VAL. Well, where is now that fine result you were to produce...?
MASC. I understand what you mean. Everything goes against me: I see
cudgels and gibbets preparing for me on every side. Therefore, so that I
may be at rest amidst this chaos, I shall go and throw myself headlong
from a rock, if, in my present despair, I can find one high enough to
please me. Farewell, sir.
VAL. No, no; in vain you wish to fly. If you die, I expect it to be in
my presence.
MASC. I cannot die if anybody is looking on: it would only delay my end.
VAL. Follow me traitor; follow me. My maddened love will soon show
whether this is a jesting matter or not.
MASC. (_Alone_). Unhappy Mascarille, to what misfortunes are you
condemned to-day for another's sin!
* * * * *
ACT IV.
SCENE I.--ASCANIO, FROSINE.
FROS. What has happened is very annoying.
ASC. My dear Frosine, fate has irrevocably decreed my ruin. Now the
affair has gone so far, it will never stop there, but will go on; Lucile
and Valère, surprised at such a strange mystery, will, one day, try to
find their way amidst this darkness, and thus all my plans will
miscarry. For, whether Albert is acquainted with the deception, or
whether he himself is deceived, as well as the rest of the world, if
ever it happens that my family is discovered, and all the wealth he has
wrongfully acquired passes into the hands of others, judge if he will
then endure my presence; for, not having any interest more in the
matter, he will abandon me, and his affection for me will be at an end.
Whatever, then, my lover may think of my deception, will he acknowledge
as his wife a girl without either fortune or family?
FROS. I think you reason rightly; but these reflections should have come
sooner. What has prevented you from seeing all this before? there was no
need to be a witch to foresee, as soon as you fell in love with Valère,
all that your genius never found out until to-day. It is the natural
consequence of what you have done; as soon as I was made acquainted with
it I never imagined it would end otherwise.
ASC. But what must I do? There never was such a misfortune as mine. Put
yourself in my place, and give me advice.
FROS. If I put myself in your place, you will have to give me advice
upon this ill-success; for I am you, and you are I. Counsel me, Frosine,
in the condition I am in. Where can we find a remedy? Tell me, I beg of
you.
ASC. Alas! do not make fun of me. You show but little sympathy with my
bitter grief, if you laugh in the midst of my distress.
FROS. Really, Ascanio, I pity your distress, and would do my utmost to
help you. But what can I do, after all? I see very little likelihood of
arranging this affair so as to satisfy your love.
ASC. If no assistance can be had, I must die.
FROS. Die! Come, come; it is always time enough for that. Death is a
remedy ever at hand; we ought to make use of it as late as possible.
ASC. No, no, Frosine. If you and your invaluable counsels do not guide
me amidst all these breakers, I abandon myself wholly to despair.
FROS. Do you know what I am thinking about? I must go and see the....
But here comes Éraste; he may interrupt us. We will talk this matter
over as we go along. Come, let us retire.
[Footnote: Frosine means by "the..." the woman who knows the secret of
all this intrigue, and who is supposed to be the mother of Ascanio. This
is explained later on in Act V., Scene 4]
SCENE II.--ÉRASTE, GROS-RENÉ.
ERAS. You have failed again?
GR.-RE. Never was an ambassador less listened to. No sooner had I told
her that you desired to have a moment's conversation with her, than,
drawing herself up, she answered haughtily, "Go, go, I value your master
just as much as I do you; tell him he may go about his business;" and
after this fine speech she turned her head away from me and walked off.
Marinette, too, imitating her mistress, said, with a disdainful sneer,
"Begone, you low fellow," and then left me; so that your fortune and mine
are very much alike.
[Footnote: In the original it is _beau valet de carreau_. Littré,
in his "Dictionaire de la langue francaise," says that this word which
means literally "knave of diamonds," was considered an insult, because in
the old packs of cards of the beginning of the seventeenth century, that
knave was called _valet de chasse_, hunting servant, a rather
menial situation; while the knave of spades, _valet de pique_, was
called, nobleman's servant; the knave of hearts, valet de coeur, valet
de cour, court servant; and the knave of clubs, _valet de trefle,
valet de pied_, foot servant.]
ERAS. What an ungrateful creature, to receive with so much haughtiness
the quick return of a heart justly incensed. Is the first outburst of a
passion, which with so much reason thought itself deceived, unworthy of
excuse? Could I, when burning with love, remain insensible, in that
fatal moment, to the happiness of a rival? Would any other not have
acted in the same way as I did, or been less amazed at so much boldness?
