EText by Dagny
This Etext is for private use only. No republication for profit in print or other media may be made without the express consent of the Copyright Holder. The Copyright Holder is especially concerned about performance rights in any media on stage, cinema, or television, or audio or any other media, including readings for which an entrance fee or the like is charge. Permissions should be addressed to: Frank Morlock, 6006 Greenbelt Rd, #312, Greenbelt, MD 20770, USA or frankmorlock@msn.com. Other works by this author may be found at http://www.cadytech.com/dumas/personnage.asp?key=130
Published in 1833
Performed by the Comedie Francaise August 18, 1866
Translated and Adapted by
Frank J. Morlock C 2003
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CHARACTERS
THE KING OF BAVARIA
THE PRINCE OF MANTUA
MARINONI, his aide de camp
RUTTEN, the king's secretary
ELSBETH, daughter of the king of Bavaria
THE GOVERNESS
FANTASIO
SPARK
HARTMAN
FACIO
A PENITENT
A TAILOR
FIRST PAGE
SECOND PAGE
OFFICERS, PAGES, etc.
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THE ACTION TAKES PLACE IN MUNICH
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KING: (surrounded by courtiers) My friends, I announced to you long ago the affiancing of my dear Elsbeth with the Prince of Mantua. Today, I announce the arrival of this prince, this evening, perhaps, tomorrow at the latest he will be in this palace. Let it be a fest day for everybody; let the prisons be opened, and let the people spend the night in diversions. Rutten, where is my daughter?
(The Courtiers withdraw.)
RUTTEN: Sire, she's in the park with her governess.
KING: Why haven't I seen her yet today? Is she sad or gay about this marriage that's being prepared?
RUTTEN: It seemed to me that the face of the princess was veiled by some melancholy. What young girl doesn't dream on the eve of her wedding? The death of Saint-Jean has bothered her.
KING: Do you think so? The death of my jester! from a joke over a hunchbacked and nearly blind court-jester?
RUTTEN: The princess loved him.
KING: Tell me, Rutten, you've seen the prince: what sort of man is he? Alas! I am giving him what is most precious to me in the world and I don't know him at all.
RUTTEN: I spent very little time in Mantua.
KING: Speak frankly. Through what eyes can I view the truth if not through yours?
RUTTEN: In truth, sire, I wouldn't know what to say about the character or the mind of the noble prince.
KING: Is that the way it is? You are hesitating, you, courtier! With how much praise the air of this chamber will be filled, with how many hyperboles and flattering metaphors, if the prince who will be my son-in-law tomorrow had seemed worthy to you of this title! But can I have deceived myself, my friend? Can I have made a bad choice in him?
RUTTEN: Sire, the prince passes for the best of kings.
KING: Politics is a fine spider's web, in which poor mutilated flies struggle; I will not sacrifice the happiness of my daughter to any interest.
(They leave.)
HARTMAN: Since today is the princess's wedding day, let's drink, smoke and try to raise a ruckus.
FACIO: It would be good for us to mix with all this crowd running through the streets and to put out a few lanterns on the good heads of the bourgeois.
SPARK: Get out! Let's smoke in peace.
HARTMAN: There's nothing I will do peacefully: must I make myself fight by the clock and hang myself from the bell of the church, I've got to make some fuss on a fest day. Now where the devil is Fantasio?
SPARK: Let's wait for him and do nothing without him.
FACIO: Bah! he will always find us. He's getting loaded in some dive of the Rue Basse. Hola, hey! one last cup! (he raises his glass)
AN OFFICER: (entering) Gentlemen, I come to beg you to go further off of your own will if you don't want to be disturbed in your frivolity.
HARTMAN: Why, my captain?
OFFICER: The princess is, at this moment as you see, on the terrace and you easily are able to understand that it is not agreeable that your shouting reach her. (he leaves)
FACIO: Now this is intolerable!
SPARK: What's it to us if we laugh here or elsewhere?
HARTMAN: Who is it tells us that we'll be permitted to laugh elsewhere? You will see that a clown in green will prowl all the streets of the town to beg us to go laugh in the moon.
(Enter Marinoni covered with a cloak.)
SPARK: The princess never committed an act of despotism in her life. May God keep her! If she doesn't want any laughing it's because she's sad or she's singing; let's leave her to rest.
FACIO: Humph! there's a beaten cloak which smells of some news. The simpleton wants to accost us.
MARINONI: (approaching) I am a stranger gentlemen; what's the occasion of this fest?
SPARK: The princess Elsbeth is getting married.
MARINONI: Ah! ah! she's a beautiful woman, so I presume?
HARTMAN: As you are a handsome man, you said it.
MARINONI: Loved by her people, I dare say, for it seems everything is lit up.
HARTMAN: You are not mistaken, brave stranger: all these lanterns lit as you see, as you wisely remarked, are nothing else than an illumination.
MARINONI: I'd like to ask by this if the princess is the cause of these signs of joy.
HARTMAN: The unique cause, dear logician. It would be vain for all of us to marry, there would be no sort of joy in it in this ungrateful city.
MARINONI: Happy the princess who knows how to make herself loved by her people!
HARTMAN: Lit lamps are not the happiness of a people, dear primitive man. That doesn't prevent the aforesaid princes from being fantastic like a wagtail.
MARINONI: Really! you said capricious?
HARTMAN: I said it dear unknown, I avail myself of this word.
(Marinoni bows and withdraws.)
FACIO: To what devil to wish this Italian musher? There he goes leaving us to accost another group. He smells of a spy of the league.
HARTMAN: He doesn't smell at all; he's simply in search of pleasure.
SPARK: Here's Fantasio at last.
HARTMAN: What's wrong with him? He's waddling around like a judge. Either I'm much deceived or some whim is ripening in his bonnet.
FACIO: Well! friend, what will we do this evening?
FANTASIO: (entering) Straight out of a novel, absolutely.
FACIO: I was saying we must hurl ourselves into this rabble and divert ourselves a little.
FANTASIO: The important thing would be to have a false nose and rows.
HARTMAN: Take the girls by the waist, pull the bourgeois by the tail and smash these lanterns. Come on, let's be on our way, now it's agreed.
FANTASIO: Once there was a king of Persia—
HARTMAN: Will you come, Fantasio?
FANTASIO: Not for me, not for me.
HARTMAN: Why?
FANTASIO: Give me a glass of this.
(Fantasio drinks.)
HARTMAN: You have the month of May in your cheeks.
FANTASIO: It's true; and the month of January in my heart. My head is like an old chimney without a fire: only wind and ashes. Oof! (he sits) How bored I am when all the world is having fun! I wish this huge, dull heaven were an immense cotton bonnet that could be wrapped around this stupid city and its stupid inhabitants. Come on, look, tell me, mercy, a worn out pun, something very trite.
