Without thee it is
impossible
for me to live.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v17 - Mai to Mom
A little earlier in the year he
had collaborated with Corneille in the dialogue of Psyché) (January,
1671), Quinault writing the lyrics which Lulli set to music. And
before the twelve months were out he was ready with yet another
comedy-farce, La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas) (The Countess of Escar-
bagnas), December 20, 1671, rich with his ample knowledge of pro-
vincial characteristics.
## p. 10161 (#589) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10161
He was coming now to the close of his career; and he rose again
to the level of high comedy in "Les Femmes Savantes) (The Learned
Ladies), March uth, 1672, which disputes with “Tartuffe,' 'Don Juan,'
and 'Le Misanthrope, the honor of being considered his finest and
sanest work. In its theme, this, the last of his great plays, is very
like the Précieuses Ridicules,' in which he first revealed the power
of social satire; affectation of every sort was abhorrent to him always
affectation and insincerity and hypocrisy. When he beheld these
things his scorn burned hot within him, and he delighted in scourg-
ing them.
The last months of Molière's life were saddened by the death
of his old companion and sister-in-law, Madeleine Béjart, and by the
death of his only son. His health, never strong, became feebler; and
in the summer of 1672 the theatre had to be closed unexpectedly
more than once, because Molière was not well enough to act. And
yet through all these trials he kept his good-humor and his gentle
serenity, although he — like most other great humorists — was essen-
tially melancholy. It was under these conditions that he wrote his
last play, Le Malade Imaginaire (The Imaginary Invalid), February
Toth, 1673. He himsel of course, was the imaginary invalid, being
then worn out with his own illness. The fourth performance of the
new play took place on the 17th; and Molière was seized with a fit
of coughing on the stage, and burst a blood-vessel. They conveyed
him to his own house in the Rue de Richelieu, on the site of the
building now numbered 38 and 40; and here he died “not more than
half an hour or three quarters after the bursting of the said vessel,
so his faithful friend and fellow actor, Lagrange, recorded in the
register or private diary, which is an invaluable document for the
details of Molière's life.
The bitter hostility which had long delayed the performance of
(Tartuffe,' and which had unceasingly pursued Molière during the
last years of his life, not shrinking from obtrusion into his family
relations, was not relaxed after his death. Permission for Christian
burial was at first denied. It is told that the widow threw herself at
the King's feet and implored a royal mandate, overruling the ecclesi-
astical authorities. At last the funeral was authorized; and it took
place on the evening of the fourth day. The procession was very
simple, the priests not intoning the usual psalms. The interment took
place in the cemetery which was behind the chapel of St. Joseph,
in the Rue de Montmartre.
The inventory taken after his demise gives the list of Molière's
stage costumes and of the books that composed his library. Among
these was a Bible, a Plutarch, a Montaigne (but no Rabelais, oddly
enough), a Terence (but no Plautus), a Lucian, a Horace, a Juvenal,
XVII-636
## p. 10162 (#590) ##########################################
10162
MOLIÈRE
and two hundred and forty volumes of unnamed French, Italian, and
Spanish plays. He left a fortune of about forty thousand livres.
Four years after his death his widow married an obscure actor named
Guérin. The only child of Molière to survive him was a daughter,
who married a M. de Montalant, and who died without issue in 1723,
half a century after her illustrious father.
Molière was only fifty-one when he died, and all of his more
important plays had been written during the final fourteen years of
his life. He had served a long apprenticeship in the provinces, mas-
tering all the mysteries of his art, and heaping up a store of obser-
vations of human nature; and after his return to Paris, his genius
ripened swiftly. While the novelists have often flowered late in life,
the dramatists have usually begun young; but Molière was forty-two
when he wrote “Tartuffe,' forty-three when he followed it with Don
Juan,' forty-four when he produced Le Misanthrope, forty-eight
when he brought forth (Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme,' and fifty when
he made fun of the Femmes Savantes. ' Perhaps a part of the
deeper insight and the wider vision of these plays, when compared
with those of all other comic dramatists, is due to the relative matur-
ity of Molière when he composed them. The personal and poetic
burlesques of Aristophanes do not belong in the same category; and
the belauded comedies of Menander are lost to us. Some of the
comic plays of Plautus and of Terence survive for purposes of com-
parison, - as a result of which the best criticism of to-day is in
accord with La Fontaine's declaration on the morrow of Molière's
death, that the great French comic dramatist had surpassed both of
the great Latin comic dramatists.
For us who speak English, and who hold Shakespeare as a stand-
ard by which the men of every other language must be measured,
it is impossible not to set the author of Hamlet' over against
the author of Tartuffe. In many ways the two men were alike.
Dramatists, they were both actors, Shakespeare being probably not
prominent in that profession, while Molière certainly excelled all his
contemporaries. They were both managers; and both of them were
shrewd men of affairs, governing their private fortunes with skill.
Legend relates that Shakespeare wrote the Merry Wives of Wind-
sor) on a hint of Queen Elizabeth's, and that Molière augmented the
Fâcheux' on a hint of King Louis's. Each of them kept the most
of his plays in manuscript while he was alive; and after they were
dead, the plays of each were published by the pious care of survir-
ing comrades. They were both of them surpassingly original; and
yet neither often took the trouble to invent a plot, preferring to
adopt this ready-made, more or less, and rather to expend his strength
upon the analysis of emotion and the creation of character. Some of
|
## p. 10163 (#591) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10163
(
these resemblances are merely fortuitous; but some also are strangely
significant.
To push the comparison too far would be unfair to Molière; for
Shakespeare is the master mind of all literature. He soared to
heights, and he explored depths, and he had a range, to which
Molière could not pretend. His is the spirit of soul-searching tragedy,
of romantic comedy, of dramatic history; and in no one of these is
Molière his rival. But in the comedy of real life, he is not Molière's
rival. In every variety of the comic drama Molière is unequaled, -
in farce, in the comedy of situation, in the comedy of character, and
in the comedy which is almost stiffened into drama, yet without
ceasing to be comedy. Shakespeare is the greatest of dramatists, no
doubt, but Molière is indubitably the greatest of comic dramatists.
In sheer comic force the Frenchman is stronger than the English-
man, or at least more abundant; and also in the compelling power of
humor. The influence of Shakespeare upon the comedy of the nine-
teenth century is almost negligible; for Musset seems to be the only
modern poet who has modeled his plays upon (As You Like It) and
(Twelfth Night. ' The influence of Molière upon the comedy of the
nineteenth century is overwhelming; and the author of the Demi-
Monde,' the authors of the Gendre de M. Poirier,' the author of the
(Doll's House, and the author of the Second Mrs. Tanqueray,' are
all followers of the author of "Tartuffe' and 'Les Femmes Savantes. '
It is to be said also that Shakespeare, though essentially an
Englishman, is in a wide sense cosmopolitan and universal; he rises
superior to race and to time. Molière, on the other hand, despite his
philosophical grasp of human nature, is typically French. He has the
robust humor of Rabelais, and Montaigne's genial common-sense, and
Voltaire's eagerness to abolish frauds. He has his full share of Gal-
lic salt; and he inherits also the Latin tradition of reserve, of order,
and of symmetry. He was able to unite humor and truth, - fun and
an exact observation of life, - satire and sincerity sustained by pity.
