Produced by David Moynihan, D Garcia, Charles Franks and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
LE DÉPIT AMOUREUX.
COMÈDIE.
THE LOVE-TIFF.
A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.
(_THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE_.)
1656.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
_The Love-tiff_ (_Le Dépit-amoureux_) is composed of two
pieces joined together. The first and longest is a comparatively modest
imitation of a very coarse and indecent Italian comedy,
_L'Interesse_, by Signer Nicolo Secchi; its intrigue depends
chiefly on the substitution of a female for a male child, a change which
forms the groundwork of many plays and novels, and of which Shakespeare
has also made use. The second and best part of the _Love-tiff_
belongs to Molière alone, and is composed chiefly of the whole of the
first act, the first six verses of the third scene, and the whole of the
fourth scene of the second act; these, with a few alterations and a few.
lines added, form, the comedy which the _Théâtre Française_ plays
at the present time. It was first represented at Béziers towards the end
of 1656, when the States General of Languedoc were assembled in that
town, and met with great success; a success which continued when it was
played in Paris at the Théâtre du Petit-Bourbon in 1658. Why in some of
the former English translations of Moliére the servant Gros-René is
called "Gros-Renard" we are unable to understand, for both names are
thoroughly French. Mr. Ozell, in his translation, gives him the
unmistakably English, but not very euphonious name of "punch-gutted Ben,
_alias_ Renier," whilst Foote calls him "Hugh." The incidents of
the _Love-tiff_ are arranged artistically, though in the Spanish
taste; the plot is too complicated, and the ending very unnatural. But
the characters are well delineated, and fathers, lovers, mistresses, and
servants all move about amidst a complication of errors from which there
is no visible disentangling. The conversation between Valère and Ascanio
in man's clothes, the mutual begging pardon of Albert and Polydore, the
natural astonishment of Lucile, accused in the presence of her father,
and the stratagem of Éraste to get the truth from his servants, are all
described in a masterly manner, whilst the tiff between Éraste and
Lucile, which gives the title to the piece, as well as their
reconciliation, are considered among the best scenes of this play.
Nearly all actors in France who play either the _valets_ or the
_soubrettes_ have attempted the parts of Gros-René and Marinette,
and even the great tragédienne Madlle. Rachel ventured, on the 1st of
July, 1844, to act Marinette, but not with much success.
Dryden has imitated, in the fourth act of _An Evening's Love_, a
small part of the scene between Marinette and Éraste, the quarrelling
scene between Lucile, Éraste, Marinette, and Gros-René, as well as in
the third act of the same play, the scene between Albert and
Metaphrastus. Vanbrugh has very closely followed Molière's play in the
_Mistake_, but has laid the scene in Spain. This is the principal
difference I can perceive. He has paraphased the French with a spirit
and ease which a mere translation can hardly ever acquire. The epilogue
to his play, written by M. Motteux, a Frenchman, whom the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes brought into England, is filthy in the extreme. Mr.
J. King has curtailed Vanbrugh's play into an interlude, in one act,
called _Lover's Quarrels_, or _Like Master Like Man_.
Another imitator of Molière was Edward Ravenscroft, of whom Baker says
in his _Biographia Dramatica_, that he was "a writer or compiler of
plays, who lived in the reigns of Charles II. and his two successors."
He was descended from the family of the Ravenscrofts, in Flintshire; a
family, as he himself, in a dedication asserts, so ancient that when
William the Conqueror came into England, one of his nobles married into
it.
He was some time a member of the Middle Temple; but, looking on the dry
study of the law as greatly beneath the attention of a man of genius,
quitted it. He was an arrant plagiary. Dryden attacked one of his plays,
_The Citizen turned Gentleman_, an imitation of Molière's
_Bourgeois-Gentilhomme_, in the Prologue to _The Assignation_.
Ravenscroft wrote "_The Wrangling Lovers, or the Invisible
Mistress_. Acted at the Duke's Theatre, 1677. London, Printed for
William Crook, at the sign of the _Green Dragon_, without
_Temple-Bar_, 1677." Though the plot was partly taken from a
Spanish novel, the author has been inspired by Molière's _Dépit
amoureux_. The scene is in Toledo: Éraste is called Don Diego de
Stuniga, Valère Don Gusman de Haro, "a well-bred cavaliere," Lucile is
Octavia de Pimentell, and Ascanio is Elvira; Gros-René's name is Sanco,
"vallet to Gusman, a simple pleasant fellow," and Mascarille is Ordgano,
"a cunning knave;" Marinette is called Beatrice and Frosine Isabella.
The English play is rather too long. Don Gusman courts Elvira veiled,
whilst in the French play Ascanio, her counterpart, is believed to be a
young man. There is also a brother of Donna Elvira, Don Ruis de Moncade,
who is a rival of Don Diego, whilst in _le Dépit-amoureux_. Valère
is not the brother but the husband of Ascanio and the rival of Éraste
(Don Diego) as well. The arrangement of the English comedy differs
greatly from the French. Though the plot in both plays is nearly
identical, yet the words and scenes in _The Wrangling Lovers_ are
totally different, and not so amusing. Mascarille and Gros-René are but
faintly attempted; Marinette and Frosine only sketched in outline; and
in the fifth act the ladies appear to have nothing else to do but to pop
in and out of closets. The scenes of the French play between Albert and
Metaphrastus (ii. 7); the very comical scene between Albert and Polydore
(iii. 4) and the reconciliation scene between Lucile and Éraste (iv. 3),
are also not rendered in the English comedy. There are very few scenes
which can be compared with those of _le Dépit amoureux_.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ÉRASTE, _in love with Lucile_.
