Since you have given me this good advice.
Don’t shield yourself with talk of my advice.
You had your mind made up, that’s evident;
And now you’re snatching at a trifling pretext
To justify the breaking of your word.
Exactly so.
Of course it is; your heart
Has never known true love for me.
Alas!
You’re free to think so, if you please.
Yes, yes,
I’m free to think so; and my outraged love
May yet forestall you in your perfidy,
And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand.
No doubt of it; the love your high deserts
May win …
Good Lord, have done with my deserts!
I know I have but few, and you have proved it.
But I may find more kindness in another;
I know of someone, who’ll not be ashamed
To take your leavings, and make up my loss.
The loss is not so great; you’ll easily
Console yourself completely for this change.
I’ll try my best, that you may well believe.
When we’re forgotten by a woman’s heart,
Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget;
Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to.
No other way can man such baseness prove,
As be a lover scorned, and still in love.
In faith, a high and noble sentiment.
Yes; and it’s one that all men must approve.
What! Would you have me keep my love alive,
And see you fly into another’s arms
Before my very eyes; and never offer
To someone else the heart that you had scorned?
Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish
That it were done already.
What! You wish it?
Yes.
This is insult heaped on injury;
I’ll go at once and do as you desire.
He takes a step or two as if to go away.
Oh, very well then.
Turning back.
But remember this.
’Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass.
Of course.
Turning back again.
And in the plan that I have formed
I only follow your example.
Yes.
At the door.
Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed.
So much the better.
Coming back again.
This is once for all.
So be it, then.
He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around.
Eh?
What?
You didn’t call me?
I? You are dreaming.
Very well, I’m gone. Madam, farewell.
He walks slowly away.
Farewell, sir.
I must say
You’ve lost your senses and both gone clean daft!
I’ve let you fight it out to the end o’ the chapter
To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there,
Mister Valère!
She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.
What do you want, Dorine?
Come here.
No, no, I’m quite beside myself.
Don’t hinder me from doing as she wishes.
Stop!
No. You see, I’m fixed, resolved, determined.
So!
Aside. Since my presence pains him, makes him go,
I’d better go myself, and leave him free.
Leaving Valère, and running after Mariane.
Now t’other! Where are you going?
Let me be.
Come back.
No, no, it isn’t any use.
Aside. ’Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her;
No doubt, t’were better I should free her from it.
Leaving Mariane and running after Valère.
Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say.
Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you.
She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.
To Dorine. What’s your idea?
To Dorine. What can you mean to do?
Set you to rights, and pull you out o’ the scrape.
To Valère. Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now?
Didn’t you hear the things she said to me?
To Mariane. Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion?
Didn’t you see the way he treated me?
Fools, both of you.
To Valère. She thinks of nothing else
But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it.
To Mariane. And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing
But just to marry you, I stake my life on’t.
To Valère. Why did you give me such advice then, pray?
To Mariane. Why ask for my advice on such a matter?
You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands.
To Valère. Come, yours.
Giving Dorine his hand.
What for?
To Mariane. Now, yours.
Giving Dorine her hand.
But what’s the use?
Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you—
You love each other better than you think.
Valère and Mariane hold each other’s hands some time without looking at each other.
At last turning toward Mariane.
Come, don’t be so ungracious now about it;
Look at a man as if you didn’t hate him.
Mariane looks sideways toward Valère, with just a bit of a smile.
My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be!
To Mariane. But come now, have I not a just complaint?
And truly, are you not a wicked creature
To take delight in saying what would pain me?
And are you not yourself the most ungrateful … ?
Leave this discussion till another time;
Now, think how you’ll stave off this plaguey marriage.
Then tell us how to go about it.
Well,
We’ll try all sorts of ways.
To Mariane. Your father’s daft;
To Valère. This plan is nonsense.
To Mariane. You had better humour
His notions by a semblance of consent,
So that in case of danger, you can still
Find means to block the marriage by delay.
If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me.
One day you’ll fool them with a sudden illness,
Causing delay; another day, ill omens:
You’ve
