SCENE I.
DORFISE, COLLETTE.
DORFISE.
O Collette, I’m inevitably ruined: would I could see young Adine; he is so kind, and so sensible! he would tell me everything they do and say, and I might take my measures with him accordingly: my affairs would at least be more settled, and I should know what I have to depend on; what shall I do, Collette?
COLLETTE.
See him, and talk to him freely.
DORFISE.
Right: towards evening: O Collette, if success would but crown this mysterious affair, if I could preserve my reputation, and keep my lover, if I could but keep one of them, I should be happy.
COLLETTE.
Ay, ay, one of them is enough, in conscience.
DORFISE.
But have you taken care the chevalier shall be here presently; that he shall come privately; and, according to custom, let everybody know it?
COLLETTE.
O never fear, he’ll be here I warrant you; he’s always ready, and fancies you’ve a passion for him.
DORFISE.
He may be of service: wise men in their designs, the better to compass their ends, always make use of fools.
SCENE II.
DORFISE, MONDOR, COLLETTE.
DORFISE.
My dear chevalier, come along: I have something to say to you.
MONDOR.
You know, madam, I am the lowest of your subjects, your humble slave, your chevalier: what must I do? tilt for you? fight for you? die for you? spite of all your cruelty, I am ready: speak, madam, and it is done.
DORFISE.
And am I indeed so happy as to have charmed the agreeable Mondor? but do you love me as you ought to love me, with that pure and refined passion?
MONDOR.
I do; but prithee, my dear, don’t be so formal; beauty is most engaging when it is easy and tractable: the excess of virtue is disgusting: in short, my dear, you want a little of my correction.
DORFISE.
What think you of young Adine?
MONDOR.
Who, I? nothing at all? his figure makes me perfectly easy, I assure you: Mars and Hercules were never jealous of Adonis.
DORFISE.
Well: I love your confidence, and shall reward it: the malicious world perhaps will tell you I am secretly engaged; but ‘tis false; believe them not: a hundred lovers have ogled, and teased me, but I was born to be subdued by you, and you alone.
MONDOR.
That’s more indeed than I could flatter myself with the hopes of.
DORFISE.
To convince you of it, I promise to marry you as soon as ever you please: be prudent, and be happy.
MONDOR.
Happiness is enough for me, prudence we’ll leave to another opportunity: but do not, my dear charmer, delay it: time, you know, is precious.
DORFISE.
But then one thing I must insist on from you.
MONDOR.
I am your husband, madam, and you may command me.
DORFISE.
You must take care that none of my troublesome visitors intrude on me to-night: the proud, peevish Blandford, my cousin, and her fool Darmin, with all their train of impertinent relations, must go somewhere else, for I positively will not be disturbed by them; then, chevalier, at midnight, and not before, I’ll meet you in the arbor; bring your lawyer with you, and we’ll sign and seal.
MONDOR.
Transporting thought! how I shall triumph over that fool Blandford! well, I will so laugh at, so ridicule the poor creature.
DORFISE.
Be sure you don’t forget to be at my window a little before midnight: away: be discreet.
MONDOR.
O if Blandford did but know this!
DORFISE.
Away, begone, or we shall be surprised.
MONDOR.
Adieu, my dear wife.
DORFISE.
Adieu.
MONDOR.
I go with rapture, to wait for the dear happy hour when prudery shall be sacrificed to love.
SCENE III.
DORFISE, COLLETTE.
COLLETTE.
Well, if I can guess at your design, hang me: ‘tis a riddle to me.
DORFISE.
I’ll explain it to you: I’ve made Mondor promise to tell nothing, but I know very well he’ll tell all, that’s enough, his tale will justify me: Blandford will think everything mere calumny, and not know a word of the truth; to-day at least I shall be safe; and after to-morrow, if success crowns my designs, I shall be afraid of nobody.
COLLETTE.
