufficient that, if I have lent him money, he will give it back to me, and that before long.

MRS. JOUR. Yes, trust him for that.

MR. JOUR. Certainly I will. Has he not said so?

MRS. JOUR. Yes, yes; and he won't fail not to do it.

MR. JOUR. He has given me his word as a gentleman.

MRS. JOUR. Mere stuff.

MR. JOUR. Dear me! You are very obstinate, wife! I tell you that he will keep his word; I am quite sure of it.

MRS. JOUR. And I am quite sure that he won't; and that all the caresses he loads you with are only meant to deceive you.

MR. JOUR. Be silent; here he comes.

MRS. JOUR. That's to finish up. He comes, no doubt, to borrow from you again; the very sight of him takes my appetite away.

MR. JOUR. Hold your tongue, I tell you.

SCENE IV.--DORANTE, MR. JOURDAIN, MRS. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.

DOR. Mr. Jourdain, my dear friend, how do you do?

MR. JOUR. Very well, Sir; at your service.

DOR. And Mrs. Jourdain, how does she do?

MRS. JOUR. Mrs. Jourdain does as well as may be.

DOR. I declare, Mr. Jourdain, that you have the most genteel dress in the world.

MR. JOUR. You see.

DOR. You look exceedingly well in this dress, and we have no young men at court better made than you.

MR. JOUR. He! he!

MRS. JOUR. (_aside_). He scratches him where it itches.

DOR. Turn round. This is quite gallant.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside_). Yes, as fine a fool behind as before.

DOR. Indeed, Mr. Jourdain, I was very impatient to see you. You are the man I esteem most in the world, and I was talking of you again this very morning at the king's levee.

MR. JOUR. You do me too much honour, Sir. (_To_ MRS. JOURDAIN) At the king's levee.

DOR. Come, put on your hat.

MR. JOUR. Sir, I know the respect I owe you;

DOR. Pray, put on your hat. No ceremony between us, I beg.

MR. JOUR. Sir!

DOR. Nay! nay! Put on your hat, I tell you, Mr. Jourdain; you are my friend.

MR. JOUR. Sir, I am your humble servant.

DOR. I will not put mine on unless you do.

MR. JOUR. (_putting on his hat_). I had rather be unmannerly than troublesome.

DOR. I am your debtor, as you know.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside_). Yes, we know it but too well.

DOR. On several occasions you have generously lent me some money, and you have obliged me, I must acknowledge, with the best grace in the world.

MR. JOUR. Sir, I beg of you.

DOR. But I know how to pay back what is lent to me, and how to acknowledge services rendered.

MR. JOUR. I have no doubt about it, Sir.

DOR. I want to acquit myself towards you, and I have come to settle my accounts.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). Well? Do you see how wrong you were, wife?

DOR. I like to get out of debt as soon as I can.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). Did I not tell you so?

DOR. Let us see how much I owe you.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). There you are, with your absurd suspicions.

DOR. Do you quite remember how much you have lent me?

MR. JOUR. I believe so. I have made a little memorandum of it. Here it is. At one time I gave you two hundred louis.

DOR. Quite true.

MR. JOUR. At another time, one hundred and twenty.

DOR. Yes.

MR. JOUR. At another time, one hundred and forty.

DOR. You are quite right.

MR. JOUR. These three payments make four hundred and sixty louis, which comes to five thousand and sixty livres.

DOR. This account is quite correct; five thousand and sixty livres.

MR. JOUR. One thousand eight hundred and thirty-two livres to your plume seller.

DOR. Just so.

MR. JOUR. Two thousand seven hundred and eighty livres to your tailor.

DOR. It is true.

MR. JOUR. Four thousand three hundred and seventy-nine livres, twelve sous, eight deniers, to your tradesman.

DOR. Twelve sous, eight deniers; the account is perfectly right.

MR. JOUR. And one thousand seven hundred and forty-eight livres, seven sous, four deniers, to your saddler.

DOR. It is so. How much does all this come to?

MR. JOUR. Sum-total, fifteen thousand eight hundred livres.

