Scene 1. CLÉANTE, MARIANE, ÉLISE, FROSINE
CLÉANTE. Let’s come back in here; this place is much better. There are no suspicious people around anymore, and we can talk freely.
ÉLISE. Yes, Madame, my brother has confided to me the passion he feels for you. I know the chagrins and vexations that such crossings can cause; and, I assure you, it is with extreme tenderness that I take an interest in your adventure.
MARIANE. It’s a sweet consolation to see a person like you espousing one’s interests; and I conjure you, Madame, always to keep this generous friendship for me, so capable of softening the cruelties of fortune.
FROSINE. My word! You are both unfortunate that you didn’t inform me about your affair before all this. I would certainly have averted this trouble, and I wouldn’t have brought things to the point where they are.
CLÉANTE. What’s the use? It’s my evil destiny that willed it so. But, lovely Mariane, what have you decided?
MARIANE. Alas! Am I in a position to decide anything? And in my dependent situation, can I do anything but wish?
CLÉANTE. No other support for me in your heart than mere wishes? No well-intentioned pity? No helpful kindness? No active affection?
MARIANE. What can I say to you? Put yourself in my place, and see what there is I can do. Advise me yourself, order me; I put myself in your hands, and I think you are too reasonable to try to require of me anything but what honor and propriety permit.
CLÉANTE. Alas! To what straits you reduce me, by confining me to what is allowed by the frustrating feelings of rigorous honor and scrupulous propriety!
MARIANE. But what would you have me do? Even if I could override a quantity of considerations to which our sex is obliged, I have some consideration for my mother. She has always brought me up with extreme tenderness, and I could not bring myself to cause her any displeasure. Do your best to work on her; use every means to win her over. You can do and say anything you want. I give you my permission; and if all that’s needed is for me to declare myself in your favor, I am willing to consent to make her an avowal myself of all that I feel for you.
CLÉANTE. Frosine, my poor dear Frosine, would you help us out?
FROSINE. My word! Need you ask? I would like to with all my heart. You know I’m naturally quite humane; Heaven did not make my heart of bronze, and I’m only too tender in doing little favors when I see people wholeheartedly and honorably in love. What can we do in this matter?
CLÉANTE. Please give it a little thought.
MARIANE. Give us some ideas.
ÉLISE. Find some scheme to break up what you’ve done.
FROSINE. That’s pretty hard. (To MARIANE) As for your mother, she’s not altogether unreasonable, and it might be possible to win her over and persuade her to transfer to the son the gift she wants to make to the father. (To CLÉANTE) But the problem I find is that your father is your father.
CLÉANTE. That’s just it.
FROSINE. I mean that he’ll hold a grievance if he finds himself turned down, and he’ll be in no mood then to give his consent to your marriage. To do this right, we’d have to have the refusal come from him, and try to find some means to give him a distaste for your person.
CLÉANTE. You’re right.
FROSINE. Yes, I know I’m right. That’s what we need; but the devil of it is finding the means. Wait! Suppose we had some woman fairly well along, who had my kind of talent, and could act well enough to counterfeit a lady of quality, with the help of a retinue gotten up in haste, and with some strange title of marquise or viscountess, let’s suppose from lower Brittany; I would be skillful enough to make your father believe she was a wealthy woman with a hundred thousand crowns in ready cash besides her houses; that she was madly in love with him and so eager to be his wife that she would give him everything she had in the marriage contract; and I have no doubt that he would lend an ear to the proposition. For after all he loves you very much, I know, but he loves money a little bit more. And if, dazzled by this bait, he had once consented to what concerns you, it would make little difference later that he was disillusioned when he came to try to see more clearly into the possessions of our marquise.*
CLÉANTE. All that is very well thought out.
FROSINE. Leave it to me. I’ve just remembered a friend of mine who will be just the person we want.
CLÉANTE. Be assured of my gratitude, Frosine, if you can bring this off. But, charming Mariane, let us begin, I pray you, by winning over your mother; it would be a lot accomplished, at any rate, to break off this marriage. For your part, I conjure you, make every possible effort to this end; use all the power you have over her through the fondness she has for you; employ, and don’t hold back, the eloquent graces, the all-powerful charms that Heaven has placed in your eyes and mouth; and please don’t forget any of those tender words, those sweet prayers, and those touching caresses to which, I am persuaded, nothing can be refused.