Delightful! I’m glad to hear you say so, and yet you put me in a horrid fright: are you sure, ma’am, the plan is well laid? and that you won’t, after all, fall into the snare yourself, which you laid for others? for heaven’s sake, take care what you do.
DORFISE.
O Collette, Collette, how strangely one slip brings on another! we are led aside from error to error, and from crime to crime, till our heads turn round, and we fall down the precipice: but I have one string still to my bow; I am sure of young Adine: the chevalier comes at twelve, but my little lover will be beforehand with him: let him be here at nine, Collette, do you hear me?
COLLETTE.
I’ll take care of that, madam.
DORFISE.
They take him for a girl, by his air, his voice, and his beardless chin; therefore, tell him I would have him dress himself in girl’s clothes.
COLLETTE.
An excellent scheme! heaven prosper it!
DORFISE.
The boy may serve, you know, to dispel one’s melancholy: but the great point I would bring about is, to throw all the scandal upon my cousin, and to make Blandford believe that Adine came here upon her account: let him fall a dupe to his own credulity.
COLLETTE.
The fittest instrument you could have chosen: for he believes everything that’s bad of her, and everything that’s good of you: imagines he sees clearly, and at the same time is stark blind: I have taken care already to confirm him in the opinion that our little coquette is in love with the boy, and not you.
DORFISE.
To be sure, lies are bad things; but they are mighty serviceable sometimes, and do a great deal of good.
SCENE IV.
BLANDFORD, DORFISE.
BLANDFORD.
O tempora! O mores! dreadful corruption indeed! to desire him to visit her! the poor, simple, ingenuous youth, she wants to draw him into a passion for her, and employs all the little subtleties, all the snares which love makes use of to catch unwary hearts.
DORFISE.
Well, but after all, M. Blandford, she may not have carried it so far as we imagine: I would not do her so much injury as to suppose it: one should not think evil of one’s neighbor: to be sure, things were in a fair way, but you know our French coquettes.
BLANDFORD.
Yes, yes, I know them.
DORFISE.
The moment a young man appears with an air of innocence and simplicity, they are after him.
BLANDFORD.
Yes; yes: vice, above all things, is fond of seducing virtue: but how, Dorfise, can you bear people of such character?
DORFISE.
As patiently as I can, sir: but this is not all.
BLANDFORD.
Why, what, pray —
DORFISE.
O sir, you have another tale to hear: do you know, these excellent contrivers would endeavor to persuade the world truly that the young fellow was brought in for me?
BLANDFORD.
For you?
DORFISE.
Yes; they say I wanted to seduce him.
BLANDFORD.
Well, that to be sure is ridiculous to the last degree: for you!
DORFISE.
Ay, for me, and that this pretty youth —
BLANDFORD.
That was really a fine invention.
DORFISE.
A better than they think for. They have played me a great many such tricks: O M. Blandford, if you knew what I suffer! they’ll tell you, too, I’m to be married to that fool, Mondor, and this very night.
BLANDFORD.
O my dear Dorfise! the more thou art wounded by the envenomed darts of slander and calumny, with the warmer zeal shall this heart, that adores thee, defend thy injured and unspotted virtue.
DORFISE.
You are deceived, indeed you are.
BLANDFORD.
No, Dorfise: I think I know myself a little, and I would have laid my life on it I saw your cousin ogling Adine this very day: let me tell you, it requires sense and understanding to be honest: I never knew a fool with a good heart: virtue itself is nothing but good sense: I am sorry for Darmin, because I really love and esteem him; it was against my advice he ventured to embark in such a leaky vessel.
SCENE V.
BLANDFORD, DORFISE, DARMIN, MME. DE BURLET.
MME. DE BURLET.
What? always dismal and solemn, full of spleen and rancor, grumbling and growling at all mankind, that either don’t hear you, or if they do, only laugh at your folly? dear virtuous fool, finish thy soliloquies, and come along with me: I have just bought a few trinkets, you shall have some of them: come, we’re going to Mondor’s, he’s to treat us; I have ordered him to get music, to purge your melancholy humors; and after that, my dear, I’ll take you by the hand, and dance with you till to-morrow morning, [to Dorfise] ay, and you shall dance too, Mme. Prim.