DOR. The sum-total is exact; fifteen thousand eight hundred livres. Add to this two hundred pistoles which you are going to lend me, and it will make exactly eighteen thousand francs, which I will pay you at the first opportunity.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). Well? Did I not guess right?

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). Peace!

DOR. Will it be inconvenient to you to lend me what I say?

MR. JOUR. Oh dear! no.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). That man makes a milch-cow of you.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). Be silent!

DOR. If I at all inconvenience you, I will get it elsewhere.

MR. JOUR. No, Sir.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). He won't be satisfied until he has ruined you.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). Hold your tongue, I say.

DOR. You have only to tell me if this will embarrass you.

MR. JOUR. Not at all, Sir.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). He is a regular deceiver.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). Do hold your peace.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). He will drain you to the last penny.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). Will you hold your tongue?

DOR. There are a great many people who would advance me money with pleasure; but as I look upon you as my best friend, I was afraid of wronging you if I asked it of anyone else.

MR. JOUR. You do me too much honour, Sir. I will go and fetch what you want.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside_ to MR. JOURDAIN). What! are you going to give him that also?

MR. JOUR. (_aside_ to MRS. JOURDAIN). What can I do? How can I refuse a man of such rank, a man who spoke of me this morning at the king's levee.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside_ to MR. JOURDAIN). There, go; you are nothing but a dupe.

SCENE V.--DORANTE, MRS. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.

DOR. You appear to me quite low-spirited! What can be the matter with you, Mrs. Jourdain?

MRS. JOUR. My head is bigger than my fist, and yet it isn't swollen.

DOR. Where is your daughter, that I have not seen her?

MRS. JOUR. My daughter is very well where she is.

DOR. How does she get on?

MRS. JOUR. She gets on on her two legs.

DOR. Would you not like one of these days to come with her to see the ballet and the play which are being acted at court?

MRS. JOUR. Ah! yes. We have a great fancy for laughing, a great fancy have we!

DOR. I think, Mrs. Jourdain, that you must have had plenty of lovers in your young days, so handsome, and so sweet-tempered as you must have been.

MRS. JOUR. My goodness, Sir! Has Mrs. Jourdain grown decrepit, and does her head already shake on her shoulders?

DOR. Oh! Mrs Jourdain, I really beg your pardon! I had forgotten that you are young, and I am very often absent. I beg of you to excuse my impertinence.

SCENE VI.--MR. JOURDAIN, MRS. JOURDAIN, DORANTE, NICOLE.

MR. JOUR. (_to_ DORANTE). Here are two hundred louis in full.

DOR. I assure you, Mr. Jourdain, that you may dispose of me in any way you like, and that I long to render you some service at court.

MR. JOUR. I am much obliged to you.

DOR. If Mrs. Jourdain wishes to see the royal entertainment, [Footnote: 'The Magnificent Lovers.'] I will obtain the best places in the room for her.

MRS. JOUR. Mrs. Jourdain is your humble servant.

DOR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). Our lovely marchioness, as I told you in my note, is coming here this afternoon for the ballet and the banquet, as I have at last prevailed on her to accept the entertainment you wish to give her. [Footnote: _Cadeau_ does not mean "present," as at first sight it seems to mean. Compare also the next speech of Dorante.]

MR. JOUR. Let us go a little further. I need not tell you the reason.

DOR. It is a whole week since I saw you; and I did not send you any news of the diamond which you placed in my hands to make her a present of from you; it is because I found it the most difficult thing in the world to make her accept it; and it is only to-day that she could conquer her scruples about it.

MR. JOUR. How does she like it?

DOR. Exceedingly; and, unless I am greatly mistaken, the beauty of that diamond will produce an admirable effect on her mind towards you.

MR. JOUR. Ah, may it be so!

MRS. JOUR. (_to_ NICOLE). When once he is with him, he can't leave him.

DOR. I described to her in glowing colours the expense of such a present, and the greatness of your love.

MR. JOUR. Your kindness is too much for me, Sir, and I feel perfectly ashamed to see a man of such high standing condescend to do for me the things you do.