ALBERT, _father to Lucile_.
[Footnote: This part was played by Moliére himself]
GROS-RENÉ, _servant to Éraste_.
VALÈRE, _son to Polydore_.
POLYDORE, _father to Valère_.
MASCARILLE, _servant to Valère_.
METAPHRASTUS, _a pedant_.
LA RAPIÉRE, _a bully_.
LUCILE, _daughter to Albert_.
ASCANIO, _Albert's daughter, in man's clothes_.
FROSINE, _confidant to Ascanio_.
MARINETTE, _maid to Lucile_.
THE LOVE-TIFF.
(LE DÉPIT AMOUREUX.)
* * * * *
ACT I.
SCENE I.--ÉRASTE, GROS-RENÉ.
ERAS. Shall I declare it to you? A certain secret anxiety never leaves
my mind quite at rest. Yes, whatever remarks you make about my love, to
tell you the truth, I am afraid of being deceived; or that you may be
bribed in order to favour a rival; or, at least, that you may be imposed
upon as well as myself.
GR.-RE. As for me, if you suspect me of any knavish trick, I will say,
and I trust I give no offence to your honour's love, that you wound my
honesty very unjustly, and that you show but small skill in physiognomy.
People of my bulk are not accused, thank Heaven! of being either rogues
or plotters. I scarcely need protest against the honour paid to us, but
am straightforward in every thing.
[Footnote: Du Parc, the actor who played this part, was very stout;
hence the allusion in the original, "_et suis homme fort rond de
toutes les manieres_." I have, of course, used in the translation the
word "straightforward" ironically, and with an eye to the rotundity of
stomach of the actor. Molière was rather fond of making allusions in his
plays to the infirmities or peculiarities of some of his actors. Thus,
in the Miser (_l'Avare_) Act I, Scene 3, he alludes to the lameness
of the actor Béjart, "_Je ne me plais point a voir ce chien de
boiteux-la_." "I do not like to see that lame dog;" in the Citizen
who apes the Nobleman (_le Bourgeois gentilhomme_), Act iii. sc. 9,
he even gives a portrait of his wife.]
As for my being deceived that may be; there is a better foundation for
that idea; nevertheless, I do not believe it can be easily done. I may
be a fool, but I do not see yet why you vex yourself thus. Lucile, to my
thinking, shows sufficient love for you; she sees you and talks to you,
at all times; and Valère, after all, who is the cause of your fear,
seems only to be allowed to approach her because she is compelled so to
act.
ERAS. A lover is often buoyed up by false hope. He who is best received
is not always the most beloved. The affection a woman displays is often
but a veil to cover her passion for another. Valère has lately shown too
much tranquillity for a slighted lover; and the joy or indifference he
displays at those favours, which you suppose bestowed upon me, embitters
continually their greatest charms, causes this grief, which you cannot
understand, holds my happiness in suspense, and makes it difficult for
me to trust completely anything Lucile says to me. I should feel
delighted if I saw Valère animated by a little more jealousy; his
anxiety and impatience would then reassure my heart. Do you as yourself
think it possible for any one to see a rival caressed and be as
satisfied as he is; if you do not believe it, tell me, I conjure you, if
I have not a cause to be perplexed?
GR.-RE. Perhaps he has changed his inclination, upon finding that he
sighed in vain.
ERAS. When love has been frequently repelled it frees itself, and wishes
to flee from the object it was charmed with; nor does it break its chain
so quietly as to be able to continue at peace. When once we have been
fond of anyone who influenced our destiny we are never afterwards
indifferent in her presence; if our dislike does not increase when we
behold her our love is upon the point of returning again. Believe me,
however much a passion may be extinguished, a little jealousy still
dwells in our breast; no one can see, without feeling some pang, the
heart he has lost possessed by another.
GR.-RE. For my part, I do not understand so much philosophy. I candidly
believe what my eyes see, and am not such a mortal enemy to myself as to
become melancholy without any cause. Why should I try to split hairs,
and labour hard to find out reasons to be miserable? Shall I alarm
myself about castles in the air? Let Lent come before we keep it! I
think grief an uncomfortable thing; and, for my part, I never foster it
without good and just cause. I might frequently find a hundred
opportunities to become sad, but I do not want to see them. I run the
same risk in love as you do; I share in your bad or good luck. The
mistress cannot deceive you but the maid will do the same by me; yet I
carefully avoid thinking about it. I like to believe people when they
say "I love you." In order to be happy, I do not try to find out whether
Mascarille tears the hair out of his head or not. Let Marinette allow
herself to be kissed and caressed by Gros-René as much as he likes, and
let my charming rival laugh at it like a fool, I will laugh too as much
as I like, and follow his example; we shall then see who will laugh the
heartiest.
[Footnote: In several editions of Molière we find, instead of Gros-René
the name of Jodelet. The latest, and and if I might be permitted to say
so, the most careful editor of our author, Mons. E. Despois, thinks that
"Gros-René" ought to be mentioned here. The sense shows he is right.]
ERAS. That is like your talk.
GR.-RE. But here she comes.
SCENE II.--MARINETTE, ÉRASTE, GROS-RENÉ.
GR.-RE. Hist! Marinette.
MAR. Hallo! what are you doing there?
GR.-RE. Faith! do you ask? We were just talking about you.
MAR. Are you there too, sir? Upon my word you have made me trot about
like a flunkey for this hour past.
ERAS. How so?
MAR. I have walked ten miles to look for you, and give you my word
that...
ERAS. What?
MAR. That you were neither at church, in the fashionable walk, at home,
nor in the market-place.