DORFISE.
Prithee, hair-brains, hold thy tongue: such things would not become me; and besides, madam, you should remember —
MME. DE BURLET.
None of your “besides” I beg you, madam: every thing is forgotten; my philosophy is, remember nothing.
DORFISE.
[To Blandford.
You see now whether I was right or not: your servant, sir: she really grows too scandalous, I must be gone.
BLANDFORD.
O stay, madam.
DORFISE.
No, sir: ‘tis impossible: it hurts my soul, my honor —
MME. DE BURLET.
My goodness! talk less of honor, madam, and regard it more.
[Dorfise goes out.
DARMIN.
[To Mme. de Burlet.
She seems out of humor: I fancy my friend, Blandford, begins to find her out.
MME. DE BURLET.
O all the world must talk of it; but Darmin and I say nothing.
BLANDFORD.
I fancy not, indeed: you would hardly confess to me such folly and extravagance.
DARMIN.
No, sir; we would not make you so unhappy.
MME. DE BURLET.
We know your humor too well, to make you still more miserable by reproaching you with your misfortunes.
BLANDFORD.
Go, go, hide yourselves both, and die with shame.
MME. DE BURLET.
Why should we disturb at once the quiet of your whole life, by exposing Dorfise, and make you a common laughing-stock? no, sir; I own I am light and airy, free, and familiar, but have yet some goodness in me, and am no busybody: I should see you deceived a thousand times by your friend, and duped by your wife, hear your adventures chanted through every street, nay, sing them myself, before ever you should hear a word from me: to tell you the truth, the two great ends I have in view are peace and pleasure; I love myself, and therefore hate all idle reports and scandalous tales, true or false: live and be happy is my motto: and he, I think, is a great fool who makes himself miserable by the follies of others.
BLANDFORD.
Light, unthinking woman! it is not the affairs of others, it is your own, madam, that now call for your attention.
MME. DE BURLET.
Mine, sir?
BLANDFORD.
Yes, madam: ‘tis you who are to blame, and highly, too; you who seduced a virtuous youth, and then endeavored to lay the shameful intrigue on the innocent Dorfise.
MME. DE BURLET.
O the scheme is excellent: it is more than I expected: and so it was I, who sometimes —
BLANDFORD.
Yes, madam, you yourself.
MME. DE BURLET.
With Adine!
BLANDFORD.
Yes.
MME. DE BURLET.
I am in love with him then?
BLANDFORD.
Most certainly.
MME. DE BURLET.
And ‘twas I that put him in the closet?
BLANDFORD.
It was: the thing was clear enough.
MME. DE BURLET.
O mighty well! a lucky thought indeed! I admire the contrivance: O my dear madman, what a mixture thou art of honesty and folly! the very model of Don Quixote, brave, sensible, knowing, and virtuous, yet in one point an absolute fool; but for heaven’s sake take care how you recover your senses: believe me, it would be the worst thing you ever did in your life: well, folly has its advantages: adieu: come, Darmin.
SCENE VI.
BLANDFORD, DARMIN.
BLANDFORD.
Stay, Darmin, I have your honor and your interest at heart: I am angry, and I have reason to be so; in short, you must quit this artful woman, get out of the snare she has laid for you, despise her, or break with me.
DARMIN.
The alternative is a cruel one: I own to thee, I love my friend, and I love my mistress: but how can thy hard heart judge so uncharitably of all human kind: can’t you see that this web of perfidy is woven by a base, designing woman? that she deceives you, and would lay the shame and ignominy on another?
BLANDFORD.
Dost thou not see, fool as thou art, that a vile, scandalous, abandoned wretch has chosen thee for her tool, her butt, her stalking horse, that, like an idiot, you bite at the hook; and that she is only trying to see how far she can exercise her tyranny over your easy heart?