DOR. Nonsense! Do friends stand upon such scruples? and would you not do for me the very same thing if the opportunity presented itself?

MR. JOUR. Oh, decidedly, and with all my heart!

MRS. JOUR. (_aside to_ NICOLE). How hard for me to bear with his presence.

DOR. For my part, I hesitate at nothing when I want to serve a friend; and as soon as you told me of your admiration for this charming marchioness, with whom I was acquainted, you saw me at once put myself at your disposal to serve your love.

MR. JOUR. It is perfectly true. Such kindness confounds me.

MRS. JOUR. (_to_ NICOLE). Will he never go?

NIC. (_to_ MRS. JOURDAIN). They are very thick together.

DOR. You went the right way to work to touch her heart. There is nothing women like more than the expenses one makes for them; and your frequent serenades, your numerous bouquets, the magnificent display of fireworks which she saw on the water, the diamond which she received from you, and the entertainment you are preparing for her, all this tells more in favour of your love than all the speeches you could make to her about it.

MR. JOUR. There is no expense I would not make to find access to her heart. A woman of quality has for me the most dazzling charms, and it is an honour which I would purchase at any price.

MRS. JOUR. (_aside to_ NICOLE). What on earth can they have to say together? Go and listen!

DOR. You will enjoy to-day the pleasure of seeing her; and your eyes will have full leisure to satisfy themselves.

MR. JOUR. In order to be free, I have arranged for my wife to go and dine with my sister, and she will spend the whole-afternoon there.

DOR. You have acted wisely, for your wife might be in the way. I have given the necessary orders to the cook, and for everything which may be necessary for the ballet. It is my own invention, and if the execution comes up to the conception, I am sure that it will be found....

MR. JOUR. (_seeing_ NICOLE _listening, and giving her a box on the ears_). Ha! you rude, impertinent hussy! (_To_ DORANTE) Let us go out, if you please.

SCENE VII.--MRS. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.

NIC. Well, Madam, my curiosity has cost me something; but all the same I believe that there is something in the wind, for they were speaking of an affair where they do not wish you to be present.

MRS. JOUR. This is not the first time, Nicole, that I have had some suspicions about my husband. Either I am greatly mistaken or there is some love affair on foot; and I am doing my best to discover what it maybe. But, first of all, let us think of my daughter. You know that Cleonte loves her; he is a man after my own heart, and I wish to help him, and give him to Lucile if I can.

NIC. To tell you the truth, Madam, I am delighted to find you think so; for if the master pleases you, the servant pleases me as well, and I wish our own marriage could take place at the same time as theirs.

MRS. JOUR. Go, then, and speak to him about what I told you; and tell him to come presently, that we may both together ask my husband to grant him my daughter.

NIC. I run with joy, Madam, and I could not receive a more pleasant order. (_Alone_.) How happy I am going to make certain people!

SCENE VIII.--NICOLE, CLEONTE, COVIELLE.

NIC. Ah, what a lucky meeting! I am a messenger of joy, and I came....

CLE. Leave me, false woman, and don't think of deceiving me with your treacherous words.

NIC. Do you receive me in that way?

CLE. Leave me, I say, and go and tell your faithless mistress that she never shall again deceive the too credulous Cleonte.

NIC. What a change? My poor Covielle, tell me, I pray, what all this means.

COV. Your poor Covielle, indeed, you wicked girl! Go, minx! decamp; get out of my sight as fast as you can, and leave me alone!

NIC. What! and do you also...?

COV. Get out of my sight, I say; I will never speak to you any more, as long as I live.

NIC. (_aside_). Mercy on us! What has happened to both of them? I must go and tell my mistress this pretty piece of news.

SCENE IX.--CLEONTE, COVIELLE.

CLE. What! to treat a lover in that fashion, and the most faithful and affectionate of all lovers!

COV. It is shameful what they have done to both of us!