Like Rabelais and like Montaigne, Molière is a moralist; he has an
ethical code of his own; the total effect of his plays is wholesome.
He is on the side of the angels, although he recognizes the existence
of many an evil demon. Like Shakespeare, he can pierce almost
to the centre of things, even if his penetration is not so profound as
Shakespeare's. The moral is never tagged to the end or paraded or
vaunted; but he is a shallow student who cannot discover the ethical
richness of the soil in which Molière's plays were grown.
Certain authors there are that we outgrow as we wax in years
and in wisdom. There are books that we once liked, and that now
remain behind us as milestones marking the road traveled. Though
we came up to them with pleasure, yet without regret we leave them
## p. 10164 (#592) ##########################################
10164
MOLIÈRE
in the distance. We have not tarried with them long, and unless we
turn back we never pass them again. Molière is not one of these: he
is for all ages of man. In youth we may enjoy him unthinkingly,
amused by his comic invention, his drollery, his frank fun. As we
grow older his charm over us grows also; and we see the finer qual-
ities of his work,- his insight into human motives, and his marvel-
ous skill in exhibiting these on the stage. And in old age we may
refresh ourselves once again with his unfailing and unfading humor,
and with the true wisdom which underlies it. At one time the
(Bourgeois Gentilhomme may please us, and at another 'Le Misan-
thrope'; but at all times a man who takes interest in the comedy of
human endeavor may find in Molière what he needs.
Frauder Mathers
PEACE-MAKING, RECONCILIATION, AND ROBBERY
From L'Avare)
ARPAGON
a
H
[The scene is the house of Harpagon, the miser of the play; Master Jacques
is undertaking to reconcile Harpagon to his son Cléante, who has greatly
offended his father by obstinacy as a rival for the hand of Marianne. The
son and father are on opposite sides of the stage, paying no attention to each
other. ]
not an abominable thing to see
son who
does not shrink from becoming the rival of his father?
And is it not his bounden duty to refrain from interfering
with my love ?
Jacques-- You are quite right: stop here, and let me go and
speak to him.
Cléante [to Master Jacques, who comes near him]– Very well:
if he wants to make you a judge between us, I have no objec-
tion. I care little who it is, and I don't mind referring our quar-
rel to you.
Jacques — You do me great honor.
Cléante — I am in love with a young girl who returns my
affection, and who receives kindly the offer of my heart; but my
father takes it into his head to disturb our love by asking her in
marriage for himself.
## p. 10165 (#593) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10165
He says
Jacques -- He certainly is wrong.
Cléante — Is it not shameful for a man of his age to think of
marrying ? I ask you if it is right for him to fall in love ? and
ought he not now to leave that to younger men ?
Jacques — You are quite right: he is not serious; let me speak
a a word or two to him. [To Harpagon. ] Really, your son is not
so extravagant as you think, and is amenable to reason.
that he is conscious of the respect he owes you, and that he only
got angry in the heat of the moment. He will willingly submit
to all you wish if you will only promise to treat him more kindly
than you do, and will give him in marriage a person to his
taste.
Harpagon - Ah! tell him, Master Jacques, that he will ob-
tain everything from me on those terms; and that, except Mari-
anne, I leave him free to choose for his wife whomsoever he
pleases.
Jacques — Leave that to me. [To Clćante. ] Really, your father
is not so unreasonable as you make him out to me; and he tells
me that it is your violence which irritated him. He only objects
to your way of doing things, and is quite ready to grant you
all you want, provided you will use gentle means, and will give
him the deference, respect, and submission that a son owes to his
father.
Cléante — Ah, Master Jacques! you can assure him that if he
grants me Marianne, he will always find me the most submiss-
ive of men, and that I shall never do anything contrary to his
pleasure.
Jacques [to Harpagon]— It's all right: he consents to what
you say.
Harpagon — Nothing could be better.
Jacques [to Cléante] - It's all settled: he is satisfied with your
promises.
Cléante - Heaven be praised!
Jacques — Gentlemen, you have nothing to do but to talk
quietly over the matter together; you are agreed now: and yet
you were on the point of quarreling through want of understand-
ing each other.
Cléante — My poor Jacques, I shall be obliged to you all my
life.
Jacques - Don't mention it, sir,
## p. 10166 (#594) ##########################################
10166
MOLIÈRE
Harpagon - You have given me great pleasure, Master
Jacques, and deserve a reward. [Feels in his pocket. Jacques
holds out his hand, but Harpagon only pulls out his handkerchief,
and says :) Go; I will remember it, I promise you.
Jacques — I thank you kindly, sir.
[Exit.
Cléante - I beg your pardon, father, for having been angry.
Harpagon -- It is nothing.
Cléante I assure you that I feel very sorry about it.
Harpagon — I am very happy to see you reasonable again.
Cléante How very kind of you so soon to forget my fault!
Harpagon - One easily forgets the faults of children when
they return to their duty.
Cléante — What! you are not angry with me for my extrava-
gant behavior ?
Harpagon — By your submission and respectful conduct you
compel me to forget my anger.
Cléante- I assure you, father, I shall forever keep in heart
the remembrance of all your kindness.
Harpagon - And I promise you that in future you will obtain
all you like from me.
Cléante - Oh, father! I ask nothing more: it is sufficient for
me that you give me Marianne.
Harpagon - What ?
Cléante — I say, father, that I am only too thankful already
for what you have done; and that when you give me Marianne
you give me everything.
Harpagon — Who talks of giving you Marianne ?
Cléante - You, father.
Harpagon-I?
Cléante — Yes.
Harpagon — What! is it not you who promised to give her
up?
Cléante - I! give her up?
Harpagon — Yes.
Cléante — Certainly not. "
- '
Harpagon — Did you not give up all pretensions to her ?
Cléante — On the contrary, I am more determined than ever
to have her.
Harpagon — What, scoundrel! again?
-
Cléante — Nothing can make me change my mind.
## p. 10167 (#595) ##########################################
MOLIERE
10167
Harpagon — Let me get at you again, wretch!
Cléante - You can do as you please.
Harpagon - I forbid you ever to come within my sight.
Cléante — As you like.
Harpagon —I abandon you.
Cléante — Abandon me.
Harpagon - I disown you.
Cléante - Disown me.
Harpagon - I disinherit you.
Cléante - As you will.
Harpagon - I give you my curse.
Cléante - I want none of your gifts.
[The next scene shows Cléante without Harpagon; La Flèche is just leaving
the garden with a casket, and calls to Cleante. )
La Flèche - Ah, sir, you are just in the nick of time! Quick!
follow me. .
Cléante What is the matter?
La Flèche Follow me, I say. We are saved.
Cléante — How ?
La Flèche Here is all you want.
Cléante - What ?
La Flèche — I have watched for this all day.
