The Pretentious Young Ladies

Produced by David Moynihan, D Garcia, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




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Molière began in _The Pretentious Young Ladies_ to paint men and women
as they are; to make living characters and existing manners the
ground-work of his plays. From that time he abandoned all imitation of
Italian or Spanish imbroglios and intrigues.

There is no doubt that aristocratic society attempted, about the latter
years of the reign of Louis XIII., to amend the coarse and licentious
expressions, which, during the civil wars had been introduced into
literature as well as into manners. It was praiseworthy of some
high-born ladies in Parisian society to endeavour to refine the language
and the mind. But there was a very great difference between the
influence these ladies exercised from 1620 until 1640, and what took
place in 1658, the year when Molière returned to Paris. The Hôtel de
Rambouillet, and the aristocratic drawing-rooms, had then done their
work, and done it well; but they were succeeded by a clique which cared
only for what was nicely said, or rather what was out of the common.
Instead of using an elegant and refined diction, they employed only a
pretentious and conceitedly affected style, which became highly
ridiculous; instead of improving the national idiom they completely
spoilt it. Where formerly D'Urfe, Malherbe, Racan, Balzac, and Voiture
reigned, Chapelain, Scudéry, Ménage, and the Abbé Cotin, "the father of
the French Riddle," ruled in their stead. Moreover, every lady in Paris,
as well as in the provinces, no matter what her education was, held her
drawing-room, where nothing was heard but a ridiculous, exaggerated, and
what was worse, a borrowed phraseology. The novels of Mdlle. de Scudéry
became the text-book of the _précieux_ and the _précieuses_, for such
was the name given to these gentlemen and ladies who set up for wits,
and thought they displayed exquisite taste, refined ideas, fastidious
judgment, and consummate and critical discrimination, whilst they only
uttered vapid and blatant nonsense. What other language can be used when
we find that they called the sun _l'aimable éclairant le plus beau du
monde, l'epoux de la nature_, and that when speaking of an old gentleman
with grey hair, they said, not as a joke, but seriously, _il a des
quittances d'amour_. A few of their expressions, however, are employed
even at the present time, such as, _châtier son style_; to correct one's
style; _dépenser une heure_, to spend an hour; _revètir ses pensées
d'expressions nobles_, to clothe one's thoughts in noble expressions,

Though the _précieux and précieuses_ had been several times attacked
before, it remained for Molière to give them their death blow, and after
the performance of his comedy the name became a term of ridicule and
contumely. What enhanced the bitterness of the attack was the difference
between Molière's natural style and the affected tone of the would-be
elegants he brought upon the stage.

This comedy, in prose, was first acted at Paris, at the Théâtre du Petit
Bourbon, on the 18th of November, 1659, and met with great success.
Through the influence of some noble _précieux_ and _précieuses_ it was
forbidden until the 2d of December, when the concourse of spectators was
so great that it had to be performed twice a day, that the prices of
nearly all the places were raised (See Note 7, page xxv.), and that it
ran for four months together. We have referred in our prefatory memoir
of Molière to some of the legendary anecdotes connected with this play.

It has also been said that our author owed perhaps the first idea of
this play to a scarcely-known work, _le Cercle des Femmes, ou le Secret
du Lit Nuptial; entretiens comiques_, written by a long-forgotten
author, Samuel Chapuzeau, in which a servant, dressed in his master's
clothes, is well received by a certain lady who had rejected the master.
But as the witty dialogue is the principal merit in Molière's play, it
is really of no great consequence who first suggested the primary idea.

The piece, though played in 1659, was only printed on the 29th of
January, 1660, by Guillaume de Luyne, a bookseller in Paris, with a
preface by Molière, which we give here below:

A strange thing it is, that People should be put in print against their
Will. I know nothing so unjust, and should pardon any other Violence
much sooner than that.

Not that I here intend to personate the bashful Author, and out of a
point of Honour undervalue my Comedy. I should very unseasonably
disoblige all the People of Paris, should I accuse them of having
applauded a foolish Thing: as the Public is absolute Judge of such sort
of Works, it would be Impertinence in me to contradict it; and even if I
should have had the worst Opinion in the World of my _Pretentious Young
Ladies_ before they appeared upon the Stage, I must now believe them of
some Value, since so many People agree to speak in their behalf. But as
great part of the Pleasure it gave depends upon the Action and Tone of
the Voice, it behooved me, not to let them be deprived of those
Ornaments; and that success they had in the representation, was, I
thought, sufficiently favorable for me to stop there. I was, I say,
determined, to let them only be seen by Candlelight, that I might give
no room for any one to use the Proverb; [Footnote: In Molière's time it
was proverbially said of a woman, "_Elle est belle a la chandelle, mais
le grand jour gate tout_." She is beautiful by candle-light, but
day-light spoils everything.] nor was I willing they should leap from
the Theatre de Bourbon into the _Galerie du Palais_. [Footnote: The
_Galerie du Palais_ was the place where Molière's publisher lived.]
Notwithstanding, I have been unable to avoid it, and am fallen under the
Misfortune of seeing a surreptitious Copy of my Play in the Hands of the
Booksellers, together with a Privilege, knavishly obtained, for printing
it. I cried out in vain, O Times! O Manners! They showed me that there
was a Necessity for me to be in print, or have a Law-suit; and the last
evil is even worse than the first. Fate therefore must be submitted to,
and I must consent to a Thing, which they would not fail to do without

Lord, the strange Perplexity of sending a book abroad! and what an
awkward Figure an Author makes the first time he appears in print! Had
they allowed me time, I should have thought it over better, and have
taken all those Precautions which the Gentlemen Authors, who are now my
Brethren, commonly make use of upon the like Occasions. Besides, some
noble Lord, whom I should have chosen, in spite of his Teeth, to be the
Patron of my Work, and whose Generosity I should have excited by an
Epistle Dedicatory very elegantly composed, I should have endeavoured to
make a fine and learned Preface; nor do I want books which would have
supplied me with all that can be said in a scholarly Manner upon Tragedy
and Comedy; the Etymology of them both, their Origin, their Definition,
and so forth. I should likewise have spoken to my friends, who to
recommend my Performance, would not have refused me Verses, either in
French or Latin. I have even some that would have praised me in Greek,
and Nobody is ignorant, that a Commendation in Greek is of a marvellous
efficacy at the Beginning of a Book. But I am sent Abroad without giving
me time to look about me; and I can't so much as obtain the Liberty of
speaking two words, to justify my Intention, as to the subject of this
Comedy. I would willingly have shewn that it is confined throughout
within the Bounds of allowable and decent Satire, that Things the most
excellent are liable to be mimicked by wretched Apes, who deserve to be
ridiculed; that these absurd Imitations of what is most perfect, have
been at all times the Subject of Comedy; and that, for the same Reason,
that the truly Learned and truly Brave never yet thought fit to be
offended at the Doctor or the Captain in a Comedy, no more than Judges,
Princes, and Kings at seeing Trivelin, [Footnote: The Doctor and the
Captain were traditional personages of the Italian stage; their parts
need no further explanation; Trivelin was a popular Italian actor, who
in a humorous and exaggerated way played the parts of Judges, Princes,
and Kings.] or any other upon the Stage, ridiculously act the Judge, the
Prince, or King; so the true _Précieuses_ would be in the wrong to be
angry, when the pretentious Ones are exposed, who imitate them
awkwardly. In a Word, as I said, I am not allowed breathing time; Mr. de
Luyne is going to bind me up this Instant: ... let it be so, since the
Fates so ordain it.