CLE. I show her all possible ardour and tenderness; I love nothing in the world better, and have nothing in my thoughts but her; she is all my care, all my desire, all my joy; I speak of nothing but her, think of nothing but her, dream of nothing but her. I live but for her; my heart beats but for her; and, behold the reward of so much devotion! I am two whole days without seeing her, two days which seem to me centuries of frightful length; I meet her by accident, my heart at the sight of her feels transported; joy sparkles in my face. I fly to her with delight, and the faithless one turns away her eyes, and passes by me hastily, as if she had never seen me before in her life!

COV. I can only repeat the same story.

CLE. Can anything be compared, Covielle, to the perfidy of the ungrateful Lucile?

COV. And to that, Sir, of that hussy Nicole?

CLE. After so many passionate sacrifices, sighs, and vows which I have paid to her charms!

COV. After so many attentions, cares, and services I have rendered her in the kitchen!

CLE. So many tears that I have shed at her feet!

COV. So many buckets of water that I have drawn for her from the well!

CLE. Such warmth as I have shown in loving her more than myself!

COV. Such heat as I have endured in turning the spit for her!

CLE. She avoids me with contempt!

COV. She rudely turns her back upon me!

CLE. This perfidy deserves the greatest chastisement.

COV. This treachery deserves a thousand blows.

CLE. Mind, you never speak to me of her any more.

COV. I, Sir? Heaven forbid!

CLE. Do not venture to palliate her wrongs before me.

COV. Never fear.

CLE. No; for all you would say in her defence would be lost upon me.

COV. Who dreams of such a thing?

CLE. I wish to nurse up my wrath against her, and to break off all intercourse with her.

COV. I am quite willing.

CLE. This count who goes to her house has turned her head, no doubt; and rank, I see, dazzles her mind. But I must, for my own honour, prevent her triumphing in her inconstancy. I will do as much as she does towards a change which I plainly see she desires, and I will not let her have all the pleasure of having dismissed me.

COV. You are in the right, and I enter into all your feelings.

CLE. Help me in my resentment, and support my resolution against the remainder of my love that might still plead for her. Tell me, I pray you, all the evil you can think of her. Draw a description of her person which may bring her down in my estimation, and, in order to make me dislike her more surely, show me all the defects you can see in her.

COV. She, indeed, Sir! a fine specimen, a fine piece of affectation to be in love with! I see nothing in her but the most common attractions, and you will find a thousand girls more worthy of your love than she is. To begin with, her eyes are small... [Footnote: It is Moliere's wife that is here described.]

CLE. Yes, it is true, her eyes are small, Covielle; but they are full of fire, the most sparkling, the most searching in the world, and the tenderest also that could be found.

COV. Her mouth is large....

CLE. Yes; but you find there charms that can be found in no other. The sight of that mouth inspires me with love; it is the most attractive and the most amorous mouth in the world!

COV. As to her height, she is not tall.

CLE. No; but she is well shaped and graceful.

COV. She affects great carelessness in her speech, and her movements....

CLE. It is true; but she is graceful in all she does, and her manners are attractive, and possess a certain charm which at once takes possession of one's heart.

COV. As for wit....

CLE. Ah, Covielle! her wit is of the most refined, the most delicate kind.

COV. Her conversation....

CLE. Her conversation is charming.

COV. It is always grave.

CLE. Would you prefer an unrestrained gaiety, a perpetual liveliness? and can you find anything more unpleasant than those women who giggle at everything?

COV. But, in short, she is as whimsical as any woman can be.

CLE. Yes, she is, I agree with you there; but everything becomes those we love. We bear everything from them.

COV. Since you go on so, I see pretty well that you are determined to love her still.

CLE. I? I had rather die this moment, and I mean in future to hate her as much as I loved her before.

COV. How can you if you think her so perfect?

CLE. In this way shall my revenge shine; in this way shall the strength of my decision to hate her be better displayed; if thinking her most beautiful, most charming, most amiable, I still part from her. Here she is.

SCENE X.--LUCILE, CLEONTE, COVIELLE, NICOLE.

NIC. (_to_ LUCILE). I was quite shocked at it.

LUC. It can only be what I tell you, Nicole; but there he is.

