Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
Molière & Charles Heron Wall
SCENE VI.——HARPAGON, FROSINE.
HAR.
(aside). All is as it should be. (To Frosine) Well, what is it, Frosine?
FRO.
Bless me, how well you look! You are the very picture of health.
HAR.
Who? I?
FRO.
Never have I seen you looking more rosy, more hearty.
HAR.
Are you in earnest?
FRO.
Why! you have never been so young in your life; and I know many a man of twenty-five who looks much older than you do.
HAR.
And yet, Frosine, I have passed threescore.
FRO.
Threescore! Well, and what then? You don't mean to make a trouble of that, do you? It's the very flower of manhood, the threshold of the prime of life.
HAR.
True; but twenty years less would do me no harm, I think.
FRO.
Nonsense! You've no need of that, and you are of a build to last out a hundred.
HAR.
Do you really think so?
FRO.
Decidedly. You have all the appearance of it. Hold yourself up a little. Ah! what a sign of long life is that line there straight between your two eyes!
HAR.
You know all about that, do you?
FRO.
I should think I do. Show me your hand.3 Dear me, what a line of life there is there!
HAR.
Where?
FRO.
Don't you see how far this line goes?
HAR.
Well, and what does it mean?
FRO.
What does it mean? There … I said a hundred years; but no, it is one hundred and twenty I ought to have said.
HAR.
Is it possible?
FRO.
I tell you they will have to kill you, and you will bury your children and your children's children.
HAR.
So much the better! And what news of our affair?
FRO.
Is there any need to ask? Did ever anyone see me begin anything and not succeed in it? I have, especially for matchmaking, the most wonderful talent. There are no two persons in the world I could not couple together; and I believe that, if I took it into my head, I could make the Grand Turk marry the Republic of Venice.4 But we had, to be sure, no such difficult thing to achieve in this matter. As I know the ladies very well, I told them every particular about you; and I acquainted the mother with your intentions towards Marianne since you saw her pass in the street and enjoy the fresh air out of her window.
HAR.
What did she answer…?
FRO.
She received your proposal with great joy; and when I told her that you wished very much that her daughter should come to-night to assist at the marriage contract which is to be signed for your own daughter, she assented at once, and entrusted her to me for the purpose.
HAR.
You see, Frosine, I am obliged to give some supper to Mr. Anselme, and I should like her to have a share in the feast.
FRO.
You are quite right. She is to come after dinner to pay a visit to your daughter; then she means to go from here to the fair, and return to your house just in time for supper.
HAR.
That will do very well; they shall go together in my carriage, which I will lend them.
FRO.
That will suit her perfectly.
HAR.
But I say, Frosine, have you spoken to the mother about the dowry she can give her daughter? Did you make her understand that under such circumstances she ought to do her utmost and to make a great sacrifice? For, after all, one does not marry a girl without her bringing something with her.
FRO.
How something! She is a girl who will bring you a clear twelve thousand francs a year?
HAR.
Twelve thousand francs a year?
FRO.
Yes! To begin with, she has been nursed and brought up with the strictest notions of frugality. She is a girl accustomed to live upon salad, milk, cheese, and apples, and who consequently will require neither a well served up table, nor any rich broth, nor your everlasting peeled barley; none, in short, of all those delicacies that another woman would want. This is no small matter, and may well amount to three thousand francs yearly. Besides this, she only cares for simplicity and neatness; she will have none of those splendid dresses and rich jewels, none of that sumptuous furniture in which girls like her indulge so extravagantly; and this item is worth more than four thousand francs per annum. Lastly, she has the deepest aversion to gambling; and this is not very common nowadays among women. Why, I know of one in our neighbourhood who lost at least twenty thousand francs this year. But let us reckon only a fourth of that sum. Five thousand francs a year at play and four thousand in clothes and jewels make nine thousand; and three thousand francs which we count for food, does it not make your twelve thousand francs?
HAR.
Yes, that's not bad; but, after all, that calculation has nothing real in it.
FRO.
Excuse me; is it nothing real to bring you in marriage a great sobriety, to inherit a great love for simplicity in dress, and the acquired property of a great hatred for gambling?
HAR.
It is a farce to pretend to make up a dowry with all the expenses she will not run into. I could not give a receipt for what I do not receive; and I must decidedly get something.
FRO.
Bless me! you will get enough; and they have spoken to me of a certain country where they have some property, of which you will be master.
HAR.
We shall have to see to that. But, Frosine, there is one more thing that makes me uneasy. The girl is young, you know; and young people generally like those who are young like themselves, and only care for the society of the young. I am afraid that a man of my age may not exactly suit her taste, and that this may occasion in my family certain complications that would in nowise be pleasant to me.
FRO.
Oh, how badly you judge her! This is one more peculiarity of which I had to speak to you. She has the greatest detestation to all young men, and only likes old people.
HAR. Does she?
