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 THE NOVELISTS' LIBRARY 
 Ctiitton be lluxe 
 
 Limited to Five Hundred Numbered Sets 
 This Set is Number XJt.iX
 
 THE PLAYS 
 OF ^MOLIERE 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY 
 
 THE MISANTHROPE 
 LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 
 
 VOLUME ONE 
 
 BOSTON 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1909
 
 Copyright, 1894., 
 By Roberts Brothers 
 
 All Rights Reserved.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Translator's Note 7 
 
 Introduction : 
 
 Preface to the Works of Moli^re, by H. de 
 
 Balzac 9 
 
 Criticism on Molifere, by C. A. Sainte-Beuve 27 
 
 The Misanthrope 45 
 
 Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme 159
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MoLiERE, AFTER THE PAINTING BY MiGNARD Frontispiece 
 
 '' The world visits his dinners, and not him " 
 
 Vignette on Title 
 Le Misanthrope, Act II., Sc. v. 
 
 " Messieurs, this is going too far. Let the matter 
 
 drop, I BEG OF YOU " 71 
 
 Le Misanthrope, Act I., Sc. ii. 
 
 " Then do you hold me guilty because men love 
 
 ME?" 73 
 
 Le Misanthrope, Act II., Sc. i. 
 
 " A little farther back, MADAME " . . . . 272 
 
 Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, Act III., Sc. xix.
 
 \
 
 TRANSLATOR'S NOTE 
 
 Surely the translation of a great writer 
 can have but one purpose: to present him la 
 such a manner that his reader in a language 
 not his own shall obtain a correct general idea 
 of his work. A student of Moliere will go to 
 the original. 
 
 The preface here given is the one which 
 Balzac wrote for the edition of Moliere brought 
 out by him during his youthful enterprise as 
 a publisher. The criticism which follows is by 
 Sainte-Beuve ; and the comments on the plays 
 in this and succeeding volumes are gathered 
 from various authors (Voltaire, Victor Cousin, 
 Sainte-Beuve, Emile Faguet, Charles Louandre, 
 etc.), and are here put together as may best 
 answer the purpose of briefly presenting Moliere 
 and his work to the English reader. 
 
 K. P. W.
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 PREFACE TO THE WORKS OF 
 MOLIERE 
 
 By H. DE BALZAC 
 
 Louis XIV. said one day to Boileau : 
 
 " Who is the first among the great men who 
 have adorned my reign ? " 
 
 " Moliere, Sire," was the reply. 
 
 Two centuries have confirmed the justice of 
 that answer, which the ages still to come will 
 ratify. 
 
 If it were possible to reform men by making 
 them blush for their follies, their defects, their 
 vices, what a perfect society this splendid legis- 
 lator would have founded! He would have 
 banished from the bosom of his nation false- 
 hood, cant, deception, jealousy, sometimes in- 
 sane, oftener cruel, the senile love of old men, 
 hatred of humanity, coquetry, back-biting, self-
 
 IQ INTRODUCTION 
 
 conceit; disproportioned marriages, base avarice, 
 chicanery, corruption; the heedless frivolity of 
 magistrates, the pettiness which makes men 
 aspire to be greater than they are, the arro- 
 gant empiricism of doctors, and the laughable 
 impostures of false piety. Such is a brief 
 summary of the follies and vices which Moliere 
 attacked without ever ceasing to be humorous, 
 natural, and varied. 
 
 The history of the life, all too short, of this 
 celebrated man^ does not need, in order to 
 make it interesting, the frivolous details and 
 gossiping stories which have hitherto dis- 
 figured it. We shall here relate, as to his 
 personal life, only such facts as have been 
 shown, up to the present time, to be true. As 
 for his immortal works, we here reprint them; 
 civilized nations have judged them, and we 
 refrain from all comment on their value. 
 
 1 It is painfully interesting to know that Moliere and 
 Balzac, the fathers of the " Comedy of Human Life " 
 and of Realism, died at the same age : Moliere at fifty- 
 one years and one month ; Balzac at fifty-one years and 
 three months. There were strange likenesses in their 
 lives. The fame of both was of little more than fif- 
 teen years' duration in their lifetime ; both died of the 
 toil to which their genius impelled them; and both 
 are going down with ever brightening lustre to pos- 
 terity. Tb.
 
 INTRODUCTION H 
 
 Jean-Baptiste Poquelin was born in Paris, 
 in a house at the corner of the rue Saint-Honore 
 and the rue des Vieilles-Etuves, in January, 
 1622. His father, valet de chmnhre and up- 
 holsterer to the king, also a dealer in old 
 furniture, and his mother, Marie Cresse, ap- 
 pear to have somewhat neglected his education. 
 His mother died when he was ten years old, 
 and at fourteen he knew little, outside of his 
 father's trade, except reading and writing. At 
 that age, however, his taste for study began 
 to develop, and he asked to be sent to school. 
 It was not without difficulty that his grand- 
 father [probably his mother's father, Louis de 
 Cresse] obtained permission for him to enter 
 the college of Clermont, afterwards called Louis- 
 le-Grand. There, he soon made up by appli- 
 cation for the time he had lost. Among his 
 schoolmates and friends were lads who in after 
 years acquired celebrity: Chapelle, Bernier, 
 Cyrano de Bergerac; also Armand de Bourbon, 
 Prince de Conti, brother of the great Conde, 
 whose subsequent faithful protection did honor 
 to both of them. 
 
 Poquelin, whose genius was discerned by Gas- 
 sendi (the adversary of Descartes), became the 
 pupil of that celebrated professor, who brought
 
 12 INTRODUCTION 
 
 him rapidly through all the branches of human 
 knowledge. On leaving school he received from 
 that philosopher the principles of pure and gen- 
 tle ethics, from which he seldom deviated in the 
 course of his life ; after which he studied law at 
 Orleans and was admitted to the bar, though it 
 does not appear that he ever practised. 
 
 About this time the theatre was beginning 
 to flourish. In the year 1630, Pierre Corneille 
 first rescued it from barbarism and debasement. 
 The passion of Cardinal Richelieu for the stage 
 made a taste for comedy the fashion, and a 
 goodly number of private societies gave dra- 
 matic representations. 
 
 Poquelin was admitted into an association of 
 young men of good family who were enthusi- 
 asts for the stage, and who all had some talent 
 for declamation. Before long this society eclipsed 
 others, and the public gave it the somewhat 
 emphatic name of " The Illustrious Theatre. " 
 It was then that Poquelin, full of a genius that 
 spurred him on, gave himself up to his future 
 vocation, and resolved to become both comedian 
 and dramatic writer. After the fashion of the 
 authors and actors of the time, he changed his 
 name and now took that of Moliere. 
 
 The civil wars which devastated France at
 
 INTRODUCTION , 13 
 
 this period and occupied all minds kept Moli^re 
 long ignored ; but he profited by this obscurity 
 to cultivate his talent, and to prepare himself, 
 by many abortive efforts, for the sublime works 
 which were later to amaze the world. We 
 cannot pass over in silence the names of certain 
 farces which he composed and acted during a 
 period of nearly twelve years, during which he 
 travelled over France with a company of his 
 own. " Le Docteur Amoureux, " " Le Maitre 
 d':6cole," "Le Medecin Volant," " Les Doc- 
 teurs Kivaux, " and " La Jalousie du Barbouille " 
 were the first plays (all in the Italian style) by 
 which he became known. These fugitive works, 
 written in prose are lost ; some, it is true, . have 
 lately been reprinted, but their authenticity is 
 not, as yet, sufficiently proved. Tradition says, 
 however, that traces of " Le Docteur Amoureux " 
 and " La Jalousie du Barbouille " may be found 
 in " George Dandin " and " Le Medecin malgre 
 lui." 
 
 The comedy of " L'Etourdi " was the first great 
 piece in five acts which Moliere produced. It 
 was played at Lyon in 1653. This was the 
 first step in his dramatic career which openly 
 proclaimed him a man of genius. The lively 
 wit, the whimsical comicality, and the dash-
 
 14 INTEODUCTION 
 
 ing vigor with which he wrote the part of 
 Mascarille made the public regard the play 
 as a masterpiece, and drew such favor upon 
 him that a rival company, then acting at Lyon, 
 was entirely deserted and forced to disband. 
 
 Summoned in 1654 by his former school- 
 mate, the Prince de Conti, to Montpellier, 
 where the latter was presiding over the Etats 
 of Languedoc, he took with him a fairly com- 
 plete company, consisting of the two brothers 
 Gros-E.en^ (otherwise named du Pare, gentle- 
 men of family) and the wife of one of them; 
 Edme Wilquin (otherwise de Brie) ; du Croisy 
 a man of rank in la Beauce (who afterwards 
 played Tartuffe with great success); Lagrange, 
 a gentleman of Amiens; and the two comic 
 actresses Madeleine Bejart, and Catherine de 
 Brie, wife of Edme Wilquin. Moliere was at 
 once put in charge of all theatrical perform- 
 ances, and salaries were paid to his company. 
 He played before the prince at Montpellier, 
 " L'Etourdi, " " Le Depit Amoureux, " and " Les 
 Pr^cieuses Ridicules." The keen and lively 
 satire of the last-named play was received with 
 enthusiasm. At the second representation an 
 old man in the audience cried out: 
 
 " Courage, Moliere ! that is true comedy. "
 
 INTRODUCTION 16 
 
 Time has not unsaid the verdict. 
 
 Moliere was then thirty-two years old. It 
 is said that in the effusion of the Prince de 
 Conti's regard for his old schoolmate he wished 
 to make him his secretary. Happily for the 
 future of dramatic art, Moliere had the courage 
 to prefer his independence to that honorable post. 
 
 He continued for some time longer to travel 
 over France; and it was not until he had 
 played at Grenoble, Bordeaux, Lyon, and Eouen 
 that he finally came to Paris, in 1658. He was 
 then thirty-six years old. The Prince de 
 Conti took him to Monsieur, only brother 
 of Louis XIV. Monsieur presented him to 
 the king and the queen-mother, from whom 
 he and his company obtained permission to 
 play Comeille's tragedy of " Nicodeme " before 
 their Majesties in the guard-room of the old 
 Louvre. After the tragedy Moliere asked per- 
 mission to play his farce of " Le Docteur 
 Amoureux, " which was granted. The king 
 was satisfied with the performance, and gave 
 permission that the company should be known 
 as the " Troupe de Monsieur, " and play in 
 the theatre of the little Palais Bourbon, alter- 
 nately with certain Italian comedians who were 
 already established there.
 
 16 INTEODUCTION 
 
 Two years later, in 1660, Monsieur, who 
 declared himself the special protector of Moli^re, 
 gave him the theatre of the Palais-Royal, in 
 which he and his company continued to play 
 until his death. ^ In 1665 the name of the 
 company was changed to that of the Troupe 
 DU Roi. After Moliere's death it was amal- 
 gamated with the Troupe du Marais and with 
 that of the Hotel de Bourgogne, and thence- 
 forth took the name of the Theatre-FranQais. 
 
 From 1658 to 1673, namely in the last fifteen 
 years of his life, Moliere produced his finest 
 comedies. Those with which he preluded, as 
 it were, to his great work " Tartuffe " were as 
 follows : " Sganarelle, " full of gayety ; " Les 
 Facheux, " the first attempt ever made at episodi- 
 cal comedy ; " L'Ecole des Maris ; " " L':Ecole 
 des Femmes, " an imitation of the " Adelphics " 
 of Terence, hut with a far more ingenious end- 
 ing ; " Le Mariage Force, " in which the subtle- 
 ties of scholastic philosophy are admirably turned 
 
 * In speaking of this theatre Voltaire says : " It was 
 as ill-constructed as the play for which it was built, 
 the tragedy of " Mirame," in which Cardinal Richelieu 
 had himself written over 500 verses. I may remark here 
 that we have in Paris up to the present time not a single 
 tolerable theatre. This is a Gothic barbarism for which 
 the Italians very justly reproach us. The good plajs 
 are in France, the fine theatres in Italy." Tb.
 
 INTRODUCTION 17 
 
 into ridicule ; " La Princesse d'Elide, " and " Les 
 Amants Magnifiques, " in both of which Moli^re 
 laughs at himself for sacrificing too much to 
 the taste of the period ; and " Don Juan, or Le 
 Festin de pierre," written with rare fire and 
 originality. 
 
 " L 'Amour M^decin " preceded " Le Misan- 
 thrope," that vigorous character, admirably- 
 drawn, in which Thalia speaks a language so 
 noble and so eloquent. " Le Misanthrope " 
 was followed by "Le Mddecin malgre lui," 
 a charming jest upon the Faculty ; " Melicerte, " 
 a graceful pastoral; " Le Sicilien," the first 
 attempt at comic opera, proving the flexibility 
 of Moli^re's talent ; and " L'Amphitryon, " a mar- 
 vellous creation, though imitated from Plautus. 
 It was also from Plautus that Moliere took 
 the subject of " L'Avare ; " which he deepened 
 immeasurably by making Harpagon in love; 
 thus bringing the character of the miser into 
 the strongest possible light. 
 
 Next followed in quick succession, with their 
 own distinguished merits, " George Dandin, " 
 " Pourceaugnac, " " Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, " 
 and " Les Fourberies de Scapin. " After these 
 came " Les Femmes Savantes, " in which 
 pedantry personified is presented with infinite
 
 18 INTRODUCTION 
 
 wit to the laughter of the world; " La Comtesse 
 d'Escarhagnas, " a lively picture of the ab- 
 surdities of provincials in Paris ; and " Psyche, " 
 written in collaboration with Corneille, and 
 played in the hall of the Tuileries built by 
 Louis XIV. 
 
 Finally, came Moliere's last work, " Le 
 Malade Imaginaire, " in which, painting with 
 terrible truth the actions of a woman, a grasp- 
 ing wife and a harsh stepmother, who is count- 
 ing the last hours of a besotted old man, the 
 great writer proved that death struck him 
 while his genius was still in its vigor, and 
 fully prepared to produce fresh masterpieces. 
 
 Such are the works which have placed Moliere 
 at so high an elevation that the pges will roll 
 away and leave his fame untouched. He holds 
 the sceptre among comic writers of all time and 
 all countries. He is more natural and quite as 
 gay as Aristophanes, as decent as Terence and 
 more useful in the comedy of manners, and 
 far more happy than Plautus in bis comic 
 situations. 
 
 As we all like to enter the inner being of 
 these privileged geniuses to whom posterity 
 pays homage, let us follow Moliere for a 
 moment into his private life, where we shall
 
 INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 find him a simple, kindly man, ever ready to 
 stretch a helping hand to misfortune, and to 
 open the way to younger talent. We know 
 that Racine, still very young, presented him- 
 self, tragedy in hand, to the author of " Le 
 Misanthrope." The play was not suitable for 
 the stage, but Moliere perceived the tendency 
 of the dawning genius and gave him the 
 subject of " La Thebai'de," in which he him- 
 self, it is said, distributed the acts and divided 
 the scenes. It is perhaps to this cordial recep- 
 tion, this honorable encouragement by Moliere, 
 that France owes Eacine. 
 
 A known enemy to all cant and duplicity, 
 Moliere was felt by tlie world in which he lived 
 to be a sound and trustworthy man. The 
 uprightness of his heart, the frankness of his 
 nature, made him friends among the most 
 admirable and distinguished persons in France. 
 His home was a rendezvous for every species 
 of merit. Possessed of considerable fortune, 
 he used it wisely and well. His house in 
 the rue de Richelieu was handsomely appointed, 
 and the most celebrated men of the period took 
 pleasure in frequenting it. 
 
 With so many elements of happiness about 
 him his face, open, eager, and joyous in early
 
 20 INTRODUCTION 
 
 life, bore in his later years the imprint of deep 
 melancholy; and while he shed about him on 
 the stage an atmosphere of open-hearted gay- 
 ety, he was inwardly a prey to sadness. What, 
 then, is happiness, if success, honor, friends, 
 protectors, the respect of the world and wealth 
 cannot bestow it? Alas ! Moliere was a sus- 
 picious husband. He paid that debt to human 
 weakness; he who pursued with such keen 
 satire the pangs of conjugal jealousy was him- 
 self a victim to them. He married, when more 
 than forty years old, a very young girl, the 
 daughter of the same Madeleine Bejart with 
 whom he had joined fortunes during his pro- 
 fessional travels through France. This young 
 girl, whose father was supposed to be the 
 Baron de Modene, showed levity of conduct; 
 and before long the disparity of age and the 
 dangers to which a young and fascinating 
 actress was exposed threw MoUere into a 
 painful and perpetual state of apprehension. 
 Suspicion poisoned his life; domestic quarrels 
 rent his heart; and he lacked the required 
 philosophy to bear the consequences of his 
 own folly in contracting such a marriage. It 
 is related that as he walked one day up and 
 down the garden of his country -place at Auteuil
 
 INTEODUCTION 21 
 
 with his life-long friend, the poet Chapelle, who 
 expressed astonishment that he still loved so 
 heartless a woman, Moliere said : 
 
 " You speak of the perfect knowledge which 
 you say I have of the hearts of men, and I 
 admit that I have studied myself as much as 
 possible in order to know their weaknesses. If 
 philosophy tells me they could escape their 
 misery if they would, experience proves to me 
 only too plainly that it is impossible to do so. 
 I judge daily by myself. I was born with the 
 utmost disposition to tenderness; and as I 
 thought my efforts might inspire her, after a 
 while, with feelings that time could not destroy, 
 I neglected nothing that might serve to this 
 end. . . . But all my kindness has been 
 fruitless; it has not changed her. I have 
 therefore resolved to live with her as though 
 she were not my wife, like an honest man, 
 who is convinced, no matter what the world 
 may say, that his reputation does not depend 
 upon the conduct of his wife. But if you 
 knew what I suffer you would pity me. My 
 passion has reached such a point that I even 
 find myself entering with compassion into her 
 feelings. When I consider how impossible it 
 is for me to conquer what I feel for her, I say
 
 22 INTRODUCTION 
 
 to myself that perhaps she has as much dif- 
 ficulty to overcome her passion for coquetry, 
 and then I find it in my heart to pity rather 
 than hlame her. You will tell me, of course, 
 that I am mad to love in this way; but, for 
 myself, I think there is but one kind of love, 
 and those who have not felt its delicacy have 
 never truly loved. All things in this world 
 are connected in my heart with her; my ideas 
 are so occupied by her that when she is absent 
 I cannot detach my thoughts from her. When 
 I see her an emotion, a transport of emotion, 
 such as may be felt but cannot be described, 
 takes all power of reflection from me; I have 
 no eyes for her faults; I see only that which 
 is good and amiable in her. Is not this the 
 last degree of folly? and do you not admire 
 the fact that what I ha^e of common-sense 
 serves only to make me know my weakness, 
 but not to conquer it 1 " 
 
 A strong constitution could alone bear up 
 under these cruel trials, and we may gather 
 that his was vigorous from the following descrip- 
 tion of his person, written by a contemporary, 
 the wife of Poisson (one of the best comedians 
 who ever appeared upon the stage) , who was her- 
 self an actress.
 
 INTRODUCTION 23 
 
 " Moliere was neither too stout nor too thin ; 
 he was tall rather than short; his bearing was 
 noble, his leg handsome. He walked gravely, 
 with a serious air. His nose was large, the 
 mouth also, the lips full; his complexion was 
 dark ; the eyebrows black and strongly marked, 
 and the various movements he gave to them 
 often made his face extremely comical. As 
 for his character, it Avas gentle, kind, and 
 generous; his actors loved him; he was fond 
 of speechifying; and when he read his plays 
 to the comedians he wanted them to bring 
 their children that he might conjecture the 
 effect from their natural actions." 
 
 In February, 1673, his company began to give 
 " Le Malade Imaginaire" in which he played 
 the principal part. Without considering the 
 state of his lungs, which had been affected for 
 some time past, Moliere insisted on satisfying 
 the public who flocked to see the comedy. 
 At the fourth representation, just as he had 
 uttered the word " Juro" in the scene of the 
 ceremony, he was seized with a species of con- 
 vulsion. They carried him to his home in the 
 rue de Richelieu. Conscious that he was 
 dying, he sent twice to his parish-church for 
 the sacraments; but the priests refused to go
 
 24 INTRODUCTION 
 
 to him. A third priest was sent for, but 
 before he came Moliere had broken a blood- 
 vessel and was dead. He died on the 17th 
 of February, 1673, in the arms of two sisters of 
 charity, to whom he was giving a home while 
 they begged for the poor during Lent.^ He was 
 fifty-one years and one month old. He left a 
 daughter, Esprit-Marie-Madeleine, who married 
 Monsieur de Montalant and died without issue. 
 The archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Harlay 
 de Champvallon, noted in those days for his de- 
 baucheries, refused Christian burial to Moliere's 
 remains. An order from Louis XIV. [who, 
 throughout Moliere's life in Paris was his firm 
 and comprehending friend] was required to 
 obtain a corner of consecrated ground in which 
 to lay the body of this great man. The arch- 
 bishop, compelled to bow to the royal will, 
 authorized his interment in the cemetery of 
 Saint- Joseph,^ on condition that the burial be 
 after dark, and that no funeral services should 
 be said there, or in any church whatever, over 
 
 1 Moliere had received the sacraments at the preced- 
 ing Easter and was therefore in communion with the 
 Church. See the widow's petition to the Archhishop of 
 Paris. (Louandre.) 
 
 2 A cemetery used to bury the bodies of suicides, and 
 children dying without baptism. (Id.)
 
 INTRODUCTION 25 
 
 the remains. Two priests went to fetch, the 
 body; and two hundred of Moliere's friends, 
 bearing torches, accompanied the coffin. The 
 populace crowded about the house and alarmed 
 the widow, who flung money from the windows 
 in order to pacify them. It was then that 
 she said, in the bitterness of her heart, exalted 
 for a moment by the sense of her great loss : 
 
 "What! do they refuse Christian burial to a 
 man who, in Greece, would have had altars 
 raised to him 1 " 
 
 This monstrous injustice induced the great 
 Jesuit critic and grammarian, Pere Bouhours, 
 to write the following epitaph : 
 
 Thou reformedst town and court, 
 
 And what is thy reward f 
 
 Frenchmen will some day blush 
 
 For their want of gratitude. 
 
 They needed a comedian 
 
 Whose genius should reform them ; 
 
 But thou, Moliere, to thy fame 
 
 Nought is lacking only this, 
 
 That among thy teachings thou didst not 
 
 Reprove a nation for ingratitude. 
 
 The French Academy desired to count Moliere 
 among its members. In vain was he urged to 
 give up his profession; all was useless; and 
 the Academy was unable to adorn its register
 
 26 rNTRODUCTION 
 
 with that glorious name. Nevertheless, it took 
 pleasure in rendering to his memory after his 
 death, the honors he deserved when living. 
 This fine inscription, " Nothing is lacking 
 TO HIS glory; he is lacking to ours," 
 was placed heneath the bust which preserves 
 his memory within the precincts of the Society. 
 
 Moliere had met the artist Mignard at Avignon 
 on his return from Italy. With him he con- 
 tracted the closest friendship. Their union was 
 so warm and lasting that they seem to have di- 
 vined each other's future fame, and to have fore- 
 seen that each should contribute to it. Meeting 
 again in Paris, they renewed this sincere attach- 
 ment. Mignard left to posterity a portrait of his 
 friend, and Moliere, in his poem on the dome of 
 the " Val-de-Grace, " returned, as Ariosto did to 
 Titian, the immortality he had received. 
 
 Two authentic portraits of Moliere exist: 
 this by Mignard, of his later life, which has 
 been repeatedly reproduced, and is the type of 
 all the portraits of him given to the world ; and 
 one by Coypel, painted in the glow of Moliere's 
 youth, when he was thirty. The latter renders, 
 in a wonderful manner, the key-note of his 
 countenance, his depth and fervor of con- 
 templation, and the fire of his eye. Both
 
 rNTRODUCTION- 27 
 
 portraits give the same characteristic features, 
 the same expression, the same man, with the 
 differences only of age and experience. 
 
 CRITICISM ON moli:re 
 
 By C. a. SAINTE-BEUVE 1 
 
 There is in poesy, in literature, a class of 
 men, exceptional among the highest, few in num- 
 ber, not perhaps more than five or six from the 
 beginning, whose essential character is Univer- 
 sality, Humanity eternal, which enters intimately 
 into their painting of the manners and customs 
 and passions of an epoch. Facile geniuses, strong 
 and fruitful, their principal trait lies in a mix- 
 ture of fertility, solidity, and frankness. Here 
 is knowledge and firmness of foundation, true 
 indifference in the employment of means and 
 conventional methods all framework, all points 
 of departure serving them equally well to 
 develop their subject. Here, too, is active pro- 
 duction, incessant amid all obstacles, and the 
 plentitude of art, frequently attained without 
 
 1 Portraits Litteraires, vol. ii., Gamier Freres, Paris, 
 1862 ; Nouveaux Lundis, pp. 257-280, Hachette et C", 
 Paris, 1872.
 
 28 INTKODUCTION 
 
 slow effort or artifice. In the Greek past, 
 after the grand figure of Homer, who began 
 so gloriously this small race and is the primor- 
 dial genius of the noblest portion of humanity, 
 we are embarrassed to know whom next to take. 
 Sophocles, fruitful as he seems to have been, 
 human as he showed himself in the harmoni-' 
 ous expression of feelings and sorrows, Sopho- 
 cles is so perfect in outline, so sacred in form 
 and attitude, that he cannot be displaced in 
 thought from his purely Greek pedestal. The 
 famous comic authors are lost to us; we have 
 but the name of Menander, who was, perhaps, 
 the most perfect of the race of genius of which 
 we speak; for the marvellous fancy, so Athe- 
 nian, so enchanting, of Aristophanes lessens his 
 universality. Among the Romans I see only 
 Plautus, Plautus, so ill-appreciated even now, 
 a profound and many-sided delineator, direc- 
 tor of a troop of actors, actor and author 
 himself, like Shakespeare and like Moliere, 
 whose legitimate ancestor he was. But Latin 
 literature was too directly imported, too artifi- 
 cial from its start, being adapted from the 
 Greek, to allow of untrammelled genius. The 
 most fecund of its great writers, Cicero and 
 Ovid, are litterateurs and versifiers in soul.
 
 INTRODUCTION 29 
 
 This literature has, however, the honor of 
 having produced the two most admirable poets 
 of the literatures of imitation, scholarship, and 
 fiuQ taste, two chastened and perfected types, 
 Virgil and Horace. 
 
 It is to modern times and to the renaissance 
 that we must look for the other men of whom 
 we are in search : Shakespeare, Cervantes, Rabe- 
 lais, Moliere, with two or three others of un- 
 equal rank; and that is all! These may be 
 characterized by resemblances. They all had 
 diverse and thwarted destinies; they suffered, 
 they struggled, they loved. Soldiers, physi- 
 cians, comedians, captives, they found it hard 
 to live; poverty, passions, vexing cares, im- 
 peded enterprises were their lot. But their 
 genius surmounted all barriers ; not feeling or 
 not resenting the narrowness of the struggle, 
 they kept their necks from the yoke, and 
 gave free play to their muscles. These grand 
 individuals seem to me to belong to the very 
 genius of poetic humanity, and to the ever 
 living and perpetuated tradition of it, its 
 vmdeniable personification. 
 
 Moliere is one of these illustrious witnesses. 
 Notwithstanding the fact that he fully embraces 
 only the comic side, the discordances of man-
 
 30 INTRODUCTION 
 
 kind, the vices, follies, and eccentricities of 
 the race (the pathetic side being scarcely 
 touched by him, and then only as a rapid 
 accessory), he yields to none among the most 
 complete; so much does he excel in his own 
 field, which he traversed in every direction, 
 from the freest fancy to the gravest contem- 
 plation; so truly does he reign a king in all 
 the regions of humanity that he chose for his 
 own, regions which cover, in fact, one half 
 of man's nature, and the half most known and 
 most actively employed in the social sphere. 
 
 Moli^re is of the epoch in which he lived, 
 through his picturing of certain peculiarities 
 and customs; but he belongs far more to all 
 time ; he is the man of human nature. Nothing 
 gives, at the start, a better measure of his genius 
 than to see with what facility he attaches himself 
 to, and then detaches himself from his epoch; 
 how he adapts himself precisely to it, and how 
 he rises above it and beyond it, grandly. 
 
 Moliere seems to us in these days far more 
 radically aggressive against the society of his 
 day than he believed himself to be; we must 
 remember this in judging of him. Among his 
 illustrious contemporaries there is one, and 
 only one (the last whom we might naturally
 
 INTRODUCTION 31 
 
 be expected to compare with our poet), who, 
 like him, and even more thoroughly than he, 
 questioned the foundations of the society of 
 their day, and looked without fear or favor in 
 the face of birth, titles, and wealth. But 
 Pascal for it was Pascal ! used this ruin 
 that he made of things about him only to 
 shake with greater fury the pillars of the tem- 
 ple and cling convulsively to the Cross. These 
 men, Pascal and Moliere, appear to us in our 
 day as the most formidable witnesses to the 
 society of their time : Moliere in a vast range 
 of space, reaching almost to the sanctuary, rak- 
 ing that old society through and through, and 
 casting pell-mell to the laughter of all, titled 
 conceit and folly, conjugal inequality, insidious 
 hypocrisy; pointing out, often at one stroke, 
 the nature of just homage, true piety, and 
 marriage; Pascal, in the bosom of ortho- 
 doxy, making the vaults ring with his cries 
 of anguish, as he shook the sacred pillars with 
 the strength of Samson. 
 
 But while making this comparison we must 
 not attribute to Moliere more premeditation of 
 an upheaval of existing conditions than to 
 Pascal; perhaps even less. Like Shakespeare 
 and Cervantes and the three or four other
 
 32 INTRODUCTION 
 
 greatest minds of the ages, Moli^re is the 
 painter of human nature in itself, without 
 regard for creed, dogma, formal constructions 
 of any kind. In attacking the society of his 
 time, he represented the life that is every- 
 where the life of the greatest number; and 
 in chastising to the quick the manners and 
 morals he found about him, he wrote for all 
 time and for all mankind. 
 
 Amid the passions of his youth, and the 
 too confiding and rash enthusiasms which he 
 followed like other men, Moliere had in the 
 highest degree the gifts of observation and 
 reproduction, and the faculty of finding and 
 seizing the hidden springs of human nature; 
 which he afterwards set going for the amuse- 
 ment of all. Boileau, his lifelong friend, 
 called him, even in youth, " The Contem- 
 plator." Later in life, in the midst of his 
 full, sad knowledge of the human heart and 
 its divers motives, at the height of his mourn- 
 ful and philosophic contemplation, he still 
 retained in his own heart the youthfulness 
 of his lively impressions, the faculty of pas- 
 sions, of love and its jealousies, the secret 
 and truly sacred inward fire. Sublime contra- 
 diction! which we love in the life of a great
 
 INTRODUCTION 33 
 
 poet; indefinable conjunction! which has its 
 counterpart in that which is most mysterious 
 in the dramatic and comic genius, namely: 
 the painting of bitter realities by means of 
 gay and easy and jovial personages who have 
 all the characteristics of nature; the profound 
 dissection of the human heart embodied in 
 active and original beings, who translate it to 
 the eye by simply being themselves. 
 
 Among that race of minds which at diverse 
 epochs and in diverse ranks counts among its 
 members Cervantes, Rabelais, Le Sage, Field- 
 ing, Beaumarchais, Walter Scott, ; Moliere is, 
 with Shakespeare, the most complete example 
 of the dramatic, or to speak more correctly, 
 the creative faculty. Shakespeare has, what 
 Moliere has not, pathetic touches and flashes 
 of the terrible: Macbeth, King Lear, Ophelia; 
 though in saying this we must not forget in 
 Moliere a quality which had but little oppor- 
 tunity to show itself, namely: the exquisite 
 tenderness of his love-passages, for instance, 
 in " Don Juan. " But Moliere redeems this 
 deficiency in other regions by the number, 
 perfection and profound consistency of his 
 principal characters. 
 
 In all these great men it is evident, and in 
 3
 
 34 INTEODUCTION 
 
 Moliere most evident of all, that dramatic 
 genius is not a mere development, not an 
 expansion of the lyrical and personal faculty, 
 which, starting from private inward emotions, 
 transports the being of the poet and makes it 
 live behind other masks (like Byron in his 
 tragedies). Neither is it the pure and simple 
 application of an analytical and critical faculty, 
 which applies discriminatingly to the person- 
 ages of a composition the scattered traits it 
 has gathered. There exists a whole class of 
 genuine dramatists who have something lyrical, 
 something almost blind in their inspiration, 
 a fervor born of an actual living sentiment, 
 which they impart directly to their personages; 
 a familiar spirit whispers to them ; they are 
 subject to sudden, direct emotions in the crises 
 of their dramatic fever. They do not govern 
 their genius according to the plentitude and 
 order of human liberty. Often sublime and 
 superb, they obey I know not what instinctive 
 cry, or noble throbbing of their blood, like 
 some fine generous animals, bulls or lions. 
 So doing, they know not what they do. 
 Moliere, like Shakespeare, does know; like 
 his great predecessor, he moves, it may be 
 said, in a broader and freer sphere; governing
 
 INTRODUCTION 36 
 
 himself, dominating his fire, ardent in his 
 work, but lucid in his ardor. Moli^re and 
 Shakespeare are of the primitive race, two 
 brothers, with this difference, I fancy, namely : 
 that in ordinary life, Shakespeare, the poet 
 of tears and terrors, would develop a more 
 smiling and happy nature; Moli^re, the gay 
 and joyous comedian, would fall into silence 
 and melancholy. 
 