Cléante - What is it?
La Flèche — Your father's treasure that I have got hold of.
Cléante - How did you manage it ?
La Flèche -I will tell you all about it. Let us be off. I can
hear him calling out.
[Exeunt.
Harpagon [ from the garden, rushing in without his hat]-
Thieves! thieves! assassins! murder! Justice, just heavens! I
am undone; I am murdered; they have cut my throat; they have
stolen my money! Who can it be? What has become of him?
Where is he? Where is he hiding himself ? What shall I do to
find him ? Where shall I run ? Where shall I not run ? Is he
not here ? — Who is this? Stop! [To himself, taking hold of his
own arm. ] Give me back my money, wretch! — Ah! it is myself.
— My mind is wandering, and I know not where I am, who I am,
and what I am doing. Alas! my poor money! my poor money!
my dearest friend, they have bereaved me of thee; and since
thou art gone, I have lost my support, my consolation, and my
-
## p. 10168 (#596) ##########################################
10168
MOLIÈRE
joy. All is ended for me, and I have nothing more to do in
the world!
Without thee it is impossible for me to live. It is
all over with me; I can bear it no longer. I am dying; I am
dead; I am buried. Is there nobody who will call me from
the dead, by restoring my dear money to me, or by telling
me who has taken it? Ah! what is it you say ?
It is no one.
Whoever has committed the deed must have watched carefully
for his opportunity, and must have chosen the very moment
when I was talking with my miscreant of a son. I must go. I
will demand justice, and have the whole of my house put to
the torture,- my maids and my valets, my son, my daughter,
and myself too. What a crowd of people are assembled here!
Every one seems to be my thief.
I see
one who does not
rouse suspicion in me. Ha! what are they speaking of there?
Of him who stole my money? What noise is that up yonder?
Is it my thief who is there? For pity's sake, if you know any-
thing of my thief, I beseech you to tell me. Is he hiding there
among you ? They all look at me and laugh. We shall see that
they all have a share in the robbery. Quick! magistrates, police,
provosts, judges, racks, gibbets, and executioners. I will hang
everybody; and if I do not find my money, I will hang myself
afterwards.
Translation by Charles Heron Wall.
no
ALCESTE ACCUSES CÉLIMÈNE
From "The Misanthrope)
LCESTE
A
-Oh, heaven! may I control my just anger!
Célimène [aside]— Ah! [To Alceste. ] What is this new
trouble I see you in? what mean those deep sighs and those
dark looks you cast upon me ?
Alceste - That all the wickedness a soul is capable of can in
nothing be compared to your perfidy; that fate, devils, and in-
censed Heaven never produced anything so worthless as yourself.
Célimène — These are pretty speeches, which I certainly ad-
mire.
Alceste - Ah! no more jesting; this is not a time for laughter.
Rather let the blush of shame cover your face; you have cause,
for your treachery is known. So the presentiments of my heart
## p. 10169 (#597) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10169
were true; its alarms were but too well founded, and those fre-
quent suspicions which were thought odious were true guides to
what my eyes have now seen. Yes, in spite of all your skill in
dissimulation, Heaven hinted to me what I had to fear. But do
not think that I shall bear this insult unavenged. I know that
it is not in our power to govern our inclinations; that love is
always spontaneous; that we cannot enter a heart by force, and
that every heart is free to name its conqueror.
I would not com-
plain, therefore, if you had from the first spoken to me without
dissembling; for although you would have crushed within me the
very springs of my life, I should have blamed my fate alone for
it. But to think that my love was encouraged by you! It is such
a treacherous, such a perfidious action, that no punishment seems
too great for it. After such an outrage, fear everything from
me: I am no longer master of myself; anger has conquered me.
Pierced to the heart by the cruel blow with which you kill
me, my senses are not overswayed by reason. I yield myself up
to a just revenge, and I cannot answer for what I may do.
Célimène — What can have called forth such an insult ? Have
you lost all sense and judgment ? Pray speak!
Alceste — Yes, when on seeing you I drank in the poison which
is killing me; yes, when like a fool I thought I had found some
sincerity in those treacherous charms that have deceived me.
Célimène - Of what treachery are you complaining ?
Alceste -- Ah! false heart, how well you feign ignorance! But
I will leave you no loop-hole of escape! Look at your own
handwriting; this letter is sufficient to confound you; against such
evidence you can have nothing to answer.
Célimène — So this is the cause of your strange outburst.
Alceste — And you do not blush at the sight?
Célimène — There is no occasion for me to blush.
Alceste -- What! will you add audacity to your deceit ? Will
you disown this letter because it is not signed ?
Célimène — Why should I disown it, when it is mine?
Alceste — And you can look at it without being ashamed of
the crime of which it shows you to be guilty towards me ?
Célimène — You are in truth a most foolish man.
Alceste — What! you face thus calmly this all-convincing
proof? And the tenderness you show in it for Oronte, has it
nothing that can outrage me or shame you ?
Célimène Oronte! Who told you that this letter is for
him ?
-
## p. 10170 (#598) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10170
But sup-
Alceste — Those who to-day put it in my hands.
pose I grant that it is for another, have I less cause to complain?
and would you be in fact less guilty towards me?
Célimène — But if the letter was written to a woman, in what
can it hurt you, and what guilt is there in it?
Alceste — Ah! the evasion is excellent, and the excuse admira-
ble! I must acknowledge that I did not expect such deceit, and
I am now altogether convinced. What! do you dare to have
recourse to such base tricks ? Do you think people entirely de-
void of understanding ? Show me a little in what way you can
maintain such a palpable falsehood, and how you can apply to a
woman all the words which in this letter convey so much ten-
derness. In order to cover your infidelity, reconcile if you can
what I am going to read to —
Célimène — No, I will not. What right have you to assume
such authority, and to dare to tell me such things to my face?
Alceste - No, no: instead of giving way to anger, try to ex-
plain to me the expressions you use here.
Célimène — I shall do nothing of the kind; and what you
think on the subject matters very little to me.
Alceste - For pity's sake, show me, and I shall be satisfied,
that this letter can be explained to be meant for a woman.
Célimène -- It is for Oronte; there! and I will have you be-
lieve it. I receive all his attentions gladly. I admire what he
says; I like his person, and I admit whatever you please. Do as
you like, take your own course, let nothing stop you, and annoy
me no more.
Alceste [aside] - Oh, heavens! can anything more cruel be
invented; and
a heart treated in such a manner ?
What! I am justly incensed against her, I come to complain, and
I must bear the blame! She excites my grief and my suspicion
to the utmost. She wishes me to believe everything, she boasts
of everything; and yet my heart is cowardly enough not to
break the bonds that bind it, cowardly enough not to arm itself
with deserved contempt for the cruel one it, alas! loves too
much. [To Célimène. ] Ah! faithless woman, you well know
how to take advantage of my weakness, and to make the deep
yearning love I have for you serve your own ends.
