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THE I) RAMATIC WORKS
OF
M O L I E R E
RENDERFI) INTO ENGLISH
By HENRI VAN LAU N
WITH A PR AEFA TOR P MA, MOIR, INTRODUCTOR: I WOTICES,
A PPAEAVID/CAE.S AAWD AWO TAES
V O L U M E T H I R D
ED IN B LJ R G H : WILLIAM PATER SON
MDCCCLXXVI

34 &
M 72,
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v. J.
©2. 2-
C O N T E N T S.
l”. AGF.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS, © tº © * I
DON JUAN ; OR, THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE, o 89
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR, . te ſe * 189
THE MISANTHROPE, . e e e e 261
THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF, § e 379
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
I. THE PRINCESS OF ELIS, Act ii., Scene 2, . Frontispiece.
II. DON JUAN, Act ii., Scene 5, e * > & . Page 125
III. LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR, Act iii., Scene 6, ,, 225
IV. THE MISANTHROPE, Act i., Scene 2, , 293
W. THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF, Actii., Scene 6, , 413
LA PRINCESSE D' E L IDE.
COMEDIEBALLET.
THE PRINCEss 0F ELIS,
A COMEDY-BALLET IN FIVE ACTS.
(THE ORIGINAL PARTLY IN PROSE AWD PARTLY IN VERSE)
8TH MAY 1664.
III. © A
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
IN the month of May 1664, Louis XIV. entertained the Queen-mother,
Anne of Austria, and his own wife, Maria. Theresa, with a brilliant and
sumptuous fête at Versailles. It began on the 7th, and lasted a whole
week. The duke de Saint-Aignan was commissioned to superintend
the arrangements; and the plan he adopted was suggested by the
materials which he discovered in the 6th and 7th cantos of Ariosto's
epic poem, Orlando Furioso, which describe the sojourn of Rogero in the
isle and palace of the enchantress Alcina. The king was Rogero, whilst
the princes and courtiers personified the other characters mentioned
in the poem. We shall give a description of this fête farther on.
In this fête, the second day was distinguished by the representation
of The Princess of Elis ; and subsequent days saw the production of
The Bores, The Forced Marriage, and the first three acts of Tartuffe.
For their services on this occasion, Molière's troupe received the sum of
4,000 livres.
The Princess of Elis, a comedy-ballet, was intended to represent the
struggle between the affections of the male and female sex,−a struggle
in which victory often remains with the one who seems the farthest
from obtaining it. Shakespeare has also attempted to sketch this strife
in Much ado about Mothing, in As You like it, and in A Midsummer
Might's Dream.
Molière composed this comedy-ballet at the special request of the
King; and it was conceived in a romantic vein suitable to the character
of the fête. The author's natural flow of wit and humour was
checked by the necessity of accommodating himself to the con-
ventionalities of courtly propriety; and it must be admitted that
Molière mingled a good deal of water with his wine, in order to
please the fastidious palates of the courtiers. He borrowed his sub-
ject from Moreto's Spanish comedy, El Desden con el Desden (Scorn
for Scorn). The idea is pretty, and there is abundant room for the
development of plot and passion ; but the genius of the adapter was
cramped, and The Princess of Elis is certainly not one of his happiest
efforts. He has narrowed, rather than improved upon, the treatment of
Moreto; he has blunted the edge of the Spaniard's keenness, and,
taking the situations almost too punctiliously, has rendered them
bare and barren. He transports the scene to Elis; and the Count of
Urgel, the Prince of Bearn, the Count of Foix, are disguised under the
4. THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
Princes of Ithaca, Pylos, and Messena. He was hurried in his work; and,
almost as if himself craving for relief from an unwelcome mood, he
created and sustained the character of the fool Moron, a coward who
gives good advice, and is, on the whole, not unlike Butler's Hudibras.
The piece was again produced in July of the same year at Fontaine-
bleau, before the Pope's Legate; and in November and December, it
had a run of twenty-five days at the theatre of the Palais-Royal. It
undoubtedly hit the mark with some amongst Molière's contemporaries
whose tastes were similar to those of the court. As an ephemeral pro-
duction, therefore, designed for a temporary purpose, it may be held
to have been successful.
James Miller wrote a play called The Universal Passion, acted at the
Theatre, Drury Lane, on the 28th of February 1737, which consists
of Shakespeare's Much ado about Mothing, and Molière's Princess of Elis.
He acknowledges his obligations to Shakespeare, but does not say any-
thing about the French dramatist. In the dedication of The Universal
Passion to Frederick Frankland, Esq., it is stated, that “the strict Regard
I have had to Decency and good manners . . . is the principal Merit
. . . the World is at present happily inclin'd to support what is pro-
duced with that Intention.” The Prologue, spoken by Mr Cibber, harps
on the same string, and ends thus:
“ Howe'er, this Merit he at least can claim,
That sacred Decency's his constant Aim ; "
There's nought but what an Anchoret might hear,
No Sentence that can wound the chastest Ear . . .
To your Protection Shakespear's Offspring take,
* And save the Orphan for the Father's Sake.”
Miller's borrowings from Molière are given in the Appendix.
George Hyde wrote Love's Victory; or, the School for Pride, a comedy
in five acts, founded on the Spanish of Moreto, and performed at
Covent-Garden, November 16, 1825. As Molière borrowed from the
same source, there is a great similarity in the plot of both plays, but
Hyde has chiefly followed the arrangement of a German author, West,
and can therefore hardly be said to have imitated Molière.
As we have already mentioned, Molière's play formed part of the
court entertainment, and was published in Les Plaisirs de l'Isle En-
chantée: Course de Bague, Collation ornée de Machines, Comédie de Molière
de la Princesse d’Elide, meslée de Danse et de Musique, Ballet du Palais
d'Alcine, Feu d'Artifice: Et autres Festes galantes et magnifiques; faites
par le Roy & Versailles, le 7 May 1664. Et continuees plusieurs autres
Jours. Paris, Robert Ballard, 1665. Although the description of The
Pleasures of the Enchanted Island was not written by Molière, who
wrote only the comedy, it is inserted in the first collected edition of our
author's works; and we give it here as a specimen of the complimentary
style of the official catalogue of entertainments of Louis XIV. I am
indebted for the completeness and accuracy of nearly all the notes which
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 5
illustrate Les Plaisirs de l'Isle Enchantée, to M. Paul Lacroix, the
Pibliothécaire de l'Arsenal, well known as the Bibliophile Jacob, who
kindly communicated to me the genealogy and short history of the
noble ladies and gentlemen who took a part in the festivities at Ver-
sailles. These fêtes, given nominally in honour of the two Queens, but
in reality to please the quean, Mademoiselle de la Vallière, “whom the
king delighteth to honour,” lasted seven days; the description opens
thus:—
“The King, wishing to give to the Queen and the whole Court the
pleasure of some uncommon entertainments, in a spot adorned with all
the beauties to be admired in a Country Seat, chose for that purpose
Versailles, four leagues from Paris. It is a seat which may justly be
called an Enchanted Palace, so much have the embellishments of Art
seconded the care which Nature has taken to render it perfect. It is
every way charming; everything pleases both within and without : gold
and marble vie there in beauty and splendour; and although it is not so
extensive as some of her Majesty's other Palaces, yet all things there are
so polished, so well contrived, and so perfect, that nothing can equal them.
Its symmetry, the richness of its furniture, the beauty of its walks, and
the infinite number of its flowers, as well as of its orange-trees, render
the neighbourhood of that place worthy of its singular rarity. The dif-
ferent animals within the two parks and the menagerie, wherein are
several courts, in the figure of stars, with ponds for the water-fowl, to-
gether with great structures, add pleasure to magnificence, and create a
palace in which nothing can be found to criticise.”
First Day of the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.
It was in this beautiful place that on the fifth of May all the Court:
met, and that the King treated above six hundred persons till the four-
teenth, not reckoning a great number of persons necessary in the dancing
and in the play, besides all kinds of workmen who came from Paris; so
that they looked like a small army. -
The very heavens appeared to favour his Majesty's designs, since, in a
season in which it almost always rains, there was only a slight wind,
which seemed to rise solely in order to show that the King's foresight and
... " I am, of course, not answerable for the peculiar style of the official catalogue.
A “Collation adorned with machines” would be rather hard to digest in the
present times. One statement in the opening paragraph is also startling :
“Nature has taken care to render it (Versailles) perfect.” Now Nature bas
taken no care to render Versailles perfect; and it is said to have cost so much
money, that Louis XIV. did not like the fabulous sums spent on it to be known,
but threw the accounts into the fire. The palace and gardens of Versailles were
begun in 1661, and not finished until 1684. The King did not reside there until
1682, and according to A. de Laborde, Versailles ancien et modern; in 1664 the
palace was still in the same state as Louis XIII. had left it.
6 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
power were proof against the greatest inconveniences. High cloths,
wooden buildings, run up almost in an instant, and a prodigious number
of torches of white wax, to supply daily the place of above four thousand
wax candles, resisted the wind, which everywhere else would have ren-
dered these diversions almost impracticable.
Monsieur de Vigarani, a gentleman from Modena, very skilful in all
such things, invented and proposed these. The King commanded the
duke de Saint-Aignan, who was then first Gentleman of the Chamber,”
and who had ere this arranged several very agreeable balls, to plan
something which might contain, connect, and group them all, so that
they could not fail to please.
He took for his subject the Palace of Alcina,” which gave the name
to The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island, because, according to Ariosto,
the brave Rogero, and several other good knights, were detained there
by the spell of beauty (though it was artificial,) and by the incantations
of that enchantress, and were delivered, after a long time spent in
pleasures, by a ring, which destroyed the enchantment. It was the
ring of Angelica, which Melissa, under the disguise of old Atlantes, at
length placed upon Rogero's finger.
In a few days there was fitted up a round, where four great alleys
met between high palisades, with four porticos thirty-five feet high
and twenty-two feet square, and several festoons enriched with gold and
divers paintings, with his Majesty's arms.
All the court having taken their places on the seventh; there entered,
at six o'clock in the evening, a herald at arms, represented by M. des
Bardins, dressed after the antique manner, in flame-colour, embroidered
with silver, and very well mounted.
He was followed by three pages. The King's (M. d’Artagnan)" pre-
* Francis I. instituted in 1545 the post of Gentilhomme de la chambre du roi, of
which there were two at the first, and afterwards four. Each served a year,
and received 9500 livres, besides considerable perquisites, and a pension of 4500
livres. Their duties were to give orders that the King's first mourning garments
should be made, as well as his ball, ballet, and theatrical dresses; they also
regulated the mourning of the members and officers of the royal household and
family, the ordinary and extraordinary expenses for the King, his entertain-
ments, &c.
* Alcina, who changed her lovers into trees, stones, fountains, or beasts, accord-
ing to her fancy, is, in Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, the personification of carnal
pleasure.
4. It is not easy to say who M. d’Artagnan was, for many of the Montesquiou
family bore the name and arms of d’Artagnan. The best known, however, and
the one who enjoyed the King's confidence, was the son of Henri de Montesquiou-
d'Artagnan and of Jeanne de Gassion (a sister of a marshal of France of the
same name), who was called Charles de Bats, capitaine-lieutenant of the first
company of the King's musketeers. To him was entrusted the guard of
Fouquet (see Preface to The Bores, Vol. II., page 91, note 5), until the latter
was condemněd. The well-known pamphleteer, Courtilz de Sandraz, wrote in
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. - 7
*.
ceded the two others, very richly dressed in flame-colour, his Majesty's
livery, bearing his lance and shield, whereon sparkled a sun of precious
stones, with these words: Mec cesso, mec erro (I neither stay, nor stray),
alluding to his Majesty's application to the affairs of state and his man-
ner of governing; which was likewise represented by these four verses
of the President de Périgny, author of the said device.”
Not without reason Heaven and earth behold
So rare an object with the utmost wonder,
Who in his no less hard than glorious course, .
Does never take repose, nor ever strays.
The two other pages belonged to the dukes de Saint-Aignan and de
Noailles, the former marshal of the camp, the latter judge of the course.
The duke de Saint-Aignan's page bore the shield of his device, and was
dressed in his livery of silver cloth, enriched with gold, with flesh-
coloured and black plumes, and ribands of the same. His device was the
bell of a clock, with these words: De mis golpes mi ruido (From my
strokes (proceeds) my noise). •
The duke de Noailles' page was dressed in flame-colour, silver and
black, and the rest of the livery in harmony. The device on his
shield was an eagle, with these words: Fidelis et audaa' (Faithful and
bold).
Four trumpeters and two kettle-drummers followed these pages,
dressed in flame-colour and silver, with plumes of the same, and the
caparisons of their horses embroidered in the same colours, with very
brilliant suns upon the bandrols of their trumpets" and the coverings of
the kettle-drums. -
The duke de Saint-Aignan, marshal of the camp, came after them,
wearing, in the Greek fashion, a cuirass of silver-cloth, covered with
little scales of gold, as was also the lower part of his cloak ;' his helmet
was adorned with a dragon and a great number of white feathers, mixed
with flesh-coloured and black ones. He rode a white horse, caparisoned
in the same fashion, and represented Guido, the Savage.
1700 the Mémoires de M. d’Artagnan, after some curious notes left by that noble-
man; and the late Alexandre Dumas has partly followed these memoirs in The
Three Musketeers. *
5 De Périgny, président aux enquêtes at the Parliament of Paris, was reader to
the King in 1663, teacher to the Dauphin in 1666, and died in 1670. He had a
wholly literary office at court. In 1664 he wrote in verse the ballet of the
Amours déguises, and at the same time, under the eye of Louis XIV., his Journal
and Memoirs. s -
• According to Ash’s “Dictionary of the English Language,” London, 1775, a
bandrol is “a little flag or streamer, the fringed flag hung on to a trumpet.”
7 In the original, son bas de Saie, translated by my predecessors as “his silk
stockings,” in mistake for bas de 80ie.
8 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
Madrigal for the duke de Saint-Aignan, representing Guido, the
Savage.
Those combats I fought in the dang'rous isle,
When I so many warriors overcame,
Followed by battles of an am’rous kind,
Showed what my strength as well as heart could do.
My well-known force in lawful frays displayed,
Or in forbidden fields exerted,
Proëlaim it, for my glory, at both poles;
None, during war, deals more or better strokes.
For the same.
Singly against ten warriors and ten maids,
I am engaged in two peculiar contests.
If I with honour leave this twofold field,
Methinks I’m then a most terrific warrior.”
Eight trumpeters and eight kettle-drummers, dressed like the first,
walked behind the marshal of the camp. e-
The King, representing Rogero, followed them upon one of the finest
horses in the world, of which the flame-coloured trappings shone with
gold, silver, and precious stones. His Majesty was armed in the Greek
fashion, as were all those of his troop, and wore a cuirass of silver plates,
covered with a rich embroidery of gold and diamonds. His carriage
and whole action were worthy of his rank; his helmet, entirely covered
with flame-coloured plumes, looked incomparably beautiful; never
did a more free or warlike air raise a mortal so much above other
men.”
* Francois de Beauvillier, first duke de Saint Aignan, born in 1610, was peer of
France, gentleman of the King's chamber, and lieutenant-general. His county
had been erected into a duché-pairie in December 1663. He was a lover of litera-
ture, a patron of Molière, a member of the French Academy, and died in 1679.-
Guido, the savage, is, in Ariosto, a son of Constantia and Amon, and a younger
brother of Rinaldo. Being wrecked on the coast of the Amazons, he was doomed
to fight their ten male champions, and having killed them all, was obliged to
marry ten amazons; hence the allusion. At last he succeeds in escaping with
his favourite wife Aleria, and joins the army of Charlemagne.—These verses and
the following were written by Benserade.
* Rogero, the brother of Marphisa, was, on the death of his mother, Galaciella,
nursed by a lioness. Brought up by Atlantes, the magician, who gave him a shield
of such dazzling splendour that every one quailed who set eyes on it, and which
shield he threw into a well, he deserted from the Moorish army, was baptized,
married Bradamant, Charlemagne's niece, and became King of Bulgaria.—I wish
to draw attention to the official flatteries about Louis le Grand’s “carriage,”
“action,” and “air ; ” even his horse and helmet come in for their share.
TEIE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 9 .
Sonnet for the King, representing Rogero.
What shape, what carriage this bold conqu'ror has,
His person dazzles each beholder's eye;
And though by his high post he is distinguished,
Yet something greater sparkles in his mien,
Clearly his brow his future fate foretells
His virtue outshines all his ancestors |
They are forgotten. If he continues so,
He'll leave them far, yeavery far, behind. *
His generous heart delights tº employ its time,
To act for others, and not for himself,
In this his power is chiefly occupied.
All ancient heroes pale compared to him,
Bonour's his sole aim ; he only draws
The sword for other int’rests than his own.
The duke de Noailles, judge of the lists, by the name of Ogier the
Dane, 10 marched after the King, wearing flame-colour and black under-
neath a rich embroidery of silver; his plumes, as well as the rest of his
equipage, were of the same livery. *
For the duke de Noailles, judge of the lists, representing Ogier the
- Dame. -
The only business of this paladine
Is well to serve the greatest king on earth,
As he who judges well, must act as well,
Methinks none from his sentence will appeal.
The duke de Guise and the count d'Armagnac went after him. The
former, under the name of Aquilant the black,” wore a black dress em-
broidered with gold and jet; his horse and his lance being matched in
10 Ogier the Dane, a paladin, married Ermellina, the daughter of Namus,
duke of Bavaria, of whom was born Dudon.—Anne de Noailles, was the first
duke, his county, d’Ayen, having been erected into a duché-pairie in 1663. He
was first captain of the king's life-guards, lieutenant-general of Auvergne, and
had married in 1646 Louise Boyer, dame d'atours of the Queen Anne of Austria.
He died in 1678. Mad. de Sevigné's letters are filled with details about him and
his family. -
11 Aquilant, a knight in Charlemagne's army, always wore black armour. Whilst
Martano was strutting about in Gryphon's white armour, he met Aquilant,
who took him prisoner to Damascus.—The duke de Guise, Henri de Lorraine,
second of that name, peer and grand chamberlain of France, was born in 1614,
and died twenty days after the fêtes of the Isle Enchantée, on the 2d of June
1664. He had been one of the first patrons of Molière, when the latter acted at
the Illustre Théâtre in 1645. This prince, who had attempted rashly to become
King of Naples, in 1647, died unmarried. • a
10 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
the same colours. The count, representing Gryphon the white,” wore on
a dress of silver cloth several rubies, and rode on a white horse capari-
soned in the same colour.
For the duke de Guise, representing Aquilant the black.
Night has its beauties, and so has the day;
Black is my colour, and I always loved it.
But if obscurity does suit my love,
'T has not extended to my well-known fame.
For the count d'Armagnac, representing Gryphon the ºthite.
Behold what candour Heaven has placed in me;
Thus no fair maid by me shall be deceived;
When it is time to attack the enemy
My sword will keep my colour stainless white.
The dukes de Foix and de Coaslin appeared afterwards, dressed, the
one in flesh-colour, with gold and silver, and the other in green, with
white and silver; their livery and horses were worthy the rest of their
equipage. -
For the duke de Foix, representing Rºnaldo.13
He bears a glorious name, is young and sage,
To speak the truth he lief mounts very high ;
What great good fortune, at so young an age
To have such fire as well as so much calmness.
For the duke de Coaslin, representing Dudo.”
None can too far in glory's course engage,
Though seven kings I were to conquer bravely,
1° Gryphon, a brother of Aquilant, ever wearing white armour, overthrew the
eight champions of the King of Damascus. Whilst asleep, Martano stole Gryphon's
armour, and he was obliged to put on the coward's; hence he was hooted and
jostled by the crowd. At last everything is discovered, and the right man is put
in the right place.—Louis de Lorraine, count d'Armagnac, son of Henri de Lor
raine, Count d'Harcourt, was grand écuyer of France, sénéchal of Bourgogne, and
governor of Anjou. -
** Rinaldo, in Ariosto's poem, was the son of the fourth marquis of Este, the
rival of his cousin Orlando for the love of Angelica, who detested him, and the
leader of a corps of Scotch and English adXiliaries in Charlemagne's army.—Gaston-
Jean-Baptiste de Foix and de Candale, peer of France, eldest son of the countess
de Fleix, was called duke de Foix, because his county of Randan had been raised
by the King into a duché-pairie. He died in 1665, at the age of twenty-seven,
and his brother and heir, Henri François de Foix, then took the title. ić
** Dudo was the admiral commanding the fleet of Orlando and Astolpho.—
Armand du Cambout, duke de Coaslin, peer of France, chevalier des ordres du
THE PRINCEss of ELIS. 11
And see them subject to Rogero's power,
Yet e'en this exploit would not content me.
After them marched the Count de Lude and the Prince de Marsillac,
the former dressed in flesh-colour and white, and the other in yellow,
white, and black, enriched with silver embroidery, their livery of the
same, and very well mounted. - -
For the count de Lude, representing Astolpho.”
Of all the paladines this world contains,
No knight more prone to love was ever seen.
Always in fresh adventures he'll engage,
And ever smitten by some youthful fay.
For the prince de Marsillac, representing Brandimart.”
My vows will be content, my wishes crowned,
My fortune at its utmost height arriv'd,
When, lovely Flordelice, my zeal you'll know
Indelibly within my heart imprest.
The marquises de Villequier and de Soyecourt followed. One wore
blue and silver, the other blue, white, and black, with gold and silver;
their plumes and the harness of their horses were of the same colour,
and equally rich. -
Toi, lieutenant-general, had, only in the beginning of 1664, been made a duke and
peer; he was formerly a marquis.
** Astolpho, an English duke, the son of Otho, joined Charlemagne against
the Saracens; he was carried upon the back of a whale to the island of Alcina, who
soon tired of him, and changed him into a myrtle. His descent into the infernal
regions, and his flight to the moon, are among the best parts of the Orlando
Furioso. —Henri de Daillon, count de Lude, first gentleman of the King's cham-
ber, grand master of the artillery, captain of the castles of St Germain and Wer-
sailles, was made duke and peer in 1675, and died without issue in 1685. He is
often mentioned in Mad. de Sevigné's letters. -
16 The Prince de Marsillac was François de la Rochefoucauld, eighth of that
name, and son of the famous duke de la Rochefoucauld, author of the Maarims.
He was born in 1639 and died in 1714. He married, in 1659, his cousin, Jeanne
Charlotte du Plessis Liancourt, daughter of the Count de la Roche-Guyon.—
Brandimart, one of the bravest knights in Charlemagne's army, was slain by
Gradasso, King of Sericana; he was the brother-in-law of Orlando, and the lover
of Flordelice, daughter of Dolistone. According to Ariosto (Orlando Furioso,
Cant. xlii., St. 14), he thus spoke to Orlando, when dying:—“Ne men ti rac-
comándo la mio Fiordi. . . . Ma der nonpuote ligi; e qui finio.” Rendered by
Rose in his translation:—“Nor recommend to thee less warmly my—”—Flor-
delice would, but could not, say—and died.
12 - THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
For the marquis de Villequier, representing Richardetto.17
No one, like me, with gallantry could quit
An intrigue where, no doubt, some skill was greatly needed,
No one deceiv'd his fair so pleasantly, methinks,
While all the time remaining faithful to her.
For the marquis de Soyecourt, representing Oliviero.4°
Behold the honour of the age, compared to whom
E’en giants and ourselves are ordinary men;
This valiant knight, prepared for all that come,
Has aye his lance quite ready for the tilts.
The marquises d'Humières and de la Vallière followed them. The
first wore flesh-colour and silver, and the other gridelin,” white, and
silver; their whole livery being the richest and best matched in the
world. - -
For the marquis d'Humières, representing Ariodantes.”
Fevered by love, I tremble in my fit, -
And without boast elsewhere I ne'er did tremble;
Handsome Ginevra is the only fair
Young charmer to whose laws I bow.
17 Richardetto was the son of Aymon and brother of Bradamant, and was
mistaken by Flordespine for his sister Bradamant. This rather free story may be
read in the twenty-fifth canto of the Orlando Furioso. —Louis Marie-Victor
d'Aumont, marquis de Villequier, eldest son of the duke d'Aumont, born in 1632,
was first gentleman of the King's chamber. At his father's death in 1669 he
became duke, peer, and marshal of France. 4. -
** Oliviero of Burgundy was a famous paladin, son of Rinieri of Vienna, brother
of Alda, and father of Gryphon and Aquilant. The descriptive verses contain an
allusion to the marquis de Soyecourt's prowess, of which the curious may find the
details in the chronique scandaleuse of Louis XIV.'s age.—Maximilien Antoine de
Belleforière, marquis de Soyecourt or Saucourt, was grand master of the King's
wardrobe, and became afterwards’ master of the hunt to the king ; he died in
1679. He is the Dorante of The Bores (see Introductory Notice, Vol. II.,
page 85.) - -
19 According to several old dictionaries, “gridelin” is a colour mixed of white
and red.
* Ariodantes, an Italian knight at the court of Scotland, duke of Albany,
married Ginevra, the daughter of that king.—Louis de Crevant, fourth of that
name, marquis d'Humières, lieutenant-general, was made a duke and péér in
1688, and at the same time was appointed marshal of France and grand master
of the artillery. Madame de Sévigné mentions him several times in her letters.
ThE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 13
For the marquis de la Vallière, representing Zerbino.”
Whate'er grand feelings glory may inspire
When we are wholly all-absorbed in love ;
To die in the arms of her whom we admire,
Methinks is of all deaths the one most pleasant.
Monsieur the Duke * went alone, having for his livery flame-colour,
white, and silver; a great number of diamonds were fastened to the
magnificent embroidery with which his cuirass and the lower part of his
cloak were covered ; his helmet, and the harness of his horse being
likewise adorned with them.
N
For Monsieur the Duke representing Orlando.”
Fame will in distant lands Orlando's name make known,
Glory shall ne'er depart from him ;
Descended from a race that e'er desires
To show its valour when war is proclaim'd.
In him, to speak unvarnished truth,
Flows the pure blood of Charlemagne.”
A car, eighteen feet high, twenty-four long, and fifteen wide, appeared
afterwards shining with gold and divers colours. It represented the
chariot of Apollo, in whose honour the Pythian games were formerly
celebrated, which those knights intended to imitate in their lists and
dresses. The god, radiant with light, was seated on the top of the car,
having at his feet the four ages, distinguished by rich habits, and by
what they bore in their hands. -
The golden Age, adorned with that precious metal, was also decked
with different flowers, one of the principal ornaments of that happy age.
The silver and brass Ages had also their distinguishing marks. The
iron Age was represented by a warrior of terrible aspect, holding his
sword in one hand, and his buckler in the other.
Several other large figures in relief adorned the sides of the magni-
ficent chariot. The celestial monsters, the serpent Python, Daphne,
Hyacinth, and the other figures which are suitable to Apollo, with
* Zerbino, duke of Ross-shire, was the son of the King of Scotland, and the
intimate friend of Orlando. He died in the arms of the sorrowing Isabel.
** The “Duke” was the name given to the duke of Enghien, the son of the
Prince de Condé. - -
** Orlando was lord of Anglant, and, through his mother, a nephew of Charl
magne. Although a married man, he fell in love with Angelica, daughter of the
infidel king of Cathay; but she fled with Medoro, the Moor, to India: whereupon
Orlando became mad, or rather lost his wits, which were deposited in the moon.
Astolpho went to fetch them in Elijah's chariot, and St John gave them to him
in an urn. Orlando recovers his wits by sniffing at the urn.
** An allusion to the Prince de Condé being a Bourbon.
14 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
an Atlas bearing the globe, were also elegantly carved upon it. Time,
represented by M. Millet,” with his scythe, his wings, and that decrepi-
tude in which he is always depicted, was the coachman. The car was
drawn by four horses, of uncommon size and beauty, abreast, covered
with large housings, ornamented with gold-worked suns.
The twelve hours of the day, and the twelve signs of the Zodiac, splen-
didly dressed, as the poets described them, walked in two files on both
sides of the chariot. All the knights' pages followed it in pairs, after
the duke's, very neatly dressed in their liveries, with a great many
plumes, bearing their master's lances, and the shields with their devices.
The duke de Guise, representing Aquilant the black, having for his
device a lion sleeping, with these words: Et quiescente pavescunt (They
fear me even when asleep).
The count d'Armagnac, representing Gryphon the white, having for his
device an ermine, with these words: Ea: candore decus (My beauty pro-
ceeds from my whiteness).
The duke de Foix, representing Rinaldo, having for his device a ship
on the sea, with these words: Longe levis aura feret (A slight breeze
will carry it far).
The duke de Coaslin, representing Dudo, having for his device a sun
and a sun-flower, with these words: Splendor ab obsequio (Its splendour
arises from its obedience).” -
The count de Lude, representing Astolphus, having for his device a
cypher in the form of a knot, with these words: Mon fia mai sciolto (It
shall never be broken).
The prince de Marsillac, representing Brandimart, having for his
device a watch in relief, of which all the springs were visible, with these
words: Chieto fuor, commoto dentro (Calm without, agitated within).
The marquis de Villequier, representing Richardetto, having for his
device an eagle soaring before the sun, with these words: Uni militat
astro (He fights for a single star).”
The marquis de Soyecourt, representing Oliviero, having for his device
Hercules' club, with these words: Via aequat fama labores (His fame is
scarce equal to his labours). -
The marquis d'Humières, representing Ariodantes, having for his
device all sorts of crowns, with these words: Wo quiero menos (Less will
not content me). -
The marquis de la Vallière, representing Zerbino, having for his
device a phoenix on a pile set on fire by the sun, with these words: Hoc
Žuvat wri (It is pleasant to be so burnt).”
** M. Millet was the coachman in ordinary to Louis XIV., and celebrated for
his skill.
** These words were flattering to Louis XIV., whose device was the sun.
** The same remark can be applied to the marquis de Villequier's device.
** These words were very ingenious, because the sun was the device of Louis
XIV., the lover of Mademoiselle de la Vallière. The marquis, her brother, could
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 15
The Duke, representing Orlando, having for his device a dart, wreathed
with laurel, with these words: Certo ferit (It strikes surely).
Twenty shepherds, carrying different pieces of the barrier to be set up for
the tilting, formed the last troop that entered the lists. They were dressed
in short jackets of flame-colour, adorned with silver, and caps of the same.
As soon as these troops entered the camp, they went round it, and,
after having paid their obeisance to the queens, they separated, and each
took his post. The pages who were in front, the trumpeters and kettle-
drummers crossed, and stationed themselves at the wings. The King,
advancing towards the middle, placed himself opposite to the high
canopy; the Duke near his Majesty; the dukes de Saint-Aignan and
de Noailles on the right and left; the ten knights in a line on both sides
of the chariot : their pages in the same order behind them : the Hours
and the signs of the Zodiack as they entered.
When they had thus stopped, a profound silence, which arose from
attention and respect, gave Mademoiselle Debrie,” who represented the
Age of Brass, an opportunity to recite these verses, in praise of the
Queen, addressed to Apollo, represented by M. de la Grange.
THE BRASS AGE (to Apollo).
Thou dazzling father of the day, whose power
Does by its various aspects give us birth;
Hope of the earth, and ornament of Heaven,
Thou fairest and most necessary god;
Thou, whose activity and sovereign bounty,
In every place makes itself seen and felt,
Say by what destiny, or what new choice,
Thy games are solemnized on Gallia’s shores.30
APOLLO.
If all th’ address, the glory, valour, merit,
Which made Greece shine, are found on these blest shores,
Then justly hither are those games transferred,
Which, to my honour, earth has consecrated.
I ever did delight to pour on France
The balmy influence of my gentle rays;
But the bright dame whom Hymen there enthrones
Makes me for her disdain all other realms.
therefore not do less than delicately allude to it by stating that “it is pleasant
to be burnt by the sun.” The noble marquis became duke de la Vallière and
peer in 1688, after his sister had taken.her vows in the Carmelite convent.
* For the actors and actresses of Moliere's troupe, see Introductory Notice to
The Impromptu of Versailles, Vol. II., p. 287. -
*9 The president de Périgny is the author of the following verses, as well as
those pronounced by the other Ages, by Apollo, the Seasons, Diana, and Pan. I
have taken them from some older translations and corrected and modified them,
when necessary. -
16
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
Since for the wide creation's good so long
I’ve made the boundless tour of seas and earth,
I ne'er saw ought so worthy of my fires,
Such noble blood, so generous a heart,
Never such lustre with such innocence,
Never such youth with so much sound discretion;
Never such grandeur with such condescension,
Never such wisdom joined to so much beauty.
The thousand various climates which are ruled
By all those demi-gods from whom she springs,
Led by their own devoir and her high merit,
United, will one day confess her power.
Whatever grandeur France or Spain might boast,
The rights of Charles the Fifth, and Charlemagne,
Auspiciously transmitted in her blood,
Will to her throne subject the universe:
But a yet greater title, nobler lot,
Which lifts her higher, and which charms her more,
A name which in itself all names outweighs,
Is that of consort to the mighty Louis.
SILVER AGE.
By what unjust decree has fate produced
A star so kindly in the age of iron?
GoLDEN AGE.
Ah Do not murmur at the gods appointment
This age which has the hate of Heav'n deserv'd,
Instead of growing proud with that rare blessing,
Ought thence to augurate its approaching ruin,
And think a virtue which it can't corrupt,
Comes rather to destroy than to ennoble it.
As soon as she appeared on this blest earth,
She chased away the furious raging war;
From that same day labour unwearied hands
To render happy all humanity.
See by what hidden springs a Hero strives
To banish from a barbarous age its horrors,
And kindly to assist my resurrection,
With all those joys which innocence desires.
IRON AGE.
I know what enemies have planned my ruin,
Their plots are known, their stratagems are traced ;
But yet my courage is not so far sunk . .
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 17
APOLLO.
Should all hell's monsters join in thy defence,
Teeble and vain would their resistance prove
Against such grandeur and against such virtue :
Long with thy galling yoke the world opprest
Shall by thy flight a happier lot enjoy.
'Tis time that thou give way to the high law
Which an august and mighty Queen imposes.
It is time to yield to the illustrious labours
Of a great King, favoured by Heaven and Earth ;
But here too long this quarrel made me stay;
These lists invite to much more gentle combats,
Let us ope them just now, and laurels wreathe
To bind the brows of our most famous warriors.
After all these verses were spoken, the running at the ring began ;
wherein, after they had admired the King's skill and gracefulness in that
exercise, as in all others, and after several fine courses of all these
knights, the duke de Guise, the marquises de Soyecourt and de la Val-
lière remained the last. The last bore off the prize, which was a golden
sword enriched with diamonds, with very valuable buckles for the belt,
which the Queen-mother gave, and wherewith she honoured him with
her own hand. - &
They began their running in such good time, that just when it
was finished, darkness came on ; when a great number of lights illumi-
nated this beautiful place, and thirty-four musicians, who were to pre-
cede the Seasons, entered very well dressed, and performed the most
pleasant music in the world.
Whilst the Seasons were taking up the delicious viands they had to
carry for the magnificent entertainment of their Majesties, the twelve
signs of the Zodiac and the four Seasons danced in the ring one of the
finest entrées ever seen.
Spring, represented by Mademoiselle Duparc, afterwards appeared
on a Spanish horse. She showed the skill of a man, as well as womanly
attractions. Her dress was green with silver embroidery, adorned with
flowers.
M. Duparc, who represented Summer, followed upon an elephant
covered with rich housings.
Next came M. de la Thorillière, representing Autumn, as splendidly
dressed, and mounted on a camel.
Winter, represented by M. Béjart, followed on a bear.
Forty-eight persons followed them, carrying on their heads large
basins for the lunch. -
The first twelve, covered with flowers, carried, like gardeners, baskets
painted green and silver, containing a great many china dishes, so full
III. B
18 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
of preserves and many other delicious things of the season, that they
bent beneath the agreeable load.
Twelve others, like reapers, clothed in garments which suited their
profession, but very rich, carried basins of that incarnadine colour which
may be observed at sun-rise, and followed Summer.
Twelve others, dressed like vine-dressers, were covered with vine-
leaves, and bunches of grapes, and bore in baskets of filemot colour,” full
of little basins of the same, various other fruits and preserves. These
followed Autumn.
The last twelve were old men, nearly frozen to death, whose furs and
gait showed how they felt the inclemency of the weather, as well as
their weakness, bearing, in basins covered with ice and snow so well
imitated that they might have been taken for the verythings they were
intended to represent, that which was to contribute to the collation.
These followed Winter.
Fourteen musicians preceded the two divinities Pan and Diana, with
an agreeable harmony of flutes and bagpipes.
Pan and Diana then appeared upon a very ingenious carriage, shaped
like a little mountain or rock, shaded by several trees, and so wonder-
fully constructed, that the machinery which held it in the air, and put
it in motion, could not be perceived.
Twenty other persons followed, carrying viands, the produce of Pan's
menagerie and of Diana's chase. -
Eighteen pages of the King, very richly clad, who were to wait upon
the ladies at table, came last. The whole troop then placed themselves
in order. Pan, Diana, and the Seasons presented themselves before the
Queen, whilst Spring first, and the others afterwards, addressed her in
the following words:
SPRING (to the Queen).
Of all the new-blown flowers that deck my gardens,
Scorning the jessamines, the pinks and roses,
These lilies I have chosen to pay my tribute,
Which in your earliest years you so much cherished.
Louis has made them shine from east to west,
Whilst the charmed world at once respects and fears them.
But still their reign's more soft and powerful too,
When, brilliant like, they beam on your complexion.
SUMMER.
Seized with too hasty a surprise, I bring
A slender ornament to grace this feast;
Yet know, before my season 's passed away,
Your warriors in the fields of Thrace,
Shall reap an ample crop of laurels.
** The original has feuille-morte, the colour of a dead leaf.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 19
AUTUMN.
The Spring, proud of the beauty of those flowers
Which to his lot have fortunately fallen,
Thinks to have all th’ advantage of this feast,
And quite obscure us by his lively colours.
But you, you matchless Princess, well remember
What precious fruit my season has produced,
Which in your house does one day mean to prove
- The darling and the blessing of mankind.”
WINTER.
The snow and icicles I hither bring,
Are viands far from being rare or precious;
But they’re most necessary in a feast,
Where with their killing eyes, a thousand objects,
Replete with charms, so many flames create.
DIANA (to the Queen).
Our woods, our rocks, our mountains, all our hunters,
And my companions who have to me always
Paid sovereign honours, since they have beheld
Your presence here, will know me now no more;
And laden with their presents, come with me
To bring this tribute to you, as a mark
Of their allegiance.
The swift inhabitants of those blessed groves,
Make it their choice to fall into your nets,
And only wish to perish by your hands.
Love, whose address and countenance you wear,
Alone with you this wondrous secret shares.
PAN.
Be not surprised, young deity, that we
In this famed festival approach to offer
The choice of what our pastures can bestow.
For if our flocks their herbage taste in peace,
'Tis to your charms that happiness we owe.
After these verses had been spoken, a great table was seen, shaped
like a half moon, concave on the side on which they were to serve, and
adorned with flowers on the convex side.
Thirty-six violin-players, very well dressed, were behind on a little
stage, whilst Messieurs de la Marche and Parfait, father, brother, and
** An allusion to the Dauphin, born on the 1st of November, 1661. What
Summer has said before about the “ample crop of laurels” your warriors shall reap
in the fields of Thrace I cannot elucidate, because in 1664 there was neither war
nor rumours of war. The last line Pan states, “’Tis to your charms that happi-
ness we owe” refers to the Peace of the Pyrenees in 1659, and the subsequent
marriage of Douis XIV. with Maria. Theresa of Spain, in 1660.
20 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
son, controllers-general, by the names of Plenty, Joy, Cleanliness, and
Good-cheer, caused the aforesaid table to be covered by Pleasures,
Sports, Smiles, and Delights.
Their Majesties sat down in the following order, which prevented all
the confusion that might have arisen about precedence :
The Queen-mother” was seated in the middle of the table, and had at
her right hand—The King, Mademoiselle d’Alençon,” Madame la Prin-
cesse,” Mademoiselle d’Elbeuf.” Madame de Béthune,” Madame la
duchesse de Créqui,” Monsieur,” Madame la duchesse de Saint-Aignan,”
Madame la maréchale du Plessis,” Madame la maréchale d’Etampes,”
33 See Vol. II., page 238, note 1.
34 Mademoiselle d'Alençon, daughter of Gaston of France, duke of Orleans, and
of Marguerite de Lorraine, was born in 1646, married, in 1667, Louis Joseph de
Lorraine, duke of Guise, and died in 1696.
35 Madame la Princesse was the name given at court to Claire-Clémence de
Maille, marchioness of Brézé, who had married, in 1641, Louis II., prince de
Condé, called the Grand Condé. Since the sixteenth century, the princes of Condé
were called Monsieur le Prince. &
36 Mademoiselle d'Elbeuf, Anne Elisabeth de Lorraine, was the daughter of
Charles de Lorraine, third of that name, duke d'Elbeuf, and of his first wife,
Anne Elisabeth de Lannoi, widow of the count de la Roche-Guyon. Mademoiselle
d’Elbeuf, born in 1649, married, in 1669, Charles Henri de Lorraine, count de
Vaudemont.
87 Anne Marie de Beauvillier was the wife of Hippolyte de Béthune, count de
Selles and marquis de Cabris, and dame d'atour to the queen. She died in 1688,
a widow, at the age of seventy-eight years.
38 Armande de Saint-Gelais, a daughter of the lord de Lansac, marquis de
Balon, was the wife of Charles III., duke de Créqui, peer of France, prince de
Poix, first gentleman of the chamber to the King, and governor of Paris. -
39 Monsieur was the title of the eldest brother of the king. He married, first,
Henrietta of England, a sister of Charles II., and, after her death (1670), Charlotte
Elizabeth of Bavaria. He was said to be a good general, and gained a brilliant
victory over the Prince of Orange at Cassel, in 1677, which made Louis XIV. so
jealous that he never gave his brother any other military command. He died
suddenly at Saint-Cloud in 1701.
40 Madame la duchesse de Saint-Aignan, whose maiden name was Antoinette
Servien, was the first wife of François de Beauvillier, duke of Saint-Aignan, whom
she married in 1633. She died in 1680, and her husband married again six months
after her death. Madame de Sévigné speaks of this in her letters.
41 Colombe de Charron was the wife of César de Choiseul, count, and after-
wards duke de Plessis-Praslin, marshal of France, who died in 1675, seventy-eight
years old. This lady, known as the maréchale du Plessis, had great influence
at court, because her husband had been governor of Philip of France, duke of
Orleans.
42 Madame la maréchale d’Etampes, the eldest daughter of the marquis de
Praslin, marshal of France, and whose maiden name was Catherine Blance de
Choiseul, had married, in 1610, Jacques d'Etampes, called the marshal de la Ferté
d’Imbault, who died in 1668, seventy-eight years old. She was nearly as old as her
husband, was called at court la maréchale d’Estampes, and was first maid of honour
to Henrietta of England, duchess of Orleans (see Vol. II., page 141, note 1).
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 21
Madame de Gourdon,” Madame de Montespan,” Madame d'Humières,”
Mademoiselle de Brancas,” Madame d'Armagnac,” Madame la comtesse
de Soissons,” Madame la princesse de Bade,” Mademoiselle de Grancey.”
On the other side were seated the Queen,” Madame de Carignan,”
** Madame de Gourdon, belonged to the household of Madame, duchess of
Orleans, after whose death she was falsely accused of having poisoned her.
** Françoise Athénaïs de Rochechouart, daughter of Gabriel de Rochechouart,
duke de Mortemart, married, in 1663, Henri Louis de Pardaillan de Gondrin,
marquis de Montespan, and became soon after this dame du palais to the queen.
She was first the confidante, and afterwards the rival, of Mademoiselle de la
Vallière. In 1668, Madame de Montespan became the mistress of the King, and
lived long enough “to point a moral and adorn a tale.”
** Louise Antoinette Thérèse de la Châtre, daughter of Edme de la Châtre,
count of Nancei, married, in 1653, Louis de Crevant, marquis d’Humières, who
was lieutenant-general, and became, in 1668, marshal of France. Madame de
Sévigné mentions her in her letters.
** Mademoiselle de Brancas, according to the researches of the eminent French
littérateur, Paul Lacroix, made kindly and specially for this edition, is Marie
de Brancas, daughter of count Charles de Brancas, who married, in 1667,
Alphonse-Henri-Charles de Lorraine, prince d'Harcourt, and became then dame
du palais.
*7 Madame d'Armagnac, whose maiden name was Marguerite-Philippe de
Cambout, was the widow of Antoine de l’Age, duke de Puy-Laurens, and had
married again Henri de Lorraine, count d'Armagnac, second son of Charles de
Lorraine, first of that name, duke d’Elbeuf. She died in 1674.
** Madame la comtesse de Soissons, Olympe Mancini, the niece of Cardinal
Mazarin, was born at Rome in 1640. She inspired a great passion in Louis
XIV. when he was very young, but she married, in 1657, the count de Soissons.
In 1664, she was grand-mistress of the household of the queen, and was exiled
from the court the following year, on account of an intrigue which she had
planned against Mademoiselle de la Vallière, whom she could never forgive
for having become mistress to the King.
* Madame la Princesse de Bade was Louise Christine de Savoie, daughter of
Thomas de Savoie, prince de Carignan, and of Marie de Bourbon-Soissons. She
married, in 1655, Ferdinand Maximilien, marquis of Baden, who left her and her
son behind in France, five years after his marriage. She was called princesse de
Bade, as being a daughter of the prince of Carignan.
*9 Mademoiselle de Grancey, the eldest daughter of Jacques Rouxel, count de
Grancey, marshal of France, was afterwards known as countess de Grancey.
** Maria. Theresa of Austria, born at the Escurial, in Spain, in 1638, daughter
of Philip IV., King of Spain, and of Elizabeth of France, married Iouis XIV.
in 1660, and suffered, all her life long, her husband's marital infidelities with-
out complaining. She was appointed regentess in 1672, when the King started
for the Dutch wars, and died in 1683. Of her six children, only one survived
her.
** Madame de Carignan's name was Marie de Bourbon, daughter of Charles,
count de Soissons. She had married, in 1624, Thomas François de Savoie, prince
de Carignan, who died in 1656. She returned then to the court of France, and
died in 1692. Her eldest son continued the branch of the princes of Carignan;
her second son, Eugène Maurice, the branch of the Soissons.
22 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
Madame de Fleia, 8 Madame la duchesse de Foia,” Madame de Brancas,”
Madame de Froulay,” Madame la duchesse de Navailles,” Mademoiselle
d' Ardennes,” Mademoiselle de Coëtlogon,” Madame de Crussol,” Ma-
dame de Montausier," Madame,” Madame la princesse Bénédicte”
Madame la Duchesse,” Madame de Rouvroy,” Mademoiselle de la
** Marie-Claire de Baufremont, first lady of honour to the Queen Anne of
Austria, married, in 1637, Jean-Baptiste-Gaston de Foix, count de Fleix, after
whose death, in 1646, she was always called countess de Fleix. She was held
in great consideration by Louis XIV.
** There was no duchesse de Foix in 1664; but there was a countess of Foix,
who took the title of duchess, a title which no one disputed with her. Her maiden
name was Madeleine Charlotte d'Ailli d'Albert, daughter of Henri-Louis, duke de
Chaulnes, and she was married to Gaston-Jean-Baptiste de Foix et de Candale,
whom she preceded to the tomb by four months.
** It is not easy to state exactly who was the real Madame de Brancas, for at
that time there were two branches of the family of Brancas, the Forcalquier-
Céreste and the Brancas-Villars, who both figured at the entertainments given by
Louis XIV. We believe, however, that the lady mentioned here was Suzanne
Garnier, wife of Charles, count de Brancas, uncle and father-in-law of Louis de
Brancas, duke de Villars.
** Madame de Froulay, widow of Charles, count de Froulay, grand-maréchal des
logis of the King, was a very intriguing busybody, who at last rendered herself
obnoxious to Louis XIV.
*7 Madame la duchesse de Navailles was the daughter of Charles de Beauveau,
count de Neuillan, and married, in 1651, Philippe de Montault-Bénac, duc de
Navailles, peer and marshal of France. She was one of the ladies-in-waiting to
the Queen Anne of Austria.
** Mademoiselle d’Ardennes belonged certainly to the family of the Rom-
millés in Brittany, who were lords d’Ardennes. She was most likely maid of
honour to the Queen. -
** Mademoiselle Louise Philippe de Coëtlogon, maid of honour to the Queen,
was afterwards married to the marquis de Cavoye.
** Madame de Crussol was married, March 16th, 1664, to Emmanuel de Crussol,
a son of the duke d’Usez; she was the only daughter of the duke de Montausier,
and her maiden name was Julie Marie de Sainte Maure.
** Madame de Montausier, the celebrated Julie of the hôtel Rambouillet,
whose real name was Julie Lucie d’Angennes, marchioness of Rambouillet and
Pisani, governess of the Dauphin, and lady of honour to the Queen.
** For Madame, see Introductory Notice to The School for Wives, Vol. II.,
page 141, note 1.
** Madame la princesse Bénédicte belonged most probably to some branch of
the house of France. I have, however, not been able to discover who she
Wà.S.
** Madame la Duchesse had been, for a year (1663), the wife of Henri-Jules de
Bourbon, duke d'Enghien, and was called, according to custom, Madame la
Duchesse. She was the daughter of Edward of Bavaria, palatine of the Rhine.
** Madame de Rouvroy was unmarried in 1664, when the fêtes at Versailles
were given, and belonged to the family of the duke of St. Simon. She was maid
of honour to the Queen, and married the count de St Vallier in l675. Mad. de
Sévigné speaks of her and her mother in her letters.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 23
Mothe,” Madame de Marsé,” Mademoiselle de la Vallière,” Mademoiselle
d'Artigny,” Mademoiselle du Bellay,” Mademoiselle de Dampierre,”
Mademoiselle de Fiennes.”
The splendour of this collation surpasses all that could be written of
it, as well for its abundance, as for the delicacy of the things that were
served up. It formed, likewise, the finest object for the gratification of
the senses; for, in the night-time, near the verdure of those palisades,
a great number of candlesticks painted green and silver, each of them
holding twenty-four tapers, and two hundred flambeaux of white wax,
held by as many masked persons, gave a light almost as great as, and more
agreeable than, daylight. All the knights, with their helmets covered
** Mademoiselle de la Mothe, daughter of the marshal Antoine de la Mothe,
marquis d’Houdancourt, was maid of honour to the Queen, and afterwards duchess
de la Vieuville.
67 Madame de Marsé. I have been unable to discover who this lady was ; most
likely, a maid of honour or lady in waiting to the Queen. In Burgundy there
was a lordship de Marzé, belonging to the noble family of Nanton.
6* Mademoiselle Louise-Françoise de La Baume Le Blanc de la Vallière,
the king's present mistress, had, only five months before, been confined of
her first child, and sought, afterwards, by a cloistral penance of twenty years,
to redeem the mistake of having loved that coarse and egotistical volup-
tuary, Louis XIV. She was born at Tours in 1644, and was maid of honour
to Madame in 1664. In 1667, the property of La Vallière was made a duché-
pairie in favour of Mademoiselle de la Vallière, and of her child, fille légiti-
mée de France, who became afterwards princess de Conti. Charles II., King of
England, who liked to imitate Louis XIV. as well as he could, bestowed a similar
reward upon Barbara Williers, countess of Castlemain, for similar services rendered
(see Introductory Notice to Love is the Best Doctor). Louis le Grand appears
to have acquired the name of “great” solely on account of his indomitable
will, which showed itself above all in a disregard for the feelings of others, in
his voracious appetite, in the repeated gratification of his brutal passions, in the
number of his mistresses and bastards, in his cravings for swallowing medicine,
and finally, in the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and his devotee drivellings,
by which he seemed to wish to cheat Heaven, as he had cheated posterity, out of
the nickname of “Grand,” by a sham! assumption of dignity. In justice to
Mons. Paul Lacroix, whom I know to entertain other opinions with regard to
Louis XIV., I beg to state that these remarks on the Grand Monarque are mine.
69 Mademoiselle d'Artigny belonged probably to the family de Guast, who
came from the Comtat Venaissin, in which the name and lordship of d'Artigny
are found. She was most likely one of the maids of honour to the Queen.
To Mademoiselle du Bellay, or rather de Belloy, was probably one of the maids
of honour to the queen, and belonged to the ancient and illustrious family of de
Belloy, of which a great many representatives were in the King's and Queen's
retinue.
71 Mademoiselle de Dampierre, was a maid of honour to the Queen, and after-
wards married to Alphonse de Moreuil, first gentleman of the chamber to the
prince de Condé.
72 Mademoiselle de Fiennes's real name was Mademoiselle de Fruges; but she
took the first title because she belonged to that noble house. She married Henri
Garnier, count des Chapelles, governor of Montargis, and would never take the
name of her husband. She had been maid of honour to the Queen.
24 THE PRINCEss of ELIS.
with plumes of different colours, and their tilting dresses, leaned on the
barriers; and the great number of officers, richly clad, who waited at
table, enhanced its beauty, and rendered that ring an enchanted place ;
whence, after the collation, their Majesties and all the court went out
by a portico opposite the lists, and in a great number of very comfortable
carriages, took their way to the castle.
The Second Day of the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.
On the evening of the second day, their Majesties went to another
ring, surrounded by palisades like the former, and in the same line
still projecting towards the lake, where the palace of Alcina was Sup-
posed to be built.
The plan of this second feast was that Rogero and the knights of his
troop, after having performed wonders in the lists, which by order of
the fair magician had been held in honour of the Queen, should continue
in the same manner the following diversion; and that, the floating
island not having left the French shore, they might afford her Majesty
the pleasure of a comedy, of which the scene was laid in Elis.
The King then caused, with surprising expedition, the whole ring to
be covered with cloths, shaped like a dome, to protect against the wind
the great number of flambeaux and wax lights which were to light up
the theatre, of which the decorations were very pleasing. They then
represented The Princess of Elis,” as well as six interludes. Whilst the
, shepherds and shepherdesses were singing and dancing at the end of the
sixth interlude, there rose, from underneath the stage, a great tree, on
which were sixteen fauns, eight of whom played on the flute, and the
others on the violin, with the most agreeable harmony. Thirty violins
answered them from the orchestra, as well as six harpsichords and
theorbos.
Four shepherds and shepherdesses came and danced a very fine entrée,”
in which the fauns, who had come down from the tree, mingled from
time to time. This whole scene was so grand, so busy, and so agree-
able, that no more beautiful ballet was ever seen.
Thus the amusements of this day, which all the court praised no less
than those of the preceding, ended most advantageously, every one going
away well satisfied, and having great expectations of the sequel of so
complete a festival.
The Third Day of the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.
The more they advanced towards the great round water, representing
the lake, on which formerly the palace of Alcina was built, the nearer
”* In the official description of The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island, Moliere's
comedy, The Princess of Elis, is placed here. I have printed it at the end of
this Introductory Notice.
** Sex Prefatory Memoir, Vol. I., page xxix., note 13.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 25
they came to the end of the amusements of the Enchanted Island, as if
it had not been fit that so many valiant knights should remain, any
longer in an idleness which would have wronged their glory.
Therefore, always following the first plan, it was pretended that,
Heaven having resolved to set free these warriors, Alcina had some
forebodings of it, which filled her with terror and uneasiness. She re-
solved to do all she could to prevent such a misfortune, and to fortify, by
all possible means, a place which might secure her entire repose and joy.
Within this round lake, of which the size and shape were extra-
ordinary, was a rock situated in the middle of an island, filled with
different animals, as if they would forbid the entry of it.
Two other islands, longer, but not so wide, were on both sides of the
first, and all three, as well as the banks of the lake, were so well lit up
that there seemed to arise a new day amidst the darkness of the night.
As soon as their Majesties had arrived and taken their places, one of
the two islands which were by the sides of the first was wholly filled
with violin-players, very well dressed. The opposite island was at the
same time filled with trumpeters and kettle-drummers, whose dresses
were no less rich. -
But what was more surprising was to see Alcina (Mademoiselle Du-
parc) issue from behind a rock, borne by a sea monster of prodigious
size. Two of her nymphs, called Celia (Mademoiselle Du Brie) and
Dirce (Mademoiselle Molière), followed her; and, placing themselves
on each side upon large whales, approached the bank of the lake; while .
Alcina began to recite the following verses, which her companions
answered, and which were in praise of the Queen, mother of the King.
ALCINA, CELIA, DIRCE.
Alcino. You who both share my happy lot,
Come, weep with me in this extremity.
Celia. Why such alarms so unexpectedly?
What draws such floods of tears from those bright eyes?
Alcina. I can't even think to speak on't without trembling
"Midst the dark horrors of a threatening dream,
A spectre with a hideous voice declared
That hell no longer aids me with its force,
That a celestial power arrests its aid,
And that this day for me shall be the last.
All the malignant influence of the stars,
Which adverse reigned ascendant at my birth,
And all misfortunes which my art had promised,
This dream foreshadowed in such lively colours,
That ceaseless to my waking eyes it offers
Melissa's power and Bradamant's good fortune.
These evils I foresaw, but the dear pleasures,
26 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
Which here seemed even to forestal our wishes;
Our lofty palaces, our fields, our gardens,
The pleasing converse of our dear companions,
Our songs and sports, the concerts of the birds,
The zephyr's fragrant breath, the murmuring waters,
The sweet adventures of our tender loves,
Made me forget those fatal auguries; -
When that dire dream, which still distracts my senses,
With sq much fury brought 'em to my mind.
Methinks I see my troops each moment routed,
My guards all slaughtered, and my prisons forced,
A thousand lovers by my art transformed,
Who bent on my destruction full of rage,
Quit, all at once, their trunks, and leafy dwellings
To take a righteous vengeance upon me;
And last methinks I see my dear Rogero
Ready to shake off my despised chains.
Celia. Fear in your breast has gained the upper hand.
You reign sole here ; for you alone they sigh;
Nought interrupts the course of your contentment,
But plaintive accents of your mournful lovers.
Logistilla’s” troops driven from our fields
Still quake with fear, hidden in their far mountains;
And even Melissa's name, unheard of here
Is only by your aug’ries known to us.
Dirce. Ah! let us not deceive ourselves, this phantom
Held, this last night, the same discourse with me.
Alcina. Alas! who then can doubt of our misfortunes 7
Celia. I see a sure and easy remedy ;
A queen appears, whose most auspicious aid
Will guard us from the efforts of Melissa.
The goodness of this queen is highly praised.
'Tis said her heart, whose constancy despised
The insolence of the rebellious waves,”
Is ever open to her subjects' vows.
Alcina. "Tis true, I see her. In this pressing danger
Let us endeavour to engage her succour.
Let's tell her that the public voice proclaims
The charming beauties of her royal soul.
Say, that her virtue, higher than her rank,
Adorns the lustre of her noble blood ;
And that our sex’s glory she has borne
So far, that times to come will scarce believe it.
75 Logistilla is a good fairy, and the sister of the wicked enchantress Alcina.
76 This is an allusion to the troubles of the Fronde during the minority of
Louis XIV.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 27
That her great heart, fond of the public good,
Gives her a generous contempt of dangers ;
Proof against ought that may befall herself,
She apprehends for nothing but the state.
Say that her benefits profusely poured,
Gain her the love and rev'rence of mankind,
That even the shadow of an ill that threats her
Is cause enough to put the world in mourning.
Say that at the acme of an absolute power,
Her grandeur without pride or pomp appears;
That in most dangerous times her constant prudence
Has fearless the prerogative supported ;”
And in the happy calm gained by her labours
Restores it to her son without regret.
Say, with what great respect, with what complaisance,
That glorious son rewards her for her cares.
Let's laud the just laws, and the life-long labours
Of that same son, the greatest of all monarchs;
And how that mother, fortunately fruitful,
Giving but twice, gave so much to the world.”
In fine, the more to move her to compassion,
Let's use the eloquence of sighs and tears,
Then we amidst our greatest pangs may find
A peaceful refuge at her royal feet.
Dirce. I know her heart, magnificently generous,
Does kindly listen to the voice of misery;
But yet she ne'er exerted all her power,
Unless to shield the innocent from wrong;
I know she all things can, but dare not think
She'll stoop so low as to defend our cause.
She may have been informed of our soft errors,
And nothing is more clashing with her conduct ;
Her well-known zeal for piety will render
Our interests odious to her spotless virtue ;
And far from growing less at her approach
My fear redoubling chills my troubled spirits.
Alcina. Oh my own fear's sufficient to afflict me.
Do not augment my grief, but try to soothe it,
To furnish my dejected soul, with means
Of warding off the ills that threaten it.
Meanwhile let all the palace guards be doubled,
And if there be no sanctuary for us,
Let us in our despair our comfort seek,
Nor yield ourselves at least without resistance.
77 Another allusion to the troubles of the Fronde.
7° Louis XIV. had only one brother, the Duke of Orleans.
28 - THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
When they had finished, and Alcina had gone out to double the
guards of the palace, a concert of violins was heard, during which the
front of the palace opened with wonderful art, and towers rose to view,
whilst four giants of great size appeared with four dwarfs, who, by the
contrast of their little stature, made that of the giants seem still more
excessive. To these giants was committed the guard of the palace, and
by them began the first entrée.
BALLET OF THE PALACE OF ALCINA.
The first entrée was composed of four giants and four dwarfs; the
second, of eight Moors, to whom the guard of the interior was entrusted
by Alcina, and who carefully visited it, each having two flambeaux.
Third entrée. Meanwhile some lover's quarrel prompted six of the
knights whom Alcina kept near her to attempt to get out of the palace;
but fortune not seconding the endeavours they made, in their despair
they were overcome, after a sharp combat, by as many monsters which
attack them.
Fourth entrée. Alcina, alarmed by this accident, invokes anew all her
spirits, and demands their aid; two of them present themselves before
her, leaping with wonderful force and agility.
Fifth entrée. Other demons came and seemed to reassure the enchan-
tress that they shall not forget anything that may contribute to her
repose.
Sixth and last entrée. But hardly had she begun to reassure herself,
when she saw the wise Melissa appear under the form of Atlant, near
Rogero and some knights of his train. She immediately hastened to
hinder her from executing her intention; but she came too late ; Melissa
had already placed on the finger of that brave knight the famous ring
which destroys enchantments. Then thunderclaps, followed by several
flashes of lightning, portended the destruction of the palace, which was
immediately reduced to ashes by fireworks, which put an end to this
adventure, and to the amusements of the Enchanted Island.”
