SCENE III (Philosophy Master, Music Master, Dancing Master, Fencing Master, Monsieur Jourdain, Lackeys)
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Aha! Monsieur Philosopher, you come just in time with your philosophy. Come, make a little peace among these people.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
What's happening? What's the matter, gentlemen.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
They have got into a rage over the superiority of their professions to the point of injurious words and of wanting to come to blows.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
What! Gentlemen, must you act this way? Haven't you read the learned treatise that Seneca composed on anger? Is there anything more base and more shameful than this pa**ion, which turns a man into a savage beast? And shouldn't reason be the mistress of all our activities?
DANCING MASTER:
Well! Sir, he has just abused both of us by, despising the dance, which I practice, and music, which is his profession.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
A wise man is above all the insults that can be spoken to him; and the grand reply one should make to such outrages is moderation and patience.
FENCING MASTER:
They both had the audacity of trying to compare their professions with mine.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
Should that disturb you? Men should not dispute amongst themselves about vainglory and rank; that which perfectly distinguishes one from the other is wisdom and virtue.
DANCING MASTER:
I insist to him that dance is a science to which one cannot do enough honor.
MUSIC MASTER:
And I, that music is something that all the ages have revered.
FENCING MASTER:
And I insist to them that the science of fencing is the finest and the most necessary of all sciences.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
And where then will philosophy be? I find you all very impertinent to speak with this arrogance in front of me, and impudently to give the name of science to things that one should not even honor with the name of art, and that cannot be cla**ified except under the name of miserable gladiator, singer, and buffoon!
FENCING MASTER:
Get out, you dog of a philosopher!
MUSIC MASTER:
Get out, you worthless pedant!
DANCING MASTER:
Get out, you ill-mannered cur!
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
What! Rascals that you are ... (The philosopher flings himself at them, and all three go out fighting).
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Monsieur Philosopher!
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
Rogues! Scoundrels! Insolent dogs!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Monsieur Philosopher!
FENCING MASTER:
A pox on the beast!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Gentlemen!
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
Impudent rogues!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Monsieur Philosopher!
DANCING MASTER:
The devil take the jacka**!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Gentlemen!
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
Villains!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Monsieur Philosopher!
MUSIC MASTER:
To the devil with the impertinent fellow!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Gentlemen!
PHILOSOPHY MASTER:
Rascals! Beggars! Traitors! Impostors! (They leave).
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN:
Monsieur Philosopher, Gentlemen! Monsieur Philosopher! Gentlemen! Monsieur Philosopher! Oh! Fight as much as you like. I don't know what to do, and I'll not spoil my robe to separate you. I would be a fool to go among them and receive some damaging blow.