 Each of Moli^re's plays, were we to follow 
 them in the order of their production, would 
 furnish matter for an extensive and most 
 interesting history, which cannot be given here. 
 The year of " Le Misanthrope " (1666) is on 
 the whole the most memorable and the most 
 significant of Moli^re's life. Hardly was that 
 great and serious masterpiece accomplished, 
 when he was called upon to provide in hot 
 haste for the joviality of the bourgeoisie by 
 " Le Medecin malgre lui, " and then to rush 
 to Saint-Germain and write and play the comic 
 pastoral " Melicerte, " for the amusement of 
 the court. But Moli^re could well meet all 
 demands. 
 
 He has been praised in so many ways as a 
 painter of manners and customs and of human 
 life that I wish to point out his merit on a
 
 36 INTRODUCTION 
 
 side which has been too little brought to light, 
 or, I might say, greatly misunderstood. Moliere, 
 to the very day of his death, was continually 
 progressing in the poesy of comedy. That he 
 was thus progressing in the moral conception 
 of what is called high comedy (such as " Le 
 Misanthrope, " " TartulFe, " and " Les Femmes 
 Savantes ") is so evident that I do not need 
 to insist upon it here. But side by side with 
 this great development, by which reason grew 
 firmer and more solid, observation more ripe 
 and fruitful, let us admire the ever rising and 
 bubbling comic impulse; wildly frolicsome, 
 very rich, and wholly inexhaustible, which 
 must be firmly distinguished (difficult as it 
 may be to define the limits) from the rather 
 Scarronesque buffoonery of Moliere 's earlier 
 farce. How shall I express it? The genius 
 of ironical and biting satire has its pure 
 mirth, its lyric gayety, its sparkling laughter, 
 effervescent, prolonged, almost causeless, evapo- 
 rating from its cause like a sportive flame 
 dancing brighter and brighter as the grosser 
 combustion ceases, a laughter of the gods, 
 supreme, inextinguishable ! " Le Bourgeois 
 Gentilhorame, " " Monsieur de Pourqeaugnac, " 
 " Le Malade Imaginaire, " bear witness in the
 
 INTRODUCTION 37 
 
 highest ' degree to this gushing, blithesome, 
 spontaneous merriment. Monsieur Jourdain, 
 Pourgeaugnac, Argan ! the Sganarelle strain 
 continued, but more poetic, merrier, more 
 delightful because more real. Moliere, being 
 compelled, for the court entertainments, to 
 combine his comedies with ballets, let loose, 
 in these dances made to order, a bewildering 
 crowd of burlesque and impetuously vivacious 
 choruses, composed of lawyers, tailors, cooks, 
 Turks, apothecaries; genius makes to itself 
 inspiration out of necessity. This issue once 
 found, Moli^re's inventive imagination plunged 
 gayly into it. The comedy-ballets of which we 
 speak were not at all (and this should be care- 
 fully remembered) concessions to a coarse public, 
 provocations for bourgeois laughter, although 
 that laughter found its incitement in them. 
 No, they were in the first place, as we have 
 said, imagined for the court fgtes ; but Moliere 
 soon took pleasure in them, and frolicked light- 
 heartedly in their scenes. The ballet and in- 
 terludes in " Le Malade Imaginaire " were 
 written of his own free will, the play not 
 being commanded by the king. 
 
 All publishers and editors who, in a spirit 
 of honorable emulation, recruit more and more
 
 38 INTRODUCTION 
 
 readers and admirers to Moliere should be 
 encouraged; for, to my mind, it is a public 
 benefit to make Moliere beloved by the many. 
 
 To love Moliere and by that I mean to 
 love him sincerely and with all one's heart 
 is, do you know it ? to have a protection within 
 one's self against many defects, many caprices, 
 many vices of the mind. It is, in the first 
 place, not to love that which is incompatible 
 with Moliere, that which was repugnant to 
 him in his own time, that which would have 
 been intolerable to him in ours. 
 
 To love Moliere is to be cured forever, I 
 will not say of base and infamous hypocrisy, but 
 of fanaticism, of intolerance, of that hardness 
 which anathematizes and curses ; it is to possess 
 a corrective to even an admiration for Bossuet 
 and all those who, in his likeness, triumph 
 albeit in words only over their dead or 
 dying enemy; those who usurp I know not 
 what sacred language and involuntarily fancy 
 themselves, thunderbolt in hand, in the place 
 and office of the Most High. Eloquent and 
 sublime beings! you are too eloquent and too 
 sublime for me. 
 
 To love Moliere is to be equally aloof, nay, 
 a thousand miles apart, from that other fanati-
 
 INTRODUCTION 39 
 
 cism, cold, barren, cruel, politic, which never 
 laughs, but, rank with bigotry, under pretext of 
 puritanism finds a way to amalgamate all 
 species of gall, and to unite in a single bitter 
 doctrine the hatred, rancor, and jacobinism of 
 all time. It is also to be equally far from those 
 colorless, flabby souls who, in presence of evil, 
 know neither how to rebuke nor how to hate. 
 
 To love Moliere is to be saved from falling 
 into a blind, unlimited admiration for Humanity, 
 which makes an idol of itself, forgetting the 
 stuff of which it is made and the fact that it 
 can never be, whatsoever it may do, aught else 
 than frail and puny human nature. 
 
 To love and cherish Moliere is to be anti- 
 pathetic to all mannerism of language and 
 expression; it is, not to enjoy or linger over 
 mincing graces, studied wit, labored art, a 
 flashing and artificial syle, in short, affectation 
 of any kind. 
 
 To love Moliere is to be inclined to love 
 neither false brilliancy of mind nor pedantic 
 knowledge; it is to recognize our Trissotin 
 and our Vadius at a glance beneath their re- 
 juvenated air of gallantry; it is, not to allow 
 one's self to be taken in, in our day any more than 
 in Moliere 's day, by the perennial Philaminte,
 
 40 INTRODUCTION 
 
 that pricieuse of all time, whose form alone 
 changes, and whose plumage is incessantly re- 
 newed; it is to love uprightness and health of 
 mind, in others as well as in ourselves. 
 
 In saying this I give but the key and the air ; 
 the variations may be continued indefinitely. 
 
 MoLiiBE was,* in the middle of the seven- 
 teenth century, the creator and promoter of real- 
 ism; re-acting from the sublime and romantic 
 drama, till then engaged with intrigue and in- 
 cident outside of the common measure of hu- 
 manity. Dramatic work was to him the painting 
 of the manners and customs and nature of 
 the men and women about him. He brought 
 
 drama out of a taste for the abnormal to a love 
 
 ft 
 
 of the natural. He observed and painted men. 
 " The business of comedy, " he said, " is to 
 represent in general the faults and foibles of 
 mankind, and in particular those of our epoch." 
 For this reason he is one of the greatest 
 painters of humanity that humanity has pro- 
 duced. He sees, in the first instance, justly; 
 then he enlarges, without caricaturing, in order 
 
 1 femile Faguet, Dix-Septieme Sibcle. Lacfene, Ou- 
 din, et C", Paris, 1890.
 
 INTRODUCTION 41 
 
 to press the truth home to the mind of the 
 spectator. But his passion for truth is such 
 that he has not refrained from occasionally sacri- 
 ficing to it the advantage and satisfaction of 
 being rmderstood easily and at once. Know- 
 ing that men are neither aU good nor all bad, 
 but a mixture of good and evil, he has not been 
 willing (like other dramatic poets) to sacrifice, 
 for the purpose of being clear, the presentation 
 of good in evil and evil in good, in his char- 
 acters. He has given generosity to Don Juan, 
 tenderness to that vile character of Arnolphe 
 (" L'Ecole des Femmes "), and some absurdity 
 to Alceste (" Le Misanthrope "), because, as he 
 said himself, " it is not incompatible that a 
 man should be ridiculous in some things and 
 a worthy man in all others." 
 
 " Le Misanthrope " would be more accu- 
 rately described as a dramatic tableau than as 
 a comedy. The plot is slight and may be said 
 to have no finale. The interest of curiosity is 
 not excited; Moliere did not even think of 
 exciting it. What he wished to do was to 
 make a picture of one corner of the society of 
 his day; and that he has done in the most 
 delicate and high-bred piece of satire ever 
 written; done by means of a witty, coquettish.
 
 42 INTRODUCTION 
 
 utterly false woman of the world; an honest, 
 upright, noble-minded gentleman, so blunt, so 
 violently truthful as to make himself ridiculous ; 
 with an attendant company of pretentious little 
 marquises, a conceited poet, a malignant prude, 
 a sensible man of the world, serviceable in his 
 way and right-minded at heart, and a good and 
 sincere young girl. Highest in the scale of 
 Moliere's art stands Alceste; Alceste, that is to 
 say, all that there is most serious, most elevated 
 in comedy; the point where the ridiculous 
 borders on courage and virtue; one step more 
 and the comic ceases and we have before us a 
 character purely generous, almost heroic and 
 tragical. 
 
 The comedy is a masterpiece, and French 
 writers call its wit essentially French. They 
 say that its delicate charm is not appreciated by 
 foreigners, while in France it is a feast of pleas- 
 ure to persons of taste. It remains to be seen 
 whether in English words this charm will have 
 so evaporated that English readers will not 
 appreciate it.
 
 THE MISANTHROPE 
 
 Cflinetig 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS
 
 PERSONAGES 
 
 Alcestb 
 Philinte 
 Oronte . 
 Celim^jne 
 
 ifeLIANTB 
 
 Aksinoe 
 
 ACASTE . 
 
 Clitandre 
 Basque . 
 Soldier 
 Dubois . 
 
 Lover of Crimen*. 
 Friend of Alceste. 
 Lover of Celimene. 
 A young widow. 
 Cousin of Climene. 
 Friend of Ce'limene. 
 
 Marquises. 
 
 Footman to Celimene. 
 Of the Marshals' Guard. 
 Valet to Alceste. 
 
 The scene is in Paris, at the house of C^lim6ne.
 
 THE MISANTHROPE 
 
 ^ct iFtrat 
 
 SCENE FIKST 
 Philinte, Alcestb 
 
 Philinte. 
 What is the matter? What troubles you, 
 Alceste ? 
 
 Alceste, seated. 
 Leave me, I beg of you. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But still, tell me, what whim 
 
 Alceste. 
 Leave me, I say ; take yourself out of sight. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But at least you might listen to a man with- 
 out being angry.
 
 46 THE MISANTHEOPE [Act I 
 
 Alceste. 
 I choose to be angry, and I do not choose to 
 listen. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 I cannot understand you when your temper 
 is hot ; and though we are friends, I 
 
 Alceste. 
 Friends! I your friend? Strike my name 
 off your list. Till now I have professed to be 
 your friend; but after what I have just seen of 
 you, I tell you bluntly I am so no longer. I 
 will hold no place in a corrupted heart. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Then, am I guilty in your eyes, Alceste ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 You ought to die of shame ; such conduct can- 
 not be excused ; all men of honor must feel 
 humiliated by it. I see you overwhelming a 
 stranger with attentions; testifying the utmost 
 ardor for him ; making protestations, offers of 
 service, vows; and when I ask you afterward 
 who he is, you can hardly tell me the man's 
 name ! Your ardor for him sinks the moment 
 that you leave him, and you inform me he
 
 Scene I] THE MISANTHROPE 47 
 
 is nothing to you. Good God ! it is a shame- 
 ful thing, base, infamous, thus to degrade your 
 soul by treachery; if I, through some mis- 
 fortune, had done as much I would go hang 
 myself in sheer remorse. 
 
 Philinte. 
 I cannot see, for my part, that mine's 
 a hanging case; so I make bold to appeal 
 against your sentence and beg you not to hang 
 me, if it please you. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Jesting is most unseemly. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Seriously, 'then, what would you have me 
 
 do? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I would have you be sincere, and, as a man 
 
 of honor, say no word that is not from your 
 
 heart. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 But when a man comes up to you and salutes 
 
 you joyfully, surely you must pay him in the 
 
 self-same coin, make some response to his 
 
 civilities, return him offer for offer and vow for 
 
 vow.
 
 48 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No, I cannot endure that abject custom 
 which the majority of your worldly friends 
 affect. I hate nothing so much as the bow- 
 ing and scraping of those great makers of 
 protestations, those affable givers of trumpery 
 kisses, those obliging praters of empty words, 
 who strive to outdo each other with civili- 
 ties, and treat an honest man and a scoundrel 
 with the same air and manner. What advan- 
 tage is it to you if a man courts you, swears 
 friendship, faith, zeal, honor, tenderness, makes 
 you some fulsome compliment, and then turns 
 round to the first rascal whom he meets, and 
 does the same? No, no, a well-conditioned 
 soul wants no esteem so prostituted; the finest 
 hospitalities are valueless when we find ourselves 
 rated with the crowd. Esteem is based on pref- 
 erence ; to esteem the whole Avorld alike is to feel 
 no esteem for any one. And because you addict 
 yourself to these vices of the time, morbleu / 
 you are not of my kind. I refuse the vast 
 complaisance of a heart that sees no shades of 
 merit; I chose that mine shall be distinguished, 
 and to cut the matter short the f i*iend of 
 the whole human race is not to my liking.
 
 ScBNEl] THE MISANTHROPE 49 
 
 Philinte. 
 But so long as we live in social life, we must 
 pay the outward civilities that custom demands. 
 
 Alceste. 
 No, I tell you, no; we ought to chastise, 
 pitilessly, this shameful interchange of make- 
 helieve friendship. I want a man to be a man , 
 and let the bottom of his heart be seen in all he 
 says, and in all he does. Let it be himself 
 who speaks, not masking his real feelings 
 behind false compliments. 
 
 Philinte. 
 There are many situations in which plain 
 frankness would become ridiculous, and is not 
 permissible ; and sometimes if it please your 
 lofty honor it may be well to hide what is in 
 our hearts. Would it be fitting, would it be 
 decent to tell all men what we think of them ? 
 And if there be any one whom we dislike or 
 think unpleasant ought we to let him know it ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 Yes. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 What! would you tell old ;6milie that 'tis 
 unbecoming at her age to play the pretty girl; 
 or that the paint she wears shocks every one? 
 4
 
 60 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Alceste. 
 Undoubtedly. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Would you tell Dorilas that he is tiresome ; 
 that there is not an ear at court he does not 
 weary with tales of his own bravery and the 
 glory of his race? 
 
 Alceste. 
 I should. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 You are joking. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I am not joking. In future I will spare 
 none. My eyes are too offended. Court and 
 society both show me nouglit but things that 
 stir my bile. When I see men living together 
 as they do a black spleen seizes me, a bitter 
 grief. Everywhere I find base flattery, in- 
 justice, self-interest, treachery, deceit. I can- 
 not bear it longer; I am enraged; and my 
 intention is to tell the truth, henceforth, to 
 all the human race. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Your philosophic wrath is somewhat savage; 
 I laugh at that black spleen I see has gripped 
 you. You and I are like the brothers in the
 
 Scene 1] THE MISANTHROPE 51 
 
 " School for Husbands, " brought up as one, 
 and yet 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Good God! give up those dull comparisons. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Give up yourself this churlish virulence. 
 Your teachings cannot change the world. Since 
 frankness charms you, I will tell you bluntly 
 this disease of yours is laughed at everywhere 
 you go. Such wrath against the ways of the 
 world makes you ridiculous in the eyes of 
 many. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 So much the better ; good heaven ! so much 
 the better; that is what I want; to me 'tis 
 the best of signs and a great satisfaction. Men 
 have become so odious to me that I 'd be grieved 
 indeed to be well thought of by them. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Then you attribute nought but evil to human 
 nature ] 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I do ; I hate it with a dreadful hatred.
 
 52 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Philinte. 
 All poor mortals, then, without exception, 
 are included in this deep aversion? Surely 
 there may be, in our present age 
 
 Alceste. 
 No, it is universal; I hate all men: some 
 because they are wicked and evil-doers; others 
 because they fawn upon the wicked, and dare 
 not show that vigorous hatred which virtuous 
 souls should feel to vice. From such com- 
 pliance comes immunity for the bare-faced 
 villain whom I now am suing. Behind his 
 mask the knave is seen, wherever he is known, 
 for what he is ; the rolling of his eye, his bated 
 voice, impose on none but those who do not live 
 here. All others know that the sneaking fellow, 
 fit only to be shunned, has by the foulest 
 actions foisted himself upon society, where his 
 career, by their connivance clothed in splendor, 
 makes merit groan and virtue blush. No cries 
 of " shame " can make his miserable honor hear 
 them. Call him a knave, a scoundrel, a damned 
 villain, all the world agrees, and no man con- 
 tradicts you ; but he is welcomed everywhere ; 
 wherever he may worm himself he 's greeted ; 
 men smile upon him ; and if there 's a canvass
 
 ScenbI] the misanthrope 53 
 
 to be made, a place to be intrigued for, you 
 will see him get the better of honest men. 
 Great God ! it is to me a mortal wound to see 
 how vice is thus condoned and trafficked with. 
 At times the impulse seizes me to flee to a 
 desert and renounce my kind. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Good heavens ! why take the customs of 
 our time so hard; why be so little merciful 
 to human nature ? Examine it less sternly, 
 and see its failures with some gentleness. In 
 social life we need a pliant virtue; severe 
 integrity is often blamable ; sound reason shuns 
 extremes, and teaches wisdom with sobriety. 
 The rigid virtue of the olden time jars with 
 our age and with our modern customs. We 
 must yield somewhat to our time, and not 
 reluctantly. It is a folly, second to no other, 
 to nfieddle with the world and try to mend it. 
 I see, as you do, fifty things a day which 
 might be better, or take other courses. At 
 every step I 'm tempted to break forth, like 
 you, but no one sees me do it. I take men 
 gently just for what they are ; I 've trained 
 my soul to tolerate what they do. At court 
 and in society I think my phlegm, Alceste, 
 is, to the full, as philosophic as your bile.
 
 64 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Alceste. 
 But that phlegm, Philinte, which reasons 
 well, is it incapable of indignation? Suppose, 
 perchance, a friend betrayed you, or frauds 
 were planned to steal your property, or wicked 
 rumors spread to injure you, could you endure 
 aU that and not be angry ? 
 
 Philinte. 
 Yes. I regard those evils, that your soul 
 resents, as vices consequent to human nature; 
 my soul is not more shocked by seeing men 
 unjust, dishonest, selfish, than by the sight 
 of vultures hungering after carnage, or thiev- 
 ing monkeys or infuriate wolves. 
 
 Alceste. 
 I '11 see myself betrayed, hacked into pieces, 
 robbed, before I '11 Good God ! why talk 1 
 such reasoning is sheer sophistry. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Paith! I advise you to keep silence; don't 
 
 rage against your kind so much, and give more 
 
 care to the lawsuit which you have upon your 
 
 hands. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I shall give none ; that I 'm determined on.
 
 Scene I] THE AHSANTHROPE 66 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Then who do you expect will plead your 
 
 case? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Plead it? why, reason, my good right, atid 
 
 equity. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Do you mean you will not go to see a single 
 
 judge 1 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Not one. My cause is neither doubtful nor 
 
 imjust. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Agreed; but underhand intrigues are most 
 
 disastrous, and 
 
 Alceste. 
 No; I 'm resolved to take no steps. Either 
 I am wrong, or I am right. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Don't trust to that. 
 
 Alceste. 
 I shall not stir a finger. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Your enemy is strong, and may, by making 
 a cabal, bear off
 
 66 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 AliCESTE. 
 
 I care nought for that. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Then you are wrong. 
 
 Alceste. 
 So be it. I wish to see him win the case. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But 
 
 Alceste. 
 I shall have pleasure if I lose my suit. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But surely 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I shall see iu court if men will have the 
 effrontery will be wicked, scoundrelly, per- 
 verse enough to do me injustice openly before 
 the world. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Oh, what a man ! 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I wovdd gladly lose my cause, did it cost me 
 half my fortune, to prove that fact.
 
 Scene I] THE MISANTHROPE 67 
 
 Philintb. 
 The world would laugh at you in bitter 
 earnest if it could hear you talk in this way, 
 Alceste. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 So much the worse for him who laughs. 
 
 Philintb. 
 
 But this integrity you ask from every one, 
 this honest and straightforward dealing in which 
 you hug yourself, do you find it here in her you 
 love? It does surprise me that having quar- 
 relled witn the human race so bitterly, you have 
 been caught, in spite of much you might indeed 
 think odious, by that which charms the eye. 
 But what surprises me still more, is the strange 
 choice to which your heart is pledged. Eliante, 
 sincere and truthful, has a liking for you; 
 Arsinoe, the prude, looks softly at you with 
 a melting eye ; and yet your soul rejects their 
 love and makes itself a toy for Celimene, whose 
 coquetry and treacherous wit symbol the morals 
 of the present day. How comes it that, hat- 
 ing as you do our social foibles, you can endure 
 the ways of that fair lady 1 Does all you hate 
 cease to be evil in so sweet a form? or do 
 you choose excuse it J
 
 68 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 AliCESTE. 
 
 No; the love I feel for that young widow 
 in no way blinds me to her great defects. I 
 am, in spite of the passion she inspires in 
 me, the first to see them and the first to blame. 
 But with it all, in spite, too, of my will, she 
 has I own my weakness the art of pleas- 
 ing me. In vain I see her faults; in vain I 
 blame her; in spite of all, she makes me love 
 her. Her grace, her charm, are stronger than 
 all else. Doubtless, my love will purge her 
 soul of worldly vices in the course of time. 
 
 Philinte. 
 If you do that you will have done great 
 things. Then you think she loves you 1 
 
 Alceste. 
 Yes, by heaven ! I could not love her did 
 she not love me. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But if her love for you is so apparent why 
 do you fret yourself about your rivals? 
 
 Alceste. 
 Because a heart which deeply loves needs 
 that the object of that love be all its own;
 
 Scene II] THE MISANTHROPE 59 
 
 and I have come here now to tell her, as to 
 that, all that my passion urges me to say. 
 
 Philinte. 
 For my part, if 'twere granted me to form 
 a wish, her cousin Eliante would have my 
 longings. Eliante's heart, which cares for 
 yours, is steadfast and sincere; had your 
 choice fallen there it would have been in 
 keeping with your needs. 
 
 Alceste. 
 True ; my reason daily tells me so ; but 't is 
 not reason that rules love. 
 
 Philinte. 
 I greatly fear your passion and your hopes 
 may - 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 
 Okonte, Philinte, Alceste 
 
 Oronte, to Alceste. 
 They told me below that Celimfene and 
 Eliante had gone out shopping ; but as they also 
 said that you were here, I have come up to tell 
 you from an honest heart how great an admi- 
 ration I 've conceived for you, and that I long
 
 60 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 have had an ardent wish to be among your 
 friends. Yes, my heart revels in doing justice 
 to great merit; and I eagerly desire some bond 
 of friendship to unite us. A warm friend of 
 my quality is not, I think, to be rejected. 
 [^Durinff Oronte's harangue Alceste is dreamy 
 and seems not to notice he is being spoken 
 to. He does not come out of his revery till 
 Oronte says .] It is to you, if you please, that 
 my words are addressed. 
 
 Alceste. 
 To me, monsieur ? 
 
 Oronte. 
 To you. Do you find them displeasing ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 Not at all. But my surprise is great, for I 
 did not expect the honor I receive. 
 
 Obonte. 
 You need feel no surprise at the esteem in 
 which I hold you, since that of the whole 
 universe is yours. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Monsieur
 
 ScbnbII] the misanthrope 61 
 
 Oronte. 
 The State has no reward that is not far 
 beneath the dazzling merit all men see in you. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Monsieur 
 
 Obonte. 
 Yes; for my part, I hold you preferable to 
 all I see that is most eminent. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Monsieur 
 
 Oronte. 
 May the heavens crush me if my words are 
 false. To prove my feelings, suffer me to 
 embrace you with an open heart, asking, as 
 I do so, a place in your regard. Give me 
 your hand, if it please you. You promise me, 
 do you not, your friendship? 
 
 , Alceste. 
 
 Monsieur 
 
 Oronte. 
 What! you refuse? 
 
 Alceste. 
 Monsieur, the honor you propose to me is 
 great. But friendship asks more mystery ; and 
 it is, assuredly, a profanation of that name to
 
 62 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 seek to use it upon all occasions. Sucli union 
 is born of knowledge and of choice ; we should 
 know each other better before we bind our- 
 selves; for each might have such dispositions 
 that both would soon repent of our rash 
 bargain. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 Ah! there indeed you speak with judgment, 
 and my esteem for you is all the greater. Let 
 us leave time to knot these gentle bonds. Mean- 
 time, I place myself at your disposal. If you 
 have any overtures to make at court, command 
 me ; for it is known I have some favor with the 
 king; he listens to me; and, upon my word, in 
 every way he treats me most considerately- In 
 short, I am yours, to use as you may wish ; and, 
 as your mind is known to be so brilliant, I have 
 come in order to begin the tie between us 
 to read to you a sonnet I have lately written, 
 and ask you if 'twere well to offer it to the 
 public. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Monsieur, I am most unfit to settle such a 
 question. I beg you to excuse me. 
 
 Obonte. 
 Excuse you ! why ?
 
 Scene II] THE MISANTHROPE 63 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I have the defect of being more sincere than 
 
 persons wish. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 But that is what I want. I should have 
 
 reason to complain if, trusting to your sincerity 
 
 to speak without disguise, you should deceive 
 
 me. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 If that is how you take it, monsieur, I am 
 
 willing. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 Sonnet It is a sonnet, monsieur. To Hope 
 in fact, to a lady who has granted some hope 
 to my passion. To Hope The lines are 
 not grand, pompous poesy, but simple verses, 
 tender, sweet, and languishing. 
 
 Alceste. 
 We shall see, monsieur. 
 
 Oronte. 
 To Hope I know not whether the style 
 will seem to you sufficiently clear and easy, and 
 whether my choice of words will satisfy you. 
 
 Alceste. 
 We shall see, monsieur.
 
 64 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Oronte. 
 I ought, perhaps, to tell you that I was only 
 a quarter of an hour in writing them. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Go on, monsieur; the time has nothing to do 
 
 with it. 
 
 Oronte, reading. 
 
 'T is true that hope doth comfort bring, 
 And it rocks a time our sorrow ; 
 But, Phillis, 't is a sadder thing 
 If he comes not on the morrow. 
 
 Philinte. 
 I am charmed already with the little poem. 
 
 Alceste, low to Philinte. 
 What ! have you the face to call that fine ? 
 
 Oronte, reading. 
 
 Your complaisance methinks is lost ; 
 You ought to keep your favors low, 
 And not yourself put to such cost, 
 If hope is all you deign bestow. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Ah ! with what gallantry that phrase is turned. 
 
 Alceste, low to Philinte. 
 Good heavens ! vile flatterer, you are praising 
 nonsense.
 
 ScBNun] THE MISANTHROPE 66 
 
 Okonte, reading. 
 
 K hope eternally delayed, 
 Quenches my ardor thus betrayed, 
 Death can alone my snccor be. 
 
 Tour smiles can nothing then repair. 
 Fair Phillis, it is all despair 
 When we must hope eternally. 
 
 Philinte. 
 The cadence of that last line is charming, 
 amorous, admirable. 
 
 Alceste, aside. 
 Damn his cadence ! The devil ! 't is poisonous ) 
 I would the words might choke him. 
 
 Philinte. 
 I have never heard verses better turned. 
 
 Alceste, aside. 
 Good God ! 
 
 Oronte, to Philinte. 
 You flatter me ; perhaps you think 
 
 Philinte. 
 I never flatter. 
 
 Alceste, aside. 
 Ah, traitor ! what are you doing now I 
 9
 
 66 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Oronte, to Alceste. 
 But you ? Remember the terms of our treaty ; 
 speak to me, I entreat you, in all sincerity. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Monsieur, this matter is always delicate. We 
 like to be flattered on our wit and wisdom. I 
 said one day to a man whose name I will not 
 mention, on hearing certain verses he had 
 written, that it behoved a gallant man to 
 restrain the lust of scribbling which seizes on 
 us all, and put a curb upon his passion for no- 
 toriety through such amusements; and I also 
 told him that by his eagerness to show his 
 work to others he laid himself open to the 
 
 jeers of malice. 
 
 Obonte. 
 
 Do you mean by that to tell me I am wrong 
 
 in wishing 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I do not say so. I warned him that cold 
 
 criticism crushed; that for this weakness men 
 
 were much decried; that they might have a 
 
 hundred noble qualities, but the world would 
 
 judge them only by their foibles. 
 
 Oronte. 
 You think, then, that my sonnet is amiss ?
 
 Scene n] THE MISANTHROPE 67 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I do not say so. I showed him, to stop 
 his writiDg, how, in our day, this lust of 
 scribbling has spoiled most worthy men. 
 
 Obonte. 
 Do I write badly, and resemble them ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I do not say so. Finally I said : " What 
 pressing need have you to make these rhymes 1 
 What devil drives you into print ? If the issue 
 of a wretched book is ever pardonable it is when 
 some poor luckless fellow has written it for 
 bread. Believe me, resist your temptations; 
 deprive the public of your labors. Don't sac- 
 rifice no matter who may urge it the name 
 you bear at court as a most worthy man to take 
 from grasping printers the repute of a ridiculous 
 and miserable author. " That is what I endeav- 
 ored to make him iinderstand. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 This is all very well, and I think I under- 
 stand you. But may I not know what there 
 is in my sonnet
 
 68 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Frankly, it is good for nothing but to put 
 in the fire. You have modelled yourself on 
 the worst examples, None of your expressions 
 are natural. " Kocks a time " what is that 1 
 "He comes not on the morrow" who comes? 
 " And not yourself put to such test " what a 
 phrase ! And what may this mean : " Phillis, 
 it is all despair when we must hope eternally " ? 
 This figurative style, of which our present writers 
 are so proud, is out of keeping with sincerity 
 and sound writing. 'T is a mere trick of words, 
 pure affectation. That is not the way in which 
 nature speaks. The shocking taste of the 
 present century alarms me ; coarse as our 
 fathers were, their taste was better. As for 
 me, I care far less for the finest things of 
 the day than for this old song I '11 now repeat 
 to you: 
 
 " If the king had given to me 
 His great town, his belle Paris, 
 Would I but leave my sweet, my dear. 
 My dear I love so well ; 
 I should say to the King Henri, 
 Take back, take back your belle Pans, 
 I love my love, 
 
 Ogay! 
 I love my love too well."
 
 Scene n] THE MISANTHROPE 69 
 
 The rhyme is not rich, and the style is old- 
 fashioned ; but do you not see how much better 
 it is than all that affectation at which good sense 
 groans 1 See how simple passion speaks : 
 
 " K the king had given to me 
 His great town, his belle Paris, 
 Would I but leave ray sweet, my dear, 
 My dear I love so well ; 
 I should say to the ICing Henri, 
 Take back, take back your belle Parts, 
 I love my love, 
 
 Ogay! 
 I love my love too well." 
 
 That's what the heart says when it really 
 
 loves. [To Philinte, who is laughing'] Yes, 
 
 you may scoff; but in spite of your beaux 
 
 esprits, I think more of that song than of all 
 
 the flowery pomposity and false brilKancy which 
 
 they cry up. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 For my part, I insist that my verses are good. 
 
 Alceste. 
 You have your reasons for thinking so, and 
 you must allow me to have my reasons, which 
 decline to submit to yours. 
 
 Oronte. 
 *T is sufficient for me to know that others 
 think well of them.
 
 70 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Alcbste. 
 Others have the art of feigning ; I have not. 
 
 Oronte. 
 Did nature allot you a monopoly of brains ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 Should I have more if I praised your verses 1 
 
 Oronte. 
 I can do very well without your approval. 
 
 Alceste. 
 You, must, if you please, do without it. 
 
 Oronte. 
 I would like to see you compose, in your 
 style, a sonnet on that subject. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I might, by ill-luck, make sonnets as bad; 
 
 but I should take good care that no one ever 
 
 saw them. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 You speak very curtly ; and all this assump- 
 tion 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Go, seek elsewhere the incense that you want. 
 
 Oronte. 
 Be pleased, my little monsieur, to lower your 
 tone.
 
 PHILINTE. Messieurs, this is going too far. 
 Let the -matter drop, I beg of yon. 
 
 LE MISANTHROPE, Act I , Sc. ii. 
 
 VOL. I., Page 71
 
 SobkbHI] the misanthrope 71 
 
 Alceste, 
 Faith! my grand monsieur, I speak as I 
 choose. 
 
 Philinte, placing himself between them. 
 Messieurs, hey! messieurs; this is going too 
 far. Let the matter drop, I beg of you. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 Yes, I am wrong, I own it, and I leave the 
 
 house. I am your valet^ monsieur, and with 
 
 all my heart. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 And I your humble servant. 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 Philinte, Alceste 
 
 Philinte. 
 There! now you see. For being too sincere 
 you have a vexing quarrel on your hands. I 
 saw at once that Oronte wanted flattery. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Don't talk of him. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But
 
 72 THE MISANTHROPE [Act I 
 
 Alceste. 
 Ko more society for me. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Oh! this is too 
 
 Alcestk. 
 
 Leave me! 
 If I 
 Not a word. 
 But 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Al;CESTE. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Alceste. 
 I will hear nothing. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But 
 
 Alceste. 
 Again! 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 This is an outrage 
 
 Alceste. 
 Ha! damn it! 'tis too much. Don't follow 
 
 me. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 You are jesting; I will not leave you. 
 end of act fibst.
 
