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• The Works of Voltaire: the Dramatic Works of Voltaire Vol. Ix— Part I
• Alzire
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• Orestes
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• SÉmiramis
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• Catiline
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• Pandora
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• The Dramatic Works of Voltaire Vol. Ix—part Ii
• The Scotch Woman
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• Nanine
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• The Prude
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• The Tatler
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

the count d’olban, the baroness de l’orme.

baroness.

In short, my lord, it is time to come to an explanation with regard to this affair; we are no children; therefore, let us talk freely: you have been a widower for these two years past, and I, a widow about as long: the lawsuit in which we were unfortunately engaged, and which gave us both so much uneasiness, is at an end; and all our animosities, I hope, now buried with those who were the causes of them.

count.

I am glad of it; for lawsuits were always my aversion.

baroness.

And am not I as hateful as a lawsuit?

count.

You, madam?

baroness.

Yes, I, sir: for these two years past we have lived together, with freedom, as relations and friends; the ties of blood, taste, and interest, seem to unite us, and to point out a more intimate connection.

count.

Interest, madam? make use of some better term, I beseech you.

baroness.

That, sir, I cannot; but with grief I find, your inconstant heart no longer considers me in any other light than as your relative.

count.

I do not wear the appearance, madam, of a trifler.

baroness.

You wear the appearance, sir, of a perjured villain.

count.

[Aside.

Ha! what’s this?

baroness.

Yes, sir: you know the suit my husband began against you, to recover my estate, was, by agreement, to have been terminated by a marriage; a marriage you told me, of choice; you are engaged to me, you know you are; and he who defers the execution of his promise seldom means to perform it.

count.

You know, I wait for my mother’s consent.

baroness.

A doting old woman: well, sir, and what then?

count.

I love and respect her yet.

baroness.

But I do not, sir. Come, come, these are idle, frivolous excuses for your unpardonable falsehood: you wait not for her, or for anybody; perfidious, ungrateful man!

count.

Who told you so, madam, and whence all this violence of passion? who told you so? whence comes your information, madam?

baroness.

Who told me? yourself, yourself. Your words, your manner, your air, your whole behavior, put on on purpose to affront me: it shocks me to see it: act in another manner, or find some better excuses for your conduct: can you think me blind to the shameful, unworthy passion that directs you, a passion for the lowest, meanest object? you have deceived me, sir, basely deceived me.

count.

’Tis false, I cannot deceive; dissimulation is no part of my character. I own to you, there was a time when you were agreeable to me; I admired you, and flattered myself that I should have found in you a treasure to make amends for that which heaven had deprived me of; I hoped in this sweet asylum to have tasted the fruits of a peaceful and happy union: but you have found out the means to destroy your own power. Love, as I told you long since, has two quivers: one filled with darts, tipped with the purest flame, which inspires the soul with tender feelings, refines our taste and sentiments, enlivens our affection, and enhances our pleasures; the other is full of cruel arrows, that wound our hearts with quarrels, jealousy, and suspicion, bring on coldness and indifference, and remove the warmth of passion to make room for disgust and satiety: these, madam, are the darts which you have drawn forth, against us both, and yet you expect that I should love.

baroness.

There, indeed, I own myself in the wrong: I ought not to expect it: it is not in your power: but you are false, and now would reproach me for it, and I must suffer your insults, your fine similes and illustrations: but pray, sir, what is it I have done to lose this mighty treasure? what have you to find fault with?

count.

Your temper, your humors, madam: beauty pleases the eye alone, softness and complacency charm the soul.

baroness.

And have not you your humors, too, sir?

count.

Doubtless, madam; and, for that very reason, would have an indulgent wife; one whose sweet complying goodness would bend a little to my frailties, and condescend to reconcile me to myself, to heal my wounds without burning them, to correct without assuming, to govern without being a tyrant, to insinuate herself by degrees into my heart, as the light of a fine day opens gradually on the weak and delicate eye: he who feels the yoke that is put on him will always murmur at it; and tyrannic love is a deity that I abjure: I would be a lover, but not a slave: your pride, madam, would make me contemptible: I have faults, I own I have; but heaven made woman to correct the leaven of our souls, to soften our afflictions, sweeten our bad humors, soothe our passions, and make us better and happier beings: this was what they were designed for; and, for my part, I would prefer ugliness and affability to beauty with pride and arrogance.

baroness.

Excellently well moralized, indeed; and so when you insult, abuse, and betray me, I in return, with mean complacency, must forgive the shameful extravagance of your passion; and your assumed air of grandeur and magnanimity must be a sufficient excuse to me for all the baseness of your heart.

count.