Was I not quick in abandoning my well-founded suspicions? I did not wait
till she swore they were false. When no one can tell as yet what to
think of it, my heart, full of impatience, restores Lucile to her former
place, and seeks to find excuses for her. Will not all these proofs
satisfy her of the ardour of my respectful passion? Instead of calming
my mind, and providing me with arms against a rival who wishes to alarm
me, this ungrateful woman abandons me to all the tortures of jealousy,
and refuses to receive my messages and notes, or to grant me an
interview. Alas! that love is certainly very lukewarm which can be
extinguished by so trifling an offence; that scornful rigour, which is
displayed so readily, sufficiently shows to me the depth of her
affection. What value ought I to set now upon all the caprices with
which she fanned my love? No! I do not pretend to be any longer the
slave of one who has so little love for me; since she does not mind
whether she keeps me or not, I will do the same.
GR.-RE. And so will I. Let us both be angry, and put our love on the
list of our old sins; we must teach a lesson to that wayward sex, and
make them feel that we possess some courage. He that will bear their
contempt shall have enough of it. If we had sense enough not to make
ourselves too cheap, women would not talk so big. Oh! how insolent they
are through our weakness! May I be hanged if we should not see them fall
upon our neck more often than we wished, if it was not for those
servilities with which most men, now-a-days, continually spoil them.
ERAS. As for me, nothing vexes me so much as contempt; and to punish
her's by one as great, I am resolved to cherish a new passion.
GR.-RE. So will I, and never trouble my head about women again. I
renounce them all, and believe honestly you could not do better than to
act like me. For, master, people say that woman is an animal hard to be
known, and naturally very prone to evil; and as an animal is always an
animal, and will never be anything but an animal, though it lived for a
hundred thousand years, so, without contradiction, a woman is always a
woman, and will never be anything but a woman as long as the world
endures.
[Footnote: This passage is paraphrased from Erasmus, _Colloquia
familiaria et Encomium Moriae_, in which, after having called a woman
_animal stultum atque ineptum verum ridiculum, et suave_, Folly
adds, _Quemadmodum, juxta Graecorum proverbium, simia semper est
simia, etiamsi purpura vestiatur, ita mulier semper mulier est, hoc est
stulta, quamcunque personam induxerit_.]
Wherefore, as a certain Greek author says: a woman's head is like a
quicksand; for pray, mark well this argument, which is most weighty: As
the head is the chief of the body, and as the body without a chief is
worse than a beast, unless the chief has a good understanding with the
body, and unless everything be as well regulated as if it were measured
with a pair of compasses, we see certain confusions arrive; the animal
part then endeavours to get the better of the rational, and, we see one
pull to the right, another to the left; one wants something soft,
another something hard; in short, everything goes topsy turvy. This is
to show that here below, as it has been explained to me, a woman's head
is like a weather-cock on the top of a house, which veers about at the
slightest breeze; that is why cousin Aristotle often compares her to the
sea; hence people say that nothing in the world is so stable as the
waves.
[Footnote: Though "stable" is here used, it is only employed to show the
confusion of Gros-René's ideas, who, of course, wishes to say
"unstable."]
Now, by comparison--for comparison makes us comprehend an argument
distinctly,--and we learned men love a comparison better than a
similitude,--by comparison, then, if you please, master, as we see that
the sea, when a storm rises, begins to rage, the wind roars and
destroys, billows dash against billows with a great hullabaloo, and the
ship, in spite of the mariner, goes sometimes down to the cellar and
sometimes up into the garret; so, when a woman gets whims and crotchets
into her head, we see a tempest in the form of a violent storm, which
will break out by certain ... words, and then a ... certain wind, which
by ... certain waves in ... a certain manner, like a sand-bank ... when
... In short, woman is worse than the devil.
[Footnote: This long speech of Gros-René ridicules the pedantic
arguments of some of the philosophers of the time of Molière. It also
attributes to the ancients some sayings of authors of the day; for
example, the comparison, from a Greek author, "that a woman's head is
like a quicksand," is from a contemporary; the saying from Aristotle,
comparing woman to the sea, is from Malherbe. Words very familiar look
more homely when employed with high-flown language, and Gros-René's
speech is no bad example of this, whilst at the same time it becomes
more muddled the longer it goes on. There exists also a tradition that
the actor who performs the part of Gros-René should in order to show his
confusion, when he says "goes sometimes down the cellar," point to his
head, and when he mentions "up into the garret," point to his feet.]
ERAS. You have argued that very well.
GR.-RE. Pretty well, thanks to Heaven; but I see them coming this way,
sir,--stand firm.
ERAS. Never fear.
GR.-RE. I am very much afraid that her eyes will ensnare you again.