GR.-RE. You may swear to that.
ERAS. But pray, tell me who sent you?
MAR. One, in good truth, who bears you no great ill-will; in a word, my
mistress.
ERAS. Ah! dear Marinette, do your words really express what she feels?
Do not hide some ominous secret from me. I should not dislike you for
this. For Heaven's sake tell me if your charming mistress does not
merely pretend to love me?
MAR. Ha! ha! ha! What has put that funny notion into your head? Does she
not sufficiently show her inclination? What further security does your
love demand? What does it require?
GR.-RE. Unless Valère hangs himself, or some such trifle, he will not be
reassured.
MAR. How so?
GR.-RE. He is so very jealous.
MAR. Of Valère? Ha! a pretty fancy indeed! It could only be hatched in
your brain. I thought you a man of sense, and until now had a good
opinion of your intellect; but I see I was very much deceived. Have you
also got a touch of this distemper in your head?
GR.-RE. I jealous? Heaven forbid! and keep me from being so silly as to
go and make myself lean with any such grief. Your heart guarantees your
fidelity; besides, I have too good an opinion of myself to believe that
any other could please you after me. Where the deuce could you find any
one equal to me?
MAR. You really are right; that is as it should be. A jealous man should
never show his suspicions! All that he gains by it is to do himself
harm, and in this manner furthers the designs of his rival. Your
distrust often is the cause that a mistress pays attention to a man,
before whose merits your own have paled. I know a certain person who,
were it not for the preposterous jealousy of a rival, had never been so
happy as he now is. But, in any case, to show suspicion in love is
acting a foolish part, and after all is to make one's-self miserable for
nothing. This, sir (_to Éraste_), I mean as a hint to you.
ERAS. Very well, let us talk no more about it. What have you to say to
me?
MAR. You deserve to be kept in suspense, In order to punish you, I ought
to keep from you the great secret which has made me hunt for you so
long. Here, read this letter, and doubt no more. Read it aloud, nobody
listens.
ERAS. (_Reads_). "_You told me that your love was capable of
doing anything It may be crowned this very day, if you can but get my
father's consent. Acquaint him with the power you have over my heart; I
give you leave so to do; if his reply be favourable, I can answer for it
that I shall obey_." Ah I how happy am I! I ought to look upon you,
the bearer of this letter, as a divine creature.
GR.-RE. I told you so. Though you do not believe it, I am seldom
deceived in the things I ponder on.
ERAS. (_Reading the letter again_). "_Acquaint him with the power
you have over my heart; I give you leave so to do; if his reply be
favourable, I can answer for it that I shall obey_."
MAR. If I should tell her you are weak-minded enough to be jealous, she
would immediately disown such a letter as this.
ERAS. I beseech you, conceal from her a momentary fear, for which I
thought I had some slight foundation; or, if you do tell it her, say to
her at the same time that I am ready to atone for my fit of madness with
my life, and would die at her feet, if I have been capable of
displeasing her.
MAR. Let us not talk of dying; this is no time for it.
ERAS. However, you have laid me under a great obligation; I intend
shortly to acknowledge in a handsome manner the trouble so gentle and so
lovely a messenger has taken.
MAR. That reminds me. Do you know where I looked for you just now?
ERAS. Well?
MAR. Quite near the market-place; you know where that is.
ERAS. Where did you say?
MAR. There... in that shop where last month you generously and freely
promised me a ring.
ERAS. Um! I understand you.
GR.-RE. What a cunning jade!
ERAS. It is true; I have delayed too long to make good my promise to
you, but...
MAR. What I said, sir, was not because I wished you to make haste.
GR.-RE. Oh, no!
ERAS. (_Giving her his ring_). Perhaps this ring may please you;
accept it instead of the one I owe.
MAR. You are only jesting, sir; I should be ashamed to take it.
GR.-RE. Poor shame-faced creature! Take it without more ado; only fools
refuse what is offered them.
MAR. I will only accept it so that I may have something to remember you
by.
ERAS. When may I return thanks to that lovely angel?
MAR. Endeavour to gain over her father.
ERAS. But if he rejects me, should I...?
MAR. We will think about that when he does so! We will do our utmost for
you: one way or another she must be yours; do your best, and we will do
ours.
ERAS. Farewell! we shall know our fate to-day. (_Éraste reads the
letter again to himself_).
MAR. (_To Gros-René_). Well, what shall we say of our love? You do
not speak to me of it.
GR.-RE. If such people as we wish to be married, the thing is soon done.
I will have you. Will you have me?
MAR. Gladly.
GR.-RE. Shake hands, that is enough.
MAR. Farewell, Gros-René, my heart's delight.
GR.-RE. Farewell, my star.
MAR. Farewell, fair fire-brand of my flame.
GR.-RE. Farewell, dear comet, rainbow of my soul. (_Exit
Marinette_). Heaven be praised, our affairs go on swimmingly. Albert
is not a man to refuse you anything.
ERAS. Valère is coming here.
GR.-RE. I pity the poor wretch, knowing what I do know.
SCENE III.--ÉRASTE, VALÈRE, GROS-RENÉ.
ERAS. Well, Valère?
VAL. Well, Éraste?
ERAS. How does your love prosper?
VAL. And how does yours?
ERAS. It grows stronger and stronger every day.
VAL. So does mine.
ERAS. For Lucile?
VAL. For her.
ERAS. Certainly, I must own, you are a pattern of uncommon constancy.
VAL. And your perseverance will be a rare example to posterity.
