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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 III.

SCENE I.

dorfise, collette.

dorfise.

Is it not he? how uneasy I am! hark! somebody knocks; he’s come: Collette, hullo! Collette: ’tis he.

collette.

No, madam, ’tis the chevalier; that impertinent coxcomb, who runs in and out, skips, laughs, prates, and flutters about perpetually; he swears he will have a tête-à-tête with you; and at last, between jest and earnest, I have driven him away.

dorfise.

O send him to my cousin: I hate their insipid parties, their ridiculous prating and nonsense: dear Collette, preserve me from them.

collette.

Hush! hush! I hear somebody coming.

dorfise.

O ’tis my sweet Greek.

collette.

’Tis he, I believe.

SCENE II.

dorfise, adine.

dorfise.

Pray come in: good morrow to you, sir: how I tremble! pray, sir, be seated.

adine.

I’m quite confounded—I beg pardon, madam, I believe, another—

dorfise.

Be not alarmed, sir: I am that other: my cousin dines abroad to-day with Blandford: you must supply his place, and stay with me.

adine.

Supply his place, madam! who can do that? what passion can equal his, or who can exceed him in virtue, honor, and nobleness of soul?

dorfise.

You talk of him with warmth; your friendship has life and spirit in it: I admire you for it.

adine.

’Tis a sincere regard, but an unhappy one.

dorfise.

Tenderness is to the last degree becoming in youth like thine; virtue is nothing, if it is not linked by the sacred bonds of friendship.

adine.

Alas! if a natural sensibility is the infallible mark of virtue, without vanity, I may boast some degree of worth and honesty.

dorfise.

A soul so noble deserves to be cultivated and improved; perhaps I was born to be the happy instrument; many a woman has long wished in vain to find a tender friend, lively, yet discreet, who possessed all the graces of youth without its flighty extravagance; and, if I am not deceived, in thee all those qualities are united: indeed they are: what lucky star conducted thee to Marseilles?

adine.

I was in Greece, and the brave Blandford brought me from thence; I have told you so twice already.

dorfise.

Suppose you have, I could hear it again and again: but tell me, why is that fair forehead wrapped up in a turban? are you really a Turk?

adine.

Greece is my country.

dorfise.

Who would have thought it? Is Greece in Turkey then? O how I should like to talk Greek with you! why you have all the sprightliness, all the natural ease of a true Frenchman: surely nature mistook when she made you a Greek: well, I bless Providence for throwing you thus amongst us.

adine.

Here I am, to my sorrow.

dorfise.

And canst thou be unhappy?

adine.

Indeed I am so: but ’tis the fault of my own heart.

dorfise.

Ay: ’tis the heart that does all the good and all the evil in this world: ’tis that which makes us both miserable: have you any engagement then?

adine.

I have, indeed: a base intriguing woman has betrayed me: her heart, like her face, is painted and disguised: she is bold, haughty, and full of artifice; more dangerous, because she hides her vices beneath the mask of virtue: how cruel is it that so false a heart should govern one who is but too honest!

dorfise.

Some faithless woman! let us be revenged on her: who is she? of what rank? what country? what is her name?

adine.

That I must not tell you.

dorfise.

Why so? I fear you have art, too, the art of concealment: O you have every talent to please and to delight, young and discreet, beautiful and sensible: but I will explain myself: if, to make you amends for all the injuries you have received, you should meet with a woman rich, amiable, admired, and esteemed; one who had a heart constant, firm, and hitherto untouched, such as is seldom to be met with in Turkey, and more seldom perhaps in this country; if such a one could be found, tell me, sweet youth, what think you? what would you say to her?

adine.

I would say—she meant but to deceive me.

dorfise.

Nay, that would be carrying your distrust too far: come, come, be more confident.

adine.

Forgive me, madam; but the unfortunate, you know, are always a little suspicious.

dorfise.

And what, for example, may your suspicions be whilst I am talking to and looking at you?

adine.

My suspicions are that you mean to try me.

dorfise.

O the malicious little rogue! how cunning he is with that air of innocence: ’tis love himself just out of his childhood: get you gone: I am in absolute danger: positively I’ll see you no more.

adine.

