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ACT I. - Voltaire, The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems). [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. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

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

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ACT I.

SCENE I.

euphemon, rondon.

rondon.

Come, come, cheer up, my old, melancholy friend, how happy will it make me to see you merry again! and merry we will be: what a pleasure it is to think my daughter will revive your drooping family! But this same son of ours, this Master Fierenfat, seems to me to behave strangely in the affair.

euphemon.

How so!

rondon.

Puffed up with his presidentship, he makes love by weight and measure: a young fellow putting on the gray beard, and dictating to us like a Cato, is, in my opinion, a mighty ridiculous animal; I would prefer a fool to a coxcomb at any time; in short, brother, he is too proud, and self-sufficient.

euphemon.

And let me tell you, brother, you are a little too hasty.

rondon.

I cannot help it; it is my nature: I love truth, I love to hear it, and I love to speak it: I love now and then to reprove my son-in-law, to rate him for his coxcombial, pedantic airs: to be sure, you acted like a wise father, to turn your elder son out of doors; that gamester, that wild rake-helly profligate, to make room for this prudent younger brother; to place all your hopes on this promising youth, and buy a presidentship for him. O ’twas a wise act no doubt: but the moment he became Mr. President, by my troth, he was stuffed up with vanity and impertinence: he goes like clock-work, walks and talks in time, and says he has a great deal more wit than I have, who, you know, brother, have a great deal more than you: he is—

euphemon.

Nay, nay, what a strange humor this is! must you always be—

rondon.

Well, well, no matter; what does it signify? all these faults are nothing when people are rich: he is, as I was going to say, covetous, and every covetous man is wise: O it is an excellent vice for a husband, a most delightful vice. Come, come, this very day he must be my son-in-law; Lise shall be his: it only remains now, my dear sorrowful friend, that you make over all your goods and chattels, hereditary or acquired, present and future, to your son, only reserving to yourself a moderate income: let everything be signed and sealed as soon as possible, that this same young gentleman of yours may throw a good fortune into our laps, without which my daughter will most certainly look another way for a husband.

euphemon.

I have promised you, sir, and I will keep my word: yes, Fierenfat shall have everything I am possessed of: the sad remainder of my unhappy life shall glide away silently in some distant retreat: but I cannot help wishing that one, for whom I design my all, was less eager to enjoy it: I have seen the mad debauchery of one son, and now behold with concern the soul of the other devoted to interest.

rondon.

So much the better, man, so much the better.

euphemon.

O my dear friend, I was born to be an unfortunate father.

rondon.

Let me have none of your lamentations, your sighs, and your groans: what! do you want your elder hopeful to come back, that prodigal spend-thrift, to spoil all our pleasure at once, and drop in like a trouble-feast on the day of marriage?

euphemon.

No, no.

rondon.

Would you have him come, and swear the house down?

euphemon.

No.

rondon.

Beat you, and run away with my daughter, with my dear Lise; my Lise, who—

euphemon.

Long may that charming maid be preserved from such wicked fellows!

rondon.

Do you want him to come again to plunder his father? Do you want to give him your estate?

euphemon.

No, no: his brother shall have it all.

rondon.

Ay! or my daughter will have none of him.

euphemon.

To-day he shall have Lise, and all my fortune: his brother will have nothing of me but the anger of a father, whom he hath grievously injured: he has deserved my hatred; an unnatural boy!

rondon.

Indeed you bore with him too long; the other at least has acted with discretion: but as for him, he was a profligate: my God, what a libertine! Do you not remember, ha! ha! that was a droll trick enough, when he robbed you of your clothes, horses, linen, and movables, to equip his little Jourdain, who left him the very next morning. Many a time have I laughed at that, I own.

euphemon.

O what pleasure can you find in repeating my misfortunes?

rondon.

And then his staking twenty rouleaux upon an ace; O dear! O dear!

euphemon.

Have done with this.

rondon.

Don’t you remember, when he was to have been betrothed to my little Lise in the face of the church, where he had hid himself, and upon whose account, too?—the debauched rogue!

euphemon.

Spare me the remembrance, good Rondon, of these unhappy circumstances, that only set his conduct in the worst light: am I not already unfortunate enough? I left my own house, the place of my nativity, on purpose to remove as far as possible from my thoughts the memory of a misfortune, which, whenever it recurs, distracts me. Your business led you to this place; we have entered into a connection with, and friendship for, each other; let me entreat you, Rondon, make the proper use of it. You are always repeating truths of some kind or other; but let me tell you, truth is not always agreeable.

rondon.

Well, well, it is agreed; I say no more; I ask pardon; but surely the devil was in you, when you knew his violent temper, to make a soldier of him.

euphemon.

Again!

rondon.

Forgive me, but really you ought—

euphemon.

I know it: I know I ought to forget everything but my younger son, and his marriage: but tell me sincerely, Rondon, think you he has been able to gain your daughter’s heart?

rondon.