HARTMAN: Why?
FANTASIO: So I can laugh. I no longer laugh at something newly coined; perhaps I will laugh over something I know.
HARTMAN: You seem to me to be a bit misanthropic and inclined to melancholy.
FANTASIO: Not at all: that's because I've just been to my mistress's.
FACIO: Yes, or no are you with us?
FANTASIO: I am with you if you are with me; let's stay here a little to speak of one thing or another while observing our new outfits.
FACIO: No, my word. If you are tired of standing, I am weary of being seated: I must take some air.
FANTASIO: I wouldn't know how to do that. I'm going to smoke under these chestnut trees with this brave Spark who's going to keep me company. Aren't you, Spark?
SPARK: If you like.
HARTMAN: In that case 'bye. We are going to see the festivities.
(Hartman and Facio leave. Fantasio sits with Spark.)
FANTASIO: How deficient this sleeping sun is! Nature is pitiful this evening. See this valley down there a bit, those four or five naughty clouds that are scaling that mountain. I made scenes like that when I was twelve on the covers of my school books.
SPARK: What fine tobacco! what fine beer!
FANTASIO: I must really be annoying you, Spark.
SPARK: No; why's that?
FANTASIO: As for you, you bore me horribly. Doesn't it do anything to you to see the same face every day? What the deuce are Hartman and Facio going to do in this fest?
SPARK: They are two active characters and they don't know how to stay still.
FANTASIO: What an admirable thing is the Arabian Nights! O Spark, my dear Spark, if you could transport me to China! If I could only leave my skin for an hour or two! If I could be that gentleman who's passing by!
SPARK: Seems difficult to me.
FANTASIO: That gentleman passer-by is charming: see, what beautiful silk shoes! what beautiful red flowers in his buttonhole! His watch chain is beating on his stomach, in opposition to the jacket which flutters around his calves. I am certain that this man has a million ideas in his head which are absolutely foreign to me; his essence is particularity. Alas! all that men say to each other is similar; the ideas they exchange are already the same in all their conversations; but in the interior of all these isolated machines, how full, how compartmented with secrets! Each one carries about a whole world within himself! an unknown world which is born and dies in silence! What solitudes in all these human bodies!
SPARK: In that case drink, relax instead of racking your brains.
FANTASIO: Only one thing has amused me for the last three days: it's that one of my creditors has obtained a warrant against me, and that if I set foot in my house, four bailiffs are going to come who will take me by the scruff of the neck.
SPARK: Now that's very gay, indeed. Where will you sleep tonight?
FANTASIO: At the first comer. Can you imagine that my furniture is being sold in the morning? We will buy some of it, right?
SPARK: Do you need money, Henry? Do you want my purse?
FANTASIO: Imbecile! If I didn't have money, I wouldn't have debts. I wanted to take a girl from the opera as mistress.
SPARK: She'll bore you to death.
FANTASIO: Not at all: my imagination will be filled with pirouettes and white satin slippers; there will be a glove for me on the bench of the balcony after the first of January until Saint Sylvester, and I will hum the solos of clarinettes in my dreams while waiting to die of indigestion from the expenses of dying in the arms of my beloved. Do you notice one thing, Spark? It's that we have no situation; we are exercising no profession?
SPARK: Is that what's saddening you?
FANTASIO: There's no master of melancholy arms.
SPARK: You are making me feel you've become one all the same.
FANTASIO: Ah! to become one all the same, my friend, it's necessary to have gone everywhere.
SPARK: Well then?
FANTASIO: Well then! where do you want me to go? Look at this smokey old town; there are no squares, streets, alleys that I haven't prowled thirty times; there are no stones that I haven't dragged my weary heels over, there are no houses where I don't know which girl or old woman whose head is not perpetually pictured in the window; I don't know how to take a step without marching on my steps of yesterday; well! my dear friend, this town is nothing compared to my head. All the recesses of mine are a hundred times better known, all the streets, all the ditches of my imagination are a hundred times more weary; I've strolled a hundred times more in my senses, in this dilapidated skull, myself its sole inhabitant! I've gotten drunk in all the cabarets, I've rolled through it like an absolute king in a gilded carriage, I've trotted like a good bourgeois on a peaceable mule, and until now I've not dared to enter it like a thief with a dark lantern in my hand.
SPARK: I don't understand anything of this perpetual work over yourself; as for me, when I smoke, for example my thought comes from the fuming tobacco; when I drink, it's made of Spanish wine or Flemish beer, when I kiss the hand of my mistress, it enters through the tip of her slender fingers to spread in all her being through electric currents; I need the perfume of a flower to distract me, and with all that's locked in universal nature the most sickly object suffices to change me into a bee and make me fly here and there with a pleasure that's always new.
FANTASIO: Let's cut off the discussion, you are capable of fishing with a rod.
SPARK: If that amuses me I am capable of anything.
FANTASIO: Even of taking the moon in your teeth?
SPARK: That wouldn't amuse me.
FANTASIO: Ah! ah! what do you know about it? Taking the moon in your teeth is not to disdain it? Let's go play thirty-forty.
SPARK: No, truly.
FANTASIO: Why?
SPARK: Because we will lose our money.
FANTASIO: Ah! my God! what are you going to think? You only know how to invent things to torture the mind. Wretch, do you see everything as black? Lose our money! In your heart you have neither hope nor faith in God? you are then a shocking atheist, capable of withering up my heart, and of disabusing me of everything, I who am so full of the vitality of youth?
(Fantasio begins to dance.)
SPARK: Really, there are some moments when I wouldn't swear you are not crazy.
FANTASIO: (still dancing) Let them give me a bell a drinking bell!
SPARK: What's a bell got to do with anything?
FANTASIO: Didn't Jean-Paul say that a man absorbed in a great idea is like a diver under his bell amidst a vast ocean? I have no bell, spark, no bell, and I am dancing like Jesus Christ on the vast ocean.
SPARK: Be a journalist or a man of letters, Henri; it's still the most efficacious way remaining to us to dispel misanthropy and to deaden the imagination.
FANTASIO: Oh! I'd like to get impassioned about lobster with spice, for a grisette, for a class of minerals! Spark! let's try to build a house for the two of us,
SPARK: Why don't you write all that you dream? that would be a pretty collection.
FANTASIO: A sonnet is worth more than a long poem, a cup of wine is worth more than a sonnet.
SPARK: Why don't you travel? Go to Italy.
FANTASIO: I've been there.
SPARK: Well! didn't you find that country beautiful?
FANTASIO: There's a quantity of huge mosquitoes like chaffinches which bite you all night.
SPARK: Go to France.
FANTASIO: There's no good Rhine wine in Paris.
SPARK: Go to England.