It looked as if Heaven, Earth, and Water were all in a flame, and as
if the destruction of the splendid palace of Alcina, as well as the libera-
tion of the knights she there kept in prison, could be effected only amidst
prodigies and miracles. The height and number of rockets, those which
79 The names of all the dancers are given in the official description; but we
have omitted them, as not possessing the smallest interest at the present time.
Amongst them appears, however, a certain Molière, who was a professional
dancer and singer, and several times displayed his talents before the King. He
was in Paris at least ten years before Molière, and has composed a collection of
songs, which is printed. For more details about this namesake of our author, see
a note by the Bibliophile Jacob in the Catalogue Soleinne, Vol. iii., 9282. There
had also been another Molière, called François, who died in 1623, and whose nove.
Policene, published only in 1632, and to be found in the British Museum, caused
a certain sensation in those times. See Prefatory Memoir, Vol. I., page xxi.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 29
fell on the shore, and those which came out of the water after having
fallen into it, formed a spectacle so grand and magnificent, that nothing
could better terminate the enchantments, than these fine fireworks;
which, ending at last after an extraordinary length and noise, redoubled
the loud reports which had begun it. -
Then all the court withdrew, and confessed that nothing could be
more perfect than these three feasts. It is sufficient acknowledgment of
this perfection, to say that, as each of the three days had its partisans,
as every one of them had its particular beauties, none could agree
which ought to bear away the bell; although they all agreed that they
might justly dispute it with all those that ever had been seen till then,
and perhaps surpass them.
The Fourth Day of the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.”
But although the feasts properly belonging to the Pleasures of the
Enchanted Island were ended, yet all the diversions of Versailles were
not so. The magnificence and gallantry of the King had reserved some
for other days, which were no less agreeable. .
On Saturday, the 10th, his Majesty had a mind to run at heads,-an
exercise of which few people are ignorant, which has come to us from
Germany, and is well adapted for shewing a cavalier's skill, as well in
managing his horse in times of war, as in rightly using a lance, a dart,
and a sword. If there are any who never saw them run at, being not
so common as the ring, and brought hither only of late, they may here
find a description of it; while those who have had the pleasure of see-
ing them, may bear with so short a narrative.
The knights enter the lists one after another with lance in hand, and
a dart under the right thigh; and after one of them has run and borne off
a head of thick paste-board painted, and like a Turk's, he gives his lance
to a page, and, turning the horse partly round, he returns at full gallop
to the second head, which is like a Moor's and as black, bears it off with
the dart, with which he strikes it as he passes; then taking a javelin
a little different in form from a dart, in a third turn he plants it in a
-buckler, whereon is painted a Medusa's head; and ending his demi-volt,
he draws his sword, wherewith, as he gallops past, he bears off a head
raised half a foot from the ground ; then giving way to another, he who
in his running bears off most, gains the prize.
All the courtiers having arranged themselves behind a balustrade of
iron gilt, which went quite round the agreeable house of Versailles, and
which looks into the trench, where the lists and the barriers were, the
Ring repaired thither, followed by the same knights that ran at the ring.
The dukes de Saint-Aignan and de Noailles continued in their former
so The official account of the feast no longer separates the days; but as nearly
all old editions of Molière do so, I have followed them.
30 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
offices, one of marshal of the camp, and the other of judge of the course.
Of these, many were run very handsomely and successfully ; but the
Ring's skill gained him not only the prize of the ladies' course, but
likewise that which was given by the queen. It was a rose of diamonds
of great value, which the King won, but freely gave to be run for by the
other knights, and for which the marquis de Coaslin contended with the
marquis de Soyecourt, and gained.
The Fifth Day of the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.
On Sunday, at the King's Levee, almost all the conversation turned
on the fine running of the preceding day, and occasioned a grand chal-
lenge between the duke de Saint-Aignan, who had not yet run, and the
marquis de Soyecourt. The running was deferred till the next day,
because the marshal duke de Grammont, who bet for the marquis, was
obliged to go to Paris, whence he was not to return till that time.
On that afternoon, the King took all the court to his aviary, which
excited great admiration, both by its particular beauties, and by the
almost incredible number of birds of all sorts, amongst which were many
of great rarity. It would be useless to mention the collation which fol-
lowed this diversion, since, for eight successive days, every repast might
be esteemed one of the greatest feasts that could be made.”
In the evening, his Majesty caused to be represented, on one of those
double theatres of his Salon, which his boundless ingenuity had invented,
the very clever comedy of The Bores, (See Vol. II., page 83) written by
the sieur de Molière, with entrées de ballet.
The Sia:th Day of the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.
The rumour of the challenge which was to be run on Monday the
twelfth, caused an infinite number of bets of great value to be laid;
although that of the two knights was but a hundred pistoles. And as the
duke, by a happy boldness, gave one head to that dexterous marquis,
several betted on the latter, who, coming somewhat late to the King,
found a challenge to hasten him. This challenge being only in prose,
we have not inserted here. -
The duke de Saint-Aignan had likewise shown to some of his friends,
as an happy omen of his victory, these three verses:
** It must not be forgotten that Louis XIV. was an omnivorous eater. As
an example of this, I shall give a passage from one of the letters of the Princesse
palatine, duchess of Orleans: “I have often seen the king eat four plates-full of
different soups, a whole pheasant, a partridge, a large plate-full of salad, some
mutton roasted, with garlic, two good slices of ham, a plate-full of pastry, and
then fruits and sweets.” When Louis XIV. was seventy years old (1708), he
dieted himself as follows, according to the Journal de la Santé du Roy : “with
some soup, with either some pigeons or a fowl boiled in it, and three roast fowls,
of which he ate four wings, the breasts, and one leg.” Of course the courtiers tried
to imitate him ; hence the repeated mention of repasts.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 3 I
TO THE LADIES.
If, O ye fair, your sentiments agree
With mine, you shall confess this day, that he
Who conquers Soyecourt conquers ten besides—
still alluding to his name of Guido the savage whom the adventure of
the dangerous island made conqueror over ten knights.” As soon as
the King had dined, he conducted the queens, the duke and duchess of
Orleans, and all the ladies, to a place where a lottery was to be drawn,
that nothing might be wanting to the gallantry of these entertainments.
The prizes were precious stones, furniture, plate and similar things;
and though chance decided these presents, yet it certainly fell in with
his Majesty's desire, when it gave the great prize to the Queen. Every
one left that place very well pleased, to go to see the running which was
about to begin.
At length Guido and Oliviero appeared in the lists, at five o'clock in
the evening, very handsomely dressed and well mounted.
The King and all the court honoured them with their presence, and
his Majesty himself read the conditions of the running, that there might
be no difference between them. The duke de Saint-Aignan was fortu-
nate, for he gained the day.
At night, his Majesty caused to be performed the first three acts of a
comedy called Tartuffe (see Vol. IV.), which the sieur de Molière had made
against the hypocrites. But although the King thought it very diverting,
he found so much conformity between those whom a true devotion leads
in the way to Heaven, and those whom a vain ostentation of good works
does not hinder from committing evil ones, that his extreme delicacy
in point of religion could hardly bear that resemblance of vice and
virtue which might be mistaken for one another. And although he did
not doubt the good intentions of the author, he forbade its being
acted in public, and deprived himself of that pleasure, so as not to de-
ceive others, who were less capable of a just discernment.
The Seventh Day of the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.
On Tuesday the 13th, the King was pleased again to run at heads, as a
common sport, wherein he who hit most was to win. His Majesty gained
anew the prize of the course of the ladies, the duke de Saint-Aignan that
of the sport; and having had the honour to enter the next time into
competition with his Majesty, the incomparable skill of the King gained
him that prize also. It was not without unavoidable astonishment, that
the King was seen to gain four, whilst running twice at the heads. On
the same night was played the comedy of The forced Marriage (see Vol.
II., page 325), which was likewise the work of the same Molière. The
** There is in these lines an allusion to the marquis de Soyecourt's well-known
prowess in other fields. See also page 12, note 18.
32 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
king then took his way to Fontainebleau on Wednesday the 14th. All
the court was so satisfied with what they had seen, that every one was of
opinion that it ought to be put in writing, to give some idea of it to those
who did not see such varied and agreeable entertainments, wherein
were at once to be admired the project and the success, the liberality
with the politeness, the multitude with order, and the satisfaction of
all ; wherein the indefatigable pains of Monsieur Colbert were employed
through all these diversions, notwithstanding his important affairs;
wherein the duke de Saint-Aignan acted, as well as invented the design;
wherein the fine verses of the president de Périgny in praise of the
queens were so justly conceived, so agreeably turned, and repeated with
so much art; wherein those which M. de Benserade made for the
knights were generally approved; wherein the great care of M. Bon-
temps,” and the application of M. de Launay,” let nothing that was
necessary be wanting; wherein every one so advantageously testified
his design of pleasing the King, at a time when his Majesty himself
thought of nothing but pleasing; and wherein, in a word, all that was
seen will for ever continue in the memory of the spectators, even if
care had not been taken to preserve in writing the remembrance of all
these wonders.
88 Mons. Bontemps was the first valet de chambre of the King, and afterwards
became governor of the castles of Versailles and Marly. He was the confidant
and favourite of Louis XIV., to whom he rendered many segret services. St
Simon praises him in his Mémoires.
** M. de Launay was the intendant des menus plaisirs et affaires de la chambre.
D R A MATIS PERSONAE.
PERSONAGES IN THE COMEDY.
IPHITAs, father to the Princess of Elis.
EURYALUs, Prince of Ithaca.
ARISTOMENES, Prince of Messena.
THEOCLES, Prince of Pylos.
ARBATEs, governor to the Prince of Ithaca.
LYCAS, attendant on Iphitas.
MoRON, the Princess's fool.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.*
AGLANTA, cousin to the Princess.
CYNTHIA, cousin to the Princess.
PHILLIS, attendant on the Princess.
PERSONAGES IN THE INTERLUDES.
First Interlude.
AURORA.
LYCISCAs, a huntsman.8%
THREE HUNTSMEN, singing.
WHIPPERS-IN, dancing.
Second Interlude.
MORON.
HUNTSMEN, dancing.
Third Interlude.
|PHILLIS,
MORON.
A SATYR, singing.
SATYRS, dancing.
Fourth Interlude.
PHILLIS.
TIRCIS, a singing shepherd.
MORON.
Fifth Interlude.
THE PRINCESS.
PHILLIS.
CLIMENE.
Siarth Interlude.
SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERD-
ESSES, singing.
SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERD-
ESSES, dancing.
85 It has been said in the pamphlet la Fameuse comédienne (see Introduc-
tory Notice to The Impromptu of Versailles, Vol. II., p. 291), that Madame
Molière, whilst acting the part of the Princess of Elis, attracted the atten-
tion, and afterwards responded to the flame, of the Count de Lauzun, and
also, perhaps, to those of the Abbé de Richelieu and the Count de Guiche.
Several of Molière's biographers have repeated this accusation. M. Bazin,
in his Notes historiques sur la Vie de Molière, has proved that one of the
accused noblemen was at that time in Hungary, and the other in Poland.
86 This short part was created by Molière himself. Molière acted also
the part of Moron.
III.
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
(LA PRINCESSE D#LIDE)
FIRST INTERLUDE. SCENE I.
AURORA.
When Love presents a charming choice
Respond to his flame, oh youthful fair
Do not affect a pride which no one can subdue,
Though you’ve been told such pride becomes you well.
When one is of a lovely age
Naught is so handsome as to love.
Breathe freely sighs for him who faithful loves
And challenge those who wish to blame your ways.
A tender heart is lovely; but a cruel maid
Will never be a title to esteem.
When one is fair and beautiful
Naught is so handsome as to love.
SCENE II.
WHIPPERS-IN and MUSICIANS.
Whilst Aurora was singing these verses, four whippers-in were asleep
on the grass, one of whom, called Lyciscas, represented by M. de Molière,
an excellent actor, who had invented the verses and the whole comedy,
was lying between two, whilst the third was at his feet. The other
huntsmen were Messrs. Estival, Don, and Blondel, musicians of the
king, who had admirable voices, and who awoke, at Aurora's call, and,
as soon as she had finished, sang in recitativo.
Hullo 1 hullo I get up, get up, get up ! Everything must
be prepared for the hunting match. Hullo I get up; get
up quickly.
36 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
1 Whip. Day to the darkest spots imparts its light.
2. Whip. The air distils its pearls on flowers.
3 Whip. The nightingales begin their warbling notes,
and with their little concerts thrill the air.
All three. Come, come, get up ! quick, get up ! [To
Lyciscas asleep. What is the matter, Lyciscas ? What
you are snoring still you, who promised to outstrip Aurora 2
Come, get up ; get up, quick | Everything must be pre-
pared for the hunting match. Get up quickly, get up !
Make haste, get up !
Lyciscas. [Waking] Zounds, you are terrible brawlers |
You open your throats early in the morning.
Musicians. Do you not see the light beams everywhere?
Come, get up Lyciscas, get up.
Lyc. Oh I let me sleep yet a little while, I entreat you.
Mws. No, no, get up, Lyciscas, get up.
Lyc.' I only ask about a quarter of an hour.
Mus. Not at all, not at all; get up, quick, get up.
Lyc. Alas! I pray you.
Mws. Get up.
Lyc. A moment.
Mws. Get up.
Jyc. I beseech you.
Mws. Get up.
Lyc. Oh
Mus. Get up.
Lyo. I . . .
Mus. Get up.
Lyc. I shall have done immediately.
Mus. No, no, get up, Lyciscas, get up. Everything has
to be prepared for the hunting match. Quickly, get up ;
make haste, get up.
Lyc. Well, be quiet; I shall rise. You are strange
people to torment me thus. You will be the cause of my
being unwell all day; for, do you see, sleep is necessary to
man, and when one does not sleep one's fill, it happens . . .
that . . . one is not . . . [He falls asleep again.
I Mus. Lyciscas
2 Mus. Lyciscas
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 37
3 Mws. Lyciscas
All. Lyciscas |
Lyc. To the deuce with these brawlers I wish your
throats were stopped with scalding porridge.”
All. Get up, get up ; make haste ; get up, quick,
get up.
Lyc. Oh ! how wearisome not to sleep one's fill !
1 Mus. Soho, ho
2 Mws. Soho, ho
3 Mus. Soho, ho !
All. Soho, hol -
Lyc. Ho! ho ho! ho Plague take the fellows with
their howlings. May the devil take me if I do not give
you a good drubbing for this. But what deuced enthusiasm
possesses them to come and caterwaul in my ears at this
rate 2 *
All. Get up !
Lyc. Again Ż
All. Get up !
Jºyc. The devil take you !
All. Get up.
Lyc. [Getting up] What again Was there ever
such a passion for singing. Zounds ! I shall go mad
Since I am disturbed, I will not let the others sleep. I
shall torment them as they have done me. Come, Soho
gentlemen, get up, get up, quick ; you have been sleeping
too long. I shall make a devil of a noise everywhere. [He
showts with all his might] Get up, get up, get up ! Come
quick | Soho, ho! get up, get up ! Everything must be
prepared for the hunt; get up, get up ! Lyciscas, get up !
Soho I ho ho ho !
Lyciscas having at length risen with the greatest difficulty, and having
shouted as loud as he could, several horns and hunting-horns are blown,
which, together with the violins, begin an entrée-tune, to which sia:
whippers-in dance with great precision and order, whilst winding their
horns at certain periods.
* In Sir Walter Scott's Rob Roy, chapter xxxii., Bailie Nicol Jarvie
says: “And I wish Mr Jarvie's boots had been fu' o' boiling water
when he drew them on for sic a purpose.”
38 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT I.
ACT I.
ARGUMENT.
This hunt was prepared by the Prince of Elis, who, being of a gallant
and magnificent disposition, and desirous that the Princess, his
daughter, would think of marriage, to which she was very much
averse, had invited to his court the Princes of Ithaca, Messena,
and Pylos, thinking that whilst hunting, which she loved much,
or during other sports, chariot-races, and the like displays, one of
these princes might perhaps please her, and so become her husband.
SCENE I. -
Euryalus, Prince of Ithaca, in love with the Princess of Elis;
Arbates, his governor, who, indulgent to the prince's passion, praises
him in elegant phraseology, instead of blaming him.
EURYALUS, ARBATES.
Arb. This dreamy silence, to which you have accustomed
yourself so dolefully, makes you continually seek solitude,
those deep sighs which come from your heart, and that
gaze so full of languor, certainly say much to one of my
age. I believe, my lord, I understand the language; but,
for fear of running too great a risk, I dare not be so bold
as to explain it without your leave. -
Eur. Explain, explain with all freedom, Arbates, these
sighs, these looks, and this mournful silence. I give you
leave to say that love has subjected me to its laws, and defies
me in its turn. I farther admit that you make me ashamed
of the weakness of a heart which suffers itself to be overcome.
Arb. What, my lord, shall I blame you for the tender
emotions with which I now see you inspired ? The sourness
of old age cannot embitter me against the gentle transports
of an amorous flame. Although my life is near its close,
I maintain that love suits well such men as you; that the
tribute paid to the charms of a beautiful face is a clear proof
of a beautiful mind; and that it is not easy for a young
prince to be great and generous without being in love. It
is a quality I admire in a monarch. Tenderness of heart is
SC. I.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 39
a sure sign that everything may be expected from a prince
of your age as soon as we perceive that his soul is capable
of love. Yes, that passion, the most beautiful of all others,
draws a hundred virtues in its train. It urges the heart to
noble deeds, and all great heroes have felt its ardour. Your
infancy, my lord, was spent under my eyes. I have seen
realised the expectations formed from your virtues. I ob-
served in you qualities which told of the blood from which
you sprung; I discovered in you a fund of wit and bright-
ness; I found you handsome, great, and noble ; your courage
and your abilities shone forth every day; but I was con-
cerned because I did not perceive any traces of love. Now
that the pangs of an incurable wound show that your soul
is sensible to its strokes, I triumph, and my heart, full of
joy, looks upon you as a finished prince.”
Eur. If, for a time, I defied the power of love, alas! my dear
Arbates, it takes ample vengeance for it now. If you knew
the ills into which my heart is plunged, you yourself would
wish that it had never loved. For this is the fate that
awaits me ; I love—I, ardently love the Princess of Elis;
you know that that pride which lurks beneath her charming
aspect arms her youthful sentiments against love; and that
she avoids, during this grand feast, the crowd of lovers who
strive to obtain her hand. Alas ! how little truth is there
in the saying that the being we love charms us at first
sight, and that the first glance kindles in us those flames
to which Heaven. at our birth destined our souls. On
my return from Argos, I passed this way, and then saw
the Princess. I beheld all the charms with which she
—-m-m-sº
* These verses, spoken in a festival given by Louis XIV. to please
Mademoiselle de la Vallière, contain a very transparent allusion to the
monarch's passion. Of course, many things may be brought forward to
excuse Molière ; yet, after all, although we admire the dramatist,
we have not the same feelings for the courtier.
40 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT I.
is endowed, but looked on them as one would look on a
fine statue. Her brilliant youth, which I observed care-
fully, did not inspire my soul with one secret desire ; I
quietly returned to the shores of Ithaca, without so much
as recalling her to my mind for two years. In the mean-
time, the rumour spread to my court that she was known to
entertain a contempt for love; it was published everywhere
that her proud spirit had an unconquerable aversion to
marriage, and that, with a bow in her hand, and a quiver
on her shoulder, she roamed through the woods like another
Diana, loved nothing but hunting, and caused all the young
heroes of Greece to sigh. in vain. Admire our tempers and
fate What her presence and beauty failed to do, the fame
of her boldness produced in my heart. An unknown trans-
port was born within me, which I could not master. Her
disdain so bruited about had a secret charm, which made me
carefully call to remembrance all her features. Looking
upon her with new eyes, I formed an image of her so noble,
so beautiful,-picturing to myself so much glory, and such
pleasures, if I could but triumph over her coldness,
that my heart, dazzled by such a victory, saw its glorious
liberty fade away. It in vain resisted such a bait; the
sweetness of it took such complete possession of my senses
that, impelled by an invisible power, I sailed at once from
Ithaca hither, concealing my ardent passion under the pre-
tence of wishing to be present at these renowned sports, to
which the illustrious Iphitas, father of the princess, has
invited most of the princes of Greece.
Arb. But of what use, my lord, are the precautions you
take; and why are you so anxious to keep it a secret 2
You love this illustrious princess, you say, and come to
signalize yourself before her; yet neither looks, words, nor
sighs have informed her of your ardent passion ? I cannot,
for my part, understand this policy, which will not allow
SC. I.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 41
you to open your heart; nor do I see what fruit can be
expected of a love which avoids all modes of discovering
itself.
Ewr. And what should I gain, Arbates, by avowing my
pangs, but draw down on myself the disdain of her haughty
soul, and throw myself into the rank of those submissive
princes, whose title of lovers causes her to look on them as
enemies 2 You see the kings of Messena and Pylos in vain
lay their hearts at her feet; the lofty splendour of their
virtues, accompanied by the most assiduous respect, is use-
less. This repulse of their homage makes me conceal, in
sad silence, the warmth of my love. I account myself con-
demned in seeing her behaviour towards these famous rivals,
and read my own sentence in the contempt she shows to
them. g
Arb. And it is in this contempt and haughty humour
that your love should see its brightest hope, since fortune
presents to you a heart to conquer, which is defended only
by mere coldness, and does not oppose to your passion the
deep-rooted tenderness of some other engagement. A heart
already occupied resists powerfully; but when the soul is
free, it is easily overcome, and only a little patience is
needed to triumph over all the pride of indifference. Con-
ceal no longer from her the influence which her eyes have upon
you ; openly display your passion, and, far from trembling
at the example of others, fortify yourself with the hope that
you will be successful because they have been repulsed.
Perhaps you may possess the secret of touching her obdurate
heart, which these princes have not. And if, through her
imperious and capricious pride, you should not meet with a
more propitious destiny, it is at least a happiness in misfor-
tunes of this kind to see one's rivals rejected with oneself.
Eur, I am glad to find that you approve a declaration of .
my passion; by combating my reasons, you delight my soul.
42 3 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT I.
I wished to see, by what I said, whether you could approve
what I had done. In short, since I must take you into my
confidence, there is one who is to explain my silence to the
Princess, and perhaps, at the very moment I am talking to
you here, the secret of my heart is revealed. This chase, to
which she went, you know, this morning early, in order to
avoid the crowd of her adorers, is the opportunity which
Moron has chosen to declare my passion.
Arb. Moron, my lord 7 ... - - -
Ewr. My choice rather astonishes you; you misjudge
him because he is a court fool; but you must know that he
is less of a fool than he wishes to appear, and that, notwith-
standing his present employment, he has more sense than
those who laugh at him.” The Princess amuses herself
with his buffooneries: he has obtained her favour by a
hundred jests, and can thus say, and persuade her to, what
others dare not hazard. In short, I think him fit for my
purpose; he says he has a great affection for me, and, hav-
ing been born.in my country, will assist my love against all
rivals. A little money given him to sustain his zeal.” . . .
SCENE II.
Moron, represented by M. de Molière, arrives, and, being haunted
by the remembrance of a furious wild boar, before which he had
taken flight in the chase, asks for assistance. Meeting with Euryalus
and Arbates, he places himself between them for greater safety, after
having given proofs of his terror and cracked a hundred jokes
about his want of courage.
* The office of court fool was, at the time Molière wrote, not wholly
abolished; Louis XIV. still kept one, called l'Angeli, who formerly be-
longed to the Prince de Condé. Very little is known of him, except
that he was biting in his remarks, and atºlast obliged to leave the court.
I do not think any court fool was represented on the French stage from
the time of The Princess of Elis, until Victor Hugo's Triboulet in Le
Roi s'amuse. - . .
* See Appendix, Note A.
SC. II.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS, 43
EURYALUs, ARBATES, MORON.
Mor. [Behind the scenes] Help, help ! Save me from this
cruel animal.
Eur. I think I hear his voice.
Mor. [Behind the scenes] Come to me! for mercy's sake,
come to me ! -
Ewr. It is he. Where is he running in such a fright 2
Mor. [Appearing without seeing anyone] How shall I
avoid this frightful boar 2 Ye gods ! preserve me from his
horrid tusks, and I promise you, if he does not catch me,
four pounds of incense and two of the fattest calves. [Meeting
Euryalus, whom in his fright he takes for the boar from
which he is flying.] Oh I am dead. §
Ewr. What ails you ? .
Mor. I took you for the animal, whose throat I beheld
ready to swallow me; my lord, I could not recover from
my fright.
Eur. What is it :
Mor. Oh what a strange taste the Princess has ;
and, in following the chase and her extravagances, what
foolishness we must put up with. What pleasure can
these hunters find in being exposed to many thousand
terrors ? Now, if a man hunted only hares, rabbits, or
young does, it would be sensible; they are animals of a
very gentle nature, and always run away from us. But to
go and attack these unmannerly beasts, who have not the
least respect for a human face, and who hunt those who
come to hunt them ; that is a foolish pastime that I cannot
endure.
Eur. Tell us what is the matter.
Mor. [Turning rowmd] What a whim of the Princess to
take exercise under such difficulties I could have sworn
she would play this trick. As the chariot-race came on
44 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT I.
to-day, she must needs go hunt to show her open contempt
for these sports, and to make it appear . . . . . But,
mum, let me finish my tale, and resume the thread of my
discourse. What was I saying 2
Ewr. You were talking of an exercise under difficulties.
Mor. Ah yes. Well, then, fainting under this horrible
labour (for I was up at break of day fitted out like a famous
hunter), I slunk away from them all like a hero, and, find-
ing a good place to take a nap in, I laid me down, and, com-
posing myself, already began to snore comfortably, when
suddenly a frightful noise made me open my eyes, and I
beheld, coming out from behind an old thicket of the leafy
wood, a boar of enormous size for
Eur. What now
Mor. Nothing. Do not be afraid, but let me get between
you, for a reason; I may then be better able to tell you the
whole thing. I was saying I. beheld the boar, which, being
pursued by our people, set up all his bristles with a hideous
air; his glaring eyes darted only threats, his mouth with
an ugly grin shewed through the foam certain tusks, for
those who ventured near him . . . I leave you to
imagine it. At this terrible sight, I seized my weapons; but
the treacherous brute without the slightest fear rushed
straight at me, without my speaking a word to him.
Arb. And you stood your ground !
Mor. I was not such a fool | I threw down my arms
and ran like a dozen.
Arb. What I Having weapons, and yet fly from a boar !
That was not a valiant action, Moron.
Mor. I confess it was not valiant, but sensible.
Arb. But if one does not immortalize oneself by some
exploit
Mor. I am your servant. I had rather people should
say, it was here that Moron, by flying without much pres-
SC. II.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 45
sure, saved himself from the fury of a wild boar, than that
they should say, here is the famous spot where the brave
Moron, with heroic boldness facing the furious rush of a wild
boar, lost his life by a wound from his tusk.
Ewr. Very good.
Mor. Yes. Without offence to glory, I would rather live
two days in the world, than a thousand years in history.
Ewr. Your death would indeed grieve your friends; but
if your mind has recovered from its fright, may I enquire
if the passion which consumes me . . .
Mor. My lord, I will not dissemble with you. I have
done nothing yet, not having had the opportunity to speak
with the Princess as I desired. The office of court buffoon
has its prerogatives, but we must often turn aside from our
free attempts. To talk of your flame is a delicate matter;
it is a state affair with the Princess. You know in what
title she glories, and that her brain is full of a philosophy
which wars against marriage, and treats Cupid as a minor
god. I must manage the thing skilfully for fear of rous-
ing her tiger humour. One must be careful how to
speak to great folks, for they are very ticklish some-
times. Let me manage it by degrees. I am full of zeal
for you. I was born your subject. Some other obligations
may also contribute to the happiness I design for you. My
mother was esteemed handsome in her day, and was not
naturally cruel; that generous Prince, your late father,
was dangerously gallant, and I have heard that Elpénor,
supposed to be my father because he was my mother's
husband, related to the shepherds that he was occasionally
honoured by a visit from the Prince, and that, during that
time, he had the advantage of being bowed to by all the
village. That is sufficient Be that as it may, I intend
by my labours . . . But here is the Princess and two
of your rivals.
46 e THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT I.
SCENE III.
The Princess of Elis appears afterwards with the Princes of Mes-
Sena and Pylos, who show that their characters are very different from
that of the Prince of Ithaca, which procured for him, in the heart of
the Princess, all the advantages he could desire. This amiable Princess
did not show, however, that the merit of this . Prince had made any
impression on her mind, or that she had so much as observed him. She
always professed that, like Diana, she only loved the chase and the
forests; and when the Prince of Messena wished to mention the ser-
vice he had rendered her by rescuing her from a huge boar which had
attacked her, she told him that, without diminishing in aught her
gratitude, she considered his assistance so much the less considerable, as
she, unaided, had killed many as furious, and might perhaps have
overcome that one. -
THE PRINCESS, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, ARISTOMENES,
THEOCLES, EURYALUs, PHILLIS, ARBATES, MoRON.
Aris. Do you upbraid us, madam, for saving your charms
from this peril 2 For my part, I should have thought that
to overcome the boar which was about to attack you so
furiously was an adventure (not knowing of the hunt) for
which we ought to have thanked our happy fate; but, by
your coldness, I see plainly that I ought to be of another
opinion, and quarrel with that fatal power of chance which
made me take part in an affair that has given you
offence. & $º
Theo. For my part, madam, I esteem myself very happy
in having performed this action for which my whole heart was
anxious, and, notwithstanding your displeasure, cannot con-
sent to blame fortune for such an adventure. I know that,
when one is disliked everything one does displeases; but
even were your anger greater than it is, it is an extreme
pleasure, when one's love is extreme, to be able to rescue
from peril the object of one's love. .
Prim. And do you think, my lord, since I must speak,
that there would have been anything in this danger to
SC. Iv.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 47
terrify me so greatly 2 That the bow and arrow, which I
love so much, would have been a useless weapon in my
hands? And that I, accustomed to traverse our mountains,
our plains, our woods, might not dare hope to suffice for
my own defence % Surely I have made but little use of my
time and the assiduous labours of which I boast, if, in such
an emergency, I could not have triumphed over a wretched
animal. At least if, in your opinion, my sex in general
is unable for such actions, allow me the glory of a higher
sphere, and do me the favour, both of you, to believe that,
whatever the boar of to-day may have been, I have con-
quered fiercer ones without your help, my lords.
Theo. But, madam
Prim. Well, be it so. I see that your desire is to shew
me that I owe my life to you; I grant it. Yes, with-
out you I had lost my life. I heartily thank you for your
grand assistance, and will go at once to the Prince to
inform him of the kindness with which your love has
inspired you for me.
SOEWE TV.
EURYALUS, ARBATES, MORON.
Mor. Well! was there ever seen such an untamed spirit 2
The well-timed death of that ugly boar vexes her. Oh
how willingly would I have rewarded anyone who would
have rid me of him just now !
Arb. [To Euryalw8] I see, my lord, her disdain renders
you pensive ; but it ought not to retard in the least the
execution of your plans. Her hour must come, and perhaps
it is to you that the honour of conquering her is reserved.
Mor. She must know of your passion before the race,
and I . . .
Ewr. No, Moron, I do not wish it so any longer. Be
48 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT T.
careful to say nothing, and leave me to act; I have resolved
to take quite a different course. I see plainly she is
resolved to despise all who think to gain her heart by deep
respect; and the deity who induces me to sigh for her has
inspired me with a new way to conquer her. Yes, it is he
who has caused this sudden change, and from him I await
its happy conclusion.
Arb. May one know, my lord, by what means you
hope . . .
Ewr. You shall see it. Follow me and keep silence.
SECOND INTERLUDE.
ARGUMENT.
The agreeable Moron leaves the Prince to go and talk of his growing
passion to the woods and the rocks, uttering everywhere the beau-
tiful name of his shepherdess Phillis; a ridiculous echo answers
him whimsically; he takes so great a pleasure in it, that, laughing
in a hundred ways, he makes the echo answer as often, without
seeming at all tired of it. But a bear interrupts this fine amuse-
ment, and surprises him so much by the unexpected sight, that he
shows visible signs of terror, which causes him to make before the
bear all the bows he can think of to mollify him. At length he
is going to run up a tree; but, seeing that the bear is also going
to climb, he cries out for help so loudly, that eight peasants armed
with pointed sticks and spears appear, whilst another bear comes
after the first. A battle then begins, which ends with the death
of one of the bears, and the flight of the other.
SCENE I.
MORON, alone.
Good bye, till I see you again ; as for me, I shall stay
here, and have a little conversation with these trees and
rocks.
Woods, meadows, fountains, flowers, that behold my
pale countenance, if you do not know it, I tell you I am
in love. Phillis is the charming object who has fixed my
heart. I became her lover by seeing her milk a cow ; her
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 49
fingers, quite full of milk, and a thousand times whiter,
Squeezed the udder in an admirable manner. Ouf the
thought of it will drive me crazy. Ah Phillis Phillis
(echo, Phillis) ah! (echo, ah () hem! (echo, hem () ah ] (echo,
ah ) oh ſ (echo, oh () oh (echo, oh!) This is a funny echo
Hom 1 (echo, hom ) haſ (echo, ha ) ha (echo, ha () hu !
(echo, hu () This is a funny echo.
SCENE II.
A BEAR, MORON.
Mor. [Seeing a bear approaching] Oh, Master bear, I
am your very humble servant. Pray, spare me; I assure
you I am not worth eating; I am only skin and bone, and
I see certain people yonder who would serve your turn much
better. Eh eh ! eh my lord, gently, if you please.
There [he caresses the bear and trembles with fear], there,
there, there. Ha, my lord, how handsome and well-made
your highness is You look quite stylish, and you have
the prettiest shape in the world. Ah what beautiful
bristles what a beautiful head what beautiful, sparkling,
and large eyes! Ah what a pretty little nose ! what a
pretty little mouth ! what darling little teeth ! Ah what
a beautiful throat what beautiful little paws what well-
shaped little nails [the bear gets on his hind legs] | Help !
help I am dead Have mercy J Poor Moron Oh I good
Heavens ! Oh I quick, I am lost. [The huntsmen appear
and Moron climbs up a tree]. [He addresses the hunts-
ºnen]. Oh ! gentlemen, take pity upon me. [The hunts-
men fight with the bear]. That is right, gentlemen, kill that
ugly beast for me. Assist them, kind Heaven All right!
he runs away; there he stops and falls upon them. That
is right, there is one who has given him a thrust in his
throat. They all surround him. Courage—stand, to it !
well done, my friends ! That is right I go on 1 again Oh
there he is on the ground ; it is all over with him ; he is
dead. Let us come down now and give him a hundred
blows. [Morom comes down the tree]. Your servant, gen-
tlemen, I am much obliged to you for having delivered me
III. D
50 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT 11.
from this animal. Now that you have killed him, I am
going to finish him, and triumph with you.
These fortunate huntsmen had no sooner gained this victory, than
Moron, grown bold by the danger being remote, wishes to go and give a
thousand blows to the animal, no longer able to defend himself, and does
all that a braggart, not over bold, would have done on such an occasion ;
the huntsmen, to show their joy, dance a very fine entreč.
ACT II.
ARGUMENT.
The Prince of Ithaca and the Princess had a very gallant conversation
about the chariot race which was in preparation. She had ere this
told one of the princesses, her relatives, that the insensibility of the
Prince of Ithaca disturbed her, and was disagreeable to her: that,
although she did not wish to love anyone, it was very sad to see
that he loved nothing, and that, although she had resolved not to
go to see the races, she now would go, in order to endeavour to
triumph over the liberty of a man who was so fond of it. It might
easily be perceived that the merit of this prince produced its ordin-
ary effect ; that his fine qualities had touched her proud heart, and
had begun partly to thaw that ice which had resisted until then all
the ardour of love. Advised by Moron, whom he had gained over,
and who knew well the heart of the Princess, the more the Prince
pretended to be insensible, although he was but too much in love,
the more the Princess resolved to win his affections, though she
did not intend to return his love. The Princes of Messena and
Pylos took their leave of her, to go to prepare for the races, and
spoke of the expectation they had of being conquerors, because they
desired to please her. The Prince of Ithaca, on the contrary, told
her that, having never been in love with anything, he was going to
try to obtain the prize for his own satisfaction. This made the
Princess all the more anxious to subdue a heart, already sufficiently
subdued, but which knew how to disguise its sentiments in a won-
derful manner.
8CENE I.
THE PRINCESS, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, PHILLIS.
Prim. Yes, I love to dwell in these peaceful spots. There
is nothing here but what enchants the eye; and all the noble
architecture of our palaces must yield the palm to these
SC. I.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 51
simple beauties formed by nature. These trees, these rocks,
these waters, this fresh turf, have charms for me of which I
never tire.
Agl. Like you, I love tranquil retreats where one avoids
the bustle of the city. Such places are adorned with
a thousand charming objects; and what is surprising is that,
at the very gates of Elis, those gentle souls who hate a
crowd may find so vast and beautiful a solitude. But, to
tell you the truth, in these days of rejoicing your retreat
here appears somewhat unseasonable, and puts a slight on
the magnificent preparations made by each prince for the
public entertainment. The grand spectacle of the chariot-
race merits the honour of your notice.
Prim. What right have they to desire my presence, and
what do I owe, after all, to their magnificence 2 They take
these pains on purpose to win me, and my heart is the
only prize for which they all strive. But with whatever hope
they may flatter themselves, I am greatly mistaken if either
of them carries it off.
Cym. How long will this heart be provoked at the in-
nocent designs which are formed to touch it ; and regard
the trouble which people give themselves as so many
offences against your person 2 I know that in pleading
the cause of love, I am exposed to your displeasure, but
as I have the honour to be related to you, I oppose myself
to the harshness which you show; and cannot feed by
flattery your resolution of never loving. Is anything more
beautiful than the innocent flame which brilliant merit
kindles in the soul ? What happiness would there be in
life, if love were banished from among mortals? No, no,
the delights which it affords are infinite, and to live without
loving is, properly speaking, not to live at all.”
* As far as this line the play is, in the original, in verse ; but in the
printed edition, Molière inserted the following notice: “The design of
52 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT II.
Agl. For my part, I think that this passion is the most
agreeable business of life; that, in order to live happily, it
is necessary to love, and that all pleasures are insipid unless
mingled with a little love.
Prim. Can you two, being what you are, talk thus 2
And ought you not to blush for countenancing a passion
which is nothing but error, weakness, and extravagance, and
of which all the disorders are so repugnant to the glory of our
sex 2 I intend to maintain its honour until the last moment
of my life, and will never trust those men who pretend to
be our slaves, only to become in time our tyrants. All
these tears, all these sighs, all this homage, all these respects,
are but Snares laid for our hearts, and which often induce
them to act basely. For my part, when I behold certain
examples, and the hideous meannesses to which that passion
can debase persons who are under its sway, my whole heart
is moved ; I cannot bear that a soul which possesses ever so
little pride should not feel horribly ashamed of such weak-
IſleSSéS.
Cym. Ah, madam, there are certain weaknesses that are
not at all shameful, and which it is beautiful to have in
the highest degree of glory. I hope that one day you will
change your mind; and if Heaven please, we shall shortly
See your heart . . .
Prim. Hold. Do not finish that strange wish. I have
too unconquerable a horror of such debasement; if I should
ever be capable of sinking so low, I should certainly never
forgive myself.
Agl. Take care, madam I Love knows how to revenge
himself for the contempt shown him, and perhaps .
the author was to treat thus the whole comedy. But an order of the
Ring, who hurried on this affair, compelled him to finish the remainder
in prose, and to pass lightly over several Scenes, which he would have
extended if he had had more leisure.”
SC. II.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 53
Prim. No, no. I defy all his darts; the great power
which is attributed to him is nothing but an idle fancy,
and an excuse for feeble hearts, who represent him as in-
vincible to justify their weakness.
Cym. But all the world recognises his power, and you
see that the gods themselves are subject to his empire.
We are told that Jupiter loved more than once, and that
Diana herself, whom you so much affect to imitate, was not
ashamed to breathe sighs of love.
Prim. Public opinions are always mixed with error. The
gods are not such as the vulgar make them out to be, and
it is a want of respect to attribute to them human frailties.
SCENE II.
THE PRINCESS, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, PHILLIS, MORON.”
Agl. Come hither, Moron; come, help us to defend love
against the Princess's opinion.
Prim. Your side is strengthened by a grand defender
truly!
Mor. Upon my word, madam, I believe that after my
example there is no more to be said, and that none should
doubt any longer the power of love. I for a long time
defied his arms, and acted like a rogue, just as any other;
but at length my pride was cowed, and you have a traitress
[pointing to Phillis] who has made me tamer than a
lamb. After that, you ought to have no scruples to love;
and, since I have submitted to him, others may do the
Sal Cl62.
Cym. What I Moron in love 2
Mor. Yes, indeed.
Cym. And is he beloved ?
Mor. And why not ? Am I not well enough made for
* See Appendix, Note B.
54 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [Act II.
that I think this face is passable enough; and as to elegant
manners, thank Heaven, we yield to none.
Cym. Without doubt, it would be wrong to . . .
SCENE III.
THE PRINCEss, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, MORON,
& PHILLIS, LYCAS.
Lyc. Madam, the Prince, your father, is coming hither
to seek you; he brings with him the Princes of Pylos, of
Ithaca, and of Messena.
Prim. Heavens ! what does he mean by bringing them
to me 2 Has he resolved on my ruin, and would he force
me to choose one of them 2
SCENE IV.
IPHITAs, EURYALUs, ARISTOMENES, THEOCLES, THE
PRINCEss, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, PHILLIS, MORON.”
Prin. [To Iphitas] My lord, I beg you to give me leave
to prevent, by two words, the declaration of the thoughts
which you may perhaps foster. There are two truths, my
lord, the one as certain as the other, of which I can
assure you ; the one is, that you have an absolute power
over me, and that you can lay no command upon me which
I would not blindly obey; the other is, that I look upon
marriage as death, and that it is impossible for me to con-
quer this natural aversion. To give me a husband and to
kill me are the same thing; but your will takes precedence,
and my obedience is dearer to me than life. After this, my
lord, speak; say freely what you desire.
Iph. Daughter, you are wrong to be so alarmed ; and I
am grieved that you can think me so bad a father as to do
violence to your sentiments, and to use tyrannically the power
which Heaven has given me over you. I wish, indeed, that
&=ºsºv *
98 See Appendix, Note C.
SC. IV.] TILE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 55
your heart were capable of loving some one. All my desires
would be satisfied if that were to happen ; and I proposed
to celebrate the present fêtes and sports only to assemble
all the illustrious youth of Greece, that amongst them you
might meet one who would please you and determine your
choice. I say, I ask of Heaven no other happiness than to
see you married. To obtain this favour, I have this morn-
ing again offered up sacrifice to Venus; and if I know how
to interpret the language of the gods, the goddess promised
me a miracle. But, be this as it may, I will act like a
father who loves his daughter. If you can find one on
whom to fix your inclination, your choice shall be mine, and
I shall consider neither interests of state nor advantages of
alliance. If your heart remains insensible, I shall not
attempt to force it. But at least be polite in answer to
the civilities offered to you, and do not oblige me to make
excuses for your coldness. Treat these princes with the
esteem which you owe them, and receive with gratitude the
proofs of their zeal. Come and see this race in which their
skill will appear. * - -
Theo. [To the Princess] Every one will do his utmost
to gain the prize of this chariot-race. But, to tell you the
truth, I care little for the victory, since your heart is not to
be contended for.
Aris. For my part, madam, you are the only prize I
propose to myself everywhere. It is you whom I imagine
to be the reward in these combats of skill; I aspire honour-
ably to gain this race only to obtain a degree of glory which
may raise me nearer to your heart.
Eur. As for me, madam, I do not go with any such
thought. As I have all my life professed to love nothing,
I take pains, but not with the same object as the other
princes. I do not pretend to obtain your heart, and the honour
of gaining the race is the sole advantage to which I aspire.
56 º THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT II.
SCENE V.
THE PRINCESS, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, PHILLIS, MORON.
Prim. Whence proceeds thus unexpected haughtiness 2
Princesses, what do you say of this young Prince 2 Did
you observe what an air he assumed ?
Agl. It is true it was somewhat haughty. ... •
Mor. [Aside] Oh! what a fine trick he has played her 1.
Prim. Do you not think it would be pleasant to humble
his pride, and to abase a little that hectoring heart 2
Cym. As you are accustomed to receive nothing but
homage and adoration from the whole world, such a com-
pliment as his must indeed surprise you.
Prim. I confess it has caused me some emotion; and I
should much like to find a way to chastise this pride. I
had no great desire to go to this race, but now I shall go
on purpose, and do all I can to inspire him with love.
Cym. Take care, madam, the enterprise is dangerous;
and when one tries to inspire love, one runs a risk of receiv-
ing it.
Prim. Oh, pray apprehend nothing. Come, I shall
answer for myself.
THIRD INTERLUDE.
SCENE I.
MORON, PHILLIS.
Mor. Phillis, stay here.
Phil. No, let me follow the rest.
Mor. Oh I cruel creature | If Tircis had asked you, you
would have stayed fast enough.
Phil. That may be. I own I love much better to be
with him than with you, for he amuses me with his
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. fº 57
voice, and you deafen me with your cackle. When you
sing as well as he does, I promise to listen to you.
Mor. Oh, stay a little.
Phil. I cannot.
Mor. Pray do. -
Phil. No, I tell you.
Mor. [Holding Phillis] I will not let you go . . .
Phil. What a bother | -
Mor. I only ask to be one instant with you.
Phil. Well, I shall stay, provided you promise me one
thing. -
Mor. What 2
Phil. Not to speak at all.
Mor. Oh, Phillis.
Phil. If you do, I shall not stay.
Mor. Will you .
Phil. Let me go.
Mor. Well, stay ; I shall not say a word.
Phil. Take care you do not, for at the first word I shall run.
Mor. Be it so . . . . . . [Making Some gestwres] Ha,
Phillis I Ha . . . -
SCENE II.
MORON, alone.
Mor. She runs away, and I cannot overtake her. That
is the mischief. If I could but sing, I might do my business
better. Most women now-a-days are caught by the ear ;
that is the reason why every one learns music ; no one
succeeds with them but with little songs and little verses
that are warbled to them. I must learn to sing that I may
act like others. Oh I here is the very man.
SCENE III.
A SATYR, MoRON.
Sat. [Sings] La, la, la. - *
Mor. Ah, friend Satyr, you know what you promised
me, ever so long ago. Pray teach me to sing.
Nº. 9.
sº
58 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
Sat. I will; but first listen to a song I have just made.
Mor. [Aside and in a whisper] He is so used to sing
that he cannot speak otherwise. . [Aloud] Come, sing, I
am listening to you. &
Sat. [Sings] I was carrying .
Mor. A song, do you say ?
Sat. I was . . .
Mor. A song to be sung Ž
Sat. I was . . . -
Mor. A lover's song 2 Hang it ! -
Sat. I was carrying in a cage two sparrows I had
caught, when young Chloris, in a dark grove, showed to my
astonished eyes her blooming and lovely countenance. When
I beheld her gaze, so skilled in conquering, I said to the
Sparrows, Alas! console yourselves, poor little animals, he
who caught you is much more caught than you are.
Moron was not satisfied with this song, though he thought it very
pretty; he asked for one with more passion in it, and, begging the
Satyr to sing him the one he had heard him sing some days before, the
Satyr thus continued:—
In your songs so sweet, sing to my fair one, oh birds, sing
all my mortal pain. But if the cruel maid gets angry when
she hears the true story of the pangs I endure for her sake,
then, birds, be silent.
This second Song having moved Moron very much, he desires the
Satyr to teach him to sing it.
Mor. Ah this is fine ; teach it me.
Sat. La, la, la, la.
Mor. La, la, la, la.
Sat. Fa, fa, fa, fa.
Mor. Fa yourself.94
* In the original there is a play on words which cannot be rendered
into English. The musical scale consisted formerly of the notes ut, ré,
mi, fa, sol, la, si, ut; hence when Moron answers the Satyr Fat tot-
meme; it may mean “fa yourself,” or “dandy yourself.” -
º
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 59
The Satyr gets angry, and by degrees places himself in an attitude
as if he was coming to fisticuffs; the violins begin to play, and several
Satyrs dance an agreeable entrée.” *
A CT III.
ARGUMENT.
In the meantime the Princess of Elis was very uneasy; the Prince of
Ithaca had gained the prize at the races; afterwards the Princess
had sung and danced in an admirable manner; and yet it did not
seem that these gifts of nature and art had been even observed
by the Prince of Ithaca ; she complains of it to the Princess, her
relative ; she also speaks of it to Moron, who calls that unfeeling
Prince a brute. At last, seeing him herself, she cannot refrain
from making some serious allusions to it; he candidly answers that
he loves nothing except his liberty, and the pleasures of solitude
and the chase, in which he delights.
SCENE. I.
THE PRINCESS, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, PHILLIS.
Cym. It is true, madam, that this young prince showed
uncommon skill, and that his bearing was surprising.
He is the conqueror in this race, but I doubt much if he
leaves with the same spirit with which he came ; for you
aimed such blows at him that it was difficult to defend him-
self, and, without mentioning anything else, your graceful
dancing and the sweetness of your voice had charms to-day
to touch the most insensible.
Prin. There he comes, conversing with Moron. We shall
know what he is talking of Let us not interrupt them,
but turn this way, to meet them again by-and-bye.
* Shakespeare in his Merchant of Venice (Act v., Scene i.), has also
given a kind of musical interlude, in the scene between Lorenzo and
Jessica; but in it the sparkling poetry sometimes soars to the highest
realms of lyric enthusiasm; Molière wished only to give a comic scene,
interspersed with some songs.
60 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT III.
SCENE II.
EURYALUs, ARBATEs, MoRON.”
Ewr. Ah, Moron ] I confess I was enchanted ; never have
so many charms together met my eyes and ears. She is,
in truth, adorable at all times; but she was at that moment
more so than ever. New charms enhanced her beauty.
Never was her face adorned with more lively colours, nor
were her eyes armed with swifter or more piercing shafts.
The sweetness of her voice showed itself in the perfectly
charming air which she deigned to sing ; and the marvellous
tones she uttered went to the very depth of my soul, and
held all my senses so enraptured that they could not recover.
She then showed an agility altogether divine ; her lovely
feet upon the enamel of the soft turf traced such delightful
steps as put me quite beside myself, and bound me by irre-
sistible bonds to the easy and accurate motion with which
her whole body followed those harmonious strains. In short,
never did soul feel stronger emotions than mine. More than
twenty times I thought to give up my resolution, cast my-
self at her feet, and declare to her frankly the ardour which
I felt for her.
Mor. Take my advice, my lord, and be careful how you
do that. You have discovered the best method in the
world, and I am greatly deceived if it does not succeed.
Women are animals of a whimsical nature; we spoil them
by our tenderness; and I verily believe we should see them
run after us, were it not for the respect and submission
whereby men allure them.
Arb. My lord, here comes the Princess, a little in advance
of her retinue. -
Mor. At least, continue as you have begun. I shall go
96 See Appendix, Note D.
so. III.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 61
and see what she will say to me. In the meantime, walk
you in these alleys without showing any desire to join her,
and if you do accost her, stay as little with her as you can.
SCENE III.
THE PRINCEss, MoRON.97
Prim. You are intimate, Moron, with the Prince of
Ithaca :
Mor. Ah, madam we have known one another a long
time. *
Prim. What is the reason that he did not walk so far as
this, but turned the other way when he saw me !
Mor. He is a whimsical fellow, and only loves to con-
verse with his own thoughts.
Prim. Were you present just now when he paid me that
compliment 2
Mor. Yes, madam, I was, and thought it rather im-
pertinent, under favour of his princeship.
Prim. For my part, I confess, Moron, this avoidance of
me offends me. I have a great desire to make him fall in
love with me, that I may bring down his pride a little.
Mor. Upon my word, madam, you would not do ill; he
deserves it : but, to tell you the truth, I have great doubts
of your success.
Prim. How So 2
Mor. How 7 Why, he is the proudest little rogue you
ever saw. He thinks no one in the world is like him, and
that the earth is not worthy to bear him.
Prin. But has he not yet spoken of me?
JMor. He 2 No.
Prim. Did he say nothing to you of my singing and
dancing 2
97 See Appendix, Note E.
62 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT III.
Mor. Not the least word.
Prin. This contempt is shocking. I cannot bear this
strange haughtiness, which esteems nothing.
Mor. He neither esteems nor loves any one but himself.
Prin. There is nothing I would not do to humble him
as he deserves.
Mor. We have no marble in our mountains harder or
more insensible than he. -
Prim. There he comes. -
Mor. Do you see how he passes without noticing you ?
Prin. Pray, Moron, go and tell him I am here, and oblige
him to come and speak to me.
SCENE IV.
THE PRINCESS, EURYALUs, ARBATES, MoRON.98
Mor. [Going up to Euryalus and whispering to him]
My lord, I tell you everything is going on well. The Prin-
cess wishes you to come and speak to her; but take care
to continue to play your part. For fear of forgetting it,
do not stay long with her. +
Prim. You are very solitary, my lord ; and it is an ex-
traordinary disposition of yours to renounce our sex in this
manner, and to avoid at your age that gallantry upon which
your equals pride themselves.
Eur. This disposition, madam, is not so extraordinary
but that we may find examples of it at no great distance;
you cannot condemn the resolution I have taken of never
loving anything, without also condemning your own senti-
mentS. - -
Prim. There is a great difference. That which becomes
well our sex does not well become yours. It is noble for a
woman to be insensible, and to keep her heart free from the
—º
* See Appendix, Note F.
RC. Iv.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 63
flames of love : but what is a virtue in her is a crime in a
man; and as beauty is the portion of our sex, you cannot
refrain from loving us without depriving us of the homage
which is our due, and committing an offence which we ought
all to resent. - - .
Ewr. I do not see, madam, that those who will not love
should take any interest in offences of this kind.
Prim. That is no reason, my lord; for although we will
not love, yet we are always glad to be loved.
Eur. For my part, I am not of that mood; and as I
design to love none I should be sorry to be beloved.
Prim. Why so
Ewr. Because we are under an obligation to those who
love us, and I should be sorry to be ungrateful.
Prim. So that, to avoid ingratitude, you would love the
one who loved you ? -
Eur. I, madam 7 Not at all. I say I should be sorry
to be ungrateful; but I would sooner be so than be amorous.
Prim. Perhaps such a person might love you that your
heart . . . f
Ewr. No, madam ; nothing is capable of touching my
heart. Liberty is the sole mistress whom I adore ; and
though Heaven should employ its utmost care to form a
perfect beauty, in whom should be combined the most mar-
vellous gifts both of body and mind; in short, though it
should expose to my view a miracle of wit, cleverness, and
beauty, and that person should love me with all the tender-
ness imaginable, I confess frankly to you I should not love
her. tº
Prim. [Aside] Was ever anything seen like this?
Mor. [To the Princess] Plague take the little brute! I
have a great mind to give him a slap in the face. &
Prin. [Aside] This pride confounds me ! I am so vexed
that I am beside myself
64 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS, [ACT IIl.
Mor. [In a whisper to the Primce] Courage, my lord;
everything goes as well as can be.
Eur. [To Moron] Ah, Moron, I am exhausted I
have made strange efforts. -
Prin. [To Euryalus] You must be very unfeeling, in-
deed, to talk as you do.
Ewr. Heaven has not made me of another disposition.
But, madam, I interrupt your walk, and my respect ought
to inform me that you love solitude. -
SCENE V.
THE PRINCESS, MORON.
Mor. He is not inferior to you, madam, in hardness of
heart. . -
Prin. I would willingly give all I possess in the world
to triumph over him.
Mor. I believe you. - -
Prim. Could not you serve me, Moron, in such a design 2
Mor. You know well, madam, that I am wholly at your
service. -
Prim. Speak of me to him in your conversation. Cun-
ningly praise my charms and my lofty birth; try to shake
his resolution by encouraging him to hope; I give you
leave to say all you think fit, to try to make him in love
with me.
Mor. Leave it to me.
Prin. It is a thing I have set my heart on. I ardently
wish he may love me. - -
Mor. It is true, the little rascal is well made ; he has a
good appearance, a good countenance, and I believe would
suit very well a certain young Princess. - -
Prin. You may expect anything from me, if you can
but find means to inflame his heart for me.
sc. Iv.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 65
Mor. Nothing is impossible; but, madam, if he should
come to love you, pray what would you do?
Prim. Oh, then I would take delight in fully triumphing
'over his vanity; I would punish his disdain by my cold-
ness, and practise on him all the cruelties I could imagine.
Mor. He will never yield. - .
Prim. Ah Moron, we must make him yield.
Mor. No, he will not ; I know him ; my labour will be
in vain. - -
Prim. We must, however, try everything, and prove if
his soul be entirely insensible. Come, I will speak to him,
and follow an idea which has just come into my head.
FOURTH INTERLUDE.
SCENE I.
PHILLIS, TIRCIS.
Phil. Come, Tircis, let them go, and depict to me your
sufferings, in the manner you know. Your eyes have
spoken to me for a long time, but I should be more glad to
hear your voice.
Tir. [Sings] Alas! you listen to my sad complaints;
but, O matchless fair one, I am not the better for it; I
make an impression on your ears, but not on your heart.
Phil. Well, well, it is something to touch the ear; time
will produce the rest. Meanwhile, sing me some new ditty
that you have made for me.
ASCENE II.
MORON, PHILLIS, TIRCIS.
Mor. Oh I have I caught you, cruel one 2 You slink
away from the company to listen to my rival 2
Phil. Yes, Islink away for that reason. I repeat it to
you, I find a pleasure in his company; we hearken willingly
III. E
66 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
to lovers when they complain so agreeably as he does. Why
do you not sing like him 2 I should then take a delight in
listening to you. . -
Mor. If I cannot sing, I can do other things; and,
when . . . .
Phil. Be silent, I wish to hear him. Tircis, say what
you like. . -
Mor. Ah cruel one .
Phil. Silence, I say, or I shall get angry.
Tir. [Sings] Ye tufted trees; and ye enamelled meads ;
that beauty winter stript you of is restored to you by spring.
You resume all your charms; but, alas ! my soul cannot
resume the joy it has lost
Mor. Zounds ! why cannot I sing 2 Oh I stepmotherly
nature, why did you not give me the means of singing like
any other ?
Phil. Really, Tircis, nothing can be more agreeable, and
you bear away the bell from all your rivals.
Mor. But why can I not sing 2 Have I not a stomach,
a throat, and a tongue, as well as any other man 2 Yes,
yes, come on then. I too will sing, and show you that
love enables one to do all things. Here is a song I made
for you. -
Phil. Come, sing it then ; I shall listen to you for the
novelty of the thing. * &
Mor. Pluck up your courage, Moron, there is nothing
like boldness. [He sings.] Your extreme severity cruelly
wounds my heart. Ah Phillis, I am dying; deign to lend
me some assistance. Will you be the stouter for it, because
you have allowed me to die 7 . . . Well said, Moron.
Phil. That is very well. But, Moron, I should like very
much the glory of having some lover die for me ! It is an
advantage I have not yet enjoyed; I find I should love
with all my heart a person who would love me sufficiently
to kill himself. . .
Mor. You would love the person that would kill himself
for you ? -
Phil. Yes. -
Mor. That is the only thing to please you ?
SC. I.] - THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 67
Phil. Ay. - -
Mor. It is done then. I will show you that I can kill
myself when I have a mind to it.
Tir. [Sings] Ah! how pleasant it is to die for the object
one loves. - º
Mor. [To Tircis] It is a pleasure you may have when
you like.
Tir. [Sings] Take courage, Moron, quickly die, like a
generous lover. *
Mor. [To Tircis] Pray, mind your own business, and
let me kill myself as I like. Come, I will shame all lovers.
[To Phillis] Behold, I am not a man who makes
many compliments. Do you see this dagger ? Pray, ob-
serve how I shall pierce my heart. [Laughing at Tircis]
I am your servant; I am not such a fool as I look.
Phil. Come, Tircis, repeat to me, in an echo, what you
have sung.”
A CT IV.
ARGUMENT.
The Princess of Elis, hoping by a stratagem to discover the sentiments
of the Prince of Ithaca, confides to him that she loves the Prince of
Messena. Instead of seeming concerned at it, he gives her tit-for-
tat, and tells her that he is enamoured of the Princess, her relative,
and that he will demand her in marriage of the King, her father.
At this unexpected news, the Princess of Elis loses all firmness, and
although she tries to restrain herself before him, yet, as soon as he
is gone, she so earnestly entreats her cousin not to listen favourably
to this Prince, and never to marry him, that she cannot refuse. The
Princess complains even to Moron, who, having freely told her that
it was a sign she loved the Prince of Ithaca, is driven from her
presence on account of his remark.
SCENE. I.
THE PRINCESS, EURYALUs, MORON.
Prin. Prince, as hitherto we have shown a conformity
of sentiment, and Heaven seems to have imbued us both
99 See Appendix, Note G.
68 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT Iv.
with the same affection for liberty and the same aversion
to love, I am glad to open my heart to you, and to entrust
you with the secret of a change which will surprise you.
I have always looked upon marriage as a frightful thing,
and have vowed rather to abandon life than to resolve ever
to lose that liberty of which I was so fond ; but now, one
moment has dispersed all these resolutions. The merit of a
certain prince has to-day become obvious to me; my soul
suddenly, as it were by a miracle, has become sensible to
that passion which I have always despised. I presently
found reasons to authorise this change; I may attribute it
to my willingness to satisfy the eager solicitations of a
father, and the wishes of a whole kingdom; but, to tell you
the truth, I dread the judgment you may pass upon me,
and would fain know whether or not you will condemn my
design of taking a husband.
Eur. You may make such a choice, madam, that I
should certainly approve of it. -
Prim. Whom do you think, in your opinion, I intend to
choose ? . r - -
Ewr. If I were in your heart, I could tell you ; but as
I am not, I do not care to answer you.
Prim. • Guess, name some one.
Ewr. I am too much afraid of making a mistake.
Prim. But for whom would you wish that I should de-
clare myself?
Ewr. I know well, to tell you the truth, for whom I
could wish it; but, before I explain myself, I must know your
thoughts.