 CeLIMENE. Then do you hold me guilty 
 men love me? 
 
 LE MISANTHROPE, Act II., Sc. i. 
 VOL. I., Page 73
 
 ScenbIJ the misanthrope 73 
 
 act Sec0ttl> 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 AlCESTB, CilLIMiiNB 
 AliCESTE. 
 
 JVlADAME, will you allow me to speak 
 frankly ? I am not contented with your ways 
 of action; they stir such bitterness within my 
 breast I feel 'twere better we should break 
 apart. Yes, to speak otherwise would be de- 
 ceiving you. Sooner or later, inevitably, the 
 break must come. Were I to pledge you to 
 the contrary a thousand times, I should be 
 unable to keep my promise. 
 
 CiLIMiNE. 
 
 Is it to quarrel with me that you have wished 
 to bring me home ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Quarrel, no. But your disposition is, madame, 
 to give to each new-comer access to your soul ; 
 you allow too many lovers to beset you, and my 
 heart cannot adapt itself to that.
 
 74 THE MISANTHROPE [Act H 
 
 CiLIM^NE. 
 
 Then, do you hold me guilty because men 
 love me 1 How can I help it if they think me 
 lovable? And when they take such pleasant 
 pains to see me, am I to take a stick and 
 drive them forth? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No, it is not a stick you need, madame, but 
 a heart less facile and less tender to their 
 wishes. I know your charms attend you 
 wheresoe'er you go; but your welcome holds 
 in bonds the admirers whom your eyes attract ; 
 its sweetness, offered to all who pay you 
 homage, completes the work your charms began. 
 The smiling hope you grant them fastens their 
 assiduities upon you; but if you made your 
 kindness less inclusive this mob of lovers would 
 be put to flight. Tell me, at least, why 
 Clitandre has the luck to please you? On 
 what foundation of worth or splendid virtue do 
 you base the regard with which you honor 
 him 1 Is it. the inordinate length of his little- 
 finger nail that wins him the esteem you are 
 seen to give him? Have you succumbed, with 
 all the fashionable world, to j the dazzling merit 
 of that blond periwig? Are the fine ruffles
 
 Scene I] THE MISANTHKOPE 76 
 
 at his knees the reasons that you like him? 
 those knots of ribbon, have they charmed 
 you? Is it the allurement of his mighty 
 breeches which wins your soul to making him 
 your slave? Or his manner of laughing, his 
 falsetto voice, have they discovered the secret 
 power of touching you? 
 
 How unjustly you take umbrage at Clitandre! 
 You know the reason why I treat him kindly ; 
 he has promised to interest all his friends in 
 this lawsuit I have upon my hands. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Lose your suit bravely, madame, and curry 
 no favor with a rival I dislike. 
 
 Celimene. 
 But you are growing jealous of the universe ! 
 
 Alceste. 
 Because you welcome the whole imiverse too 
 
 well. 
 
 Celimene. 
 
 That very thing should soothe your nettled 
 
 soul ; my favors, as you see, are shed on all ; if 
 
 one alone received them you would have far 
 
 more cause to take offence.
 
 76 THE MISANTHROPE [Act H 
 
 Alcbste. 
 
 But I, whom you reproach for too much 
 jealousy, what favors have I more then they, 
 if I may ask? 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 The happiness of knowing you are loved. 
 
 Alceste. 
 How can my tortured heart believe it ? 
 
 C]6limI;ne. 
 
 I think that having taken pains to tell you so, 
 such an admission ought to satisfy you. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 But what assurance have I that you are not, 
 even now, saying the same to others? 
 
 CiLIMilNE. 
 
 Certainly, for a lover, your gallant speeches 
 are too pretty ; you treat me with such graceful 
 courtesy ! Well, to remove that anxious question 
 from your mind, I here unsay all that I said; 
 make yourself easy; nothing can now deceive 
 you but yourself.
 
 ScbnkI] the misanthrope 77 
 
 Alceste. 
 Good God ! why must I love you 1 If I 
 could snatch my heart out of your hands I would 
 bless heaven for such rare luck ! I do not deny 
 that I have striven with all my strength to 
 tear this terrible attachment from my soul ; but 
 every effort fails; it must be for my sins I 
 love you so ! 
 
 C^LIMilfE. 
 
 Your passion for me is indeed unequalled! 
 
 Alceste. 
 Yes, in that I can defy the world. My love 
 is not to be conceived of ; and no one, madame, 
 has ever loved as I do. 
 
 C:^LiMi;NE. 
 
 Your method of doing so is truly novel; it 
 seems you love a woman that you may quarrel 
 with her; your ardor blazes forth in angry 
 words; and sure no love was ever yet so 
 scolding. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 It rests with you to make that anger pass. 
 For God's sake, madame, let us cut short these 
 bickerings, speak heart to heart and put a 
 stop
 
 78 THE MISANTHROPE [Act II 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 C^LiMiiKE, Alceste, Basqub 
 
 Celim:^ne. 
 What is it? 
 
 Basque. 
 
 Acaste is here. 
 
 CLiMi;srE. 
 Well, show him up. 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 CiiLiMiyE, Alceste 
 
 Alceste. 
 What ! am I never to have you to myself 1 
 Why are you so ready to receive the world? 
 Can you not endure for a single moment of your 
 day to deny yourself to visitors ? 
 
 Celimene. 
 Do you wish him to quarrel with me ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 You show him a deference that I do not like. 
 
 Celimene. 
 He is a man who would never forgive me 
 if he saw that I considered him intrusive.
 
 ScbnbIV] the misanthrope 79 
 
 Alceste. 
 Is that a reason for disturbing yourself ? 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 Heavens, yes! good-will is of value among 
 our fellows. He belongs to a set who, I 
 scarcely know why, have acquired at court a 
 right to be heard. They manage to obtain an 
 entrance everywhere; and though, 'tis true, 
 they may not serve us, they are able to do us 
 a vast deal of harm. Therefore, no matter 
 what support one has elsewhere, we ought 
 never to quarrel with such babbling persons. 
 
 Alceste. 
 In short, whatever happens and whoever 
 comes, you find good reasons to see all the 
 world; and these precautions about your law- 
 suit 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 AlCBSTE, CELIMillTE, BaSQUB 
 
 Basque. 
 Clitandre is also here, madame. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Precisely ! {Moves as if to go.)
 
 80 THE MISANTHROPE [Act H 
 
 C:fiLIMiNE. 
 
 Where are you going 1 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 C^LIMiiirB!. 
 
 To leave you. 
 
 Stay. 
 
 Pray why 1 
 
 Stay. 
 
 No, I cannot. 
 
 I wish it. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 These conversations simply annoy me; it is 
 asking too much to oblige me to hear them. 
 
 C6LIMi;NE. 
 
 I wish it, I choose it. 
 
 Alceste. 
 No, it is impossible. 
 
 C^LIMilNE. 
 
 Very good, go; leave the house; you may 
 do as you choose.
 
 Scene V] THE MISANTHROPE 81 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 
 "khUJurs, Philinte, Acaste, Clitandrb, Alcbstb, 
 CiiLiMtNE, Basque 
 
 liante to CelimIine. 
 The two marquises are coming up. Has any- 
 one announced them ? 
 
 Yes. (To Basque) Place chairs for all. (To 
 Alceste) What! you did not go? 
 
 Alceste, 
 No; for I wish, madam e, to make you speak 
 your mind, either for them or else for me. 
 
 CiLIMilfE. 
 
 Hush, be silent. 
 
 Alceste. 
 To-day you shall explain yourself. 
 
 CfLIMiaiE. 
 
 You have lost your senses. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Not at all. You shall declare yourself 
 
 CiLIM^NE. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 6
 
 82 THE MISANTHROPE [Act H 
 
 Alceste. 
 Take one side or the other. 
 
 CelimIine. 
 You are jesting, surely, 
 
 Alceste. 
 No ; you must choose. I have had too much 
 patience. 
 
 Clitandrb. 
 Ah! madame, I am just from the Louvre, 
 where Cleonte, at the levee, was supremely 
 absurd. Has he no friend who would with chari- 
 table advice enlighten him as to his manners f 
 
 CiLIMilNE. 
 
 He is indeed a bungler in society; he makes 
 himself conspicuous wherever he may be; and 
 when one sees him after a slight interval he 
 seems to be more ridiculous than ever. 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 Talk of ridiculous people ! i' faith, I 've just 
 been undergoing one of the most tiresome, 
 Damon, the moralizer, who, if you '11 believe 
 me, kept me one whole hour out of my chair, 
 standing in the hot sun.
 
 Scene V] THE MISANTHROPE 83 
 
 Celimene. 
 Yes, he 's a wonderful talker, who has the 
 art of teUing you nothing in a great harangue. 
 There 's never any point to what he says ; 't is 
 only noise to which we listen. 
 
 Eliante, to Philinte. 
 This beginning is cheerful; the conversation 
 is starting at good speed against our neighbors. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 But there 's Timante, madame ; he is rather 
 a good fellow. 
 
 C:^LIMiNE. 
 
 Ah ! he 's a man of mystery from head to 
 foot; he flings you, as he passes, a haggard 
 glance, because, without a thing to do, he is 
 always busy. His speeches are too full of 
 flourishes; he pesters one to death by dint of 
 mannerism. He always has some secret to 
 whisper in one's ear, breaking up a conversa- 
 tion, and the secret is invariably nothing. 
 Out of the merest trifle he makes a mystery; 
 and even his good-byes, he whispers them. 
 
 ACASTK. 
 
 And G^ralde, madame?
 
 84 THE MISANTHROPE [ActH 
 
 Oh! that wearisome chatterer! when will 
 he cease to play the grand seigneur ? He 
 mingles only with the shining lights, and quotes 
 his dukes, his princes and princesses. The 
 quality infatuates him; and all his talk is now 
 of horses, equipages, dogs. He calls the person- 
 ages of highest rank hy their first names; the 
 plain word " monsieur " is forgotten by him. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 They say he is on the closest terms with 
 B^lise. 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 That poor stupid woman! oh, what dry inter- 
 course! I suffer martyrdom when she comes 
 to see me; I perspire with the effort to find 
 something to say ; the obtuseness of her expres- 
 sion kills the words on my lips. In vain I 
 assault her stupid silence with all the common- 
 places I can call to my assistance, fine weather, 
 rain, heat, cold. But those are topics that are 
 soon exhausted, and then her visit, always intol- 
 erable, drags its fearful length along. In vain 
 I look to see what time it is; I yawn a score 
 of times ; she does not budge more than a log 
 of wood.
 
 ScbnhV] the misanthrope 85 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 What do you think of Adraste ? 
 
 CiLIM^NE. 
 
 Ah! what excessive pride! He is a man 
 puffed up with admiration of himself. His 
 sense of his deserts is never satisfied at court, and 
 so he rails against the court proceedings daily. 
 There 's never an ofl&ce, post, or privilege given 
 but what he thinks he 's treated with injustice. 
 
 Clitandbe. 
 But that young Cleon, at whose house all 
 our best people now are visiting; what do you 
 say of him ? 
 
 CiLIMENE. 
 
 Why, that he makes his cook his merit, and 
 that the world visits his dinners and not him. 
 
 i^LIANTE. 
 
 But he takes care that all the choicest things 
 are served there. 
 
 C^LIM^JNE. 
 
 Yes; but I wish he would not serve him- 
 self; his silly person is a horrid dish which 
 spoils, to my taste, all the feasts he gives. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 The world at any rate thinks highly of his 
 uncle, Damis ; what do you say of him, madame 1
 
 86 THE MISANTHROPE [Act II 
 
 CiLIMiNE. 
 
 He is a friend of mine. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 I think him an honest man, and he looks a 
 
 wise one. 
 
 Celimexe. 
 
 Yes, but he pretends to too much mind; it 
 irritates me. He is always straining; in what 
 he says you see him in travail to produce hons 
 mots. Since he took it into his head to be 
 so clever, nothing pleases his taste, he is too 
 fastidious. He sees defects in everything that 's 
 written ; he thinks a wit should never praise ; he 
 counts it learned to find fault; fools only can 
 admire and laugh. By approving nothing in 
 the works of the day, he fancies he exalts him- 
 self above his fellows. Even in conversation he 
 finds something to reprove; the topics are so 
 low he will not condescend to them. He stands, 
 arms folded, and, from the pinnacle of his mind, 
 looks down in pity upon what we say. 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 God bless me ! that 's his veritable portrait. 
 
 Clit ANDRE, to Celimme. 
 For painting people to the life, you are 
 incomparable.
 
 Scene V] THE MISANTHROPE 87 
 
 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 On, on, set on each other, my good friends 
 at court! Spare none, let each man have his 
 turn. And yet, if one of them appears in sight 
 you haste to meet him, give him your hand, 
 offer him flattering kisses, and swear by all 
 the oaths to be his servant. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 
 Why find fault with us ? If what was said 
 
 displeases you, address your reproaches to 
 
 madame. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No, by heaven! it is to you I make them; 
 
 your compliant laughter incites her wit to these 
 
 ill-natured speeches. Her satire feeds upon the 
 
 wicked incense of your flattery ; and if she did 
 
 not see herself applauded her heart would be 
 
 less prone to ridicule. 'T is thus that flatterers 
 
 are guilty of the vices which corrupt society. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 But why do you take such interest in the 
 persons thus condemned, since you yourself 
 would blame in them the selfsame faults. 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 Is it not monsieur's nature to contradict? 
 Why expect him to agree with the general
 
 88 THE MISANTPIROPE [Act II 
 
 voice, or to refrain from exhibiting, wherever 
 he may be, the cavilling spirit he received 
 from heaven? The opinion of others is never 
 agreeable to him. He sets up his own, be- 
 lieving he would be thought a common man if 
 it were seen to agree with that of the world. 
 The pleasure of contradicting has such charms 
 for his soul that he sometimes, and not seldom, 
 takes arms against himself, and wages war 
 upon his own real feelings when he hears them 
 uttered by the lips of others. 
 
 Alcbstb. 
 
 The laugh is on your side, madame, and 
 there 's nothing to be said. You can wing 
 your shafts of satire on me as you please. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 But is it not true that your mind antagonizes 
 whatever is said, and is unable, from a bitter- 
 ness you avow yourself, to endure that others 
 should either blame or praise? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Yes ; for the reason that men are never right. 
 My bitterness is just; I find them, wherever 
 they may be , offensive flatterers or rash censors.
 
 Scene V] THE MISANTHKOPE 89 
 
 CELIMiNE. 
 
 But 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No, madame, no ; if I die for it, I must say 
 
 that you find pleasure in things I cannot bear; 
 
 and these friends here do wrong to foster in 
 
 your soul this great indulgence of defects that 
 
 injure it. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 
 For myself I shall say nothing; but as for 
 
 madame, I must openly declare that I have 
 
 hitherto believed her faultless. 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 I see the graces and the attractions that 
 heaven has granted her; but her defects have 
 never, I must say, struck my eye. 
 
 Alceste. 
 They all strike mine; and far from over- 
 looking them, I take pains, as she well knows, 
 to bring them to her knowledge. The more we 
 love our friends, the less we flatter them ; it is 
 by excusing nothing that pure love shows itself. 
 For my part, I would banish those unworthy 
 lovers who slavishly submit to all my sentiments, 
 and by their weak compliance swing incense to 
 my follies.
 
 90 THE MISANTHROPE [Act H 
 
 CELIMiXE. 
 
 In short, if hearts should look at things in 
 your way, they must, in order to love truly, 
 renounce all sweetness, and find the crown of 
 perfect love in heaping insults on the object 
 of it. 
 
 l^LIANTE. 
 
 Love, as a rule, is little ruled by laws. All 
 lovers, as we know, boast of their choice. 
 True passion does not see that which is blam- 
 able; the one beloved is always lovable. De- 
 fects love thinks perfections, and gives them 
 pleasant names. The pallid one is comparable 
 to the jasmine in her whiteness; the swarthy 
 skin becomes a rich brunette; thinness gives 
 freedom of motion and a slender waist; the 
 portly dame is full of majesty ; she who neglects 
 her person and takes no pains to charm is 
 called a careless beauty; the giantess becomes 
 a goddess ; the dwarf, an epitome of all heaven's 
 marvels; the haughty spirit deserves a crown; 
 the tricky mind has wit ; the fool is kind ; the 
 chatterer, good-humored; the silent one main- 
 tains her virtuous modesty. 'T is thus a lover 
 whose passion is supreme loves even the defects 
 of her he worships.
 
 Scene VJ THE MISANTHROPE 91 
 
 Alcestb. 
 And I maintain, yes I 
 
 Come, let us end this talk, and take a turn or 
 two about the gallery. What! are you going, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 Clitandbe and Acastb. 
 
 Oh, no, madame. 
 
 Alcestb. 
 The fear of their departure weighs on your 
 soul. Gentlemen, leave when you please; 
 but I warn you, I shall not go till you are 
 gone. 
 
 Acastb. 
 
 Unless my presence importunes madame, I 
 
 can stay here all day, for nothing calls me 
 
 hence. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 
 As for me, provided I return for the king's 
 
 covtcher^ I have no other matters to attend to. 
 
 C^LiM^NE, to Alceste. 
 You are joking, I am sure. 
 
 Alcestb. 
 No, not in any sense. We shall see now if 
 it is I of whom you are anxious to be rid.
 
 92 THE MISANTHROPE [Act H 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 AlCBSTE, CilLIMtNB, 6liANTE, AcASTE, CUTAJiTDEB, 
 
 Fhilinte, Basque 
 
 Basque, to Alceste. 
 
 Monsieur, a man is below who wishes to see 
 
 you, he says, on business which cannot be 
 
 delayed. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Tell him I know of no such urgent business. 
 
 Basque. 
 He wears a jacket with great pleated basques, 
 and gold upon it. 
 
 CiLiMiNE, to Alceste. 
 Go, see who it is; or else, have him shown 
 up. 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 
 Alceste, C:feLiMi:NE, I^liante, Acastb, Clitandre, 
 Philintb, a Soldieb of the Marshals' Guard 
 
 Alceste, advancing to meet him. 
 
 Come in, monsieur. What do you want 
 
 with me? 
 
 Soldieb. 
 
 Monsieur, I have two words to say to you.
 
 ScBNBVnj THE MISANTHROPE 93 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 You can speak out; I am prepared to hear 
 
 you. 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 The Marshals, -whom I serve, monsieur, bid 
 you come to them at once.* 
 
 Alceste. 
 Me? bid me, monsieur? 
 
 Soldier. 
 Yes, you. 
 
 Alceste. 
 But why ? 
 
 Philinte, to Alceste. 
 Because of that ridiculous affair between 
 yourself and Oronte. 
 
 Celim^ne, to Philinte. 
 
 What affair? 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Oronte and he had words about some verses 
 
 he would not admire; and the Marshals wish 
 
 to nip the matter in the bud. 
 
 Alceste. 
 I will not have the base compliance 
 
 1 The court of the Marshals of France took cognizance 
 of quarrels and affairs of honor among gentlemen.
 
 94 THE MISANTHROPE [Act H 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 But you must obey the order; come, let us 
 
 go- 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 What sort of terms do they desire to make 
 
 between us? Will the Marshals order me to 
 
 think the verses that caused our quarrel good ? 
 
 I shall not unsay what I have said, I think 
 
 them bad. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 But a"gentler tone 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I shall not yield one inch; the lines are 
 
 execrable. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 You ought to show a more compliant spirit. 
 
 Come, let us go. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Yes, I will go ; but nothing can compel me to 
 take back my words. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Well, come and show yourself, at any rate. 
 
 Alceste, 
 Short of an order sent expressly to me by the 
 king, to say those verses they are making such
 
 Scene VII] THE MISANTHROPE 95 
 
 a fuss about are good, I will maintain forever 
 that they are bad; and that any man who writes 
 such stuff deserves to be hanged. ( To Clitandre 
 and Acaste, who are laughing) By heaven ! 
 gentleman, I did not know I was as witty as it 
 seems I am. 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 Come, come, make haste and go where you 
 are summoned, 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I go, madame; but I shall soon return to 
 settle, in this room, the matter we have been 
 discussing. 
 
 END OF ACT SECOND.
 
 96 THE MISANTHROPE [Act III 
 
 act mfivti 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 Clitandre, Acaste 
 
 Clitandre. 
 1 OBSEKVE, my dear marquis, that your 
 soul is contented ; all things make you cheerful, 
 and nothing frets. Now, tell me in good faith, 
 do you really believe, without self-deception, 
 that you have any sound reason for being so 
 happy? 
 
 Acaste. 
 
 Parbleu! I don't see, when I look myself 
 over, any ground whatever for discontent. 
 I have property, I am young, I belong to a 
 house which has certain good reasons to call 
 itself noble; and I think, through the rank to 
 which my blood entitles me, there ^ are very 
 few stations in life that I cannot fill. As to 
 courage, of which, of course, we ought to think 
 first, I know, without vanity, that I am not 
 lacking there; I have been seen by the world 
 to carry on an affair in a sufficiently vigorous
 
 Scene I] THE MISANTHROPE 97 
 
 and dashing manner. As for wit, there 's no 
 question but what I have that, and with it 
 enough good taste to judge without study, and 
 to talk about everything. At the theatre, of 
 which I am truly an idolater, I can wear a 
 wise face, decide the fortunes of a play, and 
 lead the applause at all the fine speeches which 
 merit hurrahs. I 'm sufficiently active ; I 've 
 a good air and good looks, above all fine teeth, 
 and my figure is slim. As to my style of 
 dressing, I think, without vanity, that any 
 one would be foolish to rival me there. My 
 position in the world is as good as can be; the 
 fair sex adore me ; I stand well with the king ; 
 and, therefore, my dear marquis, I see, on all 
 sides, every reason to be satisfied with myself. 
 
 Clitandee. 
 
 Yes. But finding everywhere so many easy 
 conquests, why do you persist in offering useless 
 homage here 1 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 Useless ? Parbleu f I 'm not of a kind nor 
 of a temper to stand cold treatment from any 
 beauty. 'Tis only common minds and ill-bred 
 persons who burn persistently for frigid dames, 
 or languish at their feet, endure their rigor, 
 7
 
 9S THE MISANTHROPE [Act III 
 
 seek help from tears and sighs, and strive, by 
 the painstaking of a long-drawn suit, to win 
 the smiles their lack of merit forfeits. Men 
 of my presence, marquis, are not made to love 
 on credit and pay all the costs. However 
 choice may he the lady's favors, I think, thank 
 God, my value equals hers; and to do honor 
 to a heart like mine is sure no reason it should 
 cost her nothing. To put the thing on equi- 
 table grounds, she must at least meet my 
 advance half-way. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 So you think, marquis, you stand well with 
 Celim^ne ? 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 Marquis, I have some ground to think so. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 Take my advice; get rid of that idea; it is 
 an error. You flatter yourself, my friend, you 
 blind yourself 
 
 AcASTE. 
 
 Quite true ; I flatter and I blind myself. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 Why call your happiness so perfect, then?
 
 Scene I] THE MISANTHROPE 99 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 I flatter myself. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 On what do you foixnd your hopes? 
 
 AcASTE. 
 
 I blind myselfi 
 
 Clitandre. ' 
 
 Then you have proofs to give you certainty ? 
 
 AcASTE. 
 
 I tell you, I deceive myself. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 Can it be that Celimene has made you secret 
 promises ? 
 
 AcASTE. 
 
 No, she rebufi"s me. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 Tell me the truth, I beg. 
 
 AcASTE. 
 
 She does nothing but rebuff me. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 Oh ! cease this jesting, and let me know 
 what liopes you really have.
 
 100 THE MISANTHROPE [Act UI 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 I am the luckless, you the lucky one. She 
 has so deep an aversion to me that one of these 
 days I '11 surely hang myself. 
 
 Clitandbe. 
 Ah ga ! marquis, are you willing to settle 
 our fates by agreeing that, if either of us can 
 show some certain sign of having won her 
 heart, the other shall make way for the fortu- 
 nate lover and relieve him of a rival ? 
 
 AcASTE. 
 
 Parhleu ! I like that sort of talk, and will, 
 with all my heart, agree to it. But hush, 
 here she comes. 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 
 C^LIHiiNE, ACASTE, ClITANDBB 
 CiLIM^lNE. 
 
 What! still here? 
 
 ClitAndkk 
 Love stayed our feet. 
 
 Cl^LIMilNE. 
 
 I have just heard a carriage entering the 
 courtyard. Do you know whose it is ? 
 
 Clitandbe.
 
 Scene ni] THE MISANTHROPE 101 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 
 CiLIMtNB, ACASTE, ClITANDBE 
 
 Basque. 
 Arsino^, madame, is coming up to see you. 
 
 C^LIM^NE. 
 
 What can that woman want with me ? 
 
 Basque. 
 ^liante is below, and is talking with her. 
 
 Celimene. 
 Something is in her mind, or why should she 
 come here 1 
 
 AcASTE. 
 
 She is thought to be a most consummate prude, 
 and in the ardor of her zeal 
 
 CiLIMilNE. 
 
 Yes, yes, pure cant! At heart she 's of the 
 world; and all her efforts aim at hooking on 
 to others, in which, however, she has small 
 success. She cannot see without an envious 
 eye a woman followed by a train of suitors; 
 and her sour virtue, overlooked by all, is ever 
 grumbling that the age is blind. She tries to 
 cover with a veil of prudery the frightful soli- 
 tude in which she lives ; and, to save the
 
 102 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IH 
 
 honor of her scanty charms, she attributes sin 
 to powers that they have not. And yet a 
 lover would be most pleasant to my lady. She 
 even shows some tenderness for Alceste; the 
 attentions that he pays to me offend her; she 
 tries to make it seem that I have stolen them ; 
 and her jealous spite, which she can scarce 
 conceal, is felt in underhanded ways on every 
 side. I have never seen anything, I think, so 
 foolish; and with it all she is impertinent to 
 the last degree. Therefore 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 AKSiNot, CELiMi:NE, Clitandbe, Acaste 
 
 C^LIMENE. 
 
 Ah ! what fortunate fate brings me this visit ? 
 Madame, in all sincerity, I was beginning to 
 feel most anxious for your welfare. 
 
 Arsinoe. 
 I have come, madame, to offer you some 
 advice, which I feel I owe to you. 
 
 C^LIM^NE. 
 
 Ah ! how good of you, and how glad I am 
 to see you! 
 
 Clitandre and Acaste go out laughing.
 
 ScbnbV] the misanthrope 103 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 ARSiNoij, CelimIine 
 
 Arsinoe. 
 The departure of those gentlemen is timely. 
 
 C^LIMENE. 
 
 Shall we sit down ? 
 
 ARSixoi. 
 It is not necessary. Madame, friendship 
 should, above all, be shown in things that 
 most affect our fellows ; and as there are none 
 more vitally important than those of honor and 
 decorum, I have come to prove the friendship 
 my heart feels for you by offering counsel which 
 concerns your honor. Yesterday I visited some 
 friends, of sterling virtue. There the conver- 
 sation turned on you; unfortunately, your con- 
 duct and its notoriety were not approved. The 
 crowd of men you suffer to approach you, 
 your coquetry, and the rumors it excites, re- 
 ceived more censure and far harsher blame than 
 I could wish. You will readily conceive the 
 course I took. I said all that I could in your 
 defence; excused you, firmly, as to your in- 
 tentions, offering to vouch for your good soul.
 
 104 THE MISANTHROPE [Act HI 
 
 But as you know there are things in life 
 that cannot be excused, however much we 
 wish to do so, and I found myself, at last, 
 constrained to admit that your manner of liv- 
 ing does certainly seem wrong, and has to 
 the world an injurious appearance; also that 
 mischievous tales are being told of it, and that 
 your conduct might, if you were only willing, 
 give far less ground for condemnation. Not 
 that I think your virtue really injured God 
 forbid that I should think so ! But the world 
 believes in the mere shadow of sin ; and it is not 
 enough to satisfy our conscience only. Madame, 
 I think your mind too reasonable to take amiss 
 this useful counsel, or to attribute it to other 
 motives than the hearty zeal which binds 
 me to your interests. 
 
 Madame, I have many thanks to render you ; 
 such counsel can but gratify me; and, far from 
 taking it amiss, I wish to recognize the favor 
 you have done me by instantly returning it with 
 other counsel which concerns your honor.. As 
 you have shown yourself so heartily my friend 
 by telling me the rumors people spread about 
 me, I wish to follow, in my turn, so kind an
 
 Scene V] THE MISANTHROPE 105 
 
 example by telling you what people say of you. 
 The other day, at a house where I was visiting, 
 I met some persons of high character, who, 
 speaking of a soul's true kindness, turned their 
 remarks, madame, onyou. Unfortunately, your 
 prudery and your bursts of pious zeal were not 
 regarded by them as a good example. This 
 affectation of a grave demeanor; your endless 
 talks of virtue and of honor; your frowns and 
 outcries at the shadow of indecency which one 
 ambiguous word can cast on innocence ; the high 
 esteem you place upon yourself; the pitying 
 glances you bestow on others; your frequent 
 lectures, your sour censure of things that in 
 themselves are pure and innocent, all this, if 
 I may speak to you quite frankly, madame, was 
 blamed with one consent. What is the good, 
 they said, of all this modesty, this virtuous 
 exterior, if it belies the resti 'Tis true she 
 says her prayers with rigid punctuality, but 
 then she beats her servants and she does not 
 pay them; in pious places she displays her zeal, 
 but she paints her face in order to seem hand- 
 some ; she covers up the nakedness of pictures, 
 but has a liking for realities. As for me, 
 madame, I took up firmly your defence with 
 each and all ; assuring them that what they said
 
 106 THE MISANTHROPE [Act HI 
 
 was slanderous. But their views clashed with 
 mine; and their conclusion was that you would 
 do well to meddle less with others' actions and 
 look more closely to your own. They said we 
 ought to look at home a good long time be- 
 fore we think of judging other people; that an 
 exemplary life alone gives weight to our cor- 
 rection of the lives of others ; moreover, that in 
 any case, 't is better to remit that duty to those 
 whom heaven has selected for it. Madame, I 
 think you are too reasonable to take amiss this 
 useful counsel, or to attribute it to other motives 
 than the hearty zeal which binds me to your 
 interests. 
 
 Ar8INO]6. 
 
 I know that in reproving we subject ourselves 
 to much; but I did not expect this sharp retort, 
 madame; and I see plainly, by its very bitter- 
 ness, that my sincere advice has cut you to the 
 heart. 
 
 Celim^ne. 
 
 Quite the contrary, madame; and if the 
 world were wise these mutual counsels would be 
 made the custom. Given in good faith, they 
 would dispel the utter blindness each has for 
 himself. It rests with you to carry on this 
 faithful office with your past zeal. Let us take
 
 Scene V] THE MISANTHEOPE 107 
 
 pains to tell ourselves, between ourselves, just 
 what you hear of me, and I of you. 
 
 Absino^. 
 
 Ah, madame, I shall hear nought of you ; it 
 is of me the most reproving things are said. 
 
 CfLIMiSTE. 
 
 "^ Madame, I think that all things may be 
 praised and blamed; and each award is just, 
 according to age or fancy. There is a season 
 for coquettish gallantry; there is another, still 
 more suitable, for prudery. 'T is wise, from pol- 
 icy, to choose that style when time has deadened 
 the glow of youth; it serves to cover a morti- 
 fying downfall. I don't deny that some day 
 I may follow on your traces, for age brings 
 everything. But it is still too early, madame, 
 as everybody knows, to be a prtide at twenty. ' ' 
 
 Arsino^. 
 
 You plume yourself on very slight advan- 
 tages, and ring your age with wonderful eflfect! 
 But an advantage that you share with many is 
 not so much to boast of, after all. I know not 
 why your temper drives you, madame, thus to 
 provoke me in so strange a way.
 
 108 THE MISANTHROPE [Act III 
 
 And I, madaxne, I really know not why you 
 constantly declaim against me everywhere. 
 Must I be punished for your disappointments 1 
 Is it my fault that no one courts you ? What 
 can I do if men will love me, and will persist in 
 offering vows your heart may wish to take away 
 from me ? The field is open to you. I do not 
 hinder any of your charms from winning lovers. 
 
 Absino^. 
 
 Alas! and do you really think the number of 
 your lovers, of which you seem so vain, can 
 trouble others; or that'we do not find it easy 
 to appraise the price at which you gain them ? 
 Do you think to persuade us who see how 
 things are going that your good qualities 
 alone attract your followers ; or that they burn 
 for you with honest love, and court you solely 
 for your virtue? The world is not a dupe; it 
 is not blinded by such vain pretences. Many a 
 woman fitted to inspire the tenderest sentiments 
 does not have lovers ; from that the argument is 
 plain : their hearts cannot be won without great 
 effort, for none may woo us for our beauty only, 
 but all must buy the right of courting us. 
 Therefore you need not swell with pride for such
 
 Scene V] THE MISANTHROPE 109 
 
 poor sparkles of a trivial victory. Correct the 
 self-conceit of your attractions, and cease to 
 treat us superciliously. If our eyes envied the 
 conquests yours obtain, methinks we all could 
 do as you do, cease to conduct ourselves with 
 self-respect, and let you see that others can 
 have suitors when they please. 
 
 CelimAne. 
 
 Then have them, madame; let me see it 
 done; with this rare secret make the effort 
 to please, and 
 
 AKSINOi. 
 
 Madame, let us end this conference ; it irri- 
 tates too much your soul and mine. I should 
 already have taken leave of you, were I not 
 forced to wait here for my carriage. 
 
 CelimIine. 
 