SCENE III.--ÉRASTE, LUCILE, MARINETTE, GROS-RENÉ.
MAR. He is not gone yet, but do not yield.
LUC. Do not imagine I am so weak.
MAR. He comes towards us.
ERAS. No, no, madam, do not think that I have come to speak to you again
of my passion; it is all over; I am resolved to cure myself. I know how
little share I have in your heart. A resentment kept up so long for a
slight offence shows me your indifference but too plainly, and I must
tell you that contempt, above all things, wounds a lofty mind. I confess
I saw in you charms which I never found in any other; the delight I took
in my chains would have made me prefer them to sceptres, had they been
offered to me. Yes, my love for you was certainly very great; my life
was centred in you; I will even own that, though I am insulted, I shall
still perhaps have difficulty enough to free myself. Maybe,
notwithstanding the cure I am attempting, my heart may for a long time
smart with this wound. Freed from a yoke which I was happy to bend
under, I shall take a resolution never to love again. But no matter,
since your hatred repulses a heart which love brings back to you, this
is the last time you shall ever be troubled by the man you so much
despise.
LUC. You might have made the favour complete, sir, and spared me also
this last trouble.
ERAS. Very well, madam, very well, you shall be satisfied. I here break
off all acquaintance with you, and break it off for ever, since you wish
it; may I lose my life if ever again I desire to converse with you!
LUC. So much the better, you will oblige me.
ERAS. No, no, do not be afraid that I shall break my word! For, though
my heart may be weak enough not to be able to efface your image, be
assured you shall never have the pleasure of seeing me return.
LUC. You may save yourself the trouble.
ERAS. I would pierce my breast a hundred times should I ever be so mean
as to see you again, after this unworthy treatment.
LUC. Be it so; let us talk no more about it.
ERAS. Yes, yes; let us talk no more about it; and to make an end here of
all unnecessary speeches, and to give you a convincing proof, ungrateful
woman, that I forever throw off your chain, I will keep nothing which
may remind me of what I must forget. Here is your portrait; it presents
to the eye many wonderful and dazzling charms, but underneath them lurk
as many monstrous faults; it is a delusion which I restore to you.
GR.-RE. You are right.
LUC. And I, not to be behind-hand with you in the idea of returning
everything, restore to you this diamond which you obliged me to accept.
MAR. Very well.
ERAS. Here is likewise a bracelet of yours.
[Footnote: Formerly lovers used to wear bracelets generally made of each
others hair, which no doubt were hidden from the common view.
Shakespeare, in his _Mid-summer Night's Dream_, Act i., Scene I,
says, "Thou, Lysander, thou hast... stol'n th' impression of her fantasy
with bracelets of thy hair."]
LUC. And this agate seal is yours.
ERAS. (_Reads_). "You love me with the most ardent passion, Éraste,
and wish to know if I feel the same. If I do not love Éraste as much, at
least I am pleased that Éraste should thus love me.--LUCILE." You assure
me by this letter that you accept my love; it is a falsehood which I
punish thus. (_Tears the letter_).
LUC. (_Reading_). "I do not know what may be the fate of my ardent
love, nor how long I shall suffer; but this I know, beauteous charmer,
that I shall always love you.--ÉRASTE." This is an assurance of
everlasting love; both the hand and the letter told a lie. (_Tears the
letter_).
GR.-RE. Go on.
ERAS. (_Showing another letter_). This is another of your letters;
it shall share the same fate.
MAR. (_To Lucile_). Be firm.
LUC. (_Tearing another letter_). I should be sorry to keep back one
of them.
GR.-RE. (_To Éraste_). Do not let her have the last word.
MAR. (_To Lucile_). Hold out bravely to the end.
LUC. Well, there are the rest.
ERAS. Thank Heaven, that is all! May I be struck dead if I do not keep
my word!
LUC. May it confound me if mine be vain.
ERAS. Farewell, then.
LUC. Farewell, then.
MAR. (_To Lucile_). Nothing could be better.
GR.-RE. (_To Éraste_). You triumph.
MAR. (_To Lucile_). Come, let us leave him.
GR.-RE. (_To Éraste_). You had best retire after this courageous
effort.
MAR. (_To Lucile_). What are you waiting for?
GR.-RE. (_To Éraste_). What more do you want?
ERAS. Ah, Lucile, Lucile! you will be sorry to lose a heart like mine,
and I know it.
LUC. Éraste, Éraste, I may easily find a heart like yours.
ERAS. No, no, search everywhere; you will never find one so passionately
fond of you, I assure you. I do not say this to move you to pity; I
should be in the wrong now to wish it; the most respectful passion could
not bind you. You wanted to break with me; I must think of you no more.