CLE. (_to_ COVIELLE). I will not condescend even to speak to her.

COV. I will do like you.

LUC. What is it, Cleonte? What can be the matter with you?

NIC. What ails you, Covielle?

LUC. What trouble afflicts you?

NIC. What fit of bad temper has got hold of you?

LUC. Are you dumb, Cleonte?

NIC. Have you lost your tongue, Covielle?

CLE. How deceitful she is!

COV. How Judas-like!

LUC. I see that our meeting of this morning has troubled your mind.

CLE. (_to_ COVIELLE). Ah! ah! we are conscious of what we have done?

NIC. Our reception of this morning has put you out.

COV. (_to_ CLEONTE). We know where the shoe pinches.

LUC. Is it not true, Cleonte; is not this the cause of your vexation?

CLE. Yes, faithless girl, it is, since I am to speak; but I must inform you that you shall not have, as you fancy, all the glory of your faithlessness; I wish to be the first to break with you, and you shall not have the pleasure of driving me away. I shall find it hard, I know, to conquer the love I feel for you; it will bring grief to me; I am sure, to suffer for a while; but I will overcome it, and I had rather stab myself to the heart than be weak enough to return to you.

COV. (_to_ NICOLE). As the master says, so says the man.

LUC. This is much ado about nothing, Cleonte, and I wish to tell you what made me avoid you this morning.

CLE. (_trying to go away to avoid_ LUCILE). I will hear nothing.

NIC. (_to_ COVIELLE). I want to tell you why we passed you so quickly.

COV. (_trying also to go away to avoid_ NICOLE). I will hear nothing.

LUC. (_following_ CLEONTE). Know, then, that this morning....

CLE. (_still walking away without looking at_ LUCILE). No, I tell you.

NIC. (_following_ COVIELLE). Let me tell you....

COV. (_still walking away without looking at_ NICOLE). No, you jilt!

LUC. Listen.

CLE. Don't trouble me.

NIC. Let me tell you.

COV. I am deaf.

LUC. Cleonte!

CLE. No.

NIC. Covielle!

COV. No.

LUC. Wait.

CLE. Nonsense.

NIC. Listen to me.

COV. Rubbish.

LUC. One moment.

CLE. Not a bit.

NIC. A little patience.

COV. Fiddle-de-dee!

LUC. A couple of words.

CLE. No; all is over.

NIC. One word.

COV. Not one.

LUC. (_stopping_). Very well! Since you will not listen to me, keep your own thoughts to yourself, and do as you please.

NIC. (_stopping also_). Since you act in that fashion, think what you like.

CLE. (_turning towards_ LUCILE). Well, what was the reason for such a welcome?

LUC. (_going away in her turn_, _to avoid_ CLEONTE). I don't choose to tell you now.

COV. (_turning towards_ NICOLE). Give us that story.

NIC. (_going away also_, _to avoid_ COVIELLE). I don't wish to tell it you now.

CLE. (_following_ LUCILE). Tell me....

LUC. (_walking away without looking at_ CLEONTE). No; I will tell you nothing.

COV. (_following_ NICOLE). Relate to me....

NIC. (_walking away without looking at_ COVIELLE). No; I shall relate nothing.

CLE. For mercy's sake!

LUC. No, I tell you.

COV. For pity's sake!

NIC. No; not another word.

CLE. I beseech you.

LUC. Leave me.

COV. I entreat you.

NIC. Get away from here.

CLE. Lucile!

LUC. No.

COV. Nicole!

NIC. Nothing.

CLE. For heaven's sake.

LUC. I will not.

COV. Speak to me.

NIC. I won't.

CLE. Clear up my doubts.

LUC. No; I will do nothing of the kind.

COV. Ease my mind.

NIC. No; it is not my wish to do so.

CLE. Very well! Since you care so little to relieve my grief, and to justify yourself of the unworthy treatment my love has received from you, you see me for the last time; and I am going away from you to die of grief and love.

COV. (_to_ NICOLE). And I will follow his steps.

LUC. (_to_ CLEONTE, _who is going_). Cleonte!