 Pray stay as long as suits you, madame; 
 nothing need hasten your departure. But, not 
 to weary you with my presence, I '11 give you 
 better company; and monsieur here, whom 
 chance has brought so opportunely, shall fill 
 my place and entertain you better.
 
 no THE MISAi^THROPE [Act IH 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 Alceste, Celimne, Absino:^ 
 
 CELIMiafE. 
 
 Alceste, I have a letter T must write ; it can- 
 not be delayed without some blame to me. 
 Stay with madame ; she will have the kindness, 
 I am sure, to excuse my incivility. 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 
 Alceste, Absinob 
 
 Aksino]e. 
 
 You see she wishes me to entertain you until 
 my carriage comes ; and her civility could pro- 
 vide me with nothing more truly charming than 
 this interview. Persons of lofty merit draw 
 forth the esteem and love of every one; and 
 yours, undoubtedly, has secret charms which 
 lead my heart to enter all your interests. I 
 wish the court, with more propitious eyes, 
 would do full justice to your claims. You 
 have much cause for indignation. I am angry 
 almost daily to see that nothing has been done 
 for you.
 
 ScbnbVU] the misanthrope HI 
 
 Alceste. 
 For me, madame? On what pretensions 
 should I base a claim? What service to the 
 State have I been known to render? What 
 have I done, if you please, so brilliant in itself 
 that I have cause to grumble because the court 
 does nothing in return for it? 
 
 ABSINOi. 
 
 It is not every one on whom our court casts a 
 propitious eye who has done good service to the 
 State. Opportunity is needed as well as power. 
 The great deserts that all men see in you 
 ought 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 For heaven's sake, madame, say nothing of 
 my deserts. Why do you wish the court to 
 trouble ^itself about them ? Its cares would be 
 too many and its hands too full if it unearthed 
 the merits of everybody. 
 
 Aksino. 
 A dazzling merit will unearth itself; and 
 yours is thought extreme on every side. I 
 must tell you now that yesterday, in two dis- 
 tinguished houses, you were much praised by 
 persons of great weight.
 
 112 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IH 
 
 Alceste. 
 Hey! madame, 'tis ijowadays the fashion to 
 laud every one. That is the way by which 
 the present century levels everything. All are 
 of equal merit; it is no longer an honor to 
 be praised. Why! praises are stuffed down 
 your throat, flung at your head ; and there 's 
 my valet's name ip. the gazette! 
 
 Absino]^. 
 For my part, I have wished you to obtain 
 some place at court in which to show your merit 
 to the world. If only you consented, we would 
 intrigue a little, and, to oblige you, start a few 
 machines. I myseK have men in hand whom 
 I could use, and they would make the way 
 quite smooth for you. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Madame, what would you have me do at 
 court ? The disposition that I feel within me 
 requires rather that I keep away from it. 
 Heaven did not make me, when it gave me 
 breath, with a soul congenial to the courtly 
 atmosphere. I am conscious that I do not possess 
 the necessary virtues to succeed there and do 
 my duty. Frankness and sincerity are my 
 chief talents; and he who does not have the
 
 Scene Vn] THE MISANTHROPE 113 
 
 gift of hiding what he thinks, had better make 
 short stay in courtly regions. Outside the 
 court, of course we cannot have the strong 
 support or the titles of honor it gives nowa- 
 days. But, in losing those advantages, we are 
 spared the vexatious trifling of silly persons; 
 we need not suffer merciless rebuflfs, nor be 
 compelled to praise the verse of Monsieur Such- 
 a-one, nor shower incense on Madame This- 
 or-that, nor undergo the brains of seedling 
 
 marquises. 
 
 Absino^. 
 
 Then we will drop, since you desire it, this 
 matter of the court ; but my heart is forced to 
 pity you in your love; and, if I may disclose 
 my thoughts upon it, I wish with all my 
 soul 't were better placed. Indeed you have 
 deserved a gentler fate, for she who charms you 
 is unworthy of you. 
 
 Alceste. 
 In saying that, I beg you to remember, 
 madame, this lady is your friend. 
 
 Arsino^. 
 
 Yes. But my conscience is too wounded to 
 
 bear a moment longer the wrong she does you. 
 
 The state in which I see you grieves my soul 
 
 8
 
 114 THE MISANTHROPE [Act HI 
 
 too much ; I am forced to warn you she betrays 
 your love. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 You show me thus, madame, a tender impulse ; 
 such warnings would oblige a lover. 
 
 Aksinoe. 
 
 Yes, though she be my friend, she is, and 
 I dare say it, unworthy to enthrall a good 
 man's heart; hers has for you a counterfeited 
 tenderness. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 It may be so, madame; we cannot see the 
 hearts of others. But your charity might well 
 have paused before you cast this painful thought 
 in mine. 
 
 Arsino. 
 
 Oh! if you do not wish to be undeceived, 
 there is no need to tell you anything; that, 
 indeed, is easy. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No, it can not end so. This is a subject on 
 which, no matter what is learned, doubts are 
 more cruel than the worst of truths. For my 
 part, I would rather nothing were told me 
 unless it could be shown with certainty.
 
 Scene VII] THE MISANTHROPE 115 
 
 AKSINOi. 
 
 That is enough. Upon this subject you shall 
 have full light. Yes, I will let you trust your 
 own eyes only. Give me your hand to take me 
 home. There I will show you positive proof 
 of the unfaithful heart of lier you love. And, 
 if for other eyes your own could long, it may be 
 you would find some there to comfort you. 
 
 END OF ACT THIRD.
 
 116 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 Set Jourtfj 
 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 ^LIANTE, PhILINTE 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 JNJO, a soul so hard to manage was never seen; 
 no reconciliation was ever yet so troublesome to 
 bring about. In vain they tried in every way 
 to move him ; out of his fixed opinion he would 
 not be dragged. Never did a more fantastic 
 quarrel, I am sure, engage the wisdom of the 
 Marshals. " No, gentlemen, " he said, " I shall 
 not retract. On every other matter I will 
 agree with him, but not on this. Why is he 
 affronted 1 Of what does he complain ? Is his 
 fame injured because he cannot write poems? 
 What does my opinion, which he takes so ill, sig- 
 nify to him ? A man can be a gentleman and 
 make bad verses. Such matters do not touch 
 his honor, and I hold him to be a gallant man 
 in every other way ; a man of quality, of courage, 
 deserving of anything you please, but a bad 
 writer. I will praise, if you wish it, his way
 
 ScbnbI] the misanthrope 117 
 
 of living, of spending money, his skill on horse- 
 back, in fencing, dancing ] but as for praising his 
 verses, I beg to be excused ! When a man has 
 not the happiness to be able to write better than 
 that, he ought to repress, under pain of death, 
 his desire to make rhymes." Finally, all the 
 grace and concession to which, with great effort, 
 his feelings were brought, could only induce 
 him say thinking that he softened his style 
 exceedingly : " Monsieur, I am sorry to be so 
 critical, and I heartily wish, out of good-will 
 to you, that I could have thought your sonnet 
 better." After which an embrace was hastily 
 brought about in order to conclude the pro- 
 ceedings as fast as possible. 
 
 ;6liante. 
 
 He certainly is very singular in his manner 
 of acting; but, I must confess, I esteem him 
 highly. The sincerity on which his soul so 
 prides itself has something noble and heroic 
 in it. 'T is a virtue rare indeed in these days ; 
 and I wish I could see it in others as in him. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 As for me, the more I see of him the more 
 amazed I am at this passion to which he yields
 
 118 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 his heart. With the nature it has pleased God 
 to give him, I cannot see how it is that he loves 
 as he does; and still less do I see why your 
 cousin should be the woman to whom his heart 
 inclines. 
 
 ISliante. 
 
 It only shows that love is not invariably 
 produced in hearts by harmony of disposition; 
 and all those theories of gentle sympathy are 
 in this case belied. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 But do you think, from what you see, that 
 he is loved ? 
 
 J^LIANTE. 
 
 That is a point it is not easy to make out. 
 How can we judge how truly she may love 
 him? Her heart is never really sure itself; 
 sometimes she loves and does not know it; at 
 other times she thinks she loves and there is 
 nothing in it. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 I think our friend will find more grief than 
 he imagines with your cousin. To tell the 
 truth, if he possessed my heart, he would have 
 turned his homage elsewhere, and by a wiser
 
 Scene I] THE MISANTHROPE 119 
 
 choice have shown, madame, that he profits 
 by the kindness you have shown him. 
 
 Eliante. 
 For myself, I stand on no punctilio, for I 
 think that in such matters we should show 
 good faith. I do not oppose his tenderness for 
 Celimene; on the contrary, my heart is inter- 
 ested for her, and if the thing depended upon me 
 I should myself unite him to the one he loves. 
 But if in such a choice (as well may happen) 
 his love should meet some unpropitious fate, 
 and it so chanced another's suit were crowned, 
 I could resolve to accept his homage then; 
 for the refusal suffered by him in such a case 
 would cause me no repugnance. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Neither do I oppose, madame, the kindness 
 which your charming soul bestows upon him; 
 and he himself can tell you, if he will, what 
 I have taken pains to say to him about it. 
 But if, by the marriage which he now desires, 
 you should be unable to receive his vows, I 
 shall then seek the transcendent favor which 
 your soul with so much generosity now gives 
 to him, happy when his heart turns else- 
 where, if yours, madame, falls back on mine.
 
 120 THE MISANTHEOPE [Act IV 
 
 You are making merry, Philinte. 
 
 Philinte. 
 No, madame; I am speaking now of my 
 soul's best; and I await the occasion to offer 
 myself openly; trusting, with all my heart, 
 the moment soon may come. 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 Alceste, ]&liante, Philinte 
 
 Alceste. 
 Ah ! avenge me, madame, for an affront 
 which has, at last, conquered my constancy. 
 
 Eliante. 
 What is it ? what can have moved you thus ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 That which I can't conceive of without dying. 
 
 And the upheaval of all the natural world could 
 
 not unhinge me more than this disaster. 'T is 
 
 done, 'tis over! My love I cannot speak 
 
 of it ! 
 
 Eliante. 
 
 Try to control your mind.
 
 ScBNE II] THE MISANTHROPE 121 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Oh, just Heaven! why were such charms 
 joined to the vices of the basest souls? 
 
 IJliante. 
 But still, what can have 
 
 Alceste, % 
 
 Ah ! all is ruined ; I am I am betrayed, 
 I am destroyed. Celimene who could believe 
 it ? Celimene deceives me ; she is unfaithful. 
 
 J^LIANTE. 
 
 Have you just grounds for that belief ? 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Perhaps it is mere suspicion, lightly kindled. 
 Your jealous mind invents, at times, chimeras. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Ha ! morbleu ! monsieur, mind your own 
 affairs. \_To Eliante\ I am, alas! too certain of 
 her treachery; for here, in my pocket, written 
 by her own hand, is a letter to Oronte which 
 proves to my very eyes her shame and my 
 disgrace Oronte! whose homage I believed
 
 122 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 she fled; the one of all my rivals whom I 
 feared the least. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 A letter easily misleads at sight, and is often 
 not so guilty as we think it. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Monsieur, once more, let me alone, I beg; and 
 keep your interest for your own concerns. 
 
 Eliante. 
 
 You ought to moderate your anger. And this 
 
 outrage 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Madame, it rests with you to avenge it. It 
 
 is to you I have recourse to free my heart from 
 
 poignant anguish. Avenge me on your cousin, 
 
 your ungrateful and perfidious cousin, who basely 
 
 has betrayed a faithful love. Avenge me for a 
 
 wrong which you must hold in horror. 
 
 iilLIAlS^TB. 
 
 I avenge you ! how ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Accept my heart accept it, madame, and 
 
 take the place of that unfaithful woman. In 
 
 that way only can I have revenge; I wish to 
 
 punish her by the honest vows, the deep affec-
 
 Scene II] THE MISANTHROPE 123 
 
 tion, the respectful suit, the assiduous service, 
 and the fervent duty my heart henceforth will 
 offer on your altar. 
 
 Eliante. 
 I pity what you suffer, certainly, and I do not 
 reject the heart you offer me ; but the wrong is 
 not, perhaps, so great as you imagine, and you 
 may still give up these thoughts of vengeance. 
 When we are hurt by one who has a deep 
 attraction we are apt to make rash plans we do 
 not execute. We may see powerful reasons 
 to break our chain, and yet a guilty dear one 
 soon is innocent; and then the revenge we wish 
 to take is easily dispelled, and we see 'tis but 
 a lovers' quarrel after all. 
 
 Alceste, 
 
 No, no, madame, I assure you, no. The 
 offence is mortal. I break my bonds, and there 
 is no return. Nothing can change my firm 
 intention, for I should punish myself were I 
 to love her still. Here she is; my anger 
 is redoubled by her presence. I will denounce 
 her treacherous actions to her face, and so con- 
 found her. After which, freed once for all 
 from her deceitful charm, I '11 bring to you a 
 heart at liberty.
 
 124 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 Ci:LiMi;NE, Alcestb 
 
 Alceste, aside. 
 Oh, heaven ! can I be master of my emotions ? 
 
 C^LiMiNE, aside. 
 Heyday ! (To Alceste) What troubles you 
 thus ? Why these sighs, these gloomy looks ? 
 Are they meant for me 1 
 
 AliCESTE. 
 
 Of all the wrongs of which the soul is capa- 
 ble, nothing compares with your disloyalty. 
 Fate, devils, and the anger of high Heaven 
 have never yet produced a thing so evil. 
 
 C^LIMENE. 
 
 Here 's sweetness truly, and I like it much. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Do not jest; this is no time to laugh; blush 
 rather, for there is ample reason ; I have sure 
 proofs of your betrayal. This was the meaning 
 of my troubled soul ; 't was not in vain my love 
 became alarmed; those frequent doubts you 
 thought so odious were warnings of the calamity 
 before me. In spite of all your care and clever- 
 ness in deception, my star was telling me of
 
 Scene III] THE MISANTHROPE 125 
 
 that I had to fear. But do not think that I 
 will suffer the sting of such an outrage and not 
 take vengeance. I know we have no power 
 over desire; that love is, everywhere, born 
 independent; no force can thrust it on the 
 heart, and every soul is free to choose its 
 conqueror. Therefore I should have had no 
 reason to complain had your lips spoken truly, 
 and refused my suit when first I pressed it. 
 My heart would then have had no right to 
 quarrel with its fate. But to find my love 
 accepted with false vows that is betrayal, 
 that is perfidy, which cannot be too sternly 
 punished, and I will give the reins to my resent- 
 ment. Yes, yes, fear all after such infamy ; I am 
 no more myself, I am all anger! Stabbed by 
 the mortal blow your hand has struck, my 
 senses are no longer ruled by reason; I yield to 
 the promptings of a just resentment, and I will 
 not answer for what I now may do. 
 
 CiLIMiNE. 
 
 But what has caused, if I may ask, this 
 
 violent fit of anger? Have you lost your 
 
 reason ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Yes, yes, I have lost it! I lost it when from 
 
 the sight of you I took, for my sorrow, the
 
 126 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 poison that is killing me, and when I trusted 
 the sincerity of all those traitorous charms 
 which so enthralled me. 
 
 Celimene, 
 
 What is this treachery of which you thus 
 
 complain ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Ah ! double-heart, that knows so well the art 
 
 of feigning ! But I have the means at hand all 
 
 ready to confound it. Cast your eyes here, and 
 
 recognize your writing. This discovered letter 
 
 suffices to convict you; against this witness 
 
 there is no reply. 
 
 Celimene. 
 Is this the matter that has so disturbed you ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 You do not blush to see that letter 1 
 
 CiLIMiNE. 
 
 And why, pray, should I blush to see it ? 
 
 Alceste. 
 What ! do you add audacity to treachery ? 
 Will you disavow that note because it does not 
 bear your seal? 
 
 CiLIMiNE. 
 
 Why should I disavow a letter written by me ?
 
 Scene III] THE MISANTHROPE 127 
 
 Alceste. 
 Can you see it without shame for the crime 
 toward me of which it proves you guilty 1 
 
 CelimJ:ne. 
 You are, upon my word, a most unreasonable 
 
 man. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 What! do you dare defy that ocular proof, 
 and say that in its tenderness to Oronte there 
 is nothing to outrage me and make you blush ? 
 
 Ci^LIMiNE. 
 
 Oronte ! who says the letter was to him 1 
 
 Alceste. 
 The persons who placed it in my hands this 
 day. But I '11 agree it might be for another 
 if so, would my heart have less reason to com- 
 plain of yours? would you be guiltless toward 
 me? 
 
 C^LIMilNE. 
 
 But if it be a woman to whom I wrote that 
 
 letter, why should it wound you? where 's the 
 
 crime of that? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Ha! the shift is good, the evasion admirable! 
 
 I did not expect, I must admit, this trick, but
 
 128 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 it convinces me completely. How dare you 
 have recourse to vulgar subterfuge? Do you 
 think me blind? Go on, and let me see the 
 crooked ways, the shifty air by "which you will 
 maintain so clear a falsehood; I 'd like to know 
 how you can twist to suit a woman the words of 
 that letter which is full of passion. Explain, 
 to hide your lack of truth, the words I now will 
 read to you 
 
 CiLIMi:NE. 
 
 I do not choose it. I think you are ridiculous 
 enougli, to use your power as you do, and dare 
 to tell me to my face all this. 
 
 Alceste. 
 No, no ; be not so angry ; take some pains to 
 justify these words of yours 
 
 Cl^LIMiNE. 
 
 No, I refuse to hear them; what it may 
 please you to believe in this affair is of the 
 smallest consequence to me. 
 
 Alceste. 
 I beg of you, tell me the truth; I will be 
 satisfied if I can be that the letter is to a 
 woman.
 
 scenbHI] the misanthrope 129 
 
 CiLIMiNE. 
 
 No, the letter is to Oronte; I wish it to be 
 believed. I receive his attentions with great 
 pleasure; I admire what he says, I value what 
 he is. I am ready to agree to all you say. 
 Now, do as you please, take your own course; 
 but do not wear me out with such scenes any 
 longer. 
 
 Alceste, aside. 
 
 Heavens ! was ever any fate more cruel ? Was 
 ever heart so treated ? What ! when a just dis- 
 pleasure forces me to speak, 't is I who am com- 
 plained of, I who make the quarrel ! My grief 
 and my suspicions are goaded on, and I am told 
 I may believe the worst in which she glories ! 
 And yet my heart is still so cowardly as not to 
 break the chain that binds me to her, or arm 
 itself with laudable contempt for the ungrateful 
 object it has loved too well. (To Celimene) 
 Ah! you know well, perfidious woman, how to 
 make my weakness serve your ends in spite of 
 myself, and how to use the fatal love, born of 
 your eyes, to carry out your purposes. Defend 
 yourself, at least, from a crime that overwhelms 
 me; cease this affectation of being guilty. 
 Prove to me, if you can, the innocence of that 
 9
 
 130 THE MISANTHKOPE [Act IV 
 
 letter; my tenderness consents to come to your 
 assistance strive to seem faithful , and I, in 
 turn, will strive to think you so. 
 
 Cj&LIMilNE. 
 
 Oh ! you are mad with all your jealous trans- 
 ports ; you don't deserve the love I feel for you. 
 I should like much to know what could induce 
 me to stoop so low as to deceive you ; and whj-, 
 if my heart leaned another way, I should not 
 say so with sincerity. How is it that the kind 
 assurance I gave you of my feelings was not 
 enough to save me from your suspicions ? Has 
 such a pledge no power against them ? and is it 
 not insulting me to listen to their voice? 
 Because a woman's heart makes a strong effort 
 when it owns its love ; because the honor of our 
 sex that enemy to ardor firmly opposes such 
 avowals, should the lover for whose sake we 
 overcome those obstacles, should he be the one 
 to doubt our truth ? Is he not guilty in suffer- 
 ing others to say these things at least without 
 a combat ? Go ! such foul suspicions deserve my 
 anger; you are not worth the esteem in which I 
 held you. How foolish I have been! I am 
 vexed with my simplicity in keeping any kind- 
 ness in my heart for you. I ought to turn my
 
 ScEKEin] THE MISANTHROPE 131 
 
 love elsewhere, and give you thus a subject of 
 legitimate complaint. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Ah ! traitress, my weakness is indeed a mys- 
 tery. Doubtless you are deceiving me with 
 those soft words. What of it? I must fol- 
 low my destiny ; my soul is given over to your 
 worship. I wish to see the end of this, and 
 know what is your heart, and whether it is 
 black enough to still betray me. 
 
 CELIMiNE. 
 
 No, for you do not love me as I must be 
 loved. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Ah ! my love is far bej'ond compare ; and in 
 its ardor to show itself for what it is to all the 
 world, it even forms desires against you. Yes, 
 I would fain that no one thought you lovable ; 
 I would you were reduced to misery; that 
 Heaven denied you everything; that you had 
 nor rank, nor birth, nor wealth, so that my 
 love might make some startling sacrifice to heal 
 the injustice destiny had done you, and that my 
 heart might have the joy and glory of seeing 
 you hold all things through my love.
 
 132 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 CelimIine. 
 That's a strange fashion of wishing well to 
 me ; heaven grant you may not have the chance 
 of it. But here 's your valet, seemingly excited. 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 CfiLIMilNE, AlCESTE, DuBOIS 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 What is all this? and why this frightened 
 
 air? 
 
 Dubois. 
 Monsieur 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Well? 
 
 Dubois. 
 Strange things have happened 
 
 Alceste. 
 What? 
 
 Dubois. 
 Matters are going wrong in our affairs 
 
 Alceste. 
 How? 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 Am I to speak openly?
 
 Scene IV] THE MISANTHROPE 133 
 
 Alceste. 
 Yes, speak; and quickly too. 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 Will no one overhear us t 
 
 Alceste. 
 Ha ! what nonsense ! Speak out. 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 Monsieur, we must get away at once. 
 
 Alceste. 
 What? 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 We must slip off silently. 
 
 Alceste. 
 And why 1 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 I tell you we must go at once. 
 
 Alceste. 
 The reason 1 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 And go without good-byes. 
 
 Alceste. 
 But your reason, I say? Why do you use 
 Bucli language?
 
 134 THE MISANTHEOPE [Act IV 
 
 Dubois. 
 The reason is we must be packing. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Ha ! I '11 break your head assuredly if you 
 don't answer differently. 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 Monsieur, a man all black in face and clothes 
 
 came to the house, and even to the kitchen; 
 
 where he left a paper, scribbled in such a way 
 
 that one had need be worse than any devil to 
 
 read it. It concerns, no doubt, your lawsuit, 
 
 but all the fiends in hell, I think, could never 
 
 make it out. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Well, what of it 1 What has that paper to 
 
 do, you fool, with the departure that you talked 
 
 about ? 
 
 Dubois. 
 
 Monsieur, an hour later a gentleman who 
 
 visits you came hurrying to see you in much 
 
 excitement. Not finding you, he charged me, 
 
 civilly (knowing with what zeal I serve you), 
 
 to tell you Stay, I wish I could recall his 
 
 name. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No matter for his name; what did he tell 
 you?
 
 Scene IV] THE MISANTHEOPE 135 
 
 Dubois. 
 Well, he was one of your friends, that must 
 suffice. He told me you were in danger of 
 arrest, and must get off at once. 
 
 Alceste. 
 But why ? Did he not specify the reason 1 
 
 Dubois. 
 No ; he asked for pen and ink, and wrote a 
 line by which you can, I think, get* to the 
 bottom of this mystery. 
 
 Alcestb. 
 Give it me, then. 
 
 C^LIMiNE. 
 
 What can all this mean 1 
 
 Alceste. 
 I do not know; but I will clear it up. 
 Come, you impertinent devil, give me the 
 note. 
 
 Dubois, after searching long in his pocket. 
 Faith ! monsieur I believe I 've left it 
 
 on your table. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I don't know what prevents me from
 
 136 THE MISANTHROPE [Act IV 
 
 Celimenb. 
 Do not be angry; but go at once and see 
 what all this means. 
 
 Alceste. 
 It seems that fate, whatever pains I take, 
 has sworn to hinder all our interviews. But to 
 defeat it, promise my love, madame, that you 
 will let me speak with you again this evening. 
 
 JEND OF ACT FOURTH.
 
 ScbnbI] the misanthrope 137 
 
 act Mi^ 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 Alceste, Philintb 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 JVlY resolution is taken, I tell you. 
 
 Philinte. 
 But, however hard the blow, must it compel 
 you 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Useless to say a word, useless to reason with 
 me ; nothing that you can do will turn me from 
 my purpose. The age in which we live is too 
 perverted ; I desire to withdraw from intercourse 
 with men. Honor, uprightness, decency, and 
 the laws were openly arrayed against my adver- 
 sary; on all sides was the equity of my cause 
 proclaimed ; and on the faith of my just rights 
 I rested tranquilly. And now behold, I am 
 defrauded of success; justice is with me, but 
 I lose my case ! A traitor, whose scandalous 
 history is well known to all, comes off victorious
 
 138 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 by the blackest falsehood ! Those who were on 
 my side yield to his treachery! He cuts my 
 throat and makes them think it right. The 
 weight of his canting artifice all jugglery! 
 has overthrown the Eight and baffled Justice : 
 he wins a verdict which has crowned a crime. 
 And not content with the great wrong he has 
 already done me, he is spreading everywhere a 
 villanous book, the very reading of which is 
 most condemnable, a book that merits the 
 .rigor of the law; and the lying rascal has the 
 effrontery to say I wrote it ! And Oronte mut- 
 ters low and tries maliciously to circulate the 
 calumny, he, who holds the rank of an 
 honest man at court; to whom I have been 
 sincere and frank; he, who came to me, with 
 an eager ardor which I did not seek, and 
 asked for my opinion on his verses. And be- 
 cause I treated him with honesty, refusing to 
 be false to him or truth, he helps to crush me 
 with an imaginary crime, and now becomes my 
 greatest enemy ! Never will his soul forgive 
 me because, forsooth ! I could not say his 
 verse was good. And all men, damn them! 
 have become like that. These are the actions 
 to which glory leads them ! Here' s the good 
 faith, the virtuous zeal, the justice, and the
 
 Scene I] THE AnSANTHROPE 139 
 
 honor we expect of them! No, no, it is too 
 much to bear such suffering. I will escape this 
 nest of villains, and since with human beings 
 we must live like wolves, traitors ! you shall 
 not have my life among you. 
 
 Philinte. 
 I think you are too hasty in forming that 
 design ; the harm is not so great as you would 
 make it. Tlie deed this man has dared impute 
 to you has not obtained enough belief to make 
 the authorities arrest you. That false report is 
 dying of itself; it is an action that will injure 
 only him who did it. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Injure him, indeed! He does not fear the 
 scandal of such tricks. He has the world's 
 permission to be a scoundrel ; and so far from 
 his credit being injured by this deed you '11 
 see him in some honored place to-morrow. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Nevertheless 'tis certain no one has given 
 much belief to the tale his malice spreads 
 about you. On that score you have nothing 
 at all to fear. As for the verdict on your 
 lawsuit, of which indeed you may complain,
 
 140 THE MISANTHKOPE [Act V 
 
 justice may yet be v/on ; you can appeal against 
 this judgment 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No, I shall hold to it. However great the 
 wrong that verdict does me, I will not have 
 it quashed; it shov.^s too plainly how the Right 
 is wronged. I wish it to remain for all pos- 
 terity, a signal mark, a noted testimony to 
 the wickedness of this age. 'T will cost me 
 twenty thousand francs, but with that sum I 
 buy the right to curse the iniquity of human 
 nature and to keep alive my everlasting hatred 
 to it. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 In short 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 In short, your efforts are superfluous. What 
 can you find to say upon this matter, monsieur ? 
 Will you have the effrontery to bid me to my 
 face excuse the infamy of what has happened ? 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 No, I am one with you in what you say. In 
 these days all things go by base intrigue and 
 selfish interests; craft carries all before it. 
 Men ought indeed to be made of other metal; 
 but is their lack of probity a reason to with-
 
 Scene I] THE MISANTHROPE 141 
 
 draw yourself from social life? All human 
 frailty is a means of exercising our philosophy. 
 That is the finest work of virtue. If every 
 one were clothed with integrity, if every heart 
 were just, frank, kindly, the other virtues 
 would be well-nigh useless, since their chief 
 purpose is to make us bear with patience the 
 injustice of our fellows. And so, a heart of 
 honest virtue 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 I know your words are of the best, monsieur, 
 your excellent arguments are most abundant; 
 but you waste your time in making those fine 
 speeches. Reason demands for my soul's good 
 that I retire. I have not enough control over 
 my tongue; I cannot answer for what I might 
 be led to say; I should have twenty duels on 
 my hands at once. Leave me, without further 
 argument, to wait for Celimene. She must 
 consent to my design. 'T is that which brings 
 me here to speak with her. I am about to see 
 whether her heart does truly love me ; this com- 
 ing hour will prove it to me once for all. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Let us go up to ^liante while awaiting 
 Celimene.
 
 142 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 No, my soul is full of care; do you go up, 
 
 and leave me in this gloomy corner with my 
 
 black misery. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 'T is cruel company. T will find Eliante and 
 
 bring her down. 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 CiiLiMiiNE, Oronte, Alceste 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 Yes, it is for you to say, madame, whether 
 you will bind me wholly to you by these tender 
 ties. I must have full assurance from your 
 soul to mine ; a lover cannot bear these hesita- 
 tions. If the ardor of my passion has power 
 to move you, you should not feign unwilling- 
 ness to let me know it. The proof I ask of 
 you is, plainly, no longer to admit Alceste 
 among your suitors; to sacrifice him, madame, 
 to my love; and banish him from your house 
 this very day. 
 
 CiLIMiNE. 
 
 But why are you so angry with him now, 
 you whom I have often known to speak of him 
 with favor?
 
 Scene II] THE MISANTHROPE 143 
 
 Obonte. 
 
 Madame, there is no need of explanations. 
 The question is, What are your sentiments? 
 Choose, if you please, between us; keep one 
 or else the other; my resolution waits upon 
 your will. 
 
 Alceste, advancing from his corner. 
 Yes, monsieur is right. Madame, you must 
 choose. In this his wishes accord with mine; 
 the self-same passion prompts me, the same 
 intention brings me hither. My love must have 
 some certain proof of yours. Things cannot 
 thus drag on another day ; this is the moment 
 to reveal your heart, 
 
 Oronte. 
 Monsieur, if your suit succeeds, I do not mean 
 that my importunate love shall trouble it. 
 
 Alceste. 
 Monsieur, I shall not seek, jealous or not, 
 to share her heart with you. 
 
 Oron^te. 
 If she prefers your loA'e to mine 
 
 Alceste. 
 If she is capable of any leaning toward you
 
 144 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 Oronte. 
 I swear I will no longer court her. 
 
 Alceste. 
 I swear I will no longer see her. 
 
 Orokte. 
 
 Madame, it is for you to speak without 
 
 constraint. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Madame, you can explain yourself without 
 
 anxiety. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 You have but to say on whom your wishes 
 
 fall. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 You have but to speak the truth and choose 
 
 between us. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 What! at making such a choice you seem to 
 
 be distressed ! 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 What! your soul hesitates and seems uncer- 
 tain! 
 
 CelimI;ne. 
 
 Good heavens ! this demand is most ill-timed ; 
 how little sense or reason either of yon show ! 
 I know myself the preference that I feel; my
 
 ScbnbII] the misanthrope 145 
 
 heart is not upon the scales, suspended doubt- 
 fully between you. Nothing could be more 
 quickly made than the choice you ask for: 
 but I should feel, to tell the truth, too much 
 embarrassment in making this avowal to your 
 face. A choice like this must seem unkind to 
 one; it should not, therefore, openly be made 
 in presence of both. A heart will always show 
 its leanings plainly enough without compelling 
 it to bare itself; some gentler means can sure 
 be found to show a lover that his attentions 
 are unwelcome. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 No, no, I do not fear a frank avowal, and I 
 consent for my part 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 And I demand it. It is this very publish- 
 ing I dare exact. I will not have you shirk 
 the truth in any way. To keep on terms with 
 all the world is what you study. But no more 
 dallying, no more indecision now; you must 
 explain yourself decisively; or else I take 
 refusal for decision, and I shall know, for my 
 part, how to explain your silence ; I shall con- 
 sider said the wrong that I expect of you. 
 10
 
 146 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 Oeonte. 
 
 Monsieur, I thank you for your indignation, 
 and I say to madame, here, the same as you. 
 
 Celimene. 
 How you annoy me with your whims ! What 
 justice is there in what you ask ? Have I not 
 told you the motive that restrains me t Here is 
 !^liante, she shall judge this matter. 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 !!liantb, Philint, CsLiMiiNE, Oronte, Alcestk 
 
 C^LIM^NE. 
 
 Cousin, I am persecuted by these two men, 
 whose scheme appears to have been concerted. 
 They each demand, with equal heat, that I shall 
 here proclaim, in presence of both, the choice 
 my heart has made; and that, in givuig this 
 decision openly, I shall forbid one or the other 
 from paying me attentions. Tell me if things 
 are ever done in that way. 
 
 i^LIANTE. 
 
 Do not consult me ; you may find that you 
 appeal to the wrong person. Frankly, I am 
 for those who speak their thoughts.
 
 ScbneIV] the misanthrope 147 
 
 Okonte. 
 Madame, it is in vain you seek to evade us. 
 
 Alceste. 
 All your evasions are ill-seconded. 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 You must, you shall speak out, and end this 
 
 vacillation. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 It is enough if you persist in silence. 
 
