Amphitryon. Жан-Батист Мольер

Have mercy, a truce to your blows.

      MERC. Then a truce to your insolence.

      SOS. Anything that pleases you; I will keep silence. The dispute between us is too unequal.

      MERC. Are you still Sosie? Say, villain!

      SOS. Alas! I am what you wish; dispose of my lot exactly as you please: your arm 'has made you the master of it.

      MERC. I think you said your name was Sosie?

      SOS. True, until now I thought the matter was clear; but your rod has made me see that I was mistaken in this affair.

      MERC. I am Sosie: all Thebes avows it. Amphitryon has never had other than me.

      SOS. You, Sosie?

      MERC. Yes, Sosie; and if any one trifles with me, he must take care of himself.

      SOS. Heavens! Must I thus renounce myself, and see my name stolen by an impostor. How lucky I am a poltroon! Or, by the death…!

      MERC. What are you mumbling between your teeth?

      SOS. Nothing. But, in the name of the Gods, give me leave to speak one moment with you.

      MERC. Speak.

      SOS. But promise me, I beseech you, that there shall not be any more strokes. Let us sign a truce.

      MERC. Let that pass; go on, I grant you this point.

      SOS. Tell me, who put this fancy into your head? What benefit will it be to you to take my name? In short, were you a demon, could you hinder me from being myself, from being Sosie?

      MERC. What is this, you dare…

      SOS. Ah! Gently: there is a truce to blows.

      MERC. What! Gallows-bird, impostor, scoundrel…

      SOS. As for abuse, give me as much as you please; it makes but a slight wound and does not bother me.

      MERC. You say you are Sosie?

      SOS. Yes. Some ridiculous tale…

      MERC. So, I shall break our truce, and take back my word.

      SOS. I can't help it. I cannot annihilate myself for you, and endure so improbable a tale. Is it in your power to be what I am? Can I cease to be myself? Did any one ever hear of such a thing? And can you give the lie to a hundred clear indications? Do I dream? Do I sleep? Is my mind troubled by powerful transports? Do I not feel I am awake? Am I not in my right senses? Has not my master, Amphitryon, commanded me to come here to Alcmene his wife? Am I not, in commending his passion to her, to give her an account of his deeds against our enemies? Have I not just come from the harbour? Do I not hold a lantern in my hand? Have I not found you in front of our house? Did I not speak to you in a perfectly friendly manner? Do you not make use of my poltroonery to hinder me from entering our house? Have you not vented your rage upon my back? Have you not showered blows on me? Ah! All this is but too true: would to Heaven it were less real! Cease therefore to jeer at a wretch's lot, and leave me to acquit myself where my duty calls me.

      MERC. Stop, or the shortest step brings down upon your back clattering evidence of my just anger. All you have just said is mine, except the blows. It is I, whom Amphitryon sent to Alcmene; who has just arrived from the Persian port; I, who have come to announce the valour of his arm, which has gained us a glorious victory, and slain the chief of our enemies. In short, I am undoubtedly Sosie, son of Dave, an honest shepherd; brother of Arpage, who died in a foreign land; husband of Cleanthis the prude, whose temper drives me wild; I, who received a thousand cuts from a whip at Thebes, without ever saying anything about it; and who was once publicly branded on the back for being too worthy a man.

      SOS. He is right. If he were not Sosie, he could not know all he says; all this is so astounding that even I begin to believe him a little. In fact, now I look at him, I see he has my figure, looks, and manners. I wilt ask him some question, in order to clear up this mystery. What did Amphitryon obtain as his share of all the plunder taken from our enemies?

      MERC. Five fine large diamonds, beautifully set in a cluster, which their chief wore as a rare piece of handicraft.

      SOS. For whom does he intend so rich a present?

      MERC. For his wife; he intends her to wear it.

      SOS. Where have you put it, until you meet her?

      MERC. In a casket sealed with the arms of my master.

      SOS. He does not tell a single lie at any turn: I begin to doubt myself in earnest. He has already cowed me into believing him to be Sosie; and he might even reason me into thinking him so. Yet, when I touch myself, and recollect, it seems to me I am myself. Where can I find some light that will clearly make my way plain? What I have done alone, and what no one has seen, cannot be known to any one else: that, at least, belongs to me. I will astonish him by this question: it will confound him, and we shall see. When they were at close quarters, what were you doing in our tents, whither you ran to hide yourself away?