ERAS. As for me, I am not very fond of that austere kind of love which
is satisfied with looks only; nor do I possess feelings lofty enough to
endure ill-treatment with constancy. In one word, when I really love, I
wish to be beloved again.
VAL. It is very natural, and I am of the same opinion. I would never do
homage to the most perfect object by whom I could be smitten, if she did
not return my passion.
ERAS. However, Lucile...
VAL. Lucile does willingly everything my passion can desire.
ERAS. You are easily satisfied then.
VAL. Not so easily as you may think.
ERAS. I, however, may, without vanity, believe that I am in her favour.
VAL. And I know that I have a very good share of it.
ERAS. Do not deceive yourself; believe me.
VAL. Believe me, do not be too credulous, and take too much for granted.
ERAS. If I might show you a certain proof that her heart...but no, it
would too much distress you.
VAL. If I might discover a secret to you...but it might grieve you, and
so I will be discreet.
ERAS. You really urge me too far, and though much against my will, I see
I must lower your presumption. Read that.
VAL. (_After having read the letter_). These are tender words.
ERAS. You know the handwriting?
VAL. Yes, it is Lucile's.
ERAS. Well! where is now your boasted certainty...?
VAL. (_Smiling and going away_). Farewell, Éraste.
GR.-RE. He is mad, surely. What reason has he to laugh?
ERAS. He certainly surprises me, and between ourselves I cannot imagine
what the deuce of a mystery is hidden under this.
GR.-RE. Here comes his servant, I think.
ERAS. Yes, it is he; let us play the hypocrite, to set him talking about
his master's love.
SCENE IV.--ÉRASTE, MASCARILLE, GROS-RENÉ.
MASC. (_Aside_). No, I do not know a more wretched situation, than
to have a young master, very much in love.
GR.-RE. Good morning.
MASC. Good morning.
GR.-RE. Where is Mascarille going just now? What is he doing? Is he
coming back? Is he going away? Or does he intend to stay where he is?
MASC. No, I am not coming back, because I have not yet been where I am
going; nor am I going, for I am stopped; nor do I design to stay, for
this very moment I intend to be gone.
ERAS. You are very abrupt, Mascarille; gently.
MASC. Ha! Your servant, sir.
ERAS. You are in great haste to run away from us: what! do I frighten
you?
MASC. You are too courteous to do that.
ERAS. Shake hands; all jealousy is now at an end between us; we will be
friends; I have relinquished my love; henceforth you can have your own
way to further your happiness.
MASC. Would to Heaven it were true!
ERAS. Gros-René knows that I have already another flame elsewhere.
GR.-RE. Certainly; and I also give up Marinette to you.
MASC. Do not let us touch on that point; our rivalry is not likely to go
to such a length. But is it certain, sir, that you are no longer in
love, or do you jest?
ERAS. I have been informed that your master is but too fortunate in his
amours; I should be a fool to pretend any longer to gain the same
favours which that lady grants to him alone.
MASC. Certainly, you please me with this news. Though I was rather
afraid of you, with regard to our plans, yet you do wisely to slip your
neck out of the collar. You have done well to leave a house where you
were only caressed for form's sake; I, knowing all that was going on,
have many times pitied you, because you were allured by expectations,
which could never be realized. It is a sin and a shame to deceive a
gentleman! But how the deuce, after all, did you find out the trick? For
when they plighted their faith to each other there were no witnesses but
night, myself, and two others; and the tying of the knot, which
satisfies the passion of our lovers, is thought to have been kept a
secret till now.
ERAS. Ha! What do you say?
MASC. I say that I am amazed, sir, and cannot guess who told you, that
under this mask, which deceives you and everybody else, a secret
marriage unites their matchless love.
ERAS. You lie.
MASC. Sir, with all my heart.
ERAS. You are a rascal.
MASC. I acknowledge I am.
ERAS. And this impudence deserves a sound beating on the spot.
MASC. I am completely in your power,
ERAS. Ha! Gros-René.
GR.-RE. Sir?
ERAS, I contradict a story, which I much fear is but too true. (_To
Mascarille_). You wanted to run away.
MASC. Not in the least.
ERAS. What! Lucile is married to...
MASC. No, sir, I was only joking.
ERAS. Hey! you were joking, you wretch?
MASC. No, I was not joking.
ERAS. Is it true then?
MASC. No, I do not say that.
ERAS. What do you say then?
MASC. Alas! I say nothing, for fear of saying something wrong.
ERAS. Tell me positively, whether you have spoken the truth, or deceived
me.
MASC. Whatever you please. I do not come here to contradict you.
ERAS. (_Drawing his sword_). Will you tell me? Here is something
that will loosen your tongue without more ado.
MASC. It will again be saying some foolish speech or other. I pray you,
if you have no objection, let me quickly have a few stripes, and then
allow me to scamper off.
ERAS. You shall suffer death, unless you tell me the whole truth without
disguise.
MASC. Alas! I will tell it then; but perhaps, sir, I shall make you
angry.
ERAS. Speak: but take great care what you are doing; nothing shall save
you from my just anger, if you utter but one single falsehood in your
narration.
MASC. I agree to it; break my legs, arms, do worse to me still, kill me,
if I have deceived you in the smallest degree, in anything I have said.
ERAS. It is true then that they are married?
MASC. With regard to this, I can now clearly see that my tongue tripped;
but, for all that, the business happened just as I told you. It was
after five visits paid at night, and whilst you were made use of as a
screen to conceal their proceedings, that they were united the day
before yesterday. Lucile ever since tries still more to hide the great
love she bears my master, and desires he will only consider whatever he
may see, and whatever favours she may show you, as the results of her
deep-laid scheme, in order to prevent the discovery of their secrets.