Clear your.
self at least of a crime which overwhelms me with grief, and cease
to affect to be guilty towards me. Show me, if you can,
that
this letter is innocent; strive to appear faithful to me, and I
will strive to believe you.
was
ever
## p. 10171 (#599) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10171
Célimène — Believe me, you forget yourself in your jealous fits,
and you do not deserve all the love I feel for you. I should like
to know what could compel me to condescend to the baseness
of dissembling with you; and why, if my heart were engaged
to another, I should not frankly tell you so. What! does not
the kind assurance of my feelings toward you plead my defense
against all your suspicions? Have they any weight before such
a pledge? Do you not insult me when you give way to them ?
And since it requires so great an effort for us to speak our love;
since the honor of our sex, that enemy to love, so strictly forbids
such a confession, — should the lover who sees us for his sake
conquer such obstacles, think lightly of that testimony and go
unpunished? Is he not to blame if he does not trust what we
have confessed with so much reluctance ? Indeed, my indignation
should be the reward of such doubts, and you do not deserve
that I should care for you. I am very foolish, and am vexed at
my own folly for still retaining any good-will toward you. I
ought to place my affections elsewhere, and thus give you just
excuse for complaint.
Alceste — Ah, faithless woman! How wonderful is my weak-
ness for you! You deceive me, no doubt, with such endearing
words. But let it be: I must submit to my destiny; I give my-
self heart and soul to you.
I will to the end see
what your heart will prove to be, and if it can be cruel enough
to deceive me.
Célimène — No: you do not love me as you ought to love.
Alceste - Ah! nothing can be compared with my exceeding
great love; and in my anxiety to make the whole world a wit-
ness to it, I even go so far as to form wishes against you. Yes,
I could wish that no one thought you charming; that you were
reduced to a humbler lot; that Heaven, at your birth, had be-
stowed nothing upon you; that you had neither rank, high birth,
nor wealth: so that my heart, in offering itself, might make up
for the injustice of such a fate, and that I might have both the
happiness and the glory on that day of seeing you owe every-
thing to my love.
Translation of Charles Heron Wall.
I trust you.
## p. 10172 (#600) ##########################################
10172
MOLIÈRE
A SINCERE CRITIC SELDOM PLEASES
From "The Misanthrope )
[The scene is the house of Célimène (the heroine of the play) in Paris.
In the apartment are Alceste, known for his too-plain speech as “the misan-
thrope )); and the far more politic and compliant Philinte. Oronte enters to
them, eager for literary flattery from Alceste. The scene is from the first act
of the play. ]
O
RONTE [to Alceste] – I learnt just now that Eliante and Céli-
mène are gone out to make some purchases: but as I was
also told that you were here, I came up to say, in all
sincerity of heart, that I have conceived for you an incredible
esteem; and that for a long time this esteem has given me an
ardent desire to be numbered among your friends. Yes, I love
to render justice to true merit, and I long to be united to you
in the close bond of friendship. I think that a warm friend,
and one of my standing, is assuredly not to be despised. [During
this discourse of Oronte, Alceste is thoughtful, and does not set m
aware that he is spoken to, until Oronte says to him:] With your
leave, it is to you that I am speaking.
Alcesto To me, sir ?
Oronte — To you. Does it in any way wound your feelings?
Alceste -- Not in the least; but my surprise is great. I did
not expect this homage to be paid to me.
Oronte - The esteem I feel for you ought not to surprise you,
and you can claim it from the whole world.
Alceste — Sir –
Oronte — The whole kingdom contains no merit more dazzling
than that which is to be found in you.
Alceste — Sir -
Oronte — Yes. I consider you superior to the highest amongst
us.
Alceste - Sir —
Oronte — May Heaven strike me dead if I lie! And in order
to convince you of my feelings, allow me in this place to em-
brace you with all my heart, and to solicit a place in your affec-
tions. Come, your hand if you please. Will you promise me
your friendship?
Alceste - Sir -
Oronte What! you refuse me?
## p. 10173 (#601) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10173
Alceste Sir, it is too great an honor you wish to pay me;
but friendship requires a little more caution, and we surely pro-
fane its name when we lightly make use of it. Such a compact
ought to spring from judgment and choice, and before we bind
ourselves we ought to be better acquainted. Our dispositions
might differ so greatly as to make us both heartily repent of the
bargain.
Oronte — Upon my word, you speak like a sensible man, and
I esteem you all the more for it. Let us then leave the form-
ing of such pleasant ties to time; but meanwhile believe that I
am entirely at your service. If some overture is to be made for
you at court, every one knows that I am in favor with the King,
that I have his private ear, and that really he behaves in all
things most kindly to me. In short, believe that I am in every-
thing and at all times at your disposal. As you are a man of
great judgment, I come, by way of beginning this happy bond
of friendship, to read you a sonnet which I have lately com-
posed, and to ask you if I should do well to publish it.
Alceste - Sir, I am ill qualified to decide on such a matter;
pray excuse me.
Oronte - Why?
Alceste--I have the weakness of being a little too sincere
about those things.
Oronte — Sincerity is what I ask of you; and I should have
reason to complain, if when I come to you in order to hear the
plain truth, you frustrate my purpose by concealing anything
from me.
Alceste - If it is thus you look upon it, sir, I consent.
Oronte - Sonnet. It is a sonnet on Hope. It is to a lady
who had given some encouragement to my love. Hope. These
are not those long, pompous verses; but soft, tender, languishing
little lines. [At every one of these interruptions he looks at
Alceste. ]
Alceste - We shall see.
Oronte — Hope. I do not know whether the style will seem
clear and easy to you, and whether you will be satisfied with my
choice of words.
Alceste — We shall see, sir.
Oronte -- Besides, you must know that I was only a quarter
of an hour composing it.
## p. 10174 (#602) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10174
Alceste — Come, sir, time has nothing to do with the matter.
Oronte [reads] -
Hope, it is true, can ease our pain
And rock awhile our hapless mind;
But, Phyllis, what a sorry gain
When nothing pleasant walks behind.
Philinte - I think this beginning charming!
Alceste [aside to Philinte] - What! you dare to find that charm-
ing?
Oronte
Your complaisance was great indeed,
But better 'twere to clip its scope,
And not to such expense proceed,
If you could give me — only hope.
Philinte -- Ah! in what charming terms those things are said !
Alceste [aside to Philinte]— Shame on you, you vile flatterer!
you praise that rubbish!
Oronte -
If age - long expectation's pest-
The ardor of my zeal must test,
To death at last l'll fly.
My purpose braves your every care;
Fair Phyllis, men will soon despair
When doomed to hope for aye.
Philinte — The fall is pretty, lovable, admirable.
Alceste [aside to Philinte]— Plague take your fall, wretched
sycophant! Deuce take you! I wish it had broken your neck.
Philinte I have never heard verses so skillfully turned.
Alceste [aside] - Zounds!
Oronte [to Philinte]- You are flattering me, and you think
perhaps —
Philinte - No indeed, I am not flattering you at all.
Alceste [aside]— Ha! what else are you doing, impostor ?