NIC. (_to_ COVIELLE, _who is going_). Covielle!

CLE. (_stopping_). Hey?

COV. (_stopping also_). What do you say?

LUC. Where are you going?

CLE. Where I have told you.

COV. We are going to die.

LUC. You are going to die, Cleonte?

CLE. Yes, cruel one, since you wish it.

LUC. I! I wish you to die!

CLE. Yes, you wish it.

LUC. Who told you such a thing?

CLE. Is it not wishing it, to refuse to clear up my suspicions?

LUC. Is it my fault? If you had but listened to me, I would have told you at once that the treatment you complain of was caused by the presence of an old aunt, who persists in saying that the mere approach of a man is dishonour to a girl; she is always lecturing us about it, and depicts all men to us as so many scamps whom we ought always to avoid.

NIC. (_to_ COVIELLE.) This is the whole secret of the affair.

CLE. (_to_ LUCILE). Are you not deceiving me, Lucile?

COV. (_to_ NICOLE). Are you not imposing upon me?

LUC. It is the exact truth.

NIC. That's how it is.

COV. (_to_ CLEONTE). Shall we surrender after this?

CLE. Ah! Lucile! How you can with one word bring back peace to my heart; and how easily we suffer ourselves to be persuaded by those we love.

COV. How easily these queer animals succeed in getting round us.

SCENE XI.--MRS. JOURDAIN, CLEONTE, LUCILE, COVIELLE, NICOLE.

MRS. JOUR. I am very glad to see you, Cleonte. You are just in time, for my husband will be here in a moment. Seize that opportunity of asking him to give you Lucile in marriage.

CLE. Oh! how welcome these kind words are, and how well they correspond to the inmost wishes of my heart. Could I ever receive an order more flattering, a favour more precious?

SCENE XII.--CLEONTE, MR. JOURDAIN, MRS. JOURDAIN, LUCILE, COVIELLE, NICOLE.

CLE. Sir, I would not ask anybody to come instead of me to make you a request which I have long wished to make. The matter interests me too much for me not to do it myself. Allow me to tell you then, without further words, that the honour of becoming your son-in-law is a favour I earnestly solicit, and one which I beseech you to grant me.

MR. JOUR. Before I give you an answer, Sir, I beg you to tell me if you are a nobleman.

CLE. Sir, most people would answer that question without any hesitation whatever. The word is easily spoken; a title is generally adopted without scruple, and present custom seems to sanction the theft. For my part, however, I must confess that I look upon any kind of imposture as unworthy of an honest man. I think it base to hide what heaven has made us, to adorn ourselves before the world with a title, and to wish to pass for what we are not. I am the son of parents who have filled honourable offices. I have acquitted myself with honour in the army, where I served for six years, and I am rich enough to hold a tolerable position in the world; but for all this, I will not assume a name that others might think I could pretend to in my position, and I tell you openly that I cannot be reckoned a nobleman.

MR. JOUR. Shake hands, then, my daughter is no wife for you.

CLE. How! May I know...?

MR. JOUR. You are not a nobleman, therefore you shall not have my daughter.

MRS. JOUR. What is it you mean by your nobleman? Are we ourselves descended from St. Louis?

MR. JOUR. Be silent, wife; I see what you are driving at.

MRS. JOUR. Are we not both descended from good, simple tradesmen?

MR. JOUR. Is not that a wicked slander?

MRS. JOUR. Was not your father a tradesman as well as mine?

MR. JOUR. Plague take the woman! She has never done with that. If your father was a tradesman, so much the worse for him; as for mine, it is only ill-informed people who say so, and all I have to tell you is that I will have a gentleman for my son-in-law.

MRS. JOUR. Your daughter must have a husband who suits her; and it is better for her to marry an honest man, rich and handsome, than a deformed and beggarly gentleman.

NIC. That's quite true. We have the son of the squire in our village, who is the most awkwardly built and stupid noodle that I have ever seen in my life.

MR. JOUR. (_to_ NICOLE). Hold your tongue, will you? and mind your own business. I have wealth enough and to spare for my daughter. I only wish for honours, and I will have her a marchioness.