 Oronte. 
 I ask but a single word to end the matter. 
 
 Alceste. 
 And I shall comprehend you if you say no 
 word. 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 ABsnroi:, Acaste, Clitandre, CfinMiiNE, Obonte, 
 Alceste, Eliante, Philinte 
 
 Acaste, to Celimene. 
 Madame, we have come, Clitandre and I, to 
 clear up, if you please without offence, a trifling 
 matter. 
 
 Clitandre, to Oronte and Alceste. 
 Your presence, gentlemen, is very timely, for 
 you are both concerned in this aflfair.
 
 148 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 Arsinoe, to Celimene. 
 It may surprise you, madame, to see me here, 
 and I must tell you that these gentlemen have 
 caused my coming. They came to see me to 
 complain of something my heart cannot believe. 
 I have too high an esteem for your real depth of 
 soul to think you capable of so great a wrong. 
 My eyes refused their strongest testimony ; and 
 my friendship, overlooking our small jars, has 
 brought me to you in their company that I may 
 see you clear yourself at once of this foul 
 calumny. 
 
 ACASTE. 
 
 Madame, we wish to see, in a kindly spirit, 
 how you will take these facts. Here is a letter 
 written by you to Clitandre. 
 
 Clitandre. 
 And here a tender billet written by you to 
 Acaste. 
 
 AcASTE, to Oronte and Alceste. 
 Gentlemen, this writing is well-known to you, 
 of course. I do not doubt that her civilities 
 have frequently enabled you to see it. But the 
 letter itself is worthy of being read. 
 
 (Reads.) " What a strange man you are to 
 blame me for my gayety, and to declare that I am 
 never so pleased as when you are not with me.
 
 SceiteIV] the misanthrope 149 
 
 Nothing was ever more unjust ; and if you do not 
 come at once and beg my pardon for this offence, 
 I will never in my life forgive you for it. Our 
 tall, ungainly viscount " 
 
 He ought to be present, and hear this. 
 
 "Our tall, ungainly viscount, the first whom 
 you complain of, is a man who never pleased me ; 
 and since I saw him, for an hour together, spit in 
 a pond in order to make bubbles, I have had a 
 poor opinion of him. As for the little marquis " 
 
 That is myself, gentlemen; I say it without 
 vanity. 
 
 "As for the little marquis, who held my hand 
 to-day for a long time, I think him the most 
 finical of little beings ; there 's nothing of him 
 but his nobility. And as for the man of the green 
 ribbons " 
 
 (To Alceste) Your turn now, monsieur. 
 
 " As for the man of the green ribbons, he amuses 
 me at times with his bluntness and his surly 
 grumbling ; but there are moments when I think 
 him the most irritating mortal upon earth. As for 
 the man of sonnets " 
 
 (To Oronte) This is to your address, 
 monsieur. 
 
 " As for the man of sonnets, who has flung him- 
 self into poesy and wishes to be an author in 
 defiance of everybody, I do not give myself the 
 trouble to listen to him. His prose fatigues me
 
 150 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 even more than his verses. Therefore, do pray 
 believe that I am not so gay and amused in your 
 absence as you fancy, and that I think of you 
 more than I could wish at the parties of pleasure 
 to which I am dragged ; it is a wonderful season- 
 ing of all enjoyments to think of those we love." 
 
 Clitandre. 
 And here am I, in this billet to Acaste. 
 
 " Your Clitandre, of whom you speak, and who 
 says sweet things to me, is the very last man for 
 whom I could feel regard. He is absurd to imagine 
 he is loved ; and you are still more absurd to fancy 
 you are not loved. Exchange opinions ; and then 
 you will, both of you, be more nearly right. Come 
 and see me as often as you can, and help me to 
 bear the annoyance of being beset by him. 
 
 There, madame, is the model of a noble 
 character ; you know what it is called. Enough ! 
 We shall each exhibit, wherever we go, this 
 glorious picture of your heart. 
 
 Acaste. 
 
 I might say much to you, for the subject is 
 
 a fine one ; but I do not count you worthy of my 
 
 anger. I will let you see that little marquises 
 
 can win, for consolation, hearts that are worth 
 
 far more than yours. 
 
 [^Exevnt marquises.']
 
 Scene VI] THE MISANTHROPE 161 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 
 CELISliNE, ^LIANTE, AbSINOE, AlCESTE, OrONTE, 
 
 Philinte 
 
 Oronte. 
 
 Can it be that you tear me thus to pieces after 
 all that you have written and said to me ? Does 
 your heart, adorned with such fine semblances of 
 love, give itself, in turn, to all the human race? 
 Go ! I have been a dupe, but I am one no 
 longer. You have done me, madame, a service 
 in letting me unmask you. I shall profit in the 
 heart I thus regain, and find my vengeance 
 in your loss. {To Alceste) Monsieur, 1 ofier no 
 further hindrance to your love ; you can con- 
 clude your treaty with madame. \_Exit.'\ 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 C^LIMJSNE, ^ijLLANTB, ArSINOE, AlCESTE, PhILIKTB 
 
 Absino^. 
 
 Truly this is the basest act I have ever 
 known. I cannot keep silence, for I feel so 
 shocked. Was ever any conduct seen like 
 yours ? I take no interest in those other men,
 
 152 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 but as for monsieur (motioning to Alceste) who 
 rested all his happiness on you, a man like 
 him, of honor and great merit, who cherished 
 you with absolute idolatry, ought he 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Allow me, madame, if you please, to manage 
 my affairs myself. Pray do not take upon 
 yourself superfluous cares. In vain my heart 
 hears you take up its quarrel; it is not in a 
 state to pay for so great zeal. If by another 
 choice I wished to avenge myself it would not 
 be on you that choice would fall. 
 
 Arsino^. 
 
 Eh! do you imagine, monsieur, that such 
 a thought exists, or any eagerness is felt to win 
 you? I think your mind is far too full of 
 vanity if it can flatter itself with that belief. 
 Madame's rejected leavings are a merchandise 
 one would be foolish indeed to take a fancy to. 
 Pray imdeceive yourself; carry your thoughts 
 less high ; I 'm not the sort of woman you 
 should aspire to. You would do well to keep 
 your sighs for her; I long to see so suitable a 
 match. \_Exit.'\
 
 Scene VII] THE MISANTHROPE I53 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 CiiLiHtNE, Eliante, Alcestb, Philintb 
 
 Alceste, to Celimene. 
 
 Madame, I have kept silence, in spite of all 
 that I have seen and heard. I have allowed all 
 others to speak before me. Have I controlled 
 myself enough, and may I now 
 
 C^LIM^NE. 
 
 Yes, say all; you have a right to complain, 
 and to reproach me as you will. I have done 
 wrong, I here confess it ; and my discomfited 
 soul will seek no vain excuse to answer you. 
 I have despised the anger of the others, but 
 I admit my crime to you. Your indignation, 
 without a doubt, is reasonable. I know how 
 guilty I must seem to you, how all things 
 go to prove I have betrayed you. In short, 
 you have every right to hate me. Do so; I 
 consent. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 Ah! can I, traitress? Can I thus conquer 
 love ? However I may long to hate you, have 
 I a heart within me to obey my will? (To 
 IJliante and Philinte) See what this abject
 
 154 THE MISANTHRO;PE [Act V 
 
 tenderness can do ! I call you both to witness 
 my great weakness. And yet, this is not all; 
 you are about to see me carry that weakness 
 farther, show what a folly 'tis to call us wise, 
 and prove that in all hearts there 's still the 
 man. (To Celimene) Yes, I am willing to for- 
 get your guilt; my heart is ready to excuse 
 it and call this wrong a foible to which the 
 vices of the times misled your youfcli, pro- 
 vided you here consent to clasp hands Avith the 
 purpose I have formed to separate from men 
 and live apart in country solitudes; to which, 
 without delay you now must follow me. In 
 that way only can you still repair, before the 
 eyes of all men, the wrong that you have done 
 me. Do this, and notwithstanding the notori- 
 ety which noble hearts abhor, I still shall find 
 it in my heart to love you. 
 
 Celimene. 
 
 I! renounce the world before I 'm old, and 
 bury myself with you in country solitudes? 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 But if your love responds to mine what 
 matters all the world to you? Will you not 
 be content with me alone ?
 
 Scene Vm] THE MISANTHROPE 156 
 
 Solitude has terrors for a heart so young. 
 I feel that mine has not the grandeur, nor 
 the strength, to resolve upon a scheme of this 
 kind. If the bestowal of my hand can satisfy 
 your wishes I will consent to tie the knot 
 of marriage 
 
 AliCESTE. 
 
 Kg; my soul revolts against you now; this 
 hard refusal moves me more than all the rest. 
 And since you cannot in so sweet a tie find 
 all in me as I found all in you, go ! I reject 
 you. This sore outrage frees me forever from 
 your unworthy bonds. [JExit Celimene.] 
 
 SCENE EIGHTH 
 
 ^LIANTE, AlCESTE, PhILINTE 
 
 Alceste, to Miante. 
 Madame, your beauty is adorned with every 
 virtue; never have I seen aught in you but 
 strict sincerity. I have long valued you most 
 highly. Let me continue to esteem you thus; 
 and suffer that my heart, in all its divers 
 troubles, should not demand the honor of 
 yoiir bonds. I feel myself unworthy ; I begin
 
 156 THE MISANTHROPE [Act V 
 
 to know that heaven did not give me life for 
 the ties of marriage. 'T would be too base 
 a homage to offer you the leavings of a heart 
 not worth your own ; therefore 
 
 Eliante. 
 
 You can fulfil that thought, Alceste. My 
 
 hand is not so difl&cult to bestow, for here 's 
 
 your friend, who, if I asked him, would willingly 
 
 accept it. 
 
 Philinte. 
 
 Ah! that honor, madame, is my sole desire. 
 
 To gain it, I would sacrifice both blood and 
 
 life. 
 
 Alceste. 
 
 And may you ever taste of true contentment, 
 by keeping, each for each, such sentiments. As 
 for me, betrayed on all sides, crushed by injus- 
 tice, I leave a pit where vices triumph, to seek 
 somewhere on earth a lonely spot where I am 
 free to be a man of honor. 
 
 Philinte. 
 Come, madame, come, let us employ all ways 
 to thwart this scheme his heart proposes. 
 
 EXD O? THE MISANTHROPE.
 
 LE 
 
 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 
 
 (THE NOBODY WHO APES NOBILITY) 
 
 Cfltncli2=Banet 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS
 
 PERSONAGES 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain Bourgeois. 
 Madame Jourdain . His wife. 
 
 LuciLE Daughter o/M. Jourdain. 
 
 Cleonte Lover of Lucile. 
 
 DoRiMiiNE .... Marchioness. 
 
 Dor ANTE Count, lover of Dorimene. 
 
 Nicole Servant-woman to Jourdain. 
 
 CoviELLE Valet to CUonte. 
 
 A Music-master. 
 
 A Pupil of the Music-master. 
 
 A Dancing-master. 
 
 A Fencing-master. 
 
 A Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 A Master-tailor. 
 
 A Journeyman-tailor. 
 
 Two Lacqueys. 
 
 Musicians, Cooks, Tailors, Turks, Dervishes, 
 
 ETC. 
 The scene is in Paris, in the house of Monsieur Jourdain.
 
 LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 
 
 act jFirgt 
 
 The overture is played by a grand assemblage of 
 instruments. In the middle of the stage is a table, at 
 which the Pupil of the Music-master is composing an 
 air which the Bourgeois has ordered for a serenade. 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 A MUSIC-MASTER, A DANCING-MASTER, 
 THREE MUSICIANS, TWO VIOLINS, FOUR DANCERS 
 
 Music-MASTEK, to the musicians. 
 C_^OME, come iii. Sit you there and wait till 
 he arrives, 
 
 Dancing-mastek, to the dancers. 
 And you, too, on this side. 
 
 Music-master, to his pupil. 
 
 Is it finished 1 
 
 Pupil. 
 Yes. 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 Let me see ; yes, tliat will do.
 
 160 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 DANCIJfG-MASTEB. 
 
 Is it something new ? 
 
 Music-master. 
 An air for a serenade which I told him to 
 compose while waiting for our man to wake up. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 May I see it ? 
 
 Music-master. 
 You '11 hear it, with the dialogue, when he 
 comes. He won't be long. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Our occupations, yours and mine, are not to 
 be sneezed at now. 
 
 Music-masteb. 
 
 True. We have found a man exactly such 
 
 as we both wanted. He 's a nice income for 
 
 us, this Monsieur Jourdain, with the visions 
 
 of nobility and gallantry he has got into his 
 
 head; you, with your dancing, and I, with my 
 
 music, might well wish that all the world were 
 
 like him. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 Not altogether; I could wish, for his own 
 
 sake, he knew something about the things we 
 
 do for him.
 
 Scene I] BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME 161 
 MUSIC-MASTEB. 
 
 Yes, yes, he knows little, but lie pays much ; 
 
 and that 's what both our arts want more than 
 
 anything. 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 
 For myself, I own I thirst for glory. 
 Applause inspires me. I hold that in all the 
 fine arts it is a painful trial to exhibit one's self 
 to fools, and to be forced to bear the barbarous 
 ignorance of a stupid fellow as to our composi- 
 tions. There 's pleasure and you can't deny 
 it in working for those who are capable of 
 feeling the delicacies of an art; who know how 
 to sweetly -s^^lcome the beauties of our work 
 and, by titillating approbation, to reward its 
 toil. Yes, the most agreeable recompense we 
 can receive for the things we do is to see them 
 understood and cherished by an applause which 
 does justice to us. There is nothmg in my 
 opinion which pays better than that for all our 
 efforts. Enlightened praise is exquisitely sweet. 
 
 MUSIC-MASTEB. 
 
 I '11 agree to that. I enjoy it fully as much 
 
 as you do. Certainly, nothing tickles one so 
 
 pleasantly as applause. But incense doesn't 
 
 feed us; the purest praise won't give a man 
 
 11
 
 162 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 a living; you have to mix the solid with it; 
 and the best sort of praise is purse praise. 
 This man of ours is, to be sure, a man whose 
 lights are small, who talks without discern- 
 ment about everything, applauding where he 
 should n't. But his money corrects the blun- 
 ders of his mind ; his judgment is in his purse, 
 his praises are coins; and this ignorant nobody 
 is worth much more to us, as you know very 
 well, than the enlightened lord who sent us 
 here. 
 
 D ANCING-MASTEK . 
 
 There 's certainly some truth in what you 
 say; but I think you dwell too much on 
 money. Self-interest is so low a thing that a 
 man of feeling ought not to show such great 
 attachment to it. 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 But you take very readily the money which 
 our good man gives us. 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 
 Of course I do; but I don't place all my 
 happiness on that; and I do wish that with 
 his money he had some little knowledge or 
 taste in art.
 
 ScenbH] bourgeois GENTLLHOMME 163 
 
 music-masteb. 
 I wish so too, and that is just what you 
 and I are trying as best we can to give him. 
 Still, in any case, he affords us an opportunity 
 to get known in the world; he will pay for 
 others what others will praise for him. 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 Here he comes. 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain in night-cap and dressing-goivn, 
 Music-master, Dancing-master, Pupil, musicians, 
 dancers, lacqueys 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Hey? hey? gentlemen, how goes it? Will 
 you show me now your little foolery ? 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Foolery ! what little foolery 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Hey? hey! what do you call it? your 
 prologue or dialogue of songs and dances. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Ah! ah! 
 
 MUSIC-MASTE. 
 
 You see we are all prepared.
 
 164 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 I 've kept you waiting a little because I 
 wished to be dressed to-day like persons of 
 quality; and my tailor sent me some silk 
 stockings I tliought I never should get on. 
 
 Music-master. 
 We are here to await your leisure. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I request that neither of you will go away 
 
 till they bring my coat, so that you may see 
 
 me 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 Whatever you wish. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 equipped in good style, from head to foot. 
 
 Music-master. 
 We do not doubt it. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I had this calico dressing-gown made expressly 
 
 for me. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 It is very handsome. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 My tailor tells me that people of quality 
 always dress like tliis in the morning.
 
 Scene n] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 165 
 
 Music-master. 
 It becomes you wonderfully. 
 
 MONSIEUB''jOURDAIlf. 
 
 Lacqueys! hola, my two lacqueys! 
 
 FiKST Lacquey. 
 What is it, monsieur? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Nothing. It was only to see if you heard 
 me. (To the music-master and the dancing- 
 master) What do you think of my liveries ? 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 They are magnificent. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, opening his gown and 
 showing a pair of narrow red velvet 
 breeches and a waistcoat of green velvet. 
 
 See, this is a little dishabille for the morning, 
 to do my exercises in. 
 
 Music-master. 
 It is very genteel. 
 
 Monsieur JouRDAiir. 
 
 Lacquey ! 
 
 First Lacquey. 
 Monsieur.
 
 166 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 Monsieur Joubdais". 
 The other lacquey ! 
 
 Second IjAcquey. 
 Monsieur. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, taking off his 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 Hold my gown. (To the music-master and 
 the dancing-master) Do you think I look well 
 like this? 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 Very well; you could n't be better. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Now let me see your little affairs. 
 
 Music-master. 
 First, I wish you to hear an air which he 
 {motioning to his piipiV) has composed for the 
 serenade you asked for. He is one of my 
 scholars, and has an admirable talent for this 
 sort of thing. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Yes, but you should n't have had it done by 
 a scholar; you are none too good yourself for 
 the work.
 
 Scene n] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 167 
 
 Music-master. 
 You must not misunderstand the word scholar, 
 monsieur. This kind of scholar knows as much 
 as the greatest masters ; the air he has composed 
 is as fine as can be. Listen. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, to his lacquey. 
 Give me my dressing-gown to listen in 
 Stay, I think I '11 be ^tter without it. No, 
 give it to me, that will be best. 
 
 Musician, sings. 
 
 I languish night and day, and weep for woe, 
 Since your fine eyes inflict such cruelties ; 
 
 Fair Iris, if you treat your lover so, 
 What fate will overtake your enemies'? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 That seems to me rather doleful ; it puts one 
 to sleep. I'd like you to make it a trifle 
 merrier here and there. 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 Monsieur, the air must adapt itself to the 
 
 words. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I learned a tune that was really pretty, once 
 
 upon a time. Stop! how did it go] 
 
 Dancing-master, 
 Faith! I don't know.
 
 168 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 Monsieur Jouedain". 
 There 's a sheep in it. 
 
 Dancing-mas TEB. 
 A sheep 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Yes ah! this is it: (Sings.) 
 
 I thought #eanneton, 
 Pretty, kind, and sweet ; 
 I thought Jeanneton 
 Meeker than a sheep. 
 Alas ! Alas ! 
 
 She 's deep, 
 And a thousand times more cruel 
 Than a tiger in his leap. 
 
 Pretty, is n't it? 
 
 Music-master. 
 Prettiest thing in the world. 
 
 DaNCING-M ASTER. 
 
 And you sing it so well. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I never learned to sing, either. 
 
 Music-master. 
 You ought to learn music, monsieur, as well 
 as dancing ; the two arts are in close communion 
 with each other.
 
 Scene n] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 169 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 And open the mind of man to great things. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Do people of quality learn music 1 
 
 MUSIC-MASTEB. 
 
 Yes, monsieur. 
 
 MONSIEUB JOUEDAIN. 
 
 Then I '11 learn it. But I don't know what 
 time I can take for it; for besides a fencing- 
 master who is to show me how, I have engaged 
 a professor of philosophy and he 's to begin this 
 morning. 
 
 MUSIC-MASTBB. 
 
 Philosophy is something ; but music, monsieur, 
 mucjic 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 
 Music and dancing music and dancing are 
 the essentials. 
 
 MUSIC-MASTEB. 
 
 There 's nothing more useful to the State 
 than music. 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 
 There 's nothing so necessary to man as 
 dancing.
 
 170 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 MUSIC-MASTEE. 
 
 Without music a State cannot exist. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Without dancing men could n't live. 
 
 Music-master. 
 All tumults, all wars, result from people not 
 having learned music. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 All the troubles of men, all the fatal mis- 
 fortunes of which history is full, the blunders 
 of politicians, the failures of great generals, are 
 for want of knowing how to dance. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Why so 1 
 
 Music-master. 
 War comes from a want of harmony among 
 men 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 That 's true. 
 
 Music-master. 
 And if all men learned music, would not that 
 be a means of harmonizing them and bringing 
 universal peace upon earth?
 
 Scene U] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 171 
 MOXSIEUR JOURDAIN. 
 
 You are right. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 When a man has committed a mistake in 
 his behavior, whether in his family, or in the 
 government of a State, or in the command of 
 an army, don't people say: Such a one has 
 made a false step in that affair? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Yes, they say that. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Well, making a false step must proceed from 
 not knowing how to dance. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Very true; you are, both of you, right. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 We want you to understand the excellence of 
 dancing and music. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I understand it now. 
 
 Music-master. 
 Will it please you to see our two performances ?
 
 172 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Yes. 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 As I have already told you, mine is a little 
 attempt made to show what divers passions 
 music can express. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Very good. 
 
 Music-master, to musicians. 
 
 Advance. (To Monsieur Jourdain) Be 
 pleased to imagine that they are dressed as 
 shepherds. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Why shepherds 1 that 's so common. 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 When we have personages whom we make 
 talk in music we are obliged to take to pastorals. 
 Song has, in all ages, been attributed to 
 shepherds. It is not at all natural that noble- 
 men, or even bourgeois should sing their 
 passions. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Well, well; go on.
 
 ScEKElI] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 173 
 DIALOGUE IN MUSIC 
 
 A FEMALE MUSICIAN AND TWO MALE MUSICIANS 
 
 Female Musician. 
 A heart in the courts of Love 
 
 Is tossed by a thousand fears ; 
 
 'T is said that we take our ease, 
 
 And revel in sighs and tears : 
 
 But oh ! no, no. 
 
 They may say what they please. 
 
 There 's nought so sweet as our liberties. 
 
 First Musician. 
 There 's nought so sweet as the tender bond 
 Which binds two hearts 
 That are kind and fond. 
 Earth hath no joy without desire ; 
 Take love from life 
 And you kill its fire. 
 
 Second Musician. 
 *T were sweet to enter the courts of Love, 
 And lift one's heart to a heart above, 
 "Were truth and faith repaid ; 
 
 But alas and alas ! 
 Where can I find a faithful maid ? 
 That sex inconstant, and fickle, and vain, 
 'T were best to renounce 
 And peace to gain. 
 
 First Musician. 
 Ardor imutterable !
 
 174 BOURGEOIS GENTILIIOMME [Acx I 
 
 Female Musician. 
 Frankness incomparable ! 
 
 Second Musician. 
 Falsehood dishonorable ! 
 
 First Musician. 
 Precious thou art to me ! 
 
 Female Musician. 
 Dear is thy love to me ! 
 
 Second Musician. 
 Horror I feel for thee ! 
 
 First Musician. 
 Leave this horror, I pray, unsaid; 
 
 Female Musician. 
 "We will find thee a faithful maid ; 
 
 Second Musician. 
 If I meet her my vows are paid. 
 
 Female Musician. 
 
 To save our fame 
 I offer my heart. 
 
 Second Musician. 
 
 Canst thou convince me. 
 And faith impart 1
 
 Scene II] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 175 
 
 Female Musician. 
 
 Try, by experience, 
 WMch of us two can love enow. 
 
 Second Musician. 
 
 May the gods destroy 
 Which of us two betrays the vow. 
 
 All Thkee Togethek. 
 
 'T is rare to meet 
 With lasting love on mutual ground ; 
 How sweet, how sweet. 
 It is to meet 
 When two fond hearts are faithful found ! 
 
 Monsieur JouEDAiif. 
 Is that all? 
 
 MUSIC-MASTKK. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I think it is well enough put together; there 
 are some pretty little maxims in it. 
 
 I^ANCING-MASTER. 
 
 And now for my affair. This, monsieur, is an 
 attempt to show the beautiful attitudes and fine 
 movements by which dancing can be varied. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Are these shepherds, too 1
 
 176 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act I 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 That 's as you please. {To the dancers) 
 Begin. 
 
 Ballet. 
 
 Four dancers execute the various steps and 
 movements which the dancing-master orders. 
 
 END OF ACT FIRST. ^ 
 
 1 The acts of this play are separated by interludes 
 after the fashion of the classic drama ; and as the same 
 personages continue on the stage, it would be easy to 
 make the five acts into one. The " Bourgeois Gen- 
 tilhomme " is really a play in one act divided by 
 ballets. No other work of Moliere's presents this 
 singularity. Aime Maetin.
 
 scenbI] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 177 
 
 ^ct &ttonti 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 monsebur jouedain, the music-master, the 
 Dancing-mastek 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Well now, that's not bad; those fellows 
 frisk about pretty well. 
 
 Music-master. 
 When that dance is given with its music, the 
 effect will be better still ; and you will see some- 
 thing really chivalrous in the little ballet we 
 have arranged for you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 And that will be very soon; the person for 
 
 whom I am preparing all this is to dine with 
 
 me to-day. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 All is ready for the occasion. 
 
 Music-master. 
 But, monsieur, one occasion is not sufficient. 
 A person like you, who is magnificent and has 
 12
 
 178 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 an inclination toward splendid things, should 
 give a concert at your house every Wednesday 
 or Thursday. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Do people of quality give concerts 1 
 
 MUSIC-MASTEB. 
 
 Yes, monsieur, 
 
 MONSIEUB JOUBDAIN. 
 
 Then I shall give them. Will they be fine ? 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 Undoubtedly. You will need three voices: 
 a treble, a counter-tenor, and a bass, accom- 
 panied by a bass-viol, a theorbo, a harpsichord 
 for the continued bass, and a couple of treble- 
 violins to play the air. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 
 Yes, but you must have a trombone. A 
 trombone is an instrument that pleases me; 
 it is very harmonious. 
 
 Music-master. 
 You must let us manage these things. .
 
 Scene I] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 179 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Well, don't forget to send me musicians who 
 are to play while we are at dinner. 
 
 Music-master. 
 You shall have all you wish. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Above all, the ballet must be fine. 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 You shall be satisfied, especially with the 
 minuet. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Ah, ha! tlic minuet is my particular dance. 
 I want you to see me dance it. Come, dancing- 
 master. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 "We want a hat, monsieur, if you please. 
 (Monsieur Jourdain takes the hat of his lac- 
 quey, and puts it on over his night-cap. Then 
 the dancing-master takes his hands and makes 
 him dance to the time of the minuet, which he 
 sings.) La, la, la; la, la, la; la, la, la, la, la, la; 
 la, la, la; la, la, la; la, la, la, la, la, la; la la, 
 la, la, la. Keep time, if you please. La, la, 
 la, la, la. Right leg, la, la, la. Don't move 
 your shoulders so much. La, la, la; la, la, la;
 
 180 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 la, la, la, la. Your arms look deformed. La, 
 la, la, la, la. Raise your head. Turn out your 
 toes. La, la, la. Straighten your body. 
 
 Monsieur Jouedain, to music-master. 
 Hey ! what do you think of that ? 
 
 MUSIC-MASTEB. 
 
 It could n't be better. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 By the bye, teach me how to make a bow 
 when I salute a marchioness; I shall have 
 need of it before long. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 A bow to salute a marchioness ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Yes, a marchioness, whose name is Dori- 
 
 m^ne. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 Give me your hand. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 No, you do it, and let me see how; I shall 
 
 remember. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 Well, if you wish to salute her with great 
 
 respect, you must first bow at a distance, step-
 
 ScBSElII] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 181 
 
 ping backward; then you advance toward her, 
 making three bows; at the third you bend 
 low, to her knees. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Just do it. {The dancing-master makes three 
 
 bows.) Good. 
 
 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 
 MOKSIBUR JOURDAIN, MuSIC-MASTEK, DaNCING-MASTEK, 
 A LACQUEY 
 
 Lacquey. 
 
 Monsieur, your fencing-master is here. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Tell him to come in and give me my lesson. 
 ( To the music-master and the dancing-master) 
 Stay ; I want you to see me do it. 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 
 MoNSiBUR Jourdain, Music-master, Dancing-master, 
 Fencing master, Lacquey, carrying two foils 
 
 Fencing-master, after taking two foils from 
 the lacquey, and giving one to Monsieur 
 Jourdain. 
 Come, monsieur, your salute. Body straight 
 
 Rest on the left hip a little. Legs not so wide
 
 182 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act U 
 
 apart. Feet on the same line. Wrist against 
 the thigh. Point of blade at the shoulder. 
 Arm not quite so stiff. Left hand at the 
 height of the eye. Left shoulder well out; 
 Head erect. Eye steady. Advance. Body 
 firm. Touch me the blade in quarte and finish 
 the same. One, two. Recover. Double, firm 
 on the left foot. Backward. When you make 
 a thrust, monsieur, the sword must start first ; 
 hold the body well back. Now: One, two. 
 Touch me the blade in tierce and finish the 
 same. Advance. Body firm. Advance. Start 
 from there. One, two. Recover. Double. 
 One, two. Back. On guard, monsieur, on 
 guard! \_The fencing-master makes two or 
 three lunges at him, calling outy On guard Q 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, out of breath. 
 There ! what do you think of that t 
 
 Music-master. 
 You do wonders. 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 
 I have already told you that the whole secret 
 of fencing lies in two things only, to give, and 
 not to receive; and, as I showed you the other
 
 Scene III] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 183 
 
 day by demonstrative reason, it is impossible 
 that you can receive if you know how to turn 
 the sword of your opponent from the line of 
 your own body; which depends solely on a 
 little turn of the wrist outward or inward. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 And in that way can a man who has n't any 
 courage be sure of killing his adversary with- 
 out being killed himself? 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 Quite sure; did you not see the demonstra- 
 tion? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Yes. 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 From that you can judge of the distinguished 
 position we hold in the State, and how the 
 science of fencing stands high above all the 
 other useless arts, like dancing, music, or 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Stop, stop! Not so fast, Mr. Swordsman. 
 Speak respectfully of dancing. 
 
 Music-master. 
 Learn, if you please, to treat music properly.
 
 184 BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Fbncing-masteb. 
 You are a pretty couple to compare your 
 sciences with mine. 
 
 MUSIC-MASTEB. 
 
 Just look at his conceit ! 
 
 Dancing-mastee. 
 
 What a funny animal, with that plastron of 
 
 his! 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 
 My little dancing-master, I '11 teach you to 
 
 dance to another tune. And you, my little 
 
 music-master, I '11 make you sing small. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 And I '11 teach you your own trade. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What fools you both are to quarrel with a 
 man who knows quarte and tierce and can kill 
 his enemy by demonstrative reason. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 I don't care a fig for his demonstrative reason, 
 or his tierce or his quarte. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Gently, gently, I tell you.
 
 Scene III] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 185 
 
 Fencing-master, to dancing -master. 
 "What ! you impertinent little fellow I 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Hey! my fencing-master. 
 
 Dancing-master, to fencing-master. 
 What ! you great coach-horse ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Hey! my dancing-master. 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 If I just fling myself at you 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Softly, softly. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Let me just get my hand upon you 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 There! there! gently. 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 I '11 give you such a thrashing ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Oh! pray 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 I '11 rub you down in such a way !
 
 186 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME t^ci U 
 
 Monsieur JouBDAiiir. 
 I beg of you 
 
 Music -MASTER. 
 We '11 teach him to talk ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Good gracious ! do stop 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 Professor of Philosophy, Monsieur Jourdain, 
 Music-master, Dancing-master, Fencing-master, 
 Lacquey 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Ha ! philosopher, you 've come just in time 
 with your philosophy. Please make peace 
 here among these people. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 What is it ? What 's the matter, gentlemen 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 They are in a fury about which of their pro- 
 fessions is the best ; they are insulting each other 
 and want to come to blows. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Hey, what a thing that is! Why do you 
 get so angry ? Have you never read the learned
 
 Scene IV] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 187 
 
 treatise of Seneca against auger ? There 's 
 nothing so low and shameful as that passion, 
 which makes a man a brute beast. Reason 
 ought to be master of all our actions. 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 What! when that man comes here and says 
 insulting things to both of us, and despises 
 dancing which is my profession, and music 
 which is monsieur's, are we to say nothing? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 A wise man is above insult; the grand 
 response that should be made to all such out- 
 rage is patience and moderation. 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 
 They both had the audacity to compare their 
 professions with mine. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 Why need that stir your bile ? Men ought 
 not to contend over the vain glories and con- 
 ditions of the world. The qualities which 
 should distinguish us among our fellows are 
 virtue and wisdom.
 
 188 BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act H 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 
 I maintain to his face that dancing is a 
 
 science to which too much honor cannot be 
 
 paid. 
 
 Music-master. 
 
 And I say that music is a science which the 
 
 the ages have revered. 
 
 Pencing-master. 
 And I tell them, both of them, that the 
 science of fencing is the finest and the most 
 necessary that exists upon this earth. 
 
 Professor of Philosohy. 
 And pray what is philosophy ? I think you 
 are all three very impertinent to speak before 
 me with such arrogance, and to impudently 
 give the name of science to things which don't 
 even deserve to be honored with the name of 
 art, mere pitiful trades, to be classed with 
 wrestlers, fiddlers, mountebanks. 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 Out of here, dog of a philosopher! 
 
 Music-master. 
 Out of here, scoundrel of a pedant! 
 
 Dancing-master. 
 Hence, arrant knave of a jackass!
 
 ScBinsIV] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 189 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 What! rabble that you are ! [TAe philoso- 
 pher flings himself upon the others^ who 
 pommel himJ] 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Oh, professor ! philosopher ! 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Infamous wretches, rascals ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Philosopher ! 
 