Oronte [to Alceste]— But you, you remember the agreement
we made, and I beg of you to speak to me in all sincerity.
had collaborated with Corneille in the dialogue of Psyché) (January,
1671), Quinault writing the lyrics which Lulli set to music. And
before the twelve months were out he was ready with yet another
comedy-farce, La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas) (The Countess of Escar-
bagnas), December 20, 1671, rich with his ample knowledge of pro-
vincial characteristics.
## p. 10161 (#589) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10161
He was coming now to the close of his career; and he rose again
to the level of high comedy in "Les Femmes Savantes) (The Learned
Ladies), March uth, 1672, which disputes with “Tartuffe,' 'Don Juan,'
and 'Le Misanthrope, the honor of being considered his finest and
sanest work. In its theme, this, the last of his great plays, is very
like the Précieuses Ridicules,' in which he first revealed the power
of social satire; affectation of every sort was abhorrent to him always
affectation and insincerity and hypocrisy. When he beheld these
things his scorn burned hot within him, and he delighted in scourg-
ing them.
The last months of Molière's life were saddened by the death
of his old companion and sister-in-law, Madeleine Béjart, and by the
death of his only son. His health, never strong, became feebler; and
in the summer of 1672 the theatre had to be closed unexpectedly
more than once, because Molière was not well enough to act. And
yet through all these trials he kept his good-humor and his gentle
serenity, although he — like most other great humorists — was essen-
tially melancholy. It was under these conditions that he wrote his
last play, Le Malade Imaginaire (The Imaginary Invalid), February
Toth, 1673. He himsel of course, was the imaginary invalid, being
then worn out with his own illness. The fourth performance of the
new play took place on the 17th; and Molière was seized with a fit
of coughing on the stage, and burst a blood-vessel. They conveyed
him to his own house in the Rue de Richelieu, on the site of the
building now numbered 38 and 40; and here he died “not more than
half an hour or three quarters after the bursting of the said vessel,
so his faithful friend and fellow actor, Lagrange, recorded in the
register or private diary, which is an invaluable document for the
details of Molière's life.
The bitter hostility which had long delayed the performance of
(Tartuffe,' and which had unceasingly pursued Molière during the
last years of his life, not shrinking from obtrusion into his family
relations, was not relaxed after his death. Permission for Christian
burial was at first denied. It is told that the widow threw herself at
the King's feet and implored a royal mandate, overruling the ecclesi-
astical authorities. At last the funeral was authorized; and it took
place on the evening of the fourth day. The procession was very
simple, the priests not intoning the usual psalms. The interment took
place in the cemetery which was behind the chapel of St. Joseph,
in the Rue de Montmartre.
The inventory taken after his demise gives the list of Molière's
stage costumes and of the books that composed his library. Among
these was a Bible, a Plutarch, a Montaigne (but no Rabelais, oddly
enough), a Terence (but no Plautus), a Lucian, a Horace, a Juvenal,
XVII-636
## p. 10162 (#590) ##########################################
10162
MOLIÈRE
and two hundred and forty volumes of unnamed French, Italian, and
Spanish plays. He left a fortune of about forty thousand livres.
Four years after his death his widow married an obscure actor named
Guérin. The only child of Molière to survive him was a daughter,
who married a M. de Montalant, and who died without issue in 1723,
half a century after her illustrious father.
Molière was only fifty-one when he died, and all of his more
important plays had been written during the final fourteen years of
his life. He had served a long apprenticeship in the provinces, mas-
tering all the mysteries of his art, and heaping up a store of obser-
vations of human nature; and after his return to Paris, his genius
ripened swiftly. While the novelists have often flowered late in life,
the dramatists have usually begun young; but Molière was forty-two
when he wrote “Tartuffe,' forty-three when he followed it with Don
Juan,' forty-four when he produced Le Misanthrope, forty-eight
when he brought forth (Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme,' and fifty when
he made fun of the Femmes Savantes. ' Perhaps a part of the
deeper insight and the wider vision of these plays, when compared
with those of all other comic dramatists, is due to the relative matur-
ity of Molière when he composed them. The personal and poetic
burlesques of Aristophanes do not belong in the same category; and
the belauded comedies of Menander are lost to us. Some of the
comic plays of Plautus and of Terence survive for purposes of com-
parison, - as a result of which the best criticism of to-day is in
accord with La Fontaine's declaration on the morrow of Molière's
death, that the great French comic dramatist had surpassed both of
the great Latin comic dramatists.
For us who speak English, and who hold Shakespeare as a stand-
ard by which the men of every other language must be measured,
it is impossible not to set the author of Hamlet' over against
the author of Tartuffe. In many ways the two men were alike.
Dramatists, they were both actors, Shakespeare being probably not
prominent in that profession, while Molière certainly excelled all his
contemporaries. They were both managers; and both of them were
shrewd men of affairs, governing their private fortunes with skill.
Legend relates that Shakespeare wrote the Merry Wives of Wind-
sor) on a hint of Queen Elizabeth's, and that Molière augmented the
Fâcheux' on a hint of King Louis's. Each of them kept the most
of his plays in manuscript while he was alive; and after they were
dead, the plays of each were published by the pious care of survir-
ing comrades. They were both of them surpassingly original; and
yet neither often took the trouble to invent a plot, preferring to
adopt this ready-made, more or less, and rather to expend his strength
upon the analysis of emotion and the creation of character. Some of
|
## p. 10163 (#591) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10163
(
these resemblances are merely fortuitous; but some also are strangely
significant.
To push the comparison too far would be unfair to Molière; for
Shakespeare is the master mind of all literature. He soared to
heights, and he explored depths, and he had a range, to which
Molière could not pretend. His is the spirit of soul-searching tragedy,
of romantic comedy, of dramatic history; and in no one of these is
Molière his rival. But in the comedy of real life, he is not Molière's
rival. In every variety of the comic drama Molière is unequaled, -
in farce, in the comedy of situation, in the comedy of character, and
in the comedy which is almost stiffened into drama, yet without
ceasing to be comedy. Shakespeare is the greatest of dramatists, no
doubt, but Molière is indubitably the greatest of comic dramatists.
In sheer comic force the Frenchman is stronger than the English-
man, or at least more abundant; and also in the compelling power of
humor. The influence of Shakespeare upon the comedy of the nine-
teenth century is almost negligible; for Musset seems to be the only
modern poet who has modeled his plays upon (As You Like It) and
(Twelfth Night. ' The influence of Molière upon the comedy of the
nineteenth century is overwhelming; and the author of the Demi-
Monde,' the authors of the Gendre de M. Poirier,' the author of the
(Doll's House, and the author of the Second Mrs. Tanqueray,' are
all followers of the author of "Tartuffe' and 'Les Femmes Savantes. '
It is to be said also that Shakespeare, though essentially an
Englishman, is in a wide sense cosmopolitan and universal; he rises
superior to race and to time. Molière, on the other hand, despite his
philosophical grasp of human nature, is typically French. He has the
robust humor of Rabelais, and Montaigne's genial common-sense, and
Voltaire's eagerness to abolish frauds. He has his full share of Gal-
lic salt; and he inherits also the Latin tradition of reserve, of order,
and of symmetry. He was able to unite humor and truth, - fun and
an exact observation of life, - satire and sincerity sustained by pity.