In the third volume of the "Select Comedies of M. de Molière," this
comedy is called "The Conceited Ladies." It is dedicated to Miss Le Bas
in the following words:---

MADAM, Addresses of this Nature are usually fill'd with Flattery: And it
is become so general and known a Practice for Authors of every kind to
bedeck with all Perfections Those to whom they present their Writings,
that Dedications are, by most People, at Present, interpreted like
Dreams, directly backwards. I dare not, therefore, attempt Your
Character, lest even Truth itself should be suspected--Thus far,
however, I'll venture to declare, that if sprightly blooming Youth,
endearing sweet Good-nature, flowing gentile Wit, and an easy unaffected
Conversation, maybe reckon'd Charms,--_Miss_ LE BAS is exquisitely

The following COMEDY of _Monsieur_ MOLIERE, that celebrated Dramatick
Writer, was, by him, intended to reprove a vain, fantastical, conceited
and preposterous Humour, which about that time prevailed very much in
_France_. It had the desir'd good Effect, and conduced a great deal
towards rooting out a Taste so unreasonable and ridiculous.---As Pride,
Conceit, Vanity, and Affectation, are Foibles so often found amongst the
Fair Sex at present, I have attempted this Translation, in hopes of
doing service to my pretty Country-Women.--And, certainly, it must have
a double efficacy, under the Patronage of one who is so bright an
Example of the contrary fine Accomplishments, which a large Fortune
makes her not the less careful to improve.

I am not so presumptuous to imagine that my _English_ can do sufficient
Justice to the sense of this admir'd AUTHOR; and, therefore, have caused
the ORIGINAL to be placed against it Page for Page, hoping that, both
together, may prove an agreeable and useful Entertainment.----But I have
detain'd you too long already, and shall only add, that I am, with much
respect, and every good Wish, MADAM, _Your most Obedient Humble

The _Précieuses Ridicules_ have been partly imitated in "_The
Damoiselles à la Mode_, Compos'd and Written by Richard Flecknoe.
London: Printed for the Author, 1667. To their graces the Duke and
Duchess of Newcastle, the Author dedicates this his comedy more humbly
than by way of epistle." This gentleman, who was "so distinguished as a
wretched poet, that his name had almost become proverbial," and who gave
the title to Dryden's _Mac-Flecknoe_, is said to have been originally a
Jesuit. Langbaine states "that his acquaintance with the nobility was
more than with the Muses." In the preface our author says: "This Comedy
is taken out of several excellent pieces of _Molière_. The main plot out
of his _Pretieusee's Ridiculee's_; the Counterplot of _Sganarelle_ out
of his _Escole des Femmes_, and out of the _Escole des Marys_, the two
_Naturals_; all which, like so many _Pretieuse_ stones, I have brought
out of _France_; and as a Lapidary set in one Jewel to adorn our English

This motley play was never acted; at least the author says: "for the
Acting it, those who have the Governing of the Stage, have their
Humours, and wou'd be intreated; and I have mine and won't intreat them;
and were all Dramatick Writers of my mind, they shou'd wear their old
_Playes_ Thred-bare e're they shou'd have any _New_, till they better
understood their own Interest, and how to distinguish betwixt good and

The "Prologue intended for the overture of the Theater 1666," opens

"In these sad Times our Author has been long
Studying to give you some diversion;
And he has ta'en the way to do't, which he
Thought most diverting, mirth and Comedy;
And now he knows there are inough i' the Town
At name of mirth and Comedy will frown,
And sighing say, the times are bad; what then?
Will their being sad and heavy better them?"

[Footnote: In 1665 the plague broke out in London, and in the succeeding
year the great fire took place; only at Christmas 1666 theatrical
performances began again.]

According to the list of "The Representers, as they were first
design'd." I see that Nell Gwyn should have played the part of
"_Lysette_, the _Damoiselle's_ waiting Woman."

James Miller, a well-known dramatist, and joint-translator of Molière,
with H. Baker, has also imitated part of "the _Pretentious Young
Ladies_," and with another part borrowed from Molière's _School for
Husbands_, two characters taken from Molière's _Learned Ladies_, and
some short speeches borrowed from the _Countess of Escarbagnas_, he
composed a comedy, which was played at Drury Lane, March 6th, 1735,
under the title of _The Man of Taste, or, The Guardians_. Mr. Miller
appears to have been a man of indomitable spirit and industry. Being a
clergyman, with a very small stipend, he wrote plays to improve his
circumstances, but offended both his bishop and the public. At last he
was presented to the very valuable living of Upcerne, in Dorsetshire,
and was also successful with a translation of _Mahomet_ of Voltaire, but
died within the year after his induction. _The Man of Taste_ was printed
for J. Watts, MDCCXXXV., and is dedicated to Lord Weymouth. We give part
of the dedication:

"As to the Attempt here made to expose the several Vices and Follies
that at present flourish in Vogue, I hope your Lordship will think it
confined within the bounds of a modest and wholesome Chastisement. That
it is a very seasonable one, I believe, every Person will acknowledge.
When what is set up for the Standard of Taste, is but just the Reverse
of Truth and Common Sense; and that which is dignify'd with the Name of
Politeness, is deficient in nothing--but Decency and Good Manners: When
all Distinctions of Station and Fortune are broke in upon, so that a
_Peer_ and a _Mechanick_ are cloathed in the same Habits, and indulge in
the same Diversions and Luxuries: When Husbands are ruin'd, Children
robb'd, and Tradesmen starv'd, in order to give Estates to a _French_
Harlequin, and _Italian_ Eunuch, for a Shrug or a Song; [Footnote:
Farinelli, an eminent Italian soprano, went to England in 1734, remained
there three years, sang chiefly at the Theatre of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields,
then under the direction of Porpora, his old Master, became a great
favorite, and made about, £5,000 a year. As _The Man of Taste_ was
performed at a rival house, Drury Lane, the bitterness of the allusion
may be easily understood. The French Comedians acted at the Haymarket
from November 22, 1734 to June 1735, hence the allusion to a French
Harlequin.] shall not fair and fearless Satire oppose this Outrage upon
all Reason and Discretion. Yes, My Lord, resentment can never better be
shown, nor Indignation more laudably exerted than on such an occasion."

The Prologue, spoken by Mr. Cibber, is racy. We give the first half of

"Wit springs so slow in our bleak Northern Soil,
It scarce, at best, rewards the Planter's Toil.
But now, when all the Sun-shine, and the Rain,
Are turn'd to cultivate a Foreign grain;
When, what should cherish, preys upon the Tree,
What generous Fruit can you expect to see?
Our Bard, to strike the Humour of the Times,
Imports these Scenes from kindlier Southern Climes;
Secure his Pains will with Applause be crown'd,
If you're as fond of Foreign sense as ... sound:
And since their Follies have been bought so dear,
We hope their Wit a moderate Price may bear.
Terence, Great Master! who, with wond'rous Art,
Explor'd the deepest Secrets of the Heart;
That best Old Judge of Manners and of Men,
First grac'd this Tale with his immortal Pen.
Molière, the Classick of the Gallick Stage,
First dar'd to modernize the Sacred Page;
Skilful, the one thing wanting to supply,
Humour, that Soul of Comic Poesy.
The Roman Fools were drawn so high ... the Pit
Might take 'em now for Modern Men of Wit.
But Molière painted with a bolder Hand,
And mark'd his Oafs with the Fool's-Cap and Band:
To ev'ry Vice he tagged the just Reproach,
Shew'd Worth on Foot, and Rascals in a Coach."