How, madam?

baroness.

Yes, sir: I know you: it is the young Nanine who has done me this injury; a child, a servant, a field beggar, whom my foolish tenderness nourished and supported; whom your fond, easy mother, touched with false pity, took up out of the bosom of penury and sorrow. O you blush, sir, do you?

count.

I, madam? I wish her well.

baroness.

You love her, sir: I know you do.

count.

Well, madam, and if I did love her, know, I would openly avow it.

baroness.

Nay, I believe you are capable of it.

count.

I am so.

baroness.

And would you break thus through all the bounds of decency, degrade your rank, demean your birth, and, plunged as you are in shame and infamy, laugh at and defy all honor?

count.

Call it prejudice: whatever you, or the world may think, madam, I never mistake vanity for honor and glory: you love pomp and splendor, and place grandeur and nobility in a coat of arms: I look for it in the heart. The man of worth, who has modesty with courage, and the woman who has sense and spirit, though without fortune, rank, or title, are, in my eyes, the first of human kind.

baroness.

But surely they ought to have some rank and condition in life. Would you treat a low-born scholar, or an honest man of the meanest birth, because he had a little virtue, in the same manner and with the same respect as you would a lord?

count.

The virtuous should always have the preference.

baroness.

This extravagant humility is insupportable: do we owe nothing then to our rank?

count.

Yes: to be honest.

baroness.

My noble blood would aspire to a higher character.

count.

That is a high one which defies the vulgar.

baroness.

Thus you degrade all quality.

count.

No: thus I do honor to humanity.

baroness.

Ridiculous! what then becomes of the world? what is fashion?

count.

Fashion, madam, is despised by wisdom: I will obey its ridiculous commands in my dress perhaps, but not in my sentiments: no: it becomes a man to act like a man, to preserve to himself his own taste and his own thoughts: am I ridiculously to ask of others what I am to seek, or to avoid, to praise, or condemn? must the world decide my fate? surely I have my reason, and that should be my guide: apes were made for imitation only, but man should act from his own heart.

baroness.

Why, this, to be sure, is freedom of sentiment, and talking like a philosopher. Go, then, thou noble and sublime soul, go, and fall in love with village damsels, be the happy rival of plowmen and hedgers: go, and support the honor of your race.

count.

Good heaven! what must I do? How am I to act?

SCENE II.

the count, the baroness, blaise.

count.

Well, sir, what do you want?

blaise.

Your poor gardener, sir, humbly beseeches your honor—

count.

My honor! well, Blaise, and what wouldst thou have of my honor?

blaise.

And please, your honor, I would fain—be married and—

count.

With all my heart, Blaise, you have my consent; I like your design, and will assist you. It is well folks should marry. Well, and thy spouse elect, Blaise, what is she? handsome?

blaise.

O yes, sir, a delicate little morsel.

baroness.

And does she like you, Blaise?

blaise.

O yes.

count.

Well, and her name is?

blaise.

Yes, ’tis—

count.

What?

blaise.

The pretty Nanine.

count.

Nanine?

baroness.

Well, very well indeed! I approve of the match extremely.

count.

[Aside.

O heaven! how am I sunk! it cannot, must not be.

blaise.

I’m sure, master will like it.

count.

What! did you say she loved you, rascal?

blaise.

I beg pardon, sir, I—

count.

Did she tell you that she loved you, sir?

blaise.

Why, no, sir, not absolutely, sir; not directly; but she seemed to have a little sort of a sneaking kindness for me, too: a hundred times has she said to me in the prettiest, softest, most familiar tone, “Help me, my dear friend Blaise, to make a fine nosegay for my lord, that best of masters;” then would she make the nosegay with such a pretty air, and look so thoughtful, and so absent, and so confused, and so—O it was plain enough.

count.

[Aside.

Away, Blaise, get thee gone—Oh! and am I agreeable to her then?

blaise.

Nay, master, now don’t put off this little affair of mine.

count.

Ha!

blaise.

You shall see how this little spot of land will thrive under our hands soon: why won’t you answer me, sir? You say nothing.

count.

[Aside.

Oh! my heart is too full: I must retire—madam, your servant.

SCENE III.

the baroness, blaise.

baroness.

[To herself.

He loves her to distraction, of that I’m positive: by what charms, by what happy address, could she thus steal his heart from me? Nanine! good heaven! what a choice! what madness! Nanine! no! I shall burst with disappointment.

blaise.