Like Rabelais and like Montaigne, Molière is a moralist; he has an
ethical code of his own; the total effect of his plays is wholesome.
He is on the side of the angels, although he recognizes the existence
of many an evil demon. Like Shakespeare, he can pierce almost
to the centre of things, even if his penetration is not so profound as
Shakespeare's. The moral is never tagged to the end or paraded or
vaunted; but he is a shallow student who cannot discover the ethical
richness of the soil in which Molière's plays were grown.
Certain authors there are that we outgrow as we wax in years
and in wisdom. There are books that we once liked, and that now
remain behind us as milestones marking the road traveled. Though
we came up to them with pleasure, yet without regret we leave them
## p. 10164 (#592) ##########################################
10164
MOLIÈRE
in the distance. We have not tarried with them long, and unless we
turn back we never pass them again. Molière is not one of these: he
is for all ages of man. In youth we may enjoy him unthinkingly,
amused by his comic invention, his drollery, his frank fun. As we
grow older his charm over us grows also; and we see the finer qual-
ities of his work,- his insight into human motives, and his marvel-
ous skill in exhibiting these on the stage. And in old age we may
refresh ourselves once again with his unfailing and unfading humor,
and with the true wisdom which underlies it. At one time the
(Bourgeois Gentilhomme may please us, and at another 'Le Misan-
thrope'; but at all times a man who takes interest in the comedy of
human endeavor may find in Molière what he needs.
Frauder Mathers
PEACE-MAKING, RECONCILIATION, AND ROBBERY
From L'Avare)
ARPAGON
a
H
[The scene is the house of Harpagon, the miser of the play; Master Jacques
is undertaking to reconcile Harpagon to his son Cléante, who has greatly
offended his father by obstinacy as a rival for the hand of Marianne. The
son and father are on opposite sides of the stage, paying no attention to each
other. ]
not an abominable thing to see
son who
does not shrink from becoming the rival of his father?
And is it not his bounden duty to refrain from interfering
with my love ?
Jacques-- You are quite right: stop here, and let me go and
speak to him.
Cléante [to Master Jacques, who comes near him]– Very well:
if he wants to make you a judge between us, I have no objec-
tion. I care little who it is, and I don't mind referring our quar-
rel to you.
Jacques — You do me great honor.
Cléante — I am in love with a young girl who returns my
affection, and who receives kindly the offer of my heart; but my
father takes it into his head to disturb our love by asking her in
marriage for himself.
## p. 10165 (#593) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10165
He says
Jacques -- He certainly is wrong.
Cléante — Is it not shameful for a man of his age to think of
marrying ? I ask you if it is right for him to fall in love ? and
ought he not now to leave that to younger men ?
Jacques — You are quite right: he is not serious; let me speak
a a word or two to him. [To Harpagon. ] Really, your son is not
so extravagant as you think, and is amenable to reason.
that he is conscious of the respect he owes you, and that he only
got angry in the heat of the moment. He will willingly submit
to all you wish if you will only promise to treat him more kindly
than you do, and will give him in marriage a person to his
taste.
Harpagon - Ah! tell him, Master Jacques, that he will ob-
tain everything from me on those terms; and that, except Mari-
anne, I leave him free to choose for his wife whomsoever he
pleases.
Jacques — Leave that to me. [To Clćante. ] Really, your father
is not so unreasonable as you make him out to me; and he tells
me that it is your violence which irritated him. He only objects
to your way of doing things, and is quite ready to grant you
all you want, provided you will use gentle means, and will give
him the deference, respect, and submission that a son owes to his
father.
Cléante — Ah, Master Jacques! you can assure him that if he
grants me Marianne, he will always find me the most submiss-
ive of men, and that I shall never do anything contrary to his
pleasure.
Jacques [to Harpagon]— It's all right: he consents to what
you say.
Harpagon — Nothing could be better.
Jacques [to Cléante] - It's all settled: he is satisfied with your
promises.
Cléante - Heaven be praised!
Jacques — Gentlemen, you have nothing to do but to talk
quietly over the matter together; you are agreed now: and yet
you were on the point of quarreling through want of understand-
ing each other.
Cléante — My poor Jacques, I shall be obliged to you all my
life.
Jacques - Don't mention it, sir,
## p. 10166 (#594) ##########################################
10166
MOLIÈRE
Harpagon - You have given me great pleasure, Master
Jacques, and deserve a reward. [Feels in his pocket. Jacques
holds out his hand, but Harpagon only pulls out his handkerchief,
and says :) Go; I will remember it, I promise you.
Jacques — I thank you kindly, sir.
[Exit.
Cléante - I beg your pardon, father, for having been angry.
Harpagon -- It is nothing.
Cléante I assure you that I feel very sorry about it.
Harpagon — I am very happy to see you reasonable again.
Cléante How very kind of you so soon to forget my fault!
Harpagon - One easily forgets the faults of children when
they return to their duty.
Cléante — What! you are not angry with me for my extrava-
gant behavior ?
Harpagon — By your submission and respectful conduct you
compel me to forget my anger.
Cléante- I assure you, father, I shall forever keep in heart
the remembrance of all your kindness.
Harpagon - And I promise you that in future you will obtain
all you like from me.
Cléante - Oh, father! I ask nothing more: it is sufficient for
me that you give me Marianne.
Harpagon - What ?
Cléante — I say, father, that I am only too thankful already
for what you have done; and that when you give me Marianne
you give me everything.
Harpagon — Who talks of giving you Marianne ?
Cléante - You, father.
Harpagon-I?
Cléante — Yes.
Harpagon — What! is it not you who promised to give her
up?
Cléante - I! give her up?
Harpagon — Yes.
Cléante — Certainly not. "
- '
Harpagon — Did you not give up all pretensions to her ?
Cléante — On the contrary, I am more determined than ever
to have her.
Harpagon — What, scoundrel! again?
-
Cléante — Nothing can make me change my mind.
## p. 10167 (#595) ##########################################
MOLIERE
10167
Harpagon — Let me get at you again, wretch!
Cléante - You can do as you please.
Harpagon - I forbid you ever to come within my sight.
Cléante — As you like.
Harpagon —I abandon you.
Cléante — Abandon me.
Harpagon - I disown you.
Cléante - Disown me.
Harpagon - I disinherit you.
Cléante - As you will.
Harpagon - I give you my curse.
Cléante - I want none of your gifts.
[The next scene shows Cléante without Harpagon; La Flèche is just leaving
the garden with a casket, and calls to Cleante. )
La Flèche - Ah, sir, you are just in the nick of time! Quick!
follow me. .
Cléante What is the matter?
La Flèche Follow me, I say. We are saved.
Cléante — How ?
La Flèche Here is all you want.
Cléante - What ?
La Flèche — I have watched for this all day.
Cléante - What is it?
La Flèche — Your father's treasure that I have got hold of.