[Footnote: The plot of _The Man of Taste_, as we have said before, was
partly borrowed from Molière's _School for Husbands_, partly from the
_Pretentious Young Ladies_, and other of his plays. The first-mentioned
French comedy owes part of its plot to Terence's _Adelphi_, hence the
allusion to "his immortal Pen." in the above poem.]

Mrs. Aphra Behn, a voluminous writer of plays, novels, poems, and
letters, all of a lively and amorous turn, was the widow of a Dutch
merchant, and partly occupied the time not engaged in literary pursuits
in political or gallant intrigues. Her comedies are her best works, and
although some of her scenes are often indecent, and not a few of her
expressions indelicate, yet her plots are always lively and well
sustained and her dialogues very witty. The date of her birth is
unknown, but she died on the 16th of April, 1689, and was buried in the
cloisters of Westminster Abbey.

In 1682, was performed, at the Theatre, Dorset Garden, her play. _The
False Count, or a New Way to Play an Old Game_. The prologue attacks the
Whigs most furiously, and the epilogue, spoken by Mrs. Barry, is very
indecent. The plot of this play, or rather farce, is very improbable,
and the language is more than free. Julia, in love with Don Carlos,
afterwards Governor of Cadiz, was forced by her father to marry
Francisco, a rich old man, formerly a leather-seller; the latter going
with his family to sea on a party of pleasure, are taken prisoners by
Carlos and his servants, disguised as Turks. They are carried to a
country house, and made to believe they are in the Grand Turk's
seraglio. There is also an underplot, in which Isabella, Francisco's
proud and vain daughter, is courted by Guilion, a supposed Count, but in
reality a chimney-sweep, whose hand she accepts. In the end everything
is discovered, and Guilion comes to claim his wife in his sooty clothes.

Thomas Shadwell, a dramatist, and the poet-laureate of William III., who
has been flagellated by Dryden in his _MacFlecknoe_ and in the second
part of _Absalom_ and _Achitophel_, and been mentioned with contempt by
Pope in his _Dunciad_, took from the _Précieuses Ridicules_ Mascarille
and Jodelet, and freely imitated and united them in the character of La
Roch, a sham Count, in his _Bury-Fair_, acted by His Majesty's servants
in 1689. This play, dedicated to Charles, Earl of Dorset and Middlesex,
was written "during eight months' painful sickness." In the Prologue
Shadwell states:

That every Part is Fiction in his Play;
Particular Reflections there are none;
Our Poet knows not one in all your Town.
If any has so very little Wit,
To think a Fop's Dress can his Person fit,
E'en let him take it, and make much of it.

Whilst, in The _Pretentious Young Ladies_, Mascarille and Jodelet impose
upon two provincial girls, in _Bury-Fair_, La Roch, "a French
peruke-maker" succeeds in deceiving Mrs. Fantast and Mrs. Gertrude under
the name of Count de Cheveux. The Count is very amusing, and though a
coward to boot, pretends to be a great warrior. His description of war
is characteristic; he states that "de great Heros always burne and kille
de Man, Woman, and Shilde for deir Glory."


) _repulsed Lovers_.

GORGIBUS, _a good citizen_.

[Footnote: Gorgibus was the name of certain characters in old comedies.
The actor, L'Epy, who played this part, had a very loud voice; hence
Molière gave him probably this name.]

THE MARQUIS DE MASCARILLE, _valet to La Grange_.

[Footnote: _Mascarille_ was played by Molière, and has a personality
quite distinct from the servant of the same name in the _Blunderer_ and
the _Love-Tiff_. The dress in which he acted this part, has not been
mentioned in the inventory taken after his death, but in a pamphlet,
published in 1660, he is described as wearing an enormous wig, a very
small hat, a ruff like a morning gown, rolls in which children could
play hide-and-seek, tassels like cornucopise, ribbons that covered his
shoes, with heels half a foot in height.]

THE VISCOUNT JODELET, _valet to Du Croisy_.

ALMANZOR, _footman to the pretentious ladies_.



MADELON, _daughter to Gorgibus_, \
) _The pretentious young ladies_.
CATHOS, _niece to Gorgibus_, /

MAROTTE, _maid to the pretentious young ladies_.

) _two female neighbours_.





DU. CR. Mr. La Grange.

LA. GR. What?

DU. CR. Look at me for a moment without laughing.

LA. GR. Well?

DU. CR. What do you say of our visit? Are you quite pleased with it?

LA. GR. Do you think either of us has any reason to be so?

DU. CR. Not at all, to say the truth.

LA. GR. As for me, I must acknowledge I was quite shocked at it. Pray
now, did ever anybody see a couple of country wenches giving themselves
more ridiculous airs, or two men treated with more contempt than we
were? They could hardly make up their mind to order chairs for us. I
never saw such whispering as there was between them; such yawning, such
rubbing of the eyes, and asking so often what o'clock it was. Did they
answer anything else but "yes," or "no," to what we said to them? In
short, do you not agree with me that if we had been the meanest persons
in the world, we could not have been treated worse?

DU. CR. You seem to take it greatly to heart.

LA. GR. No doubt I do; so much so, that I am resolved to be revenged on
them for their impertinence. I know well enough why they despise us.
Affectation has not alone infected Paris, but has also spread into the
country, and our ridiculous damsels have sucked in their share of it. In
a word, they are a strange medley of coquetry and affectation. I plainly
see what kind of persons will be well received by them; if you will take
my advice, we will play them such a trick as shall show them their
folly, and teach them to distinguish a little better the people they
have to deal with.

DU. CR. How can you do this?

LA. GR. I have a certain valet, named Mascarille, who, in the opinion of
many people, passes for a kind of wit; for nothing now-a-days is easier
than to acquire such a reputation. He is an extraordinary fellow, who
has taken it into his head to ape a person of quality. He usually prides
himself on his gallantry and his poetry, and despises so much the other
servants that he calls them brutes.

DU. CR. Well, what do you mean to do with him?

LA. GR. What do I mean to do with him? He must ... but first, let us be


GORG. Well, gentlemen, you have seen my niece and my daughter. How are
matters going on? What is the result of your visit?

LA. GR. They will tell you this better than we can. All we say is that
we thank you for the favour you have done us, and remain your most
humble servants.

DU. CR. Your most humble servants.

GORG. (_Alone_). Hoity-toity! Methinks they go away dissatisfied. What
can be the meaning of this? I must find it out. Within there!


MAR. Did you call, sir?

GORG. Where are your mistresses?

MAR. In their room.

GORG. What are they doing there?

MAR. Making lip salve.

GORG. There is no end of their salves. Bid them come down. (_Alone_).
These hussies with their salves have, I think, a mind to ruin me.
Everywhere in the house I see nothing but whites of eggs, lac virginal,
and a thousand other fooleries I am not acquainted with. Since we have
been here they have employed the lard of a dozen hogs at least, and four
servants might live every day on the sheep's trotters they use.


GORG. Truly there is great need to spend so much money to grease your
faces. Pray tell me, what have you done to those gentlemen, that I saw
them go away with so much coldness. Did I not order you to receive them
as persons whom I intended for your husbands?

MAD. Dear father, what consideration do you wish us to entertain for the
irregular behaviour of these people?

CAT. How can a woman of ever so little understanding, uncle, reconcile
herself to such individuals?

GORG. What fault have you to find with them?

MAD. Their's is fine gallantry, indeed. Would you believe it? they began
with proposing marriage to us.

GORG. What would you have them begin with--with a proposal to keep you
as mistresses? Is not their proposal a compliment to both of you, as
well as to me? Can anything be more polite than this? And do they not
prove the honesty of their intentions by wishing to enter these holy

MAD. O, father! Nothing can be more vulgar than what you have just said.
I am ashamed to hear you talk in such a manner; you should take some
lessons in the elegant way of looking at things.