 Fencing-master. 
 The brute beast 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Gentlemen ! 
 
 Professor ot Philosophy. 
 Impudent scoundrels! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Professor I philosopher ! 
 
 Dancing-masteb. 
 Booby of a pack-mule ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Gentlemen I
 
 190 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Arrant villains ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Philosopher ! 
 
 Music-master. 
 To the devil with his insolence ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Gentlemen ! 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 Knaves ! beggars ! traitors ! impostors ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Philosopher! gentlemen! philosopher! gentle- 
 men ! philosopher ! 
 
 [^Exeunt the professors fighting.^ 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 Monsieur Jourdain, Lacquey 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Well, well ! you may fight as much as you 
 like, I can't help it; and I 'm not going to spoil 
 my dressing-gown by separating you. I should 
 be a fool indeed to stick myself between you 
 and get a knock which might hurt me.
 
 scknbvi] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 191 
 
 SCENE SIXTH. 
 
 Pkofessor of Philosophy, Monsieur Jourdain, 
 Lacquey 
 
 Professor of Philosophy, adjusting his 
 collar. 
 Now for our lesson. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Ah ! monsieur, I am sorry they beat you. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy, 
 Oh ! that 's nothing. A philosopher knows 
 how to take things ; I shall compose a satire on 
 them in the style of Juvenal, which will tear 
 them to bits in a fine fashion. Let us drop 
 all that. Now, what do you wish to learn ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 All I can. I have the strongest desire in the 
 world to be learned. I am furious with my 
 parents because they did not make me study all 
 the sciences when I was young. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 That is a most reasonable sentiment; nam, 
 sine doctrina, vita est quasi mortis imago. 
 You understand that? you know Latin, of 
 course ?
 
 192 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Monsieur Joukdain. 
 Yes; but do as if I did not know it. 
 Explain to me what that means. 
 
 Pkofessok of Philosophy. 
 It means that without knowledge life is almost 
 an image of death. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Then Latin is right. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 You know, of course, some of the elements, 
 the beginnings of the various sciences. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Oh, yes ; I can read and write. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Where do you wish to begin? Should you 
 like me to teach you logic? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Logic ; what is logic ? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 It teaches the three operations of the mind. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What are they, those three operations of 
 the mind?
 
 ScKjntVri BOURGEOIS GENTILHO^IME 193 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 First, second, and third. The first is to 
 rightly conceive by means of predications; the 
 second is to rightly judge by means of cate- 
 gories ; the third is to draw deductions rightly by 
 means of premises: Barbara, Celerent, Darii, 
 Ferio, Saralipton. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdian. 
 
 Those words are too hard and crabbed. 
 Logic doesn't please me. Teach me some- 
 thing prettier. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Should you like to study ethics ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Ethics] 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Yes. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 What are they about, ethics 1 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 It is a science which treats of morality, of 
 happiness; it teaches men to moderate their 
 passions, and 
 
 IS
 
 194 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act U 
 
 Monsieur Jourdaist. 
 No, never mind that. I 'm as bilious as 
 forty devils, and morality won't help it. I 
 choose to get as angry as I please when it 
 suits me. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Perhaps you would rather take physics 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What are they, physics, I mean. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Physics is the science which explains the 
 principles of natural things and the properties 
 of matter; it reasons on the nature of elements, 
 metals, minerals, stones, plants, animals; and 
 it teaches us the causes of meteors, cornets, 
 falling stars, the rainbow, thunder, lightning, 
 rain, snow, hail, wind, and tempests. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Oh, no; too much clatter in all that; there 'a 
 neither head nor tail to it. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Then what do you want me to teach you ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Teach me spelling.
 
 Scene VI] BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME 195 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 So be it. To carry out your idea and treat 
 this matter philosophically we must begin, 
 according to the order of things, by an exact 
 knowledge of the nature of letters and the 
 different ways of pronouncing them. On that 
 point therefore, I begin by telling you that 
 letters are divided into vowels so-called be- 
 cause they express the voice and consonants, 
 called consonants because they sound with the 
 vowels and serve to mark the different articu- 
 lations of the voice. There are five vowels, 
 or voices, namely: A, E, I, 0, U.* 
 
 MOXSIEUR JOURDAIN. 
 
 I understand all that. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 The vowel A is sounded by opening the 
 mouth very wide, A. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 A, A. Yes. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 The vowel E is sounded by bringing the 
 lo'v^er jaw to the upper jaw, A, E. 
 
 ' The French sound of the vowels must of course be 
 ^, JA,E,I,0,U. 
 
 J R, A, E, 0, EU. [Tr.]
 
 196 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 A, E ; A, E. Bless me ! How fine that is ! 
 
 Professor op Philosophy. 
 The vowel I is formed by bringing the jaws 
 still nearer together, and stretching the corners 
 of the mouth toward the ears, A, E, I. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 A, E, I, I, I, I. That 's true. Hurrah for 
 science ! 
 
 Professor op Philosophy. 
 The vowel O is sounded by opening the 
 jaws and drawing in the lips at the two cor- 
 ners, 0. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 0, 0. Nothing could be more true. A, E, I, 
 O, I, 0. It is admirable! I, 0; I, 0. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 The mouth must be opened exactly like a 
 round 0. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 0, 0, 0. You are right. 0, ah ! what a 
 fine thing it is to know something ! 
 
 Professor op Philosophy. 
 The vowel U is sounded by bringing the 
 teeth near together without precisely joining
 
 Scene VI] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 197 
 
 them, and stretching the lips wider, also bring- 
 ing them together, but not quite touching 
 them, 0, U. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 O, U, U; the truest thing that ever was, U. 
 
 Professor op Philosophy. 
 
 Both your lips should be stretched out as if 
 
 you were making a grimace; so that if you 
 
 should ever want to make a face at any one 
 
 and ridicule him you have only to say " U. " 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 U, U. True enough. Ah! why didn't I 
 learn that in my youth? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 To-morrow we will take the other letters, 
 which are consonants. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Are there as many queer things in them as 
 in the others? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Undoubtedly. The consonant D, for instance, 
 is pronounced by putting the tip of the tongue 
 against the upper teeth, D.
 
 198 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 D, D, D. Yes; oh, what fine things! what 
 fine things ! 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 F is given by applying the upper teeth out- 
 side of the lower lip, F, F. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 F, F. Most true. Ah! my father and 
 mother, how furious I am with you! 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 E. is pronounced by carrying the tip of the 
 tongue to the roof of the mouth ; so that the air, 
 coming out with force, rolls over it and pushes 
 it back, making a tremulous sort of sound, 
 E, EA. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 E, E, EA; E, E, E, E, E, EA. True. 
 Ah ! what a clever man you are ; and how much 
 time I have lost. E, E, E, EA. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 I will fully explain these singularities to you 
 later. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I beg you to do so. And now I must 
 make you a confidence. I am in love with a
 
 Scene VI] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 199 
 
 lady of high rank, and I want you to help me 
 to write her a little note in which I desire to 
 throw myself at her feet. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 *T would be very gallant, wouldn't iti 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 Undoubtedly. Do you want to write it in 
 
 verse 1 
 
 Monsieur Jouedain. 
 
 No, no, not verse. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 You prefer prose ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 No, I don't want either prose or verse. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 But you must have one or the other. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Why? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Because, monsieur, there is no other way to 
 express ourselves than prose or verse.
 
 200 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Monsieur Jouedain. 
 Is there nothing but prose and verse 1 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 Nothing, monsieur. All that is not prose is 
 verse ; all that is not verse is prose. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 When we talk, what is that? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Prose. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 "What! when I say, "Nicole, bring my 
 slippers, and give me my night-cap," is that 
 prose ? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 Yes, monsieur. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Goodness! then I 've been talking prose these 
 forty years without ever knowing it. I am sure 
 I am very much obliged to you for teaching 
 me that. I want to say in my note to this 
 great lady: "Beautiful marchioness, your fine 
 eyes make me die of love." But 1 want it 
 put in a gallant manner, turned genteelly.
 
 ScBinsVI] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 201 
 
 Pbofessor of Philosophy. 
 Exactly. Say that the fire of her fine eyes 
 has reduced your heart to ashes, and that you 
 suffer day and night the tortures of 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Kg, no, no; I don't want all that. I want 
 only what I told you : " Beautiful marchioness, 
 your fine eyes make me die of love." 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 But it ought to be elaborated a little. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 No, no, I tell you. I want nothing in the 
 note except those words; but they must be 
 turned in a way to suit the quality, arranged 
 with style. I wish you would tell me the 
 different ways in which they can be put; then 
 I can choose. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 Well, they can be put, in the first place, as 
 you said yourself: "Beautiful marchioness, 
 your fine eyes make me die of love. " Or else : 
 " Of love make me die, beautiful marchioness, 
 your fine eyes. " Or else : " Your fine eyes of 
 love make me, beautiful marchioness, die."
 
 202 BOURGEOIS GENTILMOMME [Act II 
 
 Or else: "Die, your fine eyes, beautiful mar- 
 chionesss, of love make me. " Or else : " Me 
 make your fine eyes die, beautiful marchioness, 
 of love." 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Which of all those ways do you think best ? 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 
 The one you said yourself : "Beautiful mar- 
 chioness, your fine eyes make me die of love. " 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 And yet I never studied anything, and I 
 made that all up in a minute! I thank you 
 with all my heart, and I should like you to 
 come early to-morrow morning. 
 
 Professor of Philosophy. 
 I shall not fail to do so. 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 MoNsiEUK Jourdain, Lacquey 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, to lacquey. 
 Has n't my coat come yet ? 
 
 Lacquey. 
 No, monsieur.
 
 SCENE VIII] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 203 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 That cursfed tailor keeps me waiting on a day 
 when I am particularly engaged. I 'm furious. 
 Plague take him ! May a quartan ague get him ! 
 Devil of a tailor ! if I only had my hands on him 
 I 'd choke him ! Dog of a tailor ! traitor of a 
 tailor! I'd 
 
 
 
 SCENE EIGHTH 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, A Master-tailor, A Jour- 
 NETMAN TAILOR, carri/tng Monsieur Jourdain's coat, 
 Lacquey. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Ah! here you are. I was just going to get 
 angry with you. 
 
 Master-tailor. 
 
 I could not come any sooner. I have had 
 twenty men at work on your coat. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 You sent me such tight silk stockings that 
 I had the greatest piece of work to get them 
 on; there are two stitches broken now. 
 
 Master-tailor. 
 They will stretch only too much.
 
 204 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Yes, if I burst all the stitches. And those 
 shoes you had made for me, they hurt my feet 
 horribly. 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 
 Oh, no, they don't, monsieur. 
 
 MONSIEUB JOUBDAIN. 
 
 What! they don't? 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 No, no, they don't hurt you. 
 
 MONSIEUB JOUBDAIK. 
 
 I tell you they do hurt me. 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 You imagine it. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I imagine it because I feel it; good reason 
 
 why. 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 
 See! this is one of the finest of court-suits; 
 
 the colors are well-assorted. It is a work of 
 
 art to invent a serious coat that is not black. 
 
 I'll give all the most enlightened tailors six 
 
 chances to do the same.
 
 schnbviii] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 205 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 But what 's all this 1 you have put the flowers 
 at the bottom! 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 
 You did not tell me you wanted them at the 
 
 top. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 
 Was it necessary to tell you that 1 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 Of course it was. All persons of quality 
 wear them like this. 
 
 MoNsiEUB Joubdain. 
 Do all persons of quality wear flowers at the 
 
 bottom? 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 Yes, monsieur. 
 
 Monsieub Joubdain". 
 Oh, very well then. 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 If you like, I can put them at the top. 
 
 Monsieub Joubdain. 
 No, no. 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 You have only to say so.
 
 206 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 No, I tell you, no; you have done right. 
 Do you think that suit will be becoming to me 1 
 
 Master-tailor. 
 What a question! I defy a painter with his 
 brush to make you anything more perfect. I 
 have a journeyman who is the greatest genius 
 in the world at making breeches; and another 
 who is the hero of our times at a doublet. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Are the wig and the plumes quite the thing ? 
 
 Master-tailor. 
 All just right. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, noticing the master- 
 tailor's coat. 
 Ah! ah! Mr. Tailor; that is the same stuff 
 as the last coat you made me; I recognize it 
 
 perfectly. 
 
 Master-tailob. 
 
 I thought it so fine I wanted a coat of it 
 
 myself. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Yes, but you had no business to have one 
 like mine.
 
 Scene IX] BOURGEOIS GEXTILHOMME 207 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 Will you please to put on your suit ? 
 
 MONSIEUE JOUBDAIN. 
 
 Yes ; give it to me. 
 
 Masteb-tailob. 
 
 Wait, wait. We don't do things in that way. 
 I have brought men to dress you. Such suits as 
 these are put on with ceremony. Hoik, there ! 
 Enter. 
 
 SCENE NINTH 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, Master-tailor, Journeyman- 
 tailor, FOUR other journeymen-tailors, Lacquey. 
 
 Masteb-tailob, to his journeymen. 
 Put on monsieur's court-suit as you do those 
 of persons of quality. 
 
 The four jouimeymen-tailors, bowing and 
 pirouetting, approach Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Two take off his red velvet breeches; the 
 others remove his green velvet waistcoat; 
 after which, still pirouetting, they put on 
 his new suit. Monsieur Jourdain then walks 
 about among them, showing himself off, to see 
 if the suit fits him.
 
 208 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act II 
 
 JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOR. 
 
 Noble sir, please to give us something to drink 
 with. 
 
 MONSIEUB JOUBDAIN. 
 
 What did you call me ? 
 
 JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOB. 
 
 Noble sir. 
 
 MosrSIEUB JOUBDAIN. 
 
 " Noble sir ! " Now, that 's what it is to be 
 dressed like people of quality ! Wear the clothes 
 of a bourgeois and nobody will call you " Noble 
 sir." (Gives money.') Here, take that from your 
 "Noble sir." 
 
 JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOB. 
 
 My lord, we are very much obliged to you. 
 
 MONSIEUB JOUBDAIN. 
 
 " My lord!" oh! oh! " My lord!" Wait one 
 moment, friend. " My lord " deserves some- 
 thing; for it is not a small thing to be called 
 "My lord." Here, this is what "My lord" 
 gives you. 
 
 JOUENETMAN-TAILOB. 
 
 My lord, we shall all drink your Grace's 
 health.
 
 Scene IX] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 209 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Your Grace ! " Oh ! oh ! oh ! Wait ; don't go 
 away. "Your Grace," tome! (Aside) Faith! 
 if he goes as far as Highness he '11 get all there 
 is in my purse. (Aloud) There, that 's for My 
 Grace. 
 
 JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOK. 
 
 My lord, we thank you very humbly for your 
 liberalities. 
 
 MosrsiEUB Joubdain, aside. 
 That 's fortunate ; I was going to give him all. 
 
 BALLET. 
 The four journeymen-tailors rejoice, in danc- 
 ing, at Monsieur Jourdain's liberalities. 
 
 END OP SECOND ACT. 
 
 14
 
 210 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 art STfjfrti 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 Monsieur Joukdain, two lacquets 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain, in his court suit. 
 
 POLLOW me while I walk about town to 
 show my suit; and be particular, both of you, 
 to walk immediately behind me, so that every- 
 body may see that you belong to me. 
 
 Lacqueys. 
 Yes, monsieur. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Call Nicole ; I want to give her some orders. 
 No, don't stir; here she comes. 
 
 SCENE SECOND. 
 Monsieur Jourdain, Nicole, two lacquets. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Nicole !
 
 ScknbU] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 211 
 
 Nicole. 
 What is it? 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Listen. 
 
 Nicole, laughing. 
 
 He, he, he! he, he! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What are you laughing at 1 
 
 Nicole. 
 He, he, he ! he, he, he ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What does the hussy mean 1 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 He, he, he ! How you are rigged up 1 He, 
 
 he, he! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 What 's that you say ? 
 
 Nicole. 
 Ho! ho! my gracious! He, he, he! he, he! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 You are laughing at me, you baggage ! 
 
 Nicole. 
 No, no, monsieur ; I 'd be very sorry He, 
 he, he ! he, he !
 
 212 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act HI 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I '11 flick you on the nose, if you laugh any 
 
 more. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Monsieur, I can't help it. He, he, he ! he , 
 
 he, he ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Stop, I say. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Monsieur, I beg your pardon but you are 
 
 so funny, and I I can't help laughing. He, 
 
 he, he ! 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 
 What insolence ! 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 You are so mighty droll like that. He, he ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I'll 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Oh, please forgive He, he ! he, he ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Look here! if you laugh one atom more, I 
 swear I '11 box your ears harder than you ever 
 had them boxed in your life. 
 
 Nicole. 
 There, monsieur, I 've done ; it 's over, I 
 sha'n't laugh any more.
 
 Scene II] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 213 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Mind you do not. Now, then, I want you to 
 get things ready, and clean 
 
 Nicole. 
 He, he! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 and clean, in a proper manner 
 
 Nicole. 
 He, he! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I say clean the salon in a proper manner, 
 
 and 
 
 Nicole. 
 He, he, he ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What ! again ? 
 
 Nicole, tumbling down with laughter. 
 There, monsieur, beat me! beat me! but let 
 me have my laugh out; that will do me most 
 good. He, he, he! he, he, he! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I am furious ! 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Oh, for goodness' sake, monsieur ! let me 
 
 laugh. He, he, he!
 
 214 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act UI 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 If I catch you 
 
 Nicole. 
 Ah, mon-monsieur, I shall bur-ur-urst if I 
 don't laugh. He, he, he ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Was there ever such a jade 1 to laugh inso- 
 lently at my very nose, instead of taking my 
 
 orders. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 What is it you want me to do, monsieur ? 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 
 I order you, hussy, to prepare my house for 
 
 a company whom I have invited 
 
 Nicole, picking herself up. 
 Oh ! faith, I don't want to laugh now. Your 
 companies make such a mess that the very word 
 is enough to put me out of temper. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Do you expect me to shut my doors to society 
 
 to please you? 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 You ought to shut them to some people ; I 
 
 know that.
 
 Scene ni] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 215 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 
 Madame Jourdain, Monsieur Joubdain, Nicole, 
 two lacqueys 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Ah ! ah ! here are some new goings-on ! 
 What 's all this, husband ? Goodness ! why 
 are you rigged out in that style? Who ever 
 saw such absurdity' Do you want to be a 
 laughing-stock wherever you go? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 None but fools and foolish women, wife, will 
 laugh at me. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 They have n't waited till now, that 's true ; 
 your doings have made everybody laugh for a 
 good long time. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 And who may your everybody be, if you 
 
 please ? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 My everybody is everybody who has any 
 
 sense, and is n't such a fool as you. For my 
 
 part I am scandalized by the life you lead. One 
 
 would think it was high carnival every day. I
 
 216 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act HI 
 
 don't know my own house any longer. It is no 
 
 sooner daylight than the caterwauling of violins 
 
 and singers begins, till the whole neighborhood 
 
 is roused by it. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Madame is right; I can't keep the house 
 clean with that rabble of people you bring into 
 it. They 've got feet that hunt for mud all 
 over Paris just to bring it in here ! Our poor 
 Fran^oise is worn-out rubbing the floors which 
 your shambling company scuffle over every day. 
 
 Monsieur Joukdatn. 
 Hey day ! servant Nicole ; your tongue wags 
 pretty freely for a peasant. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Nicole is right. Her sense is better than 
 yours. I should like to know what you expect 
 to do with a dancing-master at your time of life. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 And that big fencing-man, who comes here 
 
 and stamps his feet and shakes the house till he 
 
 has loosened some of the tiles in the salon 
 
 floor. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Be silent, my wife, and my servant.
 
 ScEWE III] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 217 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Do you want to learn dancing against the 
 time when you haven't any legs? 
 
 Nicole. 
 Are you wanting to kill anybody 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Silence, I say! You are ignorant women, 
 
 both of you; you don't know the prerogatives 
 
 of all that. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 You had better be thinking of marrying your 
 
 daughter, who is now of an age to be provided 
 
 for. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I shall think of marrying my daughter when 
 
 a proper suitor presents himself; meantime I 
 
 choose to learn fine things. 
 
 Nicole. 
 They do say, madame, that by way of sauce 
 for his goose he has had a professor of phi- 
 losophy here this very morning. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Quite true. I desire to possess a mind, and 
 to know how to reason about things when I am 
 in company with intelligent persons.
 
 218 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Hadn't you better go to school and be 
 birched t 
 
 MONSIETTB JOURDAIN. 
 
 Why not 1 Would to God I could be whipped 
 in presence of everybody, if that would teach 
 me what is learned at school. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Faith ! it might straighten you up a bit. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 No doubt it would. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 And it is so very useful in managing your 
 household ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Of course it is. You jDoth of you talk like 
 idiots, and I 'm ashamed of your ignorance. 
 For instance, (to Madame Jourdain) do you 
 know, you, what you are saying now? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I know what I am saying is well said, and 
 you ought to be thinking about leading another 
 life.
 
 Scene m] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 219 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I 'm not talking about that. I ask you what 
 are the words you are saying now 1 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Words that are sensible, which your conduct 
 is n't. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I 'm not talking about that, I tell you. I 
 ask you : what I am saying to you now, what 
 
 is it? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Stuff and nonsense. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 No, no, no! that isn't what I mean. What 
 we are both saying, the language we are both 
 
 using 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Well? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Whatis that called? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 It is called what people choose to call it. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 It is prose, ignoramus. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Prose ?
 
 220 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act lU 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Yes, prose. All that is prose is not verse 
 
 and all that is not verse is prose. Hi ! that 's 
 
 what it is to study. {To Nicole) And you, 
 
 do you know what you must do in order to 
 
 say U? 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 What? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What do you do when you say U ? 
 
 Nicole. 
 What do I do? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Say U, and then you '11 see. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Well, there then, U. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What did you do ? 
 
 Nicole, 
 I said U. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Yes ; but when you said TJ what did you do ? 
 
 Nicole. 
 I did what you told me to do.
 
 Scene III] BOURGEOIS GENTILIIOMME 221 
 
 Monsieur Joubdaik. 
 
 Oh! what a singular thing it is to have to do 
 with fools! You stretch your lips out, and 
 bring the upper jaw down to the lower jaw, 
 U, don't you see 1 I make a face, U. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Yes, that's fine. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 It 's admirable ! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 That's only part of it; you should see 0; 
 and D, DA; and F, FA. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Goodness! what rubbish! 
 
 Nicole. 
 What 's the good of it all ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I am furious when I see such ignorant women. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Come, come, you ought to get rid of all those 
 fellows, with their ridiculous nonsense.
 
 222 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 Nicole. 
 Specially that big brute of a fencing-master 
 who stamps all my places full of dust. 
 
 Monsieur Joukdain. 
 
 Ho ! ho ! that fencing-master sticks in your 
 
 throat, does he ? I '11 show your impertinence 
 
 what he teaches me. {Takes up the foils and 
 
 gives one to Nicole.) Here ! demonstrative 
 
 reason. Attention ! body in line. When you 
 
 thrust in quarte, this is what you've got to do; 
 
 and when you thrust in tierce, you do so. 
 
 In that way you can't be killed. It is a fine 
 
 thing to be sure of what we are about when we 
 
 fight a man. Now begin; thrust me a little, 
 
 just to see. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Well, there ! there ! (Nicole gives several 
 thrusts at Monsieur Jourdain.) 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Hola ! stop, stop ! ho ! gently. Devil take 
 
 the woman ! 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 You told me to thrust. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Yes, but you thrust in tierce before you thnist 
 in quarte, and you had n't the patience to let me 
 parry.
 
 ScKNBin] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 223 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 You are crazy, husband, with all your wliim- 
 seys; and it has come upon you ever since you 
 took to haunting the nobility. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 When I frequent the nobility I show ray 
 judgment. It is a much finer thing than fre- 
 quenting your bourgeoisie. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 It is indeed ! and there 's a deal to gain in 
 consorting with your nobles ! you 've done a 
 fine business with that count you are so 
 bewitched with. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Peace! reflect on what you say. Do you 
 know, wife, you don't know whom you are 
 talking about when you speak of that gentle- 
 man. He is a person of much more importance 
 than you think for, a great lord much thought 
 of at court, who talks to the king just as I 
 talk to you. Is n't it a most honorable thing 
 to me that a person of such quality should be 
 seen to come here and visit me, and call me 
 his dear friend, and treat me as if I were 
 his equal? He has done me kindnesses that
 
 224 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 no one has any idea of, and in presence of 
 company he pays me such compliments that 
 I am quite confused. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Yes; he is mighty kind, and he pays you 
 compliments, but he borrows your money too. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Well, and isn't it a great honor for me to 
 lend money to a man of his station? could I 
 do less for a great lord who calls me his 
 friend ? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 And this great lord, what does he do for you 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Things that would amaze every one if they 
 knew them. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 But what? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Enough! I cannot explain myself; suffice it 
 to say that if I have lent him money he will 
 return it handsomely, and before long. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Jndeed ! do you really expect that ?
 
 Scene ni] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 225 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Assuredly I do. He told me so. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 Oh, yes I and he won't fail to do otherwise. 
 
 MoNSiEUB Joubdain. 
 I have his word as a nobleman. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 Stuff and nonsense ! 
 
 MoNsiEUB Joubdain. 
 Heyday ! you are mighty obstinate, wife. I 
 tell you he will keep his word, I am sure of it. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 And I am sure he won't. All those compli- 
 ments are only paid to wheedle you. 
 
 Monsieub Joubdain. 
 Hold your tongue ; here he comes ! 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 I dare say he has only come to borrow more 
 
 money. The mere look of lum is enough for 
 
 me. 
 
 Monsieub Joubdain. 
 
 Hold your tongue, I say. 
 
 15
 
 226 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act UI 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 DOBANTE, MONSIEDB JOURDAIN, MaDAME JoCRDAIN, 
 
 Nicole 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 My dear friend, Monsieur Jourdain, how are 
 
 you? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Very well indeed, monsieur, and all ready to 
 offer you my little services. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 And Madame Jourdain, whom I find here, 
 how is she? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Madame Jourdain is as she can be. 
 
 Dorante. 
 Dear me ! Monsieur Jourdain, how well you 
 are dressed. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 You think so ? 
 
 Dorante. 
 You have altogether an air of fashion in that 
 suit; we have no young men at court who are 
 more stylish than you are now.
 
 Sckneiv] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 227 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Hi! hi! 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside. 
 He scratches him where he itches. 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 Turn round. Why, you are elegant ! 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside. 
 Yes, as silly behind as before. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 On my word, Monsieur Jourdain, I have felt 
 strangely impatient to see you again. You are 
 the man I value most in society. I was speak- 
 ing of you only this morning in the king's 
 chamber. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 You do me too much honor, monsieur. 
 (Aside to Madame Jourdain) In the king's 
 chamber ! 
 
 DoRANTE. 
 
 Come, put on your hat. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Monsieur, I know the respect I owe you.
 
 228 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 DOKANTE. 
 
 Never mind that, cover yourself; no cere- 
 mony between us, I beg. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdaik. 
 Monsieur 
 
 DORANTE, 
 
 Put on your hat, I insist Monsieur Jourdain ; 
 you are my friend. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Monsieur, I am your humble servant. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I shall not put on my hat till you put on 
 yours. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, putting on his hat. 
 I would rather be uncivil than annoying. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I am your debtor, as you know. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside. 
 Yes, we know it only too well. 
 
 Dorante. 
 
 You have generously lent me money on 
 several occasions; and yoii have done me that 
 service with the finest grace in the world.
 
 ScENB IV] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 229 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Monsieur, you are jesting. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 But I know how to pay what I borrow, and 
 to recognize the services that are done to me. 
 
 MoxsiEUR Jourdain. 
 I do not doubt it, monsieur. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I wish to close up this affair with you, and 
 I have come now to settle our accounts. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aside to Madame 
 
 Jourdain. 
 There ! now you see your impertinence, wife. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I am a man who likes to settle such affairs 
 as soon as possible. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aside to Madame 
 
 Jourdain. 
 I told you so. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Let me see how much I owe you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aside to Madame 
 
 Jourdain. 
 Are not you ashamed of your ridiculous 
 suspicions ?
 
 230 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Acini 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 Do you remember the exact sums you have 
 lent me? 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 
 I think so. I made a little note of them. 
 Here it is (takes out a memorandum). Given 
 to you, first, two hundred louis. 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 That is so. 
 
 MoNsiEUB Joubdain. 
 Another time, six twenties. 
 
 DoBANTE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 MoNsiEUB Joubdain. 
 And another time, one hundred and forty. 
 
 DoBANTE. 
 
 You are quite right. 
 
 MoNsiEUB Joubdain. 
 Those three items make four hundred and 
 sixty louis; value five thousand and sixty 
 francs. 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 Your account is exact; five thousand and 
 sixty francs.
 
 Scene IV] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 231 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Eighteen hundred and thirty-two francs to 
 your feather-merchant. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Precisely. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Two thousand seven hundred and eighty 
 francs to your tailor. 
 
 DoRANTE. 
 
 True. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Four thousand three hundred and seventy- 
 nine francs, twelve sous, eight farthings, to 
 your mercer. 
 
 Dorante. 
 
 Exactly, twelve sous, eight farthings ; quite 
 right. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 And one thousand seven hundred and forty- 
 
 eiglit francs, seven sous, four farthings to your 
 
 saddler. 
 
 Dorante. 
 
 All that is perfectly correct. How much 
 does that make? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Sum total, fifteen thousand eight hundred 
 francs.
 
 232 BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act UI 
 
 DOEANTE. 
 
 Your sum total is right, fifteen thousand 
 eight hundred francs. Add to that two hundred 
 pistoles, which you will now give me, and that 
 will make exactly eighteen thousand francs 
 which I will pay you at the first opportunity. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside to Monsieur 
 
 Jourdain. 
 Now ! didn't I judge him rightly ? 
 
 MoNSiEUB Jourdain, aside to Madame 
 
 Jourdain. 
 Peace ! 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 Will it inconvenience you to give me the sum 
 I want? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Oh, no. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside to Monsieur 
 
 Jourdain. 
 The man is making a milch cow of you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aside to Madame 
 
 Jourdain. 
 Hold your tongue. 
 
 DoBANTE. 
 
 If it is inconvenient I can get what I want 
 elsewhere.
 
 Scene IV] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 233 
 
 Monsieur Jodedain. 
 
 No, monsieur, it is not. 
 
 Madame Joubdain, aside to Monsieur 
 Jourdain. 
 
 He won't be satisfied till he has ruined you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aalde to Madame 
 
 Jourdain. 
 Hold your tongue, I say. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 You have only to tell me it embarrasses you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Not in the least, monsieur. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside to Monsieur 
 
 Jourdain. 
 He is a regular swindler. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aside to Madame 
 
 Jourdain. 
 Hold your tongue. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside toMonsieur 
 Jourdain. 
 
 He will suck you to the last penny.
 
 234 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aside to Madame 
 Jourdain. 
 
 Will you be silent ? 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I hate many acquaintances who will gladly 
 lend me the money ; but as you are my best 
 friend I thought I should do wrong to you if I 
 asked it of others. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 You do me too much honor, monsieur. I 
 will fetch the money. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside to Monsieur 
 
 Jourdain. 
 What ! you really mean to let him have it 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, a^ide to Madame 
 Jourdain. 
 
 How can I help it? Would you have me 
 refuse a man of his station, a man who spoke 
 of me this very morning in the chamber of the 
 king? 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aside to Monsieur 
 
 Jourdain. 
 You are a perfect dupe.
 
 Scene V] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 236 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 DoRANTE, Madame Jourdain, Nicole 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 You seem quite melancholy. What is the 
 matter, Madame Jourdain? 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 I've a head that is bigger than a fist, and 
 it is not swollen either. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 And mademoiselle, your daughter, where is 
 she that I do not see her here? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Mademoiselle, my daughter, is where she is. 
 
 DORANTB. 
 
 How is she 1 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 As she ought to be. 
 
 DORANTB. 
 
 Should you like, some day, to take her to see 
 one of those comedy-ballets they play before 
 the king? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Ho ! indeed ; much we want to laugh, and to 
 laugh in that style.
 
 236 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I think, Madame Jourdain, you probably 
 bad many lovers in your young days ; so hand- 
 some and agreeable as you must have been 
 then. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 Tredame ! monsieur ; is Madame Jourdain 
 decrepit? does her head shake? 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 Ah, faith! Madame Jourdain, I beg your 
 pardon ; I was forgetting you are young. I am 
 often dreaming. I beg you to excuse my 
 impertinence. 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 MoNSiEtTR Jourdain, Madame Jourdain, Doeantb, 
 
 Nicole 
 
 MoNSiEUB JouBDAiBT, to Dovante. 
 Here are two hundred louis, carefully counted. 
 
 DOEANTE. 
 
 I assure you, Monsieur Jourdain, I am wholly 
 yours, and I ardently desire to do you some 
 service at court.
 
 Scbhbvi] bourgeois GEXTILHOMME 237 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I am only too much obliged to you. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 If Madame Jourdain would like to see a 
 royal entertainment, I will give her one of the 
 best seats in the room. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Madame Jourdain takes leave to scorn ii. 
 
 DoRANTE, aside to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Our beautiful marchioness, as I wrote you in 
 my note, will come here to dinner and to see 
 your ballet. I have at last induced her to 
 accept the present you wished to make her. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Come farther away, because 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I have not seen you for eight days, and there- 
 fore I could not tell you sooner about the diamond 
 which you placed in my hands to give to her 
 from you. I have had the greatest difl&culty in 
 overcoming her scruples, and it was not until 
 to-day that she consented to accept it. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What does she think of it 1
 
 238 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 She thinks it perfect; and I am much mis- 
 taken if that diamond does not aflfect her mind 
 most favorably toward you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Heaven grant it may ! 
 
