Scene 1. HARPAGON, CLÉANTE, ÉLISE, VALÈRE, DAME CLAUDE, MAÎTRE JACQUES, BRINDAVOINE, LA MERLUCHE
HARPAGON. All right, come here all of you while I give you my orders for this evening and assign everyone his job. Come here, Dame Claude. Let’s start with you. (She is holding a broom.) Good, I see you’re armed. I entrust you with the task of cleaning up everywhere; and above all, take care not to rub the furniture too hard, for fear of wearing it out. Besides that, I assign to you the government of the bottles during the supper; and if there’s one missing or anything broken, I’ll hold you responsible and deduct it from your wages.
MAÎTRE JACQUES (aside). A politic punishment.
HARPAGON. Off you go. (Exit DAME CLAUDE.) You, Brindavoine, and you, La Merluche, I establish you in charge of rinsing the glasses and serving the drink; but only when people are thirsty, and not in the manner of some impertinent lackeys who egg people on and put them in mind of drinking when they’re not thinking about it. Wait until they ask you more than once, and remember always to take around plenty of water.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Yes, pure wine goes to your head.
LA MERLUCHE. Shall we be taking off our aprons, sir?
HARPAGON. Yes, when you see the people coming; and take care not to spoil your clothes.
BRINDAVOINE. You know very well, sir, that one of the foreflaps of my doublet is covered with a big spot of oil from the lamp.
LA MERLUCHE. And me, sir, I got a big hole in the seat of my breeches, and with all respect, people can see . . .
HARPAGON. Peace. Arrange that adroitly against the wall, and always face the company. (HARPAGON puts his hat in front of his doublet to show BRINDAVOINE what he must do to hide the oil spot.) And you, always hold your hat thus when you serve. (To ÉLISE) As for you, daughter, you’ll keep an eye on what is cleared away, and take care that nothing is wasted. That’s quite fitting for a daughter. But meanwhile prepare to receive my fiancée well. She’s coming to visit you and take you to the fair with her. Do you hear what I’m telling you?
ÉLISE. Yes, father.
HARPAGON. And you, my fine fop of a son, whom I am kind enough to forgive for that matter just now, don’t go and take it into your head to show her a sour face either.
CLÉANTE. I, father, a sour face? And for what reason?
HARPAGON. Oh Lord! We know the way children carry on whose fathers remarry, and how they usually look at what we call a stepmother. But if you want me to lose all remembrance of your latest escapade, I recommend to you above all to greet this person with a friendly face, and in short to give her the best welcome you possibly can.
CLÉANTE. To tell you the truth, father, I can’t promise you to be very glad that she is to become my stepmother; I’d be lying if I told you so; but as for receiving her well and showing her a friendly face, I promise to obey you to the letter on that score.
HARPAGON. All right, be sure you do.
CLÉANTE. You’ll see that you have no reason to complain.
HARPAGON. You will do wisely. Valère, help me in this. Here now, Maître Jacques, come here. I’ve kept you for the last.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Is it your coachman, sir, or your cook that you want to speak to? For I’m both.
HARPAGON. Both.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. But which one first?
HARPAGON. The cook.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Then wait, please. (He takes off his coachman’s overcoat and hat and appears dressed as a cook.)
HARPAGON. What the devil kind of a ceremony is that?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I await your orders.
HARPAGON. I have committed myself, Maître Jacques, to giving a supper this evening.
MAÎTRE JACQUES (aside). Will wonders never cease?
HARPAGON. Now tell me, will you give us a good meal?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Yes, if you give me plenty of money.
HARPAGON. What the devil, always money! They seem to have nothing else to say but “Money, money, money.” Oh, that’s the only word in their mouths: “Money.” Always talking about money! That’s the sword by their bedside, money.
VALÈRE. I’ve never heard a more pointless answer than that. That’s a great wonder, to make a good meal with lots of money! It’s one of the easiest things in the world, and any poor fool can do as much; but to show some ability you’ve got to talk about making a good meal with little money.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. A good meal with little money!
VALÈRE. Yes.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Upon my word, Mr. Steward, you’ll do us a favor by showing us that secret, and taking over my job as cook, since you’re meddling with being a factotum here.
HARPAGON. Be quiet. What will we need?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. There’s Mr. Steward of yours, who’ll give you a good meal for little money.
HARPAGON. Hey! I want you to answer me.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. How many of you will there be at table?
HARPAGON. There’ll be eight or ten of us; but figure on only eight; when there’s enough to eat for eight, there’s certainly enough for ten.