FANTASIO: I'm there. Do the English have a country? I prefer to see them here than at home.
SPARK”: In that case go to the Devil!
FANTASIO: Oh! Would there were a devil in heaven! if there were one in hell, how I would blow my brains out to go to see all that! What a wretched thing is man! Not even able to jump out his window without breaking his limbs! to be obliged to play the violin for ten years to become a passable musician! To learn to be a painter, to be a stable boy! To learn to make an omelette! Heavens, Spark, it fills me with envy to sit down on a parapet, to watch the river flow and to set myself to count, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and so on right up to the day of my death.
SPARK: What you are telling me will make folks laugh, as for me, it makes me shiver: it's the story of our whole age. Eternity is a great eiry, from which all the ages, like young eagles, have flown off, one after the other to cross the heavens and disappear; ours has come in its turn to the edge of the nest; but its wings have been cut and it awaits death as it looks at the space into which it cannot hurl itself.
FANTASIO: (singing) You call me your life, call me your soul For the soul is immortal and life is but a day. (speaking) Do you know a more divine romance than that, Spark? It's a Portuguese romance. It never comes to my mind without making me want to love someone.
SPARK: Who, for goodness sake?
FANTASIO: Who? I have no idea; some pretty girl all chubby like the women of Mieris; something sweet like the west wind, pale like the rays of the moon; thoughtful like those little serving girls at the inn in Flemish pictures who give the parting cup to a departing traveler in big boots, straight as a stake on a big white horse. What a fine thing is the kick of a stirrup! a young woman on the steps of her doorway, flame lit as seen in the depths of her room, supper prepared, children asleep, all the tranquility of a peaceful and contemplative life in the corner of a picture! and there, man still breathless, but firm in his saddle, having done twenty leagues, and thirty yet to do, a swig of brandy and goodbye. Night is profound down there, the weather threatening, the forest dangerous; the good woman follows with her eyes for a minute, then she lets fall, as she returns to her fire, that sublime alms of the poor: “May God protect you!”
SPARK: Henri, if you were in love you would be the happiest of men.
FANTASIO: Love no longer exists, my dear friend. Religion, its nurse, has breasts that hang like an old purse in which there's a big coin. Love is a holy wafer that must be broken in two at the foot of an altar and swallowed together in a kiss. There's no more altar, there's no more love. Long live nature: there is still some wine.
(Fantasio drinks.)
SPARK: You are going to get drunk
FANTASIO: You said it, I'm going to get drunk.
SPARK: It's a little late for that.
FANTASIO: What do you call late? Noon is late? Midnight is early? Where do you spend the day? Let's stay here, Spark, I beg you. Let's drink, discuss, analyze, deconstruct, make politics, picture the makings of governments, catch all the chaffinches who pass around the candle, and put them in our pockets. Do you know that steam cannons are a great thing in matters of philanthropy?
SPARK: What makes you think that?
FANTASIO: Once there was a king who was very wise, very wise, very happy, very happy.
SPARK: And so?
FANTASIO: The only thing lacking to his happiness was to have children. He had public prayers given in all the mosques.
SPARK: What are you getting at?
FANTASIO: I'm thinking of my Thousand and One nights. That's how everything begins. Heavens, Spark, I am drunk. That means I must do something. Tra la, tra la! Come on let's get going. (a funeral passes by) Hey brave folks, who are you burying there? This isn't the proper hour of burial.
PALLBEARERS: We are burying Saint-Jean.
FANTASIO: Saint-Jean is dead? The king's clown is dead? Who has taken his place? The minister of justice?
PALLBEARERS: His place is vacant. You can take it if you like. (they leave)
SPARK: Now there's an insolence that you brought on yourself. What were you thinking of, stopping those folks?
FANTASIO: There was no insolence there. It was the advise of a friend that that man gave me and I am going to follow it instantly.
SPARK: You are going to make yourself court buffoon?
FANTASIO: This very night, if I have my wish. Since I cannot sleep at home, I want to give myself the performance of this royal comedy which plays tomorrow, and from the box of the king himself.
SPARK: How clever you are! They will recognize you and the lackeys will kick you out; aren't you godson of the late queen?
FANTASIO: How dumb you are! I will put on a hunchback and a red wig like the picture of Saint-Jean, and no one will recognize me when I have three dozen relatives in my bundle. (knocks on a shop door) Hey! brave man, open up for me if you haven't gone out, your brave wife and your little dogs!
A TAILOR: (opening the shop) What does Milord want?
FANTASIO: Aren't you the tailor to the court?
TAILOR: To serve you.
FANTASIO: Did you clothe Saint-Jean?
TAILOR: Yes, sir.
FANTASIO: You knew him? You knew what the condition of his hump was, how he combed his mustache and what wig he wore?
TAILOR: Ha, ha! The gentleman is having a laugh.
FANTASIO: Man, I do not want to laugh; go into the back of your shop, and if you don't want to be poisoned in your coffee tomorrow, think to be silent like the tomb on all that is going to take place here.
(Fantasio goes in with the tailor; Spark follows him.)
CURTAIN OR BLACKOUT
(The Prince of Mantua enters with Marinoni.)
PRINCE: Well, colonel?
MARINONI: Highness?
PRINCE: Well, Marinoni?
MARINONI: Melancholy, fanciful, with a pleasant madness, obedient to her father, very fond of green peas.
PRINCE: Write that: I only understand clearly writings that are slanted.
MARINONI: Melan—
PRINCE: Write in a low voice: Since my dinner I've been dreaming of an important plan.
MARINONI: There, Highness, what you are asking for.
PRINCE: That's fine, I designate you my intimate friend; I don't know more beautiful writing in all my realm than yours. Sit down at a distance. So, my friend, you think that the character of the princess, my future spouse, is secretly revealed to you?
MARINONI: Yes, Highness, I perused all the environs of the palace, and these notebooks contain the principal features of different conversations in which I immersed myself.
PRINCE: (looking at himself) It seems to me that I am powdered like a man of the lowest class.
MARINONI: The outfit is magnificent.
PRINCE: What would you say, Marinoni, if you saw your master dressed in a plain olive coat?
MARINONI: Your Highness is laughing at my credulity.
PRINCE: No, colonel. Learn that you master is the most romantic of men.
MARINONI: Romantic, Highness?
PRINCE: Yes, my friend (I've granted you that title.); the important plan that I am meditating is unheard of in my family; I intend to arrive at the court of my father-in-law, the king, in the outfit of a simple aide de camp; it's not enough to have sent a man of my house to pick up rumors of the future princess of Mantua (and that man, Marinoni, is yourself). I still intend to observe with my own eyes.
MARINONI: Is it true, Highness?
PRINCE: Don't remain petrified. A man such as myself must have for an intimate friend only a vast and enterprising mind.