Prim. Well, Prince, I will disclose it to you. I am sure
you will approve of my choice; and, to hold you no longer
in suspense, the Prince of Messena is he whose merit has
made me love him.
Ewr. [Aside] Oh, Heavens !
SC. I.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 69
Prim. [Aside to Moron] My invention has succeeded,
Moron. He is disturbed.
Mor. [To the Princess] Good, madam. [To the Prince]
Take courage, my lord. [To the Princess] He is hit hard.
[To the Princel Do not be disheartened.
Prim. [To Euryalus] Do you not think that I am in
the right, and that the Prince possesses very great merit !
Mor. [Aside to the Prince] Recover yourself and answer.
Prin. How comes it, Prince, that you do not say a word,
and seem thunderstruck 2
Ewr. I am so, indeed, and I wonder, madam, that
Heaven could form two souls so alike in everything as ours;
two souls in which are seen the greatest conformity of senti-
ment, which have shown, at the same time, a resolution to
brave the power of love, and which, in the same instant,
have shown an equal facility in losing the character of insen-
sibility. For in short, madam, since your example authorises
me, I shall not scruple to tell you that love, this very day,
has mastered my heart, and that one of the princesses, your
cousins, the amiable and beautiful Aglanta, has overthrown
with a glance all my proud projects. I am overjoyed,
madam, that we cannot reproach each other, as we are
equally defeated. I do not doubt that, as I praise your
choice greatly, you shall also approve mine. This miracle
must become apparent to all the world, and we ought not
to delay making ourselves both happy. For my part,
madam, I solicit your influence, so that I may obtain her I
desire ; you will not object that I go immediately to ask her
hand of the Prince, your father.
Mor. [Aside to Euryalus] Ah, worthy heart l ah, brave
spirit ! . .
7() THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT Iv.
SCENE II.
THE PRINCESS, MORON.
Prin. Ah, Moron ] I am undone. This unexpected blow
absolutely triumphs over all my firmness.
Mor. It is a surprising blow, it is true; I thought at
first that your stratagem had taken effect.
Prin. Ah ! this vexation is enough to drive me mad
Another has the advantage of subduing a heart which I
wished to conquer.
SCENE III.
THE PRINCESS, AGLANTA, MoRON.
Prim. Princess, I have one thing to beg of you, which
you absolutely must grant me. The Prince of Ithaca loves
you, and designs to ask your hand of the Prince, my father.
Agl. The Prince of Ithaca, madam |
Prin. Yes; he has just now told me so himself, and asked
my consent to obtain your hand; but I conjure you to re-
ject this proposal, and not lend an ear to what he may say.
Agl. But, madam, if it be true that this prince really
loves me, and as you have yourself no design to gain his
affections, why will you not suffer . . .
Prin. No, Aglanta. I desire it of you. I beg you to
gratify me so far; and, as I have not the advantage of sub-
duing his heart, let me have the pleasure of depriving him
of the joy of obtaining yours,
Agl. Madam, I must obey you ; but I should think the
conquest of such a heart no contemptible victory.
Prin. No, no, he shall not have the pleasure of braving
me entirely. - •
so. Iv.-v.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 71
SCENE IV.
THE PRINCESS, ARISTOMENES, AGLANTA, MoRON.
Aris. Madam, at your feet I come to thank love for my
happy fate, and to testify to you, by my transports, how
grateful I am for the surprising goodness with which you
deign to favour the most humble of your captives.
Prin. How
Aris. The Prince of Ithaca, madam, just now assured me
that, with regard to that celebrated choice which all Greece
awaits, your heart had been kind enough to declare itself in
my favour.
Prim. He told you that he had it from my mouth 2
Aris. Yes, madam.
Prin. He is thoughtless, and you are a little too credu-
lous, prince, to believe so hastily what he told you; such
news, in my opinion, should have been doubted for some
time; and you could have done no more than believe it, if I
myself had told it you.
Aris. Madam, if I have been too ready in persuading
myself . . .
Prin. Pray, my lord, let us break off this conversation;
and, if you will oblige me, let me enjoy a moment's solitude.
SCENE V.
THE PRINCESS, AGLANTA, MORON.
Prin. With what strange severity Heaven uses me in
this adventure At least, Princess, remember the request
I have made to you.
Agl. I have already told you, madam, that you shall
be obeyed.
72 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT IV.
SCENE VI.
THE PRINCESS, MORON.
Mor. But, madam, if he loved you, you would not have
him, and yet you will not let him be another's. It is just
like the dog in a manger.”
Prim. No, I cannot bear that he should be happy with
another. If such a thing is to be, I believe I shall die with
vexation.
Mor. Come, madam, confess all. You would fain have
him for yourself; and in all your actions it is easily seen that
you rather love this young prince.
Prim. I, I love him 2 Oh, Heavens ! I love him 2 Have
you the insolence to pronounce those words ; Out of my
sight, impudent man, and never let me see you again.
Mor. Madam .
Prim. Begone, I say, or I shall make you leave in an-
other manner.
Mor. [Aside] Upon my word, her heart is no longer free,
and . . . [The Princess casts a look upon him which sends
him away.]
SCENE VII.
THE PRINCESS, alone.
What unknown emotion do I feel in my heart | What
secret uneasiness suddenly disturbs the tranquillity of
my soul | Is it not what I have just been told, and do
I love this young prince without knowing it ! Ah 1 if it
were so, I should be in despair. But it is impossible it
should be so, and I plainly perceive that I can never love
199 A dog in a manger cannot himself eat the corn and straw that
are there, but barks if any other animal approaches, and will not allow
it to eat in peace; this is called in French faire comme le chien du
jardinier, because a dog cannot eat cabbage, and does not permit others
to eat it.
sc. VII.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 73
him. What 1 I be capable of that baseness I have seen
the whole world at my feet with the utmost insensibility.
Respect, homage, submission, could never touch my soul;
and shall haughtiness and disdain triumph over it ! I have
despised all those who have loved me, and shall I love the
only one who despises me ! No, no, I know well I do not
love him; there is no reason for it. But if this is not
love which I now feel, what can it be 2 And whence comes
this poison which runs through all my veins, and will not
let me rest ? Out of my heart, whatever you may be, you
enemy who lurk there ! Attack me openly, and appear
before me as the most frightful monster of all our forests, so
that with my darts and javelins I may rid myself of you.
FIFTH INTERLUDE.
SCENE I.
THE PRINCESS, alone.
O, you admirable ones, who by your sweet songs can
calm the greatest uneasiness, draw near, I pray you, and
try to soothe, with your music, the sorrow which I feel.
* SCENE II.
THE PRINCESS, CLIMENE, PHILLIS,
(Climëne and Phillis sing this duet.)
Clim. Tell me, dear Phillis, what think you of love 7
Phil. Tell me, what think you, my dear trusty friend ?
Clim. They say its flame is worse than vulture's gnawing,
And that great pangs are suffered when one loves.
Phil. They say no fairer passion e'er existed,
And that we live not, if we do not love.
Clim. Which of us two shall be victorious here 7
Phil. Must we believe love to be good or ill ?
74 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT v.
Both. Let's love, and then we'll know
What we ought to believe. -
Phil. Chloris praises love and its flames everywhere.
Clim. For its sake, Amarant sheds always tears.
Phil. If it fills every heart with so much pain
Whence comes it that we like to yield to it 3
Clim. If, Phillis, its flame is so full of charms
Why forbid us its pleasures to enjoy!
Phil. Which of us two shall be victorious here ?
Clim. Must we believe love to be good or ill ?
Both. Let's love, and then we'll know
What we ought to believe.
Prim. [Interrupting them here, says] Finish alone, if
you like. I cannot remain at rest; and however agreeable
your songs are, they do but redouble my uneasiness.
ACT V.
ARGUMENT.
The heart of the Prince of Messena was agitated by various feelings;
the joy which the Prince of Ithaca had caused by maliciously
informing him that he was beloved by the Princess, had compelled
him to go to her, with a want of consideration which nothing but
extreme love could excuse ; but he was received in a manner very
different from what he hoped for. She asked him who had told
him that news ; and when she knew that it was the Prince of
Ithaca, that knowledge cruelly increased her disease, and made her
nearly beside herself. She replied “He is thoughtless.” This so
confounded the Prince of Messena that he departed without being
able to answer. On the other hand, the Princess went to the King,
her father, who came with the Prince of Ithaca, and told the
latter not only how delighted he should be to see him allied to him,
but even the opinion he entertained that his daughter did not hate
him. No sooner was the Princess in her father's presence than,
casting herself at his feet, she asked him, as the greatest favour she
could ever receive, that the Prince of Ithaca might not marry the
Princess Aglanta. This he solemnly promised her; but he told her
that if she did not wish him to belong to another, she should take
him herself. She answered “that the Prince did not desire it,”
but in such a passionate manner that it was easy to see the senti-
ments of her heart. Then the Prince, abandoning all disguise,
SC. I.-II.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 75
avowed his love for her, and the stratagem which, knowing her dis-
position, he had made use of, in order to attain the object he had now
reached. The Princess giving him her hand, the King ed
towards the two Princes of Messena and Pylos, and asked ºnem
if his two relatives, whose merit was equal to their rank, were
incapable of consoling them in their disgrace. They answered that,
the honour of his alliance being all they wished for, they could not
expect a happier lot. This occasioned so great a joy in the Court,
that it spread over the whole neighbourhood. -
SCENE I.
IPHITAs, EURYALUs, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, MORON.
Mor. [To Iphitas] Yes, my lord, it is no jest; I am
what they call in disgrace. I was forced to pack up my
traps as quickly as I could ; you never saw any one more
suddenly in a passion than she was. -
Iph. [To Euryalus] Ah, Prince 1 how grateful I ought
to be for your amorous stratagem, if it has found the secret
of touching her heart 1
Eur. Whatever, my lord, you may have been told, I dare
not, for my part, yet flatter myself with that sweet hope;
but if it is not too presumptuous in me to aspire to the
honour of your alliance, if my person and dominions . . .
Iph. Prince, let us not enter upon these compliments.
I find in you all that a father could desire; and if you have
gained the heart of my daughter, you want nothing more.
ASCENE II.
THE PRINCESS, IPHITAS, EURYALUs, AGLANTA,
CYNTHIA, MoRON.”
Prim. Oh, Heaven what do I see here ?
Iph. [To Euryalus] Yes, the honour of your alliance
is of the highest value to me; and without any farther diffi-
culty I consent to your request.
Prin. [To Iphitas] My lord, I throw myself at your feet
* See Appendix, Note H.
76 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [ACT v.
to beg a favour of you. You have always shewn great tender-
ness for me ; I owe you much more for your kindness
than for my birth. But if ever you had any affection
for me, I now ask the greatest proof of it which you can
show. My lord, do not listen to that prince's request
and do not permit the princess Aglanta to marry him.
Iph. And why, daughter, would you oppose that union ?
Prim. Because I hate the Prince, and will, if I can, cross
his designs.
Iph. You hate him, daughter ?
Prim. Yes, from my heart I confess it.
Iph. And what has he done to you ?
Prim. He has despised me.
Iph. And how !
Prim. He did not consider me handsome enough to pay
his addresses to me.
Iph. What offence does that give you ? You will
accept no one's hand.
Prim. No matter. He ought to have loved me like the
rest, and at least have left me the glory of refusing him.
His love for Aglanta is an insult to me ; he disgraces me
when, in my presence and in the midst of your court, he
has sought the hand of any other but me.
Iph. But whº interest can you have in him
Prim. My lord, I wish to revenge myself for his disdain;
and as I know he is very much in love with Aglanta, with
your permission I shall prevent him from being happy with
her.
Iph. Then you take this to heart 2
Prim. Without doubt, my lord ; and if he obtains his
desires, I shall die before your eyes.
Iph. Come, come, daughter, make a frank confession.
This Prince's merit has made you open your eyes; and in
short, you love him, say what you will.
SC. II.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 77
Prim. I, my lord 7
Iph. Yes, you love him.
Prim. I love him, say you ? Do you impute such base-
ness to me ! Oh, Heavens ! how great is my misfortune
Can I hear these words and live 2 And must I be so unhappy
as to be suspected of loving him ; Oh if it were anyone
but you, my lord, who spoke thus to me, I know not what
I should do. º
Iph. Well, well, you do not love him. You hate him,
I grant; and I am resolved to content you, so that he shall
not wed the Princess Aglanta. t--
Prin. Oh my lord, you give me life.
Iph. But to prevent his ever being hers, you must take
him for yourself.
Prim. You are joking, my lord, and that is not what he
desires.
Ewr. Pardon me, madam, I am rash enough to aspire
so high, and I take to witness the prince, your father, if it
was not your hand I asked of him. I have deceived you
too long ; I must throw off the mask, and, though you use
it against me, discover to your eyes the real sentiments of
my heart. I have never loved anyone but you, and never
shall I love any other. It is you, madam, who took from
me that want of feeling which I always affected ; all I said
to you was only a feint which I adopted, inspired by some
secret motive, and which I did not follow up without doing
the greatest violence to my feelings. It must soon have
ceased, no doubt, and I am only astonished that it lasted
for half a-day; for I was dying, my soul was burning within
me, when I disguised my sentiments to you ; never did a
heart suffer a constraint equal to mine. If this feint, madam,
has given you offence, I am ready to die to avenge you;
you have only to speak, and my hand will immediately glory
in executing the decree you pronounce.
78 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. [Act v.
Prin. No, no, Prince, I do not take it ill that you have
deceived me; and would rather that all you have said to
me were a feint than not the truth.
Iph. So that you accept the Prince for a husband, my
daughter?
Prin. My lord, I do not yet know what I shall do. Pray
give me time to think of it, and spare a little the confusion
I am in.
Iph. Prince, you may guess the meaning of this; and
you can now see what you may expect.
Ewr. I shall wait as long as you please, madam, for this
decree of my destiny; and, if it condemns me to death, I shall
obey without murmuring.
Iph. Come, Moron, this is a day of peace, and I restore
you to favour with the Princess.
Mor. My lord, I shall be a better courtier for the future,
and shall take very good care not to say what I think.
SCENE III.
ARISTOMENES, THEOCLES, IPHITAS, the PRINCESS, AGLANTA,
CYNTHIA, MORON.
Iph. [To the Princes of Messena and Pylos] I am
afraid, princes, that my daughter's choice is not in your
favour; but there are two princesses who may console you
for this trifling misfortune.”
Aris. My lord, we have made up our minds; and, if these
amiable Princesses have not too great contempt for hearts
which have been repulsed, we may, through them, attain to
the honour of your alliance.
* The hands of the two princesses, Aglanta and Cynthia, seem to be
right royally disposed of: they have not even been courted, but the
answers of the two princes denote also royal causes for alliance.
SC. LAST.] THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 79
SCENE THE LAST.
IPHITAs, the PRINCESS, AGLANTA, CYNTHIA, PHILLIS,
EURYALUs, ARISTOMENES, THEOCLES, MORON.
Phil. [To Iphitas] My lord, the goddess Venus has pro-
claimed everywhere the change in the Princess's heart. All
the shepherds and shepherdesses testify their joy for it by
dances and songs; and, if it is not a spectacle which you
despise, you may see the public rejoicings extend as far
as this.
TEIE END.
SIXTH INTERLUDE.
A chorus of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES, who dance.
Four shepherds and two shepherdesses, dressed in the heroic style,
and holding each other's hands, sing this song, to which the rest
(I/SQU07.
Proud fair, employ in better way
The power of charming all:
Love, darling rustic maidens:
Our hearts are made to love.
However much we e'er may try
One day comes when we love.
Naught does exist but yet it yields
To the sweet charms of love.
In pristine youth, oh follow
The ardent love's delight.
A heart only begins to live
The day it knows to love.
However much, etc., etc.
The rest of the Interlude will be found in the Introductory
. Notice to this comedy, page 24. sº
A PPEN DIX.
A, Page 42.
This scene from The Princess of Elis (Actii., Scene 1) is thus imitated
by Miller in his Universal Passion. Arbates is called Lucentius, and
Euryalus Bellario.
Lucentius, Come, come, my Lord, 'tis in vain to dissemble; that deep
Thoughtfulness, those downcast Looks, and those involuntary Sighs,
carry a Meaning with 'em which one of my Age and Observation in
Life can't long be a Stranger to — But I transgress, perhaps, by
insisting so long on this Subject.
Bellario. No, Lucentius, you can’t deal too freely with me upon it.—
I must own, tho' with blushing, that Love has at last found a way to
my Heart—, Come, my good old Tutor, and chastise me for this Folly;
rally me without Reserve for being guilty of such a Weakness.
Luce. No, my Lord, even the cold Severity of Old Age can't induce
me to condemn so generous a Passion. Your Infancy was spent under
my Care ; I observ'd in you such excellent Talents as proclaim'd the
Blood you sprung from, but at the same time was grieved to perceive
no Footsteps of the tender Passion ; this was the only Accomplishment
wanting, and I am therefore transported at your being sensible of it.
Bel. If I have hitherto slighted the Power of Love it takes its fill of
Revenge for it now. When I first arrived at Genoa, I was surpris'd at
the Charms of lovely Lucilia, Daughter to the Duke here; but then I
beheld 'em with no other Regard than I should have view'd those of a
Painting or Statue: Her blooming Beauties inspir'd my Soul with no
secret Inclination; but what her soft, her gentle Frame could not
effect, her haughty disdainful Soul too soon accomplish'd : When I
found her, like another Diana, frequenting the Forests and delighting
only in the Chace, whilst all the Italian Youths were left to sigh in
vain; then, then, Lucentius, Ambition begot Love in me : O the Glory
and Rapture of triumphing over such Coldness In short, by the
Vanity of aiming at a Conquest over her Heart, I have irrecoverably
lost my own.
Luce. But to what purpose, my Lord, do you make so great a Secret
of your Passion ?
Bel. What must I expect from the Discovery, Lucentius, but bringing
III. F
82 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
on me the Contempt of her insolent Spirit, like the rest of her Admirers?
who owning themselves Lovers makes her treat 'em as Spaniels : Their
Usage is a sufficient Warning to me.
Luce. Not at all, my Lord, not at all : If there was a Favourite in
the Case you might have reason to despair, but when there's nothing
but a little Female Pride in the way.—Psha, Psha, Psha : Why ’t is
only so much as to say, that none but a dauntless Champion shall win
me.—I know the Sex—ay, ay, I know 'em.—Why, I warrant she's half
distracted that you han’t attacked her before now.—Come, come, my
Lord, discover your Inclinations, and go manfully to work; don't
tremble at other Peoples want of Success, but let Courage be the Word
and secure your own.
Bel. I am glad your opinion, Lucentius, agrees with my own, for,
like a true Lover, I have been asking Advice when 't was too late to
take it; for there 's a Person, you must know, whom I have already
employed to reveal it to her : This Hunting-Match which she has
appointed to-day, in contradiction to the magnificent Sports, which are
to be given by her Lovers in honour of her Birth-Day, is the Oppor-
tunity which Joculo takes to speak to her.
Luce. Who? Joculo Joculo l my Lord?
Bel, You wonder, I see, Lucentius, at my Choice of a Confidant :
You think him a Fool perhaps, but he's far from being so; and, not-
withstanding his employment of Court-Jester, he has more sense than
many in a higher station who take upon 'em to laugh at him. His
shrewd Wit and Talent at Raillery are agreeable to Lucilia; then he
has the Liberty of saying anything by virtue of his Office, and he can
often give her a serviceable Hint in a Jest, which would not be taken
so well in earnest.
Luce. O dear, dear, dear! what a strange World this is, that People
of Rank should be directed in the Disposal of their Favours by their
Lacqueys and Buffoons !
B, Page 53.
Miller has imitated, in The Universal Passion (Act i., Scene 2) the fol-
lowing scene from The Princess of Elis (Act ii., Scenes 1, 2). The Prin-
cess is called in the English comedy Lucilia, Aglanta her cousin is
Liberia, her maid Phillis, Delia, and Moron, Joculo.
Luc. How charming and agreeable is a little Solitude to us who are
eternally surrounded and teaz'd with Multitudes 1 and what Satisfaction
to converse a little with one's own Thoughts and Desires, free from the
Impertinence of Flattery and Folly O, my dear Liberia, how I love
these lonely Forests, these scenes of Freedom and Innocence 1 There 's
nothing here but what enchants the Eye.—What are all the gilded Toys
of a Palace to these simple Beauties of Nature ? -
Lib. Why ay, Cousin, such a Retreat as this, at the very Gate of a
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. S3
Court, is well enough sometimes to give one a stronger Relish for suc-
ceeding Gaities within ; but in this time of general Joy it looks, me-
thinks, a little unseasonable, and I am afraid 't will be taken as a direct
Affront to the young Lords, who give this magnificent Entertainment
On your Account.
Luc. What Right have they to expect my Presence? How am I oblig'd
to 'em for their magnificence? They act in this manner for themselves,
not me. My Heart is the Prize, it seems, and this is the Method they
take to win it; but they may find themselves deceiv'd.
Lib. My sweet Cousin, how long will this flinty Heart of your's be
provok'd at every innocent attempt to touch it? You look upon the
Addresses of your Admirers as so many criminal Plots against your
Person. Where would be the Pleasure of Breathing if Love were
banish'd out of the World? To live without loving is, properly speak-
ing, not to live at all.
Del. I am of your Cousin's Opinion, Madam, all Pleasures are insipid
unless season'd with that.
Luc. Astonishing Notions ! Why ’t is nothing but Error, Weakness,
and Extravagance. No, I'll maintain the Honour of my Sex against
all those Sighs, Homages, and Respects, which are only Snares to over-
throw it. Men only pretend to be our Slaves the present Hour, in
order to be real Tyrants to us for the future.
Lib. Take care, my Dear, Cupid's a testy little Urchin and knows
how to revenge any slight cast upon him.—Come, Joculo, how come you
silent so long? Won't you help to defend Love against my Cousin's
Opinion ?
Luc. Nay, then you’ll have a powerful Advocate indeed.
Joc. Troth, Madam, after my Example, I think there’ll be nothing
more to be said; I defy'd him most heroically for a long time, I must
own, but at length the little Trickster juggled me out o' my Senses.
Lib. Joculo, in Love
Joc. Yes, Joculo in Love .
Lib. And does he pretend to be belºv’d again?
Joc. Yes sure, Madam, belike he does. And why not, pray? I am
no such contemptible Figure, if I know my self. As for my shape I
can’t find much fault in it; my Face I think too may pass in a Crowd;
and as for Wit and Parts, as much a Fool as I am, thank Jupiter, we
need not lower the Flag to many in the Drawing-Room.
Luc. Ha, ha, ha! And prythee who is the happy Nymph that is so
highly favour'd?
Joc. A certain fair Handmaid of your Ladyship's there ; therefore
after this, Madam, you ought to submit. Since I do, I think others
very well may.
84 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
C, Page 54.
This scene from The Princess of Elis (Act ii., Scene 4) is imitated by
Miller in The Universal Passion (Act i., Scene 5) thus. The father of the
Princess is in the French play called Iphitas, in the English one, Gratiano.
Grat. Well Daughter, won't you yet comply with my earnest Solicita-
tions? Will your Heart still remain insensible to the ardent Addresses
of those noble Youths who study to outvie each other in their Attempts
to merit it? Come, come, my dear Lucilia, a youthful generous Breast,
like yours, must be capable of Love, and I must no longer be deny'd.
Luc. My Lord, you can lay no Command upon me but what I’ll
blindly obey; but at the same time I must declare I have that natural
Aversion to Marriage, that to injoin me Death or a Husband will be
the very same thing. But your Will goes first, and my Obedience is
dearer to me than Life itself . . .
Grat. You are in the wrong, Daughter, to think me so cruel a Father
as to do Violence to your Inclinations; but shew a Complaisance at
least to the Honours which are done you by your Lovers, and give 'em
your Presence at these Sports where their Skill and Bravery will be
exerted.—If you should approve of either your Choice shall be mine,
and I’ll consider neither Interest nor Advantage.
Bellario. You, Madam, are the Prize it seems to Day, but I aspire
after no such Honour. As all my Life I have resolutely bid Defiance to
Love, ’t is with a different Aim that I engage. I make no Pretence to
your Heart, Madam, the Joy of Victory is the whole of my Ambition.
D, Page 60.
Miller, in The Universal Passion (Act ii., Scene 1), has thus rendered
the following scenes from The Princess of Elis (Act iii., Scenes 1 and 2).
The Princess's name is Lucilia, and Aglanta's, Delia.
LUCILIA, DELIA.
Delia. "Tis true, madam, the Lord Bellario shew'd the highest
Bravery and Dexterity.
Lucilia. Ay, he goes off Conqueror from the Ring, but not with the
same Heart, I fancy, that he came in.
Del. You levell'd such strokes at him, Madam, as 'twas impossible
he should be proof against.
Luc. I should joy to find it so ; but see yonder he comes with his
old Tutor and Joculo. We must know what he's talking of ; how-
ever, we'll not interrupt 'em now, let us turn this Way, and meet them
again by-and-bye. [Eveunt.]
Enter BELLARIO, LUCENTIUS, and Joculo.
Bel. My good old friend, I was quite enchanted ; 'tis true she's
always lovely, but that Moment a thousand new Graces redoubl’d the
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 85
º
Charm of her Beauty; her Eyes beam'd with irresistible Lustre; when
she danc'd all Nature seem'd to smile with Approbation . . . . In
short, everything she did, everything she said, had such Charms to-day,
that I thought I should not possibly have maintain'd my Resolution,
but thrown myself at her Feet and confess'd my Passion at once . . . .
Luce. And then she would have trampl’d upon you. No, keep but
your Disdain up, and she'll soon lower hers. **
Joc. Did not I see to-day how she labour'd to trap you. There was
a Design against you in every Inch of her; there was not a Pin about
her but what was pointed full tilt at your Heart. These Women are
whimsical kind of Animals, my Lord ; we spoil 'em ; yes, we quite spoil
'em indeed. If we were but wise enough to neglect 'em a little we
should have 'em hunting us in Troops. st
E, Page 61.
The third scene of the Third Act of The Princess of Elis is thus ren-
dered in The Universal Passion (Act ii., Scene 3), although, in the latter
play, the ending of the scene is lengthier and different.
LUCILIA, Joculo.
Luc. Are you familiar, Joculo, with Lord Bellario?
Joc. O, lack-a-day, Madam, we are old Acquaintance.
Luc. What was the Reason he did not walk on hither, but turn'd
another way when he saw me coming
Joc. 'Tis a whimsical Mortal, Madam, and loves to be alone.
Luc. I must humble his Arrogance, Joculo.
Joc. Why, troth, Madam, I think you should—if you could.
Luc. If I could, Joculo 1
Joc. Why, to tell you the truth, Madam, you would have a tight
Task of it.
J/wc. How so?
Joc. How ! why ’tis the proudest Animal you ever came nigh; he
thinks nobody in the World is good enough for him ; I wonder he con-
descends to let the Earth bear him, for my part.
Luc. And does he never speak of me?
Joc. He no not he.
Luc. Did he say nothing of my Singing and Dancing 7
Joc. No, not a syllable.
Luc. Not a syllable 7 . . . . Insufferable !
Joc. Why, he's as hard as a Flint, Madam ; there's ne'er a Rock in
our Mountains that's so insensible as he is. -
Luc. There he walks.
Joc. Ay, d'ye see now how he goes by without taking any notice of
you.
86 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
3.
F, Page 62.
Miller has, in The Universal Passion (Act ii., Scene 5), thus rendered
the scene from The Princess of Elis (Act iii., Scene 4).
BELLARIO, LUCENTIUS, LUCILIA, JOCULO.
Luce. If you must accost her, remember your Part, and for fear you
should forget it, don't stay long with her.
Luc. I was thinking, my Lord, 't was something very extraordinary
for one of your Age and Galantry to be at war with our sex.
Bel. You, Madam, have certainly no reason to be surpris'd at it,
since ’t is so agreeable to your own sentiments.
Luc. What's a Glory in our Sex, my Lord, is a Crime in yours;
Homage and Love are due to our Beauty, tho' we resolve to continue
insensible to 'em. *
Bel. My Opinion would be different, Madam. If I had no design of
returning Love, I should not care to receive it.
Luc. Why so
Bel. Because I would not willingly be ungrateful.
Luc. So that to avoid Ingratitude, you'd be sure to love those who
had an Affection for you. :
Bel. Not at all, Madam ; I only say I would not willingly be
ungrateful, but perhaps I should sooner be that than amorous.
Luc. What, suppose a Person of Merit and Beauty
Bel. No, Madam, Liberty's the only Mistress to whom I consecrate
my Vows; and should lavish Nature pour out all her Charms, to form
a perfect Beauty, should Wisdom's self inspire the matchless Frame, and
Fortune crown her with the noblest honours; should such a Miracle of
all that's lovely dote on me with the utmost Tenderness, it would not
touch my Heart.
Joc. Deuce take him " I could give him a Slap o' the Chops with
all my Soul [Aside.]
Luce. Take courage, or you're undone.
G, Page 67.
The conversations between Moron and Phillis in the Third and
Fourth Interludes of The Princess of Elis are imitated as follows in
The Universal Passion (Act ii., Scene 7).
JOCULO, DELIA.
Joc. Hark ye, dear Madame Delia, a Word with you, if you please.
Del. No Impertinence, Sir . . . .
Joc. [Catching her] Nay, pr’ythe stay, you dear hard-hearted crea-
ture ; if Gremio was to desire it, you’d consent, I warrant ye.
Del. And what then, art thou a Gremio ! No, he diverts and pleases
me with his sweet voice; you deafen me with your impertinent clack;
THE PRINCESS OF ELIS. 87
I hate and despise a Fool's Wit as much as I do his ridiculous Coat.
When you sing as sweetly as Gremio does, I’ll promise to stay and hear
you.
Joc. Indeed, Delia, you must stay now.
Del. Well, I will stay then, provided thou wilt promise me one thing.
Joc. Ay, ay, with all my Heart—. But hold, what is it tho'?
Del. Why, that you’ll go, Booby. 4.
Joc. Heyday, Madam Delia, that is not right for you to turn Jester,
and take my Business off my Hands . . . .
Del. Silence, Impudence, and don't open thy booby Chops, or else I'll
leave the Place this Moment.
Joc. What not speak?
Del. No, be sure you don’t.
Joc. Well, I won't then. [Courting her in dumb show.]
Del. Pr'ythe don’t distort that little scurvy Carcase of thine; thou
need'st not take pains to make ugly Faces, for thou hast one ready
made to thy Hands. Where is this Gremio ! I wish he was here to
entertain one with a song.
Joc. Ay, all you fine Ladies now-a-days are to be taken by the Ear.
If a Man has but a tuneable Gullet 'tis enough. 'Sbobs why can't
I sing as well as another? Han’t I a pair of Lungs? Han’t I a
Throat? Han’t I a Tongue as well as he And I was not born in
England, was I? Yes, yes, I can sing, I’m sure I can, tho' nobody has
happen'd to find it out yet, and tho' I don't know it myself neither.
Del. I should be glad to hear thee, for the rarity of the thing. But
hark ye, Joculo, there's but one way you can possibly gain my Affec-
tion; I want the glory of having somebody die for Love of me ; that's
a Pleasure I have never had yet, and I find I should love a Man pro-
digiously that lov'd me enough to hang or drown himself for me.
Joc. You'd love a Man that was to kill himself for you, would you ?
Del. Yes. -
Joc. And that's the only thing that can please you ; is it, Madam?
Del. Ay.
Joc. Um—I believe 't will be some time then before I shall please you
that way. Ha, ha, ha! kill myself with a Murrain no, I’m not quite
enough in Love to be such a Fool as that comes to neither.
H, Page 75.
In The Universal Passion (Act ii.) the Princess requests her father
not to allow Bellario to marry her cousin Liberia, whom he pretends to
love. This is taken from The Princess of Elis (Act v., Scene 2). The end
of the latter play is also thus imitated by Miller:— -
GRATIANO, BELLARIO, LUCILIA.
Gratiano. Daughter, you have heard already all that I can tell you ;
Heaven, you see, has explain'd itself in favour of this lord, and sure, my
88 THE PRINCESS OF ELIS.
dear Child, you’ll not refuse the Recompense of your Smiles to one who
sav'd your Father's Life.
Luc. My Lord, that's not a Recompense which Bellario desires.
Bel. Forgive me, Madam, if I have Ambition enough to aspire so
high. I have too long deceiv'd you, Madam, but now throw off the
Veil, and speak the real Language of my Soul; all that Disguise was
the last Shift of a despairing Passion ; I languish'd, I dy’d for love all
the while. And if this stratagem offends you, Madam, I’m ready to
expiate the Crime of it any way you shall command me.
Luc. My Lord, if it be the Will of Heav'n and my Father, I must
submit ; and at the same time must confess that I can’t blame your
Stratagem, and am better pleas'd that what you said to me was only a
Pretence, than if it had been Truth.
DON JUAN, OU LE FESTIN DE PIERRE.
CoM #D IE.
DON JUAN: OR, THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE.
A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.
(THE ORIGINAL IN PROSE.)
FEBRUARY 15TH, 1665.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
AFTER Molière had written Tartuffe, he found it impossible to get
permission to play it ; all his attempts were in vain; the clerical party
was too strong for him ; he therefore resolved to write a counterpart to
it, in Don Juan, or the Feast with the Statue. This play was acted for the
first time on the 15th of February 1665. It contains, perhaps, more
severe attacks upon hypocrisy than does even Tartuffe. It depicts the
hero as a man who, rich, noble, powerful, and bold, respects neither
heaven nor earth, and knows no bounds to the gratification of his desires
or his passions. He has excellent manners, but abominable principles;
he is “a whited sepulchre,” and abuses the privileges of nobility with-
out acknowledging its obligations or its duties. Molière sketches no
longer the nobleman as ridiculous, but makes him terrible, and shows
that his exaggerated hatred of cant leads to the commission of the
greatest immoralities, and to Atheism. After having seduced and
abandoned many fair maids; after having insulted his father, and
openly flaunted the most sceptical doctrines, Don Juan turns hypocrite;
for hypocrisy is the climax of all vices. But although the hero of
the play is young, elegant, and profligate, Molière makes us feel
all the while that, underneath that charming exterior lurks some-
thing venomous. No doubt he is witty, but too sarcastic to be
pleasant. He is sensual, but less than is generally thought. He is
not so much a libertine, as a man who loves to set all rules of de-
cency, order, and morality at defiance. What attracts him is something
eccentric, violent, and scandalous. He likes to seduce a nun, or an
innocent country girl, who is already engaged; and this not through
mere lust, but in order to prove that he can trample upon all human
laws; just as he invites to supper the statue of a man whom he has
killed, and plays the hypocrite in order to show his scorn for all divine
laws. He is not a follower of the modern romantic school, always in
pursuit of an eternal idea of beauty, and fluttering from flower to
flower; he has arrived at that stage of Satiety that only the pangs of
his victims can produce any emotion in him. This is proved by the
remark he makes to Sganarelle on beholding Donna Elvira (Act i.,
Scene 2, page 110). He has something of the cruelty of Lovelace in
Richardson's Clarissa Harlowe, and, like him, is faithful to his friends,
92 DON JUAN ; OR,
generous to his enemies, but at the same time cowardly enough to sacri-
fice any woman to his caprices.
But Molière has not made the hero coarse or ribald; his language is
always well chosen; and although his morality may be offensive, his
manners are never so. The style of his speech is generally masterly, often
eloquent, and not seldom characteristic of his sneering, insolent, cruel,
hypocritical feelings. The author sometimes borders upon almost for-
bidden ground, as, for example, when Don Juan, after having witnessed
the “surprising miracle of a moving and speaking statue,” says—“There
is really something in that which I do not understand ; but, whatever
it may be, it is not capable either of convincing my judgment, or of
shaking my nerves.”
And yet this play made far less sensation than Tartuffe, and its re-
presentations were never forbidden. The reason of this is simple; Don
Juan attacked an abstract idea, but Tartuffe satirised a particular class,
“the unco guid.”
This drama came originally from Spain. A very old legend relates
how one of the twenty-four governors of Sevilla, Don Juan de Tenorio,
ran away with the daughter of the venerable Commander Gonzalo de
TJlloa, whom he killed in a duel, and who was buried in the church
of the Franciscans, where a splendid tomb and statue were erected to
him. For some time, the murderer, thanks to the privileges of his rank
and the influence of his family, set at nought human justice, when a
rumour was circulated that, Don Juan having dared to insult the statue
of his victim, the latter had come down from his marble tomb, had
seized the impious wretch, and had precipitated him to the uttermost
depths of the infernal regions. Those who said that he had been allured
into the church, under some pretext or other, and slain there, were
declared unbelievers and sceptics.
One of the Spanish dramatists, friar Gabriel Tellez, who lived at the
beginning of the sixteenth century, wrote, under the name of Tirso de
Molina, a comedy on this legend, which he divided into three jornados
or days, and which he called The Seducer of Sevilla and the Stone
Guest.
The action opens at Naples, where a certain Duchess Isabella, of
whom Don Juan, under the feigned name of Duke Ottavio, has taken
advantage, complains loudly to the king, who orders the guilty one to be
seized. The seducer escapes, and is shipwrecked on the coast of Tarra-
gona, in Spain, where he meets a young fisherman's daughter, Tisbea,
whom he seduces under promise of marriage, and who, when unde-
ceived, throws herself into the sea. We next meet him at Sevilla, where,
under the name and the disguise of his friend, the Marquis de la Mota,
he treats Donna Anna, the daughter of the Commander de Ulloa, as
he had treated Isabella. He then kills the Commander, and anew takes
flight into the country, where he meets Aminta, who also falls a victim
to his usual method of promising marriage. Don Juan Secretly returns
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 93
to Sevilla, and sees in the church the mausoleum of the Commander
de Ulloa, bearing the inscription : “Here the most loyal of gentlemen
awaits until God shall avenge him on a traitor.” Don Juan and his
Servant, Catalinon, insult him and invite him to supper. The statue
makes its appearance, and requests Don Juan to come to feast with him
the next evening at ten o'clock in the chapel. He goes, and the seven-
teenth scene of the third day shows us the funereal feast, in which Don
Juan and the statue sup on scorpions and vipers, drink gall and vinegar;
and in which, finally, the libertine repents, and asks for a priest to be
confessed and to receive absolution. The last scene of the play repre-
sents the Alcazar at Sevilla, where the king repairs the crimes of Don
Juan by giving all his victims away in marriage, and commands the
tomb and statue of the Commander to be brought to Madrid, to remain
there as a warning for all time. The Spanish Don Juan is not a heart-
less and deliberate seducer, a thorough unbeliever, but an easy-
going fellow, swayed by his passions, who does not repent because he
thinks he has sufficient time for it, and at the final catastrophe proves
himself a good Roman Catholic. Moreover, he meets the statue, not
because he disbelieves in miracles, but because he has given his word
to come, and “the dead man might otherwise have the right to call (him)
me infamous.” The impression which the Spanish play leaves on the mind
is eminently a religious one, and must have been strongly felt at the
time it was written, a feeling enhanced by the scene in the chapel,
with the moonlight shining through the stained glass windows, and the
chorus singing: “Let those who flee from the punishments of God, know
that there is no term nor debt which must not be paid. No mortal
living should say, ‘I have time before me,’ for the time of repentance is
so short.”
From Spain, this drama went to Italy, where Onifrio Giliberti wrote
an imitation of the Spanish play, called Il Convitato dº pietra, and
which was performed in 1652, in which Don Juan appears as a high-
born free-lover, making fun of everything, and even of the gods. In
1657, the Italian actors of Torelli, who played at the Théâtre du petit
Bourbon, in Paris, gave a harlequinade, based on Giliberti's imitation.
This piece was full of broad fun; and Arlequin, the servant, is the
principal character, whose chief business seems to be to crack jokes and
to indulge in practical horse-play.
The actor Dorimond, in 1658, translated the Italian play for the
comedians of Mademoiselle (see Prefatory Memoir, Vol. I., page
xxiv., note 7), who were then at Lyons, and brought it to Paris
in 1661. The translator made a blunder in the very title of the piece.
IZ convitato means “The guest ; ” but Dorimond thought it meant
“feast,” which was in old French convive, and in Italian convito, and
thus gave to his piece the title, Le Festin de Pierre, the Stone Feast.
This play was printed only in 1665, after the great success which
Molière's comedy obtained. Williers also versified an imitation of
94 DON JUAN ; OR,
Giliberti's comedy for the actors of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, with the
same title as Dorimond's, and which was printed in 1660. It is
probable that the Spanish actors, who appeared in France in 1659, on
the occasion of the marriage of Louis XIV. with the Infanta Maria
Theresa, had represented the original Spanish play.
Four years after Molière's Don Juan, ou le Festin de Pierre—for he
kept the old title as well—had been performed, a certain actor, Rosi-
mond, wrote for the Théâtre du Marais Le Nouveau Festin de Pierre, ow
!' Athée foudroyé, in which he made of Don Juan a tiresome contro-
versialist. -
Don Juan was played from February 15th, 1665, until the 20th of
March of the same year; but produced so much irritation and remarks
that several scenes, for example, that between the poor man and Don
Juan, and the boldest remarks in the dialogue between Don Juan and
Sganarelle, had to be suppressed at once. It may even be supposed that
Molière received a hint not to play the piece again ; for after the 20th
of March it disappeared for a long time from the scene.
In the month of April 1665, a pamphlet appeared, called Observa-
tions sur une Comédie de Molière intitulée de Festin de Pierre, and
written by a clergyman called de Rochemont." It passed through three
or four editions, which followed one another in quick succession, and
is written in a good style, but full of the most bitter animus against
our author. It faintly praises Molière, admits that he has some
talent for farce, that he speaks passable French, translates Italian pretty
well, and does not copy badly other authors; but states that he is always
the same, although the public should be indulgent to those who try to
amuse them. If Molière had, in the Précieuses, only criticised the little
doublets, and the prodigious quantity of ribbands, nobody would have
attacked him, or been indignant at him ; but to make fun of religion,
and openly to display scepticism, is too bad for a mere buffoon. Don
Juan has caused a public scandal, which is the greater because it was
performed in the house of a Christian prince, and in the presence of so
many wise and pious magistrates. Whilst the greatest and most religious
monarch in the world tries to destroy heresy, and to establish real de-
votion, Molière raises altars to impiety; his purpose is to ruin men whilst
making them laugh; the malicious ingenuousness of his Agnès has cor-
rupted more maidens than the most licentious writings; Sganarelle
teaches how to make cuckolds, and The School for Wives how to debauch
them. In fact, he first destroys the morals of men, and then their
religion. To use his own words: “he does not mind if people criti-
cise his pieces, so that they come to see them” and pay for their
places. Nothing more impious has ever appeared than Tartuffe and
Don Juan ; even Pagan emperors condemned to death those who ridi-
* See Prefatory Memoir, Vol. I., page xxx, note 14.
* See The School for Wives Criticised, Vol. II., Scene vii., page 273.
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 95
culed religion. It is to be hoped that our great Prince will put a stop
to this: “Deluge, plague and famine are the consequences of Atheism ;
when Heaven resolves to punish it, it pours out upon us all the vials of
its wrath to make the chastisement more impressive. The wisdom
of the King will divert those misfortunes which impiety wishes to
draw upon us; it will establish the altars which it endeavours to
overturn ; we shall see everywhere religion triumph over its enemies,
under the sway of this pious and invincible monarch, the glory of his
age, the ornament of his states, the beloved of his subjects, the terror of
the unbelievers, the delight of the whole human race. Vivat rea, vivat
wn aeternum. / May the King live, but may he live eternally for the
good of the Church, for the tranquillity of the State, and for the hap-
piness of all nations !”
These observations were answered in a Lettre Sur les Observations d'une
Comédi du Sieur Molière, intitulée Le Festin de Pierre, published also
in 1665, in which the author defends Molière ; says that he is more than
a mere buffoon; that the very fact that that most religious King, Louis
XIV., allowed Don Juan to be acted before him, proves that there is no
harm in the play; that people ought not to accuse Molière of infidelity
without sufficient proof; that in this play virtue is rewarded and vice
punished; that in Don Juan, as well as in Tartuffe, hypocrisy only is
attacked, but not real religion; and that, finally, if we are to be visited
by all those plagues prophesied by the Observateur, the hypocrites will
be the first to feel the effects of them.
Another very badly written pamphlet was likewise published in the
same year, in defence of Molière, having for its title Réponse awa, Ob-
servations touchant Le Festin de Pierre de Monsieur de Molière.
In 1667, Don Juan re-appeared on the French stage, but remodelled
and put into verse by Thomas Corneille. This version, or rather per-
version, of Molière's play was acted until the 15th of January 1847, when
the comedy, as originally written, was again performed, and continues
to be so until the present day.
Sir Aston Cokain wrote The Tragedy of Ovid, which was printed in
1662, but which was never acted. In this, the passage of Captain
Hannibal (Don Juan) inviting the dead body of Helvidius to supper,
and the Spectre accepting it, and the latter afterwards inviting Han-
nibal to supper, as well as the final catastrophe, seem borrowed from
the Italian play Il Atheisto fulminato, from which Molière appears also
to have taken several scenes. In any case, Cokain cannot have borrowed
from the French author, whose play was not brought out until February
15th, 1665. We have given, however, in the Appendix, several of
Cokain's scenes, imitated from the Italian, so that they may be com-
pared with those of Molière.
Thomas Shadwell (see Introductory Notice to The Bores, Vol. II., page
88), has, in The Libertine, acted at Dorset Garden in 1676, partly imi-
tated Molière. This play is dedicated to William, Duke of Newcastle;
96 DON JUAN ; OR,
and in the preface it is admitted that “there are an Italian, a Spanish,
and four French plays on the story of Don Juan, the character of the
libertine, and consequently those of his friends are borrowed; but all
the plot till the latter end of the fourth act is new.” This seems not
quite true; for in the second act of Shadwell's comedy there are evi-
dently some scenes borrowed from Molière. In the English play, Don
Juan loves wickedness, and philosophises about it to his two friends,
Don Lopez and Don Antonio; he causes his own father to be mur-
dered, and, on the whole, behaves rather like a madman. The scenes
between Don Juan, The Statue, and Sganarelle—Jacomo in the English
play—are pretty closely followed from Molière, but made more hor-
rible. They are given in the Appendix. Shadwell's comedy met with
great success, although our author states: “there being no act in it
which cost me above five days' writing, and the two last (the playhouse
having great occasion for a play) were both written in four days.” The
Prologue opens thus:
“Our Author sent me hither for a Scout,
To spy what bloody Criticks were come out.
Those Piccaroons in Wit, wh' infest this Road,
And snap both Friend and Foe that come abroad.
This savage Party crueller appears
Than in the Channel Ostend Privateers.
You in this Road, or Sink or Plunder all;
Remorseless as a Storm on us you fall.
But as a Merchant, when by Storm distres'd,
Flings out his bulky Goods to save the rest,
Hoping a Calm may come, he keeps the best.
In this black Tempest which o'er us impends,
Near Rocks and Quicksands, and no Ports of Friends,
Our Poet gives this over to your Rage,
The most irregular Play upon the Stage.”
Congreve has imitated, in Love for Love (Act i., Scene 1), acted for
the first time in Little Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1695, the scene from
Molière's Don Juan between M. Dimanche and the hero of the play.
Love for Love appears to me to be a free imitation of three of Molière's
plays; the scenes between Valentine and Jeremy are something like
those between Don Juan and Sganarelle, from Don Juan; Scandal,
Tattle, Mrs Foresight, and Mrs Frail, are followed from similar charac-
ters in The Misanthrope; whilst Foresight seems Harpagon from The
Miser. Love for Love was, curiously enough, acted entirely by women
June 25th, 27th, and 29th, 1705; the two first times most likely at
Lincoln's Inn Fields, the last, at the Haymarket.
At the Royalty Theatre was acted, in 1787, a tragic pantomimical
entertainment, called Don Juan, or the Libertine Destroyed, composed by
M. Delpini; the songs, duets, and choruses by Mr Reeve. At Drury
Lane, in 1790, was played a pantomime-ballet of the same name.
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 97
Moncrieff wrote an operatic extravaganza, in two acts, called Giovanni
in London, or the Libertine Reclaimed. “Don Giovanni having, like his
noble compeers, made the grand tour, and also acquired additional
notoriety, by being forcibly ejected from that place where Telemachus
went to look for his father, jumps into Charon's boat, re-passes the
river Styx, and pays a visit to London, for the purpose, like the man
when he opened the oysters, of astonishing the natives. In this expedi-
tion he is accompanied by his valet, pimp, and bottle-holder, Leporello ;
and whether at the Magpie and Punch-Bowl, in the Borough—in St
Giles's, with Mesdames Drainemdry, Porous, and Simpkins—at Chalk
Farm, with Finikin and Popinjay—in the King's Bench, with Shirk,
Sponge, and other gentlemen who pay their creditors by a bill at three
months—or at Charing Cross, in company with King Charles on horse-
back—their adventures are equally wonderful and entertaining.” This
piece was originally written for the Olympic Theatre, but was played in
1827 both at Drury Lane and at Covent Garden. In the last mentioned
theatre the late Madame Westris created a certain furore, in acting the
hero of the piece.
Thomas Dibdin wrote a similar piece, called Don Giovanni, or the
Spectre on Horseback, a burlesque on Mozart's celebrated opera, which
was acted at Bath, on the 19th of May, 1819.
On the 22d of December 1821, there was performed at Drury Lane, an
opera called Giovanni in Ireland, in which Madame Vestris again played
the hero; but it met with little success.
Goldine, the Italian dramatist, also wrote a Don Juan, or The Liber-
time, a comedy in five acts, and in blank verse, of which he says in
his Autobiography, “Having learned enough of French to be able
to read it, I found that Molière and Thomas Corneille had employed
their talents on the same subject ; I undertook also to give a similar
treat to my countrymen, that I might be on somewhat decent terms
with the devil. I could not, it is true, give the same title to it; for in
my piece, the statue of the Commander neither speaks, moves, nor
goes to sup in town. . . . I could not dispense with the thunder which
strikes Don Juan, because the wicked deserve to be punished ; but I
brought about the event in such a way that it might either be an im-
mediate effect of the wrath of God, or might proceed from a combina-
tion of secondary causes under the direction of the laws of providence.”
Mozart also composed the music to an opera called Don Giovanni, in
which the Italian librettist, Delponte, has followed rather the old Spanish
play than Molière, and which is known and admired wherever music
is cultivated.
III. G
IDRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DON JUAN, son to Don Louis.
; '. } brothers to Donna Elvira.
DON LOUIS, father to Don Juan.
THE STATUE OF THE COMMANDER.3
GUZMAN, gentleman-usher to Donna Elvira.
M. DIMANCHE, a tradesman.
SGANARELLE,4
WIOLETTE, servants to Don Juan.
RAGOTIN,
PIERROT, a countryman.
LA RAMEE, a swashbuckler.
A POOR MAN.
Don Juan's FOLLOWERS.
Don Carlos’ and Don Alonzo’s FOLLOWERS.
A GHOST.
DONNA ELVIRA, wife to Don Juan.
CHARLOTTE,
MATHURINE, } country-women.
* A Commander was a member of the military-religious order of the
Knights of Malta, or of any other similar order, who, by virtue of long or
meritorious services, had the control of a manor, with lands and tenements
appertaining thereto, part of the proceeds of which had to be used for the
benefit of that order, and part for himself. Such a manor was called a
commandery or preceptory.
* Molière played this part. In the inventory taken after the author's death,
we see: “a deep gold-coloured satin little jerkin, with long skirts, a linen
jacket with gold facings, a doublet of flowered satin for the Festin de
Pierre.” I doubt if this was part of the dress of Sganarelle.
DON JUAN, OR, THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE.
(DON JUAN ; OU, LE FESTIN DE PIERRE.)
ACT I. SCENE I.
(A Palace.)
SGANARELLE, GUZMAN.
Sgam. [With a snuff-boa, in his hand] Whatever Aristotle
and all the philosophers may say, nothing can be compared
to tobacco : all respectable men are very fond of it, and he
who lives without tobacco deserves not to live. It not only
enlivens and clears a man's brains, but it also teaches men
to be virtuous ; through it one learns to become a respect-
able man. Do you not see plainly, as soon as we take it,
how affable we become with every one, and how delighted
we are to give right and left, wherever we are ? We do
not even wait till it is asked for, but we forestall people's
wishes; so true it is that tobacco inspires all those who
take it with sentiments of honour and virtue.” But enough
of this; let us rather resume our discourse. So, then, dear
Guzman, Donna Elvira, your mistress, being surprised at
our departure, is come after us; and my master has touched
her heart so intensely, that you say she cannot exist with-
out coming here in search of him. Between ourselves, do
* Tobacco had been in use for more than a century. It was introduced
into France, in the year 1560, by Jean Nicot, lord of Villemain, am-
bassador of Francis II. at the Court of Madrid, who made a present of it
to the Queen, Catherine de Medici; hence its first name was in French
Herbe de la reine or Wicotiane.
I () 2 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT I.
you wish me to tell you my thoughts 2 I am afraid her
love will be ill repaid, that her journey to this city will
produce little fruit, and that you would have gained just as
much had you never stirred from the spot.
Guz. And pray, Sganarelle, what can inspire you with
a terror which so augurs ill ? Has your master opened
his heart to you on that subject, and did he tell you that
his coldness for us obliged him to leave 2
Sgam. Not at all; but, by what I see, I know pretty
well how things are ; and, although he has not yet said
anything to me, I could almost lay a wager that the
business is tending that way. I may, perhaps, be mis-
taken ; but yet, in such cases, experience has given me
Some insight.
Guz. What Can this sudden departure be caused by
the faithlessness of Don Juan. Could he insult so greatly
the chaste love of Donna Elvira 2
Sgan. No, no, he is young yet, and has not the courage
to . . .
Guz. Can a man of his rank commit so base an action 1
Sgam. Oh yes, his rank | The idea is really admirable;
he would forbear on that account
Guz. But he is restrained by the holy bonds of
matrimony.
Sgan. Ah poor Guzman, my good friend, believe me,
you do not know yet what sort of man Don Juan is.
Guz. Truly, I do not know what sort of a man he may
be, if he has acted so treacherously towards us. I do not
understand how, after so much love and impatience shown,
such homage urged upon us, such vows, sighs, and tears, so
many passionate letters, such ardent protestations and
repeated oaths, such transports in short, and such out-
bursts, forcing even, in his passion, the sacred obstacle
of a nunnery, in order to get Donna Elvira in his power;
SC. I.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 103
I do not understand, I say, how after all this, he should
have the heart to break his word.
Sgam. I have no great difficulty in understanding this ;
and, if you knew the fellow, you would think the thing easy
enough for him. I do not say that he has changed his
sentiments for Donna Elvira; I am not yet quite sure of it.
You know that he ordered me to set out before him ; and
since his arrival, he has not spoken to me; but, by way
of precaution, I tell you, between ourselves, that Don Juan,
my master, is one of the greatest scoundrels upon earth, a
madman, a dog, a demon, a Turk, a heretick, who believes
neither in Heaven, hell, nor devil, who passes his life like
a regular brute beast, one of Epicurus' swine, a true Sar-
danapalus, who shuts his ears against all Christian remon-
strances that can be made to him, and considers all that
we believe as so much nonsense. You tell me that he has
married your mistress; believe me, he would have done
more to satisfy his passion, and would, besides herself, have
married you, her dog and her cat into the bargain. It
costs him nothing to contract a marriage ; he uses no other
snares to entrap the fair sex ; and he marries whomsoever he
can get hold of. A lady, gentlewoman, citizen's daughter,
countrywoman; he thinks nothing too hot or too cold for
him; and if I were to tell you the names of all those whom
he has married in different places, I would not have finished
until night." You seem surprised and change colour at
what you hear; this is a mere outline of the man ; and
* Molière has not given a list of the names of the different wives
of Don Juan, to be found in the Italian piece which he has freely fol-
lowed, and also in several other plays of that time. Perhaps he thought
the idea too hackneyed. In Mozart's opera, Don Giovanni, the list of the
mille e tre conquests of the hero, as sung by Leporello, beginning
Madamina il catologo e questo, Delle belle ch' amo il padron mio, produces
a great and admirable effect
104 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT I.
many other touches would be required to finish the picture.
Let it be sufficient that some day or other Heaven must
needs overwhelm him with its wrath ; that I had much
better be with the devil than with him, and that he makes
me witness so many horrors, that I could wish him already
I do not know where ! If a great lord is a wicked man
it is a terrible thing. I must be faithful to him in spite of
myself; fear moves me instead of zeal, curbs my sentiments,
and often compels me to applaud what I detest from
my very soul. See, there he comes to take a walk in this
palace; let us separate. One word more ; I have trusted
you, and not concealed anything from you ; it came a little
too quickly out of my mouth ; but, if ever anything should
reach his ears, I shall declare flatly that you have told a lie.
SCENE II.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE."
D. Jw. What man was just now talking to you ? He
has very much the air, it seems to me, of honest Guzman,
a servant of Donna Elvira.
Sgan. It is something very like it.
D. Jw. What is it he
Sgan. The very man.
D. Jw. And how long has he been in town
Sgan. Since last night.
D. Jw. And why has he come 2
Sgan. I believe you may imagine well enough what
disturbs him.
D. Jw. Our departure, no doubt 2
Sgan. The good man is quite offended, and asked me
the cause of it.
* See Appendix, Note A.
SC. II.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 105
D. Jw. And what answer did you give him 3
Sgan. That you had not told me anything about it.
D. Jw. But, prithee, what do you think of it ! What
do you imagine about this affair :
Sgam. I ? I believe, without wronging you, that you
have some new love affair in your head.
D. Jw. Do you think so
Sgam. Yes.
D. Jw. Upon my word, you are not mistaken ; and I
must confess another object has driven Elvira from my
thoughts.
Sgan. Oh I good Heavens ! I know my Don Juan
at my fingers' ends, and that your heart is the most restless
in the world; it delights to rove from one set of chains to
another, and never likes to stay in one spot.
D. Jw. And tell me, do you not think I am right in
acting in such a manner ? *-
Sgan. Oh I sir . . .
D. Ju. What I Speak. .
Sgam. Certainly, you are right, if you have a mind to
it ; no one can say anything against it. But, if you had not
a mind to it, it might perhaps be another affair.
D. Ju. Well, then, I give you leave to speak, and to
tell me your sentiments.
Sgam. In that case, sir, I must frankly tell you that
I do not approve of your goings on, and that I think it
very wicked to make love to every one, as you do.
D. Jaſ. What t . Would you have a man bind himself to
remain with the first object which has caught him, renounce
the world for her sake, and have no more eyes for anybody ?
A nice thing to pique one's self upon the false honour of
being faithful, to bury one's self for ever in one passion, and
to be dead from our very youth to all other beauties that
may strike us ! No, no, constancy is fit only for fools ;
106 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT I.
every handsome woman has a right to charm us, and the
advantage of being first met with ought not to rob others of
the just pretensions which they all have upon our hearts.
As for me, beauty delights me wherever I meet with it, and
I easily give myself up to that sweet violence with which it
hurries us along. It does not matter if I am engaged ; the
love I feel for one fair does not induce me to do injustice
to others; I have eyes to see the merit of all, and pay to
every one the homage and tribute which nature demands from
us. However it be, I cannot refuse my heart to any lovely
creature I behold ; and as soon as a handsome face asks
it of me, if I had ten thousand hearts, I would give them
all. Budding inclinations, after all, have a charm which is
indescribable, and all the pleasure of love is in variety.
One takes great delight in reducing, by a hundred con-
trivances, the heart of a young beauty; in seeing every day
the gradual progress one has made; in combating with tran-
sports, tears, and sighs, the innocent bashfulness of a mind
which can hardly prevail upon itself to surrender ; in
demolishing, inch by inch, all the little resistance she can
oppose to us; in conquering the scruples upon which she
prides herself, and in leading her gently whither we have a
mind to bring her. But when we are once her master,
there is nothing more to say, nothing more to wish for ; all
the charms of the passion are over, and we are lulled asleep
in the tranquillity of such a love, if some new object does
not awaken our desires and present to our heart the attractive
charms of a conquest still to make. In short, there is
nothing so pleasant as to triumph over the resistance of a
fair maiden; I possess, in such a case, the ambition of a con-
queror, who flies perpetually from one victory to another,
and can never resolve to set bounds to his wishes. Nothing
can restrain the impetuosity of my desires; I feel I have a
heart that could love all the world, and like Alexander, I
SC. II.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 107
could wish for other worlds, wherein to extend my amorous
conquests.”
Sgam. Ods' boddikins, how you talk | It seems that
you have learned this by heart; you speak like a book.
D. Ju. What have you to say to this 2
Sgam. Upon my word, I have to say . . . I do not
know what to say; for you turn things in such a manner
that it seems you are right, and yet it is certain you are not.
I had the finest thoughts in the world, but your speech has
put them all out of my head. Let me alone ; another time
I shall write down all my arguments, to dispute with
you.
D. Ju. Do so.
Sgan. But, sir, would it be included in the permission
you have given me, if I were to tell you that I am some-
what scandalised at the life which you lead.
D. Jw. How 2 What life do I lead 2
Sgan. A very good one. But, for example, to see you
marry every month, as you do
D. Jw. Can there be anything more agreeable 7
Sgan. True, I should think it very agreeable and very
amusing, and I should myself like it well enough if there
were no harm in it; but, sir, to make thus a jest of a
sacred mystery, and . . .
D. Jw. Well, be it so ; it is an affair between Heaven
and me, and I can very well settle it without your troubling
yourself about it.
Sgam. Upon my word, sir, I have always heard it said
that to jest about Heaven is wicked jesting, and that liber-
times always come to a bad end.
*—
* Lovelace, in Richardson's Clarissa Harlowe, expresses nearly the
same sentiments, and writes, “the Debellare superbos should be my
motto;” “I always considered opposition and resistance as a challenge
to do my worst.”
108 - DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT I.
D. Ju. Hullo, Master Fool You know I told you that
I do not like persons who remonstrate.