MRS. JOUR. A marchioness?

MR. JOUR. Yes, a marchioness.

MRS. JOUR. alas! God forbid.

MR. JOUR. It's a thing that I'm determined upon.

MRS. JOUR. I will never consent to it. Marriages between people who are not of the same rank are always subject to the most serious inconveniences. I do not wish to have a son-in-law who would have it in his power to reproach my daughter with her parentage; nor that she should have children who would be ashamed to call me their grandmother. If she came to see me with the equipage of a grand lady, and failed through inadvertency to salute some of the neighbours, people would not fail to say a thousand ill-natured things. "Just see," they would say, "our lady the marchioness, who is so puffed up now, she is Mr. Jourdain's daughter; she was only too pleased, when a child, to play at my lady with us. She has not always been so exalted as now, and her two grandfathers sold cloth near St. Innocents' Gate. They have laid a great deal of money by for their children, for which, may be, they are now paying dearly in the other world, for one does not generally become so rich by honest means." I do not wish to give occasion for such gossip, and I desire to meet with a man who, to cut it short, will be grateful to me for my daughter, and to whom I can say, "Sit down there, son-in-law, and dine with me."

MR. JOUR. How all these feelings show a narrow mind, satisfied to live for ever in a low condition of life. Let me have no more replies; my daughter shall be a marchioness in spite of everybody, and if you provoke me too much, I will make her a duchess.

SCENE XIII.--MRS. JOURDAIN, LUCILE, CLEONTE, NICOLE, COVIELLE.

MRS. JOUR. Do not give up all hope, Cleonte. Follow me, Lucile; come and tell your father with firmness and decision that, unless you have Cleonte for a husband, you will never marry.

SCENE XIV.--CLEONTE, COVIELLE.

COV. Well! you have done a fine piece of work, with your lofty sentiments.

CLE. What could I do? I have scruples on that subject which no precedent could overcome.

COV. What nonsense to be serious with a man like that! Do you not see that he is infatuated with one idea, and would it have cost you much to fall in with his gentility?

CLE. I am afraid you are right; but the fact is I had not thought before that it was necessary to show proofs of gentility in order to become Mr. Jourdain's son-in-law.

COV. (_laughing_). Ha! ha! ha!

CLE. What are you laughing at?

COV. At the thought of something that has just come into my head; it will play off our man, and help you to succeed in what you want.

CLE. How so?

COV. It is most amusing even to think of it.

CLE. What is it?

COV. We have had lately a certain masquerade, which seems to me the very thing wanted, and which I mean to make use of to play a trick on our absurd old fellow. The whole affair seems rather silly, but with him we may risk many things; there is no need of much cunning, and he is one to play his part wonderfully well, and to swallow greedily all the nonsense we may venture to tell him. I have actors and costumes all ready; only leave it to me.

CLE. But tell me....

COV. Yes, I must tell you all about it; but let us go away, for here he is coming back again.

SCENE XV.--MR. JOURDAIN (_alone_).

What the deuce does it all mean? They do nothing but reproach me with my great lords, and I, for my part, see nothing so fine as to associate with great lords; we find only honour and civility with them; and I would give two fingers of my hand to have been born a count or a marquis.

SCENE XVI.--MR. JOURDAIN, A SERVANT.

SER. Sir, here is the count, and a lady with him.

MR. JOUR. Bless me! and I have some orders to give. Tell them I shall be here in a moment.

SCENE XVII--DORIMENE, DORANTE, A SERVANT.

SER. My master says he will be here directly.

DOR. Very well.

SCENE XVIII.--DORIMENE, DORANTE.

DORI. I am afraid, Dorante, that I am doing a very strange thing in allowing myself to be brought by you into a house where I know nobody.

DOR. Where then can I go to entertain you, Madam, since, to avoid remarks being made, you will see me neither at your own house nor at mine?