O no doubt of it: my girl is a girl of honor, and will be obedient to her father: if I tell her she must fall in love, her little docile heart, which I can turn and wind just as I please, falls in love immediately, without any arguing about the matter: I know how to manage her, I warrant you.

euphemon.

I have notwithstanding some doubts about her obedience in this affair, and am greatly mistaken if she answers your expectation: my elder son had a place in her affections: I know how strong the first impressions of love are upon a tender heart; they are not worn out in a day; indeed, my friend, they are not.

rondon.

Nonsense, nonsense.

euphemon.

Say what you please, that wild fellow knew how to be agreeable.

rondon.

Not he indeed: he was nobody: a poor creature: no, no; never you fear that: after his behavior to you, I bade my daughter never to think of him any more; therefore set your heart at rest. When I say no, who shall dare to say yes? But you shall see, here she comes.

SCENE II.

euphemon, rondon, lise, martha.

rondon.

Come hither, my dear: this day, my dear, is a grand holiday for you, I am sure; for this day I intend to give you a husband: now tell me, my little Lise, be he old or young, handsome or ugly, grave or gay, rich or poor, shall you not have the strongest desire to please him? have you not already an inclination for him? are you not in love with him?

lise.

No, sir.

rondon.

How, gipsy—

euphemon.

O ho! my liege: why, your power is a little on the decline. What is become of your despotic authority!

rondon.

Ha! how is this! what, after all I said to you, have you no passion for your future husband? no inclination? no—

lise.

None in the least, sir.

rondon.

Don’t you know your duty obliges you to give him your whole heart?

lise.

No, sir; I tell you, no. I know, sir, how far a heart, obedient to the dictates of virtue, is obliged by the solemn tie of marriage. I know, sir, it is a wife’s duty to make herself as amiable as possible, and to endeavor to deserve a husband’s tenderness; to make amends by goodness for what she wants in beauty; abroad to be discreet and prudent; at home, affable and agreeable; but, as for love, it is quite another thing: it will not endure slavery: inclination can never be forced, therefore never attempt it: to my husband I shall yield up everything—but my heart, and that he must deserve before he can possess it: depend upon it, that the heart will never be taught to love by the command of a father; no, nor be argued into it by reason, nor frightened into it by a lawyer.

euphemon.

In my opinion, the girl talks sensibly, and I approve the justice of her argument: my son, I hope, will endeavor to make himself worthy of a heart so noble and so generous.

rondon.

Hold your tongue, you old doting flatterer, you corrupter of youth: without your encouragement, the girl would never have thought of prating to me in this ridiculous manner.

[To Lise.

Hark ye, miss, I have provided you a husband, perhaps he may have a little of the coxcomb, and take upon him rather too much; but it is my business to correct my son-in-law, and yours to take him, such as he is: to love one another as well as you can, and obey me in everything, that’s all you have to do: and now, brother, let us go sign and seal with my scrivener, who will give us a hundred words where four would be sufficient: come, let us away, and rattle the old brawler: then will I come back, and scold my son, and your daughter, and yourself.

euphemon.

Mighty well, sir: come along.

SCENE III.

lise, martha.

martha.

My God! what an odd mixture it is! how strangely the old gentleman jumbles his ideas together!

lise.

I am his daughter still; and his odd humors, after all, don’t alter the goodness of his heart. Under this violence of passion, and air of resentment, he has still the soul of a father; nay, sometimes, even in the midst of his freaks, and while he is scolding me, he will take my advice: to be sure, when he finds fault with the husband he has provided for me, and tells me of the hazard I run in such a marriage, he is but too much in the right: but when, at the same time, he lays his commands on me to love him, then indeed he is most miserably wrong.

martha.

How is it possible you should ever love this Monsieur Fierenfat? I’d sooner marry an old soldier, that swears, gets drunk, beats his wife, and yet loves her, than a coxcomb of the long robe, fond of nobody but himself; who, with a grave tone and pedantic air, talks to his wife as if he was examining her in a court of justice; a peacock that is always looking at his own tail, who bridles under his band, and admires himself; a wretch who has even more covetousness than pride, and makes love to you as he counts out his money.

lise.

Thou hast painted him to the life; but what can I do? I must submit to this marriage: we are not the disposers of our own fate: my parents, my fortune, my age, all conspire to force me into the bonds of wedlock. This Fierenfat, in spite of my dislike of him, is the only man here who can be my husband: he is the son of my father’s friend, and I can’t possibly shake him off. Alas! how few hearts are bestowed according to their own inclinations! I must yield: time and patience perhaps may conquer my disgust of him; I may reconcile myself to the yoke, and come at last to pass over his faults as I do my own.

martha.

Mighty well resolved indeed, my beautiful and discreet mistress: but your heart, I am afraid, is not quite so open—O if I dared—but you have forbidden my ever mentioning—

lise.

Whom?

martha.

Euphemon—who, spite of all his vices, I know, had once an interest in your heart; who loved you.

lise.

O never, never: mention no more a name which I detest.

martha.

[Going off.

Well, well, I say no more about him.

lise.