Cléante - How did you manage it ?
La Flèche -I will tell you all about it. Let us be off. I can
hear him calling out.
[Exeunt.
Harpagon [ from the garden, rushing in without his hat]-
Thieves! thieves! assassins! murder! Justice, just heavens! I
am undone; I am murdered; they have cut my throat; they have
stolen my money! Who can it be? What has become of him?
Where is he? Where is he hiding himself ? What shall I do to
find him ? Where shall I run ? Where shall I not run ? Is he
not here ? — Who is this? Stop! [To himself, taking hold of his
own arm. ] Give me back my money, wretch! — Ah! it is myself.
— My mind is wandering, and I know not where I am, who I am,
and what I am doing. Alas! my poor money! my poor money!
my dearest friend, they have bereaved me of thee; and since
thou art gone, I have lost my support, my consolation, and my
-
## p. 10168 (#596) ##########################################
10168
MOLIÈRE
joy. All is ended for me, and I have nothing more to do in
the world!
Without thee it is impossible for me to live. It is
all over with me; I can bear it no longer. I am dying; I am
dead; I am buried. Is there nobody who will call me from
the dead, by restoring my dear money to me, or by telling
me who has taken it? Ah! what is it you say ?
It is no one.
Whoever has committed the deed must have watched carefully
for his opportunity, and must have chosen the very moment
when I was talking with my miscreant of a son. I must go. I
will demand justice, and have the whole of my house put to
the torture,- my maids and my valets, my son, my daughter,
and myself too. What a crowd of people are assembled here!
Every one seems to be my thief.
I see
one who does not
rouse suspicion in me. Ha! what are they speaking of there?
Of him who stole my money? What noise is that up yonder?
Is it my thief who is there? For pity's sake, if you know any-
thing of my thief, I beseech you to tell me. Is he hiding there
among you ? They all look at me and laugh. We shall see that
they all have a share in the robbery. Quick! magistrates, police,
provosts, judges, racks, gibbets, and executioners. I will hang
everybody; and if I do not find my money, I will hang myself
afterwards.
Translation by Charles Heron Wall.
no
ALCESTE ACCUSES CÉLIMÈNE
From "The Misanthrope)
LCESTE
A
-Oh, heaven! may I control my just anger!
Célimène [aside]— Ah! [To Alceste. ] What is this new
trouble I see you in? what mean those deep sighs and those
dark looks you cast upon me ?
Alceste - That all the wickedness a soul is capable of can in
nothing be compared to your perfidy; that fate, devils, and in-
censed Heaven never produced anything so worthless as yourself.
Célimène — These are pretty speeches, which I certainly ad-
mire.
Alceste - Ah! no more jesting; this is not a time for laughter.
Rather let the blush of shame cover your face; you have cause,
for your treachery is known. So the presentiments of my heart
## p. 10169 (#597) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10169
were true; its alarms were but too well founded, and those fre-
quent suspicions which were thought odious were true guides to
what my eyes have now seen. Yes, in spite of all your skill in
dissimulation, Heaven hinted to me what I had to fear. But do
not think that I shall bear this insult unavenged. I know that
it is not in our power to govern our inclinations; that love is
always spontaneous; that we cannot enter a heart by force, and
that every heart is free to name its conqueror.
I would not com-
plain, therefore, if you had from the first spoken to me without
dissembling; for although you would have crushed within me the
very springs of my life, I should have blamed my fate alone for
it. But to think that my love was encouraged by you! It is such
a treacherous, such a perfidious action, that no punishment seems
too great for it. After such an outrage, fear everything from
me: I am no longer master of myself; anger has conquered me.
Pierced to the heart by the cruel blow with which you kill
me, my senses are not overswayed by reason. I yield myself up
to a just revenge, and I cannot answer for what I may do.
Célimène — What can have called forth such an insult ? Have
you lost all sense and judgment ? Pray speak!
Alceste — Yes, when on seeing you I drank in the poison which
is killing me; yes, when like a fool I thought I had found some
sincerity in those treacherous charms that have deceived me.
Célimène - Of what treachery are you complaining ?
Alceste -- Ah! false heart, how well you feign ignorance! But
I will leave you no loop-hole of escape! Look at your own
handwriting; this letter is sufficient to confound you; against such
evidence you can have nothing to answer.
Célimène — So this is the cause of your strange outburst.
Alceste — And you do not blush at the sight?
Célimène — There is no occasion for me to blush.
Alceste -- What! will you add audacity to your deceit ? Will
you disown this letter because it is not signed ?
Célimène — Why should I disown it, when it is mine?
Alceste — And you can look at it without being ashamed of
the crime of which it shows you to be guilty towards me ?
Célimène — You are in truth a most foolish man.
Alceste — What! you face thus calmly this all-convincing
proof? And the tenderness you show in it for Oronte, has it
nothing that can outrage me or shame you ?
Célimène Oronte! Who told you that this letter is for
him ?
-
## p. 10170 (#598) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10170
But sup-
Alceste — Those who to-day put it in my hands.
pose I grant that it is for another, have I less cause to complain?
and would you be in fact less guilty towards me?
Célimène — But if the letter was written to a woman, in what
can it hurt you, and what guilt is there in it?
Alceste — Ah! the evasion is excellent, and the excuse admira-
ble! I must acknowledge that I did not expect such deceit, and
I am now altogether convinced. What! do you dare to have
recourse to such base tricks ? Do you think people entirely de-
void of understanding ? Show me a little in what way you can
maintain such a palpable falsehood, and how you can apply to a
woman all the words which in this letter convey so much ten-
derness. In order to cover your infidelity, reconcile if you can
what I am going to read to —
Célimène — No, I will not. What right have you to assume
such authority, and to dare to tell me such things to my face?
Alceste - No, no: instead of giving way to anger, try to ex-
plain to me the expressions you use here.
Célimène — I shall do nothing of the kind; and what you
think on the subject matters very little to me.
Alceste - For pity's sake, show me, and I shall be satisfied,
that this letter can be explained to be meant for a woman.
Célimène -- It is for Oronte; there! and I will have you be-
lieve it. I receive all his attentions gladly. I admire what he
says; I like his person, and I admit whatever you please. Do as
you like, take your own course, let nothing stop you, and annoy
me no more.
Alceste [aside] - Oh, heavens! can anything more cruel be
invented; and
a heart treated in such a manner ?
What! I am justly incensed against her, I come to complain, and
I must bear the blame! She excites my grief and my suspicion
to the utmost. She wishes me to believe everything, she boasts
of everything; and yet my heart is cowardly enough not to
break the bonds that bind it, cowardly enough not to arm itself
with deserved contempt for the cruel one it, alas! loves too
much. [To Célimène. ] Ah! faithless woman, you well know
how to take advantage of my weakness, and to make the deep
yearning love I have for you serve your own ends.