But whatever any one may pretend, nobody will ever love you so tenderly
as I have done.
LUC. When a woman is really beloved she is treated differently, and is
not condemned so rashly.
ERAS. Those who love are apt to be jealous on the slightest cause of
suspicion, but they can never wish to lose the object of their
adoration, and that you have done.
LUC. Pure jealousy is more respectful.
ERAS. An offence caused by love is looked upon with more indulgence.
LUC. No, Éraste, your flame never burnt very bright.
ERAS. No, Lucile, you never loved me.
LUC. Oh! that does not trouble you much, I suppose; perhaps it would
have been much better for me if... But no more of this idle talk; I do
not say what I think on the subject.
ERAS. Why?
LUC. Because, as we are to break, it would be out of place, it seems to
me.
ERAS. Do we break, then?
LUC. Yes, to be sure; have we not done so already?
ERAS. And you can do this calmly?
LUC. Yes; so can you.
ERAS. I?
LUC. Undoubtedly. It is weakness to let people see that we are hurt by
losing them.
ERAS. But, hard-hearted woman, it is you who would have it so.
LUC. I? not at all; it was you who took that resolution.
ERAS. I? I thought it would please you.
LUC. Me; not at all; you did it for your own satisfaction.
ERAS. But what if my heart should wish to resume its former chain? If,
though very sad, it should sue for pardon...?
[Footnote: An imitation from Horace, book iii., ode ix., vers. 17 and 18.
_Quid? si prisca redet Venus
Diductosque jugo cogit aheneo?_]
LUC. No, no; do no such thing; my weakness is too great. I am afraid I
might too quickly grant your request.
ERAS. Oh! you cannot grant it, nor I ask for it, too soon, after what I
have just heard. Consent to love me still, madam; so pure a flame ought
to burn for ever, for your own sake. I ask for it, pray grant me this
kind pardon.
LUC. Lead me home.
SCENE IV.--MARINETTE, GROS-RENÉ.
MAR. Oh! cowardly creature,
GR.-RE. Oh! weak courage.
MAR. I blush with indignation.
GR.-RE. I am swelling with rage; do not imagine I will yield thus.
MAR. And do not think to find such a dupe in me.
GR.-RE. Come on, come on; you shall soon see what my wrath is capable of
doing.
MAR. I am not the person you take me for; you have not my silly mistress
to deal with. It is enough to look at that fine phiz to be smitten with
the man himself! Should I fall in love with your beastly face? Should I
hunt after you? Upon my word, girls like us are not for the like of you.
GR.-RE. Ay! and you address me in such a fashion? Here, here, without
any further compliments, there is your bow of tawdry lace, and your
narrow ribbon; it shall not have the honour of being on my ear any more.
MAR. And to show you how I despise you, here, take back your half
hundred of Paris pins, which you gave me yesterday with so much
bragging.
GR.-RE. Take back your knife too; a thing most rich and rare; it cost
you about twopence when you made me a present of it.
MAR. Take back your scissors with the pinchbeck chain.
GR.-RE. I forgot the piece of cheese you gave me the day before
yesterday--here it is; I wish I could bring back the broth you made me
eat, so that I might have nothing belonging to you.
MAR. I have none of your letters about me now, but I shall burn every
one of them.
GR.-RE. And do you know what I shall do with yours?
MAR. Take care you never come begging to me again to forgive you.
GR. RE. (_Picking up a bit of straw_). To cut off every way of
being reconciled, we must break this straw between us; when a straw is
broken, it settles an affair between people of honour.
[Footnote: A wisp of straw, or a stick, was formerly used as a symbol of
investiture of a feudal fief. According to some authors the breaking of
the straw or stick was a proof that the vassals renounced their homage;
hence the allusion of Molière. The breaking of a staff was also typical
of the voluntary or compulsory abandonment of power. Formerly, after the
death of the kings of France, the _grand maitre_ (master of the
household) broke his wand of office over the grave, saying aloud three
times, _le roi est mort_ and then _Vive le roi_. Hence also,
most likely, the saying of Prospero, in Shakespeare's "Tempest" Act v.
Sc. I, "I'll break my staff," _i.e._, I voluntarily abandon my
power. Sometimes the breaking of a staff betokened dishonour, as in
Shakespeare's second part of "Henry VI." Act I. Sc. 2. when Gloster
says: "Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court was broke in
twain."]
Cast none of your sheep's eyes at me;
[Footnote: According to tradition, Gros-René and Marinette stand on the
stage back to back; from time to time they look to the right and to the
left; when their looks meet they turn their heads abruptly away, whilst
Gros-René presents over his shoulder to Marinette the piece of straw,
which the latter takes very good care not to touch.]