Since ’tis your order, madam, I take my leave.

dorfise.

But you need not be in such a hurry to obey: come back, come back, I esteem you too much to be angry with you; but don’t abuse my esteem, my sincere regard.

adine.

But you esteem Blandford: can one esteem two at the same time?

dorfise.

O no, never: the laws of reason and of love allow succession, but not division: you’ll learn a great deal by living with me, child.

adine.

I have learned a great deal by what I see already.

dorfise.

When heaven, my dear, makes a fine woman, it always at the same time forms a man on purpose for her: we go in search of each other for a long time, and make twenty choices before we fix on the right; we are always looking as it were for our counterpart, and seldom, very seldom, meet with it—by a secret instinct we fly after true happiness; and she [looking tenderly at him] who finds you, need look no further.

adine.

If you knew what I really am, you would soon change your opinion of me.

dorfise.

Never.

adine.

If once you knew me, I’m sure you would think me unworthy, of your care: we should both be caught in the same snare.

dorfise.

Caught, my dear, what can you mean? we’re interrupted: O ’tis you, Collette.

SCENE III.

collette, dorfise, adine.

collette.

[In a violent flurry.

Ay, madam, I could not help it; but there’s a more impertinent visitor still coming; M. Bartolin.

dorfise.

Indeed! I did not expect him till to-morrow: the villain has deceived me: returned already!

collette.

Ay, madam, and here’s another unlucky accident: the chevalier, that king of coxcombs, not knowing the master of the house, is disputing with him in the street, and keeps him there in spite of his teeth.

dorfise.

So much the better.

collette.

No, madam, so much the worse: for this blunderer, not knowing whom he is talking to, laughs in his face, insists upon it that nobody shall come in here to-day; that everybody shall be excluded as well as himself; that he’s an impertinent rascal, and that you were engaged in your own apartment in a sober tête-à-tête with a pretty young fellow. Bartolin swears in wrath that he’ll break the door down: Mondor splits his sides with laughing, and the other bursts with spleen.

dorfise.

And I in the meantime am dying with fear. O Collette, what shall I do? at what hole shall we creep out?

adine.

What can this mystery be?

dorfise.

The mystery is, that we are both undone: Collette, where are you going?

adine.

What will become of me?

dorfise.

[To Collette.

Hark’ee: stay: what a time was this for him to return! [to Adine] you must hide yourself for tonight in this closet: you’ll find a black sack there, wrap yourself up in it, and be quiet. My God! it is he, that’s certain.

adine.

[Going into the closet.

O love, what do I suffer for thee!

dorfise.

Poor lad! he’s desperately fond of me.

collette.

Hush! hush! here he comes, your dear spouse.

SCENE IV.

bartolin, dorfise, collette.

dorfise.

[Meeting Bartolin.

My dear sir, heaven be with you! how late you are: you made me so uneasy, I was ready to die with fretting.

bartolin.

Mondor told me quite another story.

dorfise.

It’s all a lie, every syllable he says, a horrid lie: I think I ought to be believed first; you know I’m sincere: the fellow loves me to madness, and is piqued at my refusal of him: his eternal clack teases me to death: I will positively never see him again.

bartolin.

He seemed to me to talk rationally enough.

dorfise.

Don’t believe a word he says.

bartolin.

Well, well, I shan’t mind him: I only came to finish our affairs, and to take some necessaries here out of the closet.

dorfise.

[In a persuasive tone.

What are you doing there now? come, don’t go into a body’s closet.

bartolin.

Why not?

dorfise.

[After pausing a little.

Why, do you know, I had the same thought as you, and have just been putting my papers in order there, so I sent for our old advocate, and we were consulting together, when he was taken with a sudden weakness.

bartolin.

O nothing but old age, he’s very old.

collette.

And so, sir, they took him in there to give him

bartolin.

Ay, I understand you.

dorfise.

He’s retired a little, and has taken a dose of my syrup: I suppose by this time he has gone to sleep.

bartolin.

That he has not, I am sure, for I hear him walking about and coughing.

collette.

And would you go to disturb an advocate in the midst of his cough?

bartolin.

I don’t like this: I’ll go in.

dorfise.

