Comedy-Ballet presented at Chambord, for the entertainment of the King, in the month of October 1670, and to the public in Paris for the first time at the Palais-Royal Theater 23 November 1670
Monsieur Jourdain, bourgeois.
Madame Jourdain, his wife.
Lucile, their daughter.
Nicole, maid.
Cléonte, suitor of Lucile.
Covielle, Cléonte's valet.
Dorante, Count, suitor of Dorimène.
Dorimène, Marchioness.
Music Master.
Pupil of the Music Master.
Dancing Master.
Fencing Master.
Master of Philosophy.
Tailor.
Tailor's apprentice.
Two lackeys.
Many male and female musicians, instrumentalists, dancers, cooks, tailor's apprentices, and others necessary for the interludes.
The scene is Monsieur Jourdain's house in Paris.
SCENE I (Music Master, Dancing Master, Musicians, and Dancers)
(The play opens with a great assembly of instruments, and in the middle of the stage is a pupil of the Music Master seated at a table composing a melody which Monsieur Jourdain has ordered for a serenade.)
MUSIC MASTER: (To Musicians) Come, come into this room, sit there and wait until he comes.
DANCING MASTER: (To dancers) And you too, on this side.
MUSIC MASTER: (To Pupil) Is it done?
PUPIL: Yes.
MUSIC MASTER: Let's see. . . This is good.
DANCING MASTER: Is it something new?
MUSIC MASTER: Yes, it's a melody for a serenade that I set him to composing here, while waiting for our man to awake.
DANCING MASTER: May I see it?
MUSIC MASTER: You'll hear it, with the dialogue, when he comes. He won't be long.
DANCING MASTER: Our work, yours and mine, is not trivial at present.
MUSIC MASTER: This is true. We've found here such a man as we both need. This is a nice source of income for us -- this Monsieur Jourdain, with the visions of nobility and gallantry that he has gotten into his head. You and I should hope that everyone resembled him.
DANCING MASTER: Not entirely; I could wish that he understood better the things that we give him.
MUSIC MASTER: It's true that he understands them poorly, but he pays well, and that's what our art needs now more than anything else.
DANCING MASTER: As for me, I admit, I feed a little on glory. Applause touches me; and I hold that, in all the fine arts, it is painful to produce for dolts, to endure the barbarous opinions of a foo