GORG. I care neither for elegant ways nor songs. I tell you marriage is
a holy and sacred affair; to begin with that is to act like honest

[Footnote: The original has a play on words. Madelon says, in addressing
her father, _vous devriez un pen vous faire apprendre le bel air des
choses_, upon which he answers, _je n'ai que faire ni d'air ni de
chanson_. _Air_ means tune as well as look, appearance.]

MAD. Good Heavens! If everybody was like you a love-story would soon be
over. What a fine thing it would have been if Cyrus had immediately
espoused Mandane, and if Aronce had been married all at once to Clélie.

[Footnote: _Cyrus_ and _Mandane_ are the two principal characters of
Mademoiselle de Scudéry's novel _Artamene, on the Grand Cyrus_; _Aronce_
and _Clélie_ of the novel _Clélie_, by the same author.]

GORG. What is she jabbering about?

MAD. Here is my cousin, father, who will tell as well as I that
matrimony ought never to happen till after other adventures. A lover, to
be agreeable, must understand how to utter fine sentiments, to breathe
soft, tender, and passionate vows; his courtship must be according to
the rules. In the first place, he should behold the fair one of whom he
becomes enamoured either at a place of worship, [Footnote: See note 15,
page 33.] or when out walking, or at some public ceremony; or else he
should be introduced to her by a relative or a friend, as if by chance,
and when he leaves her he should appear in a pensive and melancholy
mood. For some time he should conceal his passion from the object of his
love, but pay her several visits, in every one of which he ought to
introduce some gallant subject to exercise the wits of all the company.
When the day comes to make his declarations--which generally should be
contrived in some shady garden-walk while the company is at a
distance--it should be quickly followed by anger, which is shown by our
blushing, and which, for a while, banishes the lover from our presence.
He finds afterwards means to pacify us, to accustom us gradually to hear
him depict his passion, and to draw from us that confession which causes
us so much pain. After that come the adventures, the rivals who thwart
mutual inclination, the persecutions of fathers, the jealousies arising
without any foundation, complaints, despair, running away with, and its
consequences. Thus things are carried on in fashionable life, and
veritable gallantry cannot dispense with these forms. But to come out
point-blank with a proposal of marriage,--to make no love but with a
marriage-contract, and begin a novel at the wrong end! Once more,
father, nothing can be more tradesmanlike, and the mere thought of it
makes me sick at heart.

GORG. What deuced nonsense is all this? That is highflown language with
a vengeance!

CAT. Indeed, uncle, my cousin hits the nail on the head. How can we
receive kindly those who are so awkward in gallantry. I could lay a
wager they have not even seen a map of the country of _Tenderness_, and
that _Love-letters_, _Trifling attentions_, _Polite epistles_, and
_Sprightly verses_, are regions to them unknown.

[Footnote: The map of the country of Tenderness (_la carte de Tendre_)
is found in the first part of _Clélie_ (see note 2, page 146);
Love-letter (_Billetdoux_); Polite epistle (_Billet galant_); Trifling
attentions (_Petit Soins_); Sprightly verses (_Jolts vers_), are the
names of villages to be found in the map, which is a curiosity in its

Do you not see that the whole person shews it, and that their external
appearance is not such as to give at first sight a good opinion of them.
To come and pay a visit to the object of their love with a leg without
any ornaments, a hat without any feathers, a head with its locks not
artistically arranged, and a coat that suffers from a paucity of
ribbons. Heavens! what lovers are these! what stinginess in dress! what
barrenness of conversation! It is not to be allowed; it is not to be
borne. I also observed that their ruffs

[Footnote: The ruff (_rabat_) was at first only the shirt-collar pulled
out and worn outside the coat. Later ruffs were worn, which were not
fastened to the shirt, sometimes adorned with lace, and tied in front
with two strings with tassels. The _rabat_ was very fashionable during
the youthful years of Louis XIV.]

were not made by the fashionable milliner, and that their breeches were
not big enough by more than half-a-foot.

GORG. I think they are both mad, nor can I understand anything of this
gibberish. Cathos, and you Madelon...

MAD. Pray, father, do not use those strange names, and call us by some

GORG. What do you mean by those strange names? Are they not the names
your godfathers and godmothers gave you?

MAD. Good Heavens! how vulgar you are! I confess I wonder you could
possibly be the father of such an intelligent girl as I am. Did ever
anybody in genteel style talk of Cathos or of Madelon? And must you not
admit that either of these names would be sufficient to disgrace the
finest novel in the world?

CAT. It is true, uncle, an ear rather delicate suffers extremely at
hearing these words pronounced, and the name of Polixena, which my
cousin has chosen, and that of Amintha, which I took, possesses a charm,
which you must needs acknowledge.

[Footnote: The _precieuses_ often changed their names into more poetical
and romantic appellations. The Marquise de Rambouillet, whose real name
was Catherine, was known under the anagram of Arthenice.]

GORG. Hearken; one word will suffice. I do not allow you to take any
other names than those that were given you by your godfathers and
godmothers; and as for those gentlemen we are speaking about, I know
their families and fortunes, and am determined they shall be your
husbands. I am tired of having you upon my hands. Looking after a couple
of girls is rather too weighty a charge for a man of my years.

CAT. As for me, uncle, all I can say is, that I think marriage a very
shocking business. How can one endure the thought of lying by the side
of a man, who is really naked?

MAD. Give us leave to take breath for a short time among the fashionable
world of Paris, where we are but just arrived. Allow us to prepare at
our leisure the groundwork of our novel, and do not hurry on the
conclusion too abruptly.

GORG. (_Aside_). I cannot doubt it any longer; they are completely mad.
(_Aloud_). Once more, I tell you, I understand nothing of all this
gibberish; I will be master, and to cut short all kinds of arguments,
either you shall both be married shortly, or, upon my word, you shall be
nuns; that I swear.

[Footnote: This scene is the mere outline of the well known quarrel
between Chrysale, Philaminte, and Belinda in the "_Femmes Savantes_"
(see vol. iii.) but a husband trembling before his wife, and only daring
to show his temper to his sister, is a much more tempting subject for a
dramatic writer than a man addressing in a firm tone his daughter and


CAT. Good Heavens, my dear, how deeply is your father still immersed in
material things! how dense is his understanding, and what gloom
overcasts his soul!

MAD. What can I do, my dear? I am ashamed of him. I can hardly persuade
myself I am indeed his daughter; I believe that an accident, some time
or other, will discover me to be of a more illustrious descent.

CAT. I believe it; really, it is very likely; as for me, when I consider


MAR. Here is a footman asks if you are at home, and says his master is
coming to see you.

MAD. Learn, you dunce, to express yourself a little less vulgarly. Say,
here is a necessary evil inquiring if it is commodious for you to become

[Footnote: All these and similar sentences were really employed by the

MAR. I do not understand Latin, and have not learned philosophy out of
Cyrus, as you have done.

[Footnote: _Artamene, ou le Grand Cyrus_, (1649-1653) a novel in ten
volumes by Madle. de Scudery.]

MAD. Impertinent creature! How can this be borne! And who is this
footman's master?

MAR. He told me it was the Marquis de Mascarille.

MAD. Ah, my dear! A marquis! a marquis! Well, go and tell him we are
visible. This is certainly some wit who has heard of us.

CAT. Undoubtedly, my dear.

MAD. We had better receive him here in this parlour than in our room.
Let us at least arrange our hair a little and maintain our reputation.
Come in quickly, and reach us the Counsellor of the Graces.

