Scene 1. DORANTE, DORIMÈNE, MONSIEUR JOURDAIN, two MEN SINGERS, a WOMAN SINGER, LACKEYS
DORIMÈNE. Why, Dorante! This is a really magnificent meal!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. You’re joking, Madame, and I wish it was more worthy of being offered to you.
(They all take their seats at the table.)
DORANTE. Monsieur Jourdain is right, Madame, to speak in this way, and he obliges me by doing you the honors of his house so well. I agree with him that the meal is not worthy of you. Since it was I who ordered it, and since I do not have the sophistication of our friends in this matter, you don’t have a very learned meal here, and you will find in it some gastronomic incongruities and some barbarisms in the matter of good taste. If Damis had had a hand in it, everything would be according to the rules; there would be elegance and erudition everywhere; and he would not fail, himself, to overpraise to you all the parts of the meal that he would serve, and to make you agree to his high capacity in the science of tidbits: to talk to you of his rolls cooked on the edge of the oven, golden brown, crusted all over, crunching delicately under the teeth; of a wine with a velvety savor, armed with a youthful vigor that is not too dominating; a breast of lamb garnished with parsley; a loin of Normandy veal, just so long, white, delicate, and like real almond paste under your teeth; partridges seasoned with a surprising bouquet; and for his masterpiece, a plump young turkey flanked by squabs, in a pearly bouillon, crowned with white onions wedded to chicory. But as for me, I confess my ignorance; and as Monsieur Jourdain has very well said, I wish the meal were more worthy of being offered you.
DORIMÈNE. My only reply to this compliment is to eat as I am doing.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Ah, what beautiful hands!
DORIMÈNE. The hands are very ordinary, Monsieur Jourdain; but no doubt you mean to speak of the diamond, which is very beautiful.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. I, Madame! God forbid that I should mean to speak of it; that would not be acting like a man of the world, and the diamond is a very small thing.
DORIMÈNE. You’re very hard to please.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. You are too kind . . .
DORANTE. Come, serve some wine to Monsieur Jourdain and to these gentlemen, who will do us the kindness of singing us a drinking air.
DORIMÈNE. It’s a marvelous seasoning for good cheer, to combine it with music, and I find myself being admirably entertained here.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Madame, it’s not . . .
DORANTE. Monsieur Jourdain, let’s be quiet for these gentlemen; what they will tell us will be better than anything we could say.
(The MUSICIANS take glasses and sing two drinking songs, accompanied by the whole orchestra.)
First Drinking Song
Just a wee drop of wine, Phyllis, to start the round.
Ah! Ah! How in your hands a glass is full of charms!
You and the wine, you lend each other arms,
And for you both my love is doubled at a bound.
So you and I let’s swear, between us three,
Love that shall always be.
Wetting your mouth, it is embellished with love’s shafts,
And as you see, by it your mouth is set on fire;
Each of the other fills me with desire;
Of you and it I drink intoxicating drafts.
So you and I let’s swear, between us three,
Love that shall always be.
Second Drinking Song
Friends, let’s drink, let’s pass the glass.
Time invites us, and it’s fleeting.
Let’s enjoy life and this meeting
All we can, alas!
When we’ve passed the gloomy brink,
Our links with wine and love we sever,
So let’s hurry up and drink;
We can’t drink forever.
Leave discussion to the asses
On man’s true felicity,
For our own philosophy
Finds it in the glasses.
Riches, learning, and renown
Don’t remove care and distress;
Only when we drink it down
Can we taste happiness.
Chorus
Come on, then, wine all round, come on, then, pour, boys, pour, Keep pouring, keep pouring, till no one asks for more.
DORIMÈNE. I don’t think it’s possible to sing better, and that’s quite lovely.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. I see something still lovelier here, Madame.
DORIMÈNE. Well! Monsieur Jourdain is more gallant than I thought.
DORANTE. Why, Madame, what do you take Monsieur Jourdain for?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. I certainly wish she’d take me for what I could mention.
DORIMÈNE. Still at it?
DORANTE. You don’t know him.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. She’ll know me whenever she likes.
DORIMÈNE. Oh! I give it up.
DORANTE. He’s a man who always has an answer ready. But Madame, you aren’t noticing that Monsieur Jourdain eats all the morsels you touch.
DORIMÈNE. Monsieur Jourdain is a man who delights me.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. If I could delight your heart, I would be . . .
Scene 2. MADAME JOURDAIN, MONSIEUR JOURDAIN, DORIMÈNE, DORANTE, MUSICIANS, LACKEYS
MADAME JOURDAIN. Aha! I find nice company here, and I can easily see that I wasn’t expected. So it’s on account of this fine affair, my worthy husband, that you were so eager to send me to dinner at my sister’s? I’ve just seen a sort of theater downstairs, and here I see a banquet fit for a wedding. This is how you spend your money, and this is the way you entertain ladies in my absence, and offer them music and a play, while you send me packing?