VALÈRE. Obviously.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Well! You’ll need four big soups, and five courses.* Soups . . . entrées . . .
HARPAGON. What the devil! That’s enough to treat a whole town.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. A roast . . .
HARPAGON (putting his hand over MAÎTRE JACQUES’ mouth). Ah, traitor! You’re eating up everything I own.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Side dishes . . .
HARPAGON. Still at it?
VALÈRE. Do you want to make everybody burst? And did the master invite people in order to kill them with too much food? Go read up a bit on the precepts for health, and ask the doctors if there’s anything more prejudicial to man than eating to excess.
HARPAGON. He’s right.
VALÈRE. Learn, Maître Jacques, you and the likes of you, that a table overloaded with food is a deathtrap; that to be a true friend to those you invite, frugality must reign in the meals you give; and that, as one of the ancients put it, we must eat to live, and not live to eat.*
HARPAGON. Ah! That’s well put! Come here, let me embrace you for that saying. That’s the finest precept I’ve ever heard in my life. We must live to eat, and not eat to li . . . No, that’s not it. How does it go?
VALÈRE. That we must eat to live, and not live to eat.
HARPAGON. Yes. (To MAÎTRE JACQUES) Do you hear? (To VALÈRE) Who was the great man who said that?
VALÈRE. I don’t remember his name now.
HARPAGON. Remember to write down those words for me; I want to have them engraved in letters of gold on the mantelpiece in my dining room.
VALÈRE. I won’t fail to. And for your supper, you need only leave it to me: I’ll arrange it all as it should be.
HARPAGON. Then do.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. All the better; I’ll have that much less trouble.
HARPAGON. We’ll have to have some of those things that people don’t eat much of and that fill you up right away: a good fat lamb stew, and a potted pie well stuffed with chestnuts.
VALÈRE. Rely on me.
HARPAGON. Now, Maître Jacques, my carriage needs to be cleaned.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Wait. This is for the coachman. (He puts his coat on again.) You were saying . . . ?
HARPAGON. That my carriage needs to be cleaned and my horses got ready to drive to the fair . . .
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Your horses, sir? My word, they’re in no condition at all to walk. I won’t tell you that they’re down on their litter. The poor beasts don’t have any, and it would be no way to talk; but you make them observe such austere fasts that they are nothing anymore but ideas or phantoms or shadows of horses.
HARPAGON. They’re sick indeed! They don’t do anything.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. And because they don’t do anything, sir, don’t they need to eat anything? It would be much better for them, poor creatures, to work a lot and eat likewise. It breaks my heart to see them so emaciated; for the fact is I have such a tender feeling for my horses that when I see them suffer, it seems to be happening to me. Every day I take things out of my own mouth for them; and, sir, it’s a sign of too harsh a nature if a man has no pity on his neighbor.
HARPAGON. It won’t be any great effort to go as far as the fair.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. No, sir, I haven’t the heart to drive them, and it would go against my conscience to give them the whip in the state they’re in. How do you expect them to drag a carriage when they can’t even drag themselves along?
VALÈRE. Sir, I’ll get our neighbor Le Picard to take on the job of driving them; and we’ll need him here too to get the supper ready.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. So be it. I’d still rather they died under someone else’s hand than mine.
VALÈRE. Maître Jacques is acting very reasonable.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Mr. Steward is acting very indispensable.
HARPAGON. Peace!
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Sir, I can’t stand flatterers; and I see that whatever he does, his perpetual checks on the bread and the wine, the wood, the salt, and the candles, are nothing but scratching your back and getting on your good side. That makes me mad, and I’m angered every day to hear what people say about you; for after all I have a soft spot in my heart for you in spite of myself; and after my horses, you are the person I like best.
HARPAGON. Might I learn from you, Maître Jacques, what people say about me?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Yes, sir, if I could be sure it wouldn’t make you angry.
HARPAGON. No, not in the least.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Pardon me. I know very well that I’d put you in a rage.
HARPAGON. Not at all. On the contrary, it will give me pleasure, and I’m very glad to learn how people talk about me.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Since you want it, sir, I’ll tell you frankly that people everywhere make fun of you; that from every side they toss a hundred jokes at us on your account; and that they couldn’t be more delighted than in catching you with your pants down and telling stories constantly about your stinginess. One man says that you have special almanacs printed in which you double the number of fast days and vigils, so as to profit by the fasts that you force upon your household. Another says that you always have a quarrel ready to pick with your valets when it’s time for presents or for them to leave you, so you can find a reason for not giving them anything. This man tells how you took the cat of one of your neighbors to court for having eaten up the remains of a leg of lamb of yours. That man tells how you were caught one night going, yourself, to steal your horses’ oats; and that your coachman, who was the one before me, in the dark, gave you I don’t know how many blows with a stick, which you never wanted to say anything about. In short, do you want me to tell you how it is? A man can’t go anywhere where he won’t hear you hauled over the coals; you are a byword and a laughingstock to everybody; and nobody ever speaks about you except as a miser, a skinflint, a penny-pincher and a usurer.