DORI. Yes; but you do not mention that I am little by little brought to accept too great proofs of your love. In vain do I refuse my acquiescence in all you do, you triumph over my resistance, and you have a kind of persevering civility which causes me by degrees to do all that you wish. You began with frequent visits; next came declarations, and they have drawn after them serenades and entertainments, followed by presents. I was opposed to all these things, but you are not to be discouraged, and step by step you have overcome all my resolutions. For my part, I dare answer for nothing now; and I believe that at last you will persuade me to marry you, although I had set my heart against it.

DOR. Indeed, Madam, you should have been persuaded before. You are a widow, and depend on nobody but yourself. I am my own master, and I love you more than my life. What is there to prevent you from making me supremely happy?

DORI. To say the truth, Dorante, it requires many good qualities on both sides for people to live happily together, and the two most sensible people in the world will often find it difficult to make up a union with which they are satisfied.

DOR. You are wrong, Madam, to fear so many drawbacks to the happiness of a married life, and your sad experience proves nothing.

DORI. In short, I still come back to this; the expenses which you run into for my sake make me anxious for two reasons: the first that they involve me more than I should wish, and the other that I feel certain-- pray be not offended with me--that you cannot incur them without much inconvenience to yourself; and I do not wish such a state of things to go on.

DOR. Ah, Madam, these are trifles not worth mentioning, and it is not from that....

DORI. I know what I am saying; and, among other things, the diamond you forced upon me is of a price....

DOR. Nay, Madam, do not set such value upon a thing which my love thinks so unworthy of you; and allow me.... Here is the master of the house.

SCENE XIX.--MR. JOURDAIN, DORIMENE, DORANTE.

MR. JOUR. (_after having made two bows, finds himself too near to_ DORIMENE). A little farther, Madam.

DORI. What?

MR. JOUR. One step more, if you please.

DOR. What then?

MR. JOUR. Fall back a little for the third.

DOR. Mr. Jourdain, Madam, knows whom he is addressing.

MR. JOUR. Madam, it is a very great glory to me that I am fortunate enough to be so happy as to have the felicity that you should have had the goodness to do me the honour of honouring me with the favour of your presence, and had I also the merit to merit such merit as yours and that heaven ... envious of my good fortune ... had granted me ... the advantage of being worthy ... of the....

DOR. Mr. Jourdain, this is quite enough; Madam does not care for great compliments, and she knows that you are a clever and witty man. (_Aside to_ DORIMENE) He is a harmless citizen, ridiculous enough, as you see, in his behaviour.

DORI. (_aside to_ DORANTE). It is not difficult to perceive that.

DOR. Madam, this is one of my greatest friends.

MR. JOUR. You do me too much honour.

DOR. A most excellent and polite man.

DORI. I feel the greatest esteem for him.

MR. JOUR. I have done nothing as yet, Madam, to deserve such a favour.

DOR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). Be very careful not to speak to her of the diamond you gave her.

MR. JOUR (_aside to_ DORANTE). May I not just ask her how she likes it?

DOR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). Eh? Be sure not to do that. It would be most vulgar of you; and to behave like a true gentleman, you should act in all things as if you had made no present at all. (_Aloud_) Mr. Jourdain says, Madam, that he is delighted to see you in his house.

DORI. He does me great honour.

MR. JOUR. (_aside to_ DORANTE). How truly obliged I am to you, Sir, for speaking of me to her as you do.

DOR. (_aside to_ MR. JOURDAIN). I had all the trouble in the world to make her come here.

MR. JOUR. (_as before_). I don't know how to thank you enough for it.

DOR. He says, Madam, that he thinks you the most beautiful woman in the world.

DORI. It is a great favour he does me.

MR. JOUR. Madam, it is you who grant the favours, and....

DOR. Let us think of the dinner.

SCENE XX.--MR. JOURDAIN, DORIMENE, DORANTE, A SERVANT.

SER. (_to_ MR. JOURDAIN). Everything is ready, Sir.

DOR. Come, then, let us go and sit down. Tell the musicians to come.

SCENE XXI.--_Entry of the_ BALLET.

The COOKS, who have prepared the banquet, dance together, and make the third interlude; after which they bring in a table covered with various dishes. _

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