The Shopkeeper Turned Gentleman

NIC. Eh? What?

MR. JOUR. Yes; what do you do when you say u?

NIC. What I do?

MR. JOUR. Say u a little to try.

NIC. Well, u.

MR. JOUR. What is it you do?

NIC. I say u.

MR. JOUR. Yes; but when you say u, what is it you do?

NIC. I do what you ask me to do.

MR. JOUR. Oh! What a strange thing it is to have to do with dunces! You pout your lips outwards, and bring your upper jaw near your lower jaw like this, u; I make a face; u. Do you see?

NIC. Yes, that's beautiful.

MRS. JOUR. It's admirable!

MR. JOUR. What would you say then if you had seen o, and da, da, and fa, fa?

MRS. JOUR. What is all this absurd stuff?

NIC. And what are we the better for all this?

MR. JOUR. I have no patience with such ignorant women.

MRS. JOUR. Believe me, pack off all those people with their ridiculous fooleries.

NIC. And particularly that great scraggy fencing master, who fills the whole place with dust.

MR. JOUR. Goodness me! The fencing master seems to set your teeth on edge. Come here, and I will show you at once your senseless impertinence. (He asks for two foils, and gives one to NICOLE.) Here, reason demonstrative the line of the body. When you thrust in quart, you have only to do so; and, when you thrust in tierce, only to do so! That is the way never to be killed; and is it not a fine thing to be quite safe when one fights against anybody? There, thrust at me a little to try.

NIC. Well, what? (NICOLE gives him several thrusts)

MR. JOUR. Gently! Hold! Oh! Softly. Deuce take the wench!

NIC: You tell me to thrust at you.

MR. JOUR. Yes; but you thrust in tierce before thrusting at me in quart, and you haven't the patience to wait till I parry.

MRS. JOUR. You are crazy, husband, with all your fads; and this has come upon you since you have taken it into your head to frequent the gentlefolk.

MR. JOUR. By frequenting the gentlefolk I show my judgment. It is surely better than keeping company with your citizens.

MRS. JOUR. Yes: there is much good to be got by frequenting your nobility, and you have done a noble stroke of business with that fine count with whom you are so wrapped up.

MR. JOUR. Peace. Be careful what you say. Let me tell you, wife, that you do not know of whom you are speaking when you speak of him! He is a man of more importance than you can imagine, a nobleman who is held in great honour at court, and who speaks to the king just as I speak to you. Is it not a thing which does me great honour that such a person should be seen so often in my house, should call me his dear friend, and should treat me as if I were his equal? He has more kindness for me than you could ever guess, and he treats me before the world with such affection that I am perfectly ashamed.

MRS. JOUR. Yes; he is kind to you, and flatters you, but he borrows your money of you.

MR. JOUR. Well? Is it not a great honour to lend money to a man of his position? And could I do less for a lord who calls me his dear friend?

MRS. JOUR. And this lord, what does he do for you?

MR. JOUR. Things that would astound you if you only knew them.

MRS. JOUR. But what?

MR. JOUR. There! I can't explain myself. It is quite sufficient that, if I have lent him money, he will give it back to me, and that before long.

MRS. JOUR. Yes, trust him for that.

MR. JOUR. Certainly I will. Has he not said so?

MRS. JOUR. Yes, yes; and he won't fail not to do it.

MR. JOUR. He has given me his word as a gentleman.

MRS. JOUR. Mere stuff.

MR. JOUR. Dear me! You are very obstinate, wife! I tell you that he will keep his word; I am quite sure of it.

MRS. JOUR. And I am quite sure that he won't; and that all the caresses he loads you with are only meant to deceive you.

MR. JOUR. Be silent; here he comes.

MRS. JOUR. That's to finish up. He comes, no doubt, to borrow from you again; the very sight of him takes my appetite away.

MR. JOUR. Hold your tongue, I tell you.

SCENE IV.

– DORANTE, MR. JOURDAIN, MRS. JOURDAIN, NICOLE.

DOR. Mr. Jourdain, my dear friend, how do you do?

MR. JOUR. Very well, Sir; at your service.

DOR. And Mrs. Jourdain, how does she do?

MRS. JOUR. Mrs. Jourdain does as well as may be.

DOR. I declare, Mr. Jourdain, that you have the most genteel dress in the world.