FRO.
I should like you to hear her talk on that subject; she cannot bear at all the sight of a young man, and nothing delights her more than to see a fine old man with a venerable beard. The oldest are to her the most charming, and I warn you beforehand not to go and make yourself any younger than you really are. She wishes for one sixty years old at least; and it is not more than six months ago that on the very eve of being married she suddenly broke off the match on learning that her lover was only fifty-six years of age, and did not put on spectacles to sign the contract.
HAR.
Only for that?
FRO.
Yes; she says there is no pleasure with a man of fifty-six; and she has a decided affection for those who wear spectacles.
HAR.
Well, this is quite new to me.
FRO.
No one can imagine how far she carries this. She has in her room a few pictures and engravings, and what do you imagine they are? An Adonis, a Cephalus, a Paris, an Apollo? Not a bit of it! Fine portraits of Saturn, of King Priam, of old Nestor, and of good father Anchises on his son's shoulders.
HAR.
That's admirable. I should never have guessed such a thing; and I am very pleased to hear that she has such taste as this. Indeed had I been a woman, I should never have loved young fellows.
FRO.
I should think not. Fine trumpery indeed, these young men, for any one to fall in love with. Fine jackanapes and puppies for a woman to hanker after. I should like to know what relish anyone can find in them?
HAR.
Truly; I don't understand it myself, and I cannot make out how it is that some women dote so on them.
FRO.
They must be downright idiots. Can any one be in his senses who thinks youth amiable? Can those curly-pated coxcombs be men, and can one really get attached to such animals?
HAR.
Exactly what I say every day! With their effeminate voices, their three little bits of a beard turned up like cat's whiskers, their tow wigs, their flowing breeches and open breasts!
FRO.
Yes; they are famous guys compared with yourself. In you we see something like a man. There is enough to satisfy the eye. It is thus that one should be made and dressed to inspire love.
HAR.
Then you think I am pretty well?
FRO.
Pretty well! I should think so; you are charming, and your face would make a beautiful picture. Turn round a little, if you please. You could not find anything better anywhere. Let me see you walk. You have a well-shaped body, free and easy, as it should be, and one which gives no sign of infirmity.
HAR.
I have nothing the matter to speak of, I am thankful to say. It is only my cough, which returns from time to time.5
FRO.
That is nothing, and coughing becomes you exceedingly well.
HAR.
Tell me, Frosine, has Marianne seen me yet? Has she not noticed me when I passed by?
FRO.
No; but we have had many conversations about you. I gave her an exact description of your person, and I did not fail to make the most of your merit, and to show her what an advantage it would be to have a husband like you.
HAR.
You did right, and I thank you very much for it.
FRO.
I have, Sir, a small request to make to you. I am in danger of losing a lawsuit for want of a little money (Harpagon looks grave), and you can easily help me with it, if you have pity upon me. You cannot imagine how happy she will be to see you. (Harpagon looks joyful.) Oh! how sure you are to please her, and how sure that antique ruff of yours is to produce a wonderful effect on her mind. But, above all, she will be delighted with your breeches fastened to your doublet with tags; that will make her mad after you, and a lover who wears tags will be most welcome to her.
HAR.
You send me into raptures, Frosine, by saying that.
FRO.
I tell you the truth, Sir; this lawsuit is of the utmost importance for me. (Harpagon looks serious again.) If I lose it, I am for ever ruined; but a very small sum will save me. I should like you to have seen the happiness she felt when I spoke of you to her. (Harpagon looks pleased again.) Joy sparkled in her eyes while I told her of all your good qualities; and I succeeded, in short, in making her look forward with the greatest impatience to the conclusion of the match.
HAR.
You have given me great pleasure, Frosine, and I assure you I …
FRO.
I beg of you, Sir, to grant me the little assistance I ask of you. (Harpagon again looks grave.) It will put me on my feet again, and I shall feel grateful to you for ever.
HAR.
Good-bye; I must go and finish my correspondence.
FRO.
I assure you, Sir, that you could not help me in a more pressing necessity.
HAR.
I will see that my carriage is ready to take you to the fair.
FRO.
I would not importune you so if I were not compelled by necessity.
HAR.
And I will see that we have supper early, so that nobody may be ill.
FRO.
Do not refuse me the service; I beg of you. You can hardly believe, Sir, the pleasure that …
HAR.
I must go; somebody is calling me. We shall see each other again by and by.
FRO.
(alone). May the fever seize you, you stingy cur, and send you to the devil and his angels! The miser has held out against all my attacks; but I must not drop the negotiation; for I have the other side, and there, at all events, I am sure of a good reward.
Footnotes:
3. Frosine professes a knowledge of palmistry.
4. Old enemies. The Turks took Candia from the Venetians in 1669, after a war of twenty years.
5. Molière makes use even of his own infirmities. Compare act i. scene iii. This cough killed him at last.