DORANTE. What do you mean, Madame Jourdain? And what kind of fancies do you have, to take it into your head that your husband is spending his money, and that he’s the one who’s giving this party for Madame? Pray learn that I’m the one; that all he’s doing is just lending me his house, and that you should be a little more careful about the things you say.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Yes, you impertinent woman, it’s Monsieur le Comte who is offering all this to Madame, who is a lady of quality. He is doing me the honor of taking my house and wanting me to be with him.
MADAME JOURDAIN. That’s a lot of nonsense; I know what I know.
DORANTE. Madame Jourdain, put on a better pair of spectacles.
MADAME JOURDAIN. I have no use for spectacles, sir, and I see clear enough. I’ve sensed things for a long time, and I’m not a fool. For a great lord, it’s very mean of you to lend a hand as you do to my husband’s follies. And you, Madame, for a great lady, it’s neither nice nor decent of you to sow dissension in a family and allow my husband to be in love with you.
DORIMÈNE. Why, what is the meaning of all this? Come, Dorante, this is a poor joke to expose me to the silly delusions of this madwoman.
(Exit)
DORANTE. Madame, stay! Madame, where are you running off to?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Madame! Monsieur le Comte, make my excuses to her, and try to bring her back . . . (Exit DORANTE.) (To MADAME JOURDAIN) Ah! You impertinent woman, that was a fine performance! You come and affront me in front of everyone, and you drive people of quality out of my house!
MADAME JOURDAIN. I don’t care a rap about their quality.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Confound you, I don’t know what keeps me from cracking your skull with the leftovers of the meal you came and broke up.
(The LACKEYS remove the table.)
MADAME JOURDAIN. I don’t care a rap about that. It’s my rights I’m defending, and all the women will be on my side. (Exit)
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. You do well to avoid my anger. (Alone) She certainly arrived at a bad time. I was in the mood to say some pretty things, and I never had felt so full of wit . . . What’s all this?
Scene 3. COVIELLE (in Oriental costume, with a long beard), MONSIEUR JOURDAIN, LACKEYS
COVIELLE. Sir, I don’t know whether I have the honor of being known to you.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. No, sir.
COVIELLE. I knew you when you were no bigger than that (holding his hand not far above the floor).
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Me?
COVIELLE. Yes, you were the handsomest child in the world, and all the ladies would take you in their arms to kiss you.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. To kiss me!
COVIELLE. Yes. I was a great friend of your honorable late father.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Of my honorable late father!
COVIELLE. Yes. He was a very fine gentleman.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. What’s that you say?
COVIELLE. I say he was a very fine gentleman.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. My father!
COVIELLE. Yes.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. You knew him well?
COVIELLE. Certainly.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. And you knew him to be a gentleman?
COVIELLE. Beyond a doubt.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Then I don’t know what the world is coming to.
COVIELLE. How’s that?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. There are some stupid people who try to tell me that he was a merchant.
COVIELLE. He, a merchant? That’s sheer calumny; he never was. All he did was that he was very obliging, very helpful; and since he was a real connoisseur of cloth, he went around and picked it out everywhere, had it brought to his house, and gave it to his friends for money.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. I’m delighted to know you, so that you can give that testimony, that my father was a gentleman.
COVIELLE. I’ll maintain it in front of everybody.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. I’ll be much obliged to you. What brings you here?
COVIELLE. Since the time when I knew your honorable late father—a fine gentleman, as I’ve told you—I’ve traveled all over the world.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. All over the world!
COVIELLE. Yes.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. It must be a long way to those parts.
COVIELLE. Yes indeed. I’ve been back only four days from all my long journeys; and because of the interest I take in all that concerns you, I come to announce to you the best news in the world.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. What’s that?
COVIELLE. You know that the son of the Grand Turk is here?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. I? No.
COVIELLE. What? He has an utterly magnificent retinue; everybody’s going to see him; and he has been received in this country as a lord of great importance.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Upon my word! I didn’t know that.
COVIELLE. What’s advantageous about it for you is that he is in love with your daughter.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. The son of the Grand Turk?
COVIELLE. Yes; and he wants to be your son-in-law.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. My son-in-law, the son of the Grand Turk?
COVIELLE. The son of the Grand Turk, your son-in-law. Since I went to see him and understand his language perfectly, he had a talk with me; and after some other conversation he said to me: “Acciam croc soler ouch alla moustaph gidelum amanahem varahini oussere carbulath,”* that is to say: “Have you by any chance seen a beautiful young person who is the daughter of Monsieur Jourdain, a Parisian gentleman?”
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. The son of the Grand Turk said that about me?