HARPAGON (beating him). You are a numbskull, a rogue, and an impudent scoundrel.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Well! Didn’t I guess right? You wouldn’t believe me. I told you I’d make you angry if I told you the truth.
HARPAGON. That’ll teach you how to talk.
Scene 2. MAÎTRE JACQUES, VALÈRE
VALÈRE (laughing). From what I can see, Maître Jacques, your frankness is ill repaid.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. By gad, Mr. Upstart, you who like to play important, it’s none of your business. Laugh at your own beatings when you get them, and don’t come laughing at mine.
VALÈRE. Ah! Sir Maître Jacques, don’t be angry, I beg you.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. (Aside) Oh! sweet talk! I’ll play tough, and if he’s fool enough to be afraid of me, I’ll give him a bit of a drubbing. (Aloud) Do you realize, Mr. Laugher, that me, I’m not laughing, and that if you make me mad, I’ll make you laugh out of the other side of your mouth? (MAÎTRE JACQUES pushes VALÈRE to the end of the stage, threatening him.)
VALÈRE. Eh! gently.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. What do you mean, gently? That doesn’t suit me.
VALÈRE. I pray you.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. You’re an impertinent fellow.
VALÈRE. Sir Maître Jacques.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I won’t give you two cents for your “Sir Maître Jacques.” If I take a stick to you, I’ll give you a sound thrashing.
VALÈRE (makes him retreat as much as he had done). What, a stick?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Oh, I don’t mean that.
VALÈRE. Do you realize, Mr. Big Shot, that I’m just the man to thrash you?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I don’t doubt it.
VALÈRE. That take you all in all you’re nothing but a scum of a cook?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I know that very well.
VALÈRE. And that you don’t know me yet?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I beg your pardon.
VALÈRE. You’ll thrash me, you say?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I said it as a joke.
VALÈRE. And I have no taste for your jokes. (Beats him.) Better learn that you’re a bad joker.
(Exit)
MAÎTRE JACQUES. A plague on sincerity! It’s a bad trade. Henceforth I give it up, and I’ll never speak the truth again. All right for my master; he has a certain right to beat me; but as for this Mr. Steward, I’ll be revenged on him if I can.
Scene 3. FROSINE, MARIANE, MAÎTRE JACQUES
FROSINE. Maître Jacques, do you know if your master is at home?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Yes, indeed he is. I know it only too well.
FROSINE. Please tell him that we’re here.
Scene 4. MARIANE, FROSINE
MARIANE. Ah, Frosine, what a strange state I’m in! And if I must say what I feel, how I dread the sight of him!
FROSINE. But why? And what are you worried about?
MARIANE. Alas! How can you ask? And can’t you imagine the alarm of a person just about to see the torture that’s in store for her?
FROSINE. I see well enough that to die pleasantly, Harpagon isn’t the torture that you’d like to embrace; and I can tell by your face that that blond youngster you spoke to me about is a bit on your mind.
MARIANE. Yes, Frosine, it’s something against which I don’t even want to defend myself; and the respectful visits he has paid us have, I admit, had some effect on my soul.
FROSINE. But have you found out who he is?
MARIANE. No, I don’t know who he is; but I know that he’s made in such a way as to be loved; that if things could be left to my choice, I’d take him rather than another man; and that he contributes no little to make me find a frightful torment in the husband they want to give me.
FROSINE. My Lord! All these young fops are attractive, and have a good line; but most of them are poor as church mice; and it’s better for you to take an old husband who’ll give you plenty of money. I admit that the senses are not so well taken care of on the side I’m talking about, and that there are some distasteful things to put up with with such a husband; but that’s not made to last, and his death, believe me, will soon put you in a position to take a more attractive one, who will make up for everything.
MARIANE. Good Lord, Frosine! It’s a strange business when, to be happy, we must wish for someone else’s decease; and death does not always fall in with all the plans we make.
FROSINE. Don’t be silly. You’re marrying him only on condition that he leave you a widow soon; and that must be one of the articles in the contract. He would be very impertinent not to die inside of three months.—Here he is in person.