If, notwithstanding my protestations, you doubt the truth of what I have
told you, Gros-René may come some night along with me, and I will show
him, as I stand and watch, that we shall be admitted into her house,
after dark.
ERAS. Out of my sight, villain.
MASC. I shall be delighted to go; that is just what I want. (_Exit_).
SCENE V.--ÉRASTE, GROS-RENÉ.
ERAS. Well?
GR.-RE. Well! Sir, we are both taken in if this fellow speaks the truth.
ERAS. Alas! The odious rascal has spoken the truth too well. All that he
has said is very likely to have happened; Valère's behaviour, at the
sight of this letter, denotes that there is a collusion between them,
and that it is a screen to hide Lucile's love for him.
SCENE VI.--ÉRASTE, MARINETTE, GROS-RENÉ.
MAR. I come to tell you that this evening my mistress permits you to see
her in the garden.
ERAS. How dare you address me, you hypocritical traitress? Get out of my
sight, and tell your mistress not to trouble me any more with her
letters; that is the regard, wretch, I have for them. (_He tears the
letter and goes out_).
MAR. Tell me, Gros-René, what ails him?
GR.-RE. Dare you again address me, iniquitous female, deceitful
crocodile, whose base heart is worse than a satrap or a Lestrigon?
[Footnote: See Homer's Odyssey, X., v. 81-132.]
Go, go, carry your answer to your lovely mistress, and tell her short
and sweet, that in spite of all her cunning, neither my master nor I are
any longer fools, and that henceforth she and you may go to the devil
together. (_Exit_).
MAR. My poor Marinette, are you quite awake? What demon are they
possessed by? What? Is it thus they receive our favours? How shocked my
mistress will be when she hears this!
* * * * *
ACT II.
SCENE I.--ASCANIO, FROSINE.
FROS. Thank Heaven! I am a girl who can keep a secret, Ascanio.
ASC. But is this place private enough for such a conversation? Let us
take care that nobody surprises us, or that we be not overheard from
some corner or other.
FROS. We should be much less safe within the house; here we can easily
see anybody coming, and may speak in perfect safety.
ASC. Alas! how painful it is for me to begin my tale!
FROS. Sure, this must be an important secret then?
ASC. Too much so, since I even entrust it to you with reluctance; even
you should not know it, if I could keep it concealed any longer.
FROS. Fie! you insult me when you hesitate to trust in me, whom you have
ever found so reserved in everything that concerns you--me, who was
brought up with you, and have kept secret things of so great an
importance to you; me, who know...
ASC. Yes, you are already acquainted with the secret reason which
conceals from the eyes of the world my sex and family. You know that I
was brought into this house, where I have passed my infancy, in order to
preserve an inheritance which, on the death of young Ascanio (whom I
personate), should have fallen to others; that is why I dare to unbosom
myself to you with perfect confidence. But before we begin this
conversation, Frosine, clear up a doubt which continually besets me. Can
it be possible that Albert should know nothing of the secret, which thus
disguises my sex, and makes him my father?
FROS. To tell you the truth, what you now wish to know has also greatly
puzzled me. I have never been able to get at the bottom of this
intrigue, nor could my mother give me any further insight. When Albert's
son died, who was so much beloved, and to whom a very rich uncle
bequeathed a great deal of property, even before his birth; his mother
kept his death secret, fearing that her husband, who was absent at the
time, would have gone distracted, had he seen that great inheritance,
from which his family would have reaped such advantage, pass into the
hands of another. She, I say, in order to conceal this misfortune formed
the plan of putting you into the place of her lost son; you were taken
from our family, where you were brought up. Your mother gave her consent
to this deceit; you took the son's place, and every one was bribed to
keep the secret. Albert has never known it through us, and as his wife
kept it for more than twelve years, and died suddenly, her unexpected
death prevented her from disclosing it. I perceive, however, that he
keeps up an acquaintance with your real mother, and that, in private, he
assists her; perhaps all this is not done without a reason. On the other
hand, he commits a blunder by urging you to marry some young lady!
Perhaps he knows that you took the place of his son, without knowing
that you are a girl. But this digression might gradually carry us too
far; let us return to that secret which I am impatient to hear.
ASC. Know then that Cupid cannot be deceived, that I have not been able
to disguise my sex from love's eyes, and that his subtle shafts have
reached the heart of a weak woman beneath the dress I wear. In four
words, I am in love!
FROS. You in love!
ASC. Gently, Frosine; do not be quite so astonished; it is not time yet;
this love-sick heart has something else to tell you that will surprise
you.
FROS. What is it?
ASC. I am in love with Valère.
FROS. Ha! I really am surprised. What! you love a man whose family your
deceit has deprived of a rich inheritance, and who, if he had the least
suspicion of your sex, would immediately regain everything. This is a
still greater subject of astonishment.
ASC. I have a more wonderful surprise for you yet in store--I am his
wife.
FROS. Oh, Heavens! his wife!
ASC. Yes, his wife.
FROS. Ha! this is worse than all, and nearly drives me mad.
ASC. And yet this is not all.
FROS. Not all!
ASC. I am his wife, I say, and he does not think so, nor has he the
least idea of what I really am.
FROS. Go on, I give it up, and will not say any thing more, so much
every word amazes me. I cannot comprehend anything of these riddles.