 Madame Jourdain, to Nicole. 
 When he once gets with that man he can't 
 leave him. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 I gave her to understand the value of the 
 present, and the greatness of your love. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Those are kindnesses, monsieur, which over- 
 whelm me. I am put to tlie greatest confusion 
 in the world when I see a person of your 
 quality condescend to me as you do. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 You are jesting. Between friends how can 
 there be scruples ? Would you not do the same 
 thing for me if occasion offered ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Oh, assuredly ; and with all my heart.
 
 ScenbVI] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 239 
 
 Madame Jourdain, to Nicole. 
 His very presence is a weight on my mind. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 As for me, I consider nothing when T wish 
 to serve a friend ; and when you confided to me 
 your passion for that agreeable marchioness, 
 with whom I was already acquainted, you saw 
 that I at once offered to assist your love. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 True; and those are the kindnesses that 
 confound me. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, to Nicole. 
 Will he never go ? 
 
 Nicole, 
 They seem to like being together. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 You have taken the right way to reach her 
 heart. Women are particularly pleased with 
 costly attentions ; your frequent serenades, your 
 incessant bouquets, those superb fireworks on 
 the water, the diamond she has accepted, the 
 entertainment you are preparing for her, will do 
 more to win her love than all the speeches you 
 could say to her yourself.
 
 240 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IH 
 
 Monsieur Jourdaikt. 
 There are no expenses I would not pay if by 
 that means I could reach her heart. A woman 
 of rank has a ravishing charm for me ; to receive 
 her in my house is an honor I would buy at 
 any cost, 
 
 Madame Jourdain, to Nicole. 
 
 What can they be saying to each other? 
 
 Get a little nearer to them, softly, and try 
 
 to listen. 
 
 Dorante. 
 
 You shall presently enjoy the pleasure of 
 
 seeing her at your ease. Your eyes will have 
 
 all the time they want to satisfy themselves. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 In order to be completely at liberty, I have 
 arranged that my wife shall dine at my sister's, 
 where she will spend the rest of the day. 
 
 Dorante. 
 You have acted prudently, for your wife 
 might have embarrassed us. I have ordered 
 for you all the cook will need, and also the 
 things required for the ballet. The ballet is 
 of my invention, and provided the execution 
 carries out the idea, I am sure it will be 
 found
 
 Scene Vn] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 241 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, perceives that Nicole 
 is listening, and boxes her ears. 
 The devil ! you are an impertinent hussy. 
 (To Dor ante) Let us go out, if you please, 
 monsieur. 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 Madaub Jourdain, Nicolb 
 
 Nicole, rvhhing her cheek. 
 Hey ! madame, curiosity costs something. 
 But I think there 's a snake in the grass ; 
 they were talking of some entertainment they 
 don't want you to see. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 To-day is not the first time, Nicole, that I 
 
 have had suspicions of my husband. Either 
 
 I am most utterly mistaken , or there 's some 
 
 love-affair going on. I am trying hard to 
 
 find out what it is. But let us think of my 
 
 daughter now. You know the love that Cldonte 
 
 feels for her. He is a man who pleases me ; I 
 
 wish to help his suit, and give him Lucile, if I 
 
 can. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Indeed, madame, I 'm delighted to find you 
 
 feel that way; for if the master pleases you, 
 
 16
 
 242 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 the valet pleases me no less ; and I should 
 like to have our marriage performed under the 
 shadow of theirs. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, 
 Go and find Cleonte ; and tell him from me 
 that I wish him to come and see me at once, 
 that we may, together, request my husband to 
 give him my daughter. 
 
 Nicole. 
 I'll go with joy, madame; I couldn't be 
 sent on a more agreeable errand. (Alone) I 
 shall give happiness to more than one, I'm 
 thinking. 
 
 SCENE EIGHTH 
 Cleonte, Covielle, Nicole 
 
 Nicole, to Cleonte. 
 
 Ah! you have come just in time. I am an 
 ambassadress of joy; I am sent to tell you 
 
 Cleonte. 
 Out of my sight, deceitful woman ! I do not 
 choose to be fooled again by your treacherous 
 tongue.
 
 Scene Vni] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 243 
 
 Nicole. 
 Is that how you receive 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 Gro away, I tell you ; go and tell your unfaith- 
 ful mistress that never again, as long as she lives, 
 can she impose on this too credulous Cleonte, 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 What craziness is this? My poor Covielle, 
 tell me what it means? 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 Your poor Covielle indeed, you little wretch ! 
 Quick, out of my sight! and let me alone. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 What! you, too? 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 Out of my sight, I say; and don't speak to 
 me again as long as you live. 
 
 Nicole, aside. 
 
 Heyday! what the mischief has stung them 
 now ? I '11 go and tell my young mistress this 
 fine tale.
 
 244 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act HI 
 
 SCENE NINTH 
 
 CLtONTE, COVIELLB 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Thus to treat a lover ! and the most faithful, 
 the most passionate of lovers ! 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 It is a shameful thing that has been done to 
 
 both of us. 
 
 Cl]6onte. 
 
 I show to a woman all the ardor, all the 
 tenderness imaginable; I love nothing so well 
 in all the world ; I have nought but her within 
 my soul; she is all my care, all my desire, 
 all my joy ; I dream of her, I breathe through 
 her, my heart exists in her alone ; and behold 
 the reward of so much love ! I was two days 
 without seeing her to me two dreadful cen- 
 turies; and when I met her, just now by 
 chance, my heart at the sight was all trans- 
 ported; joy shone on my face; I flew to her 
 with delight, and the faithless creature turned 
 away her eyes and passed on hastily, as though 
 she had never seen me in her life. 
 
 Covielle. 
 I say the same as you.
 
 Scbhbix] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 245 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Covielle, could anything be found to equal 
 the perfidy of that ungrateful Lucile? 
 
 Covielle. 
 Or the treachery of that hussy Nicole 1 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 After the passionate sacrifices and sighs and 
 vows I have made to her charms! 
 
 Covielle. 
 After my assiduous attentions and the services 
 I have done for her in her kitchen ! 
 
 <,5i^ Cl^onte. 
 
 So many tears shed at her feet ! 
 
 Covielle. 
 So many pails of water drawn from the well ! 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Such ardor, shown in cherishing her far more 
 than my own self ! 
 
 Covielle. 
 Such heat endured in turning the spit for her ! 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 She avoids me with contempt.
 
 246 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act HI 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 She turns her back upon me shamelessly. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 *Tis a perfidy which deserves the heaviest 
 pvmishment. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 'Tis a treachery that should get a hearty 
 
 cufl&ng. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 Never, I beg of you, never speak to me in 
 
 her favor. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 I ! monsieur 1 God forbid. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Never come to me with excuses for that 
 faithless creature. 
 
 Coviellb. 
 You need not fear it. 
 
 CL:fiONTE. 
 
 No; for I tell you that any words in her 
 defence will serve no end. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 I should n't dream of it. 
 
 Cl:6onte. 
 I wish to keep my resentment, and break all 
 ties between us.
 
 Scene rX] BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME 247 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 I consent. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 Perhaps this count who is often at the house 
 has struck her eye. Her fancy I see it plainly 
 is being dazzled by the quality. But, for my 
 honor's sake, I must forestall the public show of 
 her inconstancy. I wish to make as many steps 
 as she toward the change to which she hastens ; 
 I will not leave to her the pride of quitting me. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 That is well said ; I enter, on my own account, 
 into your feelings. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Help on my anger and sustain my resolution 
 against the lingering love that still may speak 
 for her. TeU me, I implore you, all the harm 
 you can. Paint me a portrait of her person 
 that shall make me scorn it; and show me 
 plainly, in order to disgust me, all the defects 
 that you discover in her. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 In her, monsieur? Ho! an affected minx, 
 a squeamish beauty to win such love as yours! 
 I see nothing in her but what is commonplace;
 
 248 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 you could find a hundred other women more 
 worthy of you. In the first place, her eyes 
 are small 
 
 CLiONTE. 
 
 'T is true her eyes are small, but they are full 
 of fire, the most brilliant, the most penetrat- 
 ing, the tenderest eyes that were ever seen. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Her mouth is too large 
 
 Cleonte. 
 
 Yes; but it has a grace not seen in other 
 
 mouths ; her lips inspire desire ; 't is the most 
 
 winning, the most loving mouth in all the 
 
 world. 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 As for her figure, it has no height 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 No ; but 't is easy, and well-shaped. 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 She affects a nonchalance in her speech and 
 
 actions 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 True, true; but what a grace in that! and 
 
 her manners, how engaging ! They have a 
 
 charm, I know not what, that wins its way 
 
 to every heart.
 
 Scene IX] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 249 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 As for mind 
 
 Cl]6onte. 
 Ah ! she has that, Covielle ; the subtlest, the 
 
 most delicate 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 Her conversation 
 
 CLiONTE. 
 
 Her conversation is full of charm. 
 
 Covielle. 
 She is so serious. 
 
 Cleonte. 
 Who wants a full-blown wit, joys ever beam- 
 ing? What is there more annoying than a 
 woman who laughs at every word? 
 
 Covielle. 
 But, at least, she is the most capricious crea- 
 ture in the world. 
 
 Cleonte. 
 Yes ; she 's capricious ; I agree to that ; but, 
 't is becoming to a pretty woman, we can bear 
 much for beauty's sake. 
 
 Covielle. 
 Well, since it comes to this, I see you want 
 to love her still.
 
 250 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act m 
 
 Cli^onte. 
 I? I would rather die; I shall henceforth 
 hate her as much as I have loved her, 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 How is that possible, if you persist in think- 
 ing her so perfect 1 
 
 Cleonte. 
 'T is there my vengeance will be signal ; my 
 heart can best proclaim its hatred by quitting 
 her, all beautiful, all winning, all lovable as 
 *she is. But here she comes. 
 
 SCENE TENTH 
 LuciLB, Cleonte, Covielle, Nicolb 
 
 Nicole, to Lucile. 
 As for me, I am scandalized 
 
 Lucile, to Nicole. 
 It cannot be, Nicole, that what you say is 
 true. But here he is. 
 
 Cli^onte, to Covielle. 
 I will not even speak to her. 
 
 Covielle, to Cleonte. 
 I '11 imitate you.
 
 SobnbX] BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME 251 
 LUCILE. 
 
 What is it, Cl^onte 1 What troubles you t 
 
 Nicole. 
 Wliat 's the matter, Covielle? 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 Has any grief befallen you ? 
 
 Nicole. 
 Has any tantrum seized you 1 
 
 LuciLE. 
 Why are you silent, Cl^onte 1 
 
 Nicole. 
 Have you lost your tongue, Covielle 1 
 
 Cl^onte, to Covielle. 
 But this is shameful ! 
 
 Covielle, to Cleonte. 
 Another Judas! 
 
 LuciLE. 
 I see that our late meeting troubles you. 
 
 Cleonte, to Covielle, 
 Ah, ha I she sees what she has done !
 
 262 BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 Nicole. 
 Our greeting tMs morning has put you in a 
 huff. 
 
 CoviELLE, to CUorvte. 
 They 've hit the nail. 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 Am I not right, Cleonte ? That is the cause of 
 your vexation, I am sure. 
 
 Cleonte. 
 Yes, treacherous woman, it is since I must 
 speak. I tell you now you shall not triumph, 
 as you think, in your unfaithfulness. I choose 
 to be the first to break with you ; you shall not 
 have the pride of leaving me. Doubtless I shall 
 find it hard to overcome the love I had for you ; 
 it may cause me pain ; I may suffer for a while ; 
 but I shall conquer; and I would rather put a 
 dagger in my heart than have the weakness 
 to return to you. 
 
 CoviELLE, to Nicole. 
 And I say ditto. 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 But what a trouble about nothing ! I wish to 
 tell you, Cleonte, the reason why I avoided you 
 this morning.
 
 ScenbX] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 253 
 
 CLioNTE, attempting to go out, and evading 
 
 Lucile. 
 No, I will not listen to you. 
 
 Nicole, to Covielle. 
 I '11 tell you why we passed so quick. 
 
 Covielle, attempting to go out, and evading 
 Nicole. 
 But I don't wish to hear it. 
 
 Lucile, folloiving Cleonte. 
 You must know that this morning 
 
 Cleonte, still going out, and not looking at 
 
 Liccile. 
 No, I tell you. 
 
 Nicole, folloiving Covielle. 
 Listen to this 
 
 Covielle, still going, and not looking at 
 
 Nicole. 
 No, traitress! 
 
 Lucile. 
 Hear me! 
 
 Cleonte. 
 Not a word. 
 
 Nicole, to Covielle. 
 Let me tell you
 
 264 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act UI 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 I 'm deaf. 
 Cl^onte! 
 No! 
 
 Covielle ! 
 Silence I 
 Stop! 
 
 Deceiver ! 
 Hear me ! 
 Kubbish ! 
 One moment. 
 ^Not one. 
 Have patience. 
 Ta-ra-ra ! 
 Only a word. 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Covielle. 
 
 Lucile. 
 Cl^onte. 
 Nicole. 
 Covielle. 
 
 Lucile. 
 Cl]konte. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Covielle. 
 
 Lucile.
 
 ScknkX] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 255 
 
 CLiONTE. 
 
 No, I say, 't is over. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Two words. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Not one 
 
 LuciLE, stopping short. 
 Very well, then; since you will not listen to 
 me, keep your own thoughts, and do as you 
 please. 
 
 Nicole, stopping also. 
 If that 's your behavior, have it all your own 
 way. 
 
 CLifioNTE, looking at Lucile. 
 Let me know the reason of such a greeting. 
 
 Lucile, walking away, and avoiding Cleonte. 
 I no longer choose to give it. 
 
 CoviELLE, looking at Nicole. 
 Explain the matter a little. 
 
 Nicole, walking away, and avoiding Covielle. 
 Not I ; I don't care to explain it now. 
 
 Cl^onte, following Lucile. 
 Tell me
 
 256 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act 1I> 
 
 LuciLB, still walking away, not looking at 
 Cleonte. 
 
 No ; I have nothing to tell. 
 
 CoviELLE, following Nicole. 
 
 Say- 
 
 NicOLB, still walking away, not looking at 
 
 Covielle. 
 No; I have nothing to say. 
 
 Cleonte* 
 I entreat 
 
 LuciLE. 
 No, I tell you. 
 
 Covielle, to Nicole. 
 For pity's sake ! 
 
 Nicole. 
 On no account. 
 
 Cleonte. 
 I implore you 
 
 Lucile. 
 Leave me. 
 
 Covielle, to Nicole. 
 I conjure you 
 
 Nicole. 
 Out of my sight !
 
 scbkbX] bourgeois gentilhomme 
 
 
 Cl:6onte. 
 
 Lucile ! 
 
 
 
 Lucile. 
 
 No! 
 
 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Nicole ! 
 
 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 No, I say. 
 
 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 In the name 
 
 of all the gods 
 
 
 Lucile. 
 
 I will not. 
 
 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 Speak to me, 
 
 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 I won't. 
 
 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 Clear up my 
 
 doubts. 
 
 
 Lucile. 
 
 I shall do nothing of the kind. 
 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 Cure my pain. 
 
 257 
 
 Nicole. 
 No, I don't choose to. 
 
 ClI^onte. 
 Very well, then ; since you care so little to 
 relieve me of suffering, or to justify yourself for 
 - 17
 
 268 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 the unworthy manner in which you have treated 
 my love, you now see me, ungrateful woman, for 
 the last time. I go far, far from you, to die 
 of grief and love. 
 
 CoviELLE, to Nicole. 
 I follow him to do the same. 
 
 LuciLE, to Cleonte, who is going out. 
 Cl^onte! 
 
 Nicole, to Covielle, who follows his master. 
 
 Covielle ! 
 
 CLioNTE, stopping. 
 Eh! 
 
 Covielle, stopping. 
 
 What now ? 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 Where are you going ? 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Where I told you. 
 
 Covielle. 
 We are going to die. 
 
 LuciLE. 
 Are you going to die, Cleonte ? 
 
 Cleonte. 
 Yes, cruel woman, since you will it.
 
 Scene X] BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME 259 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 I ? I will that you should die ! 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Yes ; it is your will. 
 
 LuciLE. 
 Who says so 1 
 
 CLioNTE, approaching Lucile. 
 Is it not willing it, when you do not choose 
 to relieve my suspicions? 
 
 Lucile. 
 Was it my fault ? If you had only listened 
 to me, I would have told you that the greeting 
 you resent was caused by the presence of my old 
 aunt, who thinks that the mere approach of a 
 man dishonors a girl, and is perpetually lectur- 
 ing us on the subject, and telling us th^t men 
 are devils from whom we ought to flee. 
 
 Nicole, to Covielle. 
 That 's the whole secret of the matter. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 You are not deceiving me, Lucile ? 
 
 Covielle, to Nicole. 
 Ought I to believe you ?
 
 260 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act HI 
 
 LuciLE, to Cleonte. 
 Nothing could be more true. 
 
 Nicole, to Covielle. 
 'Tis truth itself. 
 
 Covielle, to Cleonte. 
 Shall we give in ? 
 
 CL]feONTE. 
 
 Ah! Lucile, how, with one word from your 
 lips, you can soothe the trouble in my heart; 
 how readily we are persuaded by those we love ! 
 
 Covielle. 
 How easily these young devils can cajole us ! 
 
 SCENE ELEVENTH 
 
 Madame Jourdain, CLtoNTB, Lucile, Covielle, 
 
 Nicole 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 I am very glad to see you, Cleonte ; you are 
 here in the nick of time. My husband is com- 
 ing in. Seize this opportunity to ask for Lucile 
 in marriage.
 
 scbnkxti] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 261 
 
 Cl]6onte. 
 
 Ah, madame, how sweet those words, and 
 how they encourage my desires ! Could I re- 
 ceive an order more dear, a favor more precious 
 to me? 
 
 SCENE TWELFTH 
 
 CLioNTE, Monsieur Jouedain, Mauame Jourbain, 
 LcciLE, Covielle, Nicole 
 
 Cl^onte, to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Monsieur, I have been unwilling to employ 
 others to make you a request I have long medi- 
 tated. It touches me so closely that I wish to 
 proffer it myself ; and, without further circum- 
 locution, I now say that the honor of being 
 your son-in-law is a glorious favor which I ask 
 you to bestow upon me. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Before replying to you, monsieur, I must beg 
 you to tell me whether you are a nobleman. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 
 Monsieur, most men would not hesitate long 
 over that question ; the answer would be quickly 
 given. Such men have no scruple in adopting
 
 262 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 that title, and the customs of the present day 
 seem to authorize the theft. For myself, I 
 will own to you I have feelings in this matter 
 which are somewhat more delicate. I think 
 that all imposture is unworthy of an honest 
 man. It is a base thing to disguise the position 
 in which Heaven has willed that we he horn, 
 and to disguise ourselves to the eyes of the 
 world with a stolen title, in other words, to 
 give ourselves out for what we are not. I am 
 born of parents who undoubtedly held honor- 
 able offices ; I have myself the honor of having 
 served six years under arms, and I have property 
 enough to maintain a passably fair position in 
 the world. But, with all that, I will not give 
 myself a name to which others in my place 
 would think they had a right, and I tell you 
 frankly I am not a nobleman. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Enough said, monsieur; my daughter is not 
 for you. 
 
 Cli^ontb. 
 What! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 You are not a nobleman, and you cannot have 
 my daughter.
 
 Scene XII] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 263 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 What do you mean, husband, with your noble- 
 men? Are you and I of the loins of Saint- 
 Louis, I 'd like to know. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Be silent, wife, I expect to see you in the 
 ranks of the nobility. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Don't we both descend from the good old 
 bourgeoisie 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 That 's a slander. , 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Was n't your father a tradcisman, as well as 
 minel 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Plague take the woman! she never misses a 
 chance to annoy me. If your father was a 
 tradesman, so much the worse for him ; but as 
 for mine, persons would be very ill-advised 
 who said such a thing. All I have to say to 
 you now is that I insist on having a nobleman 
 for my son-in-law.
 
 264 BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IH 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Your daughter should have a suitable hus- 
 band ; and it will be far better for her to marry 
 an honest man who is rich and well-made than 
 some beggarly, deformed nobleman. 
 
 Nicole. 
 That is true. There 's the son of a noble- 
 man in our village who is crooked, and the 
 silliest booby that ever I saw. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, to Nicole. 
 
 Hold your tongue, impertinent girl; you are 
 
 forever sticking yourself into the conversation. 
 
 I have property enough for my daughter ; what 
 
 *I require is rank and honors for her. I intend 
 
 to make her a marchioness. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 A marchioness! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Yes, a marchioness. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Alas ! God keep us from it. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 That is a thing I am resolved upon.
 
 Scene Xn] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 265 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 It is a thing that I will never consent to. 
 Marriages with those above us are always 
 subject to great annoyances. I don't want a 
 son-in-law who would reproach my daughter 
 with her parents. Neither do I want her to 
 have children who would be ashamed to call 
 me grandmamma. If she came to see me in 
 her fine-lady equipage, and chanced, by mistake, 
 not to bow to all the folks in the quarter, they 
 would tell a hundred ill-natured things about 
 her. " See, " they 'd say, " see that marchioness 
 who thinks herself so grand ; that 's the daughter 
 of Monsieur Jourdain, who was glad enough to 
 play with us when she was little. She wasn't 
 always so high and mighty as she is now ; her 
 grandfathers both sold cloth close to the gate 
 of Saint-Innocent. , They piled up money for 
 their children, and they may be doing penance 
 for it to this day in purgatory for people 
 don't get so rich by being honest men." I 
 tell you I don't want to hear such cackle. 
 I want a man who will be under an obliga- 
 tion to me for giving him my daughter, and to 
 whom I can say : " Sit you there, son-in-law, 
 and dine with us."
 
 66 BOURGEOIS "GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Those are the sentiments of a small mind, 
 willing to remain always in a base condition. 
 Make me no further talk. My daughter will 
 be a marchioness in spite of everybody; and 
 if you put me out of temper I '11 make her a 
 duchess. 
 
 SCENE THIRTEENTH 
 
 Madame Joukdain, Lucile, Cleonte, Nicole, 
 covielle 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Cleonte, don't lose courage yet. ( Jb Lucile) 
 Come, my daughter, follow me, and tell your 
 father resolutely that if you cannot marry 
 Cleonte you will not marry any one. 
 
 SCENE FOURTEENTH 
 
 Cleonte, Covielle 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 A fine business you have made of it with 
 your lofty sentiments. 
 
 Cleonte. 
 How could I help it? I have scruples on 
 that head that the example of others cannot 
 conquer.
 
 Scene XIV] BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME 267 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 It is a great mistake to treat that man so 
 seriously. Don't you see that he is crazy ? It 
 would n't have cost you much to give in to his 
 vagaries. 
 
 Cleonte. 
 
 You are right there. But how could I 
 know that I had to give proofs of being a 
 nobleman in order to become the son-in-law 
 of Monsieur Jourdain? 
 
 CoviELLE, laughing. 
 Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha! 
 
 CLiONTE. 
 
 What are you laughing at ? 
 
 CoviELLE. 
 At an idea that has just come into my head 
 of how to trick our man and make him give you 
 what you want. 
 
 CL:fiONTE. 
 
 How? 
 
 CoviELLE. 
 
 The idea is such a f upny one I 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 But what is it 1
 
 268 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 A certain masquerade has lately been invented 
 which will come in finely here. I '11 produce 
 it, and play a joke on that ridiculous old 
 fellow. It smells a little of farce, to be sure, 
 but no matter ; it is safe to risk anything with 
 him ; we need n't be too particular. He is 
 sure to play his part in any case, and we can 
 easily make him believe in all the absurdities 
 we choose to tell him. I know the actors in 
 the business. I can borrow their clothes ready 
 made. Let me manage it all. 
 
 Cl^ontb. 
 But explain 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes, I '11 tell you all. But let us get away 
 now, for here he is, coming back. 
 
 SCENE FIFTEENTH 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain, alone. 
 
 What the devil is all this ? They find fault 
 
 with me about my great lords, when, for my 
 
 part, I see nothing in the world so fine as 
 
 to frequent the company of great lords. There
 
 Scene XVH] BOLTIGEOIS GENTILHOMME 269 
 
 are no honors anywhere, and no civility, except 
 with them. I would gladly give two fingers 
 of my hand to have heen born a count or a 
 marquis. 
 
 SCENE SIXTEENTH 
 Monsieur Jourdain, Lacquet 
 
 Lacquey. 
 
 Monsieur, here comes Monsieur le comte and 
 he is conducting a lady by the hand. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Oh, good God ! and I have some orders to give I 
 Say I will be with them presently. (Exit.) 
 
 SCENE SEVENTEENTH 
 DobihIixe, Dorante, Lacquet 
 
 Lacquey. 
 
 Monsieur tells me to say that he will be with 
 you presently. 
 
 Dorante. 
 Very good.
 
 270 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 SCENE EIGHTEENTH 
 
 DORIMilNE, DORANTE 
 DORIMiNE. 
 
 I do not know, Dorante, why I have taken 
 so strange a step as to allow you to bring me 
 to a house Avhere I know no one. 
 
 Dorante. 
 
 But where else, madame, can my love enter- 
 tain you, since, in order to escape remark, you 
 forbid me to do so in your own house or in 
 
 mine? 
 
 DoRiMixE. 
 
 . Do you not see that I am insensibly commit- 
 ting myself daily more and more by receiving 
 these great proofs of your passion. In vain I 
 forbid many things; you weary my resistance; 
 and you show a civil obstinacy which makes 
 me, little by little, do all you wish. Frequent 
 visits were the beginning, declarations followed; 
 and after that came serenades and gifts and 
 presents. I have opposed them all, but you 
 will not be rebuffed; and foot by foot you 
 have conquered my resolutions. I can no 
 longer answer for myself, and I believe you 
 will bring me finally to marriage, for which I 
 have had so great an aversion.
 
 Scene XVni] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 271 
 
 DORAXTE. 
 
 Faith! madame, you ought to have accepted 
 it ere this. You are a widow and wholly 
 independent; I am master of myself, and I 
 love you better than my life; therefore, why 
 will you not from this day forth consent to 
 make my happiness? 
 
 DOBIM^NE. 
 
 Good heavens, Dorante ! so many good 
 qualities are needed on both sides before two 
 persons can live happily together. The most 
 sensible people in the world often find difficulty 
 in making a marriage that really satisfies them. 
 
 Dorante. 
 You are mistaken, madame, in imagining 
 such difficulties; the experience that you once 
 had is no ground on which to judge of others. 
 
 DORIMiNE. 
 
 I always return to one point: the expenses 
 that I see you incur on my behalf make me 
 very uneasy, and for two reasons : first, because 
 they commit me more than I wish to be com- 
 mitted; and next, because I am sure not to 
 displease you that you cannot incur them 
 without serious inconvenience to yourself; and 
 that is a thing which I cannot allow.
 
 272 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 DOKANTE. 
 
 Ah, madame, they are but trifles. It is not 
 in that way that 1 
 
 DoRIMiNE. 
 
 I know what I am saying. For instance, 
 among other things, this diamond, which you 
 have forced me to accept, is of great price, 
 and 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 Madame, I entreat you, do not set such value 
 on a thing my love thinks quite unworthy of 
 your charms, and suffer me But here comes 
 the master of the house. 
 
 SCENE NINETEENTH 
 
 MONSIBVB JOUKDAIN, DOBIMtNE, DOBANTK 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. After making two 
 bows he finds himself too close to Dorimene. 
 
 A little farther back, madame. 
 
 DoBIMiKE. 
 
 How? 
 
 MoNsiEUB Joubdain. 
 One step, if you please.
 
 Monsieur JOURDAIN. a little farther 
 back, madame. 
 
 LE BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME, Act III., Sc. xix. 
 
 VOL. I., Page 272
 
 Scene XIX] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 273 
 DORIM^NE. 
 
 But why ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Draw back a little that I may make the 
 third. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Madame, Monsieur Jourdain knows his com- 
 pany. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Madame, it is to me a very great glory to see 
 myself so fortunate, to be so happy, as to have 
 the felicity that you have had the goodness to 
 grant me the indulgence, to do me the honor to 
 honor me with the favor of your presence ; and 
 if I had also the merit, to merit a merit like 
 yours, and that Heaven envious of my happi- 
 ness had granted me the advantage to see 
 myself worthy of the 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, you have said enough. 
 Madame does not like fine compliments and 
 she knows you are a man of parts. (Aside to 
 Dorimene) He is a worthy bourgeois, rather 
 ridiculous, as you see, in all his ways. 
 
 Dorimene, aside to Dorante. 
 It is not very difficult to see that. 
 18
 
 274 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act III 
 
 DOKANTE. 
 
 Madame, this is one of my best friends. 
 
 MOXSIEUR JOUKDAIN". 
 
 You do me too much honor, monsieur. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 A gallant man in every way. 
 
 DORIMENE. 
 
 I feel much esteem for him. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I have done nothing as yet, madame, to merit 
 your favor. 
 
 DoBANTE, aside to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Take care not to say a word about that dia- 
 mond you have given her. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, aside to Dorante. 
 Couldn't I just ask her how she liked it? 
 
 Dorante, aside to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 No ! be most careful not to do so ; it would 
 be shocking taste. If you wish to act as a man 
 of gallantry you must behave as if it were not 
 you who had given it to her. (Aloud) Monsieiu*
 
 Scene XIX] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 275 
 
 Jourdain is saying, madame, how delighted he 
 is to see you ia his house. 
 
 DORIMiNE. 
 
 He does me much honor. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, low to Dorante. 
 How much obliged I am that you talk to her 
 in that style for me. 
 
 DoKANTE, low to MonsieuT Jourdain. 
 I have had the greatest diflficulty in persuading 
 her to come. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, low to Dorante. 
 I don't know how to thank you enough. 
 
 Dorante. 
 He says, madame, that he thinks you the most 
 charming person in the world. 
 
 DorimAne. 
 He is really very gracious. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Madame, it is you who are gracious in doing 
 me the favor to 
 
 Dorante. 
 Come, let us think of eating.
 
 276 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IH 
 
 SCENE TWENTIETH 
 Monsieur Joukdain, DoRiuiiNE, Dorante, Lacquey 
 
 Lacquey, to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 All is ready, monsieur. 
 
 Dorante. 
 Very good ; let us sit down to table, and order 
 the musicians to come in. 
 
 BALLET. 
 
 Six cooks, who have prepared the banquet, 
 dance together; after which they bring in a 
 table covered with viands. 
 
 END OF ACT THIBD.
 
 Scene I] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 277 
 
 art JFonrtJ 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 DoEiicfeNB, Monsieur Jouedain, Doeantb, thbeb 
 
 MUSICIANS, LACQUET8 
 DORTMiNE. 
 
 Why ! really, Dorante, this is a most magnifi- 
 cent repast. 
 
 MoNsiEUB Jouedain. 
 
 You are jesting, madame ; I wish it were far 
 more worthy of being offered to you. 
 
 Dorimene, Monsieur Jourdain, Dorante^ and 
 the three musicians sit down to table. 
 
 Dorante. 
 Monsieur Jourdain is right, madame, to speak 
 as he does. I am greatly obliged to him for 
 doing the honors of his house so kindly. I 
 agree with him that the dinner is not worthy of 
 you. As I ordered it without consulting the 
 experience of friends, it may not be a well- 
 chos^ repast; you will find some incongruities
 
 278 BOURGEOIS GEXTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 of good living and certain barbarities of taste. 
 Now if our friend Damis bad taken part in tbe 
 affair, all would have been in due form, ele- 
 gance and culinary erudition everywhere. He 
 would not have failed to praise, himseK, all the 
 dishes that he set before you, and to make you 
 conscious of his high capacity in the science of 
 good food. He would have called your atten- 
 tion to that loaf of bread, baked by itself, with 
 a golden crust on all sides, crisp to the teeth; 
 and to the wine, with a velvety flavor and yet a 
 tartness not too controlling ; and to that haunch 
 of mutton, garnished with parsley ; that loin of 
 meadow veal, so white and delicate that it eats 
 to the teeth like almond paste; and the par- 
 tridges, highly seasoned, of surprising flavor; 
 and, for the great feature of all, that soup of 
 barley broth, supported by a plump young tur- 
 key, flanked with pigeons and smothered in 
 white onions mashed with chicory. But, as for 
 me, I own my ignorance, and, as Monsieur 
 Jourdain has well said, I wish the repast were 
 more worthy of being offered to you. 
 
 DORIM^NE. 
 
 I can only reply to that compliment by eating 
 as you see I am doing.
 
 scbbI] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 279 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Ah, what beautiful hands! 
 
 DORIMiNE. 
 
 The hands are insignificant, Monsieur Jour- 
 dain; you are speaking, I am sure, of the dia- 
 mond, which is, in truth, very fine. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I, madame ? God forbid that I should speak 
 of it ! It would not be acting like a man of gal- 
 lantry ; and the diamond is a very poor thing. 
 
 DORIMilNE. 
 
 You seem quite disgusted with it. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 You are only too kind to 
 
 DoRANTE, making a sign to Monsieur Jour- 
 dain. 
 Come, give wine to Monsieur Jourdain and 
 to these gentlemen, who will have the kindness 
 to sing us a drinking-song. 
 