MAR. Upon my word, I do not know what sort of a beast that is; you must
speak like a Christian if you would have me know your meaning.

CAT. Bring us the looking-glass, you blockhead! and take care not to
contaminate its brightness by the communication of your image.


MASC. Stop, chairman, stop. Easy does it! Easy, easy! I think these
boobies intend to break me to pieces by bumping me against the walls and
the pavement.

1 CHAIR. Ay, marry, because the gate is narrow and you would make us
bring you in here.

MASC. To be sure, you rascals! Would you have me expose the fulness of
my plumes to the inclemency of the rainy season, and let the mud receive
the impression of my shoes? Begone; take away your chair.

2 CHAIR. Then please to pay us, sir.

MASC. What?

2 CHAIR. Sir, please to give us our money, I say.

MASC. (_Giving him a box on the ear_). What, scoundrel, to ask money
from a person of my rank!

2 CHAIR. Is this the way poor people are to be paid? Will your rank get
us a dinner?

MASC. Ha, ha! I shall teach you to keep your right place. Those low
fellows dare to make fun of me!

1 CHAIR. (_Taking up one of the poles of his chair_). Come, pay us

MASC. What?

1 CHAIR. I mean to have my money at once.

MASC. That is a sensible fellow.

1 CHAIR. Make haste, then.

MASC. Ay, you speak properly, but the other is a scoundrel, who does not
know what he says. There, are you satisfied?

1 CHAIR. No, I am not satisfied; you boxed my friend's ears, and ...
(_holding up his pole_).

MASC. Gently; there is something for the box on the ear. People may get
anything from me when they go about it in the right way. Go now, but
come and fetch me by and by to carry me to the Louvre to the _petit

[Footnote: Louis XIV. and several other Kings of France, received their
courtiers when rising or going to bed. This was called _lever_ and
_coucher_. The _lever_ as well as the _coucher_ was divided into _petit_
and _grand_. All persons received at court had a right to come to the
_grand lever_ and _coucher_, but only certain noblemen of high rank and
the princes of the royal blood could remain at the _petit lever_ and
_coucher_, which was the time between the king putting on either a day
or night shirt, and the time he went to bed or was fully dressed. The
highest person of rank always claimed the right of handing to the king
his shirt.]


MAR. Sir, my mistresses will come immediately.

MASC. Let them not hurry themselves; I am very comfortable here, and can

MAR. Here they come.


MASC. (_After having bowed to them_). Ladies, no doubt you will be
surprised at the boldness of my visit, but your reputation has drawn
this disagreeable affair upon you; merit has for me such potent charms,
that I run everywhere after it.

MAD. If you pursue merit you should not come to us.

CAT. If you find merit amongst us, you must have brought it hither

MASC. Ah! I protest against these words. When fame mentioned your
deserts it spoke the truth, and you are going to make _pic_, _repic_,
and _capot_. all the gallants from Paris.

[Footnote: Dryden, in his _Sir Martin Mar-all_ (Act i. sc. i), makes Sir
Martin say: "If I go to picquet...he will picque and repicque, and capot
me twenty times together" I believe that these terms in Molière's and
Dryden's times had a different meaning from what they have now.]

MAD. Your complaisance goes a little too far in the liberality of its
praises, and my cousin and I must take care not to give too much credit
to your sweet adulation.

CAT. My dear, we should call for chairs.

MAD. Almanzor!

ALM. Madam.

MAD. Convey to us hither, instantly, the conveniences of conversation.

MASC. But am I safe here? (_Exit Almanzor_.)

CAT. What is it you fear?

MASC. Some larceny of my heart; some massacre of liberty. I behold here
a pair of eyes that seem to be very naughty boys, that insult liberty,
and use a heart most barbarously. Why the deuce do they put themselves
on their guard, in order to kill any one who comes near them? Upon my
word! I mistrust them; I shall either scamper away, or expect very good
security that they do me no mischief.

MAD. My dear, what a charming facetiousness he has!

CAT. I see, indeed, he is an Amilcar.

[Footnote: Amilcar is one of the heroes of the novel _Clélie_, who
wishes to be thought sprightly.]

MAD. Fear nothing, our eyes have no wicked designs, and your heart may
rest in peace, fully assured of their innocence.

CAT. But, pray, Sir, be not inexorable to the easy chair, which, for
this last quarter of an hour, has held out its arms towards you; yield
to its desire of embracing you.

MASC. (_After having combed himself, and, adjusted the rolls of his
stockings_). Well, ladies, and what do you think of Paris?

[Footnote: It was at that time the custom for men of rank to comb their
hair or periwigs in public.]

[Footnote: The rolls (_canons_) were large round pieces of linen, often
adorned with lace or ribbons, and which were fastened below the breeches,
just under the knee.]

MAD. Alas! what can we think of it? It would be the very antipodes of
reason not to confess that Paris is the grand cabinet of marvels, the
centre of good taste, wit, and gallantry.

MASC. As for me, I maintain that, out of Paris, there is no salvation
for the polite world.

CAT. Most assuredly.

MASC. Paris is somewhat muddy; but then we have sedan chairs.

MAD. To be sure; a sedan chair is a wonderful protection against the
insults of mud and bad weather.

MASC. I am sure you receive many visits. What great wit belongs to your

MAD. Alas! we are not yet known, but we are in the way of being so; for
a lady of our acquaintance has promised us to bring all the gentlemen
who have written for the Miscellanies of Select Poetry.

[Footnote: Molière probably alludes to a Miscellany of Select Poetry,
published in 1653, by de Sercy, under the title of _Poésies choisies de
M. M. Corneille Benserade, de Scudéry, Boisrobert, Sarrazin, Desmarets,
Baraud, Saint-Laurent, Colletet. Lamesnardiere, Montreuil, Viguier,
Chevreau, Malleville, Tristan, Testu, Maucroy, de Prade, Girard et de
L'Age_. A great number of such miscellanies appeared in France, and in
England also, about that time.]

CAT. And certain others, whom, we have been told, are likewise the
sovereign arbiters of all that is handsome.

MASC. I can manage this for you better than any one; they all visit me;
and I may say that I never rise without having half-a-dozen wits at my

MAD. Good Heavens! you will place us under the greatest obligation if
you will do us the kindness; for, in short, we must make the
acquaintance of all those gentlemen if we wish to belong to the fashion.
They are the persons who can make or unmake a reputation at Paris; you
know that there are some, whose visits alone are sufficient to start the
report that you are a _Connaisseuse_, though there should be no other
reason for it. As for me, what I value particularly is, that by means of
these ingenious visits, we learn a hundred things which we ought
necessarily to know, and which are the quintessence of wit. Through them
we hear the scandal of the day, or whatever niceties are going on in
prose or verse. We know, at the right time, that Mr. So-and-so has
written the finest piece in the world on such a subject; that Mrs.
So-and-so has adapted words to such a tune; that a certain gentleman has
written a madrigal upon a favour shown to him; another stanzas upon a
fair one who betrayed him; Mr. Such-a-one wrote a couplet of six lines
yesterday evening to Miss Such-a-one, to which she returned him an
answer this morning at eight o'clock; such an author is engaged on such
a subject; this writer is busy with the third volume of his novel; that
one is putting his works to press. Those things procure you
consideration in every society, and if people are ignorant of them, I
would not give one pinch of snuff for all the wit they may have.

CAT. Indeed, I think it the height of ridicule for any one who possesses
the slightest claim to be called clever not to know even the smallest
couplet that is made every day; as for me, I should be very much ashamed
if any one should ask me my opinion about something new, and I had not
seen it.