MARIANE. Ah! Frosine, what a face!
Scene 5. HARPAGON, FROSINE, MARIANE
HARPAGON. Don’t be offended, my beauty, if I come to you with spectacles on. I know that your charms strike the eye enough, are visible enough, by themselves, and that there’s no need of glasses to perceive them; but after all, it is through glasses that we observe the stars; and I maintain and guarantee that you are a star, but a star that is the loveliest star in the land of stars. Frosine, she doesn’t answer a word, and, it seems to me, shows no joy in seeing me.
FROSINE. That’s because she’s still all overcome; and then, girls are always ashamed to show at first what they feel in their souls.
HARPAGON. You’re right. There now, my pretty, here’s my daughter coming to greet you.
Scene 6. ÉLISE, HARPAGON, MARIANE, FROSINE
MARIANE. I’ve owed you a visit, Madame, and I’m late in paying it.
ÉLISE. You’ve done what I should have done, Madame, and I should have come to see you first.
HARPAGON. You see she’s a big girl; but bad weeds always grow.
MARIANE (aside, to FROSINE). Oh, what an unpleasant man!
HARPAGON. What is the pretty thing saying?
FROSINE. That she thinks you’re admirable.
HARPAGON. You do me too much honor, adorable pet.
MARIANE (aside). What a beast!
HARPAGON. I’m only too obliged to you for these sentiments.
MARIANE (aside). I can’t stand it any longer.
HARPAGON. Here’s my son too, coming to pay his respects to you.
MARIANE (aside, to FROSINE). Ah! Frosine, what an encounter! This is just the one I was telling you about.
FROSINE (to MARIANE). It’s an amazing coincidence.
HARPAGON. I see that you’re astonished to see that I have such grown-up children; but I’ll soon be rid of them both.
Scene 7. CLÉANTE, HARPAGON, ÉLISE, MARIANE, FROSINE
CLÉANTE (to MARIANE). Madame, to tell you the truth, this is a coincidence I certainly wasn’t expecting; and my father surprised me no little when he told me just now of the plan he had made.
MARIANE (to CLÉANTE). I may say the same thing. This is an unforeseen encounter that surprised me as much as it did you; and I was not prepared for such an adventure.
CLÉANTE. It is true that my father, Madame, can make no finer choice, and that the honor of seeing you is a real joy to me; but for all that, I will not assure you that I am delighted with the plan you might have to become my stepmother. I confess to you, that compliment is too difficult for me; and by your leave, that is a title I do not wish you. This speech will appear brutal in the eyes of some people; but I am sure that you will be the person to take it aright; that this is a marriage, Madame, for which you may well imagine I must have some repugnance; that you are not unaware, knowing what I am, how it clashes with my interests; and that, in short, you are willing to have me tell you, with my father’s permission, that if things depended on me, this marriage would not take place.
HARPAGON. That’s a very impertinent compliment. What a fine confession to make to her!
MARIANE. And I, to answer you, must tell you that things are very much the same with me; and that if you would feel repugnance to see me as your stepmother, I would doubtless feel no less to see you as my stepson. Please don’t believe that it is I who am trying to give you this distress. I would be very sorry to cause you any displeasure; and if I do not find myself forced to it by some absolute power, I give you my word that I shall not consent to this marriage that makes you unhappy.
HARPAGON. She’s right: a stupid compliment demands a like answer. I beg your pardon, my beauty, for my son’s impertinence. He’s a young fool, who doesn’t yet know the consequence of the words he says.
MARIANE. I promise you that what he said to me did not offend me at all; on the contrary, he gave me pleasure by thus explaining his true feelings to me. I like an avowal of that kind from him; and if he had spoken in any other way, I would esteem him the less for it.
HARPAGON. It’s very kind of you to want to excuse his faults thus. Time will make him wiser, and you’ll see that he’ll change his feelings.
CLÉANTE. No, father, I am not capable of changing them, and I earnestly implore Madame to believe this.
HARPAGON. Just see how wild he is! He goes on stronger than ever.
CLÉANTE. Do you want me to betray my heart?
HARPAGON. Still at it? How would you like to change your tune?
CLÉANTE. Well, since you want me to speak in another vein, allow me, Madame, to put myself in my father’s place and admit to you that I have seen nothing in the world as charming as you; that I can conceive nothing equal to the happiness of pleasing you; and that to be called your husband is a glory, a felicity that I would prefer to the destinies of the greatest princes on earth. Yes, Madame, the happiness of possessing you is in my eyes the fairest of all fortunes; I set my whole ambition on that; there is nothing I am incapable of doing to make so precious a conquest; and the most powerful obstacles . . .
