MRS. JOUR. Ah me! Here is some new vexation! Why, husband, what do you
possibly mean by this strange get-up? Have you lost your senses that
you go and deck yourself out like this, and do you wish to be the
laughing-stock of everybody wherever you go?
MR. JOUR. Let me tell you, my good wife, that no one but a fool will
laugh at me.
MRS. JOUR. No one has waited until to-day for that; and it is now some
time since your ways of going on have been the amusement of everybody.
MR. JOUR. And who may everybody be, please?
MRS. JOUR. Everybody is a body who is in the right, and who has more
sense than you. For my part, I am quite shocked at the life you lead.
I don't know our home again. One would think, by what goes on, that it
was one everlasting carnival here; and as soon as day breaks, for fear
we should have any rest in it, we have a regular din of fiddles and
singers, that are a positive nuisance to all the neighbourhood.
NIC. What mistress says is quite right. There is no longer any chance
of having the house clean with all that heap of people you bring in.
Their feet seem to have gone purposely to pick up the mud in the four
quarters of the town in order to bring it in here afterwards; and poor
Francoise is almost off her legs with the constant scrubbing of the
floors, which your masters come and dirty every day as regular as
clockwork.
MR. JOUR. I say there, our servant Nicole; you have a pretty sharp
tongue of your own for a country wench.
MRS. JOUR. Nicole is right, and she has more sense by far than you
have. I should like to know, for instance, what you mean to do with a
dancing master at your age?
NIC. And with that big fencing master, who comes here stamping enough
to shake the whole house down and to tear up the floor tiles of our
rooms.
MR. JOUR. Gently, my servant and my wife.
MRS. JOUR. Do you mean to learn dancing for the time when you can't
stand on your legs any longer?
NIC. Do you intend to kill anybody?
MR. JOUR. Hold your tongues, I say. You are only ignorant women, both
of you, and understand nothing concerning the prerogative of all this.
MRS. JOUR. You would do much better to think of seeing your daughter
married, for she is now of an age to be provided for.
MR. JOUR. I shall think of seeing my daughter married when a suitable
match presents itself; but, in the meantime, I wish to think of
acquiring fine learning.
NIC. I have heard say also, mistress, that, to go the whole hog, he
has now taken a professor of philosophy.
MR. JOUR. To be sure I have. I wish to be clever, and reason
concerning things with people of quality.
MRS. JOUR. Had you not better go to school one of these days, and get
the birch, at your age?
MR. JOUR. Why not? Would to heaven I were flogged this very instant,
before all the world, so that I might know all they learn at school.
NIC. Yes, to be sure; that would much improve the shape of your leg.
MR. JOUR. Of course.
MRS. JOUR. And all this is very necessary for the management of your
house.
MR. JOUR. Certainly. You both speak like asses; and I am ashamed of
your ignorance. (_To_ MRS. JOURDAIN) Let me see, for instance, if
you know what you are speaking this very moment.
MRS. JOUR. Yes, I know that what I speak is rightly spoken; and that
you should think of leading a different life.
MR. JOUR. I do not mean that. I ask you what the words are which you
are now speaking.
MRS. JOUR. They are sensible words, I tell you, and that is more than
your conduct is.
MR. JOUR. I am not speaking of that. I ask you what it is that I am
now saying to you. That which I am now speaking to you, what is it?
MRS. JOUR. Rubbish.
MR. JOUR. No! no! I don't mean that. What we both speak; the language
we are speaking this very moment.
MRS. JOUR. Well?
MR. JOUR. How is it called?
MRS. JOUR. It is called whatever you like to call it.
MR. JOUR. It is prose, you ignorant woman.
MRS. JOUR. Prose?
MR. JOUR. Whatever is prose is not verse, and whatever is not verse is
prose. There! you see what it is to study. (_To_ NICOLE) And you,
do you even know what you must do to say _u_?
NIC. Eh? What?