MARINONI: A single thing appears to me to oppose the plan of Your Highness.
PRINCE: Which is?
MARINONI: The idea of such a travesty can belong only to a glorious prince who governs us. But if my gracious sovereign is mixed with the general staff, to whom will the king of Bavaria pay the honors of a splendid feast which must take place in the grand gallery?
PRINCE: You are right; if I disguise myself, necessarily someone must take my place. That's impossible Marinoni; I hadn't thought of that.
MARINONI: Why impossible, Highness?
PRINCE: I am quite able to lower the princely dignity to the grade of colonel, but how can you think that I would consent to raise some unknown man to my rank? Besides, do you think that my future father-in-law would forgive that?
MARINONI: The king passes for a man of great sense and wit, with an agreeable temper.
PRINCE: Ah! it's not without pain that I am renouncing my project. To penetrate into this new court, without pomp and uproar, to observe everything, to approach the princess under a false name, and perhaps to make her love me! Oh! I'm getting distracted; this is impossible. Marinoni, my friend, try on my ceremonial dress: I don't know how to resist it.
MARINONI: (bowing) Highness.
PRINCE: Do you think future centuries will forget such an event?
MARINONI: Never, gracious prince.
PRINCE: Come try on my clothes.
(They leave.)
CURTAIN
(Elsbeth and her Governess enter.)
GOVERNESS: My poor eyes have wept, wept a torrent from heaven.
ELSBETH: You are so nice! Me, too, I loved Saint-Jean; he had so much wit! He was no ordinary buffoon.
GOVERNESS: To think that the poor man went on high on the eve of your engagement! He who spoke only of you at dinner and supper, as well as during the day. A lad so gay, so amusing, who made ugliness loved, and all eyes sought him despite themselves!
ELSBETH: Don't speak to me of my marriage; that's an even greater misfortune.
GOVERNESS: Don't you know that the Prince of Mantua is arriving today? They say he's a Sir Galahad.
ELSBETH: What are you talking about, my dear? He's a horrible idiot, everybody knows he's already here.
GOVERNESS: Truly? they told me he was a Sir Galahad.
ELSBETH: I am not asking for a Sir Galahad, my dear; but it's cruel, sometimes, being the daughter of a king. My father is the best of men; the marriage he's arranging assures the peace of his kingdom; in reward he will receive the blessings of a nation; but, alas, as for me, I will only have his blessing and nothing more.
GOVERNESS: How sadly you speak!
ELSBETH: If I were to refuse the prince, the war will soon start over: what a misfortune that these peace treaties are always signed with tears! I would be of a strong mind and resign myself to marry the first comer, when that is necessary in politics. To be the mother of a nation, that consoles great hearts, but not weak minds. I am only a poor dreamer: perhaps the fault is in your novels that you always have in your pockets.
GOVERNESS: Lordy! don't say anything about them.
ELSBETH: I've little knowledge of life and I've dreamed a lot.
GOVERNESS: If the Prince of Mantua is such as you say, God won't let this affair take place, I'm sure of it.
ELSBETH: You think so! My poor friend, God lets men act, and makes nothing more in the case of our complaints than the bleating of a sheep.
GOVERNESS: I am sure that, if you were to refuse the Prince, your father wouldn't force you.
ELSBETH: No, surely he wouldn't force me; and it's because of that I am sacrificing myself. Would you want me to go to tell my father to forget his word, and to blot out with a stroke of the pen his respectable name on a contract which has made millions happy? What's it matter that it makes one woman unhappy? I am allowing my good father to be a good king.
GOVERNESS: Boo! hoo! (she weeps)
ELSBETH: Don't cry for me, my dear; perhaps you'll make me weep for myself, and a royal fiancee mustn't have red eyes. Don't afflict yourself with all this. After all, I will be a queen, that perhaps is amusing; perhaps I'll take a liking to my finery, what do I know? to my coaches, to my new court; happily there are other things for a princess in a marriage than a husband. Perhaps I will find happiness in the bottom of my wedding basket.
GOVERNESS: You are a true sacrificial sheep.
ELSBETH: Here, my dear, let's start always by laughing; leave weeping until its time comes. They say that the Prince of Mantua is the most ridiculous thing in the world.
GOVERNESS: If Saint-Jean were here!
ELSBETH: Ah! Saint-Jean! Saint-Jean!
GOVERNESS: You loved him greatly, my child.
ELSBETH: It is strange: his wit attached me to him with imperceptible cords which seemed to come from my heart; his perpetual mockery of my romantic ideas pleased me to excess, while only with him could I support the pain of many folks who felt the same way I do; I don't know what he had about him, in his eyes, in his gestures, in the way he took tobacco. He was a bizarre man: while he spoke to me delicious scenes passed before my eyes; his word gave life to the strangest things like an enchantment.
GOVERNESS: He was a model clown.
ELSBETH: I don't know about that; but he was a diamond of wit.
GOVERNESS: Now here are pages coming and going; I think that the prince will not be slow in showing himself; you must return to the palace to get dressed.
ELSBETH: I beg you, leave me a quarter of an hour now; go prepare what I need; alas, my dear, I haven't much longer to dream.
GOVERNESS: Lordy! is it possible this marriage will take place if it displeases you? A father sacrifice his daughter! The king would be a true Jephta if he did it.
ELSBETH: Don't speak ill of my father; go, my dear, prepare what I need.
(The Governess leaves.)
ELSBETH: (alone) It seems to me there's some one behind these thickets. Is this the ghost of my poor buffoon that I observe in these cornflowers, seated on the grass? Answer me: who are you? what are you doing there picking these flowers.
(She advances towards a mound.)
FANTASIO: (seated, dressed as a buffoon, with his hump and a wig) I am a brave flower picker who wishes good day to your beautiful eyes.
ELSBETH: What's this get-up signify? who are you to come parody under this big wig a man that I loved? Are you a scholar in buffoonery?
FANTASIO: Pleasing to Your Serene Highness, I am the new buffoon of the king; the major domo received me favorably; I've been presented to the valet de chambre; the scullions have been protecting me since yesterday evening, and I am modestly picking flowers while waiting for wit to come to me.
ELSBETH: That seems doubtful to me as you are forever picking that flower.
FANTASIO: Why? wit can come to an old man just like a young girl. It's so difficult sometimes to distinguish a spiritual feature from a great stupidity! To talk a lot, that's the important thing; the worst pistol shot can hit a fly, if he fires 780 shots per minute, quite as well as the most clever man who can fire only one or two well aimed. I ask only to be fed in measure to the size of my torso and I will look on my shadow in the sunlight to see if my wig's on straight.
ELSBETH: In a manner that here you are dressed in the cast-offs of Saint-Jean? You are right to speak of your shadow; so long as you have this outfit, it will, I think, always resemble him more than you.