[Pulling her back.

It is true, his youth did for a little time betray me into a tenderness for him; but was he formed to make a virtuous woman happy?

martha.

[Going.

A dangerous fool indeed, madam.

lise.

[Pulling her back.

He met with too many corrupters to lead him astray, unhappy youth! he took his round of pleasures, but knew little, I believe, of love.

martha.

And yet there was a time when you seemed to think you had caught him in the toils.

lise.

If he had really loved, it might have reformed him; for, believe me, a real passion without disguise is the best curb on vice; and he who feels it, either is a worthy man, or soon will be so: but Euphemon despised his mistress, left love and tenderness for folly and debauchery. Those worthless villains, who pretended to be his friends, and drew him into the snare, after having exhausted all his mother’s fortune, robbed his unhappy father, and laid it upon him: to complete his misery, those vile seducers took him away from his father’s protection, and snatched him from me; hid him forever from these eyes, which, bathed in tears, still lament his vices and his charms. I think no more about him.

martha.

His brother, it seems, succeeds to his fortunes, and is to marry you; more’s the pity, I say: t’other had a fine face, fair hair, a good leg, danced well, sang well, in short, was born for love.

lise.

What are you talking of?

martha.

Even in the midst of all his freaks and follies, all his strange conduct, one might see a fund of honor in his heart.

lise.

There was; he seemed formed for virtue.

martha.

Don’t think, madam, I mean to flatter him: but to do him justice, he was not mean, nor servile; no railer, no sharper, no liar.

lise.

No: but—

martha.

Away: here comes his brother.

lise.

Nay: we must stay now, it is too late to get off.

SCENE IV.

lise, martha, fierenfat,the President.

fierenfat.

To be sure, madam, this augmentation of fortune must make the match more agreeable: increase of riches is increase of happiness, and, as I may say, the very soul of housekeeping: fortune, honor, and dignity will not be wanting to the wife of M. Fierenfat. At Cognac, madam, you will have the precedency of the first ladies of the beau-monde, let me tell you, madam, no little satisfaction: you will hear them whispering as you go along, “There she goes, Madame la Presidente”: really, madam, when I reflect upon my rank, my riches, the privilege of my high office, and all the good qualities I possess altogether, with my right of eldership which will be made over to me, I assure you, madam, I pay you no small compliment.

martha.

Now, for my part, I am of another opinion: always to be talking of your quality, your rank, and your riches, is extremely ridiculous: a Midas and Narcissus at once, blown up with your pride, and contracted with avarice; always looking at yourself and your money; a petit-maitre with a band on; the most unnatural of all human creatures: a young coxcomb may pass off, but a young miser is—a monster.

fierenfat.

I believe, sweetheart, it is not you whom I am to marry to-day, but this lady; therefore, you will please, madam, to trouble your head no more about us; silence will become you best.

[Turning to Lise.

You, madam, I hope, who in an hour or two are to be my wife, will, I hope, favor me so far as, before night, to dismiss this blustering body-guard of yours, who makes use of a chambermaid’s privilege to give rein to her impertinence: but I would have her know I am not a President for nothing, and may, perhaps, lock her up for her own good.

martha.

[To Lise.

Speak to him, madam, and defend me: if he locks me up, he may lock you up, too, for aught I know.

lise.

[Aside.

I augur ill from all this.

martha.

Speak to him then, and don’t mutter.

lise.

What can I say to him?

martha.

Abuse him.

lise.

No: I’ll reason with him.

martha.

That will never do, take my word for it; t’other’s the better way.

SCENE V.

rondon, fierenfat, lise.

rondon.

Upon my word, a pleasant affair this.

fierenfat.

What’s the matter?

rondon.

You shall hear. As I was tramping to your old gentleman with the parchments, I met him at the foot of this rock, talking with a traveller who had just alighted from a coach.

lise.

A young traveller?

rondon.

No: a toothless old fellow leaning on a crutch. I observed them rubbing their gray beards against each other for some time, shrugging up their humpbacks, and sighing most piteously; then they turned up the whites of their eyes, and fell to snivelling together: at last Euphemon, with a crabbed face, told me he had met with a great calamity, that at least he must have time to weep before he could sign the articles, and at that time could not talk to anybody.

fierenfat.

O I must go myself and comfort him: you know I can manage him as I please; besides, the affair is really my own concern; but as soon as he sees me with the contract in my hand, he will sign immediately. Time is precious, and my new right of eldership a matter of importance.

lise.

There is no hurry, sir, you need not be so impatient.

rondon.

But I say he shall be in a hurry: all this is your doing, madam.

lise.

How, sir! mine!

rondon.

Yes, yours, madam. All the crosses and disappointments that make families unhappy, come from undutiful daughters.

lise.

What have I done, sir, to disoblige you?

rondon.

What have you done! turned everything topsyturvy; put us all in confusion: but I’ll let these two wiseacres lay their heads together a little, and then marry you off in spite of their teeth; in spite of yourself, too, if you provoke me.

End of the First Act.