MR. JOUR. Yes; what do you do when you say _u_?
NIC. What I do?
MR. JOUR. Say _u_ a little to try.
NIC. Well, _u_.
MR. JOUR. What is it you do?
NIC. I say _u_.
MR. JOUR. Yes; but when you say _u_, what is it you do?
NIC. I do what you ask me to do.
MR. JOUR. Oh! What a strange thing it is to have to do with dunces!
You pout your lips outwards, and bring your upper jaw near your lower
jaw like this, _u_; I make a face; _u_. Do you see?
NIC. Yes, that's beautiful.
MRS. JOUR. It's admirable!
MR. JOUR. What would you say then if you had seen _o_, and _da,
da_, and _fa, fa_?
MRS. JOUR. What is all this absurd stuff?
NIC. And what are we the better for all this?
MR. JOUR. I have no patience with such ignorant women.
MRS. JOUR. Believe me, pack off all those people with their ridiculous
fooleries.
NIC. And particularly that great scraggy fencing master, who fills the
whole place with dust.
MR. JOUR. Goodness me! The fencing master seems to set your teeth on
edge. Come here, and I will show you at once your senseless
impertinence. (_He asks for two foils, and gives one to_ NICOLE.)
Here, reason demonstrative the line of the body. When you thrust in
quart, you have only to do so; and, when you thrust in tierce, only to
do so! That is the way never to be killed; and is it not a fine thing
to be quite safe when one fights against anybody? There, thrust at me
a little to try.
NIC. Well, what? (NICOLE _gives him several thrusts_)
MR. JOUR. Gently! Hold! Oh! Softly. Deuce take the wench!
NIC: You tell me to thrust at you.
MR. JOUR. Yes; but you thrust in tierce before thrusting at me in
quart, and you haven't the patience to wait till I parry.
MRS. JOUR. You are crazy, husband, with all your fads; and this has
come upon you since you have taken it into your head to frequent the
gentlefolk.
MR. JOUR. By frequenting the gentlefolk I show my judgment. It is
surely better than keeping company with your citizens.
MRS. JOUR. Yes: there is much good to be got by frequenting your
nobility, and you have done a noble stroke of business with that fine
count with whom you are so wrapped up.
MR. JOUR. Peace. Be careful what you say. Let me tell you, wife, that
you do not know of whom you are speaking when you speak of him! He is
a man of more importance than you can imagine, a nobleman who is held
in great honour at court, and who speaks to the king just as I speak
to you. Is it not a thing which does me great honour that such a
person should be seen so often in my house, should call me his dear
friend, and should treat me as if I were his equal? He has more
kindness for me than you could ever guess, and he treats me before the
world with such affection that I am perfectly ashamed.
MRS. JOUR. Yes; he is kind to you, and flatters you, but he borrows
your money of you.
MR. JOUR. Well? Is it not a great honour to lend money to a man of his
position? And could I do less for a lord who calls me his dear friend?
MRS. JOUR. And this lord, what does he do for you?
MR. JOUR. Things that would astound you if you only knew them.
MRS. JOUR. But what?
MR. JOUR. There! I can't explain myself. It is quite sufficient that,
if I have lent him money, he will give it back to me, and that before
long.
MRS. JOUR. Yes, trust him for that.
MR. JOUR. Certainly I will. Has he not said so?
MRS. JOUR. Yes, yes; and he won't fail not to do it.
MR. JOUR. He has given me his word as a gentleman.
MRS. JOUR. Mere stuff.
MR. JOUR. Dear me! You are very obstinate, wife! I tell you that he
will keep his word; I am quite sure of it.
MRS. JOUR. And I am quite sure that he won't; and that all the
caresses he loads you with are only meant to deceive you.
MR. JOUR. Be silent; here he comes.
MRS. JOUR. That's to finish up. He comes, no doubt, to borrow from you
again; the very sight of him takes my appetite away.
MR. JOUR. Hold your tongue, I tell you.