FANTASIO: At this moment I am composing an elegy which will decide my fate.
ELSBETH: In what manner?
FANTASIO: It will clearly prove that I am the first man in the world, or indeed nothing at all. I am by way of overthrowing the universe to put it in an acrostic: the moon, the sun, and the stars are fighting with each other to enter into my verse, like schoolboys at the door of a theatre playing melodramas.
ELSBETH: Poor man! what a profession you are undertaking! to be witty at so much per hour! Have you neither arms nor legs, and wouldn't you do better to plough the earth than your own brain?
FANTASIO: Poor little girl! what a profession you are undertaking! to marry a dummy that you've never seen! Have you neither heart nor head, and wouldn't you do better to sell your clothes than your body?
ELSBETH: Now see who's bold, Mr. Newcomer!
FANTASIO: What do you call this flower here, if you please?
ELSBETH: A tulip. What do you intend to prove?
FANTASIO: A red tulip or a blue tulip?
ELSBETH: Blue, so it seems to me.
FANTASIO: Not at all, it's a red tulip.
ELSBETH: Do you intend to put new clothes on an old sentence? you don't need to say that taste and colors mustn't be disputed.
FANTASIO: I am not disputing; I am telling you that this tulip is a red tulip, and still I agree it is blue.
ELSBETH: How do you manage that?
FANTASIO: Like your marriage contract. Who can know under what sun it is born blue or orange? The tulips themselves know nothing. The gardeners and notaries make such extraordinary scratches, that apples become pumpkins, and thistles drop from the jaw of an ass to inundate the sauce in the bishop's money plate. This tulip that now is expecting to be red; but they married her, she's all surprised at being blue; that's the way it is with the whole world which is metamorphosed under the hands of man, and the poor dame nature must laugh up her nose sometimes heartily, when she discerns in lakes and oceans her eternal masquerade. Do you think the rose can be smelled in the paradise of Moses? there you smell only green hay. The rose is the daughter of civilization: it's a marquise like you and me.
ELSBETH: The pale flower of the hawthorn can become a rose, and a thistle can become an artichoke; but one flower cannot become another: so what does it matter to nature? nature doesn't change it, it embellishes it or kills it. The most puny violet will die rather than allow artificial means to be employed to alter its staminal form.
FANTASIO: That's why I make more of the situation of a violet than the daughter of a king.
ELSBETH: There are certain things that buffoons themselves do not have the right to mock: pay attention to them. If you heard my conversation with my governess, watch your ears.
FANTASIO: Not my ears but my tongue. You mistake the sense; there's an error in the sense of your words.
ELSBETH: Don't make puns with me if you want to earn your money, and don't compare me to tulips, if you don't want to get something else.
FANTASIO: Who knows? a pun consoles many chagrins, and to play with words is one way like another to play with thoughts, actions, and beings. Everything's a pun down here, and it is as difficult to understand the look of a four year old child, as the balderdash in three modern plays.
ELSBETH: You have the effect on me of looking at the world through a prism that is always changing.
FANTASIO: Each has his glasses; but nobody knows exactly what colors are in the cups. Who is it who can tell me precisely if I am happy or wretched, good or evil, sad or gay, stupid or witty?
ELSBETH: You are ugly at least; that is certain.
FANTASIO: Not more certain than your beauty. Now there's your father coming with your future husband, Who is it who can know if you will marry him?
(Fantasio leaves.)
ELSBETH: Since I cannot avoid meeting the Prince of Mantua, I might as well go ahead to meet him.
(Enter the King, Marinoni dressed as the prince, and the prince dressed as an aide de camp.)
KING: Prince, here's my daughter, Pardon her this gardener's outfit; you are at the home of a bourgeois who governs others, and our etiquette is as indulgent for ourselves as for them.
MARINONI: Permit me to kiss this charming hand, madame, if it's not too great a favor for my lips.
PRINCESS: Your Highness will excuse me if I return to the palace. I will see him there in a manner more suitable to the presentation this evening. (she leaves.)
PRINCE: The princess is right; now there's a divine modesty.
KING: (to Marinoni) Who the heck is this aide de camp who follows you like your shadow? It is unbearable for me to hear him add an inept remark to everything that we are saying. Send him away, I beg you.
(Marinoni whispers to the Prince.)
THE PRINCE: (also whispering) It's very clever on your part to have persuaded him to put me at a distance. I am going to try to join the princess and touch her with some delicate words without seeming to do anything. (he leaves.)
KING: That aide de camp is an imbecile, my friend; what can you do with that sort of man?
MARINONI: Hmm! Hmm! Lets take a few steps further, if Your Majesty permits; I think I see a very charming kiosk in this thicket.
(They leave.)
PRINCE: (entering) My disguise is succeeding for me wonderfully; I observe and I am making myself loved. Up to now everything is going according to my wishes' taste: the father appears to me to be a great king, although too lacking in manners, and I will be astonished if I haven't pleased him at first. I notice the princess is going into the palace; luck is favoring me singularly. (Elizabeth enters, the Prince stops her) Highness, permit a faithful servant of your future husband to offer you the sincere congratulations that his humble and devoted heart cannot contain when seeing you. Happy the greats of the earth! they can marry you, as for me I cannot; this for me is completely impossible; I am only of an obscure birth, all I have for wealth is a name formidable to the enemy; a heart pure and without tarnish beats under this modest uniform; I am a poor soldier riddled with bullets from head to foot; I do not have a ducat, am solitary and exiled from my native land like my celestial country, that is to say, from paradise of my dreams; I don't have a woman's heart to press to my heart; I am cursed and silent.
ELSBETH: What do you want from me, my dear sir? Are you mad or are you asking for alms?
PRINCE: It would be difficult to find words to express what I am experiencing! I saw you pass all alone in this pathway; I thought that it was my duty to throw myself at your feet and offer you my company to the postern gate.
ELSBETH: I am obliged to you; do me the service of leaving me in peace.
(Elsbeth leaves.)
PRINCE: (alone) Could I have been wrong to accost her? Still, I had to since my plan is to seduce her under my supposed costume. Yes, I did right to accost her. Still, she replied to me in a disagreeable way. Perhaps I shouldn't have spoken to her so excitedly. Still, it had to be done, since her marriage is almost confirmed, and that I am required to supplant Marinoni, who is replacing me. I was right to speak to her excitedly. But the reply was disagreeable. Could she have a hard and false heart? It would be good to adroitly sound out the matter.
(Prince leaves.)
