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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]

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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 I.

SCENE I.

darmin, adine.

adine.

[Dressed like a Turk.

O my dear uncle, what a cruel voyage! what dangers have we run! and then my dress and appearance, too: still must I conceal under this turban my sex, my name, and the secret of my foolish heart.

darmin.

At last we are returned safe: in good truth, niece, I pity you; but, your father dying consul in Greece, both of us left, as we were after his death, without money or friends; your youth, beauty and accomplishments but so many dangerous advantages; and, to crown all our misfortunes, that wicked pasha desperately in love with you; what was to be done? you were obliged to disguise yourself, and make your escape as soon as possible.

adine.

Alas! I have yet other dangers to encounter.

darmin.

Dear girl, be composed, nor blush at what can’t be prevented; embarking with me in such a hurry, and forced to disguise yourself in that manner, you could not with any decency resume your sex on board a ship before a hundred sailors, who were more to be feared than your old debauched pasha; but happily for us, everything has turned out well, and we are safely arrived at Marseilles, out of the reach of amorous pashas, near your friends and relatives, amongst Frenchmen, and good sort of people.

adine.

Blandford is certainly an honest man: but how dearly will his virtues cost me! that I should be forced to return with him!

darmin.

Your deceased father designed you for him: he had set his heart on that match when you were but a child.

adine.

There he was deceived.

darmin.

Blandford, my dear, when he is better acquainted with you, will do justice to your charms: he can never be long attached to a prude, who makes it her perpetual study to deceive and impose upon him.

adine.

They say she is handsome: he is constant in his nature, and will always love her.

darmin.

Constant! who is so, in love, child?

adine.

I am afraid of Dorfise.

darmin.

She has too much intrigue about her: her prudery, they say, has a little too much gallantry in it: her heart is false, and her tongue scandalous; never fear her, my girl, deceit can last only for a time.

adine.

Ay, but that time may be long, very long: the thought makes me miserable: Dorfise deceives him, and Dorfise has found the way to please.

darmin.

But, after all, niece, has Blandford really got so far into your heart?

adine.

He has, indeed; ever since that day, when the two Algerine vessels attacked us with such violence: O how I trembled for him! I think verily I was as much frightened for him as for you; I wished to be a man, indeed, that I might have defended him: don’t you remember, uncle, it was Blandford alone who saved us when our ship was on fire? good heaven! how I admired his courage, and his virtues! they are deeply engraved in my heart, and never to be effaced.

darmin.

A grateful heart cannot but be prejudiced in favor of such distinguished virtue. I don’t so much wonder at your choice: fine eyes, a noble demeanor, a good shape, and scarce thirty years of age, these are great recommendations to his—virtue: but then his strange humor and austerity can surely never be agreeable to you.

adine.

Why not? I am naturally serious myself, and perhaps in him may be fond even of my own faults.

darmin.

He hates the world.

adine.

They say he has reason.

darmin.

His temper is too easy and complying, he relies too much on others, and is too generous; and then his moroseness makes his freedom disagreeable.

adine.

The greatest fault he has, in my opinion, is his passion for Dorfise.

darmin.

That’s too true; why, then, won’t you endeavor to open his eyes, disabuse him, and shine in your true character?

adine.

How is it possible to shine in any character till we are able to please? alas! from the first day he took us both on board, I have been afraid he should discover me, and now I am on shore I have still the same apprehensions.

darmin.

I had intended to discover you to him myself.

adine.

For heaven’s sake, don’t; but join with me in my design upon him: sacrificed as I am to the adored Dorfise, I would wish to remain still unknown to him, and would have him continue a stranger to that victim which he offers up to love.

darmin.

What then is your design?

adine.

This very night to retire to a convent, and avoid the sight of an ungrateful man whom I cannot help loving.

darmin.