HARPAGON. Gently, son, if you please.
CLÉANTE. It’s a compliment I’m paying for you to Madame.
HARPAGON. My Lord! I’ve a tongue to explain myself with, and I don’t need an advocate like you. (To the SERVANTS) Come on, bring some chairs.
FROSINE. No, it’s better that we go to the fair right now, so as to get back sooner and then have plenty of time to talk to you.
HARPAGON. Then have them put the horses to the carriage. I pray you to excuse me, my beauty, if I didn’t think to give you a little refreshment before leaving.
CLÉANTE. I’ve arranged for that, father, and I’ve had brought here a few basinsful of China oranges, sweet lemons, and preserves,* which I have sent for on your behalf.
HARPAGON (aside, to VALÈRE). Valère!
VALÈRE (to HARPAGON). He’s out of his mind.
CLÉANTE. Do you think it’s not enough, father? Madame will please be kind enough to excuse it.
MARIANE. That was not necessary.
CLÉANTE. Madame, have you ever seen a brighter diamond than the one you see my father has on his finger?
MARIANE. It’s true that it’s very sparkling.
CLÉANTE (takes it from his father’s finger and gives it to MARIANE). You must see it from close up.
MARIANE. Certainly it’s very beautiful and casts great luster.
CLÉANTE (stands in front of MARIANE, who tries to return it). No, Madame, the hands it is in are too beautiful. It’s a present that my father has given you.
HARPAGON. I?
CLÉANTE. Isn’t it true, father, that you want Madame to keep it for your sake?
HARPAGON (aside, to his son). What?
CLÉANTE (To HARPAGON). A fine question! (To MARIANE) He’s signaling me to make you accept it.
MARIANE. I don’t want . . .
CLÉANTE. Are you joking? He wouldn’t think of taking it back.
HARPAGON (aside). I’m getting mad!
MARIANE. It would be . . .
CLÉANTE (still keeping MARIANE from returning the ring). No, I tell you, you would offend him.
MARIANE. Please . . .
CLÉANTE. Not at all.
HARPAGON (aside). Plague take . . .
CLÉANTE. Now he’s shocked at your refusal.
HARPAGON (aside, to his son). Ah, traitor!
CLÉANTE. You see he’s getting desperate.
HARPAGON (aside, to his son, threatening him). You cutthroat!
CLÉANTE. Father, it’s not my fault. I’m doing what I can to make her keep it; but she’s obstinate.
HARPAGON (aside, to his son, in a fury). You scoundrel!
CLÉANTE. You are the reason, Madame, why my father is scolding me.
HARPAGON (aside, to his son, with the same grimaces). The villain!
CLÉANTE. You will make him ill. Please, Madame, don’t resist any longer.
FROSINE. My Lord! What a to-do! Keep the ring, since the gentleman wants you to.
MARIANE. So as not to make you angry, I’ll keep it for now; and I’ll find another time to return it to you.
Scene 8. HARPAGON, MARIANE, FROSINE, CLÉANTE, BRINDAVOINE, ÉLISE
BRINDAVOINE. Sir, there’s a man here that wants to speak to you.
HARPAGON. Tell him I’m busy, and to come back another time.
BRINDAVOINE. He says he’s bringing you some money.
HARPAGON. I beg your pardon. I’ll be right back.
Scene 9. HARPAGON, MARIANE, CLÉANTE, ÉLISE, FROSINE, LA MERLUCHE
LA MERLUCHE (comes running in, and knocks HARPAGON down). Sir . . .
HARPAGON. Oh! I’m dead.
CLÉANTE. What is it, father? Did you hurt yourself?
HARPAGON. The traitor certainly got money from my debtors to make me break my neck.
VALÈRE. It won’t be anything.
LA MERLUCHE. Sir, I beg your pardon. I thought I was doing the right thing to come running.
HARPAGON. What did you come for, you murderer?
LA MERLUCHE. To tell you that both your horses have lost their shoes.
HARPAGON. Have them taken promptly to the smith’s.
CLÉANTE. While we’re waiting for them to be shod, father, I’ll do the honors of the house for you, and take Madame into the garden, where I’ll have the refreshments served.
HARPAGON. Valère, keep an eye on all this, and please take care to save me as much of it all as you can, to send back to the storekeeper.
VALÈRE. Enough said.
HARPAGON. O you rascal of a son, do you want to ruin me?