I will be angry.
MAR. Do not look at me thus; I am too much provoked.
GR.-RE. Here, break this straw; this is the way of never recanting
again; break. What do you laugh at, you jade?
MAR. Yes, you make me laugh.
GR.-RE. The deuce take your laughing! all my anger is already softened.
What do you say? shall we break or not?
MAR. Just as you please.
GR.-RE. Just as you please.
MAR. Nay, it shall be as you please.
GR. RE. Do you wish me never to love you?
MAR. I? As you like.
GR.-RE. As you yourself like; only say the word.
MAR. I shall say nothing.
GR.-RE. Nor I.
MAR. Nor I.
GR.-RE. Faith! we had better forswear all this nonsense; shake hands, I
pardon you.
MAR. And I forgive you.
GR.-RE. Bless me! how you bewitch me with your charms.
MAR. What a fool is Marinette when her Gros-René is by.
* * * * *
ACT V.
SCENE I.--MASCARILLE, _alone_.
"As soon as darkness has invaded the town, I will enter Lucile's room;
go, therefore, and get ready immediately the dark lantern, and whatever
arms are necessary." When my master said these words, it sounded in my
ears as if he had said, "Go quickly and get a halter to hang yourself."
But come on, master of mine, for I was so astonished when first I heard
your order, that I had no time to answer you; but I shall talk with you
now, and confound you; therefore defend yourself well, and let us argue
without making a noise. You say you wish to go and visit Lucile
to-night? "Yes, Mascarille." And what do you propose to do? "What a
lover does who wishes to be convinced." What a man does who has very
little brains, who risks his carcass when there is no occasion for it.
"But do you know what is my motive? Lucile is angry." Well, so much the
worse for her. "But my love prompts me to go and appease her." But love
is a fool, and does not know what he says: will this same love defend us
against an enraged rival, father, or brother? "Do you think any of them
intend to harm us?" Yes, really, I do think so; and especially this
rival. "Mascarille, in any case, what I trust to is, that we shall go
well armed, and if anybody interrupts us we shall draw." Yes, but that
is precisely what your servant does not wish to do. I draw! Good
Heavens! am I a Roland, master, or a Ferragus?
[Footnote: Roland, or Orlando in Italian, one of Charlemagne's paladins
and nephew is represented as brave, loyal, and simple-minded. On the
return of Charlemagne from Spain, Roland, who commanded the rearguard,
fell into an ambuscade at Roncezvalles, in the Pyrenées (778), and
perished, with the flower of French chivalry. He is the hero of
Ariosto's poem, "Orlando Furioso." In this same poem Cant. xii. is also
mentioned Ferragus, or Ferrau in Italian, a Saracen giant, who dropped
his helmet into the river, and vowed he would never wear another till he
had won that worn by Orlando; the latter slew him in the only part where
he was vulnerable.]
You hardly know me. When I, who love myself so dearly, consider that two
inches of cold steel in this body would be quite sufficient to send a
poor mortal to his last home, I am particularly disgusted. "But you will
be armed from head to foot." So much the worse. I shall be less nimble
to get into the thicket; besides, there is no armour so well made but
some villainous point will pierce its joints. "Oh! you will then be
considered a coward." Never mind; provided I can but always move my
jaws. At table you may set me down for as good as four persons, if you
like; but when fighting is going on, you must not count me for anything.
Moreover, if the other world possesses charms for you, the air of this
world agrees very well with me. I do not thirst after death and wounds;
if you have a mind to play the fool, you may do it all by yourself, I
assure you.
SCENE II.--VALÈRE, MASCARILLE.
VAL. I never felt a day pass more slowly; the sun seems to have
forgotten himself; he has yet such a course to run before he reaches his
bed, that I believe he will never accomplish it; his slow motion drives
me mad.
MASC. What an eagerness to go in the dark, to grope about for some ugly
adventure! You see that Lucile is obstinate in her repulses....
VAL. A truce to these idle remonstrances. Though I were sure to meet a
hundred deaths lying in ambush, yet I feel her wrath so greatly, that I
shall either appease it, or end my fate. I am resolved on that.
MASC. I approve of your design; but it is unfortunate, sir, that we must
get in secretly.
VAL. Very well.
MASC. And I am afraid I shall only be in the way.
VAL. How so?
MASC. I have a cough which nearly kills me, and the noise it makes may
betray you. Every moment... (_He coughs_). You see what a
punishment it is.
VAL. You will get better; take some liquorice.