What did you say, madam, about Nanine?

baroness.

[To herself.

Insolent creature!

blaise.

Is not Nanine a charming girl?

baroness.

No.

blaise.

Well, I say no more; but do speak for me, speak for poor Blaise.

baroness.

What a dreadful stroke is this!

blaise.

I have a little money, madam, a few crowns: my father left me three good acres of land, and they shall be hers; money, and land, everything I have, body and soul, Blaise and all.

baroness.

Believe me, Blaise, I wish you as well as you can wish yourself, and should be glad to serve you: I should be glad to see you married this very night: nay, what’s more, I’ll give her a portion.

blaise.

O good, dear baroness! how I do love you! is it possible you can make me so happy?

baroness.

Alas! Blaise, I am afraid I cannot; we shall never succeed.

blaise.

O but you must, madam.

baroness.

I wish to God she was your wife: wait for my orders.

blaise.

And must I wait? not long I hope.

baroness.

Be gone.

blaise.

Servant, madam: I shall have hear, I shall have her.

SCENE IV.

baroness.

[Alone.

What a strange adventure! could I have received a more cruel injury? a more shameful affront? the Count d’Olban rivalled by a gardener—here, boy, [she calls out to her servant] fetch Nanine to me: since I am so unhappy, I must examine her: where could she have learned this art of flattery? who taught her to gain hearts, and to preserve them, to light up a strong and a lasting flame? where? doubtless, in her eyes, in plain and simple nature: but this shameful and unworthy passion of his is still a secret; it has not dared as yet to appear openly. D’Olban, I see, has his scruples about it: so much the worse; if he had none, I might still have hopes; but he has all the symptoms of true love: O here she comes, the sight of her hurts me; nature is most unjust, to bestow so much beauty on such a creature; ’tis an affront to nobility: come this way, madam.

SCENE V.

the baroness, nanine.

nanine.

Madam.

baroness.

And yet, after all, she is not so very handsome; those great black eyes of hers express nothing; but if they have said, I love; ay, there’s the danger: but I must—come this way, child.

nanine.

I come, madam, as is my duty.

baroness.

Yes: but you make me wait a little for you; prithee, child, step on: how awkwardly she is made! what a mien there is! he was never made for such a creature as you.

nanine.

’Tis very true, madam: I assure you; I have often blushed in secret when I looked on these fine clothes: but they were your first present to me, the effect of that goodness which I shall ever acknowledge, and of that generous care with which you were pleased to honor me: you took a pride in dressing me: O madam, remember how often you have protected me: believe me, madam, I am still the same: why should you wish to humble a submissive heart, which can never forget itself?

baroness.

Bring that couch nearer to me—O I am distracted: whence come you? what have you been about?

nanine.

Reading, madam.

baroness.

Reading what?

nanine.

An English book that was given me.

baroness.

What’s the subject of it?

nanine.

’Tis extremely interesting: the author would have us believe that we are all brethren, all born equal, and on a level with each other; but ’tis an idle chimera, I can’t reconcile myself to his doctrine.

baroness.

[Aside.

She will soon, I suppose—what vanity! [To Nanine] bring me my standish, and pen and ink.

nanine.

Yes, madam.

baroness.

No; stay: give me something to drink.

nanine.

What, madam?

baroness.

Nothing: it’s no matter: take my fan. Go and get my gloves—or—stay—it does not signify, you need not: come hither: I desire you to take care never to think yourself handsome.

nanine.

That, madam, is a lesson you have so often taught me that if I had so much vanity, and self-love had such influence over my foolish heart, you would soon have cured me of it.

baroness.

[Aside.

Where can she have learned all this? how I hate her! beauty and wit together! ’tis intolerable—hark’ee, child, you know the tenderness I had for you in your infancy.

nanine.

Yes, madam, and I hope my youth will be honored with equal goodness from you.

baroness.

Be careful then to deserve it: it is my intention now, this very day, nay, this very hour, to fix and establish your happiness; judge then whether I love you.

nanine.

To fix my happiness?

baroness.

Yes: I will give you a portion: the husband I design for you is well-made, and in every way worthy of you; a proper match for you in every particular, and the only one that at present could suit you: you ought to thank me for the choice: in a word, ’tis Blaise, the gardener.

nanine.

Blaise, madam?

baroness.

Yes: why that simpering? do you hesitate a moment to consent? my offers, madam, I would have you know, are commands; obey, or expect my resentment.

nanine.