Clear your.
self at least of a crime which overwhelms me with grief, and cease
to affect to be guilty towards me. Show me, if you can,
that
this letter is innocent; strive to appear faithful to me, and I
will strive to believe you.
was
ever
## p. 10171 (#599) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10171
Célimène — Believe me, you forget yourself in your jealous fits,
and you do not deserve all the love I feel for you. I should like
to know what could compel me to condescend to the baseness
of dissembling with you; and why, if my heart were engaged
to another, I should not frankly tell you so. What! does not
the kind assurance of my feelings toward you plead my defense
against all your suspicions? Have they any weight before such
a pledge? Do you not insult me when you give way to them ?
And since it requires so great an effort for us to speak our love;
since the honor of our sex, that enemy to love, so strictly forbids
such a confession, — should the lover who sees us for his sake
conquer such obstacles, think lightly of that testimony and go
unpunished? Is he not to blame if he does not trust what we
have confessed with so much reluctance ? Indeed, my indignation
should be the reward of such doubts, and you do not deserve
that I should care for you. I am very foolish, and am vexed at
my own folly for still retaining any good-will toward you. I
ought to place my affections elsewhere, and thus give you just
excuse for complaint.
Alceste — Ah, faithless woman! How wonderful is my weak-
ness for you! You deceive me, no doubt, with such endearing
words. But let it be: I must submit to my destiny; I give my-
self heart and soul to you.
I will to the end see
what your heart will prove to be, and if it can be cruel enough
to deceive me.
Célimène — No: you do not love me as you ought to love.
Alceste - Ah! nothing can be compared with my exceeding
great love; and in my anxiety to make the whole world a wit-
ness to it, I even go so far as to form wishes against you. Yes,
I could wish that no one thought you charming; that you were
reduced to a humbler lot; that Heaven, at your birth, had be-
stowed nothing upon you; that you had neither rank, high birth,
nor wealth: so that my heart, in offering itself, might make up
for the injustice of such a fate, and that I might have both the
happiness and the glory on that day of seeing you owe every-
thing to my love.
Translation of Charles Heron Wall.
I trust you.
## p. 10172 (#600) ##########################################
10172
MOLIÈRE
A SINCERE CRITIC SELDOM PLEASES
From "The Misanthrope )
[The scene is the house of Célimène (the heroine of the play) in Paris.
In the apartment are Alceste, known for his too-plain speech as “the misan-
thrope )); and the far more politic and compliant Philinte. Oronte enters to
them, eager for literary flattery from Alceste. The scene is from the first act
of the play. ]
O
RONTE [to Alceste] – I learnt just now that Eliante and Céli-
mène are gone out to make some purchases: but as I was
also told that you were here, I came up to say, in all
sincerity of heart, that I have conceived for you an incredible
esteem; and that for a long time this esteem has given me an
ardent desire to be numbered among your friends. Yes, I love
to render justice to true merit, and I long to be united to you
in the close bond of friendship. I think that a warm friend,
and one of my standing, is assuredly not to be despised. [During
this discourse of Oronte, Alceste is thoughtful, and does not set m
aware that he is spoken to, until Oronte says to him:] With your
leave, it is to you that I am speaking.
Alcesto To me, sir ?
Oronte — To you. Does it in any way wound your feelings?
Alceste -- Not in the least; but my surprise is great. I did
not expect this homage to be paid to me.
Oronte - The esteem I feel for you ought not to surprise you,
and you can claim it from the whole world.
Alceste — Sir –
Oronte — The whole kingdom contains no merit more dazzling
than that which is to be found in you.
Alceste — Sir -
Oronte — Yes. I consider you superior to the highest amongst
us.
Alceste - Sir —
Oronte — May Heaven strike me dead if I lie! And in order
to convince you of my feelings, allow me in this place to em-
brace you with all my heart, and to solicit a place in your affec-
tions. Come, your hand if you please. Will you promise me
your friendship?
Alceste - Sir -
Oronte What! you refuse me?
## p. 10173 (#601) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10173
Alceste Sir, it is too great an honor you wish to pay me;
but friendship requires a little more caution, and we surely pro-
fane its name when we lightly make use of it. Such a compact
ought to spring from judgment and choice, and before we bind
ourselves we ought to be better acquainted. Our dispositions
might differ so greatly as to make us both heartily repent of the
bargain.
Oronte — Upon my word, you speak like a sensible man, and
I esteem you all the more for it. Let us then leave the form-
ing of such pleasant ties to time; but meanwhile believe that I
am entirely at your service. If some overture is to be made for
you at court, every one knows that I am in favor with the King,
that I have his private ear, and that really he behaves in all
things most kindly to me. In short, believe that I am in every-
thing and at all times at your disposal. As you are a man of
great judgment, I come, by way of beginning this happy bond
of friendship, to read you a sonnet which I have lately com-
posed, and to ask you if I should do well to publish it.
Alceste - Sir, I am ill qualified to decide on such a matter;
pray excuse me.
Oronte - Why?
Alceste--I have the weakness of being a little too sincere
about those things.
Oronte — Sincerity is what I ask of you; and I should have
reason to complain, if when I come to you in order to hear the
plain truth, you frustrate my purpose by concealing anything
from me.
Alceste - If it is thus you look upon it, sir, I consent.
Oronte - Sonnet. It is a sonnet on Hope. It is to a lady
who had given some encouragement to my love. Hope. These
are not those long, pompous verses; but soft, tender, languishing
little lines. [At every one of these interruptions he looks at
Alceste. ]
Alceste - We shall see.
Oronte — Hope. I do not know whether the style will seem
clear and easy to you, and whether you will be satisfied with my
choice of words.
Alceste — We shall see, sir.
Oronte -- Besides, you must know that I was only a quarter
of an hour composing it.
## p. 10174 (#602) ##########################################
MOLIÈRE
10174
Alceste — Come, sir, time has nothing to do with the matter.
Oronte [reads] -
Hope, it is true, can ease our pain
And rock awhile our hapless mind;
But, Phyllis, what a sorry gain
When nothing pleasant walks behind.
Philinte - I think this beginning charming!
Alceste [aside to Philinte] - What! you dare to find that charm-
ing?
Oronte
Your complaisance was great indeed,
But better 'twere to clip its scope,
And not to such expense proceed,
If you could give me — only hope.
Philinte -- Ah! in what charming terms those things are said !
Alceste [aside to Philinte]— Shame on you, you vile flatterer!
you praise that rubbish!
Oronte -
If age - long expectation's pest-
The ardor of my zeal must test,
To death at last l'll fly.
My purpose braves your every care;
Fair Phyllis, men will soon despair
When doomed to hope for aye.
Philinte — The fall is pretty, lovable, admirable.
Alceste [aside to Philinte]— Plague take your fall, wretched
sycophant! Deuce take you! I wish it had broken your neck.
Philinte I have never heard verses so skillfully turned.
Alceste [aside] - Zounds!
Oronte [to Philinte]- You are flattering me, and you think
perhaps —
Philinte - No indeed, I am not flattering you at all.
Alceste [aside]— Ha! what else are you doing, impostor ?
Oronte [to Alceste]— But you, you remember the agreement
we made, and I beg of you to speak to me in all sincerity.