Sgan. Therefore I do not speak to you ! Heaven for-
bid You know what you do; and, if you are a libertine”
you have your reasons: but there are certain puny coxcombs
in this world who are so without knowing why or where-
fore, who pretend to be free-thinkers, because they think it
becomes them. Had I a master of that kind, I would tell
him plainly to his face : “Dare you thus jest with Heaven,
and do you not tremble to laugh, as you do, at things
the most sacred ? Does it become you, you little earth-
worm, you mannikin that you are (I speak to the master
I mentioned), does it become you to wish to turn into
ridicule what all men revere 2 Do you think that be-
cause you are a man of rank, because you wear a fair and
well-curled wig, have some feathers in your hat, a gold-laced
coat, and flame-coloured ribbons" (I do not speak to you
but to the other)—do you think, I say, that you are a
cleverer man for all this, that you may be allowed to do
everything, and that no one should dare to tell you the
truth 2 Learn from me, who am your servant, that Heaven,
sooner or later, punishes the impious ; that a wicked life
leads to a wicked death ; that libertines never come to a
good end, and that . . .”
D. Jw. Silence
Sgam. Why, what is the matter ?
° The French word libertin had formerly not only the signification
which it has in our days, but meant also a free-thinker; and was often
said of a man or woman who did not like to submit to the Ordinary
rules and regulations of society. Tibertine was also formerly applied,
in English, “to certain heretical sects, and intended to mark the licen-
tious liberty of their creed and forms,” says Trench, in his Select Glos-
sary, “a striking evidence of the extreme likelihood that he who has no
restraints on his belief will ere long have none upon his life.”
* Sganarelle describes the apparel Don Juan wears, without daring to
name him. º
SC. II.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 109
D. Jw. The matter is, that I inform you that a certain
beauty has got possession of my heart, and that, captivated
by her charms, I followed her to this city.
Sgan. And you have no fear, sir, of the consequences
of the death of that Commander whom you killed six
months ago Ż - -
D. Ju. Why should I be afraid 2 Did I not kill him
honourably 2
Sgam. Very honourably; it could not have been done
more so, and he would be wrong to complain.
D. Ju. I had my pardon for this affair.
Sgan. Yes; but this pardon does not perhaps stifle the
resentment of relatives and friends, and . . .
D. Ju. Pooh Let us not think of any harm that may
happen to us, but only of what can give us pleasure. The
person of whom I speak to you is a young bride, one of the
prettiest in the world, who was brought hither by the very
man she is to marry. Chance threw this pair of lovers in
my way, three or four days before they set out on their
journey. Never did I see two people so satisfied with each
other; and displaying so much love. The visible tenderness of
their mutual flame moved me; I felt it deeply, and my love
began by jealousy. Yes, I could not at first sight endure to
see them so happy together. Resentment kindled my desire,
and I thought it would cause me very great pleasure to
disturb, their intimacy, and to sever that union by which
the delicate feelings of my heart were offended ; but hitherto
all my efforts have been in vain, and I have recourse to the
final stratagem. This intended spouse is to-day to treat the
object of his love with a sail. Without having said any-
thing to you, all things are prepared for gratifying my pas-
sion. I have freighted a little vessel, and engaged men
with whose assistance I can easily carry off the fair.
Sgan, Ah sir . . .
1 1 0 DON JUAN ; OR, [SC. III.
D. Ju. What ?
Sgam. You have done quite right, and you take things
in the proper way. There is nothing in the world like satis-
fying all one's desires.
D. Ju. Get ready to come along with me, and take care,
you yourself, to bring all my arms, so that . . . [He sees
Donna Elviral Oh! most unlucky meeting. Traitor, you
did not tell me she was here herself.
Sgan. Sir, you did not so much as ask me.
D. Jw. Is she mad not to have changed her dress, and
to come here in her riding-habit 7” .
& CENTE III.
DONNA ELVIRA, DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.”
D. El. Will you do me the favour, Don Juan, to notice
me 2 And may I at least hope that you will deign to turn
your eyes this way ? -
D. Jw. I confess to you, madam, that I am surprised,
and that I did not expect you here. sº
D. El. Yes, I see plainly that you did not expect me
here; and you are indeed surprised, but quite otherwise
than I hoped for; the manner in which you appear con-
vinces me fully of what I refused to believe. I am astonished
11 This remark of Don Juan, on beholding a woman whom he has
abandoned, shows that he has neither feelings nor heart. Louis XIV.,
then (1665) in the height of his passion for Mademoiselle de la Vallière,
behaved afterwards to her as badly as Don Juan does to Donna
Elvira. It has many a time been stated that the King was neither
coarser nor more unfeeling than his contemporaries. We have only
to look at the Mémoires du Duc de Saint Simon, to see what at least
one of them thought of le Grand Monarque. But Louis XIV. was no
sceptic, and during the latter part of his reign he became even a fanatic
and a persecutor. -
* See Appendix, Note B.
SC. III.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 1 1 I
at my simplicity, and at the weakness of my heart in doubt-
ing a treachery so strongly confirmed by appearances. I
was simple-minded enough, I confess it, or rather foolish
enough, to be willing to deceive myself, and to take pains
to contradict my eyes and my judgment. I sought for
reasons to excuse to my affection that diminution of friend-
ship which it discovered in you ; I purposely invented a
hundred legitimate excuses for so hurried a departure, to
clear you from the crime of which my reason accused you.
All that my just suspicions could daily say to me was in vain;
I would not listen to their voice, which represented you
to me as a criminal; I took a pleasure in giving ear to a
thousand ridiculous fancies, which depicted you to my heart
as innocent ; but, at last, your reception permits me no
longer to doubt, and the glance with which you received
me informs me of many more things than I would wish
to know. I shall be glad, nevertheless, to hear from your
own mouth the reasons for your departure. Pray, speak,
Don Juan, let us hear in what way you can justify your-
self. -
D. Jw. Madam, there is Sganarelle, who knows why I
went away.
Sgan. [Whispering to Don Juan] I, sir! By your
leave, I know nothing of the matter.
D. El. Well, Sganarelle, speak. It does not matter
from whose mouth I hear his reasons.
D. Ju. [Making signs to Sganarelle to draw near him]
Come, speak then to the lady.
Sgan. [Whispering to Don Juan] What would you
have me say ?
D. El. Come hither, since he will have it so, and tell
me the causes of so sudden a departure.
D. Jw. Why do you not answer ?
Sgan. [Whispering to Don Juan] I have nothing
I 12 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT I.
to answer. You make fun of your very humble
servant.
D. Jw. Will you answer, I say ?
Sgan. Madam . . .
D. El. What ?
Sgan. [Turning towards his master] Sir . . .
D. Jw. [Threatening him] If . . .
Sgam. Madam, the conqueror, Alexander, and the other
worlds, are the cause of our departure. That, sir, is all I can
Say.
D. El. Will you be pleased, Don Juan, to explain to me
these beautiful mysteries
D. Jw. Madam, to say the truth . . .
D. El. Fy! how badly you defend yourself for a courtier,
who should be accustomed to these sort of things I pity
you to see you so confused. Why do you not arm your
brow with a noble impudence % Why do you not swear
that you entertain still the same feelings for me; that you
always love me with an unparalleled affection, and that
nothing but death can sever you from me? Why do you
not tell me that affairs of the greatest consequence com-
pelled you to set out without informing me of it; that,
much against your will, you must stay here for some
time ; and that I need only return whence I came, with
the assurance that you will follow me as soon as possible ;
that it is certain you are very anxious to rejoin me,
and that, whilst you are absent from me, you endure the
pangs of a body separated from the soul ? That is the
way to defend yourself; but not to stand thunderstruck as
you do. -
I). Jw. I must confess, madam, that I possess not a
talent for dissimulation, but am sincere at heart. I will
not tell you that I entertain still the same feelings for
you, and that I am very anxious to rejoin you, since it is
SC. III.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. I 13
certain that I came away only to avoid you ; not for the
reasons you imagine, but from a pure motive of conscience,
and because I thought I could not live with you any longer
without sin. I felt some scruples, madam ; and the eyes of
my mind were opened to what I was doing. I reflected
that, in order to marry you, I took you from the precincts of
a convent, that you broke vows which engaged you else-
where, and that Heaven is very jealous of such things.
I was seized with repentance, and dreaded the wrath of
Heaven. I thought our marriage was only adultery
in disguise; that it would bring down upon us some
calamity, and that, in short, I ought to endeavour to forget
you, and to give you an opportunity of returning to your
former obligations. Would you oppose so holy a design,
madam, and would you have me expose myself to the ven-
geance of Heaven by retaining you ; that by . . .
D. El. Ah! wicked wretch! now I know you thoroughly;
and to my misfortune I know you when it is too late, and
when such a knowledge can only serve to make me despair.
But be assured that your crime will not remain unpunished,
and that the same Heaven which you mock will revenge
your perfidy.
D. Jw. Sganarelle, Heaven
Sgan. Oh, yes, we care much for that.
D. Jw. Madam . . .
D. El. It is enough. I do not wish to hear anything more.
I even blame myself for having already heard too much. It
is meanness to have our shame explained too clearly, and
in such cases, a noble heart should, at the very first word,
resolve what to do. Do not expect me to break out into
reproaches and opprobrious language; no, no, my wrath
does not spend itself in vain words; it reserves all its ardour
for vengeance. I tell you once more, Heaven will punish
you, wretch, for the wrong you have done me; and if you
III H
114 - DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT II.
have nothing to fear from Heaven, fear at least the anger
of an injured woman.
SCENE IV.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
Sgam. [Aside] If he should ever feel some remorse.
D. Ju. [After some pause] Let us go and think of the
execution of our amorous enterprise.
Sgan. [Alone] Oh what an abominable master I am
forced to serve -
ACT II. SCENE I.
(A Landscape mear the Sea Shore.)
CHARLOTTE, PIERROT.”
Char. By Jingo, Pierrot, you were there just in the nick
of time. -
Pier. 'Sbobs, they were within an ace of being drowned,
both of them.
Char. Was it the great storm this morning that upset
them in the sea 7
Pier. Look you, Charlotte, I shall tell you outright how
it happened ; for, as the saying is, I saw them first, first I
saw them. I was on the sea-shore, I and fat Lucas, and we
were a-larking together with clods of earth, that we threw
* Charlotte and Pierrot speak in a provincial dialect, which was quite
a novelty on the stage in the time of Molière ; we shall give an example
of this:–CHARLOTTE. Wotre dinse/ Parrot, tu tº estrouvélà bien à point.
PIERROT. Parquienne / iſ ne 3'en est pas fallu & 6poisseur d'une éplinque,
qu'il ne se sayant mayés tous deua. CHARLOTTE. C'est done le coup de'
went d' & 'matin qui les avait ranvarsés dans la marf &c. As it would
be impossible to render this in an equivalent dialect, I have translated
it in plain English.
SC. I.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. I 15
at one another's heads, for you very well know that fat
Lucas likes to be a-larking, and so do I sometimes too. So
as we were a-larking, for we were a-larking, I perceived a,
distance off something that stirred in the water, and that
came bobbing towards us. I looked fixedly at it, but all of
a sudden I saw that I saw nothing more. Ay, Lucas, says
I, I think that there are men a-swimming down there. Oh,
says he, you have been at the burial of a cat, your eyes are
dazed. 'Sdeath, says I, my eyes are not dazed ; they are
men. No, no, says he to me, you are purblind. Would
you wager, says I, that I am not purblind, says I, and that
they are two men, says I, who are swimming straight this
way, says I. Znigs, says he, I lay a wager they are not.
Well, come on, says I, will lay you tempence on it 2 Marry
will I, says he, and to show thee, there is the money down on
the nail, says he. I was neither a fool nor a gaby; I
boldly threw down upon the ground four silver pennies
and sixpenny worth of ha'pence, as freely, i' faith, as if
I had drank off a glass of wine; for I am very venture-
Some, and go on any way. Yet I knew what I did how-
Somdever. I am not such a fool as I look. We had but
just laid the wager when I saw the two men very plainly,
who made signs to us to come and fetch them, and I take
up the stakes. Come, Lucas, says I, you see that they call
us; let us go at once and help them. No, says he, they
have made me lose. Then, to cut short my story, I went
on so, and at last preached so much to him, that we got
into a boat, and then I made so much ado that I got them
out of the water, and then I carried them home to the fire,
and then they pulled off all their clothes and stripped to
dry themselves, and then two more of the same gang came,
who had saved themselves quite alone, and then comes
Mathurine, and one of them cast sheep's eyes at her. And
that is precisely, Charlotte, how all this has happened.
116 DON JUAN ; OR, [Act II.
Char. Did you not say, Pierrot, that one of them is a
great deal handsomer than the rest ?
Pier. Ay, he is the master; he must be some great,
great man to be sure, for he has gold upon his clothes from
top to bottom, and his servants are gentlefolks themselves;
but for all his being a great man, he would have been
drowned if I had not been there.
Char. Lawk a-day !
Pier. Ay, indeed, if it had not been for us he would have
had his fill of water. º
Char. Is he still at your house without his clothes on,
Pierrot, 2 -
Pier. No, no, they all put on their clothes again before
us. Mercy on me, I never saw any of these folks dress
themselves before ; what a parcel of gimcracks these cour-
tiers wear ! I should lose myself in them, and I was quite
flabbergasted to see them. Why, Charlotte, they have hair
which does not stick to their heads, and, after all, they put
it on like a big cap of unspun flax. They have smocks
with sleeves that you and I might get into ; instead of
breeches they have an apron as large as from this to Easter,
instead of doublets they have little tiny waistcoats that do
not reach to their middle, and instead of bands a great neck-
handkerchief all open-worked with four large tufts of linen
hanging down over their stomach. They have bands about
their wrists too, and great funnels of lace about their legs, and
amongst all this so many ribands, that it is a downright
shame. Their very shoes are stuffed with them from one
end to the other, and they are made in such a fashion that
I should break my neck in them.
Char. I’ fakins, Pierrot, I must go and see them.
Pier. Oh I hark you, Charlotte, stay a little first, I have
something else to say to you.
Char. Well, tell me, what is it !
SC. I.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 117
Pier. Do you not see, Charlotte, that, as the saying is,
I must unbosom myself to you. I am in love with you,
you know it very well, I am for us being married together;
but 's boddikins, I am not pleased with you.
Char. How % what's the matter ?
Pier. The matter is, to tell the truth, that you vex my
very heart.
Char. How so 2
Pier. Because, by the powers, you do not love me.
Char. Ho! hoſ Is that all ?
Pier. Ay, that is all, and enough too.
Char. Law, Pierrot, you always say the same thing to
Iſle.
Pier. I always say the same thing to you because it is
always the same thing; and if it was not always the same
thing I would not always say the same thing.
Char. But what do you want : What do you wish Ż
Pier. Drat it, I would wish you to love me.
Char. Why, do I not love you ?
Pier. No, you do not love me, and yet I do all I can to
make you. I do not mean to reproach you, but I buy rib-
bons for you of all the pedlars that come about, I risk
my neck to go and fetch jackdaws out of their nests for you,
I make the piper play for you when your birthday comes;
and all this is no more than if I ran my head against the
wall. Do ye hear 7 it is neither fair nor honest not to love
folk that love us.
Char. But, lawk-a-day, I love you too.
Pier. Ay, very much indeed
Char. What would you have me do then } -
Pier. I would have you do as folk do when they love
as they ought.
Char. Why, do I not love you as I ought 2
Pier. No, when that is the case, anyone can see it ;
I 18 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT II.
people play a thousand little tricks to folk when they love
them with all their heart. Look at stout Thomasse, how
smitten she is with young Robin ; she is always about him
to tease him, and never lets him alone. She is always
playing him some trick or other, or hits him a rap when she
passes by him. The other day, as he was sitting upon a
small stool, she comes and pulls it from under him, and
down falls he at full length upon the ground. Zounds, that
is the way folk do when they are in love; but you never
say a word to me, you always stand like a log of wood; I
may go by ye twenty times and you never stir to give me
the smallest thump, or to say the least thing to me. Upon
my word, it is not fair, after all, and you are too cold for
folk.
Char. What would you have me do Z My temper is such,
and I cannot alter myself.
Pier. Temper or no temper, when a body loves a body
one always gives some small inkling of it.
Char. I love you as well as I can, and if you are not satis-
fied with that, you must go and love somebody else.
Pier. Why there now ! I have got what I bargained for.
Zooks, if you loved me you would not say that.
Char. Why do you come and worrit me so
Pier. And what harm do I do you ? I only ask a
little friendship from ye.
Char. Well, let me alone then and do not press me so,
maybe it will come all of a sudden, without thinking of it.
Pier. Shake hands, then, Charlotte.
Char. [Gives him her hand] Well, there. •
Pier. Promise me that you will do your best to love me
In Ore. - -
Char. I will do all that I can, but it must come of itself.
Pierrot, is that the gentleman Ż
Pier. Yes, that is he.
SC. II.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 119
Char. Oh lack-a-day, how nice he is what a pity it
would have been if he had been drowned.
Pier. I shall come again presently; I shall go to take
a pint to refresh myself a little after my fatigue.
SCENE II.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, CHARLOTTE in the backgrownd.
D. Jw. We have failed in our plot, Sganarelle, and this
sudden squall has overturned our sloop, as well as the plan
we had formed ; but, to tell you the truth, the country-
wench I have just parted with, makes amends for this mis-
fortune. I have found such charms in her that they have
effaced from my mind all the vexation caused by the ill suc-
cess of our enterprise. This heart must not escape me ; Í
have already disposed it in such a manner that I shall have
no need to sigh long in vain.
Sgan. I confess, sir, you astonish me. We have hardly
escaped from the jaws of death, and instead of thanking
Heaven for the mercy it has granted us, you labour anew
to draw down its wrath by your usual whims and your
amours . . . [Seeing Don Juan look angry] Peace, rascal
that you are ; you do not know what you are talking of,
and my master knows what he does. Come.
D. Ju. [Perceiving Charlotte] Ha 1 whence comes this
other country-girl? Did you ever see anyth ing prettier ?
Tell me, do you not think she is as handsome as the other ?
Sgan. Certainly. [Aside] Another fresh morsel.
D. Ju. [To Charlotte] Whence this pleasant meeting,
fair one What? are there in these rural spots, amongst
these trees and rocks, persons as handsome as you are
Char. As you see, sir.
D. Ju. Do you belong to this village 2
Char. Yes, sir.
120 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT II.
D. Ju. And do you live there ?
Char. Yes, sir.
D. Ju. What is your name 3
Char. Charlotte, at your service.
D. Jw. Ah what a beauty what piercing eyes |
Char. Sir, you make me quite ashamed.
D. Ju. Oh I do not be ashamed to hear the truth.
What do you say, Sganarelle 3 Can anything be more
agreeable % Turn about a little, please. Oh what a fine
shape. Hold up your head a little, pray. Oh what a
pretty face is this Open your eyes wide. Oh how
lovely they are. Pray let me see your teeth. Oh how
love-inspiring ! And those provoking lips | For my part,
I am delighted; I never beheld so charming a person.
Char. Sir, you are pleased to say so; I do not know
whether you make fun of me.
D. Ju. I make fun of you ! Heaven forbid I love
you too well for that; I speak to you from the bottom of
my heart. -
Char. I am very much obliged to you if it is so.
D. Jw. Not at all; you are not obliged to me for any-
thing I say; you owe it to your beauty alone.
Char. Sir, all these words are too fine for me ; I have
not wit enough to answer you.
D. Jw. Sganarelle, just cast a glance on her hands.
Char. Fie, sir! they are as black as anything.
D. Jw. Oh! what are you saying ? They are the fairest
in the world ; pray, allow me to kiss them.
Char. You do me too much honour, sir, and if I had
known it just now, I would not have failed to have washed
them with bran. - -
D. Jw. Pray, tell me, pretty Charlotte, are you married?
Char. No, sir, but I am to be very soon, to Pierrot, our
neighbour Simonetta's son.
so. II.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 121
D. Jw. What I should a person like you become the wife
of a simple clod-hopper No, no that would be a pro-
fanation of so much beauty; you were not born to pass your
whole life in a village. No doubt you deserve a better
fate ; Heaven, which very well knows this, has led me
hither on purpose to prevent this match, and to do justice
to your charms; for, in short, beauteous Charlotte, I love
you with all my heart; it only depends upon yourself
whether I shall carry you off from this wretched place, and
put you in the position you deserve. This passion is doubt-
less very sudden; but what then It is owing to your
great beauty; I love you as much in one quarter of an
hour as I would another in six months.
Char. Really, I do not know what to do when you
speak. What you say pleases me, and I should very much
like to believe you ; but I have always been told that we
must never believe gentlemen, and that you, courtiers, are
cozeners who think of nothing but of making fools of young
girls. -
D. Jw. I am not one of these.
Sgan. Not at all ! Not at all !
Char. Look ye, sir, there is no pleasure in being im-
posed upon. I am but a poor country-wench, but I value
honour above everything; I would sooner die than lose my
honour. .
D. Jw. I have a soul so wicked as to impose on such a
person as you ! I should be so base as to dishonour you !
No, no, I am too conscientious for that. I love you, Char-
lotte, virtuously and honourably ; and to show you that I
speak the truth, be convinced that I have no other
design than to marry you. Can you have any greater
proof? Here I am ready, whenever you please, and I
call this fellow to be a witness of the promise which I
make you.
122 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT II.
Sgam. No, no, never fear. He will marry you as much
as you please. - * -
D. Ju. Ah Charlotte, I plainly perceive you do not yet
know me. You do me great wrong in judging of me by
others; and if there are rogues in the world, people who
only endeavour to make fools of young women, you ought
not to consider me one of them, and never doubt the sin-
cerity of my love; besides, your beauty is a guarantee for
everything. When a woman is as handsome as you are she
ought never to entertain such fears; believe me, you do not
look as if you could be made a fool of. As for me, I protest
I would stab myself a thousand times to the heart if I fos-
tered the least thought of betraying you. - *
Char. Good Heavens ! I do not know whether you speak
the truth or not ; but you make people believe you.
D. Ju. You do me justice most certainly by believing me ;
I repeat anew the promise which I have made you. Do you
not accept it ! Will you not consent to become my wife 2
Char. Yes, provided my aunt has no objection.
D. Jw. Give me your hand then upon it, Charlotte, since
you do not object. e
Char. But at the very least, sir, pray, do not deceive me;
it would be a sin, and you see how honestly I act.
D. Jw. What you seem to doubt still my sincerity
Would you have me swear the most frightful oaths 2 May
Heaven . . .
Char. Bless me, do not swear, I believe you.
D. Jw. Give me one little kiss, then, as a pledge of your
promise.
Char. Nay, sir, pray, wait till we are married, and then
I shall kiss you as much as you wish.
D. Jw. Well, pretty Charlotte, I will do whatever you
please ; only give me your hand, and let me, by a thousand
kisses, express the rapture I am in. . .
SC. III.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. I 23
SCENE III.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, PIERROT, CHARLOTTE.
Pier. [Getting between them, and pushing away Don
Jwan] Gently, sir, if you please, you are getting too warm ;
you may get a pleurisy.
D. Jw. [Pushing away Pierrot roughly] What brings
this impertinent fellow here
Pier. [Placing himself between Don Juan and Char-
lotte] Hold hard, sir, you must not kiss our wives that are
to be.
D. Ju. [Pushing Pierrot again away] Ha what a
noise ! -
Pier. 'Sdeath ! People are not to be pushed thus.
Char. [Taking Pierrot by the arm] Let him alone,
Pierrot. & l
Pier. What I let him alone 2 I will not, not I
D. Jw. Hah -
Pier. Drat it, because you are a gentleman, you come
here to caress our wives under our very noses 2 Go and
kiss your own. *
D. Jw. What ?
Pier. What? [Don Juan gives him a boa, on the ear]
Darn it, do not strike me; [another] Hang it ! [another]
Zounds ! [another] 'Sblood and wounds ! it is not fair to
beat people ! Is this my reward for saving you from being
drowned 2 -
Char. Do not be angry, Pierrot.
Pier. I will be angry; and you are a hussy, to let him
cozen you.
Char. Oh, Pierrot it is not as you think. This gentle-
man will marry me, and you should not be in a passion.
Pier. Ha! But you are engaged to me.
124 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT Il.
Char. That makes no matter, Pierrot. If you love me,
should ye not be glad that I am to be made a madam?
Pier. No, I would as soon see you hanged as see you
another's.
Char. Come, come, Pierrot, do not fret yourself. If
I am a madam I shall make you gain something; you shall
serve us with butter and cheese.
Pier. Zounds ! I shall never serve you with anything,
even if you would pay me twice as much. Do not listen
thus to what he says. 'Sfish, had I known this just now,
I should not have taken him out of the water at all, but
I would have given him a good rap upon the head with my
Oa.T. .
D. Jw. [Coming wo to Pierrot to strike him] What is
that you say ? -
Pier. [Getting behind Charlotte] Drat it ! I fear no
Iſlall.
D. Jw. [Coming towards him] Let me only get hold of
you.
Pier. [Gets on the other side of Charlotte] I do not
care, not I.
D. Jw. [Running after him] We shall try that.
Pier. [Getting amew behind Charlotte] I have seen many
a man as good as you.
D. Jw. What ?
Sgam. Oh, sir, let the poor wretch alone. It is a pity
to beat him. [Placing himself between Don Juan and
Pierrot, and addressing the latter] Harkee, my poor lad,
move off, and do not talk to him.
Pier. [Passing before Sganarelle, and looking boldly
at Don Juan.) I will talk to him.
D. Jw. [Lifts wo his hand and intends to give Pierrot
a boa, on the ear] Ha 1 I shall teach you. [Pierrot ducks
down his head, so that Sgamarelle receives it.
i. : 3. -
º . º

SC. Iv.-v.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 125
Sgam. [Looking at Pierrot] Plague take the booby
D. Ju. [To Sganarelle] That is a reward for your
charity.
Pier. Zounds ! I shall go and tell her aunt of all her
goings-on.
SCENE IV.
DON JUAN, CHARLOTTE, SGANARELLE.
D. Jw. [To Charlotte] At last I am going to be the
happiest of men, and I would not change my happiness for
all the world could give me. What pleasures shall we have,
when you are my wife, and what . . .
SCENE V.
DON JUAN, CHARLOTTE, MATHURINE, SGANARELLE.
Sgam. [Perceiving Mathwrime] So, so.
Math. [To Dom Juan] Sir, what are you doing there
with Charlotte 2 Are you courting her too !
D. Jw. [Aside to Mathurine] No ; on the contrary; she
told me she wished to be my wife, and I told her I was
engaged to you.
Char. [To Don Juan] What is that Mathurine wants
with you ?
D. Ju. [Aside to Charlotte] She is jealous of my speaking
to you, and would like me to marry her; but I tell her it
is you whom I wish to have.
Math. What I Charlotte . . .
D. Ju. [Aside to Mathurine] All you can say to her will
be of no use; she took this into her head.
Char. What then, Mathurine .
D. Ju. [Aside to Charlotte] It is in vain to talk to her,
you will not get this whim out of her head.
Math. Would you . . .
126 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT II.
D. Ju. [Aside to Mathwrime] There is no possibility of
making her listen to reason.
Char. I should like . .
D. Jw. [Aside to Charlotte] She is as obstinate as the
devil.
Math. Really . . .
D. Jw. [Aside to Mathwrime] Do not say anything to
her, she is a fool.
Char. I think . . .
D. Jw. [Aside to Charlotte] Let her alone, she is silly.
Math. No, no, I must speak to her.
Char. I will hear some of her reasons.
Math. What . . .
D. Jw. [Aside to Mathwrime] I will lay you a wager that
she tells you that I promised to marry her.
Char. I . . . *
D. Ju. [Aside to Charlotte] I will bet you anything that
she will maintain that I have given her my word to make
her my wife.
Math. Hark you, Charlotte, it is not right to meddle
with other folks' bargains.
Char. It is not polite to be jealous because the gentle-
man speaks to me.
Math. The gentleman saw me first.
Char. If he saw you first, he saw me second, and has
promised to marry me.
D. Ju. [Aside to Mathwrime] Well, did I not tell
you so :
Math. [To Charlotte] Your humble servant, it was me
and not you whom he promised to marry.
D. Jw. [Aside to Charlotte] Did I not guess right 2
Char. You may tell that to others, if you please, but
not to me; it was me he promised to marry, I tell
you.
Sc. v.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 127
Math. You make fun of folks; once more it was me he
promised to marry.
Char. There he is; he can tell you whether I am right.
Math. There he is ; he can give me the lie if I do not
speak the truth ?
Char. Sir, did you promise to marry her ?
D. Jw. [Aside to Charlotte] You are joking.
Math. Is it true, sir, that you have given your word to
be her husband 7
D. Ju. [Aside to Mathwrime] Could you entertain such
a thought 2
Char. You see she affirms it.
D. Jw. [Aside to Charlotte] Let her alone.
Math. You are witness how positive she is.
D. Jw. [Aside to Mathwrime] Let her say what she likes.
Char. No, no, we must know the truth.
Math. We must have it decided.
Char. Yes, Mathurine, I will have the gentleman show
you your mistake.”
Math. Yes, Charlotte, I will have the gentleman make
you look foolish.19 -
Char. Decide the quarrel, sir, if you please.
Math. Satisfy us, sir.
* The original has, Je veua, que monsieur vous montre votre bec jaune;
literally, “I will that the gentleman should show you your yellow beak.”
This is a phrase which dates from the days when falconry was a favourite
sport. A bird with a yellow beak is a very young bird, hence young
scholars, greenhorns, were called bejaunes, and thus montrer a quelqu'un
son bejaune or son bec jaune came to mean, “to show one he was duped”
or foolishly taken in. “Green,” instead of jaune, yellow, appears to have
the same signification in very familiar English phraseology.
* In the original we find, Je veuw que monsieur vous rende un pew
camuse, literally, “I wish the gentleman would make you a little flat-
nosed,” or figuratively, as above. Avoir un pied de mez, literally “to
have a nose a foot long,” has the same meaning when used as a familiar
form of speech.
128 DON JUAN; OR, [ACT II.
Char. You shall see.
Math. And you shall see too.
Char. [To Don Juan] Speak.
Math. [To Don Juam] Speak.
D. Ju. What would you have me say ? You both main-
tain that I have promised to marry you. Does not each of
you know the whole business without any necessity for me
giving any more explanations ? Why should you oblige
me to repeat what I have said : Has not the person to
whom I really gave the promise sufficient reasons within
herself to laugh at what the other says; and ought she
to trouble herself, provided I keep my promise ? All the
speeches do not forward affairs; we must act and not talk,
and facts prove more than words. Therefore, that is the only
way in which I shall satisfy you, and when I marry, you shall
see which of you two has my heart. [Aside to Mathwrime]
Let her believe what she will. [Aside to Charlotte] Let
her flatter herself in her own imagination. [Aside to
Mathwrime] I adore you. [Aside to Charlotte] I am en-
tirely yours. [Aside to Mathurine] All faces are ugly in
comparison with yours. [Aside to Charlotte] When a man
has once seen you he cannot bear to look at others. [Aloud
to both] I have some trifling message to deliver; I shall be
back again in a quarter of an hour.”
SCENE VI.
CHARLOTTE, MATHURINE, SGANARELLE.
Char. [To Mathwrime] I am the one he loves, however.
Math. [To Charlotte] He will marry me.
Sgam. [Stopping Charlotte and Mathwrime] Ah poor
girls, I pity your innocence. I cannot bear to see you run
* On reading this scene it seems forced and unnatural, but on the
stage, when acted well, it is very amusing.
SC. VII.-VIII. THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 129
thus to your destruction. Believe me both, do not be im-
posed upon by the stories he tells you, but stay in your
village.
SCENE VII.
DON JUAN, CHARLOTTE, MATHURINE, SCANARELLE.
D. Jw. [In the background, aside] I would fain know
why Sganarelle does not follow me.
Sgan. My master is a knave; he only wishes to make
fools of you ; he has made fools of a good many others; he
marries the whole sex, and . . . [Seeing Don Juam] It
is false, and whoever tells you this you may tell him he
lies. My master does not marry the whole sex; he is no
knave; he does not intend to deceive you, nor has he ever
made a fool of any one. Oh, stay here he is ; ask him
himself.
D. Ju. [Looking at Sgamarelle, and suspecting him of
having said something] Yes!
Sgam. Sir, as the world is full of backbiters, I was be-
forehand with them ; and I was telling these girls that if
anybody should say anything wrong of you they ought not
to believe him, and be sure to tell him that he lied.
D. Jw. Sganarelle !
Sgan. [To Charlotte and Mathwrime] Yes, my master
is an honourable man ; I warrant him such.
D. Jw. Hem :
Sgam. They are impertinent rascals.
SCENE VIII.
DON JUAN, LA RAMéE, CHARLOTTE, MATHURINE,
SGANARELLE.
La R. [Aside to Don Juam] Sir, I come to tell you
that it is not quite safe for you to be here.
III. I
1:30 DON JUAN ; OR, º [ACT II.
D. Jw. How so 2 -
La R. Twelve men on horseback are in search of you ;
they will be here in a moment. I do not know how
they have followed you; but I have learned these tidings
from a country-man of whom they enquired, and to whom
they described you. As there is no time to lose, the sooner
you leave here the better. -
SOENE IX.
Don Juan, CHARLOTTE, MATHURINE, SGANARELLE.
D. Ju. [To Charlotte and Mathwrime] Urgent business
obliges me to leave this place, but I entreat you to remem-
ber the promise which I made you ; depend upon it, you shall
hear from me before to-morrow evening.
SCENE X.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Jw. As we are unequally matched we must make use
of a stratagem, and cleverly escape from the misfortune that
pursues me. Sganarelle, you shall put on my clothes, and
I . .
Sgam. Sir, you are joking. To expose me to be killed
in your clothes, and . . .
D. Jw. Make haste, I do you too much honour. Happy
is the servant who has the glory of dying for his master.
Sgan. Thank you for such an honour. [Alone] As it
is a case of death, grant me the favour, oh Heaven not to
be taken for another.
SC. I.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. I 31
A CT III. SCENE I.
(A. Forest).
DON JUAN, dressed as a cowntry gentleman,
SGANARELLE, as a physician.
Sgan. Upon my word, sir, acknowledge that I was
right, and that we are both wonderfully well disguised.
Your first plan would by no means have been opportune ;
this conceals us much better than what you would have
done. 4.
D. Ju. It is true, you look very well; I cannot imagine
where you have unearthed this ridiculous apparel.
Sgam. Yes! It is the dress of an old physician which
was left in pawn in the place where I got it, and it cost me
some money to have it. But do you know, sir, that this
dress has already obtained me some consideration; that the
people I meet bow to me, and that they come to consult me
as an able man 7
D. Ju. How % e &
Sgam. Five or six countrymen and countrywomen, seeing
me pass, came to ask my advice upon different diseases.
D. Jw. You answered that you knew nothing of the
matter ? -
Sgan. I? Not at all. I wished to keep up the honour
of my dress; I speechified about the disease, and gave each
of them a prescription.
D. Jw. And what remedies did you prescribe 2
Sgam. Upon my word, sir, I picked them up where I
could. I prescribed at random ; it would be a funny thing
if the patients should get cured, and come to thank me.
D. Ju. And why not ? Why should you not have the
same privileges as all other physicians ? They have no more
to do with the recovery of their patients than you have,
132 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT III.
_e="
and all their art is mere pretence. They do nothing but
get honour if they succeed ; and you may take advantage, as
they do, of a patient's good luck, and see attributed to your
remedies what is owing to a lucky chance and to the powers
of nature.” r
Sgam. What, sir? You are also an unbeliever in
medicine ! -
D. Ju. It is one of the greatest errors of mankind.”
Sgam. What you have no belief in senna, cassia, or
antimonial wine !”
D. Jw. And why would you have me believe in them 2
Sgam. You are of a very unbelieving temper. Yet you
know how, of late, great noise has been made about anti-
monial wine ! The miracles it has produced have con-
verted the most incredulous minds; and it is but three
weeks ago since I myself, who am speaking to you, saw a
marvellous effect of it.
D. Ju. What ?
Sgan. There was a man who, for six days, was dying;
they did not know what more to prescribe for him, and all
17 This remark, which Molière has also made use of in Love is the
best Doctor is taken from Montaigne's Essays. “If good fortune, nature,
or some other strange cause, produce something good and healthy within
us, it is the privilege of medicine to see it attributed to it: all the for-
tunate successes which happen to a patient who is under the hands of
the physicians, are ascribed to it.”
* This is the first satirical outburst of Molière against the physicians;
but as it was put into the mouth of a man who believed in nothing, and
attacked everything, the doctors and the public in general did not think
they were the expression of the feelings of the author. His next play,
Love is the best Doctor, undeceived them.
* In Molière's time several works, pamphlets, and satires had been
written against, or in favour of a comparative new remedy, a prepara-
tion of antimony, called emetic, or antimonial wine. But in 1658,
Louis XIV. fell ill at Calais, and was cured by it, so that this
medicine became quite the fashion. In 1666, about one year after the
first performance of Don Juan, the parliament decided that antimony
could be used by the physicians of the Faculté.
SC. I.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 133
the remedies produced no effect; at last the doctors took
it into their heads to give him an emetic.
D. Jw. He recovered, did he not ?
Sgam. No, he died.
D. Jw. The effect is admirable.
Sgam. I should say so He could not die for six whole
days, and that made him die at once. Could you have any-
thing more efficacious !
D. Ju. You are right.
Sgam. But let us drop physic, in which you do not be-
lieve, and talk of other things; for this dress inspires me,
and I feel in the humour of disputing with you. You
know you allow me to dispute, and forbid me only to re-
monstrate.
D. Ju. Well ?
Sgan. I would fain know your innermost thoughts. Is
it possible that you do not believe at all in Heaven
D. Ju. Let us leave that alone.
Sgam. That means no. And in hell ?
D. Jw. Eh 2
Sgam. The same thing over again. And in the devil,
if you please ?
D. Jw. Yes, yes.
Sgan. Very little also. Do you not believe in a life
after this 2
D. Ju. Ha 1 ha 1 ha
Sgam. I shall have some trouble in converting this man.
Tell me what do you think of the moine bourru ?” Eh
* The moine bourru, literally, “the gruff monk,” was a phantom who,
it is said, ran through the streets at night, and beat the belated way-
farers. This connecting a superstition with the highest belief gave great
offence in Molière's time, and our author had probably to suppress this
passage after the first representations of Don Juan. But very likely he,
only wished to show that people like Sganarelle have a greater belief in
superstitions than in the highest abstract truths.
I 34 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT III.
D. Jw. A plague on the fool!
Sgam. That is what I cannot bear; for nothing can be
more true than the moime bowrrºw. I will be hanged if it
is not true ! People must believe something in this world.
What do you believe 2
D. Jw. What do I believe 2
Sgan. Yes. -
D. Jw. I believe that two and two are four, Sganarelle,
and that twice four are eight.
Sgam. A fine belief, and nice articles of faith ! As far
as I can see, your religion is arithmetic. It cannot be
denied that strange follies run in the heads of men, and
that those who have studied are often not the wiser for it.
As for me, sir, thank Heaven I have not studied as you
have, and no one can boast of ever having taught me any-
thing ; but with my small amount of sense, and my little
judgment, I can see things more clearly than all books, and
I can very well understand that this world which we behold
has not sprung up of itself in one night, like a mushroom.
I should like to ask you who has created these trees, these
rocks, this earth, and this sky above us; and if all this has
sprung up of itself. There you are ; I take you as an ex-
ample ; there you are: did you make yourself alone, and
was not your father obliged to sleep with your mother to
make you ? Can you see all the inventions of which the
human machine is composed without wondering how the one
influences the other ? these nerves, these bones, these veins,
these arteries, these . . . this lung, this heart, this liver,
and all these other ingredients to be found there, and
which . . . Oh, Lord interrupt me, if you please. I
cannot argue unless I am interrupted. You do not say a
single word on purpose, and allow me to go on out of
spite. -
D. Ju. I am waiting for your arguments to be finished.
SC. II.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 13.5
Sgan. My arguments are that there exists something
admirable in man, whatever you may say, which all the
philosophers cannot explain. Is it not marvellous that I
am here, and that I have something in my head which
thinks a hundred different things in one moment, and does
with my body all that it wishes to do 2 I wish to clasp my
hands, to lift up my arm, to raise my eyes towards Heaven,
to bend my head, to move my feet, to go to the right, to
the left, forwards, backwards, turn . . . [He falls down
whilst twºrning rowmd.] -
D. Jw. There is an end of all your arguing.
Sgam. Zounds ! I am a fool to amuse myself in arguing
with you ; believe what you like; it does not matter a straw
to me whether you are damned
D. Ju. I believe that whilst arguing we have lost our
way. Call that man we see yonder, and let us ask him our
road.” •
SCENE II.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, A Poor MAN.
Sgan. Hullo 1 ho! I say, you man ho my good
fellow ! friend, a word with you, pray. Show us the way
to the town.
Poor M. You have only to follow that path, gentlemen,
and turn to the right when you come to the end of the
* Molière intended to print his Don Juan, but this was never
done. In 1682, eight years after his death, La Grange and Vinot, in
the first collected edition of Molière's works, printed this play; but they
had to suppress several passages, which were afterwards found in a
copy, that had belonged to M. de la Reynie, then lieutenant-general of
police, and which was discovered only in 1825. Some passages are found
only in the editions printed at Amsterdam in 1683, and at Brussels
in 1694. None of these has ever before been translated into English.
The suppressed words begin page 133, “Don Juan. Let us leave that
alone,” until nearly the end of the scene.
I 36 DON JUAN; or, [ACT III.
forest but I warn you to be upon your guard, for there
have been robbers about for some time.
D. Jw. I am much obliged to you, friend, and thank
you with all my heart.
Poor M. If you would kindly assist me, sir, with some
trifle 2
D. Jw. Ha, haſ your advice is interested, I see.
Poor M. I am a poor man, sir, living alone in this forest
these ten years; and I shall pray to Heaven to grant you
all kinds of prosperity.
D. Jw. Pray Heaven to give you a coat, and do not
trouble yourself about other people's business.
Sgan. My good man, you do not know this gentle-
man; he only believes that two and two make four, and
that twice four are eight.
D. Jw. What is your occupation among these trees 2
Poor M. To pray to Heaven for the prosperity of all kind
people who give me something.
D. Ju. You are pretty well off, then 2
Poor M. Alas ! sir, I am as poor as poor can be.
D. Ju. You are joking: a man who prays to Heaven
every day must be very well off.
Poor M. I assure you, sir, that frequently I have not even
a piece of bread to eat.
D. Ju. That is strange; your assiduity is ill rewarded.
Ha, ha! I am going to give you directly a piece of gold,
provided you swear a round oath. w
Poor M. Oh! sir, would you wish me to commit such a sin?
D. Jw. Will you gain a piece of gold 2 yes or no.
Here is one for you, if you swear. There; now swear.
JPoor M. Sir . . .
D. Jw. Unless you swear, you shall not get it.
Sgam. Well, well; swear ever so little; there is no
harm in it.
SC. III.-Iv.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 137
M
D. Ju. Take it; here it is; take it, I tell you; but swear.
Poor M. No, sir, I would rather die of hunger.
D. Jw. There, there; I give you this piece of gold because
you are a human being.” [Looking into the forest] But what
do I see ? One man attacked by three The match is too
unequal, and I ought not to allow so base an action. [He
draws his sword and hastems to the spot where the attack
was going onl.
SCENE III.
SGANARELLE, alone.
My master is truly mad to run unsought into danger.
But, upon my word, his assistance has been of some use ;
the two have put the three to flight.
SCENE TV.
DON JUAN, DON CARLOS, SGANARELLE, in the backgrownd.
D. Car. [Putting up his sword] The flight of these
robbers shows me what I owe to your arm. Allow me, sir,
to return you thanks for so generous an action, and let . . .
D. Jw. I have done nothing, sir, but what you would
have done in my place. Such adventures touch our
honour; the action of these rogues was so cowardly, that
it would have been taking part with them not to have op-
posed them. But how fell you into their hands !
D. Car. By chance, I strayed from my brother and all
our retinue ; and whilst I was endeavouring to rejoin them,
I fell in with these robbers, who immediately killed my
* The original has pour l'amour de l’humanité, for the love of
humanity. Humanité often meant with Molière “the quality of being
human,” and not what it usually means now, “mankind collectively.”
The passages suppressed in the first printed and uncastrated edition of
this play are from page 136, “I have not even a piece of bread to eat,”
until page 137, “I would rather die of hunger.” The rest of the
scene is found only in the Amsterdam edition of 1684. This whole
scene caused an immense scandal in the beginning, and Molière was
accused of impiety (see Introductory Notice).
1 38 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT III,
horse, and would have done as much for me, had it not
been for your valour.
D. Jw. Do you intend to go towards the town 2
D. Car. Yes, but I do not intend to go into it; my brother
and I are obliged to roam about on account of one of those
sad affairs which compel noblemen to sacrifice themselves
and their families to their untarnished honour ; it is ever
fatal, even if we do succeed ; if we do not lose our life, we
are compelled to leave the kingdom. This is the reason
why I think it unfortunate to be a nobleman, for however
discreetly and honestly he may live himself, he cannot prevent
the laws of honour from connecting him with the disgrace-
ful conduct of other people, nor from having his life, repose,
and property depend upon the whims of the first audacious
fellow who takes it into his head to do him one of those
injuries for which a gentleman must lose his life.
D. Ju. There is, however, this advantage, that those who
take it into their head to offend us out of mere wantonness
run the same risks, and spend their time just as uncomfortably.
But if I am not indiscreet, may I ask what this sad affair is ?
D. Car. It has gone so far that the secret can no longer
be kept. When the insult is once public, our honour does
not oblige us to conceal our shame, but openly to blazon
forth our vengeance, and even to proclaim that we intend
to avenge ourselves. Therefore, sir, I have no scruples in
telling you that the offence which we wish to avenge is the
seduction of a sister, who was carried off from a convent, and
that the author of this offence is Don Juan Tenorio, son of
Don Louis Tenorio. We have been in search of him for
some days, and we followed him this morning, upon the
information of a servant, who told us that he had gone out
on horseback, with four or five others, and that he had taken
this route; but all our pains have been useless, and we can-
not discover what has become of him.
SC. Iv.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 139
D. Ju. Do you know this Don Juan, sir, of whom you
speak 2
D. Car. No, sir, I do not. I never saw him, and I have
only heard my brother describe him ; but his reputation is
none of the best ; he is a man whose life . . . .
D. Ju. Stop, sir, if you please. He is rather a friend of
mine, and it would be base in me to allow any one to speak
ill of him. -
D. Car. Out of respect for you, sir, I shall say nothing
of him. As you have saved my life, certainly the least
thing I can do is not to speak before you of one of your
acquaintances, when I can say nothing but evil of him.
But however much his friend you may be, I venture to
hope that you will not approve of this action of his, or think
it strange that we should endeavour to avenge ourselves.
D. Jw. On the contrary, I will serve you in this, and
spare you some fruitless trouble. I am Don Juan's friend,
I cannot help being so; but it is not right that he should
offend gentlemen with impunity, and I promise you in his
name that he shall give you satisfaction.
D. Car. And what satisfaction can he give for these
sorts of injuries 2
D. Jw. All that your honour can desire ; and, without
giving you any further trouble to look for Don Juan, I
engage that he shall be forthcoming wherever you like, and
when you please.
D. Car. This is very pleasant news, sir, to outraged
hearts; but after what I owe you, it would be very painful
to me if you were to be one of the combatants.
D. Ju. I am so intimately connected with Don Juan
that he cannot fight unless I must fight too ; but I answer
for him as for myself, and you have only to say when you
wish to meet him, and give you satisfaction.
D. Car. How cruel is my lot Must I owe my life to
you, and Don Juan be one of your friends !
140 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT III.
SCENE V.
DON ALONZO, DON CARLOS, DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Al. [Speaking to his retinue, without seeing Don
Carlos or Don Juam] Give some water to my horses, and
then lead them after us; I shall walk a little. [Seeing
them both] Heavens ! what do I see ? What I brother, you
are in conversation with our mortal enemy 2
D. Car. Our mortal enemy?
D. Ju. [Clapping his hand to his sword] Yes, I am
myself, Don Juan ; and your superior number shall not force
me to wish to disown my name.
D. Al. [Drawing his sword] Ah traitor, you must
die, and . . . [Sganarelle rwns away and hides himself]
D. Car. Stay, brother. I owe my life to him ; and had
he not come to my assistance, the robbers whom I encoun-
tered would have killed me.
D. Al. And would you allow this consideration to pre-
vent our vengeance 2 Whatever service the hand of an
enemy may render us, it ought to have no influence upon
our heart ; if we are to measure the obligation by the
injury, then your gratitude, brother, is in this case ridicu-
lous; for honour is infinitely more precious than life, and
therefore we owe nothing when we owe our life to him who
has taken away our honour.
D. Car. I know the difference, brother, that a gentleman
ought always to make between the one and the other; and
gratitude for the obligation does not efface within me resent-
ment for the injury; but allow me to give back to him on this
very spot what he has lent me; let me repay him imme-
diately the life I owe him, by delaying our vengeance, and
by allowing him the liberty of enjoying, for a few days, the
benefit of his kind action to me.
D. Al. No, no, we run the risk of not wreaking our
Sc. v.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 141
vengeance if we delay it, and the opportunity of taking it
may never come again. Heaven offers it to us now, and
we ought not to let it pass. When honour is mortally
wounded, we should not think of keeping any moderation ;
if you do not like to engage personally in this action, you
need only retire, and leave to my arm the glory of such a -
sacrifice.
D. Car. Pray, brother . . .
D. Al. All further conversation is unnecessary; he
must die.
D. Car. Hold, I say, brother. I will not allow any
attempt upon his life ; and I swear by Heaven that I shall
defend him here against any and every one ; that very life
which he has saved shall always guard him ; if you attempt
to kill him, you must first pierce me.
D. Al. What you side with our enemy against me ;
and, instead of feeling the same rage on beholding him as I
do, you show feelings full of gentleness
D. Car. Brother, let us show moderation in a lawful
action; and not avenge our honour with so much violence.
Let us master our courage; let us show valour without
ferocity, which only proceeds from mature deliberation
and reason, not from the impulse of a blind rage. I
will not remain in debt, brother, to my enemy; I am
under an obligation to him, which I must repay before I
do anything else. Our revenge will not be the less exem-
plary for being deferred ; on the contrary, it will be the
greater; and the opportunity we have had of taking it, will
make it appear more just in the eyes of the whole world.
D. Al. O, the strange weakness and dreadful blindness
of thus hazarding the interests of our honour for the ridicu-
lous idea of a fanciful obligation |
D. Car. No, brother, do not trouble yourself about that.
If I commit a fault, I shall make amends for it, and take
142 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT III.
care of our honour; I know to what it obliges us, and this
delay of one day, which my gratitude asks for him, will only
augment my desire to satisfy it. You see, Don Juan, how
anxious I am to return you the favour I have received ; by
this you can judge of the consequences; rest assured that
I discharge with the same warmth what I owe, and that I
shall not be the less punctual in repaying you the insult
than the kindness. I will not oblige you to express your
sentiments now ; I allow you to think at your leisure about
what you are resolved to do. You very well know the
great injury you have done us; you shall yourself judge
what reparation it demands. There are peaceful means of
giving us satisfaction; there are violent and bloody ones;
but finally, whatever choice you may make, you have passed
me your word to let Don Juan give me satisfaction. Pray,
mind to do so, and remember that, out of this place, my
only duty is for my honour.
D. Jw. I have asked nothing of you, and shall keep my
promise.
D. Car. Come, brother, a moment's forbearance does not
injure the severity of our duty.
SCENE VI.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Jw. Hullo 1 hey! Sganarelle !
Sgan. [Coming out of a place where he had hid him-
self] What is your pleasure, sir?
D. Ju. How I scoundrel, you run away when I am
attacked ?
Sgan. I beg your pardon, sir; I was quite near. I
believe that this gown is purgative, and that to wear it is as
good as taking medicine.
D. Jw. Plague on your insolence 1 Hide your cowardice
SC. VI.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 143
at least behind a more decent covering. Do you know who
the gentleman is whose life I saved ?
Sgam. I? No.
D. Jw. It is a brother of Elvira.
Sgan. A . . . g
D. Ju. He is gentlemanly enough, and behaved pretty
well ; I am sorry I have a quarrel with him.
Sgam. It would be easy for you to arrange all things.
D. Jw. Yes, but my passion for Elvira is worn out, and
it does not suit my mood to engage myself. You know I
love liberty in love, and I cannot resolve to immure my
heart between four walls. I have told you a score of times
I have a natural propensity to give way to whatever attracts
me. My heart belongs to the whole fair sex; and they
must take it by turns, and keep it as long as they can.
But what splendid edifice do I see amongst those trees :
Sgam. Do you not know it 2
D. Jw. No, indeed.
Sgam. Why I it is the tomb which the Commander
ordered to be built when you killed him.”
D. Jw. Ha you are right. I did not know that it was
hereabout. Every one says it is wonderfully well done,
and the statue of the Commander as well ; I have a mind
to go and see it.
Sgam. Do not go there, sir.
D. Ju. Why not ?
Sgan. It is not courteous to go to pay a visit to a
man whom you have killed. -
D. Ju. On the contrary; I intend to be courteous by
paying him a visit, which he ought to receive politely, if he
is anything of a gentleman. Come, let us go in. [The
tomb opens, and discovers a splendid mausolewm and the
statue of the Commander.]
* See Appendix, Note C.
144 DON JUAN; OR, [ACT rii.
Sgam. Ah how beautiful that is what fine statues |
what beautiful marble ! what fine pillars l ah how beauti-
ful that is What do you say of it, sir?
D. Jw. That the pride of a dead man cannot possibly
go farther. What I think admirable is that a man, who,
whilst he was alive, was satisfied with quite a plain
abode, should desire so magnificent a one, when he has
no longer occasion for it.
Sgam. Here is the statue of the Commander.
D. Ju. Zounds ! he looks very well in the dress of a
Roman emperor!
Sgam. Upon my word, sir, it is very well made. It
seems as if he were alive, and going to speak. He looks at
us in such a manner that it would frighten me if I were
quite alone ; I do not think he likes to see us.
D. Ju. He would be wrong; and it would be an unhand-
some reception of the honour I do him. Ask him if he will
come to take supper with me.
Sgan. That is a thing he has no occasion for, I believe.
D. Jw. Ask him, I say. .
Sgam. You are jesting. It would be madness to go
and speak to a statue.
D. Ju. Do what I bid you.
Sgam. How ridiculous ! Mr Commander . . . [Aside]
I laugh at my folly, but my master makes me do it.
[Aloud] Mr Commander, my master, Don Juan, asks
whether you will do him the honour to come to take supper
with him. [The statue mods its head] Ah
D. Jw. What is the matter ? What ails you ? Tell me.
Will you speak
Sgam. [Nodding his head like the statue] The
statue . . .
D. Jw. Well, what do you mean, villain :
Sgam. I say that the statue . .
sC. vi.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 145.
D. Jw. Well ! what of the statue 2 Speak, or I will
break every bone in your body. -
Sgam. The statue made a sign to me.
D. Jw. Plague take the rascal
Sgam. I tell you it made a sign to me; there is nothing
more true. Go and speak to him yourself, and then you
will see. Perhaps . . . -
D. Jw. Come, rogue, come. I will convict you clearly
of cowardice. Observe. Will his Excellency the Comman-
der come to take supper with me ! [The statue mods his
head again.] -
Sgam. I would not take ten pistoles to see it again.
Well, sir?
D. Jw. Come, let us begone.
Sgam. [Alone] These are your free-thinkers who be.
lieve in nothing.” -
ACT IV. SCENE I.
A Room in Don Juan's Palace.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, RAGOTIN.
D. Jw. [To Sganarelle] Be it as it will; let us drop it.
It is but a trifle, and we may have been deceived by a
false light, or surprised by some giddiness which disturbed
our sight.
Sgan. Ah sir, do not try to deny what we saw with
our own eyes. Nothing can be more certain than that nod;
I make no doubt that Heaven, offended by your way of
living, has wrought this miracle to convince you, and to
reclaim you from . . .
* See Appendix, Note D.
III. K
146 DON JUAN ; OR, [Act Iv.
D. Ju. Harkee. If you bother me any more with your
foolish morality; if you say another word on that subject, I
shall call one of the servants, send for a strong switch, have
you held down by three or four men, and give you a
thousand lashes. Do you understand me !”
Sgam. Very well, sir, perfectly well. You explain your-
self clearly; that is one good thing in you that you never
affect a roundabout way; you express yourself with wonder-
ful plainness.”
D. Ju. Come, let me have supper as soon as possible. A
chair here, boy. -
SCENE II.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, LA WIOLETTE, RAGOTIN.
La V. Sir, here is one of your tradesmen, M. Dimanche,
who wishes to speak to you.
Sgam. That is all right; we only wanted to be bothered
by a creditor | What put it into his head to come to ask
us for money 2 why did you not tell him that your master
was not at home 2
La V. I have been telling him so these three-quarters of
an hour, but he would not believe me, and sat down within
to wait. *
Sgam. Let him wait as long as he likes.
D. Jw. No, on the contrary, bid him come in. It is
very bad policy to hide from your creditors. It is good to
pay them something ; and I possess the secret of sending
them away satisfied without giving them a farthing.
* This is the first time that Don Juan threatens Sganarelle in a
positive and serious way,+a proof that he is disturbed by what he has
seen. Hence the slightest contradiction kindles his fury.
* This is an imitation of the Andria of Terence, Act i., Scene 2.
$c III.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. . 147
SCEAVE III.
Don Juan, M. DIMANCHE, SGANARELLE, LA VIOLETTE,
RAGOTIN.”
D. Ju. Hal M. Dimanche, come this way. How de-
lighted I am to see you ! And how angry I am that my
people did not show you in immediately I had given
orders that I would not see any one ; but this order was not
meant for you, and you have a right never to have the door
shut against you in my house,
M. Dim. Sir, I am very much obliged to you.
D. Jw. [To La Violette and Ragotin] Zounds ! ras-
cals, I shall teach you to leave M. Dimanche in the ante-
chamber, and I shall let you know who is who. -
M Dim. Sir, it is not of the slightest consequence.
D. Jw. [To M. Dimamche] What to say I was not
within, to M. Dimanche, my very best friend |
M. Dim. Sir, I am your servant; I came .
D. Jw. Here, quick, a seat for M. Dimanche.
M. Dim. Sir, I am very well as I am. .
D. Jw. No, no; I will have you sit down by me.
M. Dim. It is not necessary.
D. Jw. Take away that stool, and bring an arm-chair.
M. Dim. Sir, you are jesting, and . . .
D. Jw. No, no ; I know what I owe you ; and I will
not allow them to make any difference between us two.
M. Dim. Sir . . .
D. Jw. Come, sit down.
M. Dim. There is no need for it, sir. I have only one
word to say to you. I was .
D. Ju. Sit you down there, I say.
M. Dim. No, sir, I am very well. I come to . . .
* See Appendix, Note E.
148 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT Iv.
D. Jw. No, I will not hear you if you do not sit down.
M. Dim. Sir, I do as you wish. I . . .
D. Jw. Upon my word, M. Dimanche, you look very well.
M. Dim. Yes, sir, at your service. I came to . . .
D. Ju. You have an admirable constitution, rosy lips,
a ruddy complexion, and sparkling eyes.
M. Dim. I should be glad . . .
D. Ju. How is Mrs Dimanche, your good lady ?
M. Dim. Very well, sir, thank Heaven.
D. Ju. She is a good woman.
M. Dim. She is your humble servant, sir. I came . . .
D. Ju. And how is your little daughter, Claudine !
M. Dim. As well as possible.
D. Ju. What a pretty little girl she is I love her with
all my heart. -
M. Dim. You do her too much honour, sir. I .
D. Ju. And does little Colin make as much noise as
ever with his drum ?
M. Dim. Always the same, sir. I . . .
D. Jw. And your little dog, Brusquet, does he still
bark as loudly, and as lustily bite the legs of the people
who visit you ? -
M. Dim. More than ever, sir; and we cannot break him
off it. • * .
D. Ju. Do not be surprised if I ask after your whole
family; for I take a very great interest in them all.
M. Dim. We are infinitely obliged to you, sir. I. . . .
D. Ju. [Holding out his hand] Shake hands, then,
M. Dimanche. Are you really a friend of mine !
M. Dim. Sir, I am your servant.
D. Ju. I’gad, I am yours with all my heart.
M. Dim. You do me too much honour. I . . .
D. Ju. There is nothing I would not do for you.
M. Dim. Sir, you are too kind.
sc. Iv.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 149
D. Ju. And that without any motive, believe me. .
M. Dim. I have certainly not deserved this favour. But,
sir . . . -
D. Jw. Nonsense ! Come, Mr Dimanche, will you take
supper with me without any ceremony ? - -
M. Dim. No, sir; I must return home immediately. I . . .
D. Jw. [Rising] Here, quick, a candle to light Mr
Dimanche, and let four or five of my fellows take their
blunderbusses to escort him.
M. Dim. [Rising also] Sir, this is not necessary; I can
very well go alone. But . . . [Sganarelle quickly removes
the chairs.] . .
D. Ju. What ? They shall escort you ; I take too
great an interest in you. I am your humble servant, and
your debtor to boot. º
M. Dim. Ah sir . . .
D. Jw. I do not conceal it, and I tell it to everyone.
M. Dim. If . . .
D. Jw. Do you wish me to see you home 2
M. Dim. Oh, sir! you jest. Sir .
D. Jw. Embrace me then, pray. Once more I desire
you to be convinced that I am entirely yours, and that there
is nothing in the world which I would not do to serve you.
SCENE IV.
M. DIMANCHE, SGANARELLE.
Sgan. I must needs own that my master is a man who
loves you much. $
M. Dim. It is true; he is so polite to me, and pays me
so many compliments, that I can never ask him for money.
Sgan. I assure you that his whole household would
lay down their lives for you; and I wish something would
happen to you, that somebody would take it into his head
to cudgel you, then you should see how . . . - -
150 * DON JUAN ; OR, [Act Iv.
M. Dim. I believe it; but, Sganarelle, pray speak a word
to him about my money. --
Sgan. Oh! do not you trouble yourself about that, he
will pay you as well as anyone. . . .
M. Dim. But you, Sganarelle, you owe me something on
your own account. -
Sgan. Fie! do not speak of that.
M. Dim. What ? I . . .
Sgam. Do I not know what I owe you ?