MASC. I do not think, sir, it will get better. I should be delighted to
go with you, but I should be very sorry if any misfortune should befall
my dear master through me.
SCENE III.--VALÈRE, LA RAPIÈRE, MASCARILLE.
LA RA. Sir, I have just now heard from good authority that Éraste is
greatly enraged against you, and that Albert talks also of breaking all
the bones in Mascarille's body, on his daughter's account.
MASC. I? I have nothing to do with all this confusion. What have I done
to have all the bones in my body broken? Am I the guardian of the
virginity of all the girls in the town, that I am to be thus threatened?
Have I any influence with temptation? Can I help it, I, poor fellow, if
I have a mind to try it?
VAL. Oh! they are not so dangerous as they pretend to be; however
courageous love may have made Éraste, he will not have so easy a bargain
with us.
LA RA. If you should have any need for it, my arm is entirely at your
service. You know me to be at all times staunch.
[Footnote: It is thought the introduction of Mons. de la Rapière
contains an allusion to the poor noblemen of Languedoc, who formerly
made a kind of living by being seconds at duels, and whom the Prince de
Conti compelled to obey the edicts of Louis XIV. against duelling.
_The Love-tiff_ was first played in 1656 at Béziers, where the
States of Languedoc were assembled.]
VAL. I am much obliged to you, M. de la Rapière.
LA RA. I have likewise two friends I can procure, who will draw against
all comers, and upon whom you may safely rely.
MASC. Accept their services, sir.
VAL. You are too kind.
LA RA. Little Giles might also have assisted us, if a sad accident had
not taken him from us. Oh, sir, it is a great pity! He was such a handy
fellow, too! You know the trick justice played him; he died like a hero;
when the executioner broke him on the wheel, he made his exit without
uttering a word.
VAL. M. de la Rapière, such a man ought to be lamented, but, as for your
escort, I thank you, I want them not.
LA RA. Be it so, but do not forget that you are sought after, and may
have some scurvy trick played upon you.
VAL. And I, to show you how much I fear him, will offer him the
satisfaction he desires, if he seeks me; I will immediately go all over
the town, only accompanied by Mascarille.
SCENE IV.--VALÈRE, MASCARILLE.
MASC. What, sir? will you tempt Heaven? Do not be so presumptuous!
Lack-a-day! you see how they threaten us. How on every side...
VAL. What are you looking at yonder?
MASC. I smell a cudgel that way. In short, if you will take my prudent
advice, do not let us be so obstinate as to remain in the street; let us
go and shut ourselves up.
VAL. Shut ourselves up, rascal? How dare you propose to me such a base
action? Come along, and follow me, without any more words.
MASC. Why, sir, my dear master, life is so sweet! One can die but once,
and it is for such a long time!
VAL. I shall half kill you, if I hear anything more. Here comes Ascanio;
let us leave him; we must find out what side he will choose. However,
come along with me into the house, to take whatever arms we may want.
MASC. I have no great itching for fighting. A curse on love and those
darned girls, who will be tasting it, and then look as if butter would
not melt in their mouth.
SCENE V.--ASCANIO, FROSINE.
ASC. Is it really true, Frosine, do I not dream? Pray tell me all that
has happened, from first to last.
FROS. You shall know all the particulars in good time; be patient; such
adventures are generally told over and over again, and that every
moment. You must know then that after this will, which was on condition
of a male heir being born, Albert's wife who was _enceinte_, gave
birth to you. Albert, who had stealthily and long beforehand laid his
plan, changed you for the son of Inez, the flower-woman, and gave you to
my mother to nurse, saying it was her own child. Some ten months after,
death took away this little innocent, whilst Albert was absent; his wife
being afraid of her husband, and inspired by maternal love, invented a
new stratagem. She secretly took her own daughter back; you received the
name of the boy, who had taken your place, whilst the death of that
pretended son was kept a secret from Albert, who was told that his
daughter had died. Now the mystery of your birth is cleared up, which
your supposed mother had hitherto concealed. She gives certain reasons
for acting in this manner, and may have others to give, for her
interests were not the same as yours. In short, this visit,
[Footnote: That is the visit of which Frosine speaks, Act iv., Scene I]
from which I expected so little, has proved more serviceable to your
love than could have been imagined. This Inez has given up all claim to
you. As it became necessary to reveal this secret, on account of your
marriage, we two informed your father of it; a letter of his deceased
wife has confirmed all. Pursuing our reasoning yet farther, and being
rather fortunate as well as skilful, we have so cunningly interwoven the
interests of Albert and of Polydore, so gradually unfolded all this
mystery to the latter, that we might not make things appear too terrible
to him in the beginning, and, in a word, to tell you all, so prudently
led his mind step by step to a reconciliation, that Polydore is now as
anxious as your father to legitimize that connection which is to make
you happy.