MASC. It is really a shame not to know from the very first all that is
going on; but do not give yourself any farther trouble, I will establish
an academy of wits at your house, and I give you my word that not a
single line of poetry shall be written in Paris, but what you shall be
able to say by heart before anybody else. As for me, such as you see me,
I amuse myself in that way when I am in the humour, and you may find
handed about in the fashionable assemblies

[Footnote: In the original French the word is _ruelle_, which means
literally "a small street," "a lane," hence any narrow passage, hence
the narrow opening between the wall and the bed. The _Précieuses_ at
that time received their visitors lying dressed in a bed, which was
placed in an alcove and upon a raised platform. Their fashionable
friends (_alcovistes_) took their places between the bed and the wall,
and thus the name _ruelle_ came to be given to all fashionable
assemblies. In Dr. John Ash's New and Complete Dictionary of the English
Language, published in London 1755, I still find _ruelle_ defined: "a
little street, a circle, an assembly at a private house."]

of Paris two hundred songs, as many sonnets, four hundred epigrams, and
more than a thousand madrigals all made by me, without counting riddles
and portraits.

[Footnote: This kind of literature, in which one attempted to write a
portrait of one's self or of others, was then very much in fashion. La
Bruyere and de Saint-Simon in France, as well as Dryden and Pope in
England, have shown what a literary portrait may become in the hands of
men of talent.]

MAD. I must acknowledge that I dote upon portraits; I think there is
nothing more gallant.

MASC. Portraits are difficult, and call for great wit; you shall see
some of mine that will not displease you.

CAT. As for me, I am awfully fond of riddles.

MASC. They exercise the intelligence; I have already written four of
them this morning, which I will give you to guess.

MAD. Madrigals are pretty enough when they are neatly turned.

MASC. That is my special talent; I am at present engaged in turning the
whole Roman history into madrigals.

[Footnote: Seventeen years after this play was performed, Benserade
published _les Métamorphoses d' Ovide mises en rondeaux_.]

MAD. Goodness gracious! that will certainly be superlatively fine; I
should like to have one copy at least, if you think of publishing it.

MASC. I promise you each a copy, bound in the handsomest manner. It does
not become a man of my rank to scribble, but I do it only to serve the
publishers, who are always bothering me.

MAD. I fancy it must be a delightful thing to see one's self in print.

MASC. Undoubtedly; but, by the by, I must repeat to you some extempore
verses I made yesterday at the house of a certain duchess, an
acquaintance of mine. I am deuced clever at extempore verses.

CAT. Extempore verses are certainly the very touch-stone of genius.

MASC. Listen then.

MAD. We are all ears.

_Oh! oh! quite without heed was I,
As harmless you I chanced to spy,
Slily your eyes
My heart surprise,
Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief I cry!_

CAT. Good Heavens! this is carried to the utmost pitch of gallantry.

MASC. Everything I do shows it is done by a gentleman; there is nothing
of the pedant about my effusions.

MAD. They are more than two thousand miles removed from that.

MASC. Did you observe the beginning, _oh! oh?_ there is something
original in that _oh! oh!_ like a man who all of a sudden thinks about
something, _oh! oh!_ Taken by surprise as it were, _oh! oh!_

MAD. Yes, I think that _oh! oh!_ admirable.

MASC. It seems a mere nothing.

CAT. Good Heavens! How can you say so? It is one of these things that
are perfectly invaluable.

MAD. No doubt on it; I would rather have written that _oh! oh!_ than an
epic poem.

MASC. Egad, you have good taste.

MAD. Tolerably; none of the worst, I believe.

MASC. But do you not also admire _quite without heed was I? quite
without heed was I_, that is, I did not pay attention to anything; a
natural way of speaking, _quite without heed was I, of no harm
thinking_, that is, as I was going along, innocently, without malice,
like a poor sheep, _you I chanced to spy_, that is to say, I amused
myself with looking at you, with observing you, with contemplating you.
_Slily your eyes_. ... What do you think of that word _slily_--is it not
well chosen?

CAT. Extremely so.

MASC. _Slily_, stealthily; just like a cat watching a mouse--_slily_.

MAD. Nothing can be better.

MASC. My heart surprise, that is, carries it away from me, robs me of
it. _Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief!_ Would you not think a man were
shouting and running after a thief to catch him? _Stop thief! stop
thief! stop thief!_

[Footnote: The scene of Mascarille reading his extempore verses is
something like Trissotin in _Les Femmes savantes_ (see vol. III.)
reading his sonnet for the Princess Uranie. But Mascarille comments on
the beauties of his verses with the insolent vanity of a man who does
not pretend to have even one atom of modesty; Trissotin, a professional
wit, listens in silence, but with secret pride, to the ridiculous
exclamations of the admirers of his genius.]

MAD. I must admit the turn is witty and sprightly.

MASC. I will sing you the tune I made to it.

CAT. Have you learned music?

MASC. I? Not at all.

CAT. How can you make a tune then?

MASC. People of rank know everything without ever having learned

MAD. His lordship is quite in the right, my dear.

MASC. Listen if you like the tune: _hem, hem, la, la._ The inclemency of
the season has greatly injured the delicacy of my voice but no matter,
it is in a free and easy way. (_He sings_). _Oh! Oh! quite without heed
was I_, etc.

CAT. What a passion there breathes in this music. It is enough to make
one die away with delight!

MAD. There is something plaintive in it.

MASC. Do you not think that the air perfectly well expresses the
sentiment, _stop thief, stop thief?_ And then as if some one cried out
very loud, _stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop thief!_ Then all at once
like a person out of breath, _Stop thief!_

MAD. This is to understand the perfection of things, the grand
perfection, the perfection of perfections. I declare it is altogether a
wonderful performance. I am quite enchanted with the air and the words.

CAT. I never yet met with anything so excellent.

MASC. All that I do comes naturally to me; it is without study.

MAD. Nature has treated you like a very fond mother; you are her darling

MASC. How do you pass away the time, ladies?

CAT. With nothing at all.

MAD. Until now we have lived in a terrible dearth of amusements.

MASC. I am at your service to attend you to the play, one of those days,
if you will permit me. Indeed, a new comedy is to be acted which I
should be very glad we might see together.

MAD. There is no refusing you anything.

MASC. But I beg of you to applaud it well, when we shall be there; for I
have promised to give a helping hand to the piece. The author called
upon me this very morning to beg me so to do. It is the custom for
authors to come and read their new plays to people of rank, that they
may induce us to approve of them and give them a reputation. I leave you
to imagine if, when we say anything, the pit dares contradict us. As for
me, I am very punctual in these things, and when I have made a promise
to a poet, I always cry out "Bravo" before the candles are lighted.

MAD. Do not say another word; Paris is an admirable place. A hundred
things happen every day which people in the country, however clever they
may be, have no idea of.

CAT. Since you have told us, we shall consider it our duty to cry up
lustily every word that is said.

MASC. I do not know whether I am deceived, but you look as if you had
written some play yourself.

MAD. Eh! there may be something in what you say.

MASC. Ah! upon my word, we must see it. Between ourselves, I have
written one which I intend to have brought out.

CAT. Ay! to what company do you mean to give it?

MASC. That is a very nice question, indeed. To the actors of the hôtel
de Bourgogne; they alone can bring things into good repute; the rest are
ignorant creatures who recite their parts just as people speak in
every-day life; they do not understand to mouth the verses, or to pause
at a beautiful passage; how can it be known where the fine lines are, if
an actor does not stop at them, and thereby tell you to applaud

[Footnote: The company of actors at the hotel de Bourgogne were rivals
to the troop of Molière; it appears, however, from contemporary authors,
that the accusations brought by our author against them were

CAT. Indeed! that is one way of making an audience feel the beauties of
any work; things are only prized when they are well set off.