M. Dim. Yes. But . . . -
Sgan. Come, Mr Dimanche, I am going to light you
to the door. -
M. Dim. But my money . . .
Sgan. [Taking M. Dimanche by the arm] You are
only jesting ?
M. Dim. I wish to . . . -
Sgam. [Pulling him] Come.
M. Dim. I intend to . . . -
Sgan. [Pushing him towards the door] Fiddlesticks
M. Dim. But . . . -
Sgam. [Pwshing him again] Fie!
M. Dim. I . . . - -
Sgan. [Pushing him quite off the stage] Fie, I say.”
SCENE V.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, LA WIOLETTE.
La V. [To Don Juan] Sir, here is your father. -
D. Jw. Oh This completes the business It wanted
only this to drive me mad
* Sganarelle has not much more money to give than his master; but
as he has not the same means of awing or of flattering M. Dimanche, he
uses but few words, and trusts to the strength of his arm to silence his
creditor, and to turn him out of the house. The servant, as well as the
master, are true to their natures. -
sc. v1.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 1 51
SCENE VI.
DON LOUIS, DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Lowis. I see plainly that I disturb you, and that you
could very easily have dispensed with my visit. It is true
we are a thorn in one another's path, and if you are tired
of seeing me, I am also very tired of your unruly behaviour.
Alas ! how little do we know what we do, when we do not
allow Heaven to judge what we need, when we wish to be
wiser than it, and importune it by our blind wishes and
inconsiderate demands ! I most anxiously wished for a
son; I incessantly prayed with incredible fervour for one ;
and this son, whom I obtained by wearying Heaven with
my prayers, is the plague and punishment of that very life,
of which I thought he would be the joy and consolation
With what eye, do you think, can I behold the many un-
worthy actions, whose wickedness can hardly be palliated
before the world, that continuance of disgraceful affairs
which daily compels us to weary the goodness of our
sovereign, and which has exhausted, in his opinion, the
merit of my services, and the influence of my friends ! Ah
what a mean spirit you have I Do you not blush because
you so little deserve your lofty birth ! Tell me, pray, what
right have you to be proud of it 2 and what have you
done in this world that gives you a claim to be considered
a nobleman : Do you think it is sufficient to bear the title
and arms of one, and that it is any glory to be descended
of noble blood, if one lives in infamy 7 No, no Rank is no-
thing without virtue.” We have therefore no share in the
glory of our ancestors, unless we strive to be like them ;
and the lustre which their actions reflect upon us, demands
–4
* Burns also says “The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the gowd for a that.”
152 - DON JUAN ; OR, . [Act IV:
that we should do them like honour, follow in their foot-
steps, and not degenerate from their virtues, if we would be
deemed their true descendants. Hence, in vain are you
born of lofty progenitors; they disown you as one of their
race, and all the illustrious deeds that they have achieved
confer no advantage upon you : on the contrary, their renown
only redounds to your discredit; and their glory is a shining
light which renders clear to the eyes of all the infamy of
your actions. Know, finally, that a nobleman who leads a
wicked life is a monster in nature; that virtue is the prime
badge of nobility; that I regard much less the name which
a man bears than the actions which he commits, and that I
should value more highly a porter's son who was an honest.
man, than a monarch's son who led such a life as yours.”
D. Jw. Sir, if you were to take a seat, you would speak
more at your ease.
D. Lowis. No, insolent wretch; I will neither take a seat
nor speak any more, and I plainly perceive that all my words
have no effect upon you; but learn, unworthy son, that by
your actions you have worn out a father's love; that, sooner
than you think, I shall put a stop to your irregularities,
forestall the vengeance of Heaven, and, by your punishment,
blot out the shame of being your father.
SCENE VII.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Ju. [Still addressing his father, although he has left]
Why I die as soon as you can, it is the best thing you can
possibly do. Every one must have his turn; it drives me
mad to see fathers live as long as their children. [He
throws himself down in his arm chair.]
* Nearly the whole of Don Louis' speech, beginning from, “Oh what
a mean spirit you have,” is, in the original, in blank verse.
sc. VIII.-Ix.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 153
Sgan. Ah I sir, you are in the wrong.
D. Ju. [Rising] I in the wrong 3
Sgam. [Trembling] Sir . . .
D. Ju. I in the wrong 2*
- Sgam. Yes, sir, you were wrong in having listened to
what he said to you, and you ought to have turned him out
by the shoulders. Did any one ever see anything more
impertinent 2 A father to come and remonstrate with his
son, and tell him to reform his ways, not to forget his lofty
birth, to live the life of a respectable man, and a hundred
other silly things of the same kind l Can a man like you,
who knows how to live, stand such a thing as that ? I
wonder at your patience. Had I been in your place, I
should have sent him about his business. [Aside] O cursed
complaisance, what do you bring me to
D. Ju. Will supper be ready soon :
SCENE VIII.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, RAGOTIN.
Rag. Sir, a lady, with her face veiled, wishes to speak
to you. *
D. Ju. Who can that be
Sgan. You must see.
SCENE IX.
DoNNA ELVIRA, veiled, DoN JUAN, SGANARELLE.”
D. Elv. Do not be surprised, Don Juan, to see me at this
hour, and in this dress. An urgent motive obliges me to
make you this visit ; what I have to say will admit of no
* Don Juan twice says to Sganarelle, “I in the wrong?” The re-
proaches of his servant would not sting him so much if he did not feel
he deserved them. & -
" See Appendix, Note F.
154 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT IV.
delay. I do not come here possessed by that wrath I
showed a little while ago; I am changed from what I was
this morning. I am no longer that Donna Elvira who
uttered imprecations against you; whose angry soul vented
nothing but threats, and breathed only revenge. Heaven
has banished from my heart all that unworthy passion which
I entertained for you, all those tumultuous upheavings of a
criminal attachment, all those shameful outbursts of an
earthly and gross love; and, it has left in my heart a
flame which burns for you without any sensual affection, a
tenderness entirely holy, a love detached from everything,
which is not actuated by selfishness, and cares only for your
good. -
D. Jw. [Whispering to Sganarelle] I think you weep
Sgan. Excuse me. -
D. Elv. It is this perfect and pure love which brings me
hither for your sake, to impart to you a warning from
Heaven, and endeavour to turn you away from that preci-
pice whither you are hastening. Yes, Don Juan, I know
all the irregularities of your life ; and that same Heaven
which has touched my heart, and made me see the errors
of my own conduct, has inspired me to come to you, and
to tell you in its name that your crimes have tired out its
mercy, that its dreadful wrath is ready to fall upon you, that
you can avoid this by a speedy repentance, and that perhaps
not another day is left to save yourself from the greatest of
all miseries. As for me, no earthly ties bind me any longer
to you. Thanks be to Heaven, I have abandoned all foolish
thoughts. I am resolved to retire into a nunnery; I only
hope to live long enough to expiate the crime I have com-
mitted, and, by an austere penance, to deserve pardon for the
blindness into which I have been plunged by the violence of a
guilty passion. But, when I am retired from the world, it would
greatly pain me if a person, whom I once tenderly loved, should
sc. ix.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 155
be made an ominous example of the justice of Heaven; it
will be an unspeakable delight to me if I can prevail upon you
to ward off the dreadful blow that threatens you. I beseech
you, Don Juan, grant me as a last favour this soothing con-
solation; refuse me not your own salvation, which I beg of
you with tears; if you are not moved for your own sake,
let at least my entreaties prevail, and spare me the terrible
grief of seeing you condemned to eternal punishments.
Sgan. [Aside] Poor lady
D. Elv. I once loved you very tenderly; nothing in this
world was so dear to me as you ; I forgot my duty for
your sake; I have done everything for you ; all the re-
ward I desire is that you should amend your life, and
ward off your destruction. Save yourself, I beseech you,
either for your own sake or mine. Once more, Don Juan,
I beg it of you with tears; and if the tears of a person you
once loved have no influence with you, I conjure you by
everything that is most capable of moving you.
Sgan. [Aside, looking to Don Juan] You have the
feelings of a tiger.
D. Elv. I leave you now ; that is all I had to say to
you.
D. Jw. Madam, it is late, stay here. We shall give you
as good a room as we can.
D. Elv. No, Don Juan, do not detain me longer.
D. Jw. Madam, you will oblige me by remaining, I
assure you. t
D. Elv. No, I tell you, let us not waste time in needless
words. Let me go immediately; do not insist upon ac-
companying me, and think only of profiting by my advice.
I 56 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT Iv.
SCENE X.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Ju. Do you know that I felt something stirring in
my heart for her, that I was rather pleased with this
strange unexpected adventure, and that her careless dress,
her languishing air, and her tears, rekindled within me some
small embers of an extinguished flame? • *
Sgan. That is as much as to say her words did not make
any impression on you.
D. Ju. Supper, quickly.
Sgan. Very well.
SCENE XI.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, LA WIOLETTE, RAGOTIN.”
D. Jw. [Sitting down at table] Sganarelle, we must
really think of amending our lives. - t
Sgan. Ay, that we must
D. Jw. Yes, upon my word, we must reform. Twenty
or thirty years more of this life, and then we shall consider
about it. *
Sgam. Oh I
D. Ju. What do you say to that ?
Sgan. Nothing. Here comes supper. [He takes a bit
from one of the dishes that was brought im, and puts it
into his mowth.]
D. Ju. Methinks you have a swollen cheek: what is the
matter with it? Speak. What have you in your mouth ?
Sgam. Nothing. -
D. Jw. Show it me. Zounds ! he has got a swelling in
his cheek. Quick | a lancet to open it. The poor fellow
* See Appendix, Note G.
SC. XI.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 157
cannot stand this any longer, and this abscess may choke
him. Wait ! see it is quite ripe. Ha! you rascal
Sgan. Upon my word, Sir, I wished to see whether
your cook had not put in too much pepper or salt.
D. Jw. Come, sit down there, and eat. I have some
business for you as soon as I have finished supper. I per-
ceive you are hungry. -
Sgan. [Sitting down at the table] I should think so,
Sir, I have not eaten anything since this morning. Taste
that, it is very good. [Ragotin takes Sganarelle's plate away
as soon as he has got anything upon it to eat] My plate,
my plate 1 Gently, if you please. Ods boddikins ! my
mannikin, how nimble you are in giving clean plates I
say, little la Violette, you are not very handy in giving a
man something to drink 1 [Whilst la Violette gives
Sganarelle Something to drink Ragotin again takes away
his plate]. - . .
D. Jw. Who can it be that knocks in such a manner ?
Sgam. Who the deuce comes to disturb us at our meal :
D. Ju. I wish to take my supper at least in peace;
let no one, therefore, come in.
Sgan. Let me alone, I shall go to the door myself.
D. Ju. [Seeing Sganarelle return frightened] What ails
you ? What is the matter ? - -
Sgam. [Nodding his head as the statue did] The .
is there. •
D. Jw. Let us go and see, and let us show that nothing
can move me.
Sgan. Ah poor Sganarelle, where will you hide your-
self?
158 - DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT Iv.
SCENE XII.
Don Juan, THE STATUE OF THE COMMANDER, SGANARELLE,
LA WIOLETTE, RAGOTIN. -
D. Jw. [To his servants] A chair and a plate here.
Quick | [Don Juan and the Statue sit down at the table]
[To Sganarelle] Come, sit down.
Sgan. Sir, I have lost my appetite.
D. Ju. Sit down here, I say. Give me something to
drink. The Commander's health, Sganarelle. Give him
some wine.
Sgam. Sir, I am not thirsty.
D. Jw. Drink, and sing a song to entertain the Com-
mander. -
Sgam. I have got a cold, Sir.
D. Ju. No matter. Begin. [To his servants] You,
there, come and sing along with him.
Stat. It is enough, Don Juan. I invite you to come
and take supper with me to-morrow. Will you be so
bold 2 -
D. Jw. Yes. Sganarelle alone shall accompany me.
Sgam. I thank you, to-morrow is fast-day with me.
D. Ju. [To Sgamarelle] Take a light.
Stat. No need of light for those whom Heaven guides.”
* See Appendix, Note H.
SC. I.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 159
ACT V. SCENE I.
(The theatre represents a landscape.)
DON LOUIS, DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Lo. What my son, is it possible that the mercy
of Heaven has granted my prayers ? Is what you tell
me really true : Do you not deceive me with a false ex-
pectation ? and can I indeed believe the astonishing tidings
of your conversion ?
D. Ju. [Playing the hypocrite]* Yes, I have seen the
error of my ways; I am no longer the same I was last
night; and Heaven has suddenly wrought a change in me,
which will surprise every one. It has touched my heart
and opened my eyes; I look back with horror upon my
long blindness, and the crimes and disorders of the life
I have led. In my own mind I consider all my former
abominations; I am astonished that Heaven could bear
with me so long, and that it has not twenty times discharged
upon my head the thunderbolts of its terrible justice. I
see how kind and merciful it has been to me in not
punishing my crimes; I intend to profit by it as I ought,
to show openly to the world a sudden change in my life, to
repair, by those means, the scandal of my past actions, and
endeavour to obtain from Heaven a full remission of my sins.
I am now going to strive for this; I beg of you, Sir, to aid
*Don Juan until now was swayed only by his passions, and a
slave to pleasure and debauchery. When he finds himself every-
where detested, when he sees the anger of powerful families raised
against him, when his friends leave him isolated, and his creditors become
importunate, when even his own father has cursed and disinherited
him, and when he imagines that the shadow of a man he has killed pur-
sues him, the only way that is left open to him, is falsehood and hypoc-
risy. He does not change his character, it is true, but his conversation
and behaviour. - -
I 60 s DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT v.
me in this design, and to assist me in making choice of a
person, who may serve me as a guide, and under whose con-
duct I may walk safely in the way. upon which I am
entering.
D. Lo. Ah! my son how easily does the love of a father
return, and how quickly do the offences of a son fade from
the memory at the least mention of repentance I I have
already forgotten all the sorrows you have caused me ;
everything is effaced by the words you have just spoken.
I confess I am beside myself; I shed tears of joy; all my
prayers are answered, and henceforth I have nothing to ask
from Heaven. Embrace me, my son, and persist, I conjure
you, in this praiseworthy resolution. As for me, I shall go
immediately to carry these happy tidings to your mother,
unite with her in expressing our delight, and return
thanks to Heaven for the holy thoughts with which it has
vouchsafed to inspire you. .
SCENE II.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
Sgan. Ah, Sir, how glad I am to see you converted I
have long been waiting for this; and now, thanks to Heaven,
all my wishes are accomplished.
D. Ju. Hang the booby
Sgan. How, booby ?
D. Jw. What, do you think I was serious in what I said
just now, and do you imagine that my mouth uttered what
my heart believed 2 -
Sgan. What it is not . . . You do not . . . Your
. . [Aside] Oh! what a man what a man what a
man l -
D. Ju. No, no, I am not altered, and my feelings are
always the same. -
SC. II.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 161
Sgam. What, do you not yield to the surprising miracle
of a moving and speaking statue
D. Ju. There is really something in that which I do not
understand ; but, whatever it may be, it is not capable
either of convincing my judgment, or of shaking my nerves,
and if I said I wished to reform my conduct, and was going
to lead an exemplary life, it is a plan which I have formed
out of pure policy, a useful stratagem, a necessary disguise
which I am willing to adopt, in order to spare the feelings
of a father, whose assistance I want, and to screen myself,
with respect to mankind, from the consequences of a hundred
disagreeable adventures. Sganarelle, I make you my con-
fidant in this case, and I am very glad to have a witness
of the feelings of my inmost soul, and of the real motives
which instigate me to act as I do.”
Sgam. What! you believe in nothing, and you pretend at
the same time to set up as a virtuous man 7
D. Ju. And why not ? There are many others besides
myself, who carry on this trade, and who make use of the
same mask to deceive the world.
Sgan. [Aside] Oh what a man what a man
D. Jw. There is no longer any shame in acting thus:
hypocrisy is a fashionable vice, and all fashionable vices
pass for virtues. The character of a virtuous man is the
best part which one can play. Now-a-days, the profession
of hypocrite possesses marvellous advantages. It is an art,
the quackery of which is always respected; and although it
36 The maxims which Don Juan promulgates farther on in defence of
hypocrisy, are not so much for Sganarelle as for the audience who listen
to the piece ; hence the statement that he is “very glad to have a wit-
ness . . . of the (his) real motives,” which he then unfolds. Don Juan is
above allafraid that, for one single moment, he could be thought sincerely
repentant, and is glad to have some confidant who can testify to his
hypocrisy. I doubt, however, if the real hypocrite ever unbosoms
himself, even to his most intimate companion. Tartuffe has no confidant.
III. L
162 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT v.
be seen through, no one dares to say anything against it.
All other vices of mankind are liable to censure, and every-
one is at liberty to attack them openly: but hypocrisy is
a privileged vice, which, with its own hand, closes the mouth
of all the world, and peacefully enjoys a sovereign impunity.
By mere force of humbug, a compact body is formed by the
whole set. He who offends one, brings them all upon
him ; and those, whom every one knows to act in all good
faith, and to be perfectly sincere, even those, I say, are
generally the dupes of the others; they simply fall into
the traps of the humbugs, and blindly support those who
ape their own conduct. How many, think you, do I
know who, by this stratagem, have adroitly patched up
the errors of their youth ; who put on a cloak of religion,
and beneath this venerated habit obtain leave to be the
most wicked fellows on earth ? It signifies nothing that
their intrigues, and they themselves, are known for what
they are, they have none the less influence in society; a
- demurely bent head, a canting sigh, and a pair of up-turned
eyes, justify with the world all that they can do. It is
under this favourable shelter that I intend to take refuge,
and arrange matters comfortably. I shall not abandon
my darling habits, but I shall take care to conceal them,
and amuse myself quietly. If I should be discovered,
I shall, without stirring a finger, find my interests espoused
by the whole crew,” and be defended by them through
thick and thin against every one. In short, this is the
true way of doing with impunity all that I please. I shall
set myself up as a censor of the actions of others, judge ill
of every one, and think well only of myself. Whoever
has offended me, however slightly, I shall never forgive;
37 The original has a “cabale,” which was formerly said only of the
clique of The Précieuses; but, when Don Juan was performed (1665), it
had come to mean “a set of organised devotees.”
SC. 11.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. I 63
but preserve, without much ado, an irreconcilable hatred. I
shall announce myself as the advocate of the interests of
Heaven ; and, under this convenient pretext, I shall per-
secute my enemies, accuse them of impiety, let loose against
them those rash zealots who, without knowing why or
wherefore, will raise an outcry against them, overwhelm
them with abuse, and openly condemn them to perdition
on their own private authority. It is thus that we must
profit by men's weaknesses, and that a man who is no fool
adapts himself to the vices of his age.”
Sgam. O Heavens ! what do I hear ! You only wanted
to be a hypocrite to make you perfect ; and now you have
reached the height of your abominations. Sir, your last
stroke is more than I can bear, and I cannot help speaking.
Do what you please with me; beat me, break every bone in my
body, kill me if you like ; I must discharge my conscience,
and, like a faithful servant, tell you what I ought. Know,
sir, that the pitcher goes so often to the well, that it comes
home broken at last, and as that author, whose name I
have forgotten, very well says, man is, in this world, like a
bird on a bough ; the bough is fixed to the tree ; he who
clings to the tree follows good precepts; good precepts are
better than fair words; fair words are found at court; at
court are courtiers; the courtiers follow the fashion; fashion
proceeds from fancy; fancy is a faculty of the soul; the
soul gives us life; life ends in death ; death causes us to
think of Heaven ; Heaven is above the earth ; the earth is
not the sea ; the sea is subject to storms ; storms toss ves-
sels; vessels have need of a good pilot; a good pilot is pru-
dent ; young people are not prudent; young people ought
to obey old people ; old people love riches; riches make
*These words contain a vigorous protest against those who had
attacked Tartuffe, which had already been played tentatively—and
through whose machinations it had been forbidden to be brought out.
164 DON JUAN ; OR, [ACT v.
men rich; the rich are not poor ; the poor have necessities;
necessity has no law; he who knows no law lives like a brute
beast, and consequently you shall be condemned to the
bottomless pit.” -
D. Jw. What fine arguments
Sgan. If you do not give in, after this, so much the worse
for you. .
SCENE III.
DoN CARLOS, DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
D. Car. Don Juan, I meet you just in time; and I am
glad to address you here rather than at your own house, to ask
you what you are resolved to do. You know that it con-
cerns me, and that, in your presence, I took upon me to watch
over this affair. As for me, I do not conceal it, I sincerely
wish that things may be arranged in an amicable way; there
is nothing which I would not do to induce you to take that
course, and to see you publicly recognise my sister as your
wife. t;
D. Jw. [In a hypocritical tone] Alas! I should indeed
like to give you, with all my heart, the satisfaction you
desire; but Heaven is directly opposed to it; it has in-
spired me with the design of amending my life; and I now
entertain no other thoughts than entirely to abandon all that
binds me to this world, to strip myself as soon as possible of
all sorts of pomps and vanities, and henceforth to correct, by
an austere behaviour, all those criminal irregularities into
which a blind and youthful ardour led me.
D. Car. This design, Don Juan, does not clash with
* Some of the early editions have Sganarelle's speech only as far as
“in death.” At last, Sganarelle's indignation is roused by Don Juan's
hypocrisy; he flies in a passion, and attacks his master violently, but
flounders in the midst of his reasonings, talks nonsense, and ends rather
abruptly. -
SC. III.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 1.65
what I propose, and the company of a lawful wife is not in
opposition to the praiseworthy designs with which Heaven
has inspired you.
D. Ju. Alas ! that is by no means the case. Your sister
herself has formed this same plan; she has resolved to with-
draw into a nunnery; and we have been both touched by
grace at the same time.
D. Car. Her going into a nunnery cannot give us satis-
faction, since it may be attributed to the contempt which
you show to her and our family ; our honour demands that
she should be married to you.
D. Jw. I assure you that that cannot be. I was very
much inclined towards that union; and this very day I
asked counsel from Heaven about it ; but, when I did so, I
heard a voice which told me that I ought not to think of
your sister, and that most certainly I could not be saved
with her.
D. Car. Do you think, Don Juan, that you can blind us
with such fine excuses :
D. Jw. I obey the voice of Heaven.
D. Car. What? would you have me be satisfied with
such a speech 2 -
D. Jw. Heaven will have it so.
D. Car. Have you taken my sister out of a nunnery, to
abandon her at last 2
D. Jw. Heaven ordains it so.
D. Car. Shall we suffer such a blot upon our family
D. Ju. Seek your redress from Heaven.
D. Car. Pooh ! why always Heaven 2
D. Jw. Heaven wishes it should be so.
D. Car. It is enough, Don Juan ; I understand you.
This spot is not favourable for what I have to say about
it; but I shall find you before long. -
D. Ju. You may do as you please. You know I am not
166 DON JUAN ; OR, [Act v.
wanting in courage, and can use my sword, if need be. I
am going directly through that little lonely street which
leads to the great convent; but I declare to you, solemnly,
I do not wish to fight ; Heaven forbid the thought; and
if you attack me, we shall see what will come of it.”
D. Car. Truly, we shall see, we shall see.
SCENE TV.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
Sgan. Sir, what a devil of a style have you adopted ?
This is worse than all the rest, and I liked you much better
as you were before. I always hoped you might be saved ;
but now I despair of it; I believe that Heaven, which has
endured you hitherto, can never bear this last abomination.
D. Jw. Pooh Pooh Heaven is not so particular as you
think ; and if men were every time to . . .
SCENE V.
DON JUAN, SGANARELLE, A GHOST in the form of a veiled
woman.”
Sgan. [Seeing the Ghost] Ah Sir, Heaven speaks to
you ; it is a warning it gives you.
D. Jw. If Heaven gives me a warning, it must speak
more plainly, if it wishes me to understand it.
Ghost. Don Juan has but a moment to take advantage
of the mercy of Heaven; and if he does not repent now, his
perdition is certain.
Sgan. Do you hear, sir?
D. Jw. Who dares to utter such words 2 I think I
know that voice.
* In the former scene, Don Juan has laid down the theory of hypo-
crisy; in this scene, he brings it into practice.
* See Appendix, Note I.
SC. VI.] THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 167
Sgan. Oh, sir, it is a Ghost, I know it by its step.
D. Jw. Ghost, phantom, or devil, I shall see what it is.
[The Ghost changes its shape, and represents time with a
Scythe in its hand].
Sgan. Oh Heavens ! do you see this change of shape,
sir 2
D. Jw. No, no, nothing can frighten me; and I shall try
with my sword whether it is a body or a spirit. [The Ghost
vanishes the instant Don Juan offers to strike it].
Sgam. Ah, sir, yield to so many proofs, and repent im-
mediately.
D. Ju. No, no, come what will, it shall never be said that
I was capable of repentance. Come, follow me.
SCENE VI.
THE STATUE OF THE COMMANDER, DON JUAN, SGANARELLE.
Stat. Stay, Don Juan. You gave me your word yes-
terday that you would come and sup with me.
D. Jw. Yes. Where shall we go
Stat. Give me your hand.
D. Jw. Here it is.
Stat. Don Juan, a terrible death is the consequence of
persistency in sin; and when the mercy of Heaven is re-
fused, its thunder appears.
D. Jw. Oh Heavens ! what do I feel ? an inward flame
devours me, I can bear it no longer, and my whole body is
on fire. Oh I [Lowd claps of thwnder are heard; great
flashes of lightning fall upon Don Juan. The earth opens
and swallows him wo; flames burst out on the very spot
where he went down].”
* See Appendix, Note J.
I 68 ‘DON JUAN. - [ACT v.
SCENE VII.
SGANARELLE, alone.
Alas ! my wages my wages 1 Every one is satisfied by
his death. Offended Heaven, violated laws, maids seduced,
families dishonoured, parents outraged, wives ruined, hus-
bands driven to despair, all are satisfied. I alone am un-
happy. My wages, my wages, my wages | *
* This exclamation of Sganarelle about his wages gave great offence.
People considered that a man who could remain cool and collected in the
presence of such a miracle, was nothing better than an infidel, and that
instead of shouting for his wages, he would have done better to remain
dumb, as struck by a religious terror. Molière had to leave out the ex-
clamation, “my wages.” But, a few years later, it was allowed to pass
without any remarks when put into the mouth of Arlequin, in a stupid
farce by a certain actor, Rosimond.
A PP E N DIX.
A, page 104.
. This second Scene, Act i., of Molière's Don Juan, is partly imitated
and exaggerated by Th. Shadwell, in Don John ; or, the Libertine De-
stroyed (Act ii., Scene 1). Sganarelle is called Jacomo.
Don John. How now, Sir, what wise Thoughts have you in your
Noddle 7
Jacomo. Why, Sir, I was considering how well I could endure to be
hang'd.
D. J. And why so, Buffle!
Jac. Why, you will force me to wait upon you in all your Fortunes,
and you are making what haste you can to the Gallows
D. J. Again at your Reproofs' You insipid Rascal, I shall cut your
Ears off, Dog—
Jac. Good Sir, I have done; yet I cannot but admire, since you are
resolved to go to the Devil, that you cannot be content with the common
way of Travelling, but must ride Post to him. -
D. J. Leave off your idle Tales, found out by Priests to keep the
Rabble in awe.
Jac. O horrid Wickedness | If I may be bold to ask, what noble
Exploits did your Chivalry perform last Night . . . O Horror |
D. J. Do you start, you Villain, Hah?
Jac. I, Sir who I, Sir? Not I, Sir.
D. J. D'hear, Rascal, let me not see a Frown upon your Face; if I do,
I will cut your Throat, you Rogue.
Jac. No, Sir, no, Sir, I warrant you; I am in a very good Humour,
I assure you; Heaven deliver me !
D. J. Now listen and learn. I kill'd a Lady's Lover, and supply'd
his Place . . . . In came her foolish Brother and surprized me, but
perished by my hand; and I doubt not but I maul'd three or four of
his Servants. [Jacomo starts.
Jac. O horrid Fact! [Aside.
D. J. Again, Villain, are you frowning?
Jac. No, Sir, no, Sir ; don't think so ill of me, Sir. Heaven send
me from this wicked Wretch—What will become of us, Sir? We shall
be apprehended. -
170 DON JUAN ; OR,
D. J. Can you fear your rascally Carcase, when I venture mine? I
observe always, those that have the most despicable Persons, are most
careful to preserve 'em.
Jac. Sir, I beg your Pardon; but I have an odd Humour, makes
me something unfit for your Worship's Service.
D. J. What's that, Sirrah?
Jac. "Tis a very odd one, I’m almost asham'd to tell it to you.
D. J. Out with it, Fool
Jac. Why, Sir, I cannot tell what is the Reason, but I have such an
unconquerable Antipathy to Hemp, I could never endure a Bell-rope ;
Hanging is a kind of Death I cannot abide; I am not able to endure it.
B, Page 110.
Thomas Shadwell, in Don John, or the Libertène Destroyed (Act i.
Scene 1), has imitated the third Scene of the first Act of Molière's
Don Juan ; Sganarelle is called Jacomo, Donna Elvira, Leonora, and
Don Juan, Don John.
Jacomo. Here comes Leonora, one of that Multitude of Ladies he has
sworn to, ly'd to and betray'd.
Leonora. Jacomo, where's Don John? I could not live to endure a
longer Absence from him. I have sigh’d and wept myself away; I
move, but have no Life left in me. His Coldness and his Absence have
given me fearful and killing Apprehensions. Where is my Dear?
Jac. Your Dear, Madam | He's yours no more.
Leo. Heav'n ' What do I hear? Speak, is he dead?
Jac. To you he is. ..
Leo. Ah me ! has he forgot his Vows and Oaths? Has he no
Conscience, Faith, or Honour left?
Jac. Left, Madam he ne'er had any.
Leo. It is impossible; you speak this out of Malice, sure.
Jac. There 's no Man knows him better than I do. I have a greater
Respect for you, than for any he has betray'd, and will undeceive you :
He is the most perfidious Wretch alive.
Leo. Has he forgot the Sacred Contract, which was made privately
betwixt us, and confirm'd before the Altar, during the Time of Holy
Mass 7 -
Jac. All Times and Places are alike to him.
Leo. Oh how assiduous was he in his Passion How many thousand
Vows and Sighs he breath’d. What Tears he wept, seeming to suffer
all the cruel Pangs which Lovers e'er endur'd How eloquent were all
his Words and Actions !
Jac. His Person and his Parts are excellent, but his base Vices are
beyond all Measure: Why would you believe him.
Leo. My own Love brib'd me to believe him : I saw the Man I lov'd
more than the World, oft on his Knees with his Eyes lift up to
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 171
Heav'n, kissing my Hand with such an amorous Heat, and with such
Ardor, breathing fervent Vows of loyal Love, and venting sad Complaints
of extreme Sufferings; I, poor easy Soul, flattering myself to think he
meant as I did, lost all my Sex's Faculty, Dissembling ; and in a Month
must I be thus betray'd?
Jac. Poor Lady I cannot but have Bowels for you : Your sad
Narration makes me weep in sadness: But you are better us’d than
others. I ne'er knew him constant a Fortnight before.
Leo. Then he promis'd he would marry me.
Jac. If we were to live here one month longer, he would marry half
the Town, ugly and handsome, old and young: Nothing that's Female
comes amiss to him
Leo. Does he not fear a Thunderbolt from Heaven?
Jac. No, nor a Devil from Hell. He owns no Deity but his voluptuous
Appetite, whose satisfaction he will compass by Murders, Rapes,
Treasons, or aught else. But pray let me ask you one civil question:
Did you not give him Earnest of your Body, Madam?
Leo. Mock not my Misery. Oh that confounds me. Ah I thought
him true, and lov’d him so, I could deny him nothing.
Jac. Why, there 'tis ; I fear you have, or else he wou'd have married
you: He has married six within this month, and promis'd fifteen more,
whom he has enjoy'd, and left, and is this night gone on some new
Adventure, some Rape, or Murder, some such petty Thing.
Leo. Oh Monster of Impiety? O false Don John | Wonder of
Cruelty. [She swoons.
C, Page 143.
Thomas Shadwell, in his Don John (Act iv., end) has partly imitated
the sixth Scene of the third Act of Molière's Don Juan ; but in the
English author the scene takes place in a church. Don John has, in
Shadwell's play, also two friends with him, Don Lopez and Don Antonio.
The Scene changes to a Church, with the Statue of Don Pedro on
Płorseback in it.
Enter DoN JoHN, DON LOPEZ, DON ANTONIO, and JACOMO.
Don John. Let's in, and see this church. -
Jacomo. Is this a time to see churches? But, let me see, whose
statue’s this? O Heaven I this is Don Pedro, whom you murder'd at
Sevil.
D. J. Say you so? Read the inscription.
Jac. Here lies Don Pedro, Governor of Sevil, barbarously murder'd by
that impious villain Don John, gainst whom his innocent blood cries still
jor vengeance.
D. J. Let it cry on. Art thou there, i' faith? Yes, I kill'd thee;
and would do ’t again upon the same occasion. Jacomo–invite him to
supper.
172 DON JUAN ; OR,
Jac. What, a Statue invite a Statue to supper Ha, ha—can
marble eat
D. J. I say, Rascal, tell him I would have him sup with me.
Jac. Ha, ha, ha! Who the Devil put this whimsy into your head?
Ha, ha, ha, invite a Statue to Supper.
D. J. I shall spoil your mirth, Sirrah; I will have it done.
Jac. Why, "t is impossible; would you have me such a Coxcomb?
invite Marble to eat I ha, ha, ha. [He goes several Times towards the
Statue, and returns Laughing.] Good Mr Statue, if it shall please your
Worship, my Master desires you to make Collation with him presently.
[The Statue nods his Head. Jacomo falls down and roars..] Oh I am
dead Î Oh, oh, oh!
D. J. The Statue nods its Head ; 'tis odd–
D. A. 'T is wonderful
D. L. I am amaz'd
Jac. Oh I cannot stir Help ! help !
D. J. Well, Governour, come, take part of a Collation with me ; *t is
by this time ready; make haste, 'tis I invite you. [Statue nods again.]
Say you so | Come on, let's set all things in order quickly.
Jac. Oh I fly, fly.
D. A. This is prodigious !
[Eveunt Don John, Don Lopez, Don Antonio, Jacomo.
D, Page 145.
Sir Arthur Cockain's Ovid (Act iv., Scene 4), has some similarity
with the sixth Scene of the third Act of Molière's Don Juan, but Han-
nibal (Don Juan) and his servant Cacala (Sganarelle), espy a man
hanging on a gibbet, and the first invites the dead man to supper,
whilst in Molière Don Juan sees the statue of the man he has killed
in a duel, and tells his servant Sganarelle to invite him to supper.
Hannibal. It is grown something late, and time to think
Of our return unto our lodgings. Look!
What's that [Espies a man hanging on a gibbet.
Cacala. Sir, I see nothing.
Han. Cast thy eyes
That way. How now? what is 't hangs there?
Cac. Alas ! t is a poor fellow that was executed
Two or three days ago.
Han. He had ill fortune.
Had he not better have follow'd Mars, and fall'n
In glorious battle, and his soul expir’d
Through many wounds, than ignominiously
Thus sneak to death in moose of paltry halter?
THE FEAST witH THE STATUE. 173
Cac. My Captain Hannibal talks evermore
Of mighty battles . . .
Han. What mutter you, sirrah?
Cac. I, by your valour's leave was saying, Captain,
Yon man hangs in a pitiful cold corner;
The north wind shakes his legs as he were dancing.
Of wine and women, and of all good meats,
He hath for ever took his leave.
Han. I’m sorry for’s hard fate. Some lying people
Report some of the dead have walk'd. If thou
Canst such a piece of fine activity show,
Come sup with me to-night; thou shalt be welcome.
[Speaks to the hanged man.
Cac. He bows his head.
Han. Hang his head
Cac. He need not put himself to such unnecessary trouble;
He that small favour hath received already
From some of 's smaller friends.
Han. If th’ art a good dead fellow, come, I say !
And sup with me to-night.
Spec. I’ll come !
Cac. I think I heard him answer he would come.
Han. Thou art so timorous, the echo of
My voice deludes thee.
Follow me, thou fearful puppy
Cac. A dog
His captainship makes of me. Sir, I shall
Even tread upon your heels: I dare not stay
Behind an inch.
Han. Come, then, for I fear nothing.
Cac. By your leave,
I dread the gallows mightily; and a thief
That can talk after he 's dead is a terrible bugbear. [Eveunt.
E, Page 147.
Congreve has imitated Molière's Don Juan (Act iv., Scene 3), in Love
for Love (Act i., Scene 1). Don Juan is called Valentine, M. Dimanche,
Trapland, and Sganarelle, Jeremy; Scandal, Valentine's friend, is not
in the original Don Juan.
Valentine. Bid Trapland come in. If I can give that Cerberus a
sop, I shall be at rest for one day.
[Jeremy goes out, and brings in Trapland.
Val. O, Mr Trapland 1 my old friend welcome, Jeremy, a chair
quickly: a bottle of sack and a toast—fly—a chair first.
174 - DON JUAN ; OR,
Trapland. A good morning to you, Mr Valentine; and to you, Mr
Scandal.
Scandal. The morning 's a very good morning, if you don't spoil it.
Val. Come, sit you down; you know his way. .
Trap. [Sits] There is a debt, Mr Valentine, of fifteen hundred
pounds, of pretty long standing—
Val. I cannot talk of business with a thirsty palate.—Sirrah! the sack.
Trap. And I desire to know what course you have taken for the
payment.
Val. Faith and troth, I am heartily glad to see you—my service to
you, fill, fill, to honest Mr Trapland—fuller . .
Trap. Hold ! sweetheart—this is not to our business—My service to
you, Mr Scandal [Drinks] I have forborn as long
Val. T’ other glass, and then we'll talk—Fill, Jeremy.
Trap. No more, in truth, I have forborn, I say—
Val. Sirrah ! fill ! when I bid you, -And how does your handsome
daughter?—Come, a good husband to her [Drinks].
Trap. I thank you—-I have been out of this money
Val. Drink first. Scandal, why do you not drink? [They drink.
Trap. And, in short, I can be put off no longer. Jº
Val. I was much obliged to you for your supply: it did me signal
service in my necessity. But you delight in doing good. Scandal,
drink to me, my friend Trapland's health. An honester man lives not,
nor one more ready to serve his friend in distress, though I say it to
his face. Come, fill each man his glass. . . . .
Scan. I know the buxom black widow in the Poultry. Eight
hundred pounds a year jointure, and twenty thousand pounds in money
Ahah ! old Trap !
Val. Say you so, i' faith? Come, we'll remember the widow. I
know whereabouts you are ; come, to the widow.
Trap. No more indeed.
Val. What! the widow's health? Give it him—off with it [They
drink] A lovely girl, i' faith, black sparkling eyes, soft pouting lips
Better sealing there, then a bond for a million, ha!
Trap. No, no, there 's no such thing; we'd better mind our business
—You're a wag
Val. No, faith, we'll mind the widow’s business: fill again. . . . .
a Barbary shape, . . . would stir an Anchorite; and the prettiest foot!
Oh, if a man could but fasten his eyes to her feet, as they steal in and
out, and play at bo-peep under her petticoats—ha! Mr Trapland?
Trap. Verily, give me a glass—you're a wag, and here's to the
widow. - * [Drinks.]
Scan. He begins to chuckle—ply him close, or he 'll relapse into a
dun.
Enter OFFICER.
Officer. By your leave, gentlemen. Mr Trapland, if we must do our
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 175
office, tell us. We have half a dozen gentlemen to arrest in Pall Mall
and Covent Garden, and if we don't make haste, the chairmen will be
abroad, and block up the chocolate houses; and then our labour's lost.
Trap. Odso, that's true. Mr Valentine, I love mirth; but business
must be done ; are you ready to— -
Jer. Sir, your father's steward says, he comes to make proposals
concerning your debts.
Wal. Bid him come in. Mr Trapland, send away your officer; you
shall have an answer presently.
Trap. Mr Snap, stay within call. [Ecit Officer.
Enter STEWARD, who whispers VALENTINE.
Scan. Here’s a dog now, a traitor in his wine! Sirrah, refund the
sack; Jeremy, fetch him some warm water; or I'll rip up his stomach,
and go the shortest way to his conscience.
Trap. Mr Scandal, you are uncivil. I did not value your sack; but
you cannot expect it again, when I have drunk it.
Scan. And how do you expect to have your money again, when a
gentleman has spent it. -
Val. You need say no more. I understand the conditions; they
are very hard, but my necessity is very pressing: I agree to them.
Take Mr Trapland with you, and let him draw the writing. Mr
Trapland, you know this man; he shall satisfy you.
Trap. Sincerely, I am loth to be thus pressing; but my necessity—
Val. No apology, good Mr Scrivener; you shall be paid.
Trap. I hope you forgive me; my business requires
[Ea.eunt Trapland, Steward, and Jeremy.
F, Page 153.
Shadwell, in his Don John (Act ii., Scene 1), has partly imitated the
third Scene of the first Act and the ninth Scene of the fourth Act of
Molière's Don Juan, but has made the hero of his piece boast of his
vices, whilst in the French author he plays the hypocrite.
Enter LEONORA.
Leonora. I can hold no longer! &
Don John. 'Sdeath, you Dog, how came she here
Jacomo. I don't know, Sir, she stole in
Leon. What Witchcraft do I suffer under, that when I abhor his
Vices, I still love his person Ah, Don John I have I deserv'd that you
should fly me ! Are all your oaths and vows forgotten by you?
D. J. No, no ; in these cases I always remember my oaths, and never
forget to break them.
Leon. Oh Impiety | Did I, for this, yield up my Honour to you?
After you had sigh’d and languished many months, and shew’d all signs
176 DON JUAN ; OR,
of a sincere affection, I trusted your truth and constancy, without the
bond of marriage, . . . . believed your solemn contract, when you
invok'd all the powers above to testify your vows.
D. J. They think much of us ! Why don't they witness 'em for you ?
Pish, its nothing but a way of speaking, which young amorous Fellows
have gotten. •
Leon. Did you not love me, then? What injury had I e'er done you,
that you should feign Affection, to betray me?
D. J. Yes, faith, I did love you, and shew’d you as frequent and
as hearty signs of it as I could ; and egad y’ are an ungrateful Woman,
if you say the contrary. -
Leon. O Heaven did you, and do not now 7 What crime have I
committed, that could make you break your vows and oaths, and banish
all your Passion? Ah with what Tenderness have I received your
feign'd Affection, and ne'er thought I liv'd but in your Presence my
Love was too fervent to be counterfeit -
D. J. That I know not, for since your Sex are such Dissemblers, that
they can hold out against, and seem to hate the Men they love; why may
they not seem to love the Men they hate?
Leon. O cruel Man could I dissemble'. Had I a thousand Lives, I
ventur'd all each time I saw your Face; nay, were I now discover'd, I
should instantly be sacrificed to my raging Brother's Fury; and can I
dissemble?
D. J. I do not know whether you do or no ; you see I don't, I am
something free with you.
Leon. And do you not love me then? - -
D. J. Faith, Madam, I lov'd you as long as I could for the Heart and
Blood of me, and there's an end of it; what a Devil would you have
more ?
Leon. O cruel Man How miserable have you made me !
D. J. Miserable ! use Variety, as I do, and you’ll not be miserable.
Ah there 's nothing so sweet to frail human Flesh as Variety.
Leon. Inhuman Creature | What have I been guilty of, that thou
should'st thus remove thy Affections from me?
D. J. Guilty no, but I have had enough of you, and I have done
what I can for you, and there’s no more to be said.
Leon. Tigers would have more Pity than thou hast.
D. J. Unreasonable Woman | Would you have a man love after
enjoyment? I think the Devil's in you
Leon. Do not upbraid me with the rash Effects of Love, which you
caus'd in me? And do you hate me for what you ought to love me for?
Were you not many months with Vows and Oaths betraying me to that
Weakness? Ungrateful Monster
D. J. Why the Devil did you not yield before? You Women always
rook in Love. You'll never play upon the Square with us.
Leon. False Man! I yielded but too soon. Unfortunate Woman
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 177
D. J. Your dissembling Arts and jilting Tricks, taught you by your
Mothers, and the phlegmatick Coldness of your Constitutions, make you
so long in yielding, that we love out almost all our Love before you
begin ; and yet you would have our Love last as long as yours. I got
the Start of you a long Way, and have Reason to reach the Goal before
you.
Leon. Did you not swear you would for ever love me?
D. J. Why there "t is; why did you put me to the Trouble to swear
it? If you Women would be honest, and follow the Dictates of Sense
and Nature, we should agree about the Business presently, and never
be forsworn for the Matter.
Leon. Are Oaths so slighted by you, perfidious Man?
D. J. Oaths! Snares to catch conceited Women with ; I wou’d have
sworn all the Oaths under the Sun ; why I wou'd have committed
Treason for you, and yet I knew I should be weary of you——
Leon. I thought such Love as mine might have deserv'd your con-
stancy, false and ungrateful Man /
D. J. Thus your own Vanity, not we, betrays you. Each Woman
thinks, though Men are false to Others, that she is so fine a Person,
none can be so to her. You should not take our words of course in
earnest. - -
Leon. Thus Devils do in Hell, who cruelly upbraid whom they have
tempted thither.
D. J. In short, my Constitution will not let me love you longer. And
whatever some Hypocrites pretend, all Mankind obey their Constitu-
tions, and cannot do otherwise.
Leon. Heav'n, sure, will punish this vile Treachery.
D. J. Do you then leave it to Heav'n, and trouble yourself no further
about it.
Leon. Ye Sacred Powers, who take care of injur’d Innocence, assist me.
G, Page 156.
Thomas Shadwell has, in Don John (Act iv., end), partly followed
Molière's Don Juan (Act iv., Scenes 11 and 12), as follows:
The Scene in a dining-Room, a Table spread, Servants setting on meat
and wine.
Don John. Come, our meat is ready ; let's sit. . . . this foolish
statue ! it puzzles me to know the Reason on 't—Sirrah, I’ll give you
leave to sit. º
Don Antonio. Let’s eat; ne'er think on 't.
Jacomo. Ay, come, let's eat; I am too hungry now to think on the
right [Jacomo eats greedily.
D. J. This is excellent meat: How the Rogue eats! You’ll choak
yourself --
III. M
178 DON JUAN ; OR,
Jac. I warrant you, look to yourself.
D. A. Why, Jacomo, is the Devil in you?
Jac. No, no; if he be, ’tis a hungry Devil.
D. L. Will you not drink?
Jac. I’ll lay a good foundation first.
D. J. The Rascal eats like a Canibal.
Jac. Ay, 'tis no matter for that.
D. J. Some wine, Sirrah.
Jac. There, Sir, take it; I am in haste.
D. A. 'Sdeath ! the Fool will be strangled.
Jac. The Fool knows what he does.
D. J. Here's to Don Pedro's Ghost; he should have been welcome.
Jac. O name him not.
D. L. The Rascal is afraid of him after Death.
Jac. Oh oh Some wine, give me some wine. [Almost chok'd
D. A. Take it.
Jac. So ; now ’tis down.
D. A. Are you not satisfied yet?
Jac. Peace, peace: I have but just begun. [One knocks hard at the
Door] Who's there? Come in ; I am very busy.
D. J. Rise, and do your Duty.
Jac. But one Morsel more, I come. [Knocks again] What a fix :
Are you mad? [Opens the door.
Enter GHOST.
Oh! the Devil, the Devil
D. J. Ha 1 it is the Ghost let's rise and receive him.
D. A. I am amaz'd.
L. L. Not frightened, are you?
D. A. I scorn the thoughts of fear. [They salute the Ghost.
D. J. Come, Governour, you are welcome : sit there ; if we had
thought you would have come, we wou'd have stay’d for you. But
come on, Sirrah, give me some wine. [The Ghost sits.
Jac. Oh I am dead ; what, shall I do? I dare not come near you.
D. J. Come, Rascal, or I'll cut your Throat.
[Fills wine, his hand trembles.
Jac. I come, I come, I come. Oh ! oh !
D. J. Why do you tremble, Rascal Hold it steadily—
Jac. Oh I cannot.
[Jacomo snatches meat from the Table and runs aside.
D. J. Here, Governour, your health. Friends, put it about. Here's
excellent meat; taste of this Ragoust. If you had had a body of flesh,
I wou'd have given you cher entire—but the women care not for marble.
Come, I’ll help you : Come, eat, and let old Quarrels be forgotten.
Ghost. I come not here to take repast with you ;
Heaven has permitted me to animate
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. I 79
This Marble Body, and I come to warn
You of that Vengeance is in store for you,
If you amend not your pernicious Lives.
Jac. Oh Heaven l
D. A. What, are you come to preach to us?
D. L. Keep your Harangues for Fools, that will believe 'em.
D. J. We are too much confirm'd. . . . Give me some wine. Come,
here's to your Mistress; you had one when you were living: Not for-
getting your sweet sister. Sirrah, more wine.
Jac. Ay, Sir Good Sir, do not provoke the Ghost; his Marble
Fists may fly about your Ears, and knock your Brains out.
D. J. Peace, Fool
Gho. Tremble, you impious Wretches, and Repent ; Behold ! the
Pow’rs of Hell wait for you. [Devils arise.
Jac. Oh I will steal from hence. O, the Devil
D. J. Sirrah, stir not ; by Heaven I'll use thee worse than Devils
can do. Come near, Coward.
Jac. Oh I dare not stir; what will become of me?
D. J. Come, Sirrah, Eat.
Jac. O Sir, my Appetite is satisfied.
D. J. Drink, Dog, the Ghost's Health : Rogue, do’t, or I'll run my
sword down thy Throat.
Jac. Oh oh Here, Mr Statue, your Health.
D. J. Now, Rascal, Sing to entertain him.
Jac. Sing, quoth he Oh I have lost my voice, I cannot be merry
in such company. Sing—
D. A. Who are these with ugly shapes?
D. L. Their manner of appearing is something strange.
Gho. They're Devils, that wait for such impious men; they're
Heaven's Instruments of Eternal Vengeance.
D. J. Are they some of your Retinue ! Devils, say you? I am sorry
I have no burnt Brandy to treat 'em with ; that’s drink fit for Devils
—Ha! they vanish. [They sink.
Gho. Cannot the fear of Hell's Eternal Tortures
Change the horrid course of your abandon'd Lives?
Think on those Fires, those Everlasting Fires,
That shall without consuming burn you ever.
D. J. Dreams, dreams, too slight to lose my Pleasure for.
In spite of all you say, I will go on,
Till I have surfeited on all Delights.
Youth is a Fruit that can but once be gather'd,
And I’ll enjoy it to the full.
D. A. Let's push it on ; Nature chalks out the way that we should
follow.
D. L. "Tis her fault, if we do that we shou'd not. Let's on : here's a
Brimmer to our Leader's health.
I 80 DON JUAN ; OR,
Jac. What hellish Friends are these ?
D. J. Let me tell you, 'tis something ill-bred to rail at your Host
that treats you civilly. You have not yet forgot your Quarrel to me.
Gho. 'Tis for your good; by me Heaven warns you of its Wrath,
and gives you a longer Time for your Repentance. I invite you this
night to a Repast of mine.
D. J. Where 7
Gho. At my Tomb.
JD. A. What time?
Gho. At dead of night.
D. J. We’ll come.
Gho. Fail not.
D. L. I warrant you.
Gho. Farewell, and think upon your lost Condition.
D. J. Farewell, Governour; I'll see what treat you’ll give us.
D. A. -
% # And I.
Jac. That will not I. . . . I have had enough of his company: I
shall not recover it this week. If I eat with such an Host, I’ll be
hang'd.
D. J. If you do not, by Heaven, you shall be hang'd.
Jac. Whither will your Lewdness carry me? I do not care for
having a Ghost for a Landlord. Will not these Miracles do good upon
you?
D. J. There's nothing happens but by natural causes,
Which in unusual things Fools cannot find,
And then they style 'em miracles. But no Accident
Can alter me from what I am by nature.
Were there Legions of Ghosts and Devils in my way,
One moment in my course of pleasure I’d not stay.
[Eveunt omnes.
H, Page 158.
This twelfth Scene of the fourth Act of Molière's Don Juan can be
compared with Sir Aston Cokain's Ovid (Act iv., Scene 6). Don Juan
is called Hannibal, and Sganarelle Cacala.
Han. Hark! somebody knocks | Rise, and inform me who
Is at the door. How, now? What l art thou deaf,
And hearest me not ? or dumb, because thou speak'st not
An apoplexy, sure, hath seized upon thee
Sit down again and drink a glass of wine,
It will recover thee. Well done ! Now eat thy meat.
Again there knocks somebody at the door :
Rise once more, sirrah, and conduct them in
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 181
Begone, or I shall kick you to your duty
[He opens the door, turns back, and fall down as in a swoon.
This idle rascal, sure, the falling sickness
Hath got of late 1 I must be at the charge,
I fear, to send for a physician to him.
I wonder who it is, for somebody knocks
Again. It needs must be a stranger, else
He such long compliment would not have show’d.
Still he knocks on 1 I will go bring him in
Enter SPECTRE.
Your name, sir, and your pleasure?
ASpec. My name Helvidius is.
Han. You are a stranger
Unknown to me; I pray what is your business?
Spec. I come to sup with you.
Han. Though clad so meanly,
You shall be welcome ! -
Spec. I am not so rude
To press upon you uninvited, Captain
Han. Who should invite you?
Spec. Sir, yourself
Han. 'Tis strange
I should forget it, then
Spec. I come unlook'd for, noble Hannibal,
But you did bid me to supper to-night.
Han. My memory hath fail'd me. Where, Helvidius?
Spec. At the gibbet, by the city walls,
Where I did hang in chains.
Han. This is a courtesy deserves a welcome.
You are most welcome, sir, and so believe it !
Spec. You are my generous patron, and I thank you !
Han. Sit down, I pray; sit down. So, 'tis well done !
Cacala . Where's Cacala' Give me a glass of wine.
What I on the floor still? Rise, man
Cac. I dare not stir nor breathe, sir.
Han. He will not hurt you !
Spec. I shall not be so rude, where I find welcome,
To do a mischief.
Han. Fill wine, sir! Much good do you, and here's to you, --
To your fair mistress' health, whether alive,
Or your companion i' th' Elysian groves |
Spec. You much endear me.
Han. Could I have thought you would have supp'd with me,
You should have been much better treated.
Sit down and eat thou silly Cacala
I 82 DON JUAN ; OR,
Cac. I am very timorous.
Han. His promise and my valour do protect thee!
Cac. This napkin, thus dispos'd under my hat,
Shall keep my eyes off him. I'll eat like a lion,
Because I sit in fear; and after will
Chew the cud, as some beasts do, to digest it.
Spec. Good fellow, I salute thee with this bowl.
Cac. I have no mind to drink yet ; my master
Is the better pledger of such fancies.
Han. You shall not refuse him. Off with it, Cacala
I’ll conclude it !
Spec. It has gone round.
Captain, your kindness hath so far oblig'd me,
That I presume to crave a favour of you.
Han. You shall command 1
Spec. I pray you, dine with me to-morrow.
Han. You jest
Spec. I am in earnest You shall be most welcome !
Han. Where?
, Spec. At the gibbet.
Han. I’ll come. -
Cac. Now my belly's full, I cannot forbear
To cast a sheep's eye at him. -
Oh I ob —[Cries aloud, falls backward, and, with his legs under the
table, overthrows it and all the meat.
Spec. I thank you, generous Captain, and good night !
Han. Farewell, sir, and expect me as I promised
[Evit Spectre.
I, Page 166.
Th. Shadwell has, in Don John, partly imitated and amplified the
three last scenes of the fifth Act of Molière's Don Juan, but Don An-
tonio and Don Lopez are not in the French play, neither is the Chorus
of Devils; the ranting of Don John is also not to be found in Molière.
D. A. The clock strikes twelve.
D. J. 'Slife our Time's come, we must to the Tomb. I would not
break my Word with the Ghost for a thousand Doubloons
Jac. Nor I keep it, for ten times the Money.
D. J. But you shall keep your Word, Sir.
Jac. Sir, I am resolved to fast to-Night: 'Tis a Vigil. Besides, I
care not for eating in such base company.
Within. Follow, follow, follow
D. L. D'ye hear that Noise! The remaining Rogues have rais'd the
Mobile, and are coming upon us.
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 183
Jac. Oh let's fly . . . fly . . . What will become of me?
D. A. Let's to the Church, and give the Rogues the Go-by.
D. J. Come on ; since ’tis my time, and, I have promised the Go-
Vernour, I’ll go . . . You had best stay, Sirrah, and be taken.
Jac. No : Now I must go the Church, whether I will or no. Away,
away, fly!
Enter SHEPHERDs, with a great RABBLE.
Shep. Here they went ; follow, follow . . . [Eacewnt Omnes.
The SCENE–the Church, the Statue of Don Pedro on Horseback ; on
each side of the Church, Don John's Father’s Ghost, Maria's, Don
Francisco's, Leonora's, Flora's, Maria's Brother's, and others, with
Torches in their Hands.
Enter DON JOHN, DON ANTONIO, DON LOPEz, and JACOMo.
Jac. Good sir, let's go no further; look what horrid Attendants are
here ! This wicked Ghost has no good meaning in him.
D. J. He resolves to treat us in State; I think he has robb’d all the
Graves hereabouts of their dead, to wait upon us.
D. A. I see no Entertainment prepar’d.
D. L. He has had the Manners to light off his Horse, and entertain us.
D. J. He would not sure be so ill-bred, to make us wait on him on Foot.
Jac. . . . I shall die with Fear. I had as good have been taken
and hang'd. What Horror seizes me !
D. J. Well, Governour, you see we are as good as our Words.
D. A. Where's your Collation ? *
D. L. Bid some of your Attendants give us some wine. [Ghost descends.
Stat. Have you not yet thought on your lost Condition?
EIere are the Ghosts of some whom you have murder'd,
That cry for Vengeance on you
Father's Ghost. Repent, repent of all your horrid Crimes.
Monsters, repent ; or Hell will swallow you.
D. J. That’s my old Man's Voice. D'ye hear, old Gentleman 7
you talk idly.
Jac. I do repent, O spare me ! I do repent of all my Sins, but
especially of following this wicked Wretch. [Kneels.
D. A. Away, Fool. [Antonio kicks him.
D. F.'s Ghost. My Blood cries out upon thee, barbarous Wretch.
D. J. That’s my Host Francisco; 'faith, thou wert an honest Block-
head : that’s the Truth on 't
Flora's Ghost. Thou shalt not escape Vengeance for all thy Crimes.
D. J. What Fool's that ? I am not acquainted with her.
L.'s Ghost. In time lay hold on Mercy, and repent.
D. J. That was Leonora, a good-natur'd, silly Wench, something too
loving, that was all her fault.
184 DON JUAN ; OR,
Maria. Villain, this is the last Moment of thy Life,
And thou in Flames eternally shalt howl.
D. J. Thou ly'st; this is the young hot-heated Fool we killed at
Francisco's. . . . He disappointed me in my Design upon the
Daughters. 'Would that thou wert alive again, that I might kill thee
On Ce Iſlorë.
D. L. No more of this old foolish stuff; give us some wine to begin
with.
D. A. Ay, give us some Wine, Governour.
D. J. What, do you think to treat us thus? I offer'd you a better
Entertainment. Prythee trouble us no more, but bid some of your
Attendants give us some wine; I’ll drink to you and all the good
Company. r
Stat. Give 'em the Liquor they have most delighted in.
[Two of the Ghosts go out, and bring four Glasses full of Blood,
then give 'em to Don John, Don Antonio, Don Lopez.
D. L. This is something.
D. J. This is civil.
D. A. I hope a good Desert will follow.
[Ghost offers a Glass to Jacomo, who runs round Don John
Don Antonio, Don Lopez, roaring.
Jac. Are you distracted Will you drink of that liquor'] Oh! oh,
what do you mean? Good sweet Ghost, forbear your Civility: Oh :
I am not dry, I thank you
D. J. Give it me. Here, take it, Sirrah.
Jac. By no means, Sir; I never drink between Meals. O Sir—
D. J. Take it, Rascal.
. Sac. O Heav'ns !
D. J. Now, Governour, your Health ; ’tis the reddest Drink I ever
Sæ, W.
D. L. Ha 1 pah! 'tis Blood.
D. A. Pah it is—
Jac. Oh! I'll have none of it. [They throw the Glasses down.
D. J. 'Sdeath, do you mean to affront us?
Stat. 'Tis fit for such blood-thirsty Wretches.
D. J. Do you upbraid me with my killing of you? I did it, and
would do it again ; I'd fight with all your Family one by one, and cut
off Root and Branch, to enjoy your Sister. But will you treat us no
otherwise 7
Stat. Yes, I will, ye impious Wretches. [A Flowrish.
D. L. What’s here Musick to treat us with ?
D. A. There is some Pleasure in this.
SoNg of Devils.
1st Dev. Prepare, prepare ; new Guests draw near,
And on the brink of Hell appear.
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. I 8.5
2d Dev. Kindle fresh flames of Sulphur there,
Assemble all ye Fiends;
Wait for the dreadful Ends
Of impious men, who far excell
All the Inhabitants of Hell.
Let 'em come, let 'em come
Chorus of} To an Eternal Dreadful Doom ;
Devils. Let 'em come, let 'em come.
3d Dev. In mischief they have all the damn'd out-done ;
Here they shall weep, and shall unpity'd groan,
Here they shall howl, and make Eternal Moan.
1st Dev. By Blood and Lust they have deserv’d so well,
That they shall feel the hottest flames in Hell.
2d Dev. In vain they shall here their past Mischiefs bewail,
In exquisite Torments, that shall never fail.
3d Dev. Eternal Darkness they shall find,
And them Eternal chains shall bind
To infinite Pain of Sense and Mind.
Ch —Let 'em come, let 'em come
%. of} To an Eternal dreadful Doomſ;
€2920 S. Let 'em come, let 'em come.
Stat. Will you relent and feel Remorse 2
D. J. Coud'st thou bestow another Heart on me, I might ; but with
this Heart I have, I cannot.
D. L. These Things are Prodigious !
D. A. I have a kind of grudging to relent, but something holds me back.
D. L. If we could, 'tis now too late ; I will not.
D. A. We defy thee.
Stat. Perish, ye impious wretches; go and find
The Punishments laid up in store for you :
[It thunders, DON LOPEZ, and DON ANTONIO are swallowed up.