FANTASIO: (lying on a rug) What a delightful profession is that of a buffoon! I was drunk, I think, last night, when I put on this costume and presented myself at the palace; but truly, never has healthy reason inspired me with anything worth this act of madness. I arrive and here I am received, coddled, enregistered and what is better still, forgotten. I come and go in this palace as if I had lived here all my life. Just now, I met the king; he didn't even have the curiosity to glance at me; his buffoon being dead, they told him “Sire, here's another one.” That's admirable! Thank God, here I am my brain at rest, I can do all the nonsense possible, without anyone saying a thing to prevent me; I am one of the domestic animals in the service of the king of Bavaria, and if I want to, so long as I keep my hump and my wig, they will let me live until my death between a spaniel and a guinea hen. Meanwhile, my creditors can break their nose against my door at their ease. I am in as much security here under this wig, as in the West Indies. Isn't that the princess that I notice in the adjoining room, through this mirror? She's readjusting her wedding veil: two long tears are running down her cheeks: now there's one detaching itself like a pearl and falling on her breast. Poor little girl! this morning I heard her conversation with her governess: truly it was by chance; I was on the lawn, without any other plan than that of sleeping. Now there she is weeping and not suspecting that I see her again. Ah, if I was a scholar of rhetoric, how deeply I would reflect on this crowned misery, on this poor lamb about whose neck they place a red ribbon to lead her to the slaughter! This little girl is without doubt, romantic; it's cruel to marry her to a man that she doesn't know. Still, she's sacrificing herself in silence. How capricious chance is! I must get drunk, so I can be at the internment of Saint-Jean, so I can take his costume and his place, so that I can commit the greatest folly on earth, to come see fall, thorough this mirror the only two tears that this child will shed, perhaps, on her sad wedding veil.
(Fantasio leaves.)
PRINCE: You're nothing but a fool, colonel.
COLONEL: Your Highness is deceived on my account in the most distressing manner.
PRINCE: You are a master bully. Couldn't you prevent this? I am confiding to you the greatest plan that may be hatched since an incalculable term of years, and you, my best friend, my most faithful servant, you pile stupidities on stupidities. No, no, there's no use your talking; this is not forgivable.
MARINONI: How could I prevent Your Highness from attracting these unpleasantries to himself which are the necessary consequence of the supposed role he's playing? You order me to take your name, and to comport myself like the real Prince of Mantua. Can I prevent the King of Bavaria from making an affront to my aide de camp? You were wrong to meddle in our affairs.
PRINCE: I'd really like a rascal like you meddling to give me order!
MARINONI: Consider, Highness, that it's necessary that I be either the prince or that I be the aide de camp. I am acting by your order.
PRINCE: To tell me that I am an impertinent in the presence of the whole court, because I wanted to kiss the hand of the princess! I am ready to declare war on him and to return to my country to put myself at the head of my armies.
MARINONI: Think, Highness, that this evil compliment was addressed to the aide de camp and not to the prince. Do you expect them to respect you under this disguise?
PRINCE: Suffice. Give me my clothes.
MARINONI: (removing his coat) If my sovereign demands it I am ready to die for him.
PRINCE: Truthfully, I don't know what to decide. On the one hand I am furious over what happened to me, and, on the other, I am desolated to renounce my plan. The princess doesn't seem to respond indifferently to words of double entendre with which I ceaselessly pursue her. Already, I've succeeded two or three times in whispering incredible things in her ear. Come, let's consider all this.
MARINONI: (holding his coat) What am I to do, Highness?
PRINCE: Put it back on, put it back on, and let's go back into the palace.
(They leave.)
KING: Daughter, you must reply frankly to what I am asking you: does this marriage displease you?
ELSBETH: Sire, it's up to you to reply to yourself. It pleases me, if it pleases you; it displeases me, if it displeases you.
KING: It seems to me the Prince is an ordinary man, who is difficult to speak about. The stupidity of his aide de camp is his only wrong to my mind; as for him, he's a good prince, perhaps, but not a well brought up man. There's nothing about him which repulses me or attracts me. What can I say to you about this? Women's hearts have secrets that I cannot know; sometimes they make strange heroes, they seize so singularly on one or two aspects of a man, that it is impossible to judge for them, if you are not guided by some completely sensitive attitude.
ELSBETH: I think he's the prince of Mantua and that the war will start over again tomorrow between him and you, if I don't marry him.
KING: That is certain, my child.
ELSBETH: I think that I will marry him and the war will be over.
KING: May the blessings of my people thank you for your father! O my cherished daughter! I will be happy with this alliance; but I don't want to see in those beautiful eyes of yours this sadness which gives the lie to their resignation. Consider still for a few days.
(The King leaves and Fantasio enters.)
ELSBETH: There you are, poor lad! how do you like it here?
FANTASIO: Like a bird in freedom.
ELSBETH: You would have answered better, if you had said: like a bird in a cage. This palace is beautiful enough: yet it is one.
FANTASIO: The dimension of a palace or a room don't make a man more or less free. The body bestirs itself where it may; imagination sometimes spreads wings as large as heaven in a cell no bigger than a hand.
ELSBETH: So then, you are a happy fool?
FANTASIO: Very happy. I have conversation with all the little dogs and scullions. In the kitchen there's a mongrel no bigger than this who tells me charming things.
ELSBETH: In what language?
FANTASIO: In the purest style. He doesn't make a single grammatical mistake in the course of a year.
ELSBETH: Could I hear some words in this style?
FANTASIO: Truly, I wouldn't like that; it's a language which is particular. Only mongrels speak it; the trees and the grains of wheat also know it; but daughters of kings don't know it. When's your wedding?
ELSBETH: In a few days it will be all over.
FANTASIO: Meaning everything will begin. I count on offering you a present from my hand.
ELSBETH: What present? I am curious about that.
FANTASIO: I am counting on offering you a pretty little stuffed canary that will sing like a nightingale.
ELSBETH: How can it sing if it is stuffed?
FANTASIO: It sings perfectly.
ELSBETH: Truly, you are making fun of me with rare sarcasm.
FANTASIO: Not at all. My canary has a little worm hole in its belly. Very gently they slip a little device under the left leg and it sings all the latest operas, exactly like the famous opera singer Mademoiselle Grisi.
ELSBETH: It's an invention of your mind, no doubt?
FANTASIO: In no way. It's a court canary: there are many little girls, very well brought up, who have no other tricks than that. They have a little device under the left arm, a pretty device in fine diamond, like the watch of a tutor. The governor or governess makes the device play, and soon you see the lips open with the most gracious smile, a charming cascade of honeyed words leave with the softest murmur, and all the social pleasantries, like flighty nymphs, dancing on tip toe around the marvelous fountain. The pretender opens amazed eyes, the audience whispers with indulgence and the father filled with a secret satisfaction looks with pride at the buckles of his slippers.
ELSBETH: You seem to willingly return to certain subjects. Tell me, clown, what you make of these poor young girls that you satirize so gaily. No respect for duty can find mercy from you?