ASC. Ah! Frosine, what happiness you prepare for me. ... What do I, not
owe to your fortunate zeal?
FROS. Moreover, the good man is inclined to be merry, and has forbidden
us to mention anything of this affair to his son.
SCENE VI.--POLYDORE, ASCANIO, FROSINE.
POL. Come hither, daughter, since I may give you this name now, for I
know the secret which this disguise conceals. You have shown so much
resolution, ingenuity, and archness in your stratagem, that I forgive
you; I think my son will esteem himself happy when he knows that you are
the object of his love. You are worth to him more than all the treasures
in this world; and I will tell him so. But here he comes: let us divert
ourselves with this event. Go and tell all the people to come hither
immediately.
ASC. To obey you, sir, shall be the first compliment I pay you.
SCENE VII.--MASCARILLE, POLYDORE, VALÈRE.
MASC. Misfortunes are often revealed by Heaven: I dreamt last night of
pearls unstrung and broken eggs, sir. This dream depresses my spirits.
[Footnote: In a little book still sold on the quays of Paris, and called
_la Cle des Songes_, it is said that to dream of pearls denotes
"embarrassed affairs," and of broken eggs, "loss of place and
lawsuits."]
VAL. Cowardly rascal!
POL. Valère, an encounter awaits you, wherein all your valour will be
necessary: you are to cope with a powerful adversary.
MASC. Will nobody stir to prevent people from cutting each other's
throats? As for me, I do not care about it; but if any fatal accident
should deprive you of your son, do not lay the blame on me.
POL. No, no; in this case I myself urge him to do what he ought.
MASC. What an unnatural father!
VAL. This sentiment, sir, shows you to be a man of honour; I respect you
the more for it. I know I have offended you, I am to blame for having
done all this without a father's consent; but however angry you may be
with me, Nature always will prevail. You do what is truly honourable, in
not believing that I am to be terrified by the threats of Éraste.
POL. They just now frightened me with his threats, but since then things
have changed greatly; you will be attacked by a more powerful enemy,
without being able to flee from him.
MASC. Is there no way of making it up?
VAL! I flee!--Heaven forbid! And who can this be?
POL. Ascanio.
VAL. Ascanio?
POL. Yes; you shall see him appear presently.
VAL. He, who has pledged his word to serve me!
POL. Yes, it is he who says he has a quarrel with you; he, who is
determined to decide the quarrel by single combat, to which he
challenges you.
MASC. He is a good fellow: he knows that generous minds do not endanger
other people's lives by their quarrels.
POL. He accuses you of deceit. His anger appears to me to have so just a
cause, that Albert and I have agreed you should give Ascanio
satisfaction for this affront, but publicly, and without any delay,
according to the formalities requisite in such a case.
VAL. What! father; and did Lucile obstinately...?
POL. Lucile is to marry Éraste, and blames you too; and the better to
prove your story to be false, is resolved to give her hand to Éraste
before your very face.
VAL. Ha! this impudence is enough to drive me mad. Has she lost, then,
all sense, faith, conscience, and honour?
SCENE VIII.--ALBERT, POLYDORE, LUCILE, ÉRASTE, VALÈRE, MASCARILLE.
ALB. Well! where are the combatants? They are bringing ours. Have you
prepared yours for the encounter?
VAL. Yes, yes; I am ready, since you compel me to it; if I at all
hesitated, it was because I still felt a little respect, and not on
account of the valour of the champion who is to oppose me. But I have
been urged too far. This respect is at an end; I am prepared for any
catastrophe! I have been treated so strangely and treacherously, that my
love must and shall be revenged. (_To Lucile_). Not that I still
pretend to your hand: my former love is now swallowed up in wrath; and
when I have made your shame public, your guilty marriage will not in the
least disturb me. Lucile, your behaviour is infamous: scarcely can I
believe my own eyes. You show yourself so opposed to all modesty, that
you ought to die for shame.
LUC. Such reproaches might affect me, if I had not one at hand to avenge
my cause. Here comes Ascanio; he shall soon have the pleasure, and
without giving himself much trouble, of making you change your language.
SCENE IX.--ALBERT, POLYDORE, ASCANIO, LUCILE, ÉRASTE, VALÈRE, FROSINE,
MARINETTE, GROS-RENÉ, MASCARILLE.
VAL. He shall not make me change my language, though he had twenty arms
besides his own. I am sorry he defends a guilty sister; but since he is
foolish enough to pick a quarrel with me, I shall give him satisfaction,
and you also, my valiant gentleman.