Behold their fates, and know that thy last moment's come.
D. J. Think not to fright me, foolish Ghost ; I’ll break your marble
Body in Pieces, and pull down your Horse.
Jac. If Fear has left me any strength, I’ll steal away. [Eacit.
D. J. These Things I see with Wonder, but no Fear.
Were all the Elements to be confounded,
And shuffled up into their former chaos;
Were Seas of Sulphur flaming round about me,
And all Mankind roaring within those Fires,
I could not fear, nor feel the least Remorse;
To the last Instant I would dare thy Power.
Here I stand firm, and all thy Threats contemn;
Thy murderer stands here, now do thy worst.
[It Thunders and Lightens. Devils descend and sink with
Don John, who is cover'd with a cloud of Fire as he sinks.
186 DON JUAN ; OR,
Stat. Thus perish all
Those men, who by their Words and Actions dare
Against the Will and Pow'r of Heav'n declare. [Scene shuts.
J, Page 167.
Sir Aston Cokain's Ovid (Act v., Scene 3) may be compared with the
three last scenes of the last act of Molière's Don Juan, as follows:–
Enter HANNIBAL and CACALA.
Cac. Sir, I entreat you, my too valiant Captain,
To give me leave to return home; I have
No mind to such a formidable dinner.
Han. What should'st thou fear? My keen victorious sword
Carries spells strong enough to conjure down
All the unruly fiends of Pluto's court;
Therefore, for shame, take courage | Thou hadst wont
To have a good stomach to thy meat ; and sure
This gallant ghost will treat us very nobly.
Cac. I have an horror to such company,
And had a thousand times much rather be
With Mistress Floretta, and converse with her.
FIan. Thou talk'st so often of her, that I think
Thou art in love with her.
Cac. I must confess
I have some smackering that way; but the awe
I stand in of your indignation
Deters me from professing my respects. . . .
Han. Walk on we’re almost there.
Cac. I’m monstrously afraid
Han. Fear nothing in my company. . . .
Enter SPECTRE.
Spec. Welcome, thou noblest son of Mars
Give me thy hand, thou servant to great Hannibal
Cac. I wish you would excuse me the compliment.
Spec. You need not fear me.
Han. Cacala, be courageous, and dread nothing!
My friend Helvidius will no hurt do to thee.
Should Cerberus bark but at thee, with my sword
I at one blow would cut off all his heads.
[A table set forth, covered with a black linen cloth; all the nap-
kins of the same colour; the meat and dishes, bottles, wine,
and all things also.
Spec. You see your entertainment, and are both
Most heartily welcome. Let us sit and eat
[They all sit down and eat.
THE FEAST WITH THE STATUE. 187
Cac. I do not like the colour of this linen;
The meat and wine and everything is black.
Spec. "Tis the sole colour us’d in Pluto's court.
Cac. The meat tastes well, though. Though I had rather be
At a piece of bread and cheese at Madam Cypassis',
I cannot choose but eat; I think my fear
Hath added to my hunger.
Spec. Gallant Hannibal,
I dedicate this bowl to thy Floretta.
Han. Off with it, then, thou only worthy of
The other world ! Here, Cacala, thou shalt pledge me !
Cac. I’ll do my weak endeavour.
Han. I thank you, sir, and in requital drink
To him or her you most affect.
Spec. Y’are noble,
Friend Cacala, here's to you ! and you conclude it.
Cac. I dare not do otherwise.
Han. Would you excuse my curiosity, sir?
I would inquire why you were executed ?
Spec. I’ll satisfy you. The lords and gentry of
This city Tomos gave order to a statuary
To make the image of the poet Ovid
In beaten massy gold, for the honour he
Had done them by writing an excellent poem
I’ the Getick language in Tiberius' praise.
When it was ready to have been presented,
I got into the house and stole it thence,
Melted it privately, and put it off
By little parcels—spent it on wanton wenches
And among boon companions. In my cups,
Bragg'd on 't to two false brothers, who betrayed me.
Han. I would they had been born both dumb and fools . . .
Some business calls me home. I give you thanks
For this brave entertainment ; so, farewell
Spec. I pray you stay awhile ! you shall look on
A little masque I have provided for you.
Han. You much oblige me, and are over liberal
Of your high favours to me.
Enter, after very solemn loud music, ÆACUS, RHADAMANTHUs, and
MINos, the Judges of Hell; ALECTO, TISYPHONE, and MEGAERA, the
Furies; and dance altogether to low music.
Spec. AEacus, Minos, and Rhadamanthus, the three
Judges in hell! Tisyphone, Megaera, and Alecto,
The Furies there, of equal number to them,
Lead in a dance.
188 DON JUAN.
Cac. Can devils be so merry!
But I had ever thought there had been rather
Three thousand judges there than three; I wonder
Their number is so few. So of the Furies,
For oft on earth one woman hath more in her.
[The dance ended, this song follows.
Most happy is the libertine,
And of mankind the most ingenious,
Who from grave precepts doth decline,
And doth indulge his jovial genius !
Oh, the joys, the joys,
They have that follow vice,
Without any fear of the gods !
Who freely waste their treasures
To purchase them their pleasures,
And are with the virtuous at odds !
The atheist is the greatest fool,
Who only aims to please his senses,
Thinking in heaven no gods bear rule,
And tipples, murders, swears, and wenches.
Oh, the woes, the woes,
That follow all those
Who wear out their lives in vice
That swear, . . . kill, and drink,
And never them bethink,
Till they fall into hell in a tricel
[After the song is ended, they all seize on him, and carry him away.
Han. Must I be then betrayed thus? False Helvidius !
And foolish Hannibal to trust to spectres [Eacewnt with him.
Spec. Away with him I Down to the infernal shades
Of griefly Pluto's kingdom let him sink!
A fouler soul was never seen in hell,
Where's witchcrafts, rapes, murders, and vicious life
Will find a suitable endless punishment [The Spectre vanishes.
Cac. This was a terrible sight indeed! Heaven keep me
But in my wits till I can see Floretta,
And I shall tell her such a tale as will
Make her turn virtuous, if she hath not lost
All love to th’ powers divine, and fears no vengeance. [Eacit.
L' A MOUR ME DE CIN
COMEDIE.
L 0 W E IS T H E B E S T D 0 (; T 0 R
A COM E D Y IN T H R E E A C T S.
(THE ORIGINAL IN PROSE.)
SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1665.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
ON the 15th of September 1665, was represented at Versailles an
impromptu comedy, “interspersed with tunes, symphonies, singing, and
dancing,” called Love is the best Doctor, in which Molière most strenu-
ously attacked the faculty of medicine. He had already begun this
criticism in Don Juan ; but, as it was put into the mouth of a complete
sceptic in everything, it was not considered as very serious. In Love is
the best Doctor, however, he ridiculed the most fashionable physicians, and
the patients who consulted and trusted them. Four doctors are called in
to a consultation, in which, instead of comparing notes about the state of
the patient, they converse about things in general and nothing in par-
ticular; at the end, the distracted father finds himself more bewil-
dered than before, and rushes out of the house to buy a quack medi-
cine, which the quack declares “cures by its excellence rare more
complaints than are counted up in a whole year,” and the great virtues
of which could ne'er be “repaid by the gold of all climes which by the
Ocean are bound,” but for which the anxious but avaricious parent only
pays “thirty sous,” “which,” he says, addressing the quack, “you
will take, if you please.” The professional discussions of the learned
brethren, and the shrewd interested advice of Dr Filerin, who rebukes
them, and tells them not to quarrel before the public, and thus to
lessen their influence, but to maintain a sedate and deeply anxious
look, are admirable, and suitable, not for one but for all ages. As long
as credulous and physic-Swallowing people exist, and as long as external
appearances will be taken as an indication of true knowledge and
worth, so long will Molière's comedy retain its sting. In nice con-
trast to the contentious practitioners, is the sharp common-sense of the
maid Lisette, and the stubbornness and miserly feelings of the father
Sganarelle, who asks advice, but does not follow it, refuses to give his
daughter in marriage because “he means to keep his wealth,” and is
finally tricked out of his daughter and a dowry as well.
Although I do not deny the courage, I cannot admire the taste, of
Molière, in bringing four famous court physicians bodily on the stage,
in exposing the physical defects of two of them,-the one a stammerer,
the other a very rapid talker, and in even barely disguising their names
under Greek denominations, and which, tradition affirms, are due to
Boileau. It is always right to attack and ridicule a vice on the
stage, when by so doing, an author conscientiously believes that he is
192 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
improving his fellow-men at the same time that he is amusing them,
and is holding “a mirror up to nature; ” but it can never be defensible
to imitate living persons, to mimic their defects, to ape their attitudes—
nay, to wear their very dress. The representative of a vice or virtue
should, I imagine, be an embodiment of many persons, possessed of such
good or evil qualities, but not the faithful portrait of one man or woman.
To say that such an imitation is Aristophanesk, is simply to disguise
a very ugly, and not even a very artistical, thing, under a not over-nicely
sounding adjective.
According to some annotators, Molière meant by Desfonandrès, com-
pounded of two Greek words, phomos, murder, and andrés, men, a cer-
tain Dr Elie Béda, who, at the time when Love is the best Doctor was first
represented, must have been about seventy years old. He had adopted
the name of Des Fougerais, and was the favourite physician of the high
nobility and magistracy. Born a Protestant, he became a Roman
Catholic in 1648, is said to have been a regular medical Vicar of Bray,
and never to have changed his religious or medical opinions, except to
benefit himself and his family. M. A. Jal, in his Dictionnaire critique,
pretends that Guénault is caricatured in Desfonandrès, because he
killed so many patients by antimony, and because Desfonandrés boasts,
in the third scene of the second act, that he has “an astonishing horse,
an indefatigable animal.” Now, it was well known in Molière's time,
that Guénault was the only doctor who always rode on horseback,
whilst his colleagues went about in carriages, sedan chairs, or on
foot.
Bahis (barker), seems to have been intended for Dr Esprit, whose real
name was André, and who spoke very fast. He had been one of the
physicians of Cardinal Richelieu, afterwards of Cardinal Mazarin, and
finally of Monsieur, brother of the King, and was a declared partizan of
emetics. According to Raynaud, les Médecins aw temps de Molière, 1863,
the physician Brayer is meant by Bahis, chiefly because Bahis is in
French “brailleur,” shouter, and therefore there is a similarity in name,
and also because he was one of the four physicians who held a famous
consultation at Vincennes, when Cardinal Mazarin was dying.
By Macroton (stammerer), it is generally believed that Dr Francois
Guénault is meant, because he spoke very slowly. This gentleman was
one of the best known and most celebrated medical men of the time, and
had been physician to the Prince de Condé, and then to the Queen. He
had often professionally attended on the King, and scarcely a man of
rank fell ill who did not consult him. It is said that he was very fond of
money, and a declared champion of antimony (see page 132, note 20); and,
through his influence amongst the great, a decided lord amongst doctors.
Tomès (the bleeder), was intended for Vallot, first physician to
the King, with the rank of grand Chamberlain, as well as with
the hereditary title of Count; and who exercised supreme juris-
diction over all the doctors and apothecaries in the kingdom. He
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 193
kept a Journal de la Santé du Roy (Louis XIV.), published in
1862, which contains all the recipes “with which Heaven inspired”
him, to keep the monarch in health. Bleeding and purgatives appear
to have been the doctor's two favourite remedies. He was a strenuous
defender of emetics, Peruvian bark and laudanum, and obtained a great
triumph when he cured, in 1650, Louis XIV., with antimonial wine
(see note 20, page 132); but became anew the butt of many satires
and epigrams, on the death of Henrietta of France, Queen of England,
whom his opponents accused him of having killed by his prescriptions.
In the character of Dr Filerin (a friend of death), it is said that
Molière wished to have a hit at the whole medical faculty. Mons. E.
Soulié, in the Recherches sur Molière, states that in Molière's time, there
lived a certain well-known fencing-master, André Fillerin, and that
therefore, the joke must have been enjoyed by the audience, on hearing
that name given to a physician who killed his man.
Love is the best Doctor was, according to the preface, “sketched,
written off, learned, and acted in five days.” It was three times repre-
sented at Versailles, and played, for the first time, in Paris, on the 22d
of September 1665, when it was acted twenty-six times consecutively.
Several English dramatists have borrowed or imitated Molière's
comedy.
The first imitator of Molière's Love is the best Doctor is John Lacy,
who was greatly admired by Pepys' and by Charles II., and was an
excellent low-comedy actor. During the civil wars, he served as lieu-
tenant in the King's army, and returned to the stage at the Restoration.
It has been rumoured that Lacy was a great favourite of Nell Gwyn,
and taught her, amongst other things, the art of acting. He lived to an
advanced age, and died on the 17th of September 1681. He wrote
several plays, one of which was The Dumb Lady, or the Farrier made
a Physician, a farce in five acts, performed about 1672, of which
the main plot is taken from Molière's Mock Doctor, and the catas-
trophe is borrowed from his Love is the best Doctor. Lacy, who him-
self most probably played the part of Drench, the farmer, dedicates
his play to the high-born and most hopeful Prince Charles, Lord Lim-
erick, and Earl of Southampton, the eldest of the three natural sons of
Charles II., by Barbara Williers, wife of Roger Palmer, Earl of Castle-
main, better known as Duchess of Cleveland.” This dedication is
couched in such high-flown and fawning language, that I give it here
as a specimen of what flattery was in the days of Charles II. :
1 See Pepys' Diary, 21st and 22d of May 1662; 10th and 12th of June 1663; 15th
of April, 1st of May, and 13th of August 1667; and 28th of April 1668.
2 This dignity was conferred upon her, according to Collins' Peerage, on account
of the high opinion Charles II. entertained of her “personal virtues.” For a
similar high opinion entertained by Louis XIV., the latter made a duchess of
Mademoiselle de la Vallière.—See Introductory Notice to the Princess of Elis, note
68, page 23.
III. N
194 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
“GREAT SIR,-When I began to write this dedication my hand shook, a fear
possessed me, and I trembled; my pen fell from me, and my whole frame
grew disordered, as if blasted with some sudden upstart comet. Such awe and
reverence waits on dignity, that I now find it fit for me to wish I had been re-
fused the honour of my dedication, rather than undertake a task so much too
great for me. How shall I excuse this bold and saucy fault 2 How shall my
mean, unworthy pen render you your attributes ? Now I find presumption is a
sin indeed. I have given myself a wound beyond the cure of common men: heal
me, then, great sir; for where princes touch, the cure is infallible. And now,
since you so graciously have received my Farrier, who dares say he is no Physician?
When you vouchsafe to call him Doctor, he has commenced, and from your mouth
he has taken his degree; for what you say is, and ought to be. Such a power is
due to you from the greatness of your blood. I and my abject muse had perished
but for you ; and in such distress whither should we flee for shelter but to him
that has power to spread his wings and cover us. And you have done it gener-
ously. Yet am I not to wonder at this virtue in you, since your bigh birth can do
no less for you than to make you good; and you are so. And Inay that goodness
and humility which so early appears in you increase to a full perfection 1 May
your virtues prove as beautiful as your person 1 May they still endeavour to
out-vie each other, yet neither obtain, but still walk hand in hand till your virtues
in you be reverenced by all mankind, and your lovely person honoured by all
women; and so may you continue to a long and happy life. But I need not wish
this, nor the world doubt it, for already you’re possessed of all those virtues that
men hereafter may reasonably expect from you ; for, being supported with
majesty of one side, and with so admired and beautiful a mother on the other,
besides her great and honourable birth, on such sure foundations you cannot fail
our hopes ; and that you never may, shall be for ever the prayers of your most
faithful and most obedient servant, JOHN LACY.”
|Mrs Aphra Behn (See Introductory Notice to Pretentious Young
Ladies, Vol. I., page 216) has, in Sir Patient Fancy—an imitation,
partly of Molière's Malade Imaginaire, and of M. de Pourceaugnac,
and acted at the Duke's Theatre, 1678—borrowed and amplified all the
scenes of Love is the best Doctor, in which the physicians consult. But
the patient to be cured is a hypochondriac, and not a young girl; Sir
Patience himself is present at the consultation, and the doctor's names
are also altered to Turboon, Amsterdam, Leyden, Brunswick, and Sir
Credulous.
As a second imitation of Love is the best Doctor I have to mention
“The Quacks, or Love's the Physician, as it was acted (after being twice
forbid) at the Theatre-Royal in Drury Lane (March 18th, 1705), by Mr
Swiney. Quod libet, licet. London, Printed for Benj. Bragg, at the
Blew Ball in Avemary Lane, 1705.” In the Preface, Swiney states that
“this Play was to be stifled because the other House were to Act one
upon the same Subject,” and that “the hints of this Play were taken
from a petit piece of Molière call'd L'Amour Médecin,” but “I can't
stile it a translation, the Doctor's part being intirely new, much of the
other characters alter'd, and the Contrivance somewhat Chang'd.” He
ends by saying that “the Noise of these Scenes Alarm'd the Licencer,
who generally destroys with as much Distinction as the old Woman in
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 195
Don Quixot's Library.” Swiney harps on the same string in the Pro-
logue, by saying:
“Let every Quack be Comforted to-Night,
Care has been taken that he shall not Bite.”
The play is, for the most part, a bad translation of Moliere's play, with
a few alterations and additions which do not improve it. The scene of
Sganarelle and his advisers is left out; while a nurse and two servant-
men, Harry and Edward, are needlessly introduced. The doctor's names
are changed into Medley, Caudle, Tickle Pulse, Novice, Refugee, and
their conversation is slightly altered. In the end, Clitandre and Lucinda,
who have been really married by a priest disguised as a footman,
acknowledge their deceit, and are forgiven.
James Miller (See Introductory Notice to The Pretentious Young
Ladies, Vol. I., page 215) wrote a comedy, Art and Mature, acted
at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, 1738; and, according to Baker's
Biographia Dramatica, the principal scenes in this play are founded on
the Arlequin Sauvage of M. De l'Isle and Le Flatteur of Rousseau. But
it met with no success, because the Templars had taken an unreason-
able prejudice against Miller, on account of his farce of The Coffee House,
in which they thought themselves attacked, and seem to have been deter-
mined to condemn any piece known to be his. Miller has imitated the
first, second, fifth, and sixth scenes of the first act of Love is the best
Doctor. In his Preface to the Right Honourable the Lady . . . . Miller
states, “that he never knew a Play destroy'd with so much Art. . . . .
But in Paris there is an Academy founded for the Encouragement of
Wit and Learning, so in London, it is said, there is a Society established
for the Demolition of them.” He also says in the Prologue, that he
hopes there is none in the theatre, “who'd aim, Thro' Wantonness of
Heart, to blast his Fame.”
Another translation of Molière's play, under the title of Love is the
Doctor, was performed as a comedy in one act, at Lincoln's Inn Fields,
on April 4, 1734, for the benefit of the author, but has never been
printed.
Bickerstaffe (See Introductory Notice to The School for Wives, Wol.
II., page 144), in Dr Last in his Chariot—an imitation of Molière's
Malade Imaginaire, acted at the Haymarket, 1769—acknowledges
his obligation to Mr Foote for a whole scene in the first act, the
consultation of the physicians. This acknowledgment is certainly a
proof of Bickerstaffe's gratitude, but none of his reading; otherwise he
might have discovered that Foote had simply taken it from Molière's
Love is the best Doctor, and considerably enlarged it; the doctors are
called Coffin, Skeleton, Bulruddery, and of course Doctor Last.
We have given in the Appendix all the imitations from Molière.
TO THE READER.
THIS is only a slight impromptu, a simple pencil sketch, which it
has pleased the King to have made into an entertainment. It is
the most hastily composed of all those written by order of his
Majesty; and when I say that it was sketched, written, learned,
and acted in five days, I shall only be speaking the truth. There
is no need to tell you that many things depend entirely on the
manner of the performance. Every one knows well enough that
comedies are written only to be acted; and I advise no one to
read this, unless he have the faculty, while doing so, of catching
the meaning of the business of the stage. I shall say only one
thing more, that it is to be wished that these sorts of works could
always be shown with the same accessories, with which they are
accompanied when played before the King. One would then see
them under much more agreeable conditions; and the airs and
symphonies of the incomparable M. Lulli, added to the sweet
voices and agility of the dancers, invest them, undoubtedly, with
certain graces, with which they could with difficulty dispense.
DRAMATIS
IN
COMEDY. | MUSIC.
IN THE
SGANARELLE, father to Lucinde.”
CLITANDRE, in love with Lucinde.
M. GUILLAUME, dealer in hang-
fings.
M. JoSSE, goldsmith.
M. ToMES, physician.
M. DESFONANDREs, ,
M. MACROTON, 29
IN THE
First Entry.
CHAMPAGNE, Sganarelle’s servant,
dancing.
FOUR PHYSICIANs, dancing.
PERSONAE.
THE PROLOGUE.
| THE BALLET (Dancing).
COMEDY.
M. BAHIS, physician.
M. FILERIN, ,
A NOTARY.
CHAMPAGNE, Sganarelle's servant.
LUCINDE, daughter of Sganarelle.
AMINTA, Sganarelle's neighbour.
LUCRETIA, Sganarelle's niece.
LISETTE, maid to Lucinde.
BALLET.
Second Entry.
A QUACK, singing.
TRIVELINs and SCARAMOUCHES,4
dancing in the Suite of the quack.
Third Entry.
COMEDY. | MUSIC. | THE BALLET.
SPORTS, LAUGHTER, and PLEASURES, dancing.
Scene—PARIS, IN ONE OF THE ROOMS OF SGANARELLE's HousB.
* It is more than probable that Molière played this part. In the inventory
taken after his death, and given by M. E. Soulié, we find “a box with clothes for
the representation of the Médecins,—for this was the name often given to Love is the
best Doctor by Molière's contemporaries,<-consisting in a doublet of common satin,
cut out on golden roc (sic), cloak and breeches of velvet, with a gold ground,
adorned with a loop and buttons.”
* Tiberio Fiorilli, an Italian actor, was born near Naples in 1608, and died
at Paris on the 8th of December 1694. He was much liked by Louis XIV., and
acted the character of Scaramouch, a braggart, a poltroon, and a fool, always
dressed in black, with a large white collar. In Italian, a skirmish is called scarra-
muccia ; hence perhaps the name. Isaac Disraeli in his excellent chapter “The
Pantomimical Characters” in the Curiosities of Literature, says: “When Charles
W. entered Italy, a Spanish captain was introduced; a dreadful man he was too, if
we are to be frightened by names: Sangre e Fuego / and Matamoro / His business
was to deal in Spanish rhodomontades, to kick out the native Italian Capitan, in
compliment to the Spaniards, and then to take a quiet caning from Harlequin, in
compliment to themselves. When the Spaniards lost their influence in ltaly, the
Spanish Captain was turned into Scaramouch, who still wore the Spanish dress,
and was perpetually in a panic. The Italians could only avenge themselves on
the Spaniards in pantomime.”
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
(ZAMOUR MEDECIN.)
PROLOGUE.
COMEDY, MUSIC, THE BALLET.
Comedy. Let us our fruitless quarrels banish,
Each other's talents not by turns dispute :
But greater glory to attain
This day of all let be our aim.
Let us all three unite with matchless zeal
The greatest King on earth with pleasure to
provide.
The three together. Let us all three unite with matchless
zeal
The greatest King on earth with
pleasure to provide.
Comedy. From toils more irksome than can be imagined,
Amongst us, now and then, he comes to
unbend,
Can greater glory, greater pleasure be our
share ?
The three together. Let us all three unite with matchless
zeal
The greatest King on earth with
pleasure to provide.”
* The Prologue is in the original in verse.
202 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT I.
A CT I. SCENE I.
SGANARELLE, AMINTA, LUCRETIA, M. GUILLAUME,
M. JossE.6
Sgan. What a strange thing is life and well may I
say with a great ancient philosopher, that he who has
much land has also strife,” and misfortune seldom comes
alone. I had but one wife, and she is dead.
M. Gw. And, pray, how many would you have 7
Sgam. She is dead, friend Guillaume. I take this
loss very much to heart, and I cannot think of it without
tears. I was not altogether satisfied with her behaviour,
and we often quarrelled ; but, after all, death settles every-
thing. She is dead ; I bewail her. If she were alive, we
would very likely quarrel. Of all the children God sent me,
He has left me but one daughter, and it is she who is the
cause of all my trouble; for I see her plunged in the most
dismal melancholy, the greatest sadness, of which there is
no way of getting rid, and the cause of which I cannot even
learn. I declare I am at my wit’s end, and am very much
in want of good advice about it. [To Lucretia] You are
my niece; [To Aminta] you my neighbour; [To M. Gwil-
lawme and M. Josse] you my companions and friends: tell
me, I pray, what I am to do.
M. Jo. As for me, I think that finery and dress are the
things which please young girls most ; and if I were you, I
should buy her, this very day, a handsome set of diamonds,
or rubies, or emeralds.
M. Gw. And I, if I were in your place, I would buy her
a beautiful set of hangings, with a landscape, or some
* See Appendix, Note A.
* It was not an ancient philosopher who said this. It is simply a
wise saw of the Middle Ages, common to the French and the Italians,
qui terre a guerre a and chi compra terra compra guerra.
SC. I.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 203
figures in them, and I should have them hung up in her
room to cheer her spirits and to please her eyes.
Amin. As for me, I would not take so much trouble ;
I would marry her well, and as quickly as I could, to that
young man who asked her hand some time ago, as I have
been told.
Luc. And I, I think your daughter is not at all fit to
be married. She has too delicate and unhealthy a consti-
tution, and it is almost sending her wilfully and speedily to
the next world, to expose her to bear children in the state she
is in. The busy world does not suit her at all, and I would
advise you to put her in a convent, where she will find
some amusements more to her taste.
Sgan. All this advice is certainly admirable, but I think
it rather interested, and I find that you are giving it very
much for your own benefit. You are a goldsmith, M. Josse ;
and your advice savours of a man who wants to get rid
of his wares. You sell hangings, M. Guillaume, and you
look to me as if you had some which you would fain part
with. The young man whom you are in love with, fair
neighbour, is, I have been told, the very one who is some-
what favourably disposed towards my daughter; and you
would not be sorry to see her the wife of another. And
as for you, my dear niece, it is not my intention, as is well
known, to allow my daughter to get married at all, for
reasons best known to myself; but your advice to make a
nun of her is that of a woman who might charitably wish
to become my sole heiress. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen,
although your counsels be the best in the world, with your
permission, I shall not follow a single one of them. [Alone]
So much for those fashionable advisers.
204 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT I.
SCENE II.
LUCINDE, SGANARELLE.”
Sgan. Ah, here is my daughter come to take a breath
of air. She does not see me. . She is sighing; she looks
up to the sky. [To Lucinde] May Heaven protect you !
Good morning, my darling. Well, what is the matter ?
How do you feel ? What I always so sad and so melan-
choly, and you will not tell me what ails you ? Come,
open your little heart to me. There, my poor pet, come
and tell your little thoughts to your little fond papa. Keep
your spirits up. Let me give you a kiss. Come. [Aside] It
makes me wild to see her in that humour. [To Lucinde]
But tell me, do you wish to kill me with displeasure ; and
am I not to know the reason of this great listlessness 2
Tell me the cause, and I promise that I shall do everything
for you. Yes, if you will only tell me why you are so sad,
I assure you and swear on this very spot, that I shall leave
nothing undone to please you ; I cannot say more. Are
you jealous because one of your companions is better
dressed than yourself, and is it some new-fashioned stuff of
which you want a dress 2 No. Is your room not furnished
nicely enough, and do you wish for one of those cabinets
from St Laurent's Fair tº It is not that. Do you feel
inclined to take lessons in something, and shall I get you a
master to teach you how to play upon the harpsichord? No,
not that either. Are you in love with some one, and do you
wish to be married ? [Lucinde gives an affirmative sign.]
* See Appendix, Note B.
* In Le Tracas de Paris, the Hubbub of Paris, described in burlesque
verses by F. Colletet, written in 1665, and re-edited by the bibliophile
Jacob in 1859, I find a long and not very poetical description of
this fair, which seems to have been frequented, if not by bad, at
at least by very mixed company. Formerly this fair lasted only eight
days, then three weeks, and finally three months; it was probably held
in Molière's time where the church St Laurent is now (1875), Boulevard
de Strasbourg.
SC. III.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 205
SCENE III.
SGANARELLE, LUCINDE, LISETTE.
Lis. Well sir, you have just been talking to your
daughter. Have you found out the cause of her melan-
choly % &
Sgan. No. She is a hussy who enrages me.
Lis. Let me manage it, sir; I shall pump her a little.
Sgam. There is no occasion ; and since she prefers to be
in this mood, I am inclined to let her remain in it.
Lis. Let me manage it, I tell you. Perhaps she will
open her heart more freely to me than to you. How now !
Madam," you will not tell us what ails you, and you wish
to grieve everyone around you ? You ought not to be-
have as you do, and if you have any objection to explain
yourself to a father, you ought to have none to open
your heart to me. Tell me, do you wish anything from
him He has told us more than once that he will spare
nothing to satisfy you. Does he not allow you all the
freedom you could wish for ? And do pleasure parties
and feasts not tempt you ? Say! has anyone displeased
you ? Say! have you not some secret liking for some one
to whom you would wish your father to marry you ?
Ah I begin to understand you; that is it ! Why the
deuce so many compliments Z Sir, the secret is found out,
and . . .
Sgan. [Interrupting her] Go, ungrateful girl ; I do
not wish to speak to you any more, and I leave you in
your obstinacy.
Luc. Dear father, since you wished me to tell you . .
10 Lisette addresses Lucinde as “Madam” in the presence of her
father. This seems to me to be ironical, as Madam was used only
in speaking to ladies of high nobility (see Prefatory Memoir, Vol. I.,
page xxx, note 15.) When later, in Clitandre, the lover calls her by
that same name, it appears to me to be done as a piece of flattery.
206
LovE IS THE BEST DoCTOR. [ACT 1.
Sgam.
Lis.
Sgam.
grave.
Luc.
Sgam.
up as I
Lis.
Sgart.
Lwc.
Sgam.
Lis.
Sgan.
Luc.
Sgan.
Lis.
Sgan.
with her.
Lis.
Sgam.
Lis.
Sgam.
Lis.
Sgan.
Lis.
Sgan.
Lis.
Sgan.
Lis.
Sgan.
Lis.
Yes, I am losing all my regard for you.
Her sadness, sir . . .
She is a hussy who wishes to drive me to my
But, father, I am willing
That is not a fit reward for having brought you
have done. -
But, Sir. . . .
No, I am in a terrible rage with her.
But, father. . . .
I do not love you any longer.
But. . . .
She is a slut.
But. . . .
An ungrateful girl.
But. . . . *
A hussy who will not tell me what is the matter
It is a husband she wants.
[Pretending not to hear] I have done with her.
A husband.
I hate her.
A husband.
And disown her as my daughter.
A husband.
Do not speak to me any more about her.
A husband.
Speak no more to me about her.
A husband. -
Speak no more to me about her.
A husband, a husband, a husband.
SC. Iv.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 207
SCENE IV.
LUCINDE, LISETTE.
Lis. True enough, none so deaf as those who will not
hear.
Luc. Well, Lisette, I was wrong to hide my grief I had
but to speak to get all I wished from my father You
See In OW. -
Lis. Upon my word, he is a disagreeable man; and I
confess that it would give me the greatest pleasure to play
him some trick. But how is it, Madam, that, till now, you
have kept your grief from me? -
Luc. Alas ! what would have been the use of telling you
before ? and would it not have been quite as well if I had
kept it to myself all my life 2 Do you think that I have
not foreseen all which you see now, that I did not thoroughly
know the sentiments of my father, and that when he refused
my hand to my lover's friend, who came to ask for it in his
name, he had not crushed every hope in my heart 2
Lis. What I this stranger, who asked for your hand, is
the one whom you. . . .
Luc. Perhaps it is not altogether modest in a girl to ex-
plain herself so freely; but, in short, I tell you candidly,
that, were I allowed to wish for any one, it is he whom I
should choose. We have never had any conversation together,
and his lips have never avowed the love he has for me;
but, in every spot where he had a chance of seeing me, his
looks and his actions have always spoken so tenderly, and his
asking me in marriage seems to me so very honourable, that
my heart has not been able to remain insensible to his
passion ; and yet, you see to what the harshness of my
father is likely to bring all this tenderness.
Lis. Let me manage it. Whatever reason I have to
blame you for the secret you kept from me, I shall not fail
208 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT I.
to serve your love; and, provided you have sufficient resolu-
Luc. But what am I to do against a father's authority ?
And if he will not relent. . . .
Lis. Come, come, you must not allow yourself to be led
like a goose, and provided it be done honourably, we can free
ourselves from a father's tyranny. What does he wish you
to do 2 Are you not of an age to be married, and does
he think you are made of marble Once more, bear up, I
shall take in hand your love-affair, and from this very
moment do all I can to favour it, and you shall see that I
know some stratagems. . . . But I see your father. Let
us go in, and leave me to act.
SCENE V.
SGANARELLE, alone.
It is good sometimes to pretend not to hearthings, which
one hears only too well; and I have done wisely to ward off
the declaration of a wish which I have no intention of satis-
fying. Was there ever a greater piece of tyranny than this
custom to which they wish to subject all fathers; anything
more preposterous and ridiculous than to amass great wealth
by hard work, and to bring up a girl with the utmost tender-
ness and care, in order to strip one's self of the one and of
the other, for the benefit of a man who is nothing to us?
No, no, I laugh at that custom, and I mean to keep my
wealth and my daughter to myself.
SCENE VI.
SGANARELLE, LISETTE.”
Lis. [Running on to the stage, and pretending not to see
Sganarelle] Oh! what a misfortune Oh! what a calamity
Poor Mr Sganarelle 1 where can I find him 2
- * * See Appendix, Note C.
Sc. VI.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 209
Sgan. [Aside] What does she say ?
Lis. [Still running about] Oh! wretched father! what
will you do when you hear this news 7
Sgan. [Aside] What can it be 2
Lis. My poor mistress
Sgan. I am undone !
Lis. Ah ! |
Sgan. [Rumming after Lisette] Lisette
Lis. What a misfortune 1
Sgan. Lisette
Lis. What an accident
Sgam. Lisette
Lis. What a calamity
Sgan. Lisette
Lis. Oh, Sir
Sgam. What is the matter ?
Lis. Sir
Sgam. What has happened ?
Lis. Your daughter . . .
Sgan. Oh Oh
Lis. Do not cry in such a way, sir. You will make
me laugh.
Sgam. Tell me quickly.
Lis. Your daughter, overcome by your words, and see-
ing how dreadfully angry you were with her, went quietly
up to her room, and, driven by despair, opened the window
that looks out upon the river.
Sgam. Well !
Lis. Then, casting her looks up to Heaven: No, said
she, it is impossible for me to live under my father's anger,
and as he disowns me for his child, I shall die.
12
* Molière has also employed the beginning of this scene in The
Rogueries of Scapin. (See Vol. VI.)
III. O
210 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT I.
Sgam. She has thrown herself out of the window
Lis. No, sir. She gently closed it, and lay down upon
her bed. There she began to cry bitterly; all at once she
turned pale, her eyes rolled about, her strength failed her,
and she became stiff in my arms.
Sgam. Oh, my child ! She is dead 2
Lis. No, sir. I pinched her till she came to herself
again ; but she relapses every moment, and I believe she
will not live out the day.”
Sgam. Champagne | Champagne | Champagne !
SCENE VII.
SGANARELLE, CHAMPAGNE, LISETTE.
Sgam. Quick, go and fetch me some doctors, and bring a
lot of them.** One cannot have too many in a crisis like
this. Oh my daughter | my poor child !
FIRST ENTRY.15
Champagne, servant to Sganarelle, knocks, dancing, at
the doors of four Physicians.
The fowr Physicians dance, and ceremoniously enter into
Sganarelle's house.
* See Appendix, Note D.
* Compare Shakspeare's Second Part of King Henry IV. (Act ii.,
Scene 1), when Fang, being kept off by Falstaff and Bardolph, shouts
“A rescue ! a rescue !” and Hostess quickly exclaims, “Good people,
bring a rescue or two !”
1* The original has entre-actre, which might perhaps have been
translated by “interlude.” t
SC. I.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 211
ACT II. SCENE I.
SGANARELLE, LISETTE.1%
Lis. What do you want with four physicians, sir? Is
one not enough to kill one person ? -
Sgam. Hold your tongue. Four heads are better than
OI) 62. &
Lis. Cannot your daughter die well enough without
the assistance of those gentlemen 2
Sgan. Do you think people die through having
physicians ? -
Lis. Undoubtedly ; and I knew a man who maintained
—and proved it, too, by excellent reasons—that we should
never say, Such a one has died of a fever, or from inflam-
mation of the lungs, but, Such a one has died of four
physicians and two apothecaries.
Sgan. Hush ! do not offend those gentlemen.
Lis. Upon my word, sir, our cat had a narrow escape
from a leap he took, a little while ago, from the top of the
house into the street; he was three days without eating,
and unable to wag head or foot ; but it is very lucky that
there are no cat doctors, else it would have been all over
with him, for they would have physicked and bled him.
Sgam. Will you hold your tongue when I bid you ?
What next | Here they are.
Lis. Look out ; you are going to be finely edified.
They will tell you in Latin that your daughter is ill.
16 See Appendix, Note E.
212 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT II.
SCENE II.
MM. TOMES, DESFONANDRäS, MACROTON, BAHIS,
SGANARELLE, LISETTE.”
Sgan. Well, gentlemen 2
M. To. We have examined the patient sufficiently, and
undoubtedly there is a great deal of impurity in her.
Sgan. Is my daughter impure ?
M. To. I mean to say that there is a great deal of im-
purity in her system, and much corrupt matter.
Sgan. Ah I understand you now.
M. To. But . . . We are going to consult together.
Sgam. Come, hand some chairs.
Lis. [To M. Tomès] Ah 1 sir, are you with them
Sgan. [To Lisette] How do you know this gentleman
Lis. From having seen him the other day at a dear
friend's of your niece.
M. To. How is her coachman 2
Lis. Very well indeed. He is dead.
M. To. Dead 2
Lis. Yes.
M. To. That cannot be.
Lis. I do not know whether it can be or not; but I
know well enough that it is.
M. To. He cannot be dead, I tell you.
Lis. And I tell you, that he is dead and buried.
M. To. You are mistaken.
Lis. I have seen him.
M. To. It is impossible. Hippocrates says that these
sorts of diseases end only on the fourteenth or twenty-first
day; and he has been ill only six.
Lis. Hippocrates may say what he likes; but the
coachman is dead. &
17 See Appendix, Note F.
SC. III.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 213
Sgam. Peace chatterbox. Come, let us leave this room.
Gentlemen, I pray you to consult carefully. Although it is
not the custom to pay beforehand, yet, for fear I should forget
it, and to have done with it, here is . . .
[He hands them. Some money, and each one, on
Teceiving it, makes a different gestwre.]
SCENE III.
MM. DESFONANDRES, TOMES, MACROTON, BAHIs [They all
Sit down and begin to cough].
M. Des. Paris is marvellously large, and one has to take
long journeys when business is a little brisk.
M. To. I am glad to say that I have got a wonderful
mule for that ; and that one would hardly believe what a
deal of ground he takes me over daily.
M. Des. I have got an astonishing horse, and it is an
indefatigable animal.
M. To. Do you know the ground my mule has been over
to-day ? I have been, first, close by the Arsenal; from the
Arsenal, to the end of the faubourg Saint-Germain; from the
faubourg Saint-Germain, to the lower part of the Marais;
from the lower part of the Marais, to the Porte Saint-
Honoré; from the Porte Saint-Honoré, to the faubourg Saint-
Jacques; from the faubourg Saint-Jacques, to the Porte de
Richelieu ; from the Porte de Richelieu, here; and from
here, I have yet to go to the Place Royale.”
M. Des. My horse has done all that to-day ; and, besides,
I have been to see a patient at Ruel.”
18 M. Tomès states, in detail, that he has been from one end of Paris
to the other.
19 Ruel, a village on the road to Saint Germain, was at that time
(1665) a very fashionable residence; the Cardinal de Richelieu had a
country seat there, under Louis XIII.
214 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT II.
M. To. But, by the bye, which side do you take in
the quarrel between the two physicians Theophrastus and
Artemius 2 for it is a matter that divides our profession.
M. Des. I? I am for Artemius.
M. To. So am I. It is true that his advice killed the
patient, as we have experienced, and that Theophrastus's
was certainly much better; but the latter is wrong in the
circumstances, and ought not to have been of a different
opinion from his senior. What do you say ?
M. Des. Certainly. We ought at all times to preserve
the professional etiquette, whatever may happen.
M. To. For my part, I am excessively strict on that
subject, except among friends. The other day three of
us were called in to consult with an outsider;” but I
stopped the whole affair, and would hold no consultation
unless things were conducted according to etiquette. The
people of the house did what they could and the case grew
worse ; but I would not give way, and the patient bravely
died during the contention.
M. Des. It is highly proper to teach people how to be-
have, and to show them their inexperience.”
M. To. A dead man is but a dead man, and of very
little consequence; but professional etiquette neglected does
great harm to the whole body of physicians.”
SCENE IV.
SGANARELLE, MM. TOMES, DESFONANDRES, MACROTON,
BAHIS.* -
Sgan. Gentlemen, my daughter is growing worse ; I
beg you to tell me quickly what you have decided on.
* A physician, who had not taken his degree in Paris, was called
“an outsider,” un mêdecin de dehors. - *
21. The original has leur montrer leur bec jaune. See page 127, note 15.
22 See Appendix, Note G.
* See Appendix, Note H.
sc. Iv.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 215
M. To. [To M. Desfonamdrés] The word is with you,
Sir. -
M. Des. No, Sir ; it is for you to speak if you please.
M. To You are jesting.
M. Des. I shall not speak first.
M. To. Sir.
M. Des. Sir.
Sgam. For mercy's sake, gentlemen, drop these cere-
monies, and consider that matters are urgent.
[They all fowr speak at the same time.]
M. To. Your daughter's complaint . . .
M. DeS. The opinion of all those gentlemen . . .
M. Mac. After hav-ing care-fully consi-dered. . . .
M. Ba. In order to deduce . . .
Sgan. Ah gentlemen, one at a time, pray . . .
M. To. Sir, we have duly argued upon your daughter's
complaint, and my own opinion is, that it proceeds from the
overheating of the blood, consequently, I would have her
bled as soon as possible.
M. Des. And I say that her illness arises from a putre-
faction of humours, caused by a too great repletion ; conse-
quently I would have her given an emetic.
M. To. I maintain that an emetic will kill her.
M. Des. And I, that bleeding will be the death of her.
M. To. It is like you to set up for a clever man
M. DeS. Yes, it is like me ; and I can, at any rate, cope
with you in all kinds of knowledge.
M. To. Do you recollect the man you killed a few days
ago 2 - -
M. Des. Do you recollect the lady you sent to the other
world three days ago?
M. To. [To Sganarelle] I have given you my opinion.
M. Des. [To Sgamarelle] I have told you what I
think.
2 | 6 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT II.
M. To. If you do not have your daughter bled directly,
she is a dead woman. [Eacit.
M. Des. If you have her bled, she will not be alive a
quarter of an hour afterwards. - [Ea.it.
SCENE V.
SGANARELLE, MM. MACROTON, BAHIs.”
Sgam. Which of the two am I to believe 2 and who
can decide amidst such conflicting opinions 2 Gentlemen, I
beseech you to guide me, and to tell me, dispassionately,
the best means of relieving my daughter.
M. Mac. [Drawling out his words] Sir, in these kind-of-
ca-ses, one must pro-ceed ve-ry care-fully, and do no-thing
in-con-si-der-ate-ly, as the say-ing is; the more so, as the
mis-takes one may make, ac-cord-ing to our mas-ter Hip-po-
cra-tes, have the most fat-al con-se-quen-ces.
M. Ba. [Jerking out his words hastily] That is true
enough, one must take great care what one does ; for this is
not child's play; and, when a mistake has been made, it is
not easy to rectify it, nor make good what one has spoilt :
eaperimentum periculosum. It is, therefore, as well to
argue beforehand, to weigh things duly, to consider the con-
stitution of people, to examine the causes of the complaint,
and to decide upon the remedies to be adopted.
Sgan. [Aside] One moves like a tortoise, while the
other gallops like a post-horse,
M. Mac. Yes, sir, to come to the fact, I find that your
daugh-ter has a chro-nic dis-ease, to which she will suc-
cumb if re-lief be not giv-en to her, the more as the symp-
toms give in-di-ca-tions of e-mit-ting fu-li-gi-nous and mor-
di-cant ex-ha-la-tions which ir-ri-tate the ce-re-bral mem-
branes. And these va-pours, which in Greek we call
* See Appendix, Note I.
sc. v.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 217
At-mos, are caus-ed by pu-trid, te-na-ci-Ous, and con-glu-
ti-nous hu-mours, which have ag-glo-mer-at-ed in the
ab-do-men.”
M. Ba. And as these humours were engendered there
by a long succession of time, they have become hardened,
and have assumed those malignant fumes that rise towards
the region of the brain.
M. Mac. Con-se-quent-ly, in or-der to with-draw, to de-
tach, to loos-en, to ex-pel, to e-va-cu-ate these said
hu-mours, a ve-ry strong pur-ga-tive is ne-ces-sa-ry. But
first of all, I think it as well, and it will not cause any
in-con-ve-ni-ence, to em-ploy some lit-tle a-no-dyne me-di-
ci-nes, that is to say, small e-mol-li-ent and de-ter-sive in-
jec-ti-ons, re-fresh-ing ju-leps and sy-rups, which may be
mix-ed with her bar-ley wa-ter. -
M. Ba. After that, we will come to the purgatives, and
to the bleeding, which we shall repeat, if necessary.
M. Mac. We do not say that your daugh-ter may not
die for all this; but you will at least have the sa-tis-fac-
tion of hav-ing done some-thing, and the con-so-la-tion of
know-ing that she died ac-cord-ing to rule.
M. Ba. It is better to die according to rule than to
recover in violation of it.
M. Mac. We have sin-ce-re-ly told you our o-pi-ni-ons.
M. Ba. And we have spoken to you as to our own
brother.
Sgan. [To M. Macroton, drawling out his words] I am
hum-bly o-bli-ged to you. [To M. Bahis, sputtering] And I
am very much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken.
25 This is the theory of “the humours” then in vogue amongst
physicians. According to them, every disease arose from a superabun-
dance of humours, which were either in too great quantity or of too bad
a quality; the first was called plethora, and was supposed to be cured
by copious bleedings; against the second, cacochymia, a frequent use of
purgatives was recommended. -
218 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT II.
SCENE VI.
SGANARELLE, alone.
Here I am, a little more in the dark than I was before.”
Zounds. I have got an ideal I will buy some Orvietan,”
and I will make her take it. Orvietan is a kind of remedy
that has done a great deal of good to many. Soho I
SOEWE VII.
SGANARELLE, A QUACK.
Sgam. Will you, Sir, kindly give me a box of your
Orvietan, for which I shall pay you.
* The result of the consultation of the physicians is the same for
Sganarelle as, in the Phormio (ii., 4) of Terence, the result of the consul-
tation of the three lawyers Cratinus, Hegio, Crito. Demiphon, after
hearing it, cries out, “Incertior sum multo quam dudum. . . . . . I am
much more uncertain than before.”
* Towards the year 1639, a quack began to sell, on the Pont-Neuf in
Paris, specifics against all maladies, and especially an antidote, the
Orvietan, so called because it was prepared by a certain doctor Lupi, at
Orvieto, a town in Italy. His real name was Jacques Ovyn, and he
had a brother, a clergyman, who, as well as himself, was called de l'
Orvietan ; hence Jal, in his Dictionnaire critique, supposes that their
father must already have sold this electuary. His probable successor
was Christoforo Contugi, who called himself “Antidotaire du Roi,” and
who, according to Guy-Patin, bribed twelve Paris physicians, who had
afterwards to ask their pardon from the Faculty of Paris, to give him a
certificate. According to a note of M. Pauly, in the edition of Molière,
published by M. Lemerre, Paris, Vol. IV., Orvietan was an antidote, of
which the secret was communicated, in 1560, by Cardinal Deodati to
his apothecary, Martin Guerche. It was then called antitan, which
means antidote of the time. It was named Orvietan by Hieronimo
Feranti, a native of Orvieto, whose successor, Giovanni Vitrario, trans-
mitted the recipe for it to his son-in-law, Christoforo Contugi, who sold
it at Paris, in virtue of a royal privilege, dated 9th April 1647. In the
thirteenth chapter of Kenilworth, Sir Walter Scott describes how Way-
land successfully endeavoured to collect materials for making the
Orvietan, or Venice treacle, as it was sometimes called, understood to
be a sovereign remedy against poison.
Sc. VII.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 219
Quack. [Sings] The gold of all climes which by the ocean
are bound -
Can e'er it repay this important secret 2
My remedy cures, by its excellence rare,
More complaints than are counted up in
a whole year :
The itch, the mange, the scurf, the fever, the plague,
The gout, the small-pox, ruptures, the measles,
Great power possesses my Orvietan.
Sgam. Sir, I am willing to believe that all the gold in
the world could not pay for your remedy but here is a
piece of thirty sous, which you will take, if you please.
Quack. [Sings] Admire how good I am. For a few
- - paltry pence,
I dispense freely such marvellous treasure.
With this you may brave, quite devoid of
all fear,
All the ills to which mortals are subject
down here :
The itch, the mange, the scurf, the fever, the plague,
The gout, the Small-pox, ruptures, the measles,
Great power possesses my Orvietan.
SECOND ENTRY.
Several Trivelins “ and Scaramouches, servants of the
qwack, come in dancing.
* Domenico Lucatelli, was an Italian comedian, who died in 1671,
and acted at Paris the part of Trivelin, a kind of harlequin. See also
Vol. I., page 213, note 3.
220 LOVE IS THE BEST 1DOCTOR. [ACT III.
ACT III. SCENE I.
MM. FILERIN, TOMiºs, DESFONANDRES.
M. Fil. Are you not ashamed, gentlemen, for men of
your age to show so little discrimination, and to quarrel
like young madcaps ? Do you not plainly see the harm
which these kinds of disputes do us with the world 2 and
is it not sufficient that the learned perceive the dissensions
and differences between our contemporaries and the old
masters of our craft, without revealing to the public, by our
Quarrels and bickerings, the boasting of our art 7 As for
me, I do not at all understand the mischievous policy of
some of our brethren ; and it must be admitted that all
these controversies have somewhat strangely disparaged us,
and that, if we are not careful, we shall ruin ourselves. I
do not say so for my own interest, for, Heaven be praised,
my little affairs are already settled. Whether it blows, rains,
or hails, those who are dead are dead, and I have sufficient
to be independent of the living; yet all these disputes do
physic no good. Since Heaven has done us the favour, that,
for so many centuries, people remain infatuated with us, let
us not open their eyes by our extravagant cabals, and let us
take advantage of their folly as quietly as possible. We are
not the only ones, as you know full well, who try to make
the best of human foibles. The whole study of the greatest
part of mankind tends towards that ; and every one en-
deavours to speculate on man's weaknesses, in order to derive
some benefit from them. Flatterers, for example, seek to
profit by men's love for praise, by giving them all the vain
incense they crave; it is an art by which, as we may see,
large fortunes are made. Alchemists seek to profit by the
passion for wealth, by promising mountains of gold to those
who listen to them; the drawers of horoscopes, by their
deceitful prophecies, profit by the vanity and ambition of
SC. II.] LovE IS THE BEST DoCTOR. 221
credulous minds. But the greatest failing in men is their
love of life; by our pompous speeches we benefit by it,
and know how to take advantage of the veneration for our
profession with which the fear of death inspires them. Let
us, therefore, maintain ourselves in that esteem in which
their foibles have placed us, and let us agree before our
patients, so as to claim for ourselves the credit of the happy
issue of the complaint, and to throw on Nature all the
blunders of our art. Let us not, I say, foolishly destroy the
happy accident of an error, which gives bread to so many
people, and which allows us to raise everywhere such beau-
tiful estates with the money of those whom we have sent to
the grave.”
M. To. You are right in all that you say; but some-
times one cannot control one's temper. -
M. Fil. Come, gentlemen, lay aside all animosity, and
make up your quarrel on the spot. -
M. Des, I consent. Let him allow me to have my way
with the emetic for the patient in question; and I will let
him have his with the first patient he shall be concerned with.
M. Fil. Nothing could be better said, and that is reason-
able.
M. Des. Very well, that is settled.
M. Fil. Shake hands then. Farewell. Another time,
show more tact.
SCENE II.
M. ToMES, M. DESFONANDRi S, LISETTE.
Lis. What I gentlemen, you are here, and you do not
think of repairing the wrong done to the medical profession ?
* A great part of Dr Filerin's speech sets forth some of Montaigne's
ideas, contained in the Essays, Book II., chapter xxxvii. Molière re-
peats some of these same ideas, clothed in dog-Latin, and puts them
into the opening speech of the president of the learned assembly of
persons connected with the medical profession, in the third Interlude of
the Hypochondriac (See Vol. VI.)
222 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT III.
M. To. What now ! What is the matter ?
Lis. Some insolent fellow has had the impudence to
encroach upon your trade, and, without your prescription,
has killed a man by running a sword clean through his
body. *
M. To. Look you here, you may laugh at us now ; but
you shall fall into our hands one of these days.
Lis. If ever I have recourse to you, I give you leave
to kill me.
SCENE III.
CLITANDRE, disguised as a physician, LISETTE.
Clit. Well Lisette, what do you think of my disguise ?
Do you believe that I can trick the good man in these
clothes 2 Do I look all right thus.
Lis. It could not be better; and I have been waiting
impatiently for you. Heaven has given me the most humane
disposition in the world, and I cannot bear to see two lovers
sigh for one another, without entertaining a charitable
tenderness towards them, and an ardent wish to relieve the
ills which they are suffering. I mean, no matter at what
cost, to free Lucinde from the tyranny to which she is sub-
jected, and to confide her to your care. I liked you at first
sight: I am a good judge of people, and she could not have
made a better choice. Love risks extraordinary things,
and we have concocted a little scheme, which may perhaps
be successful. All our measures are already taken : the
man we have to deal with is not one of the sharpest ; and if
this trick fail, we shall find a thousand other ways to en-
compass our end. Just wait here a little, I shall come back
to fetch you. [Clitandre retires to the far end of the stage.
SC. IV.-W.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 223
SCENE IV.
SGANARELLE, LISETTE.
Lis. Hurrah hurrah | Sir.
Sgam. What is the matter ?
Lis. Rejoice.
Sgam. At what ?
Lis. Rejoice, I say.
Sgam. Tell me what it is about, and then I shall rejoice,
perhaps.
Lis. No. I wish you to rejoice first, I wish you to
sing, to dance.
Sgam. On what grounds 2
Lis. On my bare word.
Sgam. Be it so. [He sings and dances] La, lera, la, la,
la, lera, la, What the deuce
Lis. Your daughter is cured, Sir.
Sgam. My daughter is cured ? g
Lis. Yes. I have brought you a doctor, but a doctor
of importance, who works wonderful cures, and who laughs
at the other physicians.
Sgam. Where is he
Dis. I shall bring him in.
Sgam. [Alone] It remains to be seen if he will do more
than the others.
SCENE V.
CLITANDRE disguised as a physician, SGANARELLE,
LISETTE.
Lis. [Leading Clitandre] Here he is.
Sgam. That doctor has not much beard, as yet.
Lis. Knowledge is not measured by the beard, and his
skill does not lie in his chin.
224 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT III.
Sgam. Sir, they tell me that you have some capital recipes
for relieving the bowels.
Clit. My remedies, Sir, are different from those of other
physicians. They use emetics, bleeding, drugs, and injec-
tions; but I cure by words, sounds, letters, talismans, and
rings.
Lis. Did I not tell you so 2
Sgan. A great man this
Lis. Sir, as your daughter is yonder, ready dressed, in
her chair, I shall bring her here.
Sgam. Yes, do.
Olit. [Feeling Sganarelle's pulse] Your daughter is very
ill, Sir.
Sgan. You can tell that here ?
Clit. Yes, by the sympathy which exists between father
and daughter.
SCENE VI.
SGANARELLE, LUCINDE, CLITANDRE, LISETTE.”
Lis. [To Clitandrej Sir, here is a chair near her [to
Sganarelle] Come, let us leave them to themselves.
Sgam. Why so 2 I wish to remain here.
Lis. Are you jesting ? We must leave them. A
doctor has a hundred things to ask, which it is not decent
for a man to hear. [Sganarelle and Lisette retire.
Clit. [Softly to Lucindel Ah lady, how great is my
delight ! and how little do I know how to begin my dis-
course ! As long as I spoke to you only with my eyes, it
seemed to me that I had a hundred things to say; and now
that I have the opportunity of speaking to you, as I wished,
I remain silent, and my great joy prevents my utterance.
* See Appendix, Note J.
||f||
º |
TT
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|titi
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SC. VI.] IOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 225
Luc. I may say the same ; and I feel, like you, thrills
of joy which prevent me from speaking.
Clit. Ah madam, how happy should I be, if it were
true that you feel all I do, and that I were allowed to
judge of your heart by mine. But, may I at least believe,
dear lady, that I owe to you the idea of this happy scheme
which enables me to enjoy your presence.
Luc. If you do not altogether owe the thought to me,
you are, at any rate, my debtor for having gladly approved
of the proposal.
Sgan. [To Lisette] It seems to me that he talks very
close to her.
Lis. He is studying her physiognomy, and all the
features of her face.
Clit. [To Lucinde] Will you be constant, dear lady, in
these favours which you are bestowing upon me !
Luc. But you, will you be firm in the resolutions which
you have taken 2
Clit. Ah I madam, till death. I desire nothing so much
as to be yours; and I shall prove it to you.
Sgam. [To Clitandre] Well how does our patient 2 She
seems a little more cheerful.
Clit. That is because I have already tried upon her one
of the remedies which my art teaches me. As the mind
has a great influence on the body, and as it is from the first
that diseases most generally arise, my custom is to cure the
mind before dealing with the body. I have therefore studied
this young lady's looks, her features, and the lines of both her
hands; and by the knowledge which Heaven has bestowed
upon me, I have discovered that she is ill in mind, and that
the whole of her complaint arises only from a disordered
imagination, from an inordinate desire of being married. As
for myself, I think nothing more extravagant and ridiculous
than this hankering after marriage.
III. P
226 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. - [ACT III.
Sgan. [Aside] A clever fellow this
Clit. And I have, and always shall have, a frightful
dislike to it. - -
Sgan. [Aside] A great doctor this
Clit. But as we must humour the imagination of
patients, and as I have perceived in her a wandering of
the mind, and even that there was great danger in not
giving her prompt relief, I have taken her at her foible, and
told her that I came here to solicit her hand from you.
Suddenly her countenance changed, her complexion cleared,
her eyes became animated; and if you will leave her for a
few days in this error, you will see that we shall cure her.
Sgam. Indeed, I do not mind.
Clit. After that, we shall apply other means to cure her
of this fancy. - +
Sgam. Yes, that will do very well. Listen I my girl, this
gentleman wishes to marry you, and I have told him that I
give my consent. º
Luc. Alas! can it be possible 2
Sgam. Of course.
Luc. But really, in earnest ?
Sgan. Certainly. .
Luc. [To Clitandre] What You wish to be my
husband 2 -
Clit. Yes, madam.
Luc. And my father consents to it !
Sgan. Yes, my child.
Luc. Ah how happy I am l if that is true.
Clit. Doubt it not, madam. My love for you, and my
ardent wish to be your husband, do not date from to-day,
I came only for this ; and, if you wish me to tell you the
plain truth, this dress is nothing but a mere disguise; I
acted the physician only to get near to you, and the more
easily to obtain what I desire.
SC. VI.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 227
Luc. These are signs of a very tender love, and I am
fully sensible of them.
Sgan. [Aside] Oh, poor silly girl silly girl silly girl
Luc. You do consent then, father, to give me this
gentleman for a husband 7
Sgam. Yes, certainly. Come, give me your hand. Give
me yours also, Sir, for a moment.
Clit. But, Sir . . .
Sgam. [With suppressed lawghter] No, no, it is . . .
to satisfy her mind. Take it. That is over.
Clit. Accept, as a pledge of my faith, this ring which
I give you [Softly to Sgamarelle] It is a constellated ring,
which cures aberrations of the mind.”
Luc. Let us draw up the contract, so that nothing may
be wanting.
Clit. I have no objections, Madam. [Softly to Sganar-
elle] I will bring the fellow who writes my prescriptions, and
will make her believe that he is a notary.
Sgan. Just so.
Clit. Hulloo! send up the notary I have brought with me.
Luc. What you brought a notary with you ?
Clit. Yes, Madam.
Luc. I am glad of that.
Sgam. Oh the poor silly girl the silly girl | *
* These rings, sometimes called also “planetary rings” had cer-
tain stars or planets engraved upon them, and were supposed to
soothe the mind; a reminiscence of the feeling that stars influenced
human destiny. The metals from which these rings were made
appear also to be thought to have some mysterious power, for the
seven metals—gold, silver, mercury, copper, iron, tin, and lead, were
under the influence of the Sun, the Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars,
Jupiter, Saturn. If the rings were composed of several metals, then,
of course, different influences were at work; if made of all the metals—
the electron of Paracelsus—they possessed the highest power. I imagine
that the metals used in the manufacture of such rings must also have had
some connection with the horoscope of the person for whom it was made.
* See Appendix, Note K.
228 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. [ACT III.
SCENE VII.
THE NOTARY, CLITANDRE, SGANARELLE, LUCINDE, LISETTE.
[Clitandre speaks softly to the Notary.]
Sgan. [To the Notary] Yes, Sir, you are to draw up a
contract for these two people. Write. [To Lucinde] We
are making the contract. [To the Notary] I give her
twenty thousand crowns as a portion. Write that down.
Luc. I am very much obliged to you, dear father.
Not. That is done. You have only to sign it.
Sgam. That is a quickly drawn contract.
Clit. [To Sganarelle] But at least, Sir .
Sgam. No, no, I tell you. Do we not all know . . . [To
the Notary] Come, hand him the pen to sign. [To Lucimole]
Come you, sign now, sign, sign. Well, I shall sign presently.