Indeed, niece, those who go to a convent in haste, generally live to repent it at leisure: I tell you, child, time will do all things: in the meanwhile, a more dreadful misfortune calls for our attention: the very instant that this new Du-Gué so nobly got off his ship, both his fortune and mine went to the bottom: we are both involved in the same calamity, and have come to Marseilles full of hope, but without a shilling! and must therefore look out for some immediate assistance: love, my dear niece, is not always the only thing to be thought of.

adine.

There, uncle, I differ from you; when you are in love, I think it is.

darmin.

Time will open your eyes: love, my dear, at your age is blind, but not at mine; and where there is no fortune, and nothing but grief and poverty with it, it has very few charms; only the rich and happy should be in love.

adine.

You think, then, my dear uncle, that now you are in distress you can have no mistress; and that your widow Burlet will forsake you as soon as she knows your circumstances.

darmin.

My distress perhaps may serve her for an excuse; such, my dear, is the custom of the world; but I have other cares to afflict me: I want money, and that’s the most pressing calamity.

SCENE II.

blandford, darmin, adine.

blandford.

So! so! in the age we live in everything may be had of everybody but money: what a heap of close embraces, kisses, fulsome compliments, false oaths, joyous welcomes, have I received from this whole city! but no sooner were they acquainted with my distress than every soul forsook me: such is this world.

darmin.

It is indeed a base one: but your friends come in search of you?

blandford.

Friends? know you any such? I have looked for them, and have found a number of scoundrels of every rank and degree: I have found honest men, too, that live in the bosom of indolence and plenty, like their own marbles, hard, polished, and always wrapped up in themselves, and their own interests; but worthy hearts, elevated souls, who were not the slaves of fortune, such as take a generous pleasure in relieving the unhappy, these, Darmin, I have seldom, very seldom met with: there is naught but vice and corruption on every side: Mammon is the god of this world; and I wish with all my heart, that all mankind had sunk with our vessel, and was buried in the waves.

darmin.

Be so good as to except me from your general sentence.

adine.

The world, I do believe, is false: and yet I think there is in it still a heart worthy of you; a heart that can boast of courage with sensibility, and strength with softness; which would resent the unkind treatment you have met with, by loving you, if possible, but the more for it: tender in its vows, and constant in its attachment to you.

blandford.

Invaluable treasure! but where is it to be found?

adine.

In me.

blandford.

In thee! away, deceitful boy, am I in a condition, think you, to listen to such idle tales? prithee, young man, choose a fitter time to jest in: yes, even in this world, I know there are pure and uncorrupted hearts, who will cherish my misfortune, and pity my distress: even in this low condition I have the happiness to reflect, that Dorfise at least knows how to love and to distinguish virtue.

adine.

Dorfise then is the idol of your heart?

blandford.

She is.

adine.

You have tried and proved her then?

blandford.

I have.

darmin.

My late brother, before he went to Greece, if I remember aright, designed my niece for you.

blandford.

Your late brother, my friend, made a bad choice then: I have made a much better: I have determined in favor of that virtue which, banished from the world, hath taken up its residence in the breast of my Dorfise.

adine.

Merit like hers is rare indeed; I am astonished at it, but, great as it is, it cannot equal her happiness.

blandford.

This youth is of a noble nature, and I love him; he takes my part even against you.

darmin.

Not so much perhaps as you think: but pray tell me, how happened it that this Dorfise, with all her attachment and love for you, never wrote to you for a whole year?

blandford.

Would you have had her write to me through the air, or the post travel by sea? I have received large packets from her before now, letters written in such a style too—so much truth, so much good sense, nothing affected, embarrassed, or obscure, no false wit, nothing but the language of nature and the heart; such is the effect of real love.

darmin.

[To Adine.

You turn pale.

blandford.

[Looking earnestly at Adine.

What’s the matter with you?

adine.

With me, sir? O sir, I have got a sad pain at my heart.

blandford.

[To Darmin.

His heart! and what a tone, too! a girl of his age would have more strength and courage: I love the lad, but am astonished at his effeminacy: he was never made for such a voyage; he’s afraid of the sea, the enemy, and every wind that blows: I caught him one day sitting down to a looking-glass: he appears to be cut out for the gay world, to sit in a box at a playhouse and admire his fine form, which he seems to be mightily enamored with: ’tis a very Narcissus.

darmin.