ERAS. A short time ago I took an interest in this, but as Ascanio has
taken the affair upon himself, I will have nothing more to do with it,
but leave it to him.
VAL. You do well; prudence is always timely, but...
ERAS. He shall give you satisfaction for us all.
VAL. He?
POL. Do not deceive yourself; you do not yet know what a strange fellow
Ascanio is.
ALB. He is blind to it now, but Ascanio will let him know in a little
time.
VAL. Come on, then; let him do so now.
MAR. What! before everybody?
GR.-RE. That would not be decent.
VAL. Are you making fun of me? I will break the head of any fellow who
laughs. But let us see what Ascanio is going to do.
ASC. No, no. I am not so bad as they make me out; in this adventure, in
which every one has put me forward, you shall see my weakness appear
more than anything else; you will discover that Heaven, to which we must
all submit, did not give me a heart to hold out against you, but that it
reserved for you the easy triumph of putting an end to Lucile's brother.
Yes; far from boasting of the power of his arm, Ascanio shall receive
death from your hands; nay, would gladly die, if his death could
contribute to your satisfaction, by giving you, in the presence of all
this company, a wife who lawfully belongs to you.
VAL. No, even the whole world, after her perfidy and shamelessness...
ASC. Ah! Valère, allow me to tell you that the heart which is pledged to
you is guilty of no crime against you; her love is still pure, and her
constancy unshaken; I call your own father himself to witness that I
speak the truth.
POL. Yes, son, we have laughed enough at your rage; I see it is time to
undeceive you; she to whom you are bound by oath is concealed under the
dress you here behold. Some question about property was the cause of
this disguise, which from her earliest youth deceived so many people.
Lately love was the cause of another which deceived you, whilst it made
of the two families but one. Yes, in a word, it is she whose subtle
skill obtained your hand at night, who pretended to be Lucile, and by
this contrivance, which none discovered, has perplexed you all so much.
But since Ascanio now gives place to Dorothea, your love must be free
from every appearance of deceit, and be strengthened by a more sacred
knot!
ALB. This is the single combat by which you were to give us satisfaction
for your offence, and which is not forbidden by any laws.
[Footnote: Severe laws were promulgated in the preceding reign against
duelling; Louis XIV. also published two edicts against it in 1643 and in
1651. _The Love-Tiff_ was first performed in 1656.]
POL. Such an event amazes you, but all hesitation is now too late.
VAL. No, no, I do not hesitate; if this adventure astonishes me, it is a
flattering surprise; I find myself seized with admiration, love, and
pleasure. Is it possible that those eyes...?
ALB. This dress, dear Valère, is not a proper one to hear your fine
speeches in. Let her go and put on another, and meanwhile you shall know
the particulars of the event.
VAL. Pardon me, Lucile, if my mind, duped by...
LUC. It is easy to forget that.
ALB. Come, these compliments will do as well at home; we shall then have
plenty of time to pay them to one another.
ERAS. But in talking thus you do not seem to think that there is still
occasion for manslaughter here. Our loves are indeed crowned, but who
ought to obtain the hand of Marinette, his Mascarille or my Gros-René?
This affair must end in blood.
MASC. No, no, my blood suits my body too well; let him marry her in
peace, it will be nothing to me. I know Marinette too well to think
marriage will be any bar to my courting her.
MAR. And do you think I will make my gallant of you? A husband does not
matter; anything will do for that. We do not stand, then, upon so much
ceremony; but a gallant should be well made enough to make one's mouth
water.
GR.-RE. Listen! When we are united by marriage, I insist that you should
turn a deaf ear to all sparks.
MASC. Do you think, brother, to marry her for yourself alone?
GR.-RE. Of course; I will have a virtuous wife, or else I shall kick up
a fine row.
MASC. Ah! lack-a-day, you shall do as others, and become more gentle.
Those people who are so severe and critical before marriage, often
degenerate into pacific husbands.
MAR. Make yourself easy, my dear husband, and do not have the least fear
about my fidelity; flattery will produce no impression on me, and I
shall tell you everything.
MASC. Oh! what a cunning wench to make of a husband a confidant.
MAR. Hold your tongue, you knave of clubs.
[Footnote: The original has _as de pique_, and different
commentators have of course given various explanations. But why, says M.
Despois, should Marinette, who appears to be fond of cards, not call
people by names derived from her favourite game? She calls Gros-René in
another place _beau valet de carreau_.]
ALB. For the third time, I say, let us go home, and continue at leisure
such an agreeable conversation.
* * * * *