MARIANE. I’ll do everything I can, and I won’t forget a single thing.
Scene 2. HARPAGON, CLÉANTE, MARIANE, ÉLISE, FROSINE
HARPAGON (aside and still unseen). Well now! My son is kissing the hand of his prospective stepmother, and his prospective stepmother is not defending herself very hard. Can there be some mystery beneath all this?
ÉLISE. Here is my father.
HARPAGON. The carriage is all ready. You can leave when you please.
CLÉANTE. Since you’re not going, father, I’ll take them.
HARPAGON. No, stay. They’ll go all alone perfectly well; and I need you.
(The ladies exit.)
Scene 3. HARPAGON, CLÉANTE
HARPAGON. Now tell me, apart from her being your stepmother, what do you think of this person?
CLÉANTE. What do I think of her?
HARPAGON. Yes, her manner, her figure, her beauty, her mind?
CLÉANTE. Ho, hum.
HARPAGON. But then what?
CLÉANTE. To speak frankly, I didn’t find her up to what I’d thought. Her manner is that of an out-and-out coquette; her figure is rather clumsy, her beauty very mediocre, and her mind quite ordinary. Don’t think, father, that this is to make you lose your taste for her; for as stepmothers go, I like this one as well as another.
HARPAGON. And yet you were saying to her just now . . .
CLÉANTE. I said a few sweet nothings to her in your name, but that was to please you.
HARPAGON. So that you would not have any inclination for her?
CLÉANTE. I? Not at all.
HARPAGON. I’m sorry; for that ruins an idea that had come into my mind. Seeing her here, I got to thinking about my age; and it struck me that people may find fault with me to see me marrying so young a girl. That consideration was about to make me give up the plan; and since I’ve asked for her hand, and have pledged my word to her, I would have given her to you, but for the aversion you show.
CLÉANTE. To me?
HARPAGON. To you.
CLÉANTE. In marriage?
HARPAGON. In marriage.
CLÉANTE. Listen: it’s true she’s not much to my taste; but to please you, father, I’ll make up my mind to marry her, if you want.
HARPAGON. I? I’m more reasonable than you think; I don’t want to force your inclination.
CLÉANTE. Pardon me; I’ll force myself for your sake.
HARPAGON. No, no; a marriage can’t be happy without inclination.
CLÉANTE. That’s something, father, that may come later; and they say that love is often a fruit of marriage.
HARPAGON. No; on the man’s side this is not a risk to take; and there are unhappy consequences to which I have no wish to commit myself. If you had felt some inclination for her, well and good: I would have had you marry her instead of me; but that not being the case, I’ll stick to my original plan and marry her myself.
CLÉANTE. Well, father, since that’s the way things are, I must open my heart to you, I must reveal our secret to you. The truth is that I have loved her ever since the day when I first saw her, out for a walk; that my plan just now was to ask you to let me have her for my wife; and that all that held me back was your declaration of your feelings, and my fear of displeasing you.
HARPAGON. Have you paid her any visits?
CLÉANTE. Yes, father.
HARPAGON. Many times?
CLÉANTE. A good many, considering the time there has been,
HARPAGON. Were you well received?
CLÉANTE. Very well, but without their knowing who I was; and that’s what caused Mariane’s surprise just now.
HARPAGON. Have you declared your passion to her, and the intention you had to marry her?
CLÉANTE. Of course; and I’ve even made some overtures to her mother about it.
HARPAGON. Did she listen to your proposal on her daughter’s behalf?
CLÉANTE. Yes, very civilly.
HARPAGON. And does the daughter fully return your love?
CLÉANTE. Judging by appearances, father, I am persuaded that she has some affection for me.
HARPAGON (aside). I’m very glad to have learned such a secret, and that’s just what I wanted to know. (To CLÉANTE) Now then, son, do you know what’s ahead? You will have to make up your mind, if you please, to get rid of your love; to stop all your pursuit of a person whom I intend for myself; and shortly to marry the woman who is destined for you.
CLÉANTE. So, father, that was the game you were playing with me! Well! Since this is what things have come to, I declare to you that I will never give up my passion for Mariane, that I will go to any extreme to dispute your conquest of her, and that if you have a mother’s consent on your side, I may perhaps have other resources fighting for me.
HARPAGON. What, you gallowsbird? You have the audacity to poach on my preserves?