DARMIN.
Easy as it is, let me entreat you, ask the only witness who is able to determine it: I have sent for young Adine, he will tell you the whole truth of the affair.
BLANDFORD.
O yes: I doubt not but the jade has tutored her young parrot well, and taught him his lesson: but let him come, let him endeavor to deceive me; I shall not believe him: I see your intention, I see plainly enough, you want, by every artifice, to blacken and destroy my dear Dorfise, to draw me off to your niece, whose charms you have so often boasted: but you need not give yourself the trouble, for I shall never think of her.
DARMIN.
As you please for that: but indeed, Blandford, I pity your folly: to experience the falsehood of a perfidious woman may perhaps be many a poor man’s fate, and must be borne; but really to lose one’s money is a serious affair: this Bartolin, this noble friend of yours, has he refunded?
BLANDFORD.
What business is that of yours?
DARMIN.
I beg pardon, I thought it was; but I am mistaken: here comes Adine: I’ll retire: let me inform you, if you distrust him, you are more in the wrong than you think for: he has a noble heart, and you may one day know he is not what perhaps he might appear to be.
SCENE VII.
BLANDFORD, ADINE.
BLANDFORD.
So! I see they are all resolutely bent to lead me by the nose: Dorfise, thank heaven, is of another nature; she says nothing, but submits to her unhappy fate without appearing too deeply affected by it; too confident, or too timid; she avoids me, and hides herself in retirement; such is always the behavior of injured innocence. Now, young man, tell me the truth in every particular with sincerity; nature seems in you pure and uncorrupted; you know I love you; do not abuse my growing inclination to you, but consider that the happiness of my life is concerned in this affair.
ADINE.
Indeed, sir, I love you too well to abuse or to deceive you.
BLANDFORD.
Tell me then everything as it passed.
ADINE.
First then, I assure you, that Dorfise —
BLANDFORD.
Stop there, you mean her cousin, I’m sure you do.
ADINE.
I don’t indeed, sir.
BLANDFORD.
Well, go on.
ADINE.
Dorfise then, I say, introduced me by a private door to her chamber.
BLANDFORD.
She did, but ‘twas not for herself.
ADINE.
It was.
BLANDFORD.
No, child; ‘twas Mme. de Burlet, you know it was.
ADINE.
I tell you, sir, Dorfise was positively in love with me.
BLANDFORD.
The little rascal!
ADINE.
The excess of her passion surprised and shocked me: I was far from being pleased with it: nay, I assure you, I was angry at her: I was incensed at her falsehood; and told her, if I had been like her, I should have been more faithful.
BLANDFORD.
The villain! how they have prepared him! well, what followed?
ADINE.
After this she grew loud and vehement, when on a sudden a violent knocking was heard, and who should come in but her husband.
BLANDFORD.
Her husband! O very well! what a ridiculous story! the chevalier, I suppose.
ADINE.
No: a real husband, I assure you; for he was extremely brutal, and extremely jealous: he threatened to murder her, called her false, perfidious, infamous, and abandoned: I expected to have been killed, too, for he was in a dreadful rage with me, though for what reason I know not: I was forced to fall on my knees and entreat him to spare my life; I’m sure I tremble yet at the thoughts of him.
BLANDFORD.
The little coward! but this husband, what was his name?
ADINE.
I don’t know, indeed.
BLANDFORD.
A fine trick this! — what sort of a man was he? describe him to me.
ADINE.
He seemed to me, as far as the horrid fright I was in permitted me to observe him, a fellow of a very disagreeable aspect, fat and short, like a turnspit, flat-nosed, with a large chin, hunch-backed, a yellow-tanned complexion, gray eyebrows, and an eye that looked like — the devil.
BLANDFORD.
An excellent picture! how can I recollect him by all this? yellow, you say, tanned, gray, short and fat: who can it be? but you only mean, I see, to laugh at me.
ADINE.
Try, then, sir, and prove me: to-night, this very night, she has appointed again to meet me.
