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ACT I. - Voltaire, The Works of Voltaire, Vol. IX The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Alzire, Orestes, Sémiramis, Catiline, Pandora) and Part II (The Scotch Woman, Nanine, The Prude, The Tatler). [1901]

Edition used:

From The Works of Voltaire, A Contemporary Version, (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901), A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming. Vol. IX The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Alzire, Orestes, Sémiramis, Catiline, Pandora) and Part II (The Scotch Woman, Nanine, The Prude, The Tatler).

Part of: The Works of Voltaire. A Contemporary Version, in 21 vols.

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ACT I.

SCENE I.

The scene represents a coffee-house, with apartments on the same floor on each side communicating with it.

wasp.

[At one corner of the room reading the papers. Coffee, pen and ink, etc., on the table before him.]

A plague on this vile news! here are places and pensions given to above twenty people, and nothing for me! a present of a hundred guineas to a subaltern for doing his duty! a great merit indeed! so much to the inventor of a machine to lessen the number of hands; so much to a pilot; so much settled on men of letters, but nothing for me! here’s another pension, and another—but the deuce a farthing for Wasp [he throws down the paper and walks about] and yet I have done the state some service; I have written more than any one man in England; I have raised the price of paper; and yet nothing is done for me: but I will be revenged on all those whom the world calls men of merit: I have got something already by speaking ill of others; and if I can but contrive to do them a real mischief, my fortune is made. I have praised fools, and calumniated every good quality and perfection of human nature, and yet can scarce live by it: in short, to be a great man, you must not be content with slander and destruction, but endeavor to be really hurtful. [To the master of the coffee-house.] Good morrow to you, Mr. Fabrice. Well, Mr. Fabrice, everybody’s affairs, I find, go well but mine; it is intolerable.

fabrice.

Indeed, indeed, Mr. Wasp, you make yourself a great many enemies.

wasp.

I believe I excite a little envy.

fabrice.

On my soul I believe not; but rather a passion of a very different kind: to be free, for I have really a friendship for you, I am extremely concerned to hear people talk of you as they do: how do you contrive to be so universally hated?

wasp.

It is because I have merit, Mr. Fabrice.

fabrice.

That may possibly be; but you are the only person who ever told me so: they say you are a very ignorant fellow: but that is nothing; they say, moreover, that you are ill-natured and malicious; that gives me concern, as it must every honest man.

wasp.

I assure you I have a good and tender heart. I do indeed now and then speak a little freely of the men; but for the women, Mr. Fabrice, I love them all, provided they are handsome. As a proof of it, I must absolutely insist on your introducing me to your amiable lodger, whom I have never yet been able to converse with.

fabrice.

Upon honor, Mr. Wasp, that young lady will never do for you; for she never praises herself, or speaks ill of anybody else.

wasp.

She speaks ill of nobody, because, I suppose, she knows nobody: are you not in love with her, Fabrice?

fabrice.

Not I indeed, sir; she has something in her air so noble, that I dare not think of it—besides, her virtue—

wasp.

[Laughing.

Ha! ha! ha! her virtue indeed!

fabrice.

Why so merry, sir? think you there is no such thing as virtue?—but I hear a coach at the door, and yonder is a livery servant with a portmanteau in his hand; some lord coming to lodge with me, perhaps.

wasp.

Be sure, my dear friend, you recommend me to him as soon as possible.

SCENE II.

lord montross, fabrice, wasp.

montross.

You, sir, I suppose, are Mr. Fabrice.

fabrice.

At your service, sir.

montross.

I shall stay here only a few days. (Protect me, heaven, unhappy as I am!) I am recommended to you, sir, as a worthy honest man.

fabrice.

So, sir, we ought all to be. You will here, sir, I believe, meet with all the conveniences of life; a tolerably good apartment, and my own table, if you choose to do me the honor to dine at it, and the amusement of coffee-house conversation.

montross.

Have you many boarders with you at present?

fabrice.

Only one young lady, sir, very handsome and extremely virtuous.

wasp.

O mighty virtuous, ha! ha!

fabrice.

Who lives quite retired.

montross.

Beauty and youth are not for me. Let me have an apartment, sir, if possible, entirely to myself. (What do I feel!) Have you any remarkable news in London?

fabrice.