ASC. I shall explain if you will but hear me. Valère who admired my
sister, seemed to me a lover worthy of being listened to; I could not
bear to see his addresses slighted without feeling a certain interest in
him. I wished that Lucile should take pleasure in his conversation, I
blamed her severity, and blamed it so effectually, that I myself,
without being able to help it, became affected with that passion which
she could not entertain. He was talking to her, and persuaded me; I
suffered myself to be overcome by the very sighs he breathed; and the
love, rejected by the object of his flame, entered, like a conqueror,
into my heart, which was wounded by an arrow, not aimed at it, and paid
another's debt with heavy interest. At last, my dear, the love I felt
for him forced me to declare myself, but under a borrowed name. One
night I spoke to him, disguising my voice as if it were Lucile's, and
this too amiable lover thought she returned his love; I managed the
conversation so well that he never found out the deception. Under that
disguise which pleased so much his deluded imagination, I told him that
I was enamoured of him, but that, finding my father opposed to my
wishes, I ought at least to pretend to obey him; that therefore it
behooved us to keep our love secret, with which the night alone should
be acquainted; that all private conversation should be avoided during
the day, for fear of betraying everything; that he should behold me with
the same indifference as he did before we had come to an understanding;
and that on his part, as well as mine, no communication should take
place either by gesture, word, or writing. In short, without dwelling
any longer upon all the pains I have taken to bring this deception to a
safe termination, I went on with my bold project as far as it was
possible to go, and secured the husband I mentioned to you.
FROS. Upon my word, you possess great talents. Would any one think so,
on seeing her passionless countenance? However, you have been pretty
hasty, and though I grant that the affair has succeeded until now, what
do you think will be the end of it, for it cannot be long concealed?
ASC. When love is strong it overcomes all obstacles, until it is
satisfied; provided it reaches the wished-for goal, it looks upon
everything else as a mere trifle. I have told you all to-day, so that
your advice... But here comes my husband.
SCENE II.--VALÈRE, ASCANIO, FROSINE.
VAL. If you are conversing, and if my presence is any interruption, I
shall withdraw.
ASC. No; you may well interrupt it, since we were talking about you.
VAL. About me?
ASC. About yourself.
VAL. How so?
ASC. I was saying, that if I had been a woman, Valère would have been
able to please me but too well, and that if I had been beloved by him, I
should not have delayed long to make him happy.
VAL. This declaration does not cost you much, as there is such an
_if_ in the way; but you would be finely caught if some miraculous
event should put to the proof the truth of so obliging a declaration.
ASC. Not in the least; I tell you that if I reigned in your heart, I
would very willingly crown your passion.
VAL. And what, if you might contribute to my happiness, by assisting me
to further my love?
ASC. I should then, certainly, disappoint you.
VAL. This admission is not very polite.
ASC. What, Valère? Supposing I were a woman and loved you tenderly,
would you be so cruel as to make me promise to aid you in your love for
another lady? I could not perform such a painful task.
VAL. But you are not a woman.
ASC. What I said to you I said in the character of a woman, and you
ought to take it so.
VAL. Thus I ought not to imagine you like me, Ascanio, unless Heaven
works a miracle in you. Therefore, as you are not a woman, I bid
farewell to your affection; you do not care in the least for me.
ASC. My feelings are far more nice than people imagine, and the smallest
misgiving shocks me when love is in the case. But I am sincere; I will
not promise to aid you, Valère, unless you assure me that you entertain
precisely the same sentiments for me; that you feel the same warmth of
friendship for me as I feel for you; and that if I were a woman you
would love no one better than me.
VAL. I never before heard of such a jealous scruple, but though quite
unexpected, this affection obliges me to make some return for it; I here
promise you all you require of me.
ASC. But sincerely?
VAL. Yes, sincerely.
ASC. If this be true, I promise you that henceforth your interests shall
be mine.
VAL. I have a secret of the utmost consequence to reveal to you by and
by, and then I shall remind you of your words.
ASC. And I have likewise a secret to discover to you, wherein your
affection for me may show itself.
VAL. Indeed! what can that be?
ASC. I have a love affair which I dare not reveal, and you have
influence enough over the object of my passion to promote my happiness.
VAL. Explain yourself, Ascanio, and be assured beforehand that, if your
happiness lies in my power, it is certain.
ASC. You promise more than you imagine.
VAL. No, no; tell me the name of the person whom I have to influence.
ASC. It is not yet time, but it is a person who is nearly related to
you.
VAL. Your words amaze me; would to Heaven my sister...
ASC. This is not the proper time to explain myself, I tell you.
VAL. Why so?
ASC. For a certain reason. You shall know my secret when I know yours.
VAL. I must have another person's permission before I can discover it to
you.
ASC. Obtain it then; and when we shall have explained ourselves we shall
see which of us two will best keep his word.
VAL. Farewell, I accept your offer.
ASC. And I will be bound by it, Valère. (_Exit Valère_.)
FROS. He thinks you will help him as a brother.
SCENE III.--LUCILE, ASCANIO, MARINETTE, FROSINE.
LUC. (_Saying the first words to Marinette_). I have done it; it is
thus I can revenge myself; if this step torments him, it will be a great
consolation to me... Brother, you perceive a change in me; I am resolved
to love Valère, after so much ill-usage; he shall become the object of
my affection.
ASC. What do you say, sister? How do you change so suddenly? This
inconstancy seems to me very strange.
LUC. Your change of disposition has more cause to surprise me. You
formerly used always to plead in favour of Valère; for his sake you have
accused me of caprice, blind cruelty, pride and injustice; and now, when
I wish to love him, my intention displeases you, and I find you speaking
against his interest.
ASC. I abandon his interest, sister, out of regard to yours. I know he
is under the sway of another fair one; it will be a discredit to your
charms if you call him back, and he does not come.