Lwc. No, no, I will have the contract in my own hands.
Sgam. Well ! there then. [After having signed] Are
you satisfied ?
Luc. Better than you can imagine.
Sgam. That is all right, then, that is all right.
Clit. I have not only had the precaution to bring a
notary; I have also brought singers, musicians, and dancers
to celebrate the feast, and for our enjoyment. Let them
come in. They are people I always have with me, and
whom I daily make use of to calm, by their harmony and
dancing, the troubles of the mind.
SCENE VIII.
CoMEDY, THE BALLET, MUSIC.”
Together. Without our aid, all humankind
Would soon become unhealthy.
We are indeed the best of all physicians.
38 Here the words “third entry” ought to come, or perhaps above
the words “while the sports,” etc., but nothing is given in the original
copies I have compared.
SC. IX.] LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 229
Comedy. Would you dispel by easy means
Splenetic fumes that man is heir to.
Avoid Hippocrates, and come to us.
Together. Without our aid, all humankind
Would soon become unhealthy.
We are indeed the best of all physicians.
[While the Sports, Laughter, and Pleasures are dancing
together, Clitaridre leads Lucinde away.]
SCENE IX.
SGANARELLE, LISETTE, COMEDY, MUSIC, THE BALLET,
SPORTS, LAUGHTER, PLEASURES.
Sgan. A pleasant way of curing people this But where
are my daughter and the doctor 2 &
Lis. They are gone to finish the remaining part of the
marriage.
Sgam. What do you mean by the marriage 2
Lis. The fact is, Sir, you have been cleverly done;”
and the joke you thought to play remains a truth.
Sgan. The devil it does [He wishes to rush after
Clitandre and Lucinde, the dancers restrain him..] Let me
go, let me go, I tell you. [The dancers still keep hold of
him..] Again 7 [They wish to make him dance by force.]
Plague take you all !
* The original has la becasse est bridee, the woodcock is caught, an
allusion to the snare in which those birds catch themselves.
A P P E N D L X.
A, Page 202.
Swiney, in The Quacks; or, Love's the Physician (Act i., Scene 1), has
imitated, nearly literally, Molière's first scene of the first act of Love is
the best Doctor. Sganarelle is called Sir Patient Carefull ; Lucretia,
Lysette; and Aminta, Doris; MM. Guillaume and Josse are not in the
English play.
Enter SIR PATIENT CAREFULL, LYSETTE, and DoRIS.
Sir Patient. What a strange thing is life? And we may say with
that great Philosopher of Antiquity, that to live is to War, and one Evil
never comes without another: I had but one Wife, who is dead.
Lysette. Why, how many wou'd you have 7
Sir P. She is dead, cousin . And I can't think of her without weep-
ing—hoe—I had indeed some jealousie of her conduct, and we quar-
rell'd perpetually ; if she was alive again, we shou'd quarrel, but Death
has ended all disputes, and the house is grown so silent I shall die with
Melancholly.
Doris. Comfort yourself, she's in a better place.
Sir P. I know it, and wherever she is, she will have her way. Of all
the children the poor woman Bore me, I have but one Daughter left,
and she is the only trouble of my Life I don't know who she takes
after ; she do's not speak a word whole days together l It must be a
strange Disease that works such effects on a Woman's Constitution.
Lys. That strange Disease is Confinement. Uncle, if you'd let her
have the use of her Leggs a little, she'd find the use of her Tongue.
Sir P. How now, Mrs Flippant ' You don't want the use of yours,
I perceive. e
Lys. Ha, ha, no, no I was bred under a Mother, I thank my stars
But a Woman must needs come to her speaking very soon that hangs
by a Bookish old Man, as a Bird most certainly will that hangs under a
cuckoo.
Sør P. How ''
Lys. Hark’e, Uncle ; let her but loose to the Park, the Play, the
Drawing-room, or my Lady Tattle's Visiting-night, and, my Tongue for
hers, she speaks in a week.
Sir P. Your Tongue for hers . A change indeed . From one that
232 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
never speaks to one that never lyes still—hark’e, cosin, do you think she
might not come to her speech if she hung under you?
Lys. Ha! haſ haſ If I teach her, Uncle, I’ll proceed like my singing
master, and make her open her mouth very wide ; for a Stick, you know,
that grows bent, must be turn’d as much tºother way, to make it strait.
Sir P. I don't doubt your method; ’tis admirable; you have the best
Receipt against silence I ever heard.
Lys. I do wonders; I have talked Fifty young women out of the
green Sickness and Fifty old men into the Spleen ; here's my hand,
Uncle, let her Live a little with me, and if ever you complain of her
being Dumb, I’m no Doctor.
Sir. P. But will you Ensure me that I shant complain of my being
deaf when you have done with her?
Lys. The way to provide against that wou'd be to marry her, for
then she'd have one of her own to exercise upon.
Dor. Now I think Madam Lucinda is too tender, and too delicate
for the rough conversation of a Husband, and that she has not a consti-
tution to undergo the Fatigue of being Fruitful—to marry her wou'd
certainly kill her.
Lys. Hush | Not a word of that, for fear she shou'd steal a wed-
ding ; for in these cases, let the danger be ever so great, a Woman's
Resolution will struggle up to't.
Sir P. How innocently the maids of this Age amuse themselves!
Dor. Mrs Lysette talks very mildly, Sir ; but the properest way to
cure Madam Lucinda's Melancholly wou'd be to send her to a Nunnery.
Lys. Next to a dark Room, there's nothing like it, and a young
woman must needs preferr the wonderful Charms of Pennances and
Water-gruel to the Roughness of a Man's Passion and the Fatigue of
being Fruitful. tº,
Sir. P. Very well ! You who have a head full of Fiddles and
Intrigues, prescribe Dancing and a Husband; and you, Nurse, who have
out-lived these things, advise me to a Nunnery. Both your councils are
certainly very good, and I shall follow neither of 'em—but here comes
one can Council me indeed.
B, Page 204.
The first and second scenes of the first act of Molière's Love is the best
Doctor are imitated by Miller in his Art and Wature (Act i. Scene 1);
with this difference, that the English dramatist has not brought Aminta,
Lucrèce, M. Guillaume, and M. Josse on the stage, while Sir Simon
Dupe (Sganarelle) relates his adventures to the servant-maid Violetta,
the prototype of Lisette, the maid :
Sir Simon D. What a deplorable thing is Life 1 and how well may I
say, with the great philosopher of Antiquity, that he who has Wealth
hath Woe. Violetta, come hither.
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 233
Violetta. I am here, sir; your Commands.
Sir S. I had but one Wife, and she is dead.
Vio. Hadn't you indeed, sir? Pray how many would you have
had
Sir S. She is dead, Violetta; this Loss is very grievous to me, and I
can’t think of it without weeping. I was not mighty well satisfied with
her Conduct, and we had very often Disputes together, but, in short,
Death settles all things. She is dead—I lament her ; if she was
alive we should quarrel.
Vio. That I firmly believe, or you’d be strangely alter'd.
Sir S. Misfortunes never comes single, of all the Children that
Heaven gave me, it has only left me one Daughter, and this Daughter
is all my trouble, for she is in the deepest Melancholy of the World;
out of which there is no way of getting her, and the Cause of which I
can’t learn.
Vio. [Aside] That's false; you know it well enough, but don't care
to do it.
Sir S. For my part, I’m half distracted about it, and have need of
good Council in the Matter; I have been indeed consulting with some
of my Acquaintances about it, whose Advices were certainly admirable,
but I found a little too much of Self-Interest in 'em, and perceiv'd that
they advised mighty well for themselves: One was a Toyman, and his
Advice smelt of a Man who had a mind to get rid of some of his Trin-
kets, for he would persuade me to purchase a Cart-load of his Lumber
to have diverted her with —Snuff-Boxes, Tweezer-Cases, Equipages,
Pearls, Rubies, Emeralds, and China-Jars, as old as the Flood, for which
I must have given my gold belike.
Vio. Foolish, foolish, very foolish.
Sir S. Another was a Bookseller, and he would have clear'd his Shop
of Plays and Romances, and that kind of Trumpery, for nothing would
divert the young Lady like reading, it seem’d.
Wºo. Ridiculous !
Sir. S. Another sold Tapestry, and he seem'd to have some Hangings
that lay upon his Hands; for he talk'd of sending me in some curious
Tapestry adorn'd with Histories and Landskips, and the Murrain
knows what, to adorn her Chamber forsooth, and please her that way.
Vio. O monstrous ! worst of all.
Sir S. What can you think of, Violetta?
Vio. An effectual Remedy at once, sir; marry her to Truemore, who
is just arriv'd here from the West Indies, and to whom you engaged her
long ago. &
Sir S. Ay, these Counsellors are all of a Piece. Now this Slut wants
her married, that she may have more of her cast Clothes; and there-
fore tho' your Advices be the best in the World, be pleas'd to excuse me
from following e'er a one of 'em. These are your modish Counsellors truly.
[Enter Flaminia] Oh I here comes my Daughter. Good-morrow, my
234 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Dear; well, what's the Matter? how d'ye do? What, always thus sad
and melancholy, and won't you tell what ails you? Come, discover thy
little Heart to me; come, my poor Dear, tell, tell, tell thy little
Thoughts to thy dear little Papa ; take Courage, shall I kiss thee!
Come, I’m distracted to see thee in this Humour: Art thou jealous of
any of thy Companions, that thou seest finer than thyself ; No. Dost
not think thy Apartment well enough furnish'd? and dost thou long
for any little Trifle of that Kind—No.
Wºo. Hold, hold, sir; let me alone, I’ll sound her a little.
Sir S. No, no ; no matter, no matter; what must you be meddling
for, Mistress'; -
Vio. Let me alone, I tell you, perhaps she'll discover herself more
freely to me than to you. What, Madam, won’t you tell us what ails
you? Do you want anything of your Father ? He has often declar'd
that he'll spare nothing to make you easy; is it because he does not
give you all the Liberty you could wish? Um—Would you have a
finer Equipage, or be more frequent at Plays, Operas, Auctions, Balls,
Assemblies, and the other Diversions which People of your Youth and
Fashion indulge in? Um—Have you no secret Inclination for any one
whom you’d have your Father marry you to? Ahah ! I understand
you ; there's the thing ; why, sir, the Mystery is discover'd, and—
Sir S. [Interrupting her] Go, ungrateful Girl, I'll talk to thee no
more, but leave thee in thy Obstinacy.
Flam. Since you will have me discover my Heart, Sir-
Sir S. 1'll throw off all the Affection I had for thee.
Vio. Her Melancholy, sir, proceeds from the want of a Husband.
Sir S. [Pretending not to hear] I abandon her.
Vio. A Husband.
Sir S. Don't speak to me of her, don't speak to me of her ; I'll stop
my Ears, and not hear another Syllable about her. [Stops his ears and
Twns off.] -
Vio. A Husband, a Husband, a Husband.
Flam. Well, Violetta, what say you now
Vio. Why, that none are so deaf as those that won't hear— But
come, come, Madam, you must not suffer yourself to be led like a
Fool thus; are you not of Age to be marry'd, and does he think you
are Marble ! Not but that I am glad he opposes it too.
Flam. Glad of it, Violetta! -
|Vio. Yes, or else I should have lost the Pleasure of contradictin
him; Take Courage, then, Madam, since I give my Consent fear
nothing; I'll make him glad to give his before I’ve done with him; but
come in now, and leave it to me. - -
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 235
C, Page 208.
The fifth and sixth scenes of the first act of Molière's Love is the best
Doctor, are thus rendered in Miller's Art and Nature (Act i., Scene 1).
Sir Simon Dupe. Is there any thing more tyrannical, any thing more
impertinent and ridiculous than to heap up Riches with great Labour,
and bring up a Daughter with much Care and Tenderness in order to
strip one's self of both, and give 'em into the Hands of a Man one has
not the least Obligation to ? No, no, that Practice is a Jest to me,
and I'll sooner keep my Money and marry my Daughter my self.
Enter VIOLETTA.
Violetta. Oh Sir, Sir.
Sir S. What's the matter?
Vio. Your Daughter, Sir.
Sir S. Well, what of her, tell me quickly what’s the matter?
Vio. Your Daughter, quite struck with the 'terrible Passion you
was in with her, went up immediately to her Chamber, and full of
Despair open'd the Window which looks upon the River.
Sir S. Hey, and what then
Vio. No, said she, ’tis impossible for me to live under my Father's
Displeasure ; and since he disowns me for his Daughter, I must die.
Sir S. So threw herself out, hey?
Vio. No, Sir, she gently shut the Window again, and laid her down
on the Bed ; there she fell a weeping in such a lamentable manner, it
would have pierc'd a Heart of Adamant to have heard her, (Crying)
when all at once her Face grew pale, her Eyes roll’d, her Heart ceas'd
to beat, and cold and speechless she sunk into my Arms. -
Sir S. Oh my Daughter, she's dead then l I’ll go and die by her
side. * - [Weeps.
Vio. No, Sir, by pinching her I brought her to herself again ; but
this takes her every Moment, and I believe she’ll not live out to-day.
Sir S. Ah, poor girl, poor girl, whère is she Let me go to her this
very moment. I’ll pinch her, if pinching will do.
D, Page 210.
Lacy has imitated, in The Dumb Lady, the seventh scene of the first
act of Molière's Love is the best Doctor; Lisette becomes Nibby and
Sganarelle Gerente.
* Enter NIBBY. -
Nibby. Oh, woe is me, and woe unto us all ! O this uncle! this
wicked uncle !
Gerente. Alack what's the matter?
Nib. O cruel destiny! O fatal fortune
Ger. Why, Niece Nibby, what's the matter?
236 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Nib. That ever I should live to see this day !
Mur. Oh, my dear Mrs Nibby, what’s the misfortune 7
Mºb. Oh, where should I find this cursed uncle of mine !
Ger. Here I am, Nibby what's the danger?
Mºb. You are undone and ruined
Ger. How ! undone and ruined ? Do not delay me !
Mºb. Oh, your daughter, your daughter, you wicked wretch! I am
not able to say more for grief.
All. Ah—ah—ah—ah. [All weep.
Ger. Tell me quickly what's the matter
Mºb. Why, your daughter's grown desperate mad at your unkindness,
ran to the window that stands over the river, and there opening the
great casement—
Ger. Oh, what did she then }
Mºb. Why, lifting up her hands and eyes to that good place where
you will never come, uncle, she loudly cried, Since my father has aban-
doned me, ’tis time for me to quit this life of mine.
Ger. And so threw herself into the river ?
Mºb. No ; it seems she did not like that kind of death.
Ger. Why, what then
Mºb. Why, then she ran like lightning to the table, where your
pocket pistol lay.
Ger. And so shot herself with that?
Mib. No ; it seems there was no powder i' th' pan. But, bitterly
sighing and weeping, at last she ran and desperately threw herself upon
her bed, and then growing paler and paler by degrees fell into a deadly
sound.
Ger. And so died?
Mib. Stay, stay, you’re too quick for your daughter; but with much
rubbing, tumbling, and tossing her, I brought her to life again. So,
leaving her at death's door, I came to tell you the news.
Ger. Where are my servants? Run, bid 'em run I’ll have a con-
sultation of doctors. And run for Doctor Drench, for he shall join in
counsel with 'em. [Eveunt Manet Murse.
Mur. I’ll to the Doctor and tell him this. I doubt he will not like a
consultation with physicians.
If he stand this brush, he's made for ever ;
Luck, if't be thy will, just now or never.
E, Page 211.
Swiney, in The Quacks (Act ii., Scene 2), imitates Molière's first and
second scenes of the second act of Love is the best Doctor.
Enter SIR PATIENT and LYSETTE.
Lysette. What will you do with all these Physicians! Is not one
enough to kill one Person 7
wº LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 237
Sir Patient. Hold your peace. 'Tis safer to have many Counsellors.
Lys. And cannot your Daughter die without the help of these
Gentlemen ;
Sir P. Is their Business to kill, then {
Lys. Without question! and if you wou'd speak properly you shou'd
not say any body Dyes of a Feaver, or the Small-Pox, but of four
Doctors and two Apothecaries.
Sir P. Why, Mistress, wou'd you have me trust my Daughter with a
senseless nurse, or a good woman in the Neighbourhood, that cures
People with a Receipt she has had in the Family ever since Cromwel's
Time, no, I’ll be Informed by Learned Men.
Lys. You’ll be strangely Edify'd, Uncle, they’ll tell you in Latin
that your Daughter's Sick.
Sir P. Hush, here are the Doctors.
Enter DOCTOR CAUDLE, REFUGEE, and TICKLEPULSE.
Well, Gentlemen, how do you find my Daughter 7
Ticklepulse. Very bad, very bad.
Refugee. Your child be very Sick.
Caudle. Sick indeed, but let us consult.
Lys. Doctor Ticklepulse, your Servant.
Tick. Madam, I am yours; Pray, how do's your Ladyship's Coach-
Iſla Il.
Lys. Very well, Doctor, he's Dead.
'ick. How, Madam | Dead! impossible.
Lys. We were so ignorant as to believe so, Doctor, and have Bury'd
him.
Sir P. Peace, Impertinence—and pray, Gentlemen, to your Debates
out of hand, and tho' it be not the Custome to Fee you first, yet to
make everything easy [gives Fees]. And now, Gentlemen, we'll leave you.
Lys. Tho' I shan’t understand their Latin, and their hard words,
I’ve a mind to over-hear these wise men. [Eacit Sir Patient.
Tick. Come, Gentlemen, shall we sit
Cau. Pray, Doctor.
Tick. No ceremony, but the matter in hand. [Sit.
Enter DOCTOR MEDLEY, in a heat.
Medley. A rogue, a villain—was ever man served thus?
Om. Doctor yours, what's the matter?
Med. The matter, Gentlemen, never was Physician us’d so by a
Rascally Apothecary—I had a Patient in my hands three quarters of a
year, and this slave has cur'd him in two days.
Tick. An impudent Rascal
Med. Gentlemen, will you credit me—to serve this ungrateful fellow
I have made Bills more like a Taylors, than a Doctors—prescrib'd the
Bark to every Body, because he had bought a quantity of it, and made
238 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
my Patients Dye with the Physick in their mouths—nay, have Prescrib'd
after I knew they were dead—and to meet with this return at last !
Lys. This is an excellent fellow. [Aside.
Cau. These Apothecaries will ruin us.
Med. But not to Interrupt you, Gentlemen.
* Enter SIR PATIENT.
Sir P. Doctor Medley, I heard you were come—have you seen my
daughter?
Med. Yes, yes, I look'd in.
Sir P. Then, here Doctor. [Gives money.
Med. Sir, you oppress me—.
Sir P. And Gentlemen, to your consultation, I’ll disturb you no
Iſl Olſe. [Exit.
[They sit, after some ceremony of coughing.]
Lys. Now for the grave consultation. [Aside.
Med. You wou'd not think, Gentlemen, what a wonderful creature a
horse is.
Lys. How's that. [Aside.
Med. I laid upon the Scotch Gelding this meeting, he Ran a four
mill course in eight minutes.
Tºck. Wonderful.
Cau. There's certainly in all creatures, the same difference as
amongst men.
Med. As your Nobles, and Commoners and slaves, I make account
now, the Brutes that drag me, are on a level with tradesmen.
Tick. And my Pad Nag with an Esquire.
Lys. This indeed is Physic—I have enough. [Aside, evit.
Ref. Morbleau ! We consulta just so in France. [Aside.
Cau. My favourite Horse Codshead has Languish’d a great while
with a strain in his Back.
Med. Ay, nothing will recover that Beast but the Cortex or a Steel
course, I cur'd my Lord Washy tº other day of the same Distemper.
Tick. Why really if it were not for destroying so useful an animal,
we might make fine experiments and improve as much as we do upon
human Bodies.
Ref. Me be against dat, for if de Physician turn de Farryer,
morbleau de Farryer will turn de Physician.
Cau. But to the purpose—what is your opinion Gentlemen of Doctor
Worthy's way of Practice? he always prescribes and never will consult
as we do.
Om. Wrong Sir, wrong Sir.
Ref. The formality, be the chief Business.
Med. Certainly—and to break thro’ that will destroy all Physick—
I never yield to it—I was sent for tº other day with four other Doctors
to my Lady Swallowdrugs, who was at the last Extremity, and her
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 239
Friends wou'd have had us order'd something immediately, but Sacred
to our Rule, I wou'd do nothing before we consulted, and the Patient
Dy'd bravely in the midst of our Debate.
Cau. Which will serve for the Instruction of the Living, to send
for Physicians in time.
Tick. Right, right, a Dead Man is but a Dead man, but a Formality
neglected is a Prejudice to the whole Body of Physicians.
F, Page 212.
Mrs Behn in Sir Patient Fancy (Act v., Scene 1), has imitated the
consultation from Molière's Love is the best Doctor (Act ii., Scene 2), but
has modified and amplified it; besides this the physicians consult about,
and in the presence of a hypochondriack, Sir Patient Fancy, and not
about a young girl, who pretends to be ill, as in the French play.
Enter LoDWICK, MonsLEUR TURBOON, FAT DoCTOR, AMSTERDAM,
LEYDEN, SIR CREDULOUs.
Sir Patient. Doctor Turboon, Your servant, I expected you not this
two hours.
Turboon. Nor had ee com Sir, bot for dese wordy Gentelmen, whos
affairs wode not permit dem to come at your hour.
Sir P. Are they English, pray ?
Tur. Dis is, Sir [pointing to Lodwick] an admirable Physician, and
a rare Astrologer.—Dis speaks good English, bot a Colender born.
[Points to Sir Credulous.
Sir Credulous. Does the fellow call me a Cullender ?
Lodwick. He means a High dutch-man of the town of Collen, Sir.
Sir P. Sir, I have heard of your Fame—Doctor, pray entertain these
Gentlemen till my return, I’ll be with you presently.
Lod. Sir, I hope you go not forth to-day. [Gazing on his Face.
Sir P. Not far, Sir.
Lod. There is a certain Star has rul'd this two days, Sir, of a very
malignant Influence to Persons of your Complexion and Constitution.
—Let me see—within this two hours and six minutes, its Malice will be
spent, till then it will be fatal.
Sir P. Hum, reign'd this two days?—I profess and things have gone
very cross with me this two days—a notable Man this. . . .
Lod. If it be more than Health or Life, I beg your pardon, Sir.
Sir P. Nay, no Offence, Sir, I beseech you, I’ll stay, Sir.
L. Fancy. . . . Would you have my dear venture out, when a
malignant Star reigns ! not for the world.
Sir P. No, I'll not stir; had it been any Star but a malignant Star,
I had waited on your Ladyship : but these malignant Stars are very
pernicious Stars. . . .
240 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Enter BOY.
Boy. Sir, my Lady has sent for you.
Lod. Sir, I'll be with you presently; Sir Credulous, be sure you
lug him by the Ears with any sort of Stuff till my return. I’ll send you
a friend to keep you in countenance.
Sir P. Please you to sit, Gentlemen
Amst. Please you, Sir, [To Sir Cred., who bows and runs back.
Sir C. Oh Lord, sweet Sir, I hope you do not take me Nay,
I beseech you, Noble Si Reverend Sir.
[Turning from one to tºother.
Leyd. By no means, Sir, a stranger.
Sir C. I beseech you—Scavantissimº Doctores,-incomparable Sir,
and you—or you.
Fat D. In troth, Sir, these compliments are needless, I am something
corpulent, and love my ease. [Sits.
Sir C. Generous Sir, you say well; therefore Conlicentia, as the
Grecians have it. - -
Amst. Brother—
Leyd. Nay, good Brother, Sir Patient
Sir P. Ingeniously, not before you, Mr Doctor.
Leyd. Excuse me, Sir, an Alderman, and a Knight.
Sir P. Both below the least of the learned Society.
Leyd. Since you will have it so.
[All sit and cry hum, and look gravely.
Sir C. Hum—hum, most worthy, and most Renowned—Medicinae
Professores, qui hic assemblat estis, dºc., et vos altra Mesãoris; I am now
going to make a Motion for the publick Good of us all, but will do
nothing without your Doctorships Approbation.
Sir P. Judiciously concluded.
Sir C. The question then is, Reverentissimº Doctores, whether—for
mark me, I come to the matter in hand, hating long Circumstances of
words; there being no necessity, as our learned Brother Rabelais ob-
serves in that most notorious Treatise of his call'd Garagantua, there
is, says he, no necessity of going over the Hedge when the Path lies
fair before ye; therefore, as Isaid before, Inow say again, coming to my
Question; for as that admirable Welch Divine says, in that so famous
Sermon of his, upon her Creat Cranfather Hadam and her Creat Cran-
mother Heeve concerning the Happell—and her will, warrant her, her
will keep her to her Text still So I stick close to my question, which
is, Illustrissimi Doctores, whether it be not necessary to the affair in
hand—to take—a Bottle; and if your Doctorships are of my opinion
—hold up your Thumbs. [All hold up their Thumbs]—Look Sir,
you observe the Votes of the learned Cabalists.
Sir P. Which shall he put in Act forthwith—I like this man well, he
does nothing without mature Deliberation. " *
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 24, 1
Enter BRUNSWICK.
Brun. By your leaves, Gentlemen—Sir Credulous [Whispers.
Sir C. Oh–’tis Lodwick's friend, the Rascal's dress'd like Vanderbergen
in the Strand: Sir Patient—pray know this glorious Doctor, Sir.
Sir P. A Doctor, Sir?
Sir C. A Doctor, Sir yes, and as eloquent a Doctor, Sir, as ever set
Bill to Post: why, 'tis—the incomparable—Brunswick, High-Dutch
Doctor.
Sir P. You're welcome, Sir, Pray sit; ah—well, Sir, you are come
to visit a very crazy sickly Person, Sir. .
Brun. Pray let me feel your Pulse, Sir ;—what think you, Gentle-
men, is he not very far gone? [Feels his Pulse, they all feel.
Sir C. Ah, far, far. Pray, Sir, have you not a certain wannbling
Bain in your stomach, Sir, as it were, Sir, a-a pain, Sir.
Sir P. Oh very great, Sir, especially in a morning fasting.
Sir C. I knew it . . . , Sir and are you not troubled with a
Pain in your Head, Sir? -
Sir P. In my Head, Sir?
Sir C. I mean a-kind of a-Pain, -a kind of a-Vertigo, as the
Latins call it ; and a Whirligigoustiphon, as the Greeks have it, which
signifies in English, Sir, a Dizzie-swimming kind—of a do ye see—a
thing—that—a—you understand me.
Sir P. Oh intolerable, intolerable !—why, this is a rare man
Fat D. Your Reason, Sir, for that [To Sir Cred.
Sir C. My Reason, Sir why, my Reason, Sir, is this, Haly the
Moore, and Rabbi Isaac, and some thousands more of learned Dutchmen,
observe your dull wall Eye and your whir—Whirligigowstºphon, to be
inseparable.
Brun. A most learned Reason
Fat D. Oh Sir, inseparable.
Sir C. And have you not a kind of a-something—do ye mark me
. . . —a—do ye conceive me, I have forgot the English Term, Sir, but
in Latvn 'tis a Stronggullionibus.
Sir P. Oh, Sir, most extremely 'tis that which makes me desperate,
Sir. -
Sir C. Your ugly face is an infallible sign : your Dysurie, as the
Arabicks call it, and your ill-favour’d countenance, are constant Rela-
tives. .
All. Constant, constant.
Sir C. Pray how do you eat, Sir? -
Sir P. Ah, Sir, there's my distraction. Alas, Sir, I have the weakest
stomach—I do not make above four meals a-day, and then indeed I eat
heartily—but alas, what's that to eating to live —nothing, Sir, no-
thing . * -
Sir C. Poor Heart, I pity him.
III. ' Q
242 LovE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Sir P. And between meals, good wine, sweatmeats, caudles, cordials,
and mirabilises, to keep up my fainting Spirits.
Sir C. . . . An the whole bench were such notable swingers, 'twou'd
famish the City sooner than a Siege.
Amst. Brothers, what do you think of this man
Leyd. Think, Sir? I think his case is desperate.
Sir C. Shaw, Sir, we shall soon rectify the quiblets and quillities of
his Blood, if he observes our Directions and Diet, which is to eat but
once in four or five days.
Sir P. How, Sir, eat but once in four or five days? such a Diet, Sir,
would kill me; alas, Sir, kill me. • *
Sir C. Oh no, Sir, no ; for look ye, Sir, the case is thus, do you mind
me—so that the business lying so obvious, do ye see, there is a certain
Method, do ye marke me—in a-Now, Sir, when a man goes about
to alter the course of Nature—the case is very plain, you may as well
arrest the Chariot of the Sun, or alter the Eclipses of the Moon; for,
Sir, this being of another nature, the nature of it is to be unnatural, you
conceive me, Sir!—therefore we must crave your absence, Sir, for a
few minutes, till we have debated this great Affair.
Sir P. With all my heart, Sir, since my case is so desperate, a few
hours were not too much. [Eacit Sir Patient.
Sir C. Now, Sir, my service to you. [Drinks.
Enter FANNY.
Fan. Oh, living heart what do all these Men do in our House 7
sure they are a sort of new-fashioned Conventiclers. I’ll hear 'em
preach. [They drink round the while.
Amst. Sir, my service to you, and to your good Lady, Sir.
Leyd. Again to you, Sir, not forgetting your Daughters: they are
fine Women, Sir, let Scandal do its worst. [Drinks.
Brun. Faith it goes baldly on, I had the weekly Bill, and ’twas a
very thin Mortality; some of the better sort die indeed, that have good
round Fees to give.
Tur. Verily, I have not kill'd above my five or six this week.
Brun. How, Sir, kill'd :
Tur. Kill'd, Sir ever whilst you live, especially those who have
the grand . . . for ’tis not for a man's Credit to let the Patient want
an Eye or a Nose, or some other thing. I have kill'd ye my five or six
dozen a week—but times are hard.
Brun. I grant ye, Sir, your Poor for Experiments and Improvement
of Knowledge : and to say truth, there ought to be such Scavengers as
we to sweep away the Rubbish of the Nation.
[Sir Cred. and Fat Doctor seeming in Discourse.
Sir C. Nay, and you talk of a Beast, my service to you, Sir [Drinks].
Ay, I lost the finest Beast of a Mare in all Devonshire.
Fat D. And I the finest Spaniel, Sir. [Here they all talk together
till you come to purpose, Sir.]
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 243
Tur. Pray, what News is there stirring?
Brun. Faith, Sir, I am one of those Fools that never regards whether
Lewis or Philip have the better or the worst. -
Tur. Peace is a great Blessing, Sir, a very great Blessing.
Brun. You are i' th' right, Sir, and so my service to you, Sir.
Leyd. Well, Sir, Stetin held out nobly, tho the Gazettes are various.
Amst. There’s a world of men kill'd they say ; why, what a shame
'tis so many thousands should die without the help of a Physician.
Leyd. Hang 'em, they were poor Rogues, and not worth our killing;
my service to you, Sir, they’ll serve to fill up Trenches.
Sir C. Spaniel, Sir no man breathing understands Dogs and Horses
better than my self.
Fat D. Your pardon for that, Sir. -
Sir C. For look ye, Sir, I’ll tell you the Nature of Dogs and Horses.
Fat D. So can my groom and Dog-keeper; but what’s this to the
purpose, Sir! [Here they leave off.
Sir C. To th’ purpose, Sir good Mr Hedleburgh, do you understand
what’s to the purpose | you’re a Dutch Butter-ferkin, a Kilderkin, a
Double Lug.
Fat D. You’re an ignorant Blockhead, Sir.
Sir C. You lye, Sir, and there I was with you again.
Amst. What, quarrelling, Men of your Gravity and Profession.
Sir C. That is to say, Fools and Knaves: pray, how long is't since
you left Toping and Naping, for Quacking, good Brother Cater-tray,
—but let that pass, for I'll have my Humour, and therefore will
quarrel with no man, and so I drink. [Goes to fill again.
Brun. But what’s all this to the Patient, Gentlemen
Sir C. Ay, the Wine's all out, -and Quarrels apart, Gentlemen, as
you say, what do you think of our Patient for something I conceive
necessary to be said for Our Fees.
Fat D. I think unless he follows our Prescriptions he's a dead man.
Sir C. Ay, Sir, a dead man.
Fat D. Please you to write, Sir, you seem the youngest Doctor.
- [To Amst.
Amst. Your Pardon, Sir, I conceive there may be younger Doctors
than I at the Board.
Sir C. A fine Punctilio this, when a man lies a dying [Aside). Sir,
you shall excuse me, I have been a Doctor this 7 years. -
[They shove the Pen and Paper from one to the other.
Amst. I commenc'd at Paris twenty years ago.
Leyd. And I at Leyden, almost as long since.
Fat D. And I at Barcelona, thirty.
ASir C. And I at Padua, Sir.
Fat D. You at Padua &
Sir C. Yes, Sir, I at Padua, why, what . . . do ye think l never
was beyond Sea 7 - -
244 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Brun. However, Sir, you are the youngest Doctor, and must write.
Sir C. I will not lose an inch of my Dignity.
Fat D. Nor I.
Amst. Nor I.
Leyd. Nor I. [Put the Paper from each other.
Brun. Death, what Rascals are these ? *
Sir C. Give me the Pen—here's ado about your Paduas and Punc-
tillios. . W [Sets himself to write.
Amst. Every morning a Dose of my Pills . . . quecrusticon, or the
Amicable Pill. *
Sir C. Fasting ! - -
Leyd. Every Hour sixscore drops of Adminicula Vitae. -
Sir C. Fasting, too ! [Sir Cred, writes still.
Fat D. At Night twelve Cordial Pills, Gallimofeiticus.
Tur. Let Blood once a week, a Glister once a day.
Brun. Cry Mercy, Sir, you’re a French man. After his first sleep,
threescore restorative Pills, call’d Cheatus Redivīvus.
Sir C. And lastly, fifteen spoonfuls of my Aqua Tetrachymagogon, as
often as 'tis necessary ; little or no Breakfast, no Dinner, and go Sup-
perless to Bed.
Fat D. Hum, your Aqua Tetrachymagogon # -
Sir C. Yes, Sir, my Tetrachymagogon; for look ye, do you see, Sir,
I cur'd the Arch-Duke of Strumbulo of a Gondileero, of which he dy’d,
with this very Aqua Tetrachymagogon. . +
Enter SIR PATIENT.
Sir P. Well, Gentlemen, am I not an intruder
Fat D. Sir, we have duly consider'd the state of your Body; and are
now about the Order and Method you are to observe.
Brun. Ay, this Distemper will be the occasion of his Death.
Sir C. Hold, Brothers, I do not say the occasion of his Death; but
the occasional cause of his death. [Sir Pat. reads the Bill.
Sir P. Why, here's no time allow'd for eating, Gentlemen.
Amst. Sir, we'll justify this Prescription to the whole College.
Leyd. If he will not follow it, let him die.
All. Ay, let him die. -
Enter LODWICK and LEANDER.
Lod. What have you consulted without me, Gentlemen?
- [Lod. reads the Bill.
Sir P. Yes, Sir, and find it absolutely necessary for my Health, Sir,
I shou'd be starv'd : and yet you say I am not sick, Sir. [To Lean.
Lod. Very well, very well.
Sir P. No Breakfast, no Dinner, no Supper?
Sir C. Little or none, but none's best.
Sir P. But, Gentlemen, consider, no small thing.
All. Nothing, nothing. tº
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 245
Sir C. Sir, you must write for your Fee. [To Lod.
Lod. Now I think on't, Sir, you may eat [Writes] a roasted Pippin
cold upon a vine-leaf, at night.
Lean. Do you see, Sir, what damn'd canting Rascals these Doctors
are :
Sir P. Ay, Ay, if all doctors were such, ingeniously, I shou'd soon be
weary of Physick.
Lean. Give 'em their Fees, Sir, and send them to the Devil for a
company of cheats. - -
Sºr P. Truth is, there is no faith in 'em,--well I thank you for your
Care and Pains. [Gives 'em. Fees.
Sir C. Sir, if you have any occasion for me, I live at the red-colour'd
Lanthorn, with eleven candles in't, in the Strand; where you may come
in privately, and need not be ashamed, I having no creatüre in my house
but my self, and my whole Family. [Eveunt.
Ick quam van Meder Landt te spreken
End helpen van . . . end ander gebreken.
That's a top of my Bill, sweet Sir,
Fan. Lord, Sir Father, why do you give 'em money?
Lean. For talking nonsence this Hour or two upon his Distemper.
Fan. Oh, lemini, Sir, they did not talk one word of you, but of
Dogs and Horses, and of Killing folks, and of their Wives and Daugh-
ters; and when the Wine was all out, they said they wou'd say some-
thing for their fees. - -
Sir P. Say you so?—Knaves, Rogues, Cheats, Murderers I'll be
reveng'd on 'em all,—I’ll ne'er be sick again,_or if I be, I’ll die
honestly of my self without the assistance of such Rascals—go, get you
gone.
G, Page 214.
Bickerstaffe in Dr Last in his Chariot, (Act i., Scenes 10, 11, 12), has
imitated the Consultation Scene from Molière's Love is the best Doctor.
Lisette is called Prudence, and the physicians come to consult upon
Ailwou'd's case, instead of that of a young girl's.
Prudence. Sir, there are three doctors below, in the parlour, that
were to call upon you this morning. e *
Ailwou'd. Ay, they are come to consult upon my case. I’m sorry I
spoke to them; but it's too late now.
Pru. And there's another gentleman at the door in a chariot, with
Mr Trash the bookseller, who desired me to tell you he had brought Dr
Last.
Ail. I hope the gentlemen in the parlour did not see him.
Pru. No, Sir, no.
Ail. Very well, then show the physicians up. Do you, my love, go
24, 6 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
and entertain Dr Last till I can come to you.-I will dispatch these as
soon as I can ; but one must keep up the forms of civility.
AILWOU'D, DR CoFFIN, DR SKELETON, DR BULRUDDERY.
Coffin. Mr Ailwou’d, your servant. I have obey'd your commands
you see ; and am come, with my brothers Skeleton and Bulruddery, to
have a consultation upon your case. How do you find yourself this
morning?
Ail. Pray, gentlemen, be seated.—Why, really, doctor, I find myself
but very indifferent.
Skel. How do you sleep, Sir?
Ail. Very indifferently, doctor; chiefly broken slumbers.
Bul. And pray how is your appetite?
Ail. Indifferent, very indifferent, indeed. I have made shift to get
down a couple dishes of chocolate this morning in bed; about two
hours after I had some tea and toast with my wife; just now I swallow'd,
with much difficulty, a bason of soup ; and I believe I shall hardly
take any more till dinner.
Skel. But, Mr Ailwou'd, what are your chief complaints?
Ail. Really, doctor, I am afraid my disorder is a complication.
Sometimes I think it is the gout, and sometimes the rheumatism, some-
times the dropsy, and sometimes, I feel myself in a high fever: how-
ever, gentlemen, Dr Coffin, here, has been long my good friend and
physician, and, by the help of the intelligence he can give you about my
constitution, your art and experience may perhaps enable you to find
out what's the matter with me; so I leave you to your consultation.
Gentlemen, your servant [Ailwou'd feeing the doctors as he goes out, drops
a guinea] Stay, doctor, I’ll take it up for you.
Skel. Sir, I thank you;-but I think there was another dropt.
Ail. No, there wasn’t.
Skel. Why, I have but two.
Ağ. But two —Oh ! Oh [Gives him another.
DR COFFIN, DR SKELETON, DR BULRUDDERY, sitting down with great
ceremony, then, after a short silence.
Skel. Brother Coffin, shall I trouble you for a pinch of your—[taking
snuffl Havannah! I see
Cof Brought me from thence by a captain who assisted in taking the
place.
Skel. [Sneezes] Devilish strong.
Bul. I have often, Dr Skeleton, had it in my head to ask some of the
faculty, what can be the reason that, when a man happens to sneeze all
the company bow!
Skel. Sneezing, Dr Bulruddery, was a mortal symptom that attended
a pestilential disease, which formerly depopulated the republic of Athens;
ever since, when the convulsion occurs, a short ejaculation is offered up,
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 247
that the sneezing or sternuting party may not be afflicted with the same
distemper.
Bul. Upon my conscience a very learned account Ay, and a very
civil institution too. I can't help thinking, doctor, but the gentlemen
of our profession must thrive much better in them these foreign parts
than at home : Now, because why, one hears of plagues and pestilences,
and such like kind of disorders, that attack a whole nation at once.
Now, here, you know, we are obliged to pick up patients one by one,
just as a body can get them.
Cof Ay, doctor ; and since the great increase of this town, the sick
lie so scattered that one pair of horses are scarce sufficient for a
physician but in moderate practice.
Skel. True ; why, there was yesterday, the first pulse I felt belonged
to a lad with the measles in Dean's Yard, Westminster, from thence
I set out between seven and eight, my wig fresh powdered and my
horses in spirits; I turned at Charing Cross for the New Buildings;
then ran through the Holborn division, crossed the Fleet-market, and
penetrated into the city as far as Whitechapel; then made a short trip
to the wife of a salesman, who had the gout in her stomach, at Wap-
ping; from thence returned through Cornhill, Temple Bar, and the
Strand, and finished my last prescription, between five and six, for a
tradesman in Cockspur Street, who had burst a vein in hallooing at the
Brentford election.
Bul. Upon my conscience, a long tour.
Skel. Long ! Why, upon the most moderate calculation, I could not,
before I sat down to my soup, have run up less than thirty pair of
stairs; and my horses must have trotted, taking in cross-streets and
turnings, at least eighteen miles and three-quarters.
Bul. Without doubt. But you was talking of Brentford?—Don’t
you look upon a contested election as a good thing to the faculty, doctor?
Skel. If you mean to us of the college, Dr Bulruddery, little or
nothing ; if, indeed, there should happen to be warm work at the
hustings, the corporation of surgeons may pick up some practice;
though I don’t look upon any of these public transactions as of any great
use to our body in general. Lord Mayor's Day, indeed, has its merit.
Cof Yes; that turns to account.
Skel. Dr Doseum and I were making, t'other morning at Batson's, a
short calculation of what value that festival might be to the whole of
the physical tribe.
Bul. Is it a secret to what you made it amount
Skel. Why, what with colds caught on the water before dinner, re-
pletion and indigestion at dinner, inebriety after dinner (not to mention
the ball in the evening), we made that day and its consequences; for,
you know, there are fine foundations laid for future disorders, especi-
ally if it turns out an easterly wind
Bul. Does that make any difference?
248 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Skel. Infinite ; for when they come out of the hall, in a fine perspira-
tion, from the heat of the room and exercise, should the winds miss
them in crossing Cateaton Street, it's sure to lay hold of them in turn-
ing the corner into Cheapside— -
Cof. Without doubt.
Skel. We estimated the whole profit to physicians, surgeons, apothe-
caries, chemists, druggists, and nurses at eleven thousand, six hundred,
seventy-three pounds, fourteen shillings, and threepence three farthings.
H, Page 214.
Swiney, in The Quacks (Act ii., end), has imitated this scene from
Molière's Love is the best Doctor.
Enter SIR PATIENT.
Sir P. Gentlemen, my daughter grows very bad, and I beg you to
tell me what you have Resolved on, . -
Caw. Come, Gentlemen.
Med. Sir, with Submission.
Ref. Pardonnez moy—Monsieur Ticklepurse.
Tick. Doctor Pauvre Hugonot, I always am civil to Foreigners.
Sir P. I beseech you, Gentlemen, lay aside Ceremony, and consider
the occasion.
: } —The Distemper.
Tich. Sir.
Caw. Pardon me.
Tick. Sir, we have been in earnest Consultation about your Daughter,
and her Distemper is certainly the Vapours to a great degree, and if
she do's not Bleed, she's a dead woman.
Sir P. Ha—her mother was troubl’d with Vapours.
Cau. Sir, her Distemper is the Stone—and I have the only Nostrum
in England that can help her; I have remov’d Stones from Women, as
big as my two Fists.
Sir P. Haw—Now I think on’t, her Grandmother was troubl’d with
the Gravel, and my Aunt Martha had a stone taken out that my Uncle
wore in a Thumb Ring. -
Cau. And if care ben’t taken to remove it, she'll dye.
Ref. Just the contrary, Sir, her disease be de Green-sickness, and
de only cure upon Earth be dis—take of Antimony.
Sir P. The Green Sickness, Doctor
Med. Sir Patient, Heark’e, to deal Friendly with you, for in these
cases, a man must tell his Mind; your Daughter's Distemperis [Whispers]
and if she don’t take a dozen or two of my Vomits, she's an undone woman.
Sir P. How, Doctor . I have kept her under Lock and Key all her
Tife.
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 249
Med. That may be ; I can't say whose fault ’tis—she has it that's
certain—'Tis in her Blood—think—
Sir P. Hal Let me see, there was a Baggage about, Sixteen years
ago—but sure, Doctor, it can't be. - *
Ref. Sir, believe me, your Daughter have de Green-sickness, and if
de proper medicine be not apply, she be Lost.
Sir P. Do you think so -
Cau. I say, Sir Patient, 'tis the Stone—you know her Grandmother
had it before her. - -
Sir P. Very True. -
Tick. And her Mother the Vapours; consider that.
Sir P. I don’t know what to say, nor what Resolution to take,
divided 'twixt so jarring opinions. -
I, Page 216. g -
Bickerstaffe, in Dr Last in his Chariot, (Act i., Scenes 13, 14), has
partly imitated the fourth and fifth scenes of the Second Act of
Molière's play as follows: -
DR CoFFIN, DR SKELETON, DR BULRUDDERY, and AILwou’D.
Ailwou'd. Gentlemen, I beg pardon for this interruption; but you
have been consulting upon my case, and I have some particular reasons
for coming thus suddenly, to desire to know what opinion you have yet
been able to form.
Coffin. [To Skeleton] Come, Sir.
Skeleton. No, Sir ; pray do you speak.
Cof. Before my senior Pray excuse me.
Skel. [To Bulruddery] Doctor
Bulruddery. The devil burn myself if I do.
Ail. Nay; pray, gentlemen, leave these ceremonies; and, if you
have been able to form any opinion, instruct me. -
Cof. Why, really, sir, to tell you the truth—Brother Skeleton.
Skel. We have not yet, with all the observations we have been able
to make upon your case and complaints—I say, Sir-and, after the most
abstruse disquisitions, we have not as yet been able—to form any
opinions at all. -
Ail. Well, this is all I want to be acquainted with, because, if you
have not been able to form any opinion, I have been happy enough to
meet with a physician that has-Pray, Sir, do me the favour to walk in
here. -
DR CoFFIN, DR SKELETON, DR BALRUDDERY, AILwou’D, DR LAST.
Ail. This, gentlemen, is Dr Last, and he assures me that my dis-
order is a confirmed jaundice.
Doctors. A jaundice —ha, ha, ha! -
Dr Last. What do you grin at 7–I says he has the jaunders, and I'll
250 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
uphold it.—I’ll lay you fifty pounds he has the janders, and the gentle-
man shall hold the stakes himself.
Cof Well, but Mr Ailwou'd this is altogether ridiculous. Did you
ever see a man of your colour with the jaundice
Ail. Why, that's true; [Turning to Last] every one tells me that I
have a very florid complexion; now the jaundice gives a yellow hue :
will you be so good as explain that ?
Dr L. Well, so I can, but not for the doctors.-If I does it, it's all
entirely to oblige you.
Skel. We shall hear how the impudent rascal will bring himself off.
Dr L. There are two sorts of jandars; the yallar and the grey.
Bul. The black, I believe you mean, honey.
Dr L. No ; I don’t.
Cof. But you must, Sir ; there is no such thing as the greyjaundice.
Skel. Oh gentlemen, the doctor means the iron-gray, and that's
almost black, you know.
Dr L. They only does this to put me out now, because I’m no col-
legian.
Ail. Well, pray, doctors, go on with your explanation.
Dr L. Well, I says then ; [To Ailwou'd, who turns about for some-
thing] I won't talk without you minds;–the yallar janders, I say, is
the yallar jaunders is, as if so be—
Cof. Why, you were talking of the grey jaundice this moment.
Dr L. No, I wasn't ; I didn't say a word of the grey janders—Did I,
Mr Ailwou'd 7–It's the jallar jandars.-I knows well enough what I’m
about, if you'll let me alone.
Cof Well, what of the yallar janders ?
Dr L. Why, I won't tell you—I won’t say a word more now ; if you
thinks to profit, you're mistaken; you shan’t learn nothing from me.
Cof You're a . . . impudent fellow.
Dr L. I does my cures no purchase no pay; and which of you can say
that ? [Turning to Ailwou'd] Many a one of them comes to ax my ad-
vice and assistance, when they don’t know what to do themselves.
Cof Come, come, friend, we know you. a
Dr L. Well, and I know you.-Pray, Dr Coffin, didn't you attend
one Mrs Greaves, a tallow-chandler's widow, that lodg’d at the pork-
shop in Fetter Lane; and didn't she send for me after you gave her over?
Cof Yes, and she died in two days. -
Dr L. Well,—so she did ;-but that was no fault of mine ; she should
have sent for me first. What could I do for her after you had killed
the poor dear soul?
Cof. But, Mr Ailwou'd, we are come here to consult upon your
case ; and if you permit us, we are willing.
Ail. Ol nothing I desire so much, and, to assist you, I'll leave this
gentleman ; he may give you further reasons for what he advances.
Skel. What, Sir, do you think we'll consult with a quack!
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 251
Bul. Ay, do you think we’ll be after consulting with a quack?
Dr L. I’m no quack—I have been regularly submitted; and I’ll pro-
secute you for your words in Westminster Hall.
Cof Mr Ailwou'd, we are your humble servants.
Ail. Well, but, gentlemen, your fees; you'll return them, I hope.
Cof Return our fees, Sir
Bul. Return our fees Arrah, is the man mad?
Skel. Sir, it is a thing entirely out of the course of practice, we wish
you a good morning.
AILwou’D, LAST.
Ail. Why then, gentlemen, your servant, and good morning to you.
Let them go ; I’m glad we have got rid of them at any rate.
Dr L. Here, you Coffin
Ail. Pray let him alone now.
J, Page 224.
Swiney, in The Quacks (Act v., Scene 1), has nearly imitated literally
this sixth scene of the last act from Molière's Love is the best Doctor, but
Clitander and Lucinde are married on the stage by a priest, put into
livery.
Enter SIR PATIENT, CLITANDER, LYSETTE, and ATTENDANTs.
Lys. Here's your patient Doctor, now try your skill upon her, and
show a Remedy that is not in the Dispensary—come Uncle let's leave
'em together.
Sir P. No, no, I’ll stay.
Lys. Indeed you shan’t Uncle, why he has Questions to put to her
that are not proper for you to hear—a Physician may be as free with a
woman as her Midwife, and we often converse with him as a Doctor,
without considering he's a man.
Sir P. That's a tickelish point, Cousin, and for the security of our
Wives and Daughters, If my Advfle might be taken, I'd have none
Bractice Physick, but those that were Qualify’d for Queristers.
Lys. Then you might keep ’em for your own use. [Sir Patient
and Lysette retire.
Clit. How lucky has been our Stratagem You see Madam, these
moments are not to be lost, do you but favour the deceipt and I am
Happy—. -
Luc. Alass what farther Happiness can you hope, but this of being
Iléal’ Iſle.
Clit. To be for ever near you.
Luc. How's that Possible 7
Clit. If I can Conjure up a Priest and Notary, and make your
Father himself, as much as he's against it, present you to me in marriage,
what wou'd you say?
Luc. Yes | yes | yes! yes!
252 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Clit There's Eloquence enough in that word to move a Hermit !
Sir P. Ha! methinks they’r very close. - [To Lysette.
Lys. Oh that is to observe her Phisiognomy and the Lines of her
face—in some cases he must be Closer yet, before he do's any good.
Sir P. Is’t Possible?
Luc. The Pleasure rises with the Hope, but I'm afraid I shan’t be
able to keep my Countenance, and if my Father shou'd see thro' it, all's
undone again. - *
Clit. Don't think of the Devil, and he won't appear.
* Sir P. Ha! she smiles, I must go to 'em. Well Doctor, I perceive
your Patient is altered. -
Clit. You must observe, Sir, that the Spirit has a mighty Power
over the Flesh, and my way is always to cure the mind before I tamper
with the Body, in order to which I examine the Lines of the Visage,
and Hands, and by the art I have acquired, I find that your Daughters
Disease is in her mind, and that the Disorder of it proceeds from a wild
Imagination, and a deprav'd desire of being Marryed.
Sir P. A Strange Man this.
Clit. This sort of Madness is very rare, for Marriage it self sends
many to Bedlam, and I don’t wonder at it, I have had from my Child-
hood a constant Aversion to it.
Sir P. A great Physician
Clit. But now Sir, the only way of cure is to Flatter the Imagina-
tion of the Patient, to strike in with the Disease, and make it accessory
to its own Cure.
Lys. As you know Uncle, the surest way to make you hate a thing,
is to give you a Surfeit of it.
Clit. I find Sir, that she is reduc’d to an Extremity, and there will
be danger if she be not suddainly help'd I just touched upon her
Folly, and told her I came to demand her of her Father in Marriage,
when of a sudden her Visage chang'd, her Cheeks bloomed ! her eyes
sparkled ! and if you'd but support that Errour for a few hours, you’ll
see her perfectly restor'd. -
Sir P. Strange—I observ’d it !
Clit. And after that we may apply other Remedies that will confirm
her mind, and quite remove that wild Imagination. .
Sir P. Right, right the best thing in the world, let's apply it imme-
diately—well Child, here is a Gentleman that wou'd Marry you, and
I have given him my consent.
Luc. How Sir, is't Possible?
Sir P. Ay my Dear, I agree to it.
Luc. But do you indeed?
Sir P. Yes, yes, my dear Lucinda.
Luc. And you Sir, are willing to be my Husband?
Clit. Yes Madam, Proud of it.
Luc. And my dear Father consent to it?
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 25.3
Sir P. I do | I do my Dear Child.
Luc. How happy am I if this be Real
Sir P. Ha! haſ poor Fool? [Aside.
Clit. Doubt it not Madam, I have been long your Adorer, and Dye
with desire to become your Husband, I came hither for that end, and if
you wou'd have me speak ingenuously, this Habit is but a Disguise,
and I made my self a Doctor for an opportunity to approach you, and
to crown my wishes ſº
Sir P. He acts it rarely
Luc. Now give me tender instances of your Esteem, and I’m as sen-
sible as I can be of so generous a Passion.
Lys. Do you mind her |
Sir P. I do | I do | a Pleasant way of Cure! He makes a fool of her
to bring her to her wits
Lys. A common thing! we see Men fool’d Out of their Estates at
Play, who come to their Senses by that time they’re undone, but it
vexes me to see a Poor Woman deceived Uncle.
Sir P. Mum ! you Rogue.
Luc. But shall he really be my Husband Father?
Sir P. Here, here [takes her hand] give yours Sir a little—only to
make believe. [Apart to Clitander.
Clit. But—.
Sir P. Nay—only to sooth her madness—Here receive her—so now
its done—its done ! [Stiffling a laugh.
. Clit. Take then as a Pledge of my Faith this ring.
Luc. Alas Sir, this won't do, we must have the Priest to joyn us
and the Notary to draw the writings of what my Father gives with me,
or all's nothing.
Sir P. What shall we do now, Doctor? All's spoil'd again.
Clit. Let me see, Sir—I find her Brain is extreamly turn'd, and
that she do's not distinguish Persons, I’ll possess her that one of
my Servants is a Priest, and my Mery-Andrew a Notary.
Sir P. Excellent Ha, ha, ha!—I shall Dye with the conceit and
spoil the Ceremony—
Clit. I never saw this sort of Madness, in such a degree before.
Sir P. Hark'e Doctor, you must know here was a fellow that had a
mind to be Nibbling at her, without my consent, one Clitander.
Clit. A Rogue !
Sir P. Extravagant Dog who's Plot upon her knock'd o' the Head
in the Nick of time.
Clit. You were certainly in the Right, Sir, and nobody ought to
have your daughter, without advising with you about her.
Sir P. No, no, but let us dispatch—Come Lucinda, the Doct— I
wou'd say your Lover here has taken care to bring those two Gentlemen
with him—Let's in and I’ll settle the whole affair to your Satisfaction
my Dear. - -
254 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Luc. I’m overjoy’d, Sir.
Sir P. Poor Soul, ha! ha I can't bear the Jest. [To Lysette.
Lys. This Delusion Succeeds very well upon her, but how will you
do to imitate Consummation ? A woman must be very mad Uncle, who
is to be Deceived in that.
Sir P. Pish, you’r a Fool, a Husband's a Husband.
Lys. Yes, yes, and a Woman's a Woman, Uncle, and you must not
depend upon the loss of all her Senses |
Clit. To make it as like a Marriage as possible, we won't fail in the
Celebration, I have always Singers and Dancers in my Retinue, on pur-
pose to Amuse the disorders of the mind, and they shall entertain her
till she forgets that part of the ceremony.
Sir P. Nothing so Lucky—Let 'em prepare them—do you hear within
Let the Dancers make Ready—Ha! haſ this is the Pleasantest
way of Cure that ever was—along [Eacewnt omnes.
Entertainment of Singing and Dancing.
Re-enter SIR PATIENT and LYSETTE follow'd by CLITANDER and LUCINDA,
who kneel down about the middle of the stage, and while they are in that
Posture, a Servant brings CLITANDER's Wigg, which he puts on.
Sir P. Now all's done. Ha 1 ha 1 ha Poor Fool, she's satisfy'd.
Lys. What a wicked Man are you to cheat her So--but what way
will you devise to amuse her at Night Uncle -
Sir P. Tell her 'tis the Fashion to have separate Beds, and then,
[Turns and sees 'em kneeling.
Ha! Bless me, what's here? Where's the Doctor?
Clit. You'll find him in Your Son in Law.
Luc. Your pardon and your blessing, Sir. [They rise.
Sir P. Why, Cousin -
Lys. Itold you Uncle, he'd bring her to her senses.
Sir P. Ha! and I tell you I'll reduce her to her madness again —
for this Imaginary Marriage will signify little, that's one comfort—
thou shallow Plotting Lover ! Ha! haſ haſ Wise Clitander / To think
that an Idle Footman's Reading of the Ceremony would be sufficient to
make a marriage. Ha! haſ hal [Turns to Lysette.
Cli. "Twas not Sir, to Dishonour the Church that I put a Priest
into Livery, but— [Strips the Footman.
Sir P. Father Wicholas how ! Is it real then, and am I cheated?
Clit. And I hope the Gravity of the City will not be injur’d by
making a Jackpudding of a Notary Public. See Sir, your substantial
Friend Mr Stockjob.
Lys. I told you, Uncle, this Doctor wou'd do wonders
Sir P. He has made all safe 1 And 'tis in vain to vex
since you've made the assurance to marry my Daughter
Clit. With your consent, Sir, I wou’d not do anything without your
approbation.
Harke Sir,
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 25.5
Sir P. Here's a Rogue ! that your Punishment may have an
affinity with your crime, and any Satisfaction be exemplary, never see
my face more till you make me a-Grandfather.
Luc. My Dearest Father
Lys. Ha! haſ ha / Right Uncle, why, that's the finishing stroke,
the only way to settle her mind, she’d a Relaps'd without it.
Clit. I shall endeavour, Sir, to Deserve your good opinion—
Sir P. Very well! and I’ll answer for my Daughter as mad as she is
and now the Adventure is over—to Fathers, Brothers, Husbands,
and all that pretend to Govern Women,
This comfort from the Moral is Convey’d ;
In what they like we're sure to be obey'd.
R, Page 227.
Lacy, in The Dumb Lady (Act v.), has imitated parts of the second
and of the third acts of Molière's Love is the best Doctor; but he has
evidently not understood the Frenchman's physicians, who certainly
would, on no account, have held consultations with a farrier. With
the exception of one scene, which could not be transcribed, the follow-
ing extract forms the greatest part of the fifth act of The Dumb Lady.
Olinda is the name of the young lady, her father is Gernette;
Leander, her lover, an operator who appears as Hurnatio, whilst his
brother, Parson. Othentick, is disguised as Dr Drench's man, Stirquilitio.
Enter old GERNETTE with three learned DoCTORs.
Ger. Gentlemen, I have made bold, to send for you again ; and
though you could not help my child when she was dumb, I hope you
may now she is mad.
1 Doct. How ! Is she mad? and does she speak?
Ger. Yes, sir. A famous and a learned man, of great skill and
wonderful knowledge, gave her something, and in a short time she
spake, and fell into raving fits of madness, and has ever since continued
so ; and this he told me would be the effect of what he then did.
2 Doct. This is strange.
3 Doct. Most wonderful ' What was it he gave her, sir?
Ger. Nay, that I know not ; but I assure you he said he could
make her speak, and told me her disease would turn to madness, and
accordingly it has proved so. Nevertheless, gentlemen, I desire you to
join with this learned man, and consider how to perfect her cure.
1 Doct. Why, sir, you tell us wonders of him. Where did he study?
Ger. I know not ; but he seems to be a great traveller, for he
talked of Tartar Cham, and of Padua, and Greenland.
2 Doct. Tartar Cham and Greenland? This must be a mountebank
and a cheat.
256 LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Ger. Upon my credit you will not find him so, for he has seen all
universities; he is but newly come over, and his name is Doctor Drench.
1 Doct. Drench'ſ Why, that's a fitter name for a farrier than a
physician | -
Ger. Let his name be as strange as it will, he has also strange
humours too, for he'll find out men's ignorance presently.
3 Doct. I think we were best begone, lest he find out ours.
1 Doct. Why, ay, for if he be a chemist, his opinion and ours must
needs differ, and consequently not agree in consultation.
2 Doct. I am, sir, of your opinion, for I think it infra dignitatem to
hold consultation with mountebanks.
3 Doct. We know not yet, sir, what the man is.
1 Doct. If he be a chemist, sir, he is, eo nomine, a declared enemy
to the Galenical way, to all truth and learning, and a denyer of prin-
ciples, and therefore not to be consulted with.
2 Doct. Right, sir; contra principia negantem non est disputandum.
He that replies but with submission to sic divit Galenus is not to be
looked on as a physician.
3 Doct. Pardon me, gentlemen, I have known some chemical
physicians learned and rational men ; and, although not strict adherers
to the Galenical method, proceed with great reason and good success,
which, I take it, answers all we can say or do.