Grant heaven he may find nothing there: hark! what do I hear! he cries out; murder! my poor advocate’s killed to be sure, and I am undone: which way shall I fly? in what convent shall I hide my shame? where shall I drown myself?

bartolin.

[Returning, and holding Adine by the arm.

O ho! my dear spouse that is to be: your advocates are mighty pretty figures: you have made a good choice, picked him out from the whole bar: come, my old practitioner, you must disappear from this court, and harangue out the window: away with you.

dorfise.

My dear husband, do but hear me.

adine.

He her husband!

bartolin.

[To Adine.

Come, rascal! I must begin my revenge upon you, and curry you out of your insolence.

adine.

Alas! sir, on my knees I ask your pardon; indeed I have not merited your resentment: when you know me, you will lament my fate: I am not what I appear to be.

bartolin.

You appear, my friend, to be a scoundrel, a dangerous rival, and shall be punished: come along, sir.

adine.

Help, here, help! for heaven’s sake, sir.

dorfise.

He’s mad with passion: help, neighbors, help!

bartolin.

Hold your tongue.

dorfise, collette, adine.

Help, here, help!

bartolin.

[Thrusting out Adine.

Come, sir, get out of my house.

SCENE V.

dorfise, collette.

dorfise.

What an unfortunate affair this is! he’ll kill the poor boy, and me, too, perhaps.

collette.

To be sure, nothing but the devil could make you sign a contract with such a wretch as this.

dorfise.

The villain! go, Collette, this minute, to a justice, and get a warrant for him: charge him with—

collette.

With what, madam?

dorfise.

With everything.

collette.

Very well, madam: but which way are you going?

dorfise.

That I know not.

SCENE VI.

mme. de burlet, dorfise, collette.

mme. de burlet.

Why, cousin, cousin, what’s the matter?

dorfise.

O cousin!

mme. de burlet.

One would have thought you’d been robbed and murdered, or that your house had been on fire: what a roaring and a noise there is here, my dear!

dorfise.

O cousin, I’ll tell you the affair; but, for heaven’s sake, keep my secret.

mme. de burlet.

I’m no keeper of secrets, cousin; but I can be as discreet as other folks upon occasion: what is this mighty affair of yours?

dorfise.

The affair’s a very bad one, I assure you; in short—I am—

mme. de burlet.

What?

dorfise.

Promised in marriage, cousin.

mme. de burlet.

I know it, my dear—to Blandford: so much the better: I think it’s a good match: I wish you happy, and intend to dance at your wedding.

dorfise.

O my dear, you’re mistaken: Bartolin, who is now swearing below stairs, is the man.

mme. de burlet.

Indeed! so much the worse: I don’t approve of your choice; but if it is done, it can’t be helped: is he absolutely your husband to all intents and purposes?

dorfise.

Not yet: the world is an utter stranger to it; but the contract has been made a great while.

mme. de burlet.

O cancel it by all means.

dorfise.

It will set the wicked world talking: O cousin, I have been sadly treated. This vile man, you must know, found me with a young Turk, who was shut up in my closet; not with any bad design.

mme. de burlet.

O no, to be sure! pray, cousin, is not this a little out of character for a prude?

dorfise.

Not at all: it is a little faux-pas, a small weakness only.

mme. de burlet.

Well, I am glad you own so much: our faults are sometimes useful: this slip may soften your temper; perhaps for the future you will be less severe.

dorfise.

Severe or not, for heaven’s sake, cousin, get me out of this scrape, and save me from the tongue of scandal, and the violence of Bartolin; if possible, deliver the poor lad, who is scarce eighteen. O, here comes my spouse.

SCENE VII.

bartolin, dorfise, mme. de burlet.

mme. de burlet.

What an uproar you are making here for nothing! only on a slight suspicion to put all her friends in such a taking: fie, M. Bartolin.

bartolin.

I ask pardon: indeed, ladies, I am ashamed, and sorry I conceived such suspicions; but appearances were strong against her: how indeed could I ever have imagined that this young fellow, for so I thought him, was only a girl in disguise?

dorfise.

[Aside.

An excellent come-off.

mme. de burlet.

Mighty well indeed! so my lady here took a girl for a boy?

bartolin.