BLANDFORD.
Another appointment with Mme. de Burlet?
ADINE.
Still, sir, you will mistake the person.
BLANDFORD.
Not with Dorfise?
ADINE.
With her, indeed.
BLANDFORD.
With her?
ADINE.
With her, I tell you.
BLANDFORD.
Amazing! you confound me! an assignation with Dorfise this night?
ADINE.
This very night, sir; if you please, you may see me there: I am to go in girl’s clothes, which she herself sent me; and to go in by a private door to your mistress, sir, your faithful, prudent, discreet mistress.
BLANDFORD.
This is too much; I cannot, will not bear it: whichever way I consider it, I fear she is disloyal: may I depend upon you?
ADINE.
My heart is too deeply concerned for your interest and happiness to be insincere: yours I know is truth itself: indeed, M. Blandford, I love, and am faithful to you.
BLANDFORD.
The little flatterer!
ADINE.
Can you doubt my honor?
BLANDFORD.
Away! I —
SCENE VIII.
BLANDFORD, ADINE, MONDOR.
MONDOR.
Come, come, you make the guests wait, and stop the course of pleasure: why, you never wanted mirth and good company more in your life: to be sure, your affairs go badly enough; you have lost your mistress, but never mind it: you should not have set up for my rival; I told you I should gain the victory, and so I have.
BLANDFORD.
What would you inform me of, friend?
MONDOR.
Nay, nothing of consequence, only that I’m going to be married to your mistress, that’s all.
BLANDFORD.
O very well! I know that already.
MONDOR.
What! did you know that I was to carry the lawyer with me, and that —
BLANDFORD.
Yes, yes, I know it all, your whole plot, and I don’t care a farthing about it: [Aside] This boy has not learned half his lesson; hark’ee, sir, [To Adine] this appointment and yours are a little incompatible: what say you to this, sir? does it strike you? either you endeavor to deceive me, or are deceived yourself: but you are young in the school of vice; a heart like thine, simple and inexperienced, is an excellent instrument in the hands of a villain: alas! thou camest here but to make me miserable.
ADINE.
This is too much, sir: take care lest your harsh temper, and ill-placed resentment, should destroy that pity which still pleads for you; ‘tis that alone which keeps me here: but go, run headlong to your ruin; listen to nobody, suspect your best friend, and believe only those who abuse you; accuse and affront me; but learn to respect a heart that, with regard to you, was never a deceiver, or deceived.
MONDOR.
Hear you that, sir? but you are choked with spleen; even children laugh at you; prithee, learn to be wiser: come along with me, and drown all your cares in Greek wine: come away, boy.
SCENE IX.
BLANDFORD, ADINE.
BLANDFORD.
Stay, Adine: thou hast moved me: thy concern alarms me: you know my humor, my folly, but you know my heart too; ‘tis honest, and has only too much sensibility: you see how I am distressed; can you take a cruel pleasure in laughing at my misfortunes? tell me the truth, I conjure thee.
ADINE.
I know your heart is good, nor is mine less pure: never till this hour did I but once put on disguise; but with regard to Dorfise and yourself I have been honest and sincere: I own I lament in you that fatal passion which has blinded you, but ‘tis passion I know that will seduce the wisest of us all; love alone can set everything right; that has taken away your sight, and that should restore it to you.
[She goes out.
BLANDFORD.
[Alone.
What can he mean? love alone should restore it; he once put on a disguise, and yet he is sincere! I don’t understand it; certainly ‘tis all a trick, a plot only to make a fool of me: Mondor, Darmin, her cousin, Bartolin, Adine, Dorfise, Collette, all the world in short conspires with my own foolish heart to make me miserable and ridiculous: this vile world, which I despise as it deserves, is nothing but a confused heap of folly and wickedness: but if in this tempest of the soul I must say whether I will be knave or fool, my choice is made, and I bless my lot: O heaven! let me be still a dupe, but O preserve my virtue!
End of the Fourth Act.