He has beauty.

blandford.

Ay, but he should beware of vanity.

adine.

You need not fear, sir, ’tis not myself that I admire: I am more likely to hate myself, I assure you; I love nothing that resembles me.

blandford.

Dorfise, my friend, is after all the mistress of my fate: convinced as I have long been of her prudence, I gave her a promise of marriage; at parting I left everything I had in her possession: jewels, notes, contracts, ready money, all, thank heaven, have I frankly trusted to my dear Dorfise; and her I consigned to the virtue of my friend, M. Bartolin.

darmin.

What! Bartolin the cashier?

blandford.

The same; a good friend, who esteems me, and whom I love.

darmin.

[In an ironical tone.

To be sure you have made an excellent choice, and are extremely happy in a mistress and a friend: not at all prejudiced.

blandford.

Not in the least: I am impatient at their absence, and long to see them.

adine.

[Aside.

I can bear it no longer: I must go.

blandford.

You seem disordered.

adine.

Everyone has some misfortunes or other; mine are heavy indeed, they overpower me, but they will cease—with Blandford’s.

[She goes out.

blandford.

I know not why, but this grief affects me.

darmin.

’Tis an amiable youth, and seems wonderfully attached to you.

blandford.

Blandford’s heart is not a bad one, and what fortune I have, howsoever small it be, shall be in common with us both; as soon as Dorfise returns me the money I left with her, your young Adine shall have a part of it: I wish his voice was a little more masculine, and his air more easy: but time and care must form the manners of youth: he is modest, sensible, and has just notions of right and wrong. I observed through the whole voyage, that he would blush at any indecent expression which my people made use of on board: I promise you I shall endeavor to be a father to him.

darmin.

That’s not what he wants of you; but come, let us go immediately to Dorfise, at least we shall get your money of her.

blandford.

True; but that unlucky demon which always accompanies me, has contrived to keep her in the country still.

darmin.

Well, but the cashier—

blandford.

The cashier is there, too; but they will both come to town as soon as they know I am here.

darmin.

You are satisfied then that Mme. Dorfise is always devoted to your service.

blandford.

Why should she not be? if I keep my faith to her, surely she may do the same by me; I have not been so foolish, as, like you, to throw away my heart on a gay coquette.

darmin.

It may happen that I shall find myself despised, but that you know every man is liable to; I will own to you, her airy, trifling humor is very different from that of her wise cousin.

blandford.

But what will you do with a heart so—

darmin.

Nothing at all: I shall hold my tongue, till our two fair idols make their appearance at Marseilles: apropos, here comes our friend Mondor.

blandford.

Our friend? said you! he our friend?

darmin.

His head no doubt is a little of the lightest, but at the bottom he is a worthy character.

blandford.

Prithee, undeceive thyself, dear Darmin, and be assured that friendship requires a firmer mind than his; fools are incapable of love.

darmin.

But the wise man, does he love so much then? come, we may reap some advantage from this fool notwithstanding; as the case now stands with us, there will be no harm in borrowing his money.

SCENE III.

blandford, darmin, mondor.

mondor.

Morrow, morrow, my dears; so you are still in the land of the living: I’m glad of it, glad of it, with all my heart: good morrow to you; but pray, who is that pretty boy I saw in t’other room? whence comes he? did he come over with you? what is he, Turk, Greek, your son, your page, what do you do with him? where do you sup to-night, ha? boys, where do you throw your handkerchiefs? what! are you going post to Versailles to give an account of your battles? have you got ever a patron here?

blandford.

No.

mondor.

What, never made your bows at court?

blandford.

No: I made my bows at sea; my services are my patrons; the only artifices I make use of; I never was at court in my life.

mondor.

Then you never got anything.

blandford.

I never asked it; I wait till the master’s eye in its own time shall find me out.

mondor.