LUC. If that is all, I shall take care not to suffer a defeat; I know
what I am to believe of his passion; he has shown it very clearly, at
least so I think; you may safely discover my sentiments to him: or if
you refuse to do it, I, myself shall let him know that his passion has
touched me. What! you stand thunderstruck, brother, at those words!
ASC. Oh, sister, if I have any influence over you, if you will listen to
a brother's entreaties, abandon such a design; do not take away Valère
from the love of a young creature, in whom I feel great interest, and
for whom, upon my word, you ought to feel some sympathy. The poor
unfortunate woman loves him to distraction; to me alone she has
disclosed her passion; I perceive in her heart such a tender affection,
that it might soften even the most relentless being. Yes, you yourself
will pity her condition when she shall become aware with what stroke you
threaten to crush her love; so sure am I of the excess of her grief,
that I am certain, sister, she will die, if you rob her of the man she
adores. Éraste is a match that ought to satisfy you, and the mutual
affection you have for one another...
LUC. Brother, it is sufficient! I do not know in whom you take such an
interest; but let us not continue this conversation, I beg of you; leave
me a little to my own thoughts.
ASC. Cruel sister, you will drive me to despair if you carry your design
into execution.
SCENE IV.--LUCILE, MARINETTE.
MAR. Your resolution, madam, is very sudden.
LUC. A heart considers nothing when it is once affronted, but flies to
its revenge, and eagerly lays hold of whatever it thinks can minister to
its resentment. The wretch! To treat me with such extreme insolence!
MAR. You see I have not yet recovered the effects; though I were to
brood over it to all eternity, I cannot understand it, and all my labour
is in vain. For never did a lover express more delight on receiving good
news; so pleased was he with your kind note that he called me nothing
less than a divine creature; and yet, when I brought him the other
message, there was never a poor girl treated so scurvily. I cannot
imagine what could happen in so short a time to occasion so great a
change.
LUC. Do not trouble yourself about what may have happened, since nothing
shall secure him against my hatred. What! do you think there is any
secret reason for this affront but his own baseness? Does the
unfortunate letter I sent him, and for which I now blame myself, present
the smallest excuse for his madness?
MAR. Indeed, I must say you are right; this quarrel is downright
treachery; we have both been duped, and yet, madam, we listen to these
faithless rascals who promise everything; who, in order to hook us,
feign so much tenderness; we let our severity melt before their fine
speeches, and yield to their wishes, because we are too weak! A shame on
our folly, and a plague take the men!
LUC. Well, well! let him boast and laugh at us; he shall not long have
cause to triumph; I will let him see that in a well-balanced mind hatred
follows close on slighted favours.
MAR. At least, in such a case, it is a great happiness to know that we
are not in their power. Notwithstanding all that was said, Marinette was
right the other night to interfere when some people were in a very merry
mood. Another, in hopes of matrimony, would have listened to the
temptation, but _nescio vos_, quoth I.
[Footnote: These two Latin words, which were in very common use in
France, during Molière's time, are taken from the Vulgate, Matthew xxv.
12: _"Domine, domine, aperi nobis."--At ille respondens ait: "Amen
dico vobis, nescio vos."_]
LUC. How foolishly you talk; how ill you choose your time to joke! My
heart is full of grief. If ever fate wills it that this false
lover,--but I am in the wrong to conceive at present any such
expectation; for Heaven has been too well pleased to afflict me to put
it in my power to be revenged on him,--but if ever a propitious fate, I
say, should cause Éraste to come back to me, and lay down his life as a
sacrifice at my feet, as well as declare his sorrow for what he has done
to-day, I forbid you, above all things, to speak to me in his favour. On
the contrary, I would have you show your zeal by setting fully before me
the greatness of his crime; if my heart should be tempted ever to
degrade itself so far, let your affection then show itself; spare me
not, but support my anger as is fit.
MAR. Oh! do not fear! leave that to me; I am at least as angry as you; I
would rather remain a maid all my life than that my fat rascal should
give me any inclination for him again. If he comes...
SCENE V.--MARINETTE, LUCILE, ALBERT.
ALB. Go in, Lucile, and tell the tutor to come to me; I wish to have a
little talk with him; and as he is the master of Ascanio, find out what
is the cause that the latter has been of late so gloomy.
SCENE VI.--ALBERT, _alone_.
Into what an abyss of cares and perplexities does one unjust action
precipitate us. For a long time I have suffered a great deal because I
was too avaricious, and passed off a stranger for my dead son. When I
consider the mischief which followed I sincerely wish I had never
thought of it. Sometimes I dread to behold my family in poverty and
covered with shame, when the deception will be found out; at other times
I fear a hundred accidents that may happen to this son whom it concerns
me so much to preserve. If any business calls me abroad, I am afraid of
hearing, on my return, some such melancholy tidings as these: "You know,
I suppose? Have they not told you? Your son has a fever; or he has
broken his leg or his arm." In short, every moment, no matter what I do,
all kinds of apprehensions are continually entering into my head. Ha!
SCENE VII.--ALBERT, METAPHRASTUS.
MET. _Mandatum tuum euro diligenter_.
[Footnote: "I hasten to obey your order."]
ALB. Master, I want to...
MET. Master is derived from _magis ter_; it is as though you say
"thrice greater."
ALB. May I die if I knew that; but, never mind, be it so. Master,
then...
MET. Proceed.
ALB. So I would, but do not proceed to interrupt me thus. Once more,
then, master, for the third time, my son causes me some uneasiness. You
know that I love him, and that I always brought him up carefully.
MET. It is true: _filio non potest praeferri nisi filius_.