MASC. What do you think of my top-knot, sword-knot, and rosettes? Do you
find them harmonize with my coat?

[Footnote: In the original _petite oie_; this was first, the name given
to the giblets of a goose, _oie_; next it came to mean all the
accessories of dress, ribbons, laces, feathers, and other small
ornaments. In one of the old translations of Molière _petite oie_ is
rendered by "muff," and _Perdrigeon_ (see next note), I suppose, with a
faint idea of _perdrix_, a partridge, by "bird of paradise feathers!!"]

CAT. Perfectly.

MASC. Do you think the ribbon well chosen?

MAD. Furiously well. It is real Perdrigeon.

[Footnote: Perdrigeon was the name of a fashionable linen-draper in
Paris at that time.]

MASC. What do you say of my rolls?

[Footnote: According to Ash's Dictionary, 1775, _canons_, are "cannions,
a kind of boot hose, an ancient dress for the legs."]

MAD. They look very fashionable.

MASC, I may at least boast that they are a quarter of a yard wider than
any that have been made.

MAD. I must own I never saw the elegance of dress carried farther.

MASC. Please to fasten the reflection of your smelling faculty upon
these gloves.

MAD. They smell awfully fine.

CAT. I never inhaled a more delicious perfume.

MASC. And this? (_He gives them his powdered wig to smell_).

MAD. It has the true quality odour; it titillates the nerves of the
upper region most deliciously.

MASC. You say nothing of my feathers. How do you like them?

CAT. They are frightfully beautiful.

MASC. Do you know that every single one of them cost me a Louis-d'or?
But it is my hobby to have generally everything of the very best.

MAD. I assure you that you and I sympathize. I am furiously particular
in everything I wear; I cannot endure even stockings, unless they are
bought at a fashionable shop.

[Footnote: Without going into details about the phraseology of the
_précieuses_, of which the ridiculousness has appeared sufficiently in
this scene, it will be observed that they used adverbs, as "furiously,
terribly, awfully, extraordinarily, horribly, greatly," and many more,
in such a way that they often appear absurd, as, "I love you horribly,"
or, "he was greatly small." Such a way of speaking is not unknown even
at the present time in England; we sometimes hear, "I like it awfully,"
"it is awfully jolly."]

MASC. (_Crying out suddenly_). O! O! O! gently. Damme, ladies, you use
me very ill; I have reason to complain of your behaviour; it is not

[Footnote: I employ here the words "to have reason," because that verb,
in the sense of "to have a right, to be right," seems to have been a
courtly expression in Dryden's time. Old Moody answers to Sir Martin
Marall (Act iii., Scene 3), "You have reason, sir. There he is again,
too; the town phrase; a great compliment I wise! _you have reason_, sir;
that is, you are no beast, sir." ]

CAT. What is the matter with you?

MASC. What! two at once against my heart! to attack me thus right and
left! Ha! This is contrary to the law of nations, the combat is too
unequal, and I must cry out, "Murder!"

CAT. Well, he does say things in a peculiar way.

MAD. He is a consummate wit.

CAT. You are more afraid than hurt, and your heart cries out before it
is even wounded.

MASC. The devil it does! it is wounded all over from head to foot.


MAR. Madam, somebody asks to see you.

MAD. Who!

MAR. The Viscount de Jodelet.

MASC. The Viscount de Jodelet?

MAR. Yes, sir.

CAT. Do you know him?

MASC. He is my most intimate friend.

MAD. Shew him in immediately.

MASC. We have not seen each other for some time; I am delighted to meet

CAT. Here he comes.


MASC. Ah, Viscount!

JOD. Ah, Marquis! (_Embracing each other_).

MASC. How glad I am to meet you!

JOD. How happy I am to see you here.

MASC. Embrace me once more, I pray you.

[Footnote: It was then the fashion for young courtiers to embrace each
other repeatedly with exaggerated gestures, uttering all the while loud
exclamations. The Viscount de Jodelet is the caricature of a courtier of
a former reign; he is very old, very pale, dressed in sombre colours,
speaks slowly and through the nose. Geoffrin, the actor, who played this
part, was at least seventy years old.]

MAD. (_To Cathos_). My dearest, we begin to be known; people of fashion
find the way to our house.

MASC. Ladies, allow me to introduce this gentleman to you. Upon my word,
he deserves the honour of your acquaintance.

JOD. It is but just we should come and pay you what we owe; your charms
demand their lordly rights from all sorts of people.

MAD. You carry your civilities to the utmost confines of flattery.

CAT. This day ought to be marked in our diary as a red-letter day.

MAD. (_To Almanser_). Come, boy, must you always be told things over and
over again? Do you not observe there must be an additional chair?

MASC. You must not be astonished to see the Viscount thus; he has but
just recovered from an illness, which, as you perceive, has made him so

[Footnote: Molière here alludes to the complexion of the actor

JOD. The consequence of continual attendance at court and the fatigues
of war.

MASC. Do you know, ladies, that in the Viscount you behold one of the
heroes of the age. He is a very valiant man.

[Footnote: In the original _un brave à trois poils_, literally, "a brave
man with three hairs." This is an allusion to the moustache and pointed
beard on the chin, then called _royale_. We have seen the fashion
revived in our days by the late emperor of the French, Napoleon III. and
his courtiers; of course, the _royale_ was then called _impériale_.]

JOB. Marquis, you are not inferior to me; we also know what you can do.

MASC. It is true we have seen one another at work when there was need
for it.

JOD. And in places where it was hot.

MASC. (_Looking at Cathos and Madelon_). Ay, but not so hot as here. Ha,
ha, ha!

JOD. We became acquainted in the army; the first time we saw each other
he commanded a regiment of horse aboard the galleys of Malta.

MASC. True, but for all that you were in the service before me; I
remember that I was but a young officer when you commanded two thousand

JOD. War is a fine thing; but, upon my word, the court does not properly
reward men of merit like us.

MASC. That is the reason I intend to hang up my sword.

CAT. As for me, I have a tremendous liking for gentlemen of the army.

[Footnote: Cathos, who only repeats what her cousin says, and has
observed that Mascarille admires Madelon, is resolved to worship more
particularly the Viscount de Jodelet.]

MAD. I love them, too; but I like bravery seasoned with wit.

MASC. Do you remember, Viscount, our taking that half-moon from the
enemy at the siege of Arras?

[Footnote: Turenne compelled the Prince de Condé and the Spanish army to
raise the siege of Arras in 1654.]

JOD. What do you mean by a half-moon? It was a complete full moon.

MASC. I believe you are right.

JOD. Upon my word, I ought to remember it very well. I was wounded in
the leg by a hand-grenade, of which I still carry the marks. Pray, feel
it, you can perceive what sort of a wound it was.

CAT. (_Putting her hand to the place_). The scar is really large.

MASC. Give me your hand for a moment, and feel this; there, just at the
back of my head. Do you feel it?

MAD. Ay, I feel something.

MASC. A musket shot which I received the last campaign I served in.

JOD. (_Unbuttoning his breast_). Here is a wound which went quite
through me at the attack of Gravelines.

[Footnote: In 1658, the Marshal de la Ferte took this town from the

MASC. (_Putting his hand upon the button of his breeches_). I am going
to show you a tremendous wound.

MAD. There is no occasion for it, we believe it without seeing it.