FANTASIO: I very much respect ugliness; that's why I respect myself so profoundly.
ELSBETH: Sometimes you seem to know more than you are saying. Where'd you come from? and who are you? because, for the single day you've been here, you already know how to penetrate the mysteries that princes themselves never suspect. Are you addressing your follies to me or are you speaking at hazard?
FANTASIO: It's to hazard, very much to hazard; he's my dearest confidant.
ELSBETH: He seems indeed to have taught you what you ought not to know. I willingly believed that you were spying on my actions and my words.
FANTASIO: God knows. What do you care for?
ELSBETH: More than you can think. Just now, in this room while putting on my veil, I heard steps behind the tapestry. I'm much deceived if it wasn't you walking there.
FANTASIO: Be sure that this remains between your handkerchief and me. I am no more indiscreet than I am curious. What pleasure could your pains cause me? What pain could your pleasures cause me? You are this and I am that. You are young and I am old; beautiful and I am ugly; rich and I am poor. You see there's nothing in common between us. What does it matter to you that chance has crossed on its great highway two wheels which don't follow the same track, which cannot mark the same dust? Is it my fault that while I slept one of your tears fell on my cheek.
ELSBETH: You appear to me under the form of a man that I loved, which is why I listen to you despite myself. My eyes think they are seeing Saint-Jean; but perhaps you are a spy?
FANTASIO: What good would that do me? If it is true that your marriage is costing you some tears, and if I learned that by chance, what would I gain by going to tell it? They wouldn't give me a pistole for that and they wouldn't put you in a dark room. I understand well enough that it must be troublesome enough to marry the Prince of Mantua, but after all, it's not I who am responsible for it. Tomorrow or the day after you will have left for Mantua with your marriage gown, and as for me I will still be on this stool with my old breeches. Why do you want to think that I wish you ill? I have no reason to desire your death; you've never loaned me money.
ELSBETH: But if chance made you see what I want people to be unaware of, ought I not to kick you out for fear of a new accident?
FANTASIO: Do you plan to compare me to a confidant in a tragedy, and are you scared I will follow your shade around declaiming? Don't kick me out, I beg you. I'm amusing myself greatly here. Wait, there's your governess coming full of mysteries in her pockets. The proof that I won't listen to her is that I am going to the pantry to eat a wing of plover that the major domo put aside for his wife.
(Fantasio leaves.)
GOVERNESS: (entering) Do you know a terrible thing, my dear Elsbeth?
ELSBETH: What do you mean? you are all atremble.
GOVERNESS: The prince isn't the prince, nor the aide de camp either. It's a real fairy story.
ELSBETH: What sort of muddle are you making me?
GOVERNESS: Hush! hush! It was one of the officers of the prince himself who just told me. The Prince of Mantua is a real Jupiter; he is disguised and hidden amongst the aides de camp; doubtless he wanted to seek you out and meet you in a fairy manner. He is disguised; the worthy lord is disguised like Amphitryon, the one they presented to you as your future spouse is only an aide de camp named Marinoni.
ELSBETH: That's not possible!
GOVERNESS: It is certain, a thousand times certain. The worthy man is disguised, it is impossible to recognize him; it's an extraordinary thing.
ELSBETH: You say you got this from an officer?
GOVERNESS: From an officer of the prince. You can ask him yourself.
ELSBETH: And he didn't point out to you amongst the aides de camp the true prince of Mantua?
GOVERNESS: Conceive that the poor man was trembling himself over what he was telling me. He confided his secret to me only because he wants to be agreeable to you and he knew that I would warn you. As for Marinoni, that is positive; but as to who is the true prince he couldn't point him out to me.
ELSBETH: That will give me something to think about if it is true. Come, lead me to this officer.
(A page enters.)
GOVERNESS: What is it Flamel? You appear to be out of breath.
PAGE: Ah! madame! it's something to die laughing of. I don't dare speak of it before Your Highness.
ELSBETH: Speak: what's so new about it?
PAGE: At the moment when the Prince of Mantua was mounting his horse in the courtyard, at the head of his guards, his wig blew off into the air and disappeared completely.
ELSBETH: Why that? What naivete!
PAGE: Madame I want to die if it is not the truth. The wig flew into the air at the end of a fish hook. We found it in the office beside a broken bottle: no one knows who played this joke. But the Prince is no less furious, and he has sworn that if the author is not punished by death, he will declare war on the king your father and put all to fire and blood.
ELSBETH: Come hear all this story, my dear. My seriousness is beginning to abandon me.
(Enter a second page.)
ELSBETH: Well! what news?
PAGE: Madame, the king's buffoon is in prison. It was he who stole the prince's wig.
ELSBETH: The buffoon is in prison? and on the order of the prince?
PAGE: Yes, Highness.
ELSBETH: Come, dear mother, I must speak to him.
(Elsbeth leaves with her governess.)
PRINCE: No, no, let me unmask. It's time that I burst. It's not going to happen like this. Fire and blood! a royal wig at the end of a fishhook! Are we among barbarians, in the deserts of Siberia? Is there still under the sun something civilized and agreeable? I'm foaming with wrath, and my eyes are starting from my head.
MARINONI: You will ruin everything with your violence.
PRINCE: And this father, this king of Bavaria, this monarch boasted of in all the almanachs of last year! this man who has an exterior so decent, who expresses himself in terms so measured, and who starts laughing when seeing the wig of his son in law fly into the air! For in the end, Marinoni, I agree that it was your wig which was nabbed; but isn't it still that of the Prince of Mantua, since it's he they think they see in you? When I think that if it had been me in flesh and bone, my wig perhaps would have— Ah! there is a Providence; when God suddenly sent me the idea of dressing like you; when this light shot through my mind “I must disguise myself” this fatal event was foreseen by destiny. It was he who saved from the most intolerable insult the head that governs my subjects. But, by heaven, everything will be known. It's too long to betray my dignity. Since divine and human majesties are pitiless, violated and lacerated, since there is no longer amongst men any notions of right and wrong, since the king of several million people bursts into laughter like a stable hand at the sight of a wig, Marinoni, return me my coat.
MARINONI: (removing his coat) If my sovereign commands it, I am ready to suffer a thousand tortures for him.
PRINCE: I know your devotion. Come, I am going to tell off the king in proper terms.
MARINONI: You are refusing the hand of the princess? she was watching you in an evident manner throughout the dinner.
PRINCE: You think so? I am losing myself in an abyss of perplexities. Still, come, let's go to the king's.
MARINONI: (offering the coat) What must be done, Highness?
PRINCE: Put it back for a minute. You'll give it back to me soon.; they will be much more petrified hearing me take the tone that becomes me under this under the color of this green frock.
(They leave.)