 DORIMi^NE. 
 
 What a delightful seasoning to good food, to 
 mingle it with music ! I am indeed most charm- 
 ingly regaled.
 
 280 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I assure you, madame, it is not 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, let us be silent and listen 
 to these gentlemen, who will enable us to hear 
 something far better than our own words. 
 
 FiBST AND Second Mcsicians, together, glass in hand. 
 Drink, friends, drink 
 For time is flying ! 
 Life is short, there 's no denying ; 
 But here 's the way 
 To make it gay 
 And grasp its profits while we may. 
 
 Second and Third Musicians, together. 
 When we have passed the Stygian shore. 
 Farewell good wine f orevermore ; 
 
 Haste then to drink 
 
 Upon the brink 
 Of that dark flood where time 'a no more. 
 
 First and Second Musicians, together. 
 Leave fools to reason as they please 
 On earth's true joys, and life's true ease ; 
 
 Wealth, wisdom, fame 
 
 Are carking cares ; 
 
 What earthly joy 
 
 With wine compares? 
 
 All Three, together. 
 Then drink, friends, drink. 
 Upon the shore 
 Of that dark flood where time 's no more !
 
 Scene IJ BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 281 
 
 DORIMisTE. 
 
 I never heard finer singing; it is altogether 
 beautiful. 
 
 MONSIEUB JOURDAIN. 
 
 I see something here, madame, that is far 
 more beautiful. 
 
 DoRIMiXE. 
 
 Dear me ! Monsieur Jourdain is more gallant 
 than I supposed. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 What did you take Monsieur Jourdain for, 
 
 madame 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I would that she would take me for what 
 
 [ feel to her. 
 
 DORIMiNB 
 
 What, more gallantry! 
 
 DORANTB. 
 
 You do not know him. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 She shall know me, whenever it pleases her. 
 
 DORIM^NE. 
 
 Oh! I desist. 
 
 DoRANTE. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain is a man who always has 
 his repartee at hand. But do you not observe,
 
 282 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 madame, that he is eating all the morsels that 
 you have touched? 
 
 DORIMENE. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain enraptures me. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 If I could but enrapture your heart, I should 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 Madame Jourdain, Monsieur Jourdain, DorimIine, 
 
 DORANTE, musicians, LACQUEYS 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Ah ! ah ! I find company, and I see plainly 
 enough I am not expected. So it was for this 
 fine affair, husband, that you were so eager to 
 send me to dine with your sister 1 I have just 
 seen the stage-players downstairs, and here I 
 find a banquet fit for a wedding. This is how 
 you spend your money, and feast ladies in my 
 absence; it seems you give them music and 
 comedy while you send me marching. 
 
 DoRANTE. 
 
 What do you mean, Madame Jourdain? 
 What foolish fancy is this? Why have you
 
 Scene 11] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 283 
 
 taken it into your head that your husband is 
 spending his money and giving this banquet to 
 madame ? Let me inform you that it is I who 
 am doing so; he has only lent me his house for 
 the feast. You ought to look more carefully 
 into the things you say. 
 
 MONSIEUK JOURDAIN. 
 
 Yes, foolish woman; Monsieur le comte is 
 giving all this to madame, who is a person of 
 quality. He does me the honor to use my 
 house and to allow me to be present. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 All that is nonsense ; I know what I know . 
 
 Dob ANTE. 
 
 Wear better spectacles, madame. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I don't need spectacles, monsieur, my eyes 
 are good. I have long scented these things, and 
 I am not a fool. It is villanous of you, who 
 call yourself a great lord, to lend a hand as you 
 do to my husband's folly. And you, madame, 
 great lady as you are, it is neither noble nor 
 virtuous to bring dissensions into a home, and 
 td allow my husband to be in love with you.
 
 284 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 DOKIMENE. 
 
 What does all this mean? Dorante, you 
 have made a strange mistake to expose me to 
 .the silly fancies of this raving woman. 
 
 Dorante, to Dorimene, who goes out. 
 Madame ! wait ! madame ! where are you 
 
 going? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Madame ! Monsieur le comte, make her my 
 excuses; entreat her to return. 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 MoNSiEus Jourdain, Madame Jodedain, Lacqubt 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 There, insolent woman that you are ! see 
 your fine doings ! You have insulted me 
 before the world; you have driven from my 
 house persons of quality. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I^don't care a fig for their quality. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I don't know what prevents me, confounded 
 woman, from flinging those dishes at your head.
 
 Scene V] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 285 
 
 Madame Jourdaix, going out. 
 A fig for that, too ! I am defending ray rights, 
 and I shall have all the women on my side. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 You do well to escape my wrath. 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, alone. 
 
 She came at a most unfortunate moment. I 
 
 was just in the humor to say the prettiest 
 
 things. 1 never felt myself so full of wit 
 
 Why, who's this? 
 
 ^-^ 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 Monsieur Jourdain, Covielle, disguised 
 
 Covielle. 
 Monsieur, I do not know if you do me the 
 honor to remember me. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I do not, monsieur. 
 
 Covielle, holding his hand near the ground. 
 And yet 1 Knew you when you were only so 
 high.
 
 286 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Mel 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes. You were the handsomest child in the 
 world, and all the ladies took you in their arms 
 and kissed you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Kissed me? 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 Yes. I was a great friend of that true gentle- 
 man your father. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 That true gentleman my father ? 
 
 Covielle. 
 Yes. He was a very worthy nobleman. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 What did you say 1 
 
 Covielle. 
 I said he was a very worthy nobleman. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 My father ? 
 
 Covielle. 
 Yes. 
 
 MoNSiEUB Joubdain 
 
 Did you know him well ?
 
 Scene VJ BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 287 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Extremely well. 
 
 MONSIEUK JOURDATN. 
 
 And you knew him to be a nobleman ? 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Undoubtedly. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I don't know what the world is made of ! 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 How so 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 There are foolish people who insist that my 
 father was a tradesman. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 He ! a tradesman? That is pure scandal; 
 he never was anything of the sort. Wliat he 
 did in that way was out of kindness, in order to* 
 be obliging. As he knew a great deal about 
 fine stuffs, he selected them on all sides and had 
 them sent home ; and then he gave them to his 
 friends for money. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I am delighted to know you, and to receive 
 your testimony that my fatlier was a nobleman.
 
 288 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 That I -will maintain before all the world. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 You will oblige me very much if you will do 
 so. But what has brought you to me now 1 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Since the time that I knew your late father, 
 that worthy nobleman, I have travelled over 
 the whole world. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Over the whole world 1 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I suppose it is a large country 1 
 Covielle. 
 . Of course. I returned from my long jour- 
 ney only four days ago ; and, on account of the 
 interest I have always felt in what concerns 
 you, I have come to bring you some good news. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What news 1 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 You know that the son of the Grand Turk 
 is here?
 
 scenbV] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 289 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I? No. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 What ! not know it ? He has arrived in the 
 most magnificent style ; the world is flocking to 
 see him; he has been received in this country 
 as a lord of great importance. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Faith ! I did not know it. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 And the great advantage to you is that he 
 is in love with your daughter. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 The son of the' Grand Turk 1 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes; he wishes to be your son-in-law. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 My son-in-law, the son of the Grand Turk 1 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 The son of the Grand Turk your son-in-law. 
 
 As I understand his language perfectly I went 
 
 at once to see him ; he conversed with me, and 
 
 after some other remarks he said: Acciam croc 
 
 19
 
 290 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 soler onch alia moustaph gidelum amanahem 
 varahini oussere carbulath y whicli means, 
 " Did you ever see a beautiful young woman 
 who is the daughter of a Parisian nobleman, 
 Monsieur Jourdain ? " 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Tlie son of the Grand Turk said that of me ? 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes. When I replied that I knew you partic- 
 ularly well, and that I had seen your daughter, 
 "Ah!" he said, " marababa sahem!" which 
 means, *' Ah ! I am in love with her ! " 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Marababa sahem means, " Ah, I am in love 
 with her"? 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Faith ! you do well to tell me ; I never 
 should have thought, myself, that marababa 
 sahem meant, " Ah ! I am in love with her. " 
 What an admirable language Turk is! 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 More admirable than people have any idea of. 
 Do you know what cacaracamouchen means ?
 
 ScekeV] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 291 
 
 Monsieur Joukdain. 
 Cacaracamouchen ? No. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 It means, " My dear soul." 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Cacaracamouchen means, " My dear soul 1 " 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 But this is marvellous ! Cacaracamouchen, 
 " My dear soul. " But how can I ever say it ? 
 That confounds me, 
 
 Covielle. 
 So to fulfil my embassy he is coming to 
 ask for your daughter in marriage ; and, in order 
 to have a father-in-law whose rank is worthy of 
 his own, he wishes to make you Mamamouchi ; 
 which is a certain great dignity in his country. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Mamamouchi ? 
 
 Covielle. 
 Yes, Mamamoiichi ; which means in our 
 language " paladin." Paladins were the ancient 
 paladins, in short. There is nothing more
 
 292 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 noble in all the world. You will be the equal 
 of the greatest lords of the earth. 
 
 Monsieur Joubdaix. 
 The son of the Grand Turk does me much 
 honor. I beg you to take me to him that I may 
 offer my acknowledgments. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 On the contrary, he is coming here to see you. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Coming here ! 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes ; and he will bring everything with him 
 for the ceremony of installing you in your new 
 dignity. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 He is very prompt. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 His love can bear no delay. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 The only thing that troubles me is that my 
 daughter is an obstinate girl, who has taken it 
 into her head to fancy a certain Cleonte, and 
 swears she will not marry any one but him.
 
 Scbnbvi] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 293 
 
 covielle. 
 
 She will change her mind after she has seen 
 the son of the Grand Turk. And besides, 
 here 's a curious coincidence, the son of the 
 Grand Turk is very like Cleonte, very like 
 indeed. I have just seen Cleonte; he was 
 pointed out to rae. The love she has for one can 
 easily pass over to the other, and But the 
 son of the Grand Turk is coming; here he is. 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 Cleonte, dressed as a Turk, three pages, bear- 
 ing a vestment. Monsieur Jourdain, Coviellb 
 
 Cleonte. 
 Ambousahim oqui boraf, Jordina^ ,salamale- 
 qui. 
 
 CoviELLE, to Moiisieur Jourdain. 
 That means : " Monsieur Jourdain, may your 
 heart be at all seasons a blooming rose-bush." 
 *T is a polite form of speech in his country. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I am the very humble servant of his Turkish 
 
 Highness. 
 
 CoviELLE. 
 
 Carigar camboto oitstin moraf.
 
 294 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 CliSonte. 
 
 Oustin yoc catamalequi basum base alia 
 moran. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 He says : " May heaven give you the strength 
 of lions and the wisdom of serpents. " 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 His Turkish Highness honors me too much, 
 and I wish him every sort of prosperity. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Ossa binamen sadoc babally oracaf ouram. 
 
 Cl^onte. 
 Belmen. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 He says that you are to go at once with him 
 and prepare for the ceremony, so that your 
 daughter maj'^ afterwards be sent for to con- 
 clude the marriage. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 All that in two words ? 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes. The Turkish language is made like 
 that; it says much in few words. Go with him 
 at once, as he wishes.
 
 scbnbvui] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 295 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 
 CoviELLE, alone. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha! Faith, if that isn't droll! 
 What a dupe ! He could n't play his part better 
 if he had learned it by heart. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 SCENE EIGHTH 
 
 DOKANTE, COVIBLLE 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Monsieur, I beg you to help us in a matter 
 we are carrying on just now in this house. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Ha, Cbvielle ; who would recognize you ? How 
 you are disguised ! 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Yes, you see. Ha, ha, ha ! ha, ha ! 
 
 DoRANTE. 
 
 What are you laughing at ? 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 At something fit to make one laugh, monsieuc
 
 296 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 DOBAaTTE. 
 
 What is it? 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 I '11 give you a dozen guesses, monsieur, to 
 find out the stratagem we are playing off on 
 Monsieur Jourdain, in order to bring him round 
 to give his daughter to my master. 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 I can't guess the stratagem ; but I am pretty 
 sure it will not fail to do its work if you under- 
 take it, Covielle. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 You know what a blockhead he is t 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Explain the trick to me. 
 
 Covielle. 
 
 Then come a little aside, so as to leave space 
 for the scene which is just about to take place. 
 You shall see part of the business, and I '11 tell 
 you the rest.
 
 Scene IX] BOUKGEOIS GEXTILHOMME 297 
 
 SCENE NINTH 
 
 The Mufti, Dervishes, Turks, assistants of the Mufti, 
 dancing and singing 
 
 Six Turks enter gravely, two and two, to the 
 sound of instruments. They carry three carpets, 
 which, after making several figures in dancing, 
 they raise very high. 
 
 Other Turks, singing and dancing, pass beneath 
 these carpets, and then take their station on 
 each side of the stage. The Mufti, followed by 
 the Dervishes, brings up the rear. 
 
 Then the six Turks spread their carpets on 
 the ground and kneel upon them. The Mufti 
 and the Dervishes stand erect in their midst; 
 and while the Mufti invokes Mohammed, by 
 making many contorsions and grimaces without 
 uttering a word, the assistant Turks prostrate 
 themselves on the ground, chanting " Allah ! " 
 then they rise and lift their arms to heaven, still 
 chanting " Allah ! " which movements they con- 
 tinue till the end of the invocation. 
 
 After which all rise, chanting " Allah akbar ! " 
 and two of the Dervishes go out to fetch 
 Monsieur Jourdain.
 
 298 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 SCENE TENTH 1 
 
 The Mufti, Dervishes, Turks, singing and dancing ; 
 Monsieur Jourdain, dressed in the Turkish fash- 
 ion, his head shaved, without turban or scimitar 
 
 The Mufti, to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Se ti sabir, 
 Ti respondir; 
 Se no sabir, 
 Tazir, tazir. 
 
 Mi star mufti 
 Ti qui star si ? 
 Non intendir 
 Tazir, tazir. 
 
 Two Dervishes draw Monsieur Jourdain 
 aside. 
 
 ^ This scene is in the Lingua Franca, which was 
 spoken along the shores of the Mediterranean and in the 
 Barbary States. It is a mixture of Italian, Spanish, and 
 Portuguese dialects, iu which the verb is used in the 
 infinitive only. A few Turkish words are given, which 
 mean as follows : Yoc, no. Allah Akbar, God is great. 
 Ei Vallah (Arabic), yes, by God. Allah, God; Baba, 
 my father; Hoo (Arabic) He, meaning God. The nine- 
 teenth century does not need a translation of this scene 
 any more than an audience of the seventeenth century 
 did. Tr.
 
 Scknexi] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 299 
 
 SCENE ELEVENTH 
 The Mdfti, Dervishes, Turks, singing and dancing 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Dice, Turque, qui star quista? Anabatistal 
 Anabatista ? 
 
 The Turks. 
 
 Yoc. 
 
 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Zuinglista? 
 
 
 
 The Turks. 
 
 Yoc. 
 
 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Coffita? 
 
 
 
 The Turks. 
 
 Yoc. 
 
 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Hussita? Morista? Fronista? 
 
 
 The Turks. 
 
 Yoc, yoc, yoc 
 
 
 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Yoc, yoc, yoc. 
 
 Star pagana 1 
 
 
 The Turks. 
 
 Yoc. 
 
 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Luterana? 

 
 300 BOUKGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 The Turks. 
 
 Yoc. 
 
 Puritana 1 
 Yoc. 
 
 The Mufti. 
 The Turks. 
 
 The Mufti. 
 Bramiua ? Moffina 1 Zurina ? 
 
 The Turks. 
 Yoc, yoc, yoc. 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Yoc, yoc, yoc. Maliametana 1 Mahametana 1 
 
 The Turks. 
 EiVallah! Ei Vallah! 
 
 The Mufti, twirling. 
 Como chamara ? Como chamara 1 
 
 The Turks. 
 Giourdina, Giourdina. 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Giourdina, Giourdina. 
 
 The Turks. 
 Giourdina, Giourdina.
 
 Scene Xn] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 301 
 
 The Mufti. 
 Mahameta, per Giourdina, 
 Mi pregar, sera e matina. 
 Voler far un paladina 
 De Giourdina, de Giourdina; 
 Dar turbanta, dar scarriaa, 
 Con galera, e brigantina, 
 Per deffender Palestina, 
 Mahameta, per Giourdina, 
 Mi pregar, sera e matina. 
 
 {To the Turks) 
 Star bon Turca Giourdina ? 
 
 The Turks. 
 EiVallah! EiVallah! 
 
 The Mufti, exit singing and dancing, 
 Al, lab, Ba, ba, Hoo ; Al, lab, Ba, ba ! 
 
 The Turks. 
 Al, lab, Ba, ba, Hoo; Al, lab, Ba, ba ! 
 
 SCENE TWELFTH 
 Turks, singing and dancing
 
 302 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 SCENE THIRTEENTH 
 
 The Mufti, Dervishes, Monsieur Jourdain, Turks, 
 
 singing and dancing 
 
 The Mufti returns, wearing his turban of 
 ceremony, which is of inordinate size, adorned 
 with lighted tapers disposed in four or five 
 rows. He is accompanied by two Dervishes, 
 who carry the Koran and wear pointed caps, 
 also adorned with lighted tapers. . 
 
 Two other Dervishes lead in Monsieur Jour- 
 dain and place him on his knees, his hands on 
 the ground, so that his back, on which they lay 
 the Koran, serves as a pulpit for the Mufti, who 
 makes a second invocation, frowning his eye- 
 brows, striking the Koran from time to time, 
 and turning the leaves precipitately ; after which, 
 raising his arms to heaven, the Mufti cries in a 
 loud voice : " Hoo ! " 
 
 During this second invocation the assistant 
 Turks, bowing down and rising alternately, also 
 chant "Hoo! hoo! hoo! " 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, after they have taken 
 the Koran from his back. 
 Ouf!
 
 Scknbxiii] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 303 
 
 The Mufti, to Monsieur Jourdain, 
 Ti non star furba ? 
 
 The Turks. 
 No, no, no. 
 
 The Mufti, to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Non star f orfanta 1 
 
 The Turks. 
 No, no, no. 
 
 * 
 
 The Mufti, to the Turks. 
 Dona tuibanta. 
 
 The Turks. 
 Ti non star furba ? 
 
 No, no, no. 
 Non star f orfanta ? 
 
 No, no, no. 
 Dona turbanta. 
 
 The Turks, dancing around Monsieur Jour- 
 dain, put the turban on his head to the sound 
 of instruments. 
 
 The Mufti, giving a scimitar to Monsieur 
 
 Jourdain. 
 
 Ti star nobile, non star fabbola. 
 
 Pigliar schiabbola.
 
 304 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act IV 
 
 The Tubks, drawing their scimitars. 
 
 Ti star nobile, non star fabbola. 
 
 Pigliar schiabbola. 
 
 The Turhs, dancing, give several blows with 
 their scimitars in cadence to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 The Mufti. 
 Dara, dara, 
 Bastonnara. 
 Dara, dara, 
 Bastonnara. 
 
 The Turks, dancing, give several blows with 
 a stick to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 The Mufti. 
 
 Non tener honta, 
 Questa star I'ultinia aflfronta. 
 
 The Turks. 
 Non tener honta, 
 Questa star I'ultima affronta. 
 
 The Mufti begins a third invocation. The 
 Dervishes support him beneath the arms with 
 respect; after which the Turks, singing, dan- 
 cing and twirling round the Mufti, retire with 
 him, and lead away Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 END OF fourth ACT.
 
 scbnbI] bourgeois gentilhomme 30s; 
 
 I 
 
 act jFiftfj 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 MAD1.ME JouKDAiN, MoNSiEUR JouRDAiN, dressed as 
 a Turk 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 VjrREAT Powers, have mercy! What is all 
 this ? What a guy ! Is that a pillow on your 
 head 1 Are you playing a masquerade ? Speak, 
 tell me what this means. Who has rigged you 
 out like that 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What impertinence to speak in that way to a 
 Mamamouchi. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 A what? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Yes, respect must be shown to me; I have 
 just been made a Mamamouchi. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 What do you mean with your Mamamouchi ? 
 90
 
 306 BOURGEOIS GENTLLHOMME [Act V 
 
 MONSIEUB JOUKDAIN. 
 
 Mamamoicchi, I tell you. I am Mama- 
 mouchi. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Is it an animal ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Mamamouchi, which means, in our language, 
 " paladin." 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Baladin! are you going to dance a ballet at 
 your time of life 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 What ignorance! I said, "paladin." It is 
 
 a dignity to which I have been raised by a 
 
 ceremony. 
 
 Madame Jouedain. 
 
 What ceremony t 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Mdhameta per Jordina. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Good heavens ! what does he mean f 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Jordina means " Jourdain. "
 
 Scene I] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 307 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 Well, what ? Jourdain what ? 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Volerfar un paladina de Jordina. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 How? 
 
 Monsieub Joubdain. 
 Dar turbanta eon galera. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 
 What does that say, that ? 
 
 Monsieur Joubdain. 
 Per deffender Palestina. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 Heavens ! what do you mean ? 
 
 Monsieub Joubdain. 
 Daray dara, bastonnara. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 Whose jargon is that 1 
 
 Monsieub Joubdain. 
 Non tener honta questa star Vultima 
 affronta.
 
 308 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 For Heaven's sake, tell me what you mean ? 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, singing and dancing. 
 Hoo, la, ba ! ba, la, lioo ! ba, la, ba ! ba, la, 
 da ! (Falls to the ground.) 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Good God! my husband is mad! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, rising and departing. 
 Peace, insolent woman ! show respect to the 
 Mamamouchi. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, alone. 
 He certainly has lost his mind ! I must go 
 after him and prevent his leaving the house. 
 (Seeing Dorim^ne and Dora7ite approaching) 
 Ah! ah! here's the last drop; I see nothing 
 but trouble everywhere. 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 
 DORANTE, DORIMtNE 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Yes, madame, you shall see the most amus- 
 ing thing that ever was seen. I don't believe 
 that in all the world it would be possible to
 
 Scbneii] bourgeois GENTILHOMME 309 
 
 find another such fool as this man. Besides, 
 madame, we must trj"^ to serve Cleonte's love 
 and help him with his masquerade. He is a 
 very gallant young man, and deserves that we 
 take an interest in him. 
 
 DORIMiNE. 
 
 I think very highly of him ; he is worthy of 
 good fortune, 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Moreover, madame, you must indeed see the 
 ballet I have prepared. We ought not to 
 lose it; I wish to know if my idea has been 
 successfully carried out. 
 
 DORIMiNE. 
 
 I have noticed the magnificent preparations 
 you have made, Dorante; and these are things 
 that I can no longer permit. Yes, I must in 
 future prevent your profusion ; and to stop the 
 expenses which I see you incurring for me I 
 have resolved to marry you at once. That is 
 the only way ; for such extravagance ends with 
 marriage, as you know. 
 
 Dorante. 
 
 Ah ! madame, is it possible you have come to 
 so sweet a resolution ?
 
 310 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 DoRiMiafE. 
 
 It is solely to prevent you from ruining your- 
 self; for I see plainly that unless I do this you 
 will soon be left without a sou. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 How deeply obliged I am, madame, for the 
 care you take to preserve my property. It is 
 wholly yours, as well as my heart; use it in 
 any way you please. 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 
 MOKSIEUB JOUEDAIN, DORIuiiNE, DOBANTK 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Monsieur, we have come, madame and I, to 
 render homage to your new dignity, and to 
 rejoice with you at the marriage you are making 
 between your daughter and the son of the Grand 
 Turk. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, after bowing in the 
 Turkish manner. 
 
 Monsieur, I wish you the strength of ser- 
 pents and the wisdom of lions.
 
 Scene ni] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 311 
 
 DORIMiNK. 
 
 I am very glad to be the first, monsieur, to 
 congratulate you on the high degree of glory 
 to which you have risen. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Madame, I wish that your rosebush may 
 bloom all the year round. I am infinitely 
 obliged to you for taking part in the honors 
 that have come to me. I am full of joy at 
 your return to my house, and I offer you my 
 very humble excuses for the unreasonableness 
 of my wife. 
 
 DORIMBNE. 
 
 Do not mention it ; I can readily excuse such 
 feelings in Madame Jourdain ; yoiir heart must 
 be precious to her. It is not strange that the 
 possession of a man like you should inspire some 
 anxiety. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 The possession of my heart is yours alone. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 You see, madame, that Monsieur Jourdain is 
 not one of those whom prosperity blinds; he 
 knows in his grandeur how to recognize his 
 friends.
 
 312 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 DORIMilfE. 
 
 *T is the sign of a truly generous soul. 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 Where is his Turkish Highness 1 We desire, 
 as your friends, to pay him our respects. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Here he comes : I have sent for my daughter, 
 to bestow her hand upon him. 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, DoRixiiiNE, Dorante, CLioNXE, 
 dressed as a Turk 
 
 Dorante, to Cleonte. 
 Monsieur, we have come to offer homage to 
 your Highness as the friends of Monsieur Jour- 
 dain, your father-in-law, and to assure you with 
 all respect of our very humble services. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Where is that interpreter! He is wanted to 
 tell him who you are and to make him under- 
 stand what you say. You will see that he will 
 answer you ; he speaks Turk admirably. Hola, 
 where the devil has he gone? (To Cleonte) 
 Strouf, strif, strof, strof. Monsieur, here is a
 
 SCBNE V] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 313 
 
 grande signore, grande signore^ grande signore; 
 and madame is a granda dama, granda dama. 
 {Seeing that he does not make himself under- 
 stood) Ah! {To Gleonte, pointing to Do- 
 rante) Monsieur, he Mamamouchi frenchy ; and 
 Madame Mamamouchia frenchy. I can't say 
 it more clearly. Oh ! good ; here comes the 
 interpreter. 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, DorimI:ne, Dorante, Cleonte, 
 
 dressed as a Turk, Covielle, disguised 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, to Covielle. 
 Where have you been 1 We can't say a word 
 without you. (Pointing to Clionte) Just tell 
 him that monsieur and madame here are persons 
 of high quality, who have come to pay him their 
 respects as friends of mine, and to assure him of 
 their services. {To Dorimene and Dorante) 
 You will see how he will answer. 
 
 Covielle. 
 Alahala crociam acci boram alabamen. 
 
 Cl:6onte. 
 Catalequi tubal ourin soter amahuchan.
 
 314 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, to Dorante and Dor- 
 imene. 
 There ! you see. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 He says: "May the rain of prosperity ever 
 water the garden of your friends. " 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I told you he spoke Turk. 
 
 Dorante. 
 Admirably ! 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 LtJCILB, CLiONTE, MONSIEUK JoURDAUT, DOEIMiNE, 
 
 Dorante, Covielle 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Approach, my daughter ; come here and give 
 your hand to monsieur, who does you the honor 
 to ask you in marriage. 
 
 LuciLB. 
 
 Why, father ! how you are dressed ! Are you 
 acting a comedy ?
 
 Scene VI] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 315 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 No, this is not a comedy ; it is a very serious 
 matter ; and the greatest honor to you that heart 
 could wish. (^Pointing to Cleonte) This is the 
 husband whom I give to you. 
 
 LuciLB. 
 To me, father. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Yes, to you. Come, put your hand in his 
 and thank Heaven for your great good fortune. 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 I do not wish to marry. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 I wish it, I, who am your father. 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 I shall not do so. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Ha ! what a fuss ! Come, I say ; here ! your 
 
 hand. 
 
 LuciLE. 
 
 No, father ; I told you no power could induce 
 
 me to take any other husband than Cleonte; 
 
 I will go to all extremities rather than 
 
 (Recognizing Cleont^^ It is true you are my
 
 316 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 father ; I owe you entire obedience, and it 
 is your right to bestow my hand as you will. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Ah! i am delighted to see you return so 
 quickly to your duty. It gratifies me very 
 much to have an obedient daughter. 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 Madame Joukdain, CLtoNTE, Monsieur Jourdain, 
 
 LUCILB, DORANTE, DORIltfilNE, COVIELLE 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 What is this I hear ? They say you are going 
 to give your daughter in marriage to a carnival- 
 actor. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Will you be silent, meddling woman ? You 
 always come and mix your folly in everything. 
 Is there no way to teach you to be reasonable ? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 It is you to whom there 's no way to teach 
 common-sense ; you go from one folly to another. 
 What is your present scheme? and why have 
 you collected these people here?
 
 Scene VII] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 317 
 
 Monsieur Jourdatn. 
 I intend to marry our daughter to the son 
 of the Grand Turk. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 The son of the Grand Turk! 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, pointing to Covielle. 
 Yes, pay him your respects through the inter- 
 preter whom you see here. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I don't want any interpreter. I can tell him 
 to his nose, myself, what I have to say ; and that' 
 is, that he shall not have my daughter. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Will you he silent, I say again. ' 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 Why, Madame Joi;rdain, how can you oppose 
 an honor like this? Would you refuse his 
 Turkish Highness for a son-in-law? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Heavens ! monsieur, mind your own business. 
 
 DORIM^NE. 
 
 But it is a great glory that ought not to be 
 rejected.
 
 318 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 Madame, I beg you not to trouble yourself 
 about that which does not concern you. 
 
 Dorante. 
 
 It is because we are so truly your friends 
 that we take an interest in your good fortune. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I can do very well without your friendship. 
 
 DOBANTE. 
 
 But here 's your daughter, who consents to 
 her father's wishes. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 My daughter consents to marry a Turk 1 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 She does. 
 
 Madame Joubdain. 
 She forgets Cleonte ? 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 What will a woman not do to make herself a 
 great lady. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 I '11 strangle her with my own hands if she 
 can do so base a thinR.
 
 Scene VII] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 319 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Here 's fine cackling ! I tell you the marriage 
 will take place. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 And I tell you it shall not take place. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 What a fuss! 
 
 LUCILE. 
 
 Mother! 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 You are a hussy. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, to Madame Jourdain. 
 
 What ! do you quarrel with her because she 
 obeys me? 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Yes; she is mine quite as much as she is 
 yours. 
 
 CoviELLE, to Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Madame ! 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 What do you want, you ? 
 
 CoviELLE. 
 One word.
 
 320 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I don't choose to hear your word. 
 
 CoviELLE, to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Monsieur, if she will only listen to me one 
 moment privately, I know I can make her 
 consent to what you wish. 
 
 Madame Jourdain". 
 I shall never consent. 
 
 CoviELLE. 
 Just listen to me a moment. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 No. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 Listen to him. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I don't choose to listen to him. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 He will tell you 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 I don't want him to tell me anything. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 Was there ever such female obstinacy! It 
 can't hurt you to listen to him.
 
 Scene Vn] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 321 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Only listen; you can do as you like after- 
 wards. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 Well, what is it, then ? 
 
 CoviELLE, low to Madame Jourdain. 
 
 We have been making signs to you for an 
 hour, madame. Don't you see that all this 
 is done to adapt ourselves to your husband's 
 notions? We are tricking him under this dis- 
 guise. Cleonte is the son of the Grand Turk. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, low to Covielle, 
 
 What, really? 
 
 Covielle, low to Madame Jourdain. 
 And I, Covielle, am the interpreter. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, low to Covielle. 
 Tf that 's the case I give in. 
 
 Covielle, low to Madame Jourdain. 
 But be careful not to betray the trick. 
 
 Madame Jourdain, aloud. 
 
 Well, as the thing is done, I consent to the 
 
 marriage. 
 
 21
 
 322 BOUEGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 Monsieur Jourdaix. 
 
 Ah! now, here 's everybody reasonable. (7b 
 Madame Jourdain) You would n't listen to 
 him, but I knew very well that he would 
 explain to you about the son of the Grand 
 Turk. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 He has explained it all properly, and I am 
 satisfied, Now we had better send at once 
 for a notary. 
 
 DOEANTE. 
 
 Well said. And in order, Madame Jourdain, 
 that you may have your mind altogether at rest, 
 and lose from this moment the jealousy you 
 have felt about your husband, Madame la mar- 
 quise and I will avail ourselves of the services 
 of the same notary to arrange our marriage. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 I consent to that, too. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain, Iovj to Dorante. 
 That is only to pacify my wife, of course. 
 
 Dorante, low to Monsieur Jourdain. 
 It is well to amuse her with the idea.
 
 Scene VII] BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME 323 
 
 Monsieur Jourdaix, low. 
 Good! good! (Aloud) Yes, send for the 
 notary. 
 
 DORANTE. 
 
 And while we are waiting for him let us see 
 our ballet and offer it as an entertainment to 
 his Turkish Highness. 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 An excellent idea. Come, let us take our 
 places. 
 
 Madame Jourdain. 
 
 And Nicole 1 
 
 Monsieur Jourdain. 
 
 I give her to the interpreter (low) and my 
 wife to any one who wants her. 
 
 COVIELLE. 
 
 Monsieur, I thank you. (Aside) May I be 
 shot if he is not the craziest of mortals. 
 
 BALLET. 
 
 The comedy ends with the little ballet which 
 had been prepared, in which musicians of the 
 three countries, Italy, France, and Spain, sing 
 and dance in their native style and manner.
 
 324 BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME [Act V 
 
 The whole concludes by the mingling of the 
 three nations, and the applause, in dance and 
 song, of all present, assistants and spectators, 
 who sing: 
 
 What visions charm us, and what pleasures greet; 
 The gods, the gods themselves have nought so sweet ! 
 
 END OF LE BOCBGEOIS GENTILHOMME.
 
 /H C oo
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 SRLIr- 
 QL 
 
 .MN20 1994 
 
 'Ml. 
 
 -s-^.