[Footnote: "To a son one can only prefer a son." An allusion to an
article of feudal law.]
ALB. Master, I do not think this jargon at all necessary in common
conversation. I believe you are a great Latin scholar and an eminent
doctor, for I rely on those who have told me so; but in a conversation
which I should like to have with you, do not display all your
learning--do not play the pedant, and utter ever so many words, as if
you were holding forth in a pulpit. My father, though he was a very
clever man, never taught me anything but my prayers; and though I have
said them daily for fifty years, they are still High-Dutch to me.
Therefore, do not employ your prodigious knowledge, but adapt your
language to my weak understanding.
MET. Be it so.
ALB. My son seems to be afraid of matrimony; whenever I propose a match
to him, he seems indifferent, and draws back.
MET. Perhaps he is of the temper of Mark Tully's brother, whom he writes
about to Atticus. This is what the Greeks call _athanaton_....
[Footnote: Immortal.]
ALB. For Heaven's sake! you ceaseless teacher, I pray you have done with
the Greeks, the Albanians, the Sclavonians, and all the other nations
you have mentioned; they have nothing to do with my son.
MET. Well then, your son...?
ALB. I do not know whether a secret love does not burn within him.
Something disturbs him, or I am much deceived; for I saw him yesterday,
when he did not see me, in a corner of the wood, where no person ever
goes.
MET. In a recess of a grove, you mean, a remote spot, in Latin
_secessus_. Virgil says, _est in secessu locus_...
[Footnote: "There is a remote spot"]
ALB. How could Virgil say that, since I am certain that there was not a
soul in that quiet spot except us two?
MET. I quote Virgil as a famous author, who employed a more correct
expression than the word you used, and not as a witness of what you saw
yesterday.
ALB. I tell you I do not need a more correct expression, an author, or a
witness, and that my own testimony is sufficient.
MET. However, you ought to choose words which are used by the best
authors: _tu vivendo bonos, scribendo sequare peritos_, as the
saying is.
[Footnote: "Regulate your conduct after the example of good people, your
style after good authors."]
ALB. Man or devil, will you hear me without disputing?
MET. That is Quintilian's rule.
ALB. Hang the chatterbox!
MET. He has a very learned sentence upon a similar subject, which, I am
sure, you will be very glad to hear.
ALB. I will be the devil to carry you off, you wretch. Oh! I am very
much tempted to apply something to those chops.
MET. Sir, what is the reason that you fly in such a passion! What do you
wish me to do?
ALB. I have told you twenty times; I wish you to listen to me when I
speak.
MET. Oh! undoubtedly, you shall be satisfied if that is all. I am
silent.
ALB. You act wisely.
MET. I am ready to hear what you have to say.
ALB. So much the better.
MET. May I be struck dead if I say another word!
ALB. Heaven grant you that favour.
MET. You shall not accuse me henceforth of talkativeness.
ALB. Be it so.
MET. Speak whenever you please.
ALB. I am going to do so.
MET. And do not be afraid of my interrupting you.
ALB. That is enough.
MET. My word is my bond.
ALB. I believe so.
MET. I have promised to say nothing.
ALB. That is sufficient.
MET. From this moment I am dumb.
ALB. Very well.
MET. Speak; go on; I will give you a hearing at least; you shall not
complain that I cannot keep silent; I will not so much as open my mouth.
ALB. (_Aside_). The wretch!
MET. But pray, do not be prolix. I have listened already a long time,
and it is reasonable that I should speak in my turn.
ALB. Detestable torturer!
MET. Hey! good lack! would you have me listen to you for ever? Let us
share the talk, at least, or I shall be gone.
ALB. My patience is really...
MET. What, will you proceed? You have not done yet? By Jove, I am
stunned.
ALB. I have not spoken...
MET. Again! good Heavens! what exuberant speechifying! Can nothing be
done to stop it?
ALB. I am mad with rage.
MET. You are talking again! What a peculiar way of tormenting people!
Let me say a few words, I entreat you; a fool who says nothing cannot be
distinguished from a wise man who holds his tongue.
ALB. Zounds! I will make you hold yours. (_Exit_).
SCENE VIII.--METAPHRASTUS, _alone_.
Hence comes very properly that saying of a philosopher, "Speak, that I
may know thee." Therefore, if the liberty of speaking is taken from me,
I, for my part, would as soon be divested of my humanity, and exchange
my being for that of a brute. I shall have a headache for a week. Oh!
how I detest these eternal talkers! But if learned men are not listened
to, if their mouths are for ever to be stopped, then the order of events
must be changed; the hens in a little time will devour the fox; young
children teach old men; little lambs take a delight in pursuing the
wolf; fools make laws; women go to battle; judges be tried by criminals;
and masters whipped by pupils; a sick man prescribe for a healthy one; a
timorous hare...
SCENE IX.--ALBERT, METAPHRASTUS.
(_Albert rings a bell in the ears of Metaphrastus, and drives him
off_).
MET. Mercy on me! Help! help!
* * * * *
ACT III.
SCENE I.--MASCARILLE, _alone_.
Heaven sometimes favours a bold design; we must get out of a bad
business as well as we can. As for me, after having imprudently talked
too much, the quickest remedy I could employ was to go on in the same
way, and immediately to tell to our old master the whole intrigue. His
son is a giddy-brained mortal, who worries me; but if the other tells
what I have discovered to him, then I had better take care, for I shall
get a beating. However, before his fury can be kindled, some lucky thing
may happen to us, and the two old men may arrange the business between
themselves. That is what I am going to attempt; without losing a moment
I must, by my master's order, go and see Albert. (_Knocks at Albert's
door_).