But, madam—

baroness.

Let me have no buts; they offend me: a pretty thing indeed, for your impertinence to refuse a husband at my hands! that simple heart of yours is swelled to a fine degree of vanity: but your boldness is a little premature, and your triumph will be of short duration: you take advantage of the capricious fortune of one lucky day, but shall soon see what will be the event. You ungrateful little wretch, have you the insolence to please? you understand me, madam, but I’ll bring you back to that nothingness whence you came, and you shall lament your folly and your pride: I’ll shut you up for the rest of your life in a convent.

nanine.

On my knees I thank you, madam; do shut me up, my fate will be too mild: yes, madam, of all the benefits you have ever bestowed on me, this, which you call a punishment, I shall esteem the greatest favor: shut me up forever in a cloister; there, I will thank you for your goodness, and bless my dear master: there I shall learn to calm those cruel fears, those dreadful alarms, those worst of evils, those passions that are far more dangerous to me even than your resentment, which fill me with terror and astonishment: O madam, by that anger, I entreat you, deliver me, save me, save me, if possible, from myself; this moment I am ready to go.

baroness.

What do I hear? can it be? are you in earnest, Nanine, or mean you to deceive me?

nanine.

No: indeed I do not. O do me this charming, this divine favor; my heart stands too much in need of it.

baroness.

[With transport.

Rise then, and let me embrace you. O happy hour! my dear Nanine, my friend, I’ll go this instant and prepare your sweet retreat; O ’tis a charming thing to live in a convent!

nanine.

’Tis at least a shelter from the world, and all its cares.

baroness.

O my dear, ’tis a delightful situation.

nanine.

Do you think so, madam?

baroness.

This world is a hateful place—jealous—

nanine.

[Sighing.

’Tis so indeed.

baroness.

Foolish, wicked, vain, deceitful, inconstant, and ungrateful: O ’tis a horrid place.

nanine.

Yes, I see it would be fatal to me, I ought to flee from it.

baroness.

You ought indeed: a good convent is the best haven of security. Now, my good lord, I think I shall be beforehand with you.

nanine.

Did you say anything about my master, madam?

baroness.

O Nanine, I love you even to madness: this moment I would, if possible, lock you up never to come out again: but to-night it is too late, we must wait till morning. Hark’ee, child, come to me at midnight to my apartment, and we will set off secretly for the convent: be ready by five at the latest.

SCENE VI.

nanine.

[Alone.

How distressful is my condition! what trouble and uneasiness do I feel! and what various passions rise in my soul! to leave so good, so amiable a master, perhaps to offend him by it: and yet, if I had stayed, this excess of his goodness might have brought on worse calamities, and put his whole family in confusion. The baroness seems apprehensive that he has a particular regard for me: but his heart could never stoop so low; I must not, dare not think of it: and my lady seems desperately angry about it: am I hated then, and should I be afraid of being beloved? O but myself, myself I have most reason to fear, and my foolish heart, that beats so at the thought of him. What will become of me? taken out of my humble state, my notions now are too refined and too exalted: it is a misfortune, nay, and it is a fault, too, to have a mind above one’s condition. I must go: I know it will kill me: but no matter.

SCENE VII.

the count, nanine,a Servant.

count.

Stay at that door there somebody, d’ye hear? bring chairs here, quick, make haste. [He bows to Nanine, who makes him a low courtesy.] Come, sit down.

nanine.

Who, I, sir?

count.

Yes: I will have it so: I mean to pay you, Nanine, that respect which your conduct, your beauty, and merit deserve: shines the diamond with less lustre, or is it less valuable, because found in a desert? What’s the matter? your eyes seem bathed in tears: O I see it but too plainly; our angry baroness, jealous of your charms, has been venting her ill-humors on you, and left my poor girl weeping.

nanine.

No, sir, no: her goodness, I assure you, to me was never greater than at present; but everything here softens and affects me.

count.

I’m glad to hear it; I was afraid it was some of her malice.

nanine.

Why so, sir?

count.

O my dear girl, jealousy reigns in every breast: every man is jealous when he is in love, and every woman even before she is so. A young and beautiful girl, who at the same time is good-natured and sincere, is sure to displease her whole sex: men are more just, and we endeavor as well as we can to revenge ourselves on you for your jealousy: but, with regard to Nanine, I only do her justice, I love that heart which is void of artifice; I admire the display of those extraordinary talents which you have so finely cultivated; and I am both surprised and charmed at the ingenuous simplicity of your manners.

nanine.