Yes: and these fine sentiments will carry you, as they do everybody else, at their own time, to jail.

darmin.

We are pretty near it already, for our honor and glory has not left us a shilling.

mondor.

I am inclined to think so.

darmin.

Dear knight, let us fairly confess to you—

mondor.

In two words I must inform you—

darmin.

That our friend here has had a terrible loss—

mondor.

That I have made, my dear, a discovery—

darmin.

Of all his fortune—

mondor.

Of a famous beauty—

darmin.

Which he was carrying—

mondor.

To whom without vanity—

darmin.

By sea—

mondor.

After a good deal of mysterious conduct—

darmin.

In his ship—

mondor.

I have the happiness to be well with.

darmin.

This, sir, is a misfortune—

mondor.

O ’tis a most enchanting pleasure to conquer these excessive scruples, to get the better of that modesty, that fierce angry preceptor who is always thwarting and scolding at nature: I had once an inclination for Lady Burlet, for her gayety, and those pretty light airs she gives herself; but that was a foolish taste, as foolish as herself.

darmin.

I’m glad to hear it.

mondor.

O no, ’tis the prude I dote on: encouraged by the difficulty, I presented my apple to the beauty.

darmin.

Ay, sir, this prude, who has captivated your heart, this proud beauty is—

mondor.

Dorfise.

blandford.

[Laughing.

Dorfise! is it? O you know, I suppose, whom you are speaking to?

mondor.

To you, my friend.

blandford.

I pity thy folly, young man, and shall take care that, for the future, this lady shall never encourage such sparks as you.

mondor.

Very well, my dear: but let me tell you—your wise woman never complains when she is taken by a fool.

blandford.

Be so kind, however, my friend, as to play the fool no longer with her, for know, her virtues are destined to make me happy; she is mine, and has promised to marry me; she waits with impatience till we are united.

mondor.

[Laughing.

The pretty note that my friend, Blandford, has there! [To Darmin] you say he wants a few more in his distress; here, Darmin.

[He is going to give him a pocketbook.

blandford.

[Stopping Darmin.

Stay, take care, Darmin.

darmin.

Why, you would not—

blandford.

From him I would not—receive anything; when I do any man the favor to borrow of him, it shall be one whom I think worthy of it; it shall be a friend.

mondor.

And am not I your friend?

blandford.

No, sir: a friend indeed? an excellent friend who wants to run away with my wife; a friend who this very night perhaps would entertain twenty coxcombs at my expense: O I know them well; these fashionable friends, these friends of the world.

mondor.

That world, sir, which you grumble at, is better than all your ill-humor. Your servant, sir. I am going this moment to the fair Dorfise, to split my sides with laughing at your folly.

[Is going off.

blandford.

[Stopping him.

What say you, sir? Darmin, how is this? can Dorfise be here?

mondor.

Most assuredly.

blandford.

O heaven!

mondor.

And pray what is there in that so wonderful?

blandford.

In her own house?

mondor.

Yes, I tell you, at Marseilles; I met her just as I came in, returning in a violent hurry from the country.

blandford.

[Aside.

To meet me! thank heaven! now all my sorrows are past: come, I’ll go, and see her.

mondor.

Done: with all my heart: the more fools there are, the more one laughs.

blandford.

[Going to the door.

I’ll rap.

mondor.

Rap away.

collette.

[In the house.

Who’s there?

blandford.

’Tis I.

mondor.

’Tis I myself.

SCENE IV.

blandford, darmin, collette, mondor.

collette.

[Coming out of the house.

Blandford! Darmin! amazing: lord, sir—

blandford.

Collette!

collette.

Bless me, sir, I thought you had been drowned long ago; you’re welcome, sir.

blandford.

No, Collette; just heaven, propitious to my love, preserved me, that I might once more see thy dear mistress.

collette.

She is this moment gone out, sir.

darmin.

And her cousin, too?

collette.

Yes, sir, her cousin has gone along with her.

blandford.

But where, for heaven’s sake, is she gone? where must I find her?

collette.