FANTASIO: (alone) I don't know if there is a Providence, but it's amusing to think so. Now here's a poor little princess who's going to marry, against her will, a filthy animal, a provincial serving man, that chance had let fall a crown on his head; like the eagle of Aeschylus his tortoise. Everything was prepared; the candles lit, the intended powdered, the poor little girl confessed. She had dried the two charming tears that I saw flow this morning. Nothing was lacking except two or three canting sermons for the misfortune of her life to be accomplished. There was in all this the fate of two kingdoms, the tranquility of two nations; and I had to imagine to disguise myself as a hunchback, to come get drunk afresh in the pantry of our good king, and to fish at the end of a wire the wig of his dear ally! Truly, when I am drunk, I think there's something superhuman about me. Now there's a marriage failed and everything put in question. The Prince of Mantua demands my head in exchange for his wig. The King of Bavaria finds the penalty a little too severe and consented only to prison. The Prince of Mantua, thanks to God, is so dumb that he'd rather be cut in pieces than give up; so the princess remains unmarried, at least for this time. It's not the subject of an epic poem in a dozen books, I know it. Pope and Boileau have written admirable verse on less important subjects. Ah! if I were a poet, how I would depict the scene of this wig flying in the air! But he who is capable of doing such things is incapable of writing them. So posterity will pass away.
(Fantasio dozes off. Enter Elsbeth and her governess, a lamp in hand.)
ELSBETH: He's sleeping. Shut the door softly.
GOVERNESS: See, it's not doubtful. He's taken off his sham wig, his deformity has vanished at the same time. There he is such as he is, the way his people see him on his triumphal chariot; he's the noble prince of Mantua.
ELSBETH: Yes, it's him; now my curiosity is satisfied. I wanted to see his face and nothing more; let me lean over him. (she takes her lamp) Psyche, take care of your drop of oil.
GOVERNESS: He's handsome like a true Jesus.
ELSBETH: Why did you let me read in so many novels and fairy tales? Why did you seed in my poor thoughts so many strange and mysterious flowers?
GOVERNESS: How excited you are on the tips of your toes.
ELSBETH: He's waking up: let's get out of here,
FANTASIO: (wakening) Is this a dream? I'm clinging to the edge of a white dress.
ELSBETH: Release me; let me leave.
FANTASIO: It's you, princess! Is it mercy to the king's buffoon that you are so divinely bringing me, let me put back my hump and wig; that will be done in a second.
GOVERNESS: Ah! Prince! how ill it behooves you to still deceive us like this! Don't resume that outfit; we know everything.
FANTASIO: Prince? Where do you see one?
GOVERNESS: What's the use of dissembling?
FANTASIO: I am not dissembling the least bit; by what chance are you calling me prince?
GOVERNESS: I know my duty towards Your Highness.
FANTASIO: Madame I beg you to explain to me the words of this honest lady. Is it really some extravagant scorn or am I the object of a jest?
ELSBETH: Why ask when it is you yourself who are jesting?
FANTASIO: Am I a prince by chance? Would you be conceiving some suspicion against my mother's honor?
ELSBETH: Who are you if you are not the Prince of Mantua?
FANTASIO: My name is Fantasio; I am a citizen of Munich.
(Fantasio shows her a letter.)
ELSBETH: A citizen of Munich? And why are you disguised? What are you doing here?
FANTASIO: (throwing himself at her knees) Madame, I beg you to pardon me.
ELSBETH: What's this mean? Get up, man, and get out of here! I am giving you mercy for a punishment you perhaps deserve. What led you to this action?
FANTASIO: I cannot say what motive led me here.
ELSBETH: You cannot say it? and still, I intend to know it.
FANTASIO: Excuse me, I dare not confess it.
GOVERNESS: Let's leave, Elsbeth: don't expose yourself to listen to a speech that is unworthy of you. This man is a thief, or an insolent fellow who is going to speak to you of love.
ELSBETH: I intend to know the reason that you took on this costume.
FANTASIO: I beg you, spare me.
ELSBETH: No, no! speak or I will lock this door on you for ten years.
FANTASIO: Madame, I am riddled with debts; my creditors have obtained a judgement against me; at the time I am speaking to you my furniture is being sold, and if I weren't in this prison, I would be in another. They ought to have come to arrest me yesterday evening; not knowing where I could spend the night, nor how to save my self from the pursuit of the bailiffs, I thought to put on this costume and come to seek refuge at the feet of the king; if you free me, they are going to collar me; my uncle is a miser who lives on potatoes and radishes, and who is letting me starve to death in all the cabarets in the kingdom. Since you must know; I owe 20,000 crowns.
ELSBETH: All this is true?
FANTASIO: If I am lying, I consent to pay them.
(The noise of horses is heard passing.)
GOVERNESS: There are horses passing; it's the king in person. If I could make a sign from the window. (calling from the window) Hola! Flamel, where are you going?
PAGE: (outside)The Prince of Mantua is going to leave.
GOVERNESS: The Prince of Mantua!
PAGE: Yes, war has been declared. There was a shocking scene between him and the king in front of the whole court. The marriage with the Princess has been broken off.
ELSBETH: Do you hear that, Mr. Fantasio? You caused my marriage to fail.
GOVERNESS: Lord my God! The Prince of Mantua is leaving, and I shan't have seen him.
ELSBETH: If war has been declared, what a misfortune!
FANTASIO: You call that a misfortune, Highness? Would you have preferred a husband who makes one for his wig? Eh! Madame, if war is declared, we will know what to do with our arms; the laziest of us idlers will put on their uniforms; as for myself, I will take my hunting rifle, if it hasn't been sold off yet. We are going to make a tour of Italy, and if you ever enter Mantua, it will be as a real queen without there being need for other candles than our swords.
ELSBETH: Fantasio, would you like to remain as my father's buffoon? I will pay you 20,000 crowns.
FANTASIO: I would like it with all my heart, but to tell the truth, if I were forced to, I would jump out the window to escape one of these days?
ELSBETH: Why? you see Saint-Jean is dead; we absolutely must have a buffoon.
FANTASIO: I love this profession more than any other; but I cannot do any profession. If you find that having rid you of the Prince of Mantua was worth 20,000 crowns, give it to me and don't pay my debts. A gentleman without debts wouldn't know where to present himself. I've never been witty enough to find myself without debts.
ELSBETH: Well! I'm going to give them to you; but take these keys to my garden; the day when you are bored being pursued by your creditors, come hide yourself in the sunflowers where I found you this morning; take care to wear your wig and your colored coat; never appear before me without this counterfeit appearance and these silver bells, for it's thus that you pleased me; you will become my buffoon again for the time you like to be so; and then you will go about your affairs. Now you can go away, the gate is open.
GOVERNESS: Is it possible that the Prince of Mantua has left without me seeing him!
CURTAIN