E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau
THE COUNTESS OF ESCARBAGNAS.
(LA COMTESSE D'ESCARBAGNAS.)
by
MOLIÈRE
Translated into English Prose.
With Short Introductions and Explanatory Notes.
by
Charles Heron Wall
'La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas' was acted before the Court at
Saint-Germain-en-Laye, on December 2, 1671, and in the theatre of the
Palais Royal on July 8, 1672. It was never printed during Molière's
lifetime, but for the first time only in 1682. It gives us a good
picture of the provincial thoughts, manners, and habits of those days.
PERSONS REPRESENTED
THE COUNT, _son to the_ COUNTESS.
THE VISCOUNT, _in love with_ JULIA.
MR. THIBAUDIER, _councillor, in love with the_ COUNTESS.
MR. HARPIN, _receiver of taxes, also in love with the_ COUNTESS.
MR. BOBINET, _tutor to the_ COUNT.
JEANNOT, _servant to_ MR. THIBAUDIER.
CRIQUET, _servant to the_ COUNTESS.
THE COUNTESS OF ESCARBAGNAS.
JULIA, _in love with the_ VISCOUNT.
ANDRÉE, _maid to the_ COUNTESS.
_The scene is at Angoulême._
SCENE I.--JULIA, THE VISCOUNT.
VISC. What! you are here already?
JU. Yes, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cléante; it is not
right for a lover to be the last to come to the rendezvous.
VISC. I should have been here long ago if there were no importunate
people in the world. I was stopped on my way by an old bore of rank,
who asked me news of the court, merely to be able himself to detail to
me the most absurd things that can well be imagined about it. You know
that those great newsmongers are the curse of provincial towns, and
that they have no greater anxiety than to spread, everywhere abroad
all the tittle-tattle they pick up. This one showed me, to begin with,
two large sheets of paper full to the very brim with the greatest
imaginable amount of rubbish, which, he says, comes from the safest
quarters. Then, as if it were a wonderful thing, he read full length
and with great mystery all the stupid jokes in the Dutch Gazette,
which he takes for gospel.[1] He thinks that France is being brought
to ruin by the pen of that writer, whose fine wit, according to him,
is sufficient to defeat armies. After that he raved about the
ministry, spoke of all its faults, and I thought he would never have
done. If one is to believe him, he knows the secrets of the cabinet
better than those who compose it. The policy of the state is an open
book to him, and no step is taken without his seeing through it. He
shows you the secret machinations of all that takes place, whither the
wisdom of our neighbours tends, and controls at his will and pleasure
all the affairs of Europe. His knowledge of what goes on extends as
far as Africa and Asia, and he is informed of all that; is discussed
in the privy council of Prester John[2] and the Great Mogul.
JU. You make the best excuse you can, and so arrange it that it may
pass off well and be easily received.
VISC. I assure you, dear Julia, that this is the real reason of my
being late. But if I wanted to say anything gallant, I could tell you
that the rendezvous to which you bring me here might well excuse the
sluggishness of which you complain. To compel me to pay my addresses
to the lady of this house is certainly reason enough for me to fear
being here the first. I ought not to have to bear the misery of it,
except when she whom it amuses is present. I avoid finding myself
alone with that ridiculous countess with whom you shackle me. In
short, as I come only for your sake, I have every reason to stay away
until you are here.
JU. Oh! you will never lack the power of giving a bright colour to
your faults. However, if you had come half an hour sooner, we should
have enjoyed those few moments. For when I came, I found that the
countess was out, and I have no doubt that she is gone all over the
town to claim for herself the honour of the comedy you gave me under
her name.
VISC. But, pray, when will you put an end to this, and make me buy
less dearly the happiness of seeing you?
JU. When our parents agree, which I scarcely dare hope for. You know
as well as I do that the dissensions which exist between our two
families deprive us of the possibility of seeing each other anywhere
else, and that neither my brothers nor my father are likely to approve
of our engagement.
VISC. Yes; but why not profit better by the opportunity which their
enmity gives us, and why oblige me to waste, under a ridiculous
deception, the moments I pass near you?
JU. It is the better to hide our love; and, besides, to tell you the
truth, this deception you speak of is to me a very amusing comedy, and
I hardly think that the one you give me to-day will amuse me as much.
Our Countess of Escarbagnas, with her perpetual infatuation for
"quality," is as good a personage as can be put on the stage. The
short journey she has made to Paris has brought her back to Angoulême
more crazy than ever. The air of the court has given a new charm to
her extravagance, and her folly grows and increases every day.
VISC. Yes; but you do not take into consideration that what amuses you
drives me to despair; and that one cannot dissimulate long when one is
under the sway of love as true as that which I feel for you. It is
cruel to think, dear Julia, that this amusement of yours should
deprive me of the few moments during which I could speak to you of my
love, and last night I wrote on the subject some verses that I cannot
help repeating to you, so true is it that the mania of reciting one's
verses is inseparable from the title of a poet:
"Iris, too long thou keepst on torture's rack
One who obeys thy laws, yet whisp'ring chides
In that thou bidst me boast a joy I lack,
And hush the sorrow that my bosom hides.
Must thy dear eyes, to which I yield my arms,
From my sad sighs draw wanton pleasure still?
Is't not enough to suffer for thy charms
That I must grieve at thy capricious will?
This double martyrdom a pain affords
Too keen to bear at once; thy deeds, thy words,
Work on my wasting heart a cruel doom,
Love bids it burn; constraint its life doth chill.
If pity soften not thy wayward will,
Love, feigned and real, will lead me to the tomb."
JU. I see that you make yourself out much more ill-used than you
need; but it is the way with you poets to tell falsehoods in cold
blood, and to pretend that those you love are much more cruel than
they are, in order to make them correspond to the fancies you may take
into your heads. Yet, I should like you, if you will, to give me those
verses in writing.
VISC. No, it is enough that I have repeated them to you, and I ought
to stop there. A man may be foolish enough to make verses, but that is
different from giving them to others.
JU. It is in vain for you to affect a false modesty; your wit is well
known, and I do not see why you should hide what you write.
VISC. Ah! we must tread here with the greatest circumspection. It is a
dangerous thing to set up for a wit. There is inherent to it a certain
touch of absurdity which is catching, and we should be warned by the
example of some of our friends.
JU. Nonsense, Cléante; I see that, in spite of all you say, you are
longing to give me your verses; and I feel sure that you would be very
unhappy if I pretended not to care for them.
VISC. I unhappy? Oh! dear no, I am not so much of a poet for you to
think that I ... but here is the Countess of Escarbagnas; I'll go by
this door, so as not to meet her, and will see that everything is got
ready for the play I have promised you.