The poor child is in tears still: by my troth, I pitied her: but why could you not have told me who she was? why take a pleasure in trying my temper, and making me angry.

dorfise.

[Aside.

Droll enough this! he has played his part well, however, to persuade Bartolin he is a girl, and get off so well: ’twas a charming contrivance: the dear little rogue! but love is a great wit. [To Bartolin] Now thou abominable jealous wretch, answer me, how dare you thus affront my virtue? the poor little innocent confided in me; my cousin here knows how warmly I espoused her cause, and protected her honor: you ought to have had a loose coquette, a jilt, for your wife; you deserve no better, and I hope you’ll meet with one: I’ll expose you, sir, though I know it will cost me dear, but I am determined at all events to have the contract annulled.

bartolin.

I know upon these occasions women must cry: but prithee, my dear, don’t cry so much: come, let us be friends; and let me desire you, madam, [to Mme.de Burlet] to say nothing about this affair: I have some very good reasons for concealing it.

dorfise.

[To Mme. de Burlet.

Be silent, dear cousin, and save me; on no account mention it to the good M. Blandford.

mme. de burlet.

You may depend on it, I never will.

bartolin.

We shall be greatly obliged to you.

SCENE VIII.

dorfise, mme. de burlet, bartolin, collette.

collette.

M. Blandford is below, madam, and says he must come up.

dorfise.

O dreadful! this is my luck! always crossed—

bartolin.

But after all—

mme. de burlet.

Nay, nay, after what you have seen, and being guilty of so much injustice as you have, you have no business to give yourself airs: try what you can do—to obey.

SCENE IX.

dorfise, mme. de burlet.

mme. de burlet.

I’m glad to see this affair has turned out so well, however: to be sure your intended spouse is rather short-sighted: but between you and me, cousin, it was a strange choice this: and then to take a boy for a girl, at his age: well, husbands will be husbands still I find, always jealous, always laughed at, and led by the nose.

dorfise.

[Prudishly.

I don’t understand this language, madam, nor have I deserved this treatment from you: surely you don’t really believe that a young fellow was locked up in my closet?

mme. de burlet.

Indeed but I do, my dear.

dorfise.

What! when my husband told you to the contrary?

mme. de burlet.

Perhaps your spouse might be mistaken; he may have bad eyes: besides, cousin, did you not tell me yourself here in this very place, that a young fellow—

dorfise.

Ridiculous! what I, child, I tell you so? never: do you think I have lost my senses? indeed, cousin, you should take more care what you say: when once a woman’s tongue has got a habit of talking thus lightly, and spreading scandalous stories, invented merely to calumniate and injure people, there is no end of it, but ’tis a hundred to one that she repents of it sometime in her life.

mme. de burlet.

I calumniate, I scandalize you, cousin?

dorfise.

You, madam: I vow and swear—

mme. de burlet.

Don’t swear, cousin.

dorfise.

But I will.

mme. de burlet.

Fie, my dear, fie: come, come, I shall believe no more of the story than I ought to believe: take a husband, cousin, two if you please; deceive them both as well as you can; make young fellows pass for girls; on the strength of your character govern twenty families, and be called a woman of virtue; with all my heart, it will give me no uneasiness, you are extremely welcome: nay, I admire your management and discretion: ’tis your pride and glory to deceive the world, and mine to divert myself with it, without descending to falsehood: I live for my pleasure: adieu, my dear, my worldly weakness bends in all humility to your profound wisdom: dear cousin, adieu.

SCENE X.

dorfise, collette.

dorfise.

Now will that foolish creature go and pull me to pieces: my honor and my character are gone: the libertines will laugh at my expense: Dorfise will be the common butt of every satirist: my name will be hitched into a hundred rhymes, and furnish matter for every singsong in town: Blandford will believe the scandal, and Bartolin will cry for vengeance: how shall I stop the tongues of calumny? two husbands and a lover in one day! what a deal one has to go through to be a prude! would it not be better after all to fear nothing, to affect nothing, and be a plain woman of honor? well: one day or other I’ll try to be one.

collette.

At least, madam, let us take care to appear as such; when we do all we can, you know, we have done enough; and she is not always a woman of virtue who wishes to be so.

End of the Third Act.