2 Doct. I profess I think it as bad as murder to cure out of the
methodical way. Oh, what satisfaction 'tis to have a patient die
according to all the rules of art 1
Ger. But, sure, it should satisfy your conscience better to have
them live by rules. -
2 Doct. Come life, come death, to follow rules in your satisfac-
tion; and conscience is no ingredient within the rules of physic, sir.
Enter SERVANT.
Ser. Sir, the Doctor is come ! *
Ger. 'Tis well ’tis well ! Gentlemen, to end this dispute, here is
a double fee for each ; and, pray you, consult with him his way, and
be civil in't for my sake.
1 Doct. Sir, you and yours here hath prevailed over us.
2 Doct. I profess, to serve so worthy and magnificent a person, I
would consult with a farrier.
3 Doct. A farrier? Nay, for a double fee we would consult with a
gunsmith.
Ger. Here he is pray you salute him.
3 Doct. We know how to be civil, sir.
Enter DocToR, HURNATIO, STIRQUILUTIo, and NURSE.
Ger. Save you, sir!
Doct. I thank you.
3 Doct. Save you,
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 257
Doct. One save you, sir, is sufficient for all ; we learned men
should hate compliment—verba pauca sapiens Sapit-Was that true
Latin, Parson'ſ
Stir. Bravel fear nothing ! At them with some question
Doct. I shall fall into the farrier.—Well, I find, gentlemen, you are
professed doctors of physic, and are met to consult the health of a dis-
tracted lady? therefore to the point, and avoid your canting words that
would stick in a wise man's throat and choke him.
2 Doct. But, sir, 'tis necessary we declare ourselves in proper and
learned phrases when we discourse either of physic or distempers—
tn arte artificialiter loquendum ; and withal, sir, 'tis fit that we of the
consultation should withdraw. -
Doct. No withdrawing, sir; ’tis not my way. I love persons con-
cerned should hear and see what's done, that they may judge who
are doers and who are talkers; and if you affect the vain-glory of
learned phrases, my operator Hurnatio and his man Stirquilutio shall
dispute you, for with great pains I have enabled them to argue in
all tongues, because they know I hate the trouble on’t myself.
Stir. Start a question quickly.
Doct. I shall only trouble you with one question or two myself.
First, I ask you whether you know the practice of before behind,
behind before ?
2 Doct. Before behind, behind before ? Why, that is something
belongs to a horse ! A farrier or a blacksmith must answer that
question . . . .
Stir. You’ll have no need of Latin, Doctor.
Doct. Look you to that, Parson.—And I must tell you I shall spoil
the benefit you get by that disease ; for I'll advise every man to plant
a guaiacum tree in his orchard, and a leaf of that at any time will cure
infallibly; and that's one of the secrets I will reveal to the world, to
spoil the practice of mountebanks, . . . doctors, and bill men.
2 Doct. But will that disease be cured with the leaf of a guaiacum tree?
Doct. Ay, sir, as I can order it.
1 Doct. Pray you, sir, how will you order it !
Doct. Why, first, sir, I will make you a mash.
3 Doct. How, sir, that’s a farrier's phrase again. What mean you by
a mash, sir? -
Doct. Tell 'em, tell 'em, Stirquilutio, and let not me be troubled to
interpret.
Stir. Why, sir, the Doctor is so much read in the Arabian physi-
cians that he often uses their terms. Masha in the Arabic is what
quinta essentia is in the Latin. - -
Doct. Well helped, Parson.—You wonder at my phrases, and I at
your want of Arabic. Now, sir, when any man is troubled with the
staggers, we do not cut him and slash him in the forehead as you do
your horses.
III. R
258 - LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
2 Doct. Staggers in a man With your favour, sir, you have talked
all this while liker a farrier than a physician; and I begin to think you
are One, sir.
Doct. How shall I get off now -
Stir. Yes, sir, he is a farrier, and an able farrier too; for if you be
not good farriers, and good surgeons too, you deserve not the name of
doctors.
Hur. And pray you, come to the point concerning our mad
patient.
3 Doct. "Tis wonderful that an under-servant to a doctor should have
this learning !
2 Doct. I doubt whether the master understands so much.
Doct. Say you so, sir? I'll be even with you.-Parson, I’ll tell
that Doctor he is not well, and whilst I feel his pulse, convey you this
cow-itch down his neck. Come hither, sir, I pray you.
2 Doct. Your pleasure, sir?
Doct. You are not well, sir.
2 Doct. As ever I was in my life, sir.
Doct. Let me feel your pulse. You accuse me of farrier's
phrases; I’ve another farrier phrase for you. You are not well ; you
are foundered in your body, and it will fall upon your shoulders. First,
it will begin with a kind of itching, then into inflammations and
catarrhs: therefore, look to't, be rowelled betimes.
2 Doct. I slight your opinion, sir.
Doct. Well, mark the end on’t, sir. . . .
Olin. Nay, sir, I’ll fetter you from running. Doctor, get me a
parson. Does none of these grave men belong to the clergy
2 Doct. No madam.
Olin. Run, run and fetch me one ; they’re never i' th' way when
they should do good.
Doct. Stirquilutio, put on the parson's coat quickly. Madam, have
patience ; the parson will be here presently.
Ger. Why so? Why so, Doctor Why so -
Doct. To bring your child to herself again. Ask these doctors else.
2 Doct. Nay, no doubt they are right, sir, if you obstruct them not.
I must have his opinion for my disease too.
Doct. Look you ! here is the parson, madam.
Olin. Oh, welcome, sir! Nay, not a word out of your book, but
turn to your text of matrimony, and marry us presently; and pray you,
let not that old man know we are married.
Doct. No, no, by no means. You must not know, old man, your
daughter’s to be married.
Ger. Nay, nay, nay, Doctor ; Doctor, no jesting with marriage.
Doct. Why, are you jealous of my operator? Alas, poor wretch
Why gentlemen, the man has a wife and four children.
Ger. Has he? And art thou sure of that, Doctor
LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR. 259
Doct. Why, sir, before these gentlemen, if I speak false, degrade
me of the dignity of a doctor.
Ger. I believe you, and am satisfied, and now I am as light and
airy as a boy. -
Olin. Who will be my father, and give me to Leander I have a
mind to this grave gentleman. Do you refuse me, sir?
Doct. No, no, no, madam ; go and give her, sir, go. Bless us all,
you see what a raging fit she had like to have fallen into.
Ger. Ay, but I do not like ; I do not know—I do not like—I do
not know what to say to it.
Doct. The devil's in you ! Why, you have forgot the fellow's
married.
Ger. I had forgot, I had forgot ; in troth, I should laugh to see
her thus recovered. Why, gentlemen, is not this a strange way to cure
madness?
3 Doct. It is so, sir; but it seems they have the experience, the prac-
tical part, and truly it seems rational.
Doct. Why, sir, if we can but get her to sleep in the belief that she
is married to Leander, my life for yours she wakes i' th' morning in her
right senses.
2 Doct. And sure this back will put me into my wrong senses.
Ger. Ha, ha, ha! I laugh to think, poor girl, how she’ll be
cozened into her wits again. -
Mur. Master, as I live, they’re married in earnest I’ll be sworn,
with the very same words that I and my husband was.
Ger. Let them alone ; ’tis all but jest, Nurse. Why, the apothe-
cary’s married, fool, and has four children.
Hur. 'Tis true that he is married, but no four children, sir. . . .
Hur., Olin. Now, sir, we both crave your blessing.
Ger. Well said, Apothecary; thou acts it to the life, i' faith ! Gen- .
tlemen Doctors, does he not do it well ! .
Hur. I shall do it better yet. . . .
Ger. . . . There you overact it, 'Pothecary.
Olin. Sir, he is no apothecary, but real Leander, and my lawful
husband. . . .
Ger. Why, Doctor, this girl is stark mad still.
Doct. No indeed, she speaks sensibly. What would you have a
young woman do. . . when she is married ?
Ger. Why, Doctor, thou overacts thy part too !
Doct. In troth, sir, this is neither apothecary, operator, nor Hur-
natio, but very Leander ; neither is this his man Stirquilutio, but
his brother, and a minister in orders, who has lawfully made 'em man
and wife.
Ger Oh, this cursed farrier this cursed villain! Then you are
not mad, Lady? -
26 () LOVE IS THE BEST DOCTOR.
Olin. No, sir; neither was I mad or dumb, but counterfeited both
to cozen the Squire and you, sir. :
Ger. And you, sir, were Leander when you brought me the letter
from Leander'ſ
Lea. Yes, sir.
Ger. And you told me that Leander would steal my daughter, and
gave me good counsel to look to her ?
Lea. I did so, sir.
Ger. 'Twas good counsel, if I could have taken it. That cursed
letter feigned from Leander cozened me ; that got them credit with me,
spite of my jealousy. Thou art a pretty fellow, I confess, but the most
impudent and audacious villain to marry my child against my will, and
before my face too, Gentlemen.
Olin. Do you think I'd have been married but in my father's pre-
sence 7 Not for all the world.
Lea. "Twas love forced us to make this ship, sir.
Ger. . . . That's the end on’t l Did not I tell thee all along that
thou wouldst cozen me !
Lea. You did so, sir, but love can take no warning.
Ger. For my revenge, I’ll to bed and fall desperately sick, make
my will, and die, and leave thee ne'er a groat, that thou and thy issue
may starve and perish. [Ea'it GERNETTE.
Olin. Fear not, Leander l When this fit is over, he's to be recon-
ciled, fear not &
Doct. Gentlemen Doctors, I hope ’tis no disparagement to you that
a poor farrier, by a combination with Nurse, has cured a madwoman.
L E MIS A N T H R O PE.
COMEDIE.
T H E M IS A N T H R 0 P E.
A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.
(THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE).
JUNE 4TH, 1666.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
The Misanthrope, Molière's masterpiece, according to Voltaire, was first
acted on the 4th of June, 1666, at the theatre of the Palais Royal, and,
in spite of what has generally been believed, was no complete failure;
for it was represented twenty-one consecutive times. It is, however, not
to be expected that a comedy like The Misanthrope should please the
general public as much as a farce. But those who admired noble
thoughts, select language, accurate delineations of character, and a
perfect and entertaining style, placed this comedy from the very begin-
ning where it is now generally put, with the common consent of all
students of sound literature, in the foremost rank of the good comedies
of Molière.
The subject of a misanthrope has been treated at all times and in all
literatures. Antiquity possessed a proverbial misanthrope, which
Plutarch mentions in his Lives of Illustrious Men (Timon) in the
following words:
“Anthony in the meantime forsook the city and the society of his
friends, and retired to a small house which he had built himself near
Pharos, on a mound he had cast up in the sea. In this place, sequestered
from all commerce with mankind, he affected to live like Timon, because
there was a resemblance in their fortunes. He had been deserted by his
friends, and their ingratitude had put him out of humour with his own
species.
“This Timon was a citizen of Athens, and lived about the time of
the Peloponnesian war, as appears from the comedies of Aristophanes and
Plato, in which he is exposed as the hater of mankind. Yet, although
he hated mankind in general, he caressed the bold and impudent boy
Alcibiades, and being asked the reason of this by Apemantus, who ex-
* M. E. Despois, in his very accurate book, Le Théâtre francais sous Louis XIV.,
states that The Misanthrope was neither a great success, nor a complete failure. At
its first representation, 1447 livres, 10 sous were received, which was a consider-
able “take" for that time; but from the third representation, the receipts went
down to between 600 and 700 livres, and the tenth brought only 212 livres. It is
therefore, more than probable that, if this comedy had not been Molière's, and
played in his own theatre, it would have been withdrawn. The twenty-first
representation took place on a Sunday, when there was generally a good deal of
money taken at the door, and brought only 268 livres.
264 º THE MISANTHROPE.
pressed some surprise at it, he answered, it was because he foresaw
that he would plague the people of Athens. Apemantus was the only
T}-one he admitted to his society, and he was his friend in point of prin-
ciple. At the feast of sacrifices for the dead, these two dined by them-
selves, and when Apemantus observed that the feast was excellent,
Timon answered, ‘It would be so if you were not here.” Once, in an
assembly of the people, he mounted the rostrum, and the novelty of the
thing occasioned a universal silence and expectation ; at length he said,
‘People of Athens, there is a fig-tree in my yard, on which many worthy
citizens have hanged themselves, and as I have determined to build
upon the spot, I thought it necessary to give this public, notice, that
such as choose to have recourse to this tree for the aforesaid purpose
may repair to it before it is cut down.”
“He was buried at Halae near the sea, and the water surrounded his
tomb in such a manner that he was even then inaccessible to mankind.
“The following epitaph is inscribed on his monument :
“At last, I’ve bid the knaves farewell ;
Ask not my name—but go—to hell.’
“It is said that he wrote this epitaph himself. That which is com-
monly repeated is by Callimachus.
“My name is Timon, knaves begone !
Curse me, but come not near my stone !'
“These are some of the many anecdotes we have concerning Timon.”
In Lucian’s “Dialogues of the Dead,” Dialogue XXIV., Timon is
represented as finding fault with Jupiter about his half-heartedness,
twitting him with his want of energy, that when they despoiled his
temples and robbed him on Olympus, he dared not set the dogs after
them, nor call the neighbours to his assistance, and compares his own
case with that of Jove. Jupiter does not altogether like this, and wishes
to know from Mercury who that dirty fellow is, standing at the foot of
Hymettus, abusing him—coming to the conclusion that it must be some
philosopher railing against him. Upon being informed by his son who
he really is, the Thunderer expresses his surprise and sorrow at the
change that has taken place in the condition of the once so wealthy
man, and enquires the causes of this decline. “To speak simply,”
answered Mercury, “benevolence has ruined him, also philanthropy and
compassion towards all in need ; but to speak truly, folly and simplicity
in choosing his friends, who were only so many vultures gnawing his
liver, treating him with disdain afterwards, when he was no longer
useful, and even pretending not to know his name.” Jove now begins to
remember Timon in his better days, and chides himself for his neglect
in having forgotten him ; alleging, however, as the cause, the noise
which the perjured and the wicked make around him, not leaving him a
moment's leisure to look into Attica. He commands Mercury to take
Plutus with him, to seek Timon, and remain with him, even should
THE MISANTHROPE. 265
he endeavour to drive them from his house by repeating his former
acts of benevolence. He also promises revenge upon those who have
been ungrateful to Timon when his thunderbolts shall be repaired,
which are out of order just then, he having hurled them at the sophist
Anaxagoras, who was persuading his disciples that the gods did not
exist at all. Plutus refuses to go to Timon because he insulted him,
and divided him amongst flatterers and parasites; and begs Jove to send
him to those who will appreciate him, and not squander him in benevo-
lence. Jupiter informs Plutus that Timon shall not do so again, having
gained experience by his misfortunes; at the same time telling him that
he has often complained of different treatment by being completely
imprisoned under bars and keys. Plutus gives him to understand that
he prefers the middle way, and does not like the greed of some, any
more than the lavishness of others. He prepares to go in company
with Mercury to find Timon. They meet with him close at hand,
digging the soil. Plutus, thinks that, surrounded as he is by Labour,
Wisdom, Strength, and Fortitude, they cannot do much for him,
and wishes them to leave him. Poverty, who is closely attending
Timon, resents the intrusion of Plutus and Mercury, telling them
that he had formed the man perfectly to his work, which they would
only undo again, and Timon also reviles them for having come to
disturb him, threatening to strike them. The two gods reveal them-
selves to him, offering him wealth. Timon tells Plutus to go and
hang himself, and offers to smash him to pieces. Plutus intends to de-
part, Mercury persuades Timon to reconsider his decision, but Timon
persists, telling them he has no need of their services, that his spade is
wealth enough, and that he will be perfectly happy if but left alone,
asking them to convey his thanks to Jupiter for his kind attentions, but
persistently refusing to have ought to do with Plutus, ascribing all his
misfortunes to the blind god, who offers to defend himself from the
accusations, Timon permitting him to do so in a few words only.
Timon reluctantly consents to become rich again in obedience to Jupiter,
upon which all his parasites anew assemble round him.
The above sketches fairly represent the idea which antiquity formed
of a misanthrope. -
Molière's play of The Misanthrope, his only comedy which represents
courtiers and courtly people, opens with great spirit, and shows us the
hero Alceste attacking his friend Philinte for being too lenient and
tolerant to the foibles of mankind, whilst the defence of the latter is
plausible, perhaps too much so. Then we have Oronte, the high-
born but wretched poet, who, offended by Alceste's blunt, honest
opinion, goes away fuming and fretting. The coquettish, evil-speak-
ing Célimène, beloved by Alceste, spurns an honest man's affection,
through vanity and thoughtlessness, enlivens the comedy, and is finally
rewarded and cruelly mortified by being discarded. Such men as
Acaste and Clitandre, represent the butterflies of society, fluttering
266 THE MISANTHROPE.
from one drawing-room to another, but instead of distilling, as from
flowers, sweet odours, only carrying venomous poison with glib
and smooth small talk. The charming Miss Eliante, whose beauty
is enhanced by modest behaviour, finally receives the hand of
Philinte.
I think no better delineation has been given of this play than the
following one by M. Taine, in his “History of English Literature:”—
“A dozen conversations make up the play of The Misanthrope. The
same situation, five or six times renewed, is the whole of l'Ecole des
Femmes. These pieces are made out of nothing. They have no need
of incidents, they find ample space in the compass of one room and one
day, without surprises, without decoration, with an arras and four
arm-chairs. This paucity of matter throws out the ideas more clearly
and quickly ; in fact, their whole aim is to bring those ideas promi-
nently forward ; the simplicity of the subject, the progress of the
action, the linking together of the scenes, to this everything tends.
At every step clearness increases, the impression is deepened, vice
stands out : ridicule is piled up, until, before so many apt and united
appeals, laughter forces its way and breaks forth. And this laughter
is not a mere outburst of physical amusement; it is the judgment
which incites it. The writer is a philosopher, who brings us into con-
tact with a universal truth by a particular example. We understand
through him, as through La Bruyère or Nicole, the force of prejudice,
the obstinacy of conventionality, the blindness of love. The couplets of
his dialogue, like the arguments of their treatises, are but the worked-
out proof and the logical justification of a preconceived conclusion. We
philosophise with him on humanity ; we think because he has thought.
And he has only thought thus in the character of a Frenchman, for an
audience of French men of the world. In him we taste a national plea-
sure. French refined and systematic intelligence, the most exact in seizing
on the subordination of ideas, the most ready in separating ideas from
matter, the most fond of clear and tangible ideas, finds in him its
nourishment and its echo. None who has sought to show us mankind,
has led us by a straighter and easier mode to a more distinct and speak-
ing portrait. I will add, to a more pleasing portrait, and this is the
main talent of comedy : it consists in keeping back what is hateful;
and observe that that which is hateful abounds in the world. As soon
as you will paint the world truly, philosophically, you meet with vice,
injustice, and everywhere indignation ; amusement flees before anger
and morality. . . . In The Misanthrope, is not the spectacle of a loyally
sincere and honest man, very much in love, whom his virtue finally
overwhelms with ridicule and drives from society, a sad sight to see? . . .
How everything changes under the hand of the mercurial Frenchman
how all this human ugliness is blotted out ! how amusing is the spec-
tacle which Molière has arranged for us ! how we ought to thank the
great artist for having transformed his subject so well ! At last we
THE MISANTHROPE. 267
have a cheerful world, on canvas at least; we could not have it other-
wise, but this we have. How pleasant it is to forget truth ! what an
art is that which divests us of ourselves | what a point of view which
converts the contortions of suffering into funny grimaces ! Gaiety
has come upon us, the dearest possession of a Frenchman. The soldiers
of Villars used to dance that they might forget they had no longer any
bread. Of all French possessions, too, it is the best. This gift does not
destroy thought, but it masks it. In Molière, truth is at the bottom,
but concealed ; he has heard the sobs of human tragedy, but he pre-
fers not to re-echo them. It is quite enough to feel our wounds smart;
let us not go to the theatre to see them again. Philosophy, while it
reveals them, advises us not to think of them too much. Let us en-
liven our condition with the gaiety of easy conversation and light wit,
as we would the chamber of sickness. . . . Let Alceste be grumpy and
awkward. It is in the first place true, because our more valiant virtues
are only the outbreaks of a temper out of harmony with circum-
stances; but, in addition, it will be amusing. His mishaps will cease
to make him the martyr of justice; they will only be the consequences
of a cross-grained character. . . . . Molière is the only man who gives
us models without getting pedantic, without trenching on the tragic,
without growing solemn.
“This model is the “respectable man,’ as the phrase was, Philinte,
Ariste, Clitandre, Eraste ; there is no other who can at the same time
instruct and amuse us. His talent has reflection for its basis, but it is
cultivated by the world. His character has honesty for its basis, but it
is in harmony with the world. You may imitate him without trans-
gressing either reason or duty ; he is neither a coxcomb nor a roisterer.
You can imitate him without neglecting your interests or making yourself
ridiculous; he is neither an ignoramus nor unmannerly. He has read
and understands the jargon of Trissotin and Lycidas, but in order to
pierce them through and through, to beat them with their own argu-
ments, to set the gallery in a roar at their expense. He will discuss
even morality and religion, but in a style so natural, with proofs so
clear, with warmth so genuine, that he interests women, and is listened
to by men of the world. He knows man, and reasons about him, but
in such brief sentences, such living delineations, such pungent humour,
that his philosophy is the best of entertainments. He is faithful to his
ruined mistress, his calumniated friend, but gracefully, without fuss.
All his actions, even noble ones, have an easy way about them which
adorns them ; he does nothing without pleasantness. His great talent
is knowledge of the world; he shows it not only in the trivial circum-
stances of every-day life, but in the most passionate scenes, the most
embarrassing positions. A noble swordsman wants to take Philinte,
the “respectable man,’ as his second in a duel ; he reflects a moment,
excuses himself in a score of phrases, and, “without playing the Hector,”
leaves the bystanders convinced that he is no coward." Armande insults
268 THE MISANTHROPE.
him, then throws herself in his arms; he politely averts the storm, de-
clines the reconciliation with the most loyal frankness, and without
employing a single falsehood, leaves the spectators convinced that he is
no boor. When he loves Eliante, who prefers Alceste, and whom
Alceste may possibly marry, he proposes to her with a complete deli-
cacy and dignity, without lowering himself, without recrimination, with-
out wronging himself or his friend. When Oronte reads him a sonnet,
he does not assume in the fop a nature which he has not, but praises the
conventional verses inconventional language, and is not so clumsyas to dis-
play a poetical judgment which would be out of place. He takes at once
histone from the circumstances; he perceives instantly what he must say
and what be silent about, in what degree and in what gradations, what
exact expedient will reconcile truth and conventional propriety, how far
he ought to go or where to take his stand, what faint line separates de-
corum from flattery, truth from awkwardness. On this narrow path he
proceeds free from embarrassment or mistakes, never put out of his way
by the shocks or changes of circumstance, never allowing the calm Smile
of politeness to quit his lips, never omitting to receive with a laugh of
good humour the nonsense of his neighbour. This cleverness, entirely
French, reconciles in him fundamental honesty and worldly breeding ;
without it, he would be altogether on the one side or the other. In
this way comedy finds its hero half way between the roué and the
preacher.”
Thus far M. Taine. His definition of the respectable man, l'honnéte
homme, does not, in my opinion, apply to Philinte, but is quite neces-
sary in the present age, when homméte homme means no longer a well-
born man and gentleman, as well as an honest man ; hence Alceste says
rightly to Oronte, in the second scene of the first act of The Misanthrope,
“do not . . . . forfeit the reputation you enjoy at court of being a
man of sense and a gentleman (honnéte homme), to take from the hands
of a greedy printer that of a ridiculous and wretched author.” In the
beginning of the seventeenth century, a certain Mons. Nicholas Faret,
first secretary of the count of Harcourt, and who has gone down to
posterity as an inveterate drinker, because his friend Saint-Amant made
his name rhyme with cabaret, a public house,_wrote a book, which was
then in everybody's hand, called L’Homeste homme ou l'Art de plaire à la
Cour. This book, a sort of “Handbook of Politeness,” was first pub-
lished in 1630, but several editions had been printed since that time,
and it was still the fashionable guide-book of manners in 1666. It is
probable that Molière got inspired by a description given by Faret of
('honnéte homme, when in love, which had been copied from Lucretius, and
that our author then referred to the original Latin author, whose fourth
canto of De Watura Rerum he utilises for Eliante's description of the
power of self-deception in love, in the fifth scene of the second act.
Molière has also borrowed some lines from Lucretius, for the speech of
the Master of Philosophy in the sixth scene of the second act of The
THE MISANTHROPE. 269
Citizen who apes the Gentleman (see Vol. V.). But thence to conclude
that Molière had translated Lucretius, which translation has been lost
to posterity, is going rather too far. The only biographer of Molière
who mentions this is Grimarest (1659-1713), who is far from trustworthy,
and who may have supposed that a whole translation of Lucretius ex-
isted, when only a few lines had been transposed.
It has been said that Molière, at the time he wrote The Misanthrope,
endured the pangs of jealousy, and that he was shamefully betrayed
by his wife, but could not resist loving her. It seems more than
likely that, in Alceste's admiration for the spoiled beauty, Molière gave
vent to his own feelings of mixed jealousy and admiration of his wife,
and that our author's attempt to depict the hero of his play trying to
free himself from the toils of feminine and personal charms, is only
heightened in intensity and force by an impulse from within. Still,
although we admit that these anecdotes about a great man may sometimes
give the complexion of the times—as, for example, the story told about
Shakespeare and Burbage—they are not seldom the mere groundless
gossip of his professional friends and foes, the rakings of the tap-rooms
frequented by the hangers-on of the great man, and even, now and then,
the venomous utterings of the hero's enemies. This appears to have
been the case with the accusations brought against Molière's wife,
which are chiefly based on a libellous pamphlet, published nominally at
Frankfort, but in reality in Holland, fifteen years after our author's
death, and called : La Fameuse comédienne, ou Histoire de la Guérin,
auparavant femme et veuve de Molière, and which, in my opinion, deserve
not the smallest amount of credit. (See Vol. II., Introductory Notice
to The Impromptu of Versailles, page 291.) There can be no doubt that
Molière was jealous. This cannot be wondered at, when we find that
he was about twenty years older than his wife, who appears to have
been rather a coquette, with a great amount of levity, very fond of ad-
miration, and nearly always moving about amidst a retinue of young
and elegant courtiers, crowding round the favourite actress of the day
to pay her homage. It is more than probable that Molière wrote the
greater part of The Misanthrope during a season of illness and con-
valescence, and therefore the bitterness of his feelings must have in-
creased a hundredfold when he found himself alone in his sick-room,
and his youthful spouse gadding about with the gaudy and sprightly
noblemen. But this is really all that can be said, with any certainty,
against Molière's wife. -
It has also been stated that Molière attacked and satirised several
noblemen in The Misanthrope, and took literary vengeance upon some
of the supposed admirers of his wife, such as the Count de Guiche, the
Abbé de Richelieu, and the Duke de Lauzun, whom he is said to
have drawn in this play; as well as the Count de Saint Gilles in Timante;
Madame de Longueville, or some other great lady—according to some
even Madame Molière—in Célimène; the Duke de Saint-Aignan, in
270. THE MISANTHROPE.
Oronte; Molière's friend Chapelle, in Philinte; Mademoiselle Debrie in
Eliante. Besides this, characters were found in real life for the prudish
and slandering Arsinoé, the ridiculous Cléonte, the reasoning Damon, the
tiresome story-teller Géralde, the poor silly woman Bélise, the conceited
Adraste, the foolish Cléon, the would-be witty Damis, and even “the
great hulking booby of a viscount.” This, like many other statements
about our author's presumed personal attacks, may be probable, but has
really never been proved. There is no doubt that personalities were then
in fashion, and that Molière often used, and even sometimes abused, his
powerful pen to describe, and to satirise, his rivals and his enemies.
But as Urania says in The School for Wives criticised (See Vol. II., page
262, Scene 7), “Let us not apply to ourselves the points of general cen-
sure; let us profit by the lesson, if possible, without assuming that we
are spoken against. All the ridiculous delineations which are drawn
on the stage, should be looked on by every one without annoyance.
They are public mirrors, in which we must never pretend to see our-
selves. To bruit it about that we are offended at being hit, is to state
openly that we are at fault.”
Tradition also states that Molière intended Alceste as a portrait of
the virtuous Charles de Ste.-Maure, Duke de Montausier, and that some
of our author's enemies induced this nobleman to go and see The Mis-
anthrope, but that, instead of being offended at Molière's sketch, he
took it as a compliment, and said that he should be delighted to resemble
such an honest man as Alceste.
An attempt has been made to draw a parallel between Molière's
Misanthrope and Shakespeare's Timon of Athens. Though the nature of
their subject may appear at the first glance, similar, nothing could be
more opposite than these two personages. Timon becomes a misan-
thrope through sentiment and experience, for he has been shame-
fully abandoned by his pseudo-friends when in poverty, and hence his
savage onslaughts on Society: but Alceste was born splenetic. The
one is continually showering gifts and favours around him, even on
the most worthless objects, whilst the other would only have assisted
a man if he were thoroughly honest and respectable. The character of
Apemantus is, if anything, much more like Alceste's than that of the
Athenian lord himself. Shakespeare's work points a moral at ingrati-
tude and indiscriminate benevolence and its rewards: Molière's is a
satire against spleen. Alceste is a well-born, honourable, and wealthy
man, who rails against Society, with which he is angry, through an innate
and exaggerated sentiment of honour; and although he is nearly always.<-
right in principle and theory, he is nearly always wrong in practice andé–
form. He is unbendingly strict in the most trifling, as well as in the
gravest, matters. He is sincere and earnest, but blunt and passionate;
and it is through this very passion that he is betrayed into an exaggera-
tion, and a quarrelsomeness which render him ridiculous and amusing.
His is a sort of finnikin fastidiousness which is entirely absent in Timon.
THE MISANTHROPE. 271
In fact, Shakespeare works with a Nasmyth's steam hammer to demolish
the vices, while Molière, with due regard for the spirit of his age, and
especially that of the King, uses an ordinary mallet, with which he does
nearly as much execution as the Englishman, without exerting himself
so powerfully.
It is doubtful if Molière would have been allowed the same lati-
tude by Louis XIV., as Shakespeare was by Elizabeth, who never
took the slightest notice of his attacks upon her father, Henry
VIII. It may be safely asserted that the Grand Monarque was
not averse to hear serious reasoning railed at and ridiculed, but
that he would soon have interfered had the prominent vices of the
court been attacked too strongly. Philinte, the worldling, is but
a stronger reproduction of Ariste in The Schooſfor Husbands, and
of ChryśITETTESCº. fºes. That he has his reward at
the end of the play=if it be a reward—by being made happy with
the hand of Eliante, while the Misanthrope is left out in the cold,
may be taken as a concession of Molière's, to the prevailing feeling
at the court, which was more likely to sympathize with Philinte, their
representative, than to grieve over the sorrow of Alceste, their antago-
nist. It must however, be admitted that the only show of criticism
which Molière displayed against the person of the King, is to be found
in this play, because our author, in attacking the men who filled public
offices, reflects on the Monarch who appointed them.
Metaphysically considered, Alceste is not unlike Hamlet. Neither
of them is fit to live in this world. Both feel they are powerless in
changing the decrees of fate: but the causes which have produced that
inability differ. In Alceste, it is a brusque candour, swooping unex-
pectedly down upon meritricious society; but Hamlet has “that within
which passeth show,” “the time is out of joint,” and the will is puzzled
by thinking of “the undiscover'd country, from whose bourne no
traveller returns.” • ,
The Misanthrope has been attacked and defended by so many eminent
men, that we cannot do better than give a short résumé of some of their
opinions, and let the reader himself draw his own conclusions. Let us
begin with those who attack him. First we have the celebrated morose
philosopher, Jean Jacques Rousseau. If it be true that “a fellow
feeling makes us wondrous kind,” Rousseau must have felt some sym-
pathy for the tetchy, irritable, well-meaning Alceste. In a letter to
d’Alembert, he advances the following objections to Molière's play :
“Alceste is a sincere, estimable, honest man, and the author makes
him simply ridiculous. This alone would be without excuse. More-
over, Alceste is not a man-hater or Misanthrope, as the title of the
piece implies, for in that case none of the audience would like to
meet such a man, as the hero of the play, for whom they feel, at
the bottom of their heart, a certain respect. This virtuous man is
made ridiculous and is opposed to Philinte, one of those honest and




272 - THE MISANTHROPE.
fashionable men whose maxims are very much like those of a scoundrel;
one of those gentle and even-tempered optimists who are satisfied with
|everybody and everything; who never imagine anybody can be
hungry, so long as they can sit down at a well furnished table ; who
cannot understand people to be poor, because they have money in their
pockets, and who, from their well-protected house, would see the whole
of mankind robbed, pillaged, slaughtered, and even murdered, with-
}out being moved in the least. Molière was wrong in having sketched
the Misanthrope as a man who gets angry about trifles; Alceste knows
mankind, and ought therefore not to be astonished or enraged at any-
thing they can do, neither at the treachery of a perfidious coquette, nor
at the neglect of false friends; hence Molière has not well understood
the character of the Misanthrope, and has made him ridiculous in order
to please the public.” f
Fénelon, in his Lettre sur l’Eloquence, also attacks Molière, because
he says he “has a . . . fault, which many clever people forgive in him,
but which I do not, namely, that he has made vice graceful, and virtue
severely ridiculous and odious. I can understand that his champions
will bring forward that he has treated real honesty in an honourable
manner, that he has only attacked splenetic virtue and detestable hypo-
crisy ; but, without entering into any long discussions, I maintain that
Plato, and the other legislators of Pagan antiquity, would never have
admitted in their republics such a play about morals.”
Augustus William Schlegel, in his Course of Lectures (XXI.) on Dra-
matic Art and Literature, says—“In The Misanthrope . . . . the action
which is also poorly invented, is found to drag heavily ; for, with the
exception of a few scenes of a more sprightly description, it consists
altogether of discourses formafiy introduced and supported, while the
stagnation is only partially concealed by the art employed on the details
of versification and expression*In a word, these pieces are too didactic,
oo expressly instructive ; whereas, in comedy, the spectator should
nly be instructed incidentally, and, as it were, without its appearing to
have been intended. . . . . As is well known The Misanthrope was at
first very coldly received, because it was even less amusing than The
School for Wives and The Blue-Stockings, the action is less rapid, or
rather there is none at all; and there is a great want of coherence
between the meagre incidents which give only an apparent life to the
dramatic movement, the quarrel with Oronte respecting the sonnet,
and its adjustment; the decision of the law-suit, which is ever being
brought forward; the unmasking of Céliméne, through the vanity of
the two Marquises, and the jealousy of Arsinoë. Besides all this, the
general plot is not even probable. It is framed with a view to exhibit
the thorough delineation of a character; but a character discloses itself
much more in its relations with others than immediately. How comes
- º: to have chosen Philinte for a friend, a man whose principles
, \were directly the reverse of his own How comes he also to be
THE MISANTHROPE. 273
º
\º of a coquette, who has nothing amiable in her character, and
who entertains us merely by her scandal? We might well say of this
Céliméne, without exaggeration, that there is not one good point in her
whole composition. In a character like that of Alceste, love is not a
fleeting sensual impulse, but a serious feeling arising from a want of a
sincere mental union. His dislike of flattery, falsehood, and malicious
scandal, which always characterise the conversation of Célimène, breaks
forth so incessantly, that we feel the first moment he heard her open
her lips, ought to have driven him for ever from her society. Finally,
the subject is ambiguous, and that is its greatest fault. The limits
within which Alceste is in the right, and beyond which he is in the
wrong, it would be no easy matter to fix, and I am afraid the poet him-
self did not here see very clearly what he would be at. Philinte, how-
ever, with his illusory iustification of the way of the world, and his
phlegmatic resignation, he paints throughout as the intelligent and
- ------------ºrancrºss-s-s-s- ----
amiable man. As agáñst the elegant Céliméne, Alceste is most
decidedly in the right, and only in the wrong in the inconceivable
weakness of his conduct towards her. He is in the right in his com-
plaints of the corruption of the social constitution ; the facts, at least,
which he adduces, are disputed by nobody. He is in the wrong, how-
ever, in delivering his sentiments with so much violence, and at an
unseasonable time ; but as he cannot prevail upon himself to assume
the dissimulation which is necessary to be well received in the world, he
is perfectly in the right in preferring solitude to society.”
The defenders of Molière's views are numerous. We shall take the
oldest of his champions first, viz.: Donneau de Visé, a former enemy,
who had attacked The School for Wives in his Zélinde, but who had
seen his mistake, most probably because a play of his, la Mère coquette,
had been performed on the 5th of October of the year before, at the
theatre of the Palais-Royal. He wrote a letter in defence of the piece,
which was printed with the original edition, and has always since
been published with it. He therein says, “before we go to the fouTE
dation of the comedy, it is proper to see what was the author's aim.”
“That the author's design being to please, and the comedy having
pleased, the critics cannot say he has done ill. . . . . It was not his in-
tention to write a comedy full of incidents, but only a play wherein he
might speak against the manners of the age;” hence he chose a Misan-
TRFöpe for his hero, WROSETTInfirmity sets off his friend's (Philinte)
wisdom.” He further says, that the choice of Céliméne, a woman
given to slander, and of a man who hates mankind, as mouthpieces for
railing at the manners of the age, is very ingenious; for what the hero
may forget the coquette will add ; praises the skilful opening of the
piece, the scene between Oronte and Alceste, and adds, “the sonnet is
not bad according to the manner of writing now-a-days; and those who
love what we men call points or conclusions, rather than good sense, will
certainly like it. Nay, I saw some, at the first representation of this





III. S
274 THE MISANTHROPE.
piece, who exposed their own character to the ridicule of this scene,
whilst it was being acted, for they cried out that the sonnet was good, until
the Misanthrope had criticised it, and then they were all confounded.”
De Visé praises also the way in which Molière delineates the power of
love, as seen in Alceste; speaks highly of the scene between Céliméne
and Arsinoë, and the “vigour with which the character of the hero is
maintained,” without being made ridiculous; considers that the part of
Philinte is reasonable, and that every one ought to imitate him, and
finishes thus: “In this comedy backbiting coquettes, after the example
of Célimène, seeing that they cannot avoid encounters that will make
them contemptible, ought to learn not to rail at their best friends be-
hind their backs. False prudes ought to learn, that their grimaces are
of no use ; and that though they were indeed as sage as they would
be thought, they would nevertheless be blamed so long as they set up
for prudes. I say nothing of the Marquises; I think them the most
incorrigible of all; and there are so many things in them still to be
found fault with, that everybody owns they may yet for a long time
afford matter for ridicule, though they themselves are far from allowing
this to be true.”
Voltaire, though calling The Misanthrope Molière's masterpiece, pre-
tends that the intrigue hangs fire now and then; that the conversation is
sparkling, but not always necessary to the action; and finally, that the
ending, though well managed, leaves the spectator indifferent, for he
does not care whether the Misanthrope marries the coquette or not.
Chamfort, in the Eloge de Molière, says:—“If ever any comic author
has proved that he understood the system of society, it is Molière in
The Misanthrope. There, whilst showing its abuses, he teaches at what
cost a wise man should obtain the advantages which it grants; that, in
a system of union based upon mutuak indulgence, perfect virtue is out
of place amongst men, and torments itself without correcting them. It
is a gold which needs alloy to become firm and be of much use to
society; but, at the same time, the author shows, by the constant
superiority of Alceste over all the other personages, that virtue, in
spite of the ridicule caused by his austerity, eclipses all that surrounds
it ; and that, though gold has been alloyed, it is yet the costliest of
metals.”
La Harpe, in his Cours de Littérature, a work formerly too much
lauded, and at present too much neglected,—defends Molière against
Rousseau; says that the dramatist does not ridicule Alceste's honesty
and sincerity, but the excess of those qualities, and that every exaggera-
tion belongs to the domain of comedy ; that whenever Alceste attacks
slander, nobody feels inclined to laugh, but that when he states that he
should like to lose his lawsuit, for the fun of the thing, everybody
laughs at him, and justly so. Sincerity is a good thing, but it does
not give a man the right to become ridiculous with impunity; hence
Molière has done rightly in even attempting to teach honesty not to
§
THE MISANTHROPE. 275
exceed the ordinary limits of moderation. Rousseau himself admits
that “people feel at the bottom of their heart a certain respect” for
Alceste, though he professes faults, at which they justly laugh. The
accusation that Molière has not understood the character of a Misan-
thrope, because the latter does not always rage against public vices,
and feels the sting of personal offences, is unjust, because man remains
always a man. The accusation that Molière sacrificed everything to
the necessity of making the pit laugh is unjust, because he attacked
only what was laughable, and, like Horace, said the truth whilst laugh-
ing. As to Rousseau's hard words against Philinte, whom he calls “a
scoundrel,” “a gentle and even-tempered optimist,” he appears to forget
that scoundrels are never optimists, but pessimists, plausibly assuming
that the world could not be worse, and seemingly so much the more severe
in morals and honesty as they never attempt to bring them into practice.
Nisard, a well known modern French literary critic, defends Thé
Misanthrope, and states that this play cannot be analysed nor repro-
duced with any chance of success; that the action takes place in the
drawing-room of a heartless coquette of fashion, who has many gallants.
Only one of them, Alceste, really loves her. He is not wrong in despising
men, but wrong in stating his feelings openly, when he discovers at last
that he is betrayed. This is the whole plot of the piece, and the situa-
tions are just as commonplace, even if they do exist. The characters
unfold themselves. Alceste has a lawsuit, but he will not go and
visit his judge ; he has a duel, because he does not wish to abandon his
reputation as an honnéte homme; Célimène is a flirt and triumphs over
the prude Arsinoé, but is punished by Alceste. And this is the pecu-
liarity of The Misanthrope. Every one is punished by his or her own
vices or faults; and even Alceste, though he is too honest to deserve
marrying a coquette, is in a perpetual opposition during the whole play, Q
*...*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*_y
honest man, he thinks he is the only honest man in the world. *-
It has often been said that posterity is represented by foreigners: let
us listen for a few minutes to English, German, and Swiss critics on
this play. -
William Hazlitt says, in his Lecture on Wit and Humour—“With
respect to his two most laboured comedies, the ‘Tartuffe’ and ‘Mis-
anthrope, I confess that I find them rather hard to get through. They
have much of the improbability and extravagance of the others, united
with the endless common-place prosing of French declamation. What
can exceed, for example, the absurdity of the Misanthrope, who leaves
his mistress after every proof of her attachment and constancy, for no
other reason than that she will not submit to the technical formality of
going to live with him in a wilderness? The characters, again, which
Célimène gives of her female friends, near the opening of the play, are
admirable satires (as good as Pope's characters of women), but not
exactly in the spirit of comic dialogue.”
276 THE MISANTHEOPE.
Prescott, in his Biographical and Critical Miscellanies, has a very good
Essay on Molière, in which he says: “We are now arrived at that
period of Molière's career when he composed his ‘Misanthrope, a play
which some critics have esteemed his master-piece, and which all concur
in admiring as one of the noblest productions of the modern drama. Its
literary execution, too, of paramount importance in the eye of a French
critic, is more nicely elaborated than in any other of the pieces of
Molière, if we except the Tartuffe, and its didactic dialogue displays a
maturity of thought equal to what is to be found in the best satires of
Boileau. It is the very didactic tone of this comedy, indeed, which,
combined with its want of eager, animating interest, made it less
popular on its representation than some of his inferior pieces.” With
regard to Molière's sketching himself and his wife in the roles of Alceste
and Célimène, Prescott comments thus upon it : “The respective parts
which they performed in this piece, correspond precisely with their re-
spective situations; that of Céliméne, a fascinating capricious coquette,
insensible to every remonstrance, and selfishly bent on the gratification
of her own appetites; and that of Alceste, perfectly sensible of the
duplicity of his mistress, whom he vainly hopes to reform, and no less
so of the unworthiness of his own passion, from which he as vainly
hopes to extricate himself. The coincidences are too exact to be wholly
accidental.”
John Sterling, in his critical essay on Characteristics of German Genius,
says: “The genius of Molière rose above the pitch of his contemporaries,
and in spite of seeming destiny, made him a great original painter of
life, and a worthy companion of Montaigne and Rabelais, who had pre-
luded, somewhat as Chaucer among us, to the glories of a later age.
His Misanthrope is more truly Shakesperian, more simply, deeply drawn
from the realities of the human soul, than anything we have seen of the
professedly Shakesperian school now shedding blood by pailfuls on the
Parisian stage. This play, in fact, anticipates Rousseau, and stands in
a very singular relation between Hamlet and Faust; and in like manner
Tartuffe strikes the key-note of much that distinguishes Voltaire.”
A Swiss literary critic, M. E. Rambert, in his work Corneille,
Racine et Molière, writes that, in poets of the second order, speech kills
the action: in Molière, on the contrary, it serves and vivifies it ; that
it is true that there is in The Misanthrope a moral question, but this
always happens in lofty dramatic poetry; that no one can analyse a
fictitious or real character, without stumbling upon some philosophic or
moral problem, which ought to arise from the character of the hero.
He further affirms that Philinte is not created only to give a reply, but
that he is the model of a true friend, who bears all Alceste's whims and
rebuffs. He also prefers Alceste to Tartuffe, because the first is one of
those who possess all the attributes of humanity; says Alceste is superior
to Shakespeare's Timon—whom he calls “a Job on his dunghill, but a
Job full of hatred and bile”—because Alceste's hatred is akin to love,
THE MISANTHROPE. 277
Timon's only humiliation and thirst for vengeance; believes that The
Misanthrope produces in us a poetical impression, and contains not a satire,
but a lesson, which leaves us in thought, but not haunted, as it were, by
one idea, which becomes fatiguing. M. Rambert ends by stating, that,
after the troubles of the Fronde, society had become philosophical, and
liked to speculate on abstruse questions of morality; hence the appear-
ance of La Rochefoucauld's Maarims—of which the first edition was
published in 1665—and hence the Misanthrope, who gets angry at the
wickedness of men, whilst the noble moralist judges them, despises them,
but remains cool all the time.
Goethe, in his Conversations with Eckermann (1825), says: “Molière
is so great, that one is astonished anew every time one reads him.
He is a man by himself—his pieces border on tragedy; they are
apprehensive, and no one has the courage to imitate them.” And in
1827, the great German says: “The Misanthrope, which I read over and
over again, as one of my most favourite pieces, is repugnant to him
(Schlegel).” “It is not to be denied,” continues he, “that Schlegel
knows a great deal, and one is almost terrified at his extraordinary
attainments and his extensive reading. But this is not enough. All
the learning in the world is still no judgment. His criticism is com-
pletely one-sided, because in all theatrical pieces he merely regards the
skeleton of the plot and arrangement, and only points out small points
of resemblance to great predecessors, without troubling himself in the
least as to what the author brings forward of graceful life and the
culture of a high soul. But of what use are all the arts of a talent if
we do not find in a theatrical piece an amiable or a great personality of
the author. This alone influences the cultivation of the people.”
Paul Lindau, a living German critic of some celebrity, and who
has written a Life of Molière, says, that “when our author wrote this
play, he was forty-four years old; his friend Racine had betrayed
him ; his patroness, the Queen-Mother was dead; his enemies at Court
had prevented the representation' of the Tartuffe; his youthful wife
gave him reason to be jealous; he had been ill for two months;
and yet, in spite of all that, he wrote The Misanthrope.” In this play,
he attacks the court, its hollowness, its empty glitter and heads; for
in spite of his admiration for Louis XIV., Molière did not spare the
courtiers. Amidst the splendour of Versailles, its triumphant paeans, its
sparkling fountains, shaded walks and rustling trees, where puppets, in
velvet and silk, jump about and dance and sing, and think not of the
morrow, our Moralist appears and asks himself—How are all these enjoy-
ments obtained And the answer is: “By lies and hypocrisy.” The
philosopher looks underneath the masks and the paint, and beholds the
spectre of misery. He warns men to become sincere, honest, and true,
for the earth trembles under their feet, the foundations of Society are
undermined by the worm of falsehood, thunder rolls in the distance and
will break out a hundred years later. Alceste, is the precursor of a
*
278 THE MISANTHROPE.
threatening social revolution; these feelings have unconsciously moved
him to speak; hence his dislike and hatred for lies and liars, and, “as all
men are liars,” the cause of his being a Misanthrope.
In the preface to this translation (Vol. I., p. iii.) I have stated that
Philinte “pourtrays quiet common sense, amiability, intelligence, instruc-
tion, knowledge of the world, and a spirit of refined criticism.” He
possesses rather too much of all these qualities, which thus become
faults. I imagine that Molière clearly indicates that Philinte has a far
greater contempt for men than Alceste. The latter is very loud in all
his denunciations against wickedness; his passion for sincerity often
carries him to ridiculous extremes, but amidst all his vapouring, we feel
that he is angry with rampant falsehood and deceit, but not that he
hates his fellow-creatures: in fact, his very rage proves the contrary.
Philinte has over much “quiet common sense;” he “treats the man
of worth and the fop alike; ” he has too much “amiability,” for he
pays compliments to old Emilia, to Dorilas, to Oronte about his
sonnet; he shows his “spirit of refined criticism” by stating that
“whatever he may discover, at any moment, people do not see him in a
rage . . . that he takes men quietly just as they are ;” “that his mind
is not more shocked at seeing a man a rogue, unjust, or selfish, than at
seeing vultures eager for prey, mischievous apes, or fury-lashed wolves.”
When he hears Alceste thundering against Céliméne, Acaste and Clit-
andre slandering their acquaintances, he proves his “knowledge of the
world” by coolly asking his friend why he takes such a great interest in
those people. He never blames nor admires anything, except with some
feeble adjectives. When Eliante states that she esteems Alceste, he only
expresses his astonishment at seeing him in love. When his friend's
heart is torn by jealousy, he can say nothing warmer than that “a
letter may sometimes deceive by appearances, and not be as guilty
as you think.” His “intelligence” is as characteristic as all his other
qualities; he first tells his friend that the sincere Eliante has some
inclination for him, and then, when Eliante informs Philinte that she
might be induced to receive Alceste's addresses, he coolly informs her
that in case his friend does not answer her love, he would only
be too happy to have her affection transferred to himself. When
in the last scene Eliante offers him her hand, he seems to get ex-
cited, and exclaims that he “could sacrifice my (his) life and soul
for it;” but the lukewarmness he has displayed in his courtship,
during the whole play, proves his excitement to be abnormal. It
is true that he bears with the rebuffs of Alceste, but this is not out
of friendship, but simply because he is too amiable ; hence it would be
too much trouble to argue. He has no warm blood coursing through
his veins. I said just now that Philinte had a far greater contempt for
men than Alceste. I do not mean that he shows this contempt openly.
But the man to whom good or evil is theoretically alike, to whom all
men are the same, and who is the same to all men, is the greatest Mis-
THE MISANTHROPE. 279
anthrope that ever existed, for he is above or below humanity. It is
not necessary that Philinte should have acted up to his principles; his
very contempt for men forbids such a thing as action. What would be
the good of it? His feebly beating heart cannot contain such a feeling
as healthy hatred or even love. I imagine that he must have uttered his
speeches with an affected drawl, as painful for him to produce as for his
audience to listen to. He is the real prototype of the nil admirari school;
he is no “scoundrel,” as Rousseau says, for he has no passions, good or evil:
he does not play the fool, for it requires not an intelligent, but a wise
man, to play the fool; he is the chief of the pococuranti, who pursue
the even tenor of their ways, without being moved or stirred by anything,
who are too critically refined ever to do an evil deed or to admire a noble
action; the worthy ancestor of those petits creves, who strut languidly
through life with their dainty dress and manners, with their eternal
grin, their want of heart and patriotism, and their never varying
answer, passi bete.
In the third volume of the Select Comedies of M. de Molière, London
1732, The Misanthrope is dedicated to the Duke of Montagu, under the
name of The Man-Hater in the following words :—
The Misantrope of MoDIERE in French and English, assumes the Honour of
appearing in the World under your GRACE's Patronage. The Translator doubts
not but Your GRACE will be the first to forgive what has the Face of monstrous
Impropriety, his dedicating the Man-hater to the most humane Man in England.
Your GRACE very well knows that this Play has always bore the Character,
amongst Men of Taste and Judgment, of being the most finish'd Piece of this
Author, in which are united the utmost Efforts of Genius and Art.
The Subject, MY LORD, is single, and the Unities exactly observ'd. The prin-
cipal Character is strong, and distinguish’d with the boldest Strokes of a masterly
Pencil ; ’tis well preserv'd, and throughout intirely uniform. The under Char-
acters are equally well drawn, and admirably chose to cast each their proper
Degree of Light upon the Chief Figure: The Scenes and Incidents are so con-
triv'd and conducted as to diversify the main Character, and set it in all the
different Points of Light one can wish to see it in. The Sentiments are not only
proper, but strong and nervous, and the whole Piece so fraught with good Sense,
that 'twere hard to find an indifferent Line in it. So just is the Observation of
Rapin, that the Misantrope is the most finish'd, and withal the most singular
Character that ever appear'd on the Stage.
Not but that the Title of Man-Hater, MY LORD, has been famous in the World
for many Centuries, and is as well known as the Name of Timon of Athens; without
any Impeachment of what the French Critic has said of the Singularity of our
Misantrope ; for the Character of the antient Man-Hater had little uncommon
in it, it took its Rise merely from personal Ill-usage and Disappointment, and
was no more Strange than that one who suffers by Excess of Good-nature and
Credulity, shou'd run into the other Extreme of being excessively revengeful
and suspicious.
Whereas MoLIERE's Man-Hater owes his Character to an over-rigid Virtue,
which cou’d give no Quarter to the Vices of Mankind; to a Sincerity, particu-
larly, which disdain'd that undistinguishing Complaisance, those surfeiting
Expressions of Kindness to all in common, which leave Men no Language to
280 THE MISANTHROPE.
express Approbation and Friendship to the wise and virtuous, but what is prosti-
tuted to flatter Fools and Knaves: so that Alcestes hates men not to injure, but
to avoid them. -
It must, at the same time, be confess'd, My LoRD, that MOLIERE drew not this
Character for Imitation. Had he done so, he wou'd made him only a good-
natured, brave, and generous Plain-dealer, not a Man-Hater ; as far from the
Churlishness of Alcestes as from the Over-civility of Philintes. He wou'd have
drawn him severe, but not Cynical; an Enemy to Men's Vices but not to their
Persons; inflexibly virtuous, but not ill-natur'd; reserv’d, yet not unsociable;
sincere with good Manners. In short, he wou'd have made him a MONTAGU.
The character had them been unexceptionable—I am, My LORD, Your GRACE's
most Faithful, most Obedvent Humble Servant, THE TRANSLATOR.
An author of the end of last century, Fabre d'Églantine, who devoted
his time partly to politics and partly to literature, wrote a play, The
Philinte of Molière, in which he made of Philinte an odious and miser-
able egotist, and of Alceste an exaggerated philanthropist. Geoffroy, a
celebrated French critic, said that The Philinte compared to The Mis-
anthrope, was like anarchy in comparison with a good government.
Several other Misanthropes have also been attempted on the French
stage. Brécourt (see Introductory Notice to The Impromptu of Versailles,
Vol. II., p. 289) wrote a comedy in one act, called Timon, first per-
formed on the 12th of August, 1684; and Delisle wrote a three-act play,
called Timon the Misanthrope, first brought out on the 2d of January,
1782, and in which an ass is changed into harlequin, and gives lessons
of kindness and wisdom to his former master Timon. -
In English, part of The Misanthrope has been borrowed by Wycherley
for The Plain Dealer, of which Manley and Olivia are decided imitations
of Alceste and Célimène, and in which one scene is imitated from The
School for Wives criticised (see Introductory Notice to The School for
Wives criticised, Vol. II., p. 340). Baker, in his “Biographia Drama-
tica,” most amusingly says:–“ The Misanthrope (of Molière), and other
things, seem to have been in Wycherley's mind when he traced his cha-
racters; but when subjects are so well handled, it is but mean cavilling
to say so much about it, and in revenge, if he had recourse to French
writers, English writers have had recourse to him.” M. Taine has
another opinion of Wycherley and his play, and I entirely agree with
him. He says in the History of English Literature :-"If he
(Wycherley) translates the part of Molière, he wipes out at one
stroke the manners of a great lady, the woman's delicacy, the tact
of the lady of the house, the politeness, the refined air, the supe-
riority of wit and knowledge of the world, in order to substitute for
them the impudence and deceit of a foul-mouthed courtezan. . . A
certain gift hovers over all—namely, vigour. . . He is a realist, not
on set purpose, as the realist of our day, but naturally. . . Our
modern nerves could not endure the portrait Olivia draws of Manley.
. . . The woman's impudence is like a professed courtezan's. . . .
Manley is copied after Alceste . . . and is not a courtier but a ship-
THE MISANTHEROPE. 281
captain, with the bearing of a sailor of the time, his cloak stained with
tar, and smelling of brandy, ready with blows or foul oaths, calling
those he came across dogs and slaves, and when they displeased him,
kicking them down stairs . . . Wycherley took to himself in his dedi-
cation the title of his hero, Plain Dealer ; he fancied he had drawn the
portrait of a frank, honest man . . . he had only given . . . the model
of an unreserved and energetic brute.”
Sir Walter Scott, in his Essay on the Drama, says, “The Plain Dealer
is, indeed, imitated from Molière ; but the principal character has more
the force of a real portrait, and is better contrasted with the perverse,
bustling, masculine, pettyfogging, and litigious character of Widow
Blackacre, than Alceste is with any character of The Misanthrope.”
The late Lord Macaulay, in his Essay on the Comic Dramatists of the
Restoration, uses the following words about Wycherley's Plain Dealer:
—“Molière exhibited in his Misanthrope a pure and noble mind, which
had been Sorely vexed by the sight of perfidy and malevolence, disguised
under forms of politeness. As every extreme naturally generates its
contrary, Alceste adopts a standard of good and evil directly opposed to
that of the Society which surrounds him. Courtesy seems to him a
vice ; and those stern virtues which are neglected by the fops and
coquettes of Paris become too exclusively the objects of his veneration.
He is often to blame; he is often ridiculous; but he is always a good
man; and the feeling which he inspires is regret that a person so estim-
able should be so unamiable. Wycherley borrowed Alceste, and turned
him—we quote the words of so lenient a critic as Mr Leigh Hunt——into “a
ferocious sensualist, who believed himself as great a rascal as he thought
everybody else.” The surliness of Molière's hero is copied and cari-
catured. But the most nauseous libertinism and the most dastardly
fraud are substituted for the purity and integrity of the original. And,
to make the whole complete, Wycherley does not seem to have been
aware that he was not drawing the portrait of an eminently honest
man. So depraved was his moral taste, that, while he firmly believed
that he was producing a picture of virtue too exalted for the commerce
of the world, he was really delineating the greatest rascal that is to be
found, even in his own writings.”
Voltaire has imitated The Plain Dealer in a five-act comedy in verse,
called La Prude, and represented for the first time in the private theatre
of the Duchess of Maine, at Anet. It is one of the funniest, and, for
the student, one of the most interesting imitations I have ever read;
and the attempt of Voltaire to hide the coarseness of Manley and Olivia
under an elegant French dress, and to make them fit to be represented
before the rather finical, although witty, company at Amét, is highly
entertaining. This is the moral of the piece after Dorfise (Olivia) is
found out : Cela pourra d'abord faire jaser ; mais tout 8'appaise, et tout
doit s'appaiser.” #
Sheridan has also borrowed some scenes from The Misanthrope for
282 THE MISANTHROPE.
The School for Scandal, a comedy of which M. Taine, in his work
already mentioned, says—“Sheridan took two characters from Fielding,
Blifil and Tom Jones; two plays of Molière, Le Misanthrope and
Tartuffe, and from these puissant materials, condensed with admirable
cleverness, he has constructed the most brilliant firework imaginable.
Molière has only one female slanderer, Célimène; the other characters
serve only to give her a cue : there is quite enough of such a jeering
woman ; she rails on within certain bounds, without hurry, like a true
queen of the drawing-room, who has time to converse, who knows that
she is listened to, who listens to herself; she is a woman of society, who
preserves the tone of refined conversation; and in order to smooth down
the harshness, her slanders are interrupted by the calm reason and sen-
sible discourse of the amiable Eliante. Molière represents the malice of
the world without exaggeration ; but in Sheridan they are rather cari-
catured than depicted.”
The sixth Scene of the second Act of Congreve's The Way of the World,
performed at the theatre, Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields, in 1700, has also been
partly inspired by the fifth scene of the second act of Molière's play.
Congreve seems to have liked Molière's Misanthrope, for he imitated
the same scenes of the same play in Love for Love (Act i., Scenes 9-15).
(See Introductory Notice to Don Juan, page 96). The characters there
are called Valentine, Scandal, Tattle, and Mrs Frail, and are certainly
not copied, but based upon those of Molière.
Th. Shadwell, in The Sullen Lovers (see Introductory Notice to The
Bores, Vol. II., page 88), has likewise imitated the first scene of the
first act of The Misanthrope.
In Baker's Biographia Dramatica, it is stated that a certain Mr John
Hughes translated The Misanthrope from Voltaire—Molière is evidently
meant; and that this translation . . . . “was afterwards reprinted with
Molière's other plays translated by Ozell, without any notice by whom
it was englished.”
Whatever has been borrowed from Molière will be found in the
Appendix.
DRAMATIS PERSON AE.
ALCESTE, in love with Céliméne.”
PHILINTE, his friend.
ORONTE, in love with Céliméne.
CéLIMENE, beloved by Alceste.
ELLANTE, her cousin.
ARSINoé, Céliméne's friend.
ACASTE, g
CLITANDRE, }*.
BASQUE, servant to Céliméne.
DUBOIS, servant to Alceste.
AN OFFICER OF THE MARECHAUSSÉE.8
Scene—AT PARIS, IN CÉLIMENE’s HOUSE.
2 This part was played by Molière himself. In the inventory taken after
Molière's death, and given by M. E. Soulié in the Recherches sur Molière,
we find the dress for the representation of The Misanthrope, consisting of
breeches and jacket of a gold-coloured and grey silk striped brocade,
lined with tabby, ornamented with green ribbands; the waistcoat of gold
brocade, silