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ACT II. - 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]

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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 II.

SCENE I.

the count, marin.

count.

[To himself.

Well; this night is a whole year to me: not once have I closed my eyelids: everybody is asleep but me; Nanine sleeps in peace, a sweet repose refreshes her charms, while I wander from place to place, and can find no rest: I sit down to write, but can’t: then strive to read, but all in vain; I don’t know the words before me while I am looking on them, nor can my mind retain a single idea: methinks, in every page, I see the name of Nanine imprinted by some hand divine—hullo! who’s there? all asleep? German, Marin.

marin.

[Behind the scenes.

Coming, sir.

count.

You idle rascals, make haste, it’s broad daylight; come, come.

marin.

Lord, sir, what spirit has raised you up so early this morning?

count.

Love.

marin.

O ho! my lady will let none of us sleep long in this house; what did you want, sir?

count.

Why, Marin, I must have, let me see, by to-morrow at the latest, six new horses, a new equipage, a clever chambermaid, notable and careful, a valet de chambre, and two footmen, young and well-made, and no libertines; some diamonds, some very fine buckles, some gold trinkets, and some new stuffs; therefore, be gone, ride post to Paris this instant, never mind killing a few horses.

marin.

O ho, I see how it is; you are caught; my lady baroness is to be our mistress to-day, I suppose; you are going to be married to her at last?

count.

Whatever my intention is, go you about your business; fly, and make haste back.

marin.

I’m gone, sir.

SCENE II.

the count, germon.

count.

[To himself.

And shall I then enjoy the sweet pleasure of honoring, of making happy the dear object of my love? The baroness, I know, will be in a rage: with all my heart, let her rave as long as she will; I despise her, and the world, and its opinion; and am afraid of nobody: I will never be the slave of prejudice; it is an enemy whom we ought to subdue, those who make a rational mind more virtuous, and those only are respectable: but hark! what noise is that in the court? a chariot sure: it must be so; yet who could come at this time in the morning? my mother perhaps. Germon—

germon.

Sir.

count.

What is that?

germon.

A chariot, sir.

count.

Whose is it? anybody coming here?

germon.

No, sir, they’re going.

count.

Going? who? where?

germon.

The baroness, sir, going out immediately.

count.

O with all my heart, let her go forever if she pleases!

germon.

Nanine and she are this minute setting out.

count.

O heaven! what sayest thou? Nanine?

germon.

So the maid says, sir.

count.

How is this?

germon.

My lady, sir, is going with her this morning, to put her into a neighboring convent.

count.

Away: fly: let us begone: but what am I about? I am too warm to talk to them: no matter, I’ll go; I ought—but stop, that must not be, I should at once discover all my passion: no—go, Germon, stop them, let everything be fast; bring Nanine to me, or answer it with your life. [Germon goes out.] So they would have carried her off! what a dreadful stroke! ungrateful, cruel, unjust woman! how have I deserved this! what have I done! I only loved and adored her; but never declared my passion; never endeavored to force her inclinations, or to alarm her timid innocence: why should she fly from me? the more I think of it, the more I am astonished.

SCENE III.

the count, nanine.

count.

My sweet girl, is it you? what, run away from me? answer me, explain this mystery to me: terrified, I suppose, with the baroness’s threats, you were willing to escape; and that tender regard which I have long had for your virtues, I know, has quickened her resentment; surely you could not yourself have thought of leaving me, of depriving this place of its fairest ornament: last night, when I saw you in tears, tell me, Nanine, had you any intention of this? answer me, tell me, why would you have wished to leave me?

nanine.

Behold me on my knees, and trembling before you.

count.

[Raising her up.

Rise, Nanine, and tell me—I tremble more myself.

nanine.

My lady, sir—

count.

Well—what of her?

nanine.

That lady, sir, whom I honor and esteem, did not, I assure you, force me to the convent.

count.

And could it then be your own choice? O misery!

nanine.

It was, I own it was: I entreated her to restrain my wandering thoughts—she wanted to marry me.

count.

Indeed? to whom?

nanine.

To your gardener.

count.

O the worthy choice!

nanine.

I, sir, was ashamed, and to the last degree unhappy: I who in vain endeavor to stifle sentiments far above my condition, I whom your bounty had raised too high, must now be punished by the loss of that goodness which I never deserved.

count.

You punish yourself, Nanine, and for what?

nanine.

For having dared to raise the resentment of your relation, sir, who was once my mistress; I know, sir, I am disagreeable to her; the very sight of me disgusts her: she has reason indeed, for when I was near her, I was guilty of a weakness which I shall ever feel; it grows on me every hour: but I would have torn it from my breast; I would have humbled, by the austerities of a convent, this proud heart, exalted by your goodness, and revenged on it the involuntary crime: but the bitterest grief I felt, was my fear of offending you.

count.

[Turning from her, and walking about.

What sentiments! what a noble and ingenuous mind! Can she be prejudiced in my favor? was she afraid of loving me? O exalted virtue!

nanine.

If I have offended you, I beg a thousand pardons; but permit me, sir, in some deep retreat to hide my sorrows, and to reflect in secret on my own duty, and your goodness to me.

count.

No more of that: now, observe me, the baroness is your friend, and out of her generosity has provided you with a servant, a rustic, a boor, for your husband. I know of one who will at least be less unworthy of you: in birth and fortune far superior to Blaise; young, honest, and well provided for: a man, I assure you, of sense and reflection: his character very different from those of the present age: if I am not much mistaken, he’ll make you an excellent husband: is not this better than a convent?

nanine.

No: sir, I own to you, this new favor which you would bestow on me has nothing in it that can give me any real satisfaction: you know my grateful heart, read there my real sentiments, and see why I wish to retreat from the world: a gardener, or the monarch of the whole world, who should offer marriage to me, would be equally displeasing.

count.

You have determined me: and now, Nanine, know the man for whom I have designed you: you already esteem him: he is yours; he adores you: that husband is—myself. I see, you are troubled and surprised: but speak to me; my life depends on you: O recollect yourself, you are strangely agitated.

nanine.

What do I hear? can it be?

count.

It is no more than you deserve.

nanine.

In love with me? O do not think, do not imagine I will ever dare to claim my conquest: no, sir, never will I suffer you to descend thus low for me: such marriages, believe me, sir, are always unhappy: fancy vanishes, and repentance alone remains. No, I will call your ancestors to witness—alas! sir, think not on me: you took pity on my youth: this heart, which you have formed, which is your own work, would be unworthy of your care, if it could accept from you this noblest present. No, sir, I owe you at least this refusal: my heart shall sacrifice itself for your sake.

count.

No more: for I am resolved, and you shall be my wife. Did you not this moment assure me you would refuse every other man, though he were a prince?

nanine.

I did, and repent not of the resolution.

count.

Do you hate me then?

nanine.

Should I have fled, should I have avoided, should I have feared, if I had hated you?

count.

It is enough, and I am fixed.

nanine.

What then have you determined on?

count.

Our marriage.

nanine.

Think, sir.

count.

I have thought of everything.

nanine.

And foreseen too?

count.

I have.

nanine.

If you love me, believe me, sir—

count.

I do believe—that I have resolved on the only means to make myself happy.

nanine.

But you forget—

count.

I have forgotten nothing: everything is ordered, and everything shall be ready.

nanine.

What! in spite of all I say, will your obstinate passion—

count.

Yes, in spite of you, my impatient love must urge the happy moment. I will quit you for a minute, that henceforth we may never part: adieu, my dear Nanine.

SCENE IV.

nanine.

[Alone.

Good heaven! do I dream? or am I indeed arrived at the summit of earthly happiness? ’tis not the honor, great as it is; ’tis not the splendor that dazzles me: no: I despise it all: but to wed the most generous of men, the dear object of all my timid wishes, him whom I was so much afraid of loving, him whom I adore, yet I love him too much to wish he should demean himself for my sake: but it is impossible to avoid it; I cannot now escape him: what can I do? heaven, I trust, will direct me, and support my weakness, perhaps even—but I’ll write to him—and yet how to begin, and what to say—what a surprise! I will write immediately before I enter into this solemn engagement.

SCENE V.

nanine, blaise.

blaise.

O there she is: well, my little maid, my lady has spoken to you in my favor, has she not? ha! she writes on, and takes no notice of me.

nanine.

[Writing on.

O Blaise, good morrow to you.

blaise.

Good morrow is but a cold compliment.

nanine.

[Writing.

Every word I write doubles my distress, and my whole letter is full of doubts and uneasiness.

blaise.

How she writes offhand! O she’s a great genius; and a monstrous wit: I wish I was a wit too, then I’d tell her—

nanine.

Well, sir.

blaise.

Lackaday, she’s so clever, I’m afraid to speak: I shall never be able to break my mind to her—yet I was hot upon’t, and came here o’ purpose; that I did.

nanine.

Dear Blaise, you must do me a piece of service.

blaise.

Marry, two an’ you will.

nanine.

I shall trust to your discretion, to your good heart, Blaise; nay, I do you but justice.

blaise.

O no ceremony; for look you, ma’am, Blaise is ready to serve you, and there’s an end of it. Come, come, make no secret.

nanine.

You often go to the neighboring village, to Remival, the right hand side of the road.

blaise.

Yes, yes.

nanine.

Could you find one Philip Hombert for me there?

blaise.

Philip Hombert? I know nothing of him: what sort of a man is he?

nanine.

He came there, I believe, but yesterday evening; do you look him up, and give him immediately this money, and this letter.

blaise.

Oh, money is it?

nanine.

And at the same time deliver him this packet: go on horse-back that you may return the sooner: away, make haste, and be assured I’ll remember you for it.

blaise.

I would go for you to the world’s end—this Philip Hombert is a happy rogue: the purse is full: all ready rhino. What, is it a debt?

nanine.

Yes: and well proved; nothing can be more sacred, therefore take care of it: hark’ee, Blaise, Hombert may not be known in the village, perhaps he is not yet returned: if you can’t give the letter into his own hands, bring it me back again: my dear friend, remember that.

blaise.

My dear friend!

nanine.

I shall depend on you.

blaise.

Her dear friend! O lud!

nanine.

I rely entirely upon you, and expect everything from your fidelity.

SCENE VI.

the baroness, blaise.

blaise.

What a message! and where the deuce could this money come from? it would have been of service to me in housekeeping: but she has a friendship for me, and that’s better than money, so away we go.

[As he is putting the money and letter into his pocket, he meets the baroness, and runs full against her.

baroness.

How now, booby? a little more and you’d have broken my head.

blaise.

I beg your pardon, madam.

baroness.

Where are you going? have you heard anything of Nanine? what is she about? is the count in a violent passion? what have you got there, a letter?

blaise.

O that’s a secret: poise on her!

baroness.

Let me look at it.

blaise.

Nanine will be angry.

baroness.

Nanine! could she write, and send it by you? give it me this minute, or I’ll break off your match immediately; give it me, I say.

blaise.

[Laughing.

He! he!

baroness.

What do you laugh at?

blaise.

[Still laughing.

Ah! ah!

baroness.

I must know the contents of this;—[Breaks open the letter] if I am not mistaken, they concern me nearly.

blaise.

[Laughing.

Ah! ah! ah! how she is nicked now! she has got nothing there but a scrap of paper: but I shall keep the money, and carry it to Philip Hombert: yes, yes, must obey my mistress. Servant, ma’am.

SCENE VII.

the baroness.

[Alone.

Now let’s see what we have got. [Reads.] “Both my joy and tenderness are unspeakable, as is my happiness also: what a moment was this for you to come in! when I cannot see or hear you, cannot throw myself into your arms: but, I conjure you, take these packets, and accept the contents of them. Know, I have been offered a most noble and truly enviable condition in life, such as I might well be dazzled with the prospect of: but there is nothing which I would not sacrifice to the only one on earth whom my heart ought to love.” Very fine indeed! upon my word, Nanine, an excellent style: how prettily she writes! the innocent orphan: her passion speaks most eloquently: a rare billet this! O thou sly jade: thus you deceived poor Blaise, and thus deprived me of my lover: this going into a convent, I find, was all a feint, a pretence; and the count’s money, it seems, is for Philip Hombert: thou little coquette! but I am glad of it: the count’s perfidiousness to me deserved this return: I thought indeed Nanine’s heart was as mean as her birth, and now I am satisfied of it.

SCENE VIII.

the count, baroness.

baroness.

But here comes the philosopher, the sentimental Count d’Olban, the wise lover, the man above prejudice: your servant, noble count, approach and laugh, my dear lover, at the most ridiculous circumstance: do you know Philip Hombert, of Remival? but, to be sure, you can’t be a stranger to your—rival.

count.

What is all this, pray?

baroness.

This billet perhaps will inform you: this Hombert must be a handsome lad.

count.

You are too late, madam, now with your schemes; my resolution once made, I am not to be shaken: be satisfied, madam, with the shameful trick you wanted to play me this morning.

baroness.

You’ll find this new one worse, I believe: there, read: [Gives him the letter] you’ll like it vastly: you know the hand, and you know the virtue of the dear nymph that has subdued you: [While he is reading it he seems confounded, grows pale and angry] well, sir, what think you of the style?—he sees nothing, says nothing, hears nothing: poor man! but he deserves it.

count.

Did I read aright? it cannot be. I am astonished, thunder-struck; ungrateful sex! perfidious creature!

baroness.

[Aside.

I know his temper well; naturally violent, quick and resolute: he’ll do something immediately.

SCENE IX.

the count, baroness, germon.

germon.

Yonder comes Madam d’Olban: she’s in the avenue already.

baroness.

Is the old woman returned?

germon.

Sir, sir, my lady, your mother, is coming.

baroness.

His anger has taken away his hearing: the letter operates finely.

germon.

[Bawling out to him.

Sir.

count.

Does she think—

germon.

[Aloud.

My lady, sir, your mother.

count.

What is Nanine doing at this instant?

germon.

Writing in her own apartment—but, sir—

count.

[With an air of coolness.

Go, seize her papers; bring me what she writes, and then let her be sent away.

germon.

Who, sir?

count.

Nanine.

germon.

I can never have the heart to do it, sir: O sir, if you knew how she charms us all, so noble, so good!

count.

Do it, sir, or see my face no more.

germon.

I obey, sir.

[He goes out.

SCENE X.

the count, baroness.

baroness.

Now, the day is ours: I give you joy, sir, of your return to reason: now, sir, is it not true as I told you, the low-bred always retain something of their former condition, and persons of family alone have hearts truly noble? Blood, sir, let me tell you, does everything, and meanness of birth will inspire Nanine with sentiments you never suspected her of.

count.

That I don’t believe: but come, we’ll talk no more about it, but endeavor to make amends for past errors: every man has his follies, at some part of his life; we all go wrong; and he is least to blame who repents the soonest.

baroness.

’Tis well observed.

count.

Never mention her to me again: be silent on that head, I entreat you.

baroness.

Most willingly.

count.

I beg this subject of our dispute may be entirely forgotten.

baroness.

But will you remember then your former vows?

count.

Well, well, I understand you, I will.

baroness.

And quickly, too, or you will not repair the injury: our marriage so shamefully deferred is an affront—

count.

That shall be made amends for; but, madam, we must have—

baroness.

Have what? we must have a lawyer.

count.

You know, madam, that—I waited for my mother.

baroness.

And here she comes.

SCENE XI.

the marchioness d’olban, the count, baroness.

count.

[To his mother.

Madam, I should have—[Aside] O Philip Hombert! [To his mother] but you have prevented me: my respect and tenderness—[Aside] with that air of innocence too! perfidious wretch!

marchioness.

Why, you rave, child; I heard indeed, as I passed through Paris, that your head was a little touched, and I find there was some truth in it; how long has this misfortune—

count.

Good heaven! how confused I am!

marchioness.

Does it seize you often?

count.

It never will again, madam.

marchioness.

I should be glad to speak with you alone. [Turns to the baroness and makes her a formal courtesy.] Good morrow, madam.

baroness.

[Aside.

The old fool! [Turning to the Marchioness] Madam, I leave you the pleasure of entertaining the count at your leisure, and retire.

[She goes out.

SCENE XII.

the marchioness, the count.

marchioness.

[Talking very fast, and in the manner of a little prattling old woman.

Well, sir, and so you intend to make the baroness my daughter-in-law: ’twas this, to tell you the truth, that brought me here so soon: she’s a peevish, impertinent, proud, opinionated creature, and one who never had the least regard for me: last year, when I supped with the Marchioness Agard, she said before all the company, I was a babbler. Lord forbid I should ever sup there again: a babbler! besides, I know, between you and me, she is not so rich; and that, let me tell you, son, is a great point, and we ought to be well-informed about it: they tell me that the Château d’Orme did but half of it belong to her husband, and that the other half was disputed by a long lawsuit, that is not finished to this day: that I had from your grandpapa, and he always told the truth: ay, he was a man; there are few such nowadays: there is nothing now at Paris but a set of half-men, vain, foolish, impertinent coxcombs, talking on every subject, and laughing at times past. Oh, their eternal clack distracts me, prating about new kitchens, and new fashions: we hear of nothing now but bankrupts, and distress, and ruin: the wives, in short, are licentious, and the husbands simpletons: everything grows worse and worse.

count.

[Reading the letter over again.

Who could have thought it? this is a desperate stroke indeed. Well, Germon?

SCENE XIII.

the marchioness, the count, germon.

germon.

Here’s your lawyer, sir.

count.

O let him wait.

germon.

And here’s the paper, sir, she sent you.

count.

[Reading.

Give it me—well, let me see: she loves me, she says here, and refuses me out of—respect. Faithless woman! thou hast not told me the true reason of that refusal.

marchioness.

My son’s head is certainly turned: ’tis the baroness’s doing: love has taken away his senses.

count.

[To Germon.

Is Nanine gone! shall I be rid of her?

germon.

Alas! sir, she has already put on her old rustic garb with the greatest modesty, and never murmured or complained.

count.

Very likely so.

germon.

She bore her misfortune with the utmost tranquillity, while everybody about her was in tears.

count.

With tranquillity, sayest thou?

marchioness.

Whom are you talking about?

germon.

O madam, poor Nanine, she is going to be driven away, and everybody laments the loss of her.

marchioness.

To be driven away? how is this? I don’t understand it: what! my little Nanine go! call her back again: my charming orphan! what has she done, pray? why, Nanine was my present to you. O I remember, at ten years of age she delighted everybody that saw her: our baroness took her, and I said then she would be ill-used; I knew it would be so: but you never mind what I say; you will do everything of your own head: but let me tell you, turning Nanine out of doors thus is a very bad action.

count.

Alone, on foot, without money, without assistance!

germon.

O sir, I forgot to tell you: an old man asked after you below, and says he wants to speak to you on an affair of importance, which he can communicate to none but yourself: he wants to throw himself at your feet.

count.

In my present unhappy situation of mind, am I fit to converse with anybody?

marchioness.

You are uneasy enough, I believe, child, and so am I, too, to drive away poor Nanine, and make up a marriage which you knew would be disagreeable to me: come, it was not a wise thing: in three months’ time you will be weary of one another: I’ll tell you what happened exactly like this to my cousin the Marquis of Marmure: his wife was as sour as verjuice, though, by the by, yours is worse; when they married, they thought they loved one another, and in two months after they were parted. My lady went to live with her gallant, a foolish, sharking, extravagant fop; and my lord took a vile, tricking, ridiculous coquette! fine suppers, country houses, horses, clothes, a rascally steward, new trinkets bought on trust, lawyers, contracts, interest-money, all together soon ruined them, and in two years both went together to the hospital. O, and now I think of it, I remember another story, more tragical, and more extraordinary than the other, it was of a—

count.

My dear mother, we must go in to dinner: come—could I ever have suspected such infidelity!

marchioness.

’Tis really dreadful: but I’ll tell it you all at table: in proper time and place, son, it may be of great use to you. Away.

End of the Second Act.