This gentleman, sir, can inform you: he talks and writes more than any one man in England, and is extremely useful to foreigners.

montross.

[Walking about.

I have other business.

fabrice.

I’ll step out, sir, and get things ready for you.

[Exit.

wasp.

[Aside.

This gentleman, I suppose, is just arrived in England: he must be some great man, for he seems to care for nobody. [Turning to Montross.] Permit me, my lord, to present to your lordship my respects; my pen and self, my lord, are at your lordship’s service.

montross.

I am no lord, sir: to boast of a title, if we have one, is the part of a fool; and to assume one when we have no right, that of a knave. I am what I am; but pray, sir, what may be your employment in this house?

wasp.

I don’t belong to the house, sir; but I spend most of my time in the coffee-room; write news, politics, and so forth, and am always ready to do an honest gentleman service. If you have any friend you want to have praised, or any enemy to be abused; any author you want to protect or to decry; ’tis but one guinea per paragraph: if you are desirous of cultivating any acquaintance for profit or pleasure, sir, I am your man.

montross.

And have you no other business, friend?

wasp.

O sir, it is a very good one, I assure you.

montross.

And have you never been shown in public with a pretty iron collar about your neck?

wasp.

This fellow has no notion of literature.

SCENE III.

wasp.

[Sitting down to the table] several people walking about the coffee-house; Montross comes forward.

montross.

Will my misfortunes never have an end? proscribed, banished, condemned to lose my head in Scotland; in my dear native country: I have lost my honors, my wife, my son, my whole family; except one unhappy daughter, like myself a miserable wanderer, perhaps dishonored; and must I die without taking revenge on Murray’s barbarous family? I am razed out of the book of life; I am no more; even my name is wrested from me by that cruel decree: I am but a poor departed ghost, that hovers round its tomb.

[One of the gentlemen in the coffee-house slapping Wasp on the shoulder.

Well! you saw the new piece yesterday, it met with great applause; the author is a young fellow of merit, but has no fortune, the public ought to encourage him.

another.

Rot the new piece; public affairs are strangely carried on; stocks rise; the nation’s rich, and I’m ruined, absolutely undone.

wasp.

[Writing.

The piece is good for nothing; the author’s a fool, and so are all those that support him: public affairs are in a wretched condition: the nation’s ruined: I shall prove it in my pamphlet.

another gentleman.

Your pamphlet’s nonsense: philosophy is the most dangerous thing in the world; it was that which lost us the island of Minorca.

montross.

[At a distance from them.

Lord Murray’s son shall pay dearly for it. O that before I die I could avenge the father’s injuries in the son’s blood!

a gentleman.

I thought the comedy last night was an excellent one.

wasp.

Detestable: our taste grows worse and worse.

another gentleman.

Not so bad as your criticisms.

another.

Philosophers sink the public funds: we must send another ambassador to Porte.

wasp.

We should always hiss a successful piece, for fear anything good should appear.

[Four of them talk at once.

first gentleman.

If there was nothing good, you would lose all the pleasure of satirizing it: now I think the fifth act has great beauties.

second gentleman.

I can’t sell any of my goods.

third gentleman.

I am in pain for Jamaica this year: depend on’t, these philosophers will make us lose it.

wasp.

The fourth and fifth acts are both contemptible.

montross.

What a riot is here.

first gentleman.

It is impossible the government can exist as it is.

second gentleman.

If the price of Barbadoes water is not lowered, the nation’s undone.

montross.

How happens it, that in every country when men meet they all talk together, though they are certain of not being heard or attended to!

enter fabrice.

[A napkin in his hand.

Dinner’s on the table, gentlemen; but pray, let us have no disputes there, if you mean to dine with me any more. Sir, [Turning to Montross.] shall we have the honor of your company?

montross.

What, with this tribe? no, friend, let me have something in my own room. Hark’ee, sir, [Whispering to him.] Is my Lord Falbridge in London?

fabrice.

No, sir, but I believe he will be here soon.

montross.

Does he come to your house sometimes? I think I have heard so.

fabrice.

He has done me that honor.—

montross.

Very well. Good morrow to you.—How hateful is life to me!

[Exit.

fabrice.

This man seems lost in grief and thought; I should not be surprised to hear he had made away with himself; ’twould concern me, for he has the appearance of a worthy gentleman.