MASC They are honour's marks, that show what a man is made of.

CAT. We have not the least doubt of the valour of you both.

MASC. Viscount, is your coach in waiting?

JOD. Why?

MASC. We shall give these ladies an airing, and offer them a collation.

MAD. We cannot go out to-day.

MASC. Let us send for musicians then, and have a dance.

JOD. Upon my word, that is a happy thought.

MAD. With all our hearts, but we must have some additional company.

MASC. So ho! Champagne, Picard, Bourguignon, Cascaret, Basque, La
Verdure, Lorrain, Provençal, La Violette. I wish the deuce took all
these footmen! I do not think there is a gentleman in France worse
served than I am! These rascals are always out of the way.

[Footnote: These names, with the exception of Cascaret, La Verdure and
La Violette are those of natives of different provinces, and were often
given to footmen, according to the place where they were born.
_Cascaret_ is of Spanish origin, and not seldom used as a name for
servants; _La Verdure_ means, verdure; _La Violette_, violet.]

MAD. Almanzor, tell the servants of my lord marquis to go and fetch the
musicians, and ask some of the gentlemen and ladies hereabouts to come
and people the solitude of our ball. (_Exit Almanzor_).

MASC. Viscount, what do you say of those eyes?

JOD. Why, Marquess, what do you think of them yourself?

MASC. I? I say that our liberty will have much difficulty to get away
from here scot free. At least mine has suffered most violent attacks; my
heart hangs by a single thread.

MAD. How natural is all he says! he gives to things a most agreeable

CAT. He must really spend a tremendous deal of wit.

MASC. To show you that I am in earnest, I shall make some extempore
verses upon my passion. (_Seems to think_).

CAT. O! I beseech you by all that I hold sacred, let us hear something
made upon us.

JOD. I should be glad to do so too, but the quantity of blood that has
been taken from me lately, has greatly exhausted my poetic vein.

MASC. Deuce take it! I always make the first verse well, but I find the
others more difficult. Upon my word, this is too short a time; but I
will make you some extempore verses at my leisure, which you shall think
the finest in the world.

JOD. He is devilish witty.

MAD. He--his wit is so gallant and well expressed.

MASC. Viscount, tell me, when did you see the Countess last?

JOD. I have not paid her a visit these three weeks.

MASC. Do you know that the duke came to see me this morning; he would
fain have taken me into the country to hunt a stag with him?

MAD. Here come our friends.


MAD. Lawk! my dears, we beg your pardon. These gentlemen had a fancy to
put life into our heels; we sent for you to fill up the void of our

LUC. We are certainly much obliged to you for doing so.

MASC. This is a kind of extempore ball, ladies, but one of these days we
shall give you one in form. Have the musicians come?

ALM. Yes, sir, they are here.

CAT. Come then, my dears, take your places.

MASC. (_Dancing by himself and singing_). La, la, la, la, la, la, la,

MAD. What a very elegant shape he has.

CAT. He looks as if he were a first-rate dancer.

MASC. (_Taking out Madelon to dance_). My freedom will dance a Couranto
as well as my feet. Play in time, musicians, in time. O what ignorant
wretches! There is no dancing with them. The devil take you all, can you
not play in time? La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la? Steady, you

[Footnote: A Couranto was a very grave, Spanish dance, or rather march,
but in which the feet did not rise from the ground.]

JOD. (_Dancing also_). Hold, do not play so fast. I have but just
recovered from an illness.


LA GR. (_With a stick in his hand_). Ah! ah! scoundrels, what are you
doing here? We have been looking for you these three hours. (_He beats

MASC. Oh! oh! oh! you did not tell me that blows should be dealt about.

JOD. (_Who is also beaten_). Oh! oh! oh!

LA GR. It becomes you well, you rascal, to pretend to be a man of rank.

DU CR. This will teach you to know yourself.


MAD. What is the meaning of this?

JOD. It is a wager.

CAT. What, allow yourselves to be beaten thus?

MASC. Good Heavens! I did not wish to appear to take any notice of it;
because I am naturally very violent, and should have flown into a

MAD. To suffer an insult like this in our presence!

MASC. It is nothing. Let us not leave off. We have known one another for
a long time, and among friends one ought not to be so quickly offended
for such a trifle.


LA GR. Upon my word, rascals, you shall not laugh at us, I promise you.
Come in, you there. (_Three or four men enter_).

MAD. What means this impudence to come and disturb us in our own house?

DU CR. What, ladies, shall we allow our footmen to be received better
than ourselves? Shall they come to make love to you at our expense, and
even give a ball in your honour?

MAD. Your footmen?

LA GR. Yes, our footmen; and you must give me leave to say that it is
not acting either handsome or honest to spoil them for us, as you do.

MAD. O Heaven! what insolence!

LA GR. But they shall not have the advantage of our clothes to dazzle
your eyes. Upon my word, if you are resolved to like them, it shall be
for their handsome looks only. Quick, let them be stripped immediately.

JOD. Farewell, a long farewell to all our fine clothes.

[Footnote: The original has _braverle_; brave, and bravery, had formerly
also the meaning of showy, gaudy, rich, in English. Fuller in _The Holy
State_, bk. ii., c. 18, says: "If he (the good yeoman) chance to appear
in clothes above his rank, it is to grace some great man with his
service, and then he blusheth at his own bravery."]

MASC. The marquisate and viscountship are at an end.

DU. CR. Ah! ah! you knaves, you have the impudence to become our rivals.
I assure you, you must go somewhere else to borrow finery to make
yourselves agreeable to your mistresses.

LA GR. It is too much to supplant us, and that with our own clothes.

MASC. O fortune, how fickle you are!

DU CR. Quick, pull off everything from them.

LA GR. Make haste and take away all these clothes. Now, ladies, in their
present condition you may continue your amours with them as long as you
please; we leave you perfectly free; this gentleman and I declare
solemnly that we shall not be in the least degree jealous.


CAT. What a confusion!

MAD. I am nearly bursting with vexation.

1 MUS. (_To Mascarille_). What is the meaning of this? Who is to pay us?

MASC. Ask my lord the viscount.

1 MUS. (_To Jodelet_). Who is to give us our money?

JOD. Ask my lord the marquis.


GORG. Ah! you hussies, you have put us in a nice pickle, by what I can
see; I have heard about your fine goings on from those two gentlemen who
just left.

MAD. Ah, father! they have played us a cruel trick.

GORG. Yes, it is a cruel trick, but you may thank your own impertinence
for it, you jades. They have revenged themselves for the way you treated
them; and yet, unhappy man that I am, I must put up with the affront.

MAD. Ah! I swear we will be revenged, or I shall die in the attempt. And
you, rascals, dare you remain here after your insolence?

MASC. Do you treat a marquis in this manner? This is the way of the
world; the least misfortune causes us to be slighted by those who before
caressed us. Come along, brother, let us go and seek our fortune
somewhere else; I perceive they love nothing here but outward show, and
have no regard for worth unadorned. (_They both leave_).


1 MUS. Sir, as they have not paid us, we expect you to do so, for it was
in this house we played.

GORG. (_Beating them_). Yes, yes, I shall satisfy you; this is the coin
I will pay you in. As for you, you sluts, I do not know why I should not
serve you in the same way; we shall become the common talk and
laughing-stock of everybody; this is what you have brought upon
yourselves by your fooleries. Out of my sight and hide yourselves, you
jades; go and hide yourselves forever. {_Alone_). And you, that are the
cause of their folly, you stupid trash, mischievous amusements for idle
minds, you novels, verses, songs, sonnets, and sonatas, the devil take
you all.


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