COVIELLE. Yes. When I answered that I knew you personally and had seen your daughter, he said to me: “Ah! Marababa sahem,” that is to say: “Ah! How I love her!”
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Marababa sahem means “Ah! How I love her!”
COVIELLE. Yes.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Faith! You do well to tell me so, for personally I would never have thought that marababa sahem meant “Ah! How I love her!” What a wonderful language this Turkish is!
COVIELLE. More wonderful than you’d believe. Do you know what cacaracamouchen means?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Cacaracamouchen? No.
COVIELLE. It means “My dear heart.”
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Cacaracamouchen means “My dear heart”?
COVIELLE. Yes.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. That is marvelous! Cacaracamouchen, “My dear heart.” Who’d have thought it? That amazes me.
COVIELLE. Finally, to complete my embassy, he is coming to ask for your daughter in marriage; and to have a father-in-law who is worthy of him, he wants to make you a Mamamouchi, which is a certain great dignity of his country.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. A Mamamouchi?
COVIELLE. Yes, a Mamamouchi; that is to say, in our language, a paladin. Paladins are some of those ancient . . . In short, a paladin. There’s nothing nobler than that in the world, and you’ll move on a par with the greatest lords on earth.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. The son of the Grand Turk does me great honor, and I beg you to take me to meet him and give him my thanks.
COVIELLE. What? He’s right on his way here.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. He’s on his way here?
COVIELLE. Yes; and he’s bringing everything for the ceremony of your ennoblement.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. That’s very prompt.
COVIELLE. His love can bear no delay.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. All that embarrasses me in all this is that my daughter is a stubborn girl who’s gone and set her mind on a certain Cléonte, and she swears she won’t marry anyone but him.
COVIELLE. She’ll change her feelings when she sees the son of the Grand Turk; and then there’s a wonderful coincidence here, that the son of the Grand Turk bears a very close resemblance to this Cléonte. I’ve just seen Cléonte, he was pointed out to me; and her love for the one may easily pass to the other, and . . . I hear him coming; here he is.
Scene 4. CLÉONTE (in Turkish costume, with three PAGES carrying his train), MONSIEUR JOURDAIN, COVIELLE (disguised)
CLÉONTE. Ambousahim oqui boraf, Iordina, salamalequi.
COVIELLE. That is to say, “Monsieur Jourdain, may your heart all year round be like a rosebush in bloom!” These are obliging modes of expression in those countries.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. I am the very humble servant of his Turkish Highness.
COVIELLE. Carigar camboto oustin moraf.
CLÉONTE. Oustin yoc catamalequi basum base alla moran.
COVIELLE. He says: “May Heaven give you the strength of lions and the prudence of serpents!”
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. His Turkish Highness does me too much honor, and I wish him all sorts of prosperity.
COVIELLE. Ossa binamen sadoc babally oracaf ouram.
CLÉONTE. Bel-men.
COVIELLE. He says that you should go with him quickly and prepare for the ceremony, so he may then see your daughter and conclude the marriage.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. All those things in two words?
COVIELLE. Yes, the Turkish language is like that: it says a lot in a few words. Go quickly where he wants you to.
Scene 5. DORANTE, COVIELLE
COVIELLE. Ha, ha, ha! Faith! That’s really funny! What a dupe! If he’d learned his part by heart he couldn’t play it better. Ha, ha! I beg you, sir, to help us here in something that’s going on.
DORANTE. Ha, ha! Covielle, who would have recognized you? What a get-up that is!
COVIELLE. You see. Ha, ha!
DORANTE. What are you laughing at?
COVIELLE. At something, sir, that well deserves it.
DORANTE. What’s that?
COVIELLE. I’d give you lots of tries, sir, to guess the stratagem we’re using with Monsieur Jourdain to bring him around to give his daughter to my master.
DORANTE. I can’t guess the stratagem, but I can guess that it won’t fail to work, since you’re undertaking it.
COVIELLE. I know, sir, that the beast is known to you.
DORANTE. Tell me what it’s all about.
COVIELLE. Be good enough to move a little farther away, to make room for what I see coming. You’ll be able to see part of the story, and I’ll tell you the rest.
The Turkish ceremony ennobling MONSIEUR JOURDAIN is performed as a dance to music, and composes the FOURTH INTERLUDE.*
Six dancing TURKS enter gravely, two by two, to a Turkish march. As they dance, they wave three long carpets, and finally raise them high; the Turkish Singers and Instrumentalists pass under them. Four DERVISHES accompany the MUFTI to close the procession.
The TURKS put their carpets on the ground and kneel on them. The MUFTI remains standing in the middle, raises his eyes to Heaven in a burlesque invocation, grimaces, and moves his hands beside his head like wings. The TURKS bow and touch their foreheads to the floor, singing “Alli,” return to a kneeling position, singing “Alla,” and continue this alternation until the invocation is over; then all rise to their feet and join in the words “Alla ekber.”