[The gentlemen leave the coffee-house, and go to dinner; Wasp continues at the table writing: Fabrice knocks at Mrs. Lindon’s door.

SCENE IV.

fabrice, polly, wasp.

fabrice.

Mrs. Polly, Mrs. Polly.

polly.

Who’s there, my landlord?

fabrice.

Will you be so obliging as to favor us with your company to dinner?

polly.

I dare not, my mistress eats nothing. How indeed should we eat! we have too much grief.

fabrice.

O it will give you spirits, and make you cheerful.

polly.

I can’t be cheerful: when my mistress suffers, I must suffer with her.

fabrice.

Then I’ll send you up something privately.

[Exit.

wasp.

[Rising from the table.

I’ll follow you, Mr. Fabrice—well, and so, my dear Polly, you will not introduce me to your mistress—still inflexible?

polly.

’Tis a fine thing for you to pretend to make love to a woman of her condition.

wasp.

Pray what is her condition?

polly.

A respectable one, I assure you, sir. I should think a servant was good enough for you.

wasp.

That is to say, if I were to court you, you would be thankful.

polly.

Not I, indeed.

wasp.

And what, pray, is the reason why your mistress positively refuses to see me, and her waiting-maid treats me so contemptuously?

polly.

We have three reasons for it. First, you are a wit; secondly, you are very tiresome; and thirdly, you are a wicked fellow.

wasp.

And what right has your mistress, pray, who is kept here on charity, to despise me?

polly.

Upon charity? who told you so, sir? my mistress, sir, is very rich: if she is not expensive, it is because she hates pomp: she is plainly clad, out of modesty, and eats little, because temperance is prescribed to her: in short, sir, you are very impertinent.

wasp.

Don’t let her give herself so many airs; we know her conduct, her birth, and her adventures.

polly.

You, sir, who told them you? what do you know?

wasp.

O, I have correspondents in every part of the world.

polly.

[Aside.

O heaven! this man will ruin us.

[Turning to him.

Mr. Wasp, my dear Mr. Wasp, if you know anything, don’t betray us.

wasp.

O ho! there is something then, and now I am dear Mr. Wasp: well, well, I shall say nothing, but you must—

polly.

What?

wasp.

You must love me.

polly.

Fie, fie, sir, that’s impossible.

wasp.

Either love or fear me. You know there is something—

polly.

There is nothing, sir, but that my mistress is as respectable as you are hateful. We are truly easy. We fear nothing, and only laugh at you.

wasp.

They are very easy: from that I conclude they are almost starved: they fear nothing, that is to say, they are afraid of being discovered—I shall get to the bottom of it by and by, or—I shall not. I’ll be revenged on them for their insolence. Despise me!

SCENE V.

Miss Lindon [Coming out of her chamber dressed very plainly.

miss lindon, polly.

miss lindon.

O my dear Polly, you have been with that vile fellow, Wasp; he always makes me uneasy; a destestable character, whose pen, words, and actions are all equally abominable: they tell me he works himself into families to bring in misery where there is none, and to increase it where it is: I had left this house because he frequents it, long since, but for the honesty and good heart of our landlord.

polly.

He absolutely insisted on seeing you, and I would not let him.

miss lindon.

To see me! where is my Lord Murray, he has not been here these two days!

polly.

True, madam, but because he does not come, are we never to dine?

miss lindon.

Remember, Polly, to conceal my misery from him, and from all the world: I am content to live on bread and water: poverty is not intolerable, but contempt is: I am satisfied to be in want, but I would not have it known I am so.

polly.

Alas! my dear mistress, whoever looks at me will easily perceive it: with you it is a different thing; your nobleness of soul supports you, you seem to rejoice in calamities, and only look the handsomer for it: but I grow thinner and thinner, you may see me fall away every minute; I am so altered within this last year that I scarcely know myself.

miss lindon.

We must not part with our courage nor our hopes: I can support my own poverty, but yours indeed affects me. My dear girl, let the labor of my hands relieve you, we will have no obligations to anybody. Go and sell this embroidery which I have done lately. I think I succeed pretty well in this kind of work. You have assisted me, and in return my hands shall feed and clothe you: It is noble to owe our subsistence to nothing but our virtue.

polly.

Let me kiss, let me bathe with my tears the dear hands that have labored in my service O! I had rather die with my dear mistress in poverty, than be servant to a queen. Would I could administer some comfort to you!

miss lindon.