[Making a prudish curtsy.

At the—assembly.

blandford.

What assembly?

collette.

Lord, sir, you are mighty ignorant: you must know, sir, there are about twenty ladies of fashion most intimately connected to reform the age, to correct our foolish young women, to substitute in the room of that scandal which now prevails a prudent modesty and reserve, and Mme. Dorfise is at the head of the party.

blandford.

[To Darmin.

But how happens it, Darmin, that such a coxcomb as this should be suffered by so rigid, so severe a beauty?

darmin.

O prudes love coxcombs.

blandford.

Where does she go from the assembly?

collette.

That I can’t tell: to do good in secret, I suppose.

blandford.

Secretly! that’s the height of virtue; but when may I, in my turn, speak with her at home?

mondor.

That, sir, you must ask me; and I believe I may venture to grant it you: you may see her, sir, as you used to do.

blandford.

Your business, sir, is to respect her, and take care that you say nothing to her prejudice.

darmin.

And her cousin, too, pray where is she to be found? I was told they lived together.

collette.

They do so: but their tastes are different, and they are seldom together. Mme. de Burlet, with ten or a dozen young fellows, and as many pretty women, entertains herself every day, keeps a plentiful table, and goes forever to the comedy: afterwards they dance, or play; always at her house you will meet with good suppers, new songs, and bonsmots, old wines red and white, ice-cream, liquors, new ribbons, Saxon monkeys, rich bagatelles, invented by Hebert for the use of the fine ladies day and night, pleasures succeeding pleasures; scarce is there a moment left even to scandalize one another.

mondor.

Ay, this, my friend, is the way to live.

darmin.

But whither must I follow her?

collette.

Everywhere; for she runs about from morning to night, and sees everything; plays, balls, music, suppers; she is always employed: perhaps very late in the evening you may meet with her and her joyous companions at home, about supper-time.

blandford.

If, after what I have heard, you are fond of her, my friend, you must have as little understanding as herself; is it possible to love a woman, who has all the follies of her sex put together? to be sure, it will be worth your while to follow her chariot wheels, to dance after a coquette, and sigh and whine for a ridiculous creature who thinks of nothing but her pleasures.

darmin.

I may be mistaken, but I cannot help thinking that a love of pleasure, and the strictest honor, may be consistent with each other; and I am likewise of opinion, with all due deference to you be it spoken, that a prude, with all her severity of virtue, may do a great deal of good in public, and yet in secret is often good for—just nothing.

blandford.

Well, well! we shall be better judges by and by; you shall see my choice, and I yours.

mondor.

Ay, ay, by the time you return, my dears, the place will be taken.

blandford.

By whom, pray?

mondor.

By me.

blandford.

By you?

mondor.

I have made too good use of your absence to be afraid of your presence, I assure you: so fare you well.

SCENE V.

blandford, darmin.

blandford.

Well, what think you? can one be jealous of such a creature?

darmin.

O fools have fortune, you know: nothing more common.

blandford.

You can never imagine, surely—

darmin.

O yes: your sensible women are very fond of fools at times: but I must take my leave, to know my own fate, and see whether I am a happy or a forsaken lover.

[He goes out.

blandford.

[Alone.

Ay, ay, make haste, and get your dismissal: poor fellow! I pity him: how happy am I to have made choice of a woman worthy of my esteem! unfortunate as I have been, I have reason to bless the hour of my return: reason increases my passion: yes: I am resolved; I will leave the world, the whole ungrateful world, for one good and worthy woman. I have had enough of hopes and fears: the port at length appears, and there will I shelter myself: what is all the world to this? a foolish, ridiculous, fatal world! ought I not to detest it? there is not a friend remaining in it; not a creature, who at the bottom really cares a farthing for one: O ’tis a vile world: if there is any love or affection to be expected, it must be from a wife; all the difficulty is how to choose one. A coquette is a monster one would avoid, but a beautiful, a tender, and a sensible woman, is the noblest work of nature.

End of the First Act.