O sir, my merit is small indeed; but I have seen you, have heard and been instructed by you: you have raised me too high above my humble birth: I owe you but too much: from you only I have learned to think.

count.

O Nanine, wit and good sense are not to be taught.

nanine.

I think too much, I fear, for one in my station: my fortune designed me for the lowest rank in life.

count.

Your virtues have placed you in the highest: but tell me ingenuously, what effect had that English book I lent you?

nanine.

Not convinced me at all, sir: I am more than ever of opinion, that there are hearts so noble and so generous, that all others must appear mean and vile when put in comparison with them.

count.

True, Nanine, and you are yourself a proof of it: but permit me to raise you for the future to a rank and station here less unworthy of you.

nanine.

My condition, sir, is already too high, and too desirable for me.

count.

No, Nanine, that cannot be: henceforward I shall consider you as one of the family; my mother is coming, she will look on you as her daughter, my esteem, and her tender friendship, will put you on a different footing, and place you in a better rank than you have hitherto held under a proud and imperious woman.

nanine.

[Aside.

She only taught me my duty, sir—and a hard one it is to fulfil.

count.

What duty? yours, Nanine, is only to please, and that you always perform; would I could do so, too! but you should be more at your ease, and appear with more splendor; you are not yet in your proper sphere.

nanine.

I am indeed quite out of it, and it is that which makes me unhappy; ’tis my misfortune, perhaps an irreparable one. [Rising.] O my lord, my master, remove, I beseech you, from me all these vanities: I am confused, overwhelmed with your excess of goodness; let me live unknown and unenvied; heaven formed me for obscurity, and humility has nothing in it that to me is grating or disagreeable: leave me to my retreat; what should I do in the world, what should I wish to see there, after the admiration of your virtues?

count.

[To himself.

It is too much, I can resist no longer.

[To Nanine.

You remain in obscurity? you?

nanine.

Whatever I may do, permit me to ask one favor of you.

count.

What is it? speak.

nanine.

For some time past you have loaded me with presents.

count.

Pardon me, Nanine, I acted but as a tender father who loved his child: I have not the art to set off my presents by flattery, I aim not at gallantry, and only desire to be just: fortune had done you wrong, and I meant to avenge the injury: but nature, in recompense for it, lavished all her bounties on you, and her I strove to imitate.

nanine.

You have done a great deal too much; but I flatter myself I may be permitted, without being thought ungrateful, to dispose of those noble presents, which I shall ever hold dear because they came from you.

count.

You mean to affront me, sure.

SCENE VIII.

the count, nanine, germon.

germon.

My lady wants you; she waits.

count.

Let her wait then: what! can’t I speak a moment to you without being interrupted?

nanine.

It gives me pain to leave you; but you know, sir, she was my mistress.

count.

No: I know it not, nor ever will.

nanine.

She has still a power over me.

count.

No such thing: she shall have none—you sigh, Nanine, there’s something at the bottom of that heart; what’s the matter?

nanine.

I am sorry to leave you, sir—but I must—O heaven, now all is over.

[She goes out.

SCENE IX.

the count, germon.

count.

[To himself.

She wept as she left me; for a long time she has groaned beneath the tyrannical caprice of this peevish baroness, who insults her: and by what right, or what authority? but ’tis an abuse which I will never suffer: this world is nothing but a lottery of wealth, titles, dignities, rights, and privileges, bartered for without legal claim, and scattered without distinction—here, you—

germon.

My lord.

count.

To-morrow morning lay this purse of a hundred louis d’ors on her toilette; be sure you don’t fail; you must then go and see after her servants below, they’ll wait there.

germon.

The baroness shall certainly have them on her toilette according to your orders.

count.

Blockhead, they’re not for her: for Nanine, I tell you.

germon.

O very well, sir, I beg pardon.

count.

Begone, leave me. [Germon goes out.] This tenderness of mine can never be a weakness in me: true, I idolize her; but my heart was not touched by her beauty only, her character is to the last degree amiable: I admire her soul; but then her low condition—it is too high; were she lower, I should love her yet more: but can I marry her? doubtless I may; can one pay too dear for being happy? shall I fear the censure of an idle world, and let pride deprive me of all I wish for? but then custom—a cruel tyrant: nature has a prior right, and should be obeyed: and so I am Blaise’s rival, too; and why not? Blaise is a man; he loves her, and he is in the right of it: she can be but in the possession of one, though the desire of all: gardeners may sigh for her, and so may kings: my happiness will justify my choice.

End of the First Act.