The Shopkeeper Turned Gentleman | Page 2

certainly nothing more refreshing than the applause you speak of; still we cannot live on this flattering acknowledgment of our talent. Undiluted praise does not give competence to a man; we must have something more solid to fall back upon, and the best praise is the praise of the pocket. Our man, it is true, is a man of very limited capacity, who speaks at random upon all things, and only gives applause in the wrong place; but his money makes up for the errors of his judgment. He keeps his discernment in his purse, and his praises are golden. This ignorant, commonplace citizen is, as you see, better to us than that clever nobleman who introduced us here.
DAN. MAS. There is some truth in what you say; still I think that you set a little too much value on money, and that it is in itself something so base that he who respects himself should never make a display of his love for it.
MUS. MAS. Yet you receive readily enough the money our man gives you.
DAN. MAS. Certainly; but my whole happiness does not depend upon it; and I can still wish that with all his wealth he had good taste.
MUS. MAS. I wish it as much as you do; and we are both working as hard as we can towards that end. But at the same time he gives us the opportunity of making ourselves known. He shall pay for others, and others shall praise for him.
DAN. MAS. Here he comes.

SCENE II.--MR. JOURDAIN (_in a dressing-gown and night-cap_), THE MUSIC MASTER, THE DANCING MASTER, THE PUPIL OF THE MUSIC MASTER, A LADY SINGER, TWO MEN SINGERS, DANCERS, TWO SERVANTS.
MR. JOUR. Well, gentlemen! and what have you got there? Are you ready to show me your little drollery?
DAN. MAS. How? What little drollery?
MR. JOUR. Why, the ... what do you call it? Your prologue or dialogue of songs and dancing.
DAN. MAS. Ah, ah!
MUS. MAS. You see we are quite ready.
MR. JOUR. I have kept you waiting a little, but it is because I am to be dressed to-day like a man of rank, and my tailor sent me a pair of silk stockings which I thought I should never be able to get on.
MUS. MAS. We are here only to await your leisure.
MR. JOUR. I hope you will both stop till they have brought me my clothes, so that you may see me.
DAN. MAS. As you please.
MR. JOUR. You will see me equipped fashionably from head to foot.
MUS. MAS. We have no doubt of it.
MR. JOUR. I have had this dressing gown made for me.
DAN. MAS. It is very handsome,
MR. JOUR. My tailor told me that people of quality are dressed like this in the morning.
MUS. MAS. It becomes you wonderfully well.
MR. JOUR. Hullo! fellows! hullo! I say; my two lackeys, here!
1ST LACK. Do you want anything, Sir?
MR. JOUR. No; it was only to see if you heard me readily. (To the TWO MASTERS) What do you think of my liveries?
DAN. MAS. They are magnificent.
MR. JOUR. (_opening his gown, and showing his tight breeches of scarlet velvet, and a green velvet morning jacket which he is wearing_). This is a kind of deshabille to go about early in the morning.
MUS. MAS. It is charming.
MR. JOUR. I say! lackey!
1ST LACK. Sir.
MR. JOUR. The other.
2ND LACK. Sir.
MR. JOUR. (_taking off his dressing-gown_). Hold my dressing-gown. (To the TWO MASTERS) Do you think I look well so?
DAN. MAS. Perfectly well; nothing could be better.
MR. JOUR. Now let us see a little of this affair of yours.
MUS. MAS. I should like, first of all, for you to hear an air which he (pointing to his PUPIL) has just composed for the serenade you asked of me. He is one of my pupils, who has an admirable talent for this kind of thing.
MR. JOUR. Yes; but you should not have had it done by a pupil; you were not too good for the business yourself.
MUS. MAS. You must not be deceived, Sir, by the name of pupil. These kind of pupils know sometimes as much as the greatest masters; and the air is as beautiful as possible. Only just listen to it.
MR. JOUR. (to his SERVANTS). Hand me my dressing-gown, so that may hear better.... Stay, I believe that I shall be better without.... No, give it me back again; that will be best.
THE PUPIL All night and day I languish on; the sick man none can save Since those bright eyes have laid him low, to your stern laws a slave; If thus to those you love a meed of care you bring, What pain, fair Iris, will you find your foemen's hearts to wring?
MR. JOUR. This song seems to me rather dismal; it sends one to sleep; could you not enliven it