CLÉANTE. You’re the one who’s poaching on mine; and I was the first one there.
HARPAGON. Am I not your father? And don’t you owe me respect?
CLÉANTE. These are not matters in which children are obliged to defer to fathers; and love is no respecter of persons.
HARPAGON. I’ll make you respect me all right—with a good stick!
CLÉANTE. All your threats will have no effect.
HARPAGON. You shall give up Mariane.
CLÉANTE. Absolutely not.
HARPAGON. Give me a stick immediately.
Scene 4. MAÎTRE JACQUES, HARPAGON, CLÉANTE
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Now, now, now, gentlemen, what is all this? What are you thinking of?
CLÉANTE. I don’t care a bit.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Oh, sir, gently!
HARPAGON. To talk to me with such impudence!
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Oh, sir, please!
CLÉANTE. I won’t give an inch.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. What? To your father?
HARPAGON. Let me at him.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. What? Your son? For me it would be another matter.
HARPAGON. Maître Jacques, I’ll make you yourself the judge of this matter, to show how right I am.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I agree. (To CLÉANTE) Move off a bit.
HARPAGON. I’m in love with a girl whom I mean to marry; and this gallowsbird has the insolence to love her too, and to aspire to her hand in spite of my orders.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Oh! He’s wrong.
HARPAGON. Isn’t it a frightful thing for a son to want to go into rivalry with his father? And shouldn’t he, out of respect, abstain from meddling with my inclinations?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. You’re right. Let me speak to him, and you stay there. (Crosses the stage to CLÉANTE.)
CLÉANTE. Well, yes, since he wants to choose you as judge, I won’t back down; I don’t care who it is; and I too am willing to leave it to you, Maître Jacques, to judge our difference.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. You do me too much honor.
CLÉANTE. I’m in love with a young lady who returns my affection and tenderly accepts the offer of my love; and my father takes it into his head to come and disturb our love by asking for her hand.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. He is certainly wrong.
CLÉANTE. Isn’t he ashamed, at his age, to think of marrying? Is it becoming to him to be still in love? And shouldn’t he leave that occupation to young men?
MAÎTRE JACQUES. You’re right; he can’t be serious. Let me have a word with him. (Goes back to HARPAGON.) Well! Your son isn’t as strange as you say, and he’s listening to reason. He says that he knows the respect he owes you, that he was carried away only in the first heat of anger, and that he will not refuse to submit to whatever you like, provided you are willing to treat him better than you do, and give him some person in marriage that he’ll have reason to be pleased with.
HARPAGON. Ah! Tell him, Maître Jacques, that on those conditions he can hope for anything from me; and that except for Mariane, I give him the freedom to choose anyone he wants.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Let me handle it (Crosses to CLÉANTE.) Well, your father isn’t as unreasonable as you make him out to be; and he told me that it was your outbursts that made him angry; that all he objects to is your way of acting; and that he will be quite disposed to grant you what you wish, provided you are willing to go about matters nicely, and show him the deference, respect, and submission that a son owes to his father.
CLÉANTE. Ah! Maître Jacques, you can assure him that if he grants me Mariane, he will always find me the most submissive of men, and that I will never do anything except by his wishes.
MAÎTRE JACQUES (to HARPAGON). That’s done. He agrees to everything you say.
HARPAGON. That’s just wonderful.
MAÎTRE JACQUES (to CLÉANTE). Everything is settled. He’s satisfied with your promises.
CLÉANTE. Heaven be praised!
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Gentlemen, all you have to do is talk it over. Now you are agreed; and you were going to have a quarrel because you didn’t understand each other.
CLÉANTE. Dear Maître Jacques, I shall be obliged to you all my life.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. Don’t mention it, sir.
HARPAGON. You’ve given me great pleasure, Maître Jacques, and that deserves a reward. (Feels in his pocket, while MAÎTRE JACQUES holds out his hand; then pulls out his handkerchief.) Go along with you; I’ll remember this, I assure you.
MAÎTRE JACQUES. I kiss your hands.
Scene 5. CLÉANTE, HARPAGON
CLÉANTE. I beg your pardon, father, for having lost my temper.
HARPAGON. That’s nothing.
CLÉANTE. I assure you, I’m as sorry as I can be.
HARPAGON. And I’m as happy as I can be to find you reasonable.
CLÉANTE. How good of you to forget my fault so quickly!