Alas! Lord Murray is not come: he whom I ought to hate, the son of him who was the author of all my misfortunes: alas! the name of Murray will be forever fatal to me: if he comes, as he certainly will, let him not know my country, my condition, or my misfortunes.

polly.

Do you know, that villain, Wasp, pretends to be well acquainted with him?

miss lindon.

How is it possible he should know anything of him, when even you are scarcely acquainted with him? Nobody writes to me, I am locked up in my chamber as closely as if I were in my grave: he only pretends to know something in order to make himself necessary: take care he does not so much as find out the place of my birth. You know, my dear Polly, I am an unfortunate woman whose father was banished in the late troubles, and whose family is ruined: my father is wandering from desert to desert in Scotland. I should have left London to join him in his misfortunes, but that I have still some hopes in Lord Falbridge; he was my father’s friend: our true friends never desert us. He has returned from Spain, and is now at Windsor: I wait but to see him: but alas! Murray comes not. I have opened my heart to thee, remember the most fatal blow thou canst give to it would be the disclosure of my condition.

polly.

To whom should I disclose it; I never go from you; besides that, the world is very indifferent about the poor and unfortunate.

miss lindon.

The world is indifferent, Polly, in this respect; but still it is always inquisitive, and loves to tear open the wounds of the wretched: besides that, the men assume a right over our sex when they are unhappy, and abuse their power. I would make even my miseries respectable: but alas! Lord Murray will not come.

SCENE VI.

miss lindon, polly, fabrice.

fabrice.

Forgive me, madam, I am not acquainted with your name or quality; but I have, I know not why, the greatest respect for you. I have left the company below to wait on you, and know your commands.

miss lindon.

The regard which you express for me, my dear sir, deserves my most grateful acknowledgments: but what are your commands with me?

fabrice.

I came, madam, only to know yours: you had no dinner yesterday.

miss lindon.

I was sick, sir, and could not eat.

fabrice.

You are worse than sick, madam, you are melancholy: you will pardon me, but I cannot help thinking your fortune is not equal to your person and appearance.

miss lindon.

Why should you think so? I never complained of my fortune.

fabrice.

Notwithstanding that, madam, I am sure it is not what you could wish it were.

miss lindon.

What say you?

fabrice.

I say, madam, that the world you seem to shun, admires and pities you. I am but a plain man, madam, but I can see all your merit as well as the finest courtier. Let me entreat you, my dear lady, to take a little refreshment: there is above stairs an elderly gentleman who would be glad to eat with you.

miss lindon.

What, sit down to table with a stranger!

fabrice.

The gentleman, I am sure, would be agreeable to you: you seem afflicted, and so does he. The communication of your grief might, perhaps, give mutual consolation.

miss lindon.

I cannot, will not, see anybody.

fabrice.

At least, madam, permit my wife to pay her respects to you, and keep you company: permit her—

miss lindon.

I return you thanks, sir, but I want nothing.

fabrice.

You will pardon me, madam, but I cannot think you want nothing, when you stand in need even of common necessaries.

miss lindon.

Who could make you believe so? indeed, sir, you are imposed upon.

fabrice.

You will forgive me, madam.

miss lindon.

O Polly, ’tis two o’clock, and Lord Murray not come yet!

fabrice.

That lord you speak of, madam, is one of the best of men; you never received him here but before company. Why would not you permit me to furnish out a little repast for you both? he is, perhaps, a relative of yours.

miss lindon.

My dear sir, you are mistaken.

fabrice.

[Pulling Polly by the sleeve.

Go, child, there is a good dinner for you in the next room. This woman is incomprehensible: but who is yonder lady in the coffee-room with a masculine air? I should have taken her for a man: how wildly she looks!

polly.

O my dear mistress! ’tis Lady Alton, who wanted to marry my lord—I remember I saw her once before this way: ’tis certainly she.

miss lindon.

And my lord not come! then I am undone. Why am I still condemned to live?

[She goes in.

SCENE VII.

lady alton.

[Walking across the stage in a violent passion, and taking Fabrice by the arm.

Follow me, sir, I must talk with you.

fabrice.

With me, madam?

lady alton.

With you, wretch.

fabrice.

What a devil of a woman!

End of the First Act.