Then the DERVISHES bring on MONSIEUR JOURDAIN dressed as a Turk, clean-shaven, without turban or saber. The MUFTI sings.
MUFTI.
Se ti sabir,
Ti respondir;
Se non sabir,
Tazir, tazir.
Mi star Mufti.
Ti, qui star ti?
Non intendir:
Tazir, tazir.*
(Two DERVISHES take MONSIEUR JOURDAIN out. The MUFTI questions the TURKS about MONSIEUR JOURDAIN’s religion.)
MUFTI. Dice, Turque, qui star quista.
Anabaptista, anabaptista?
TURKS. Ioc.*
MUFTI. Zwinglista?
TURKS. Ioc.
MUFTI. Coffita?
TURKS. Ioc.
MUFTI. Hussita? Morista? Fronista?*
TURKS. Ioc. Ioc. Ioc.
MUFTI. Ioc. Ioc. Ioc.
Star pagana?
TURKS. Ioc.
MUFTI. Luterana?
TURKS. Ioc.
MUFTI. Puritana?
TURKS. Ioc.
MUFTI. Bramina? Moffina? Zurina?*
TURKS. Ioc. Ioc. Ioc.
MUFTI. Ioc. Ioc. Ioc.
Mahometana? Mahometana?
TURKS. Hey valla! Hey valla!
MUFTI. Como chamara? Como chamara?
TURKS. Giourdina, Giourdina.
MUFTI. Giourdina.
(Leaping and looking in one direction and another)
Giourdina? Giourdina? Giourdina?
TURKS. Giourdina! Giourdina! Giourdina!*
MUFTI.
Mahameta per Giourdina
Mi pregar ser e matina:
Voler far un Paladina
De Giourdina, de Giourdina.
Dar turbanta, e dar scarcina
Con galera e brigantina
Per deffender Palestina.
Mahameta per Giourdina
Mi pregar ser e matina.*
Star bon Turca Giourdina?
Star bon Turca Giourdina?
TURKS.
Hey valla. Hey valla.
Hey valla. Hey valla.*
MUFTI (dancing and singing). Hu la ba ba la chou ba la ba ba la da.
(Exit MUFTI.)
TURKS (dancing and singing). Hu la ba ba la chou ba la ba ba la da.
Reenter the MUFTI wearing an enormous ceremonial turban set with four or five rows of lighted candles. With him are two DERVISHES, wearing pointed hats also adorned with lighted candles, and bearing the Koran. The other two DERVISHES bring in MONSIEUR JOURDAIN, who is terrified by the ceremony, make him kneel down with his back to the MUFTI and rest his hands on the floor, and set the Koran on his back for the MUFTI to read. The MUFTI gives a burlesque invocation, frowning and opening his mouth without saying a word, then speaking vehemently, now softly, now as if possessed, slapping his sides as if to drive the words out, striking the Koran, turning its leaves very fast. Finally he raises his hands and cries out loudly: “Hou!”
During the invocation the TURKS sing “Hou, hou, hou!” alternately bowing and straightening up.
After the invocation the DERVISHES take the Koran off MONSIEUR JOURDAIN’s back; he exclaims “Ouf!” in relief from this tiring posture; and they lift him to his feet.
MUFTI (to MONSIEUR JOURDAIN). Ti non star furba?
TURKS. No, no, no.
MUFTI. Non star forfanta?
TURKS. No, no, no.
MUFTI. Donar turbanta. Donar turbanta.*
(Exit the MUFTI.)
(The TURKS repeat his words, singing and dancing, and present the turban to MONSIEUR JOURDAIN. Reenter the MUFTI with a scimitar.)
MUFTI (presenting the scimitar to MONSIEUR JOURDAIN).
Ti star nobile, e non star fabola.
Pigliar schiabola.*
(Exit the MUFTI.)
(The TURKS draw their scimitars and repeat his words. Six of them dance around MONSIEUR JOURDAIN and pretend to strike him with their scimitars. Reenter the MUFTI, who orders the TURKS to beat MONSIEUR JOURDAIN.)
MUFTI. Dara, dara, bastonara, bastonara, bastonara.*
(Exit the MUFTI.)
(The TURKS repeat his words, dancing and beating MONSIEUR JOURDAIN with sticks in cadence. Reenter the MUFTI.)
MUFTI.
Non tener honta:
Questa star l’ultima affronta.*
(The TURKS repeat his words. To the music of the whole orchestra the MUFTI, leaning on the DERVISHES, who support him with respect, makes a final invocation. The TURKS, dancing, lead off the MUFTI and MONSIEUR JOURDAIN in triumph, thus ending the FOURTH INTERLUDE.)