HARPAGON. It’s easy to forget children’s faults when they remember their duty.
CLÉANTE. What? Do you bear me no resentment for all my outrageous conduct?
HARPAGON. You oblige me not to, by the submission and respect you show me.
CLÉANTE. I promise you, father, that to the grave I shall carry in my heart the memory of your goodness.
HARPAGON. And I promise you that there is nothing you may not obtain from me.
CLÉANTE. Ah! father, I ask nothing more of you; and you’ve given me enough by giving me Mariane.
HARPAGON. How’s that?
CLÉANTE. I say, father, that I’m only too delighted with you, and that I find all I want in your kindness in granting me Mariane.
HARPAGON. Who says anything about granting you Mariane?
CLÉANTE. You, father.
HARPAGON. I?
CLÉANTE. Of course.
HARPAGON. What? You’re the one who promised to give her up.
CLÉANTE. I, give her up?
HARPAGON. Yes.
CLÉANTE. Not at all.
HARPAGON. You haven’t given up your hopes for her?
CLÉANTE. On the contrary, I’m more determined than ever.
HARPAGON. What, you blackguard? At it again?
CLÉANTE. Nothing can change me.
HARPAGON. Let me at you, you traitor.
CLÉANTE. Do what you like.
HARPAGON. I forbid you to come into my sight again.
CLÉANTE. That’s fine with me.
HARPAGON. I abandon you.
CLÉANTE. Abandon all you like.
HARPAGON. I disown you as my son.
CLÉANTE. So be it.
HARPAGON. I disinherit you.
CLÉANTE. Whatever you like.
HARPAGON. And I give you my curse.
CLÉANTE. I have no use for your gifts.
Scene 6. LA FLÈCHE, CLÉANTE
LA FLÈCHE (coming from the garden with a money-box). Ah, sir! I was just looking for you! Quick, follow me.
CLÉANTE. What’s going on?
LA FLÈCHE. Follow me, I tell you; we’re in luck.
CLÉANTE. How’s that?
LA FLÈCHE. Here is what we need.
CLÉANTE. What?
LA FLÈCHE. I’ve had my eye on this all day.
CLÉANTE. What is it?
LA FLÈCHE. Your father’s treasure, which I’ve nabbed.
CLÉANTE. How did you manage?
LA FLÈCHE. I’ll tell you everything. Let’s run. I hear him shouting.
Scene 7. HARPAGON
HARPAGON (shouting “Stop, thief!” from the garden, and coming in without his hat). Stop, thief! Stop, thief! Assassin! Murderer! Justice, just Heaven! I’m ruined, I’m assassinated, they’ve cut my throat, they’ve stolen my money. Who can it be? What has become of him? Where is he? Where is he hiding? What shall I do to find him? Which way shall I run? Which way shall I not run? Isn’t he there? Isn’t he here? Who is it? Stop! (Catches his own arm.) Give me back my money, you scoundrel . . . Oh, it’s me. My mind is troubled, and I don’t know where I am, who I am, or what I’m doing. Alas! My poor money, my poor money, my dear friend! They’ve deprived me of you; and since you are taken from me, I’ve lost my support, my consolation, my joy; all is finished for me, and there’s nothing more for me to do in the world; without you, it’s impossible for me to live. It’s all over; I can’t go on; I’m dying, I’m dead, I’m buried. Isn’t there anyone who will bring me back to life by giving me back my dear money, or by telling me who took it? Eh? What do you say? . . . It’s no one. Whoever it was that did it, he must have watched his opportunity with great care; and he chose just the time when I was talking to my traitor of a son. Let’s go out; I’m going to fetch the law, and have everyone in my house put to the torture: maidservants, valets, son, daughter, and myself too. (Looking at the audience) What a lot of people assembled! There’s no one my eyes light on but gives me suspicions, and everyone looks like my thief. Eh? What are they talking about over there? About the man who robbed me? What’s that noise they’re making up there? Is my thief there? For Heaven’s sake, if anyone has any news of my thief, I implore him to tell me. Isn’t he hiding there among you? . . . They’re all looking at me and laughing. You’ll see, beyond a doubt they’re all involved in my robbery. Let’s go, quick, officers, policemen, provosts, judges, racks, gallows, and executioners. I’ll have everybody hanged; and if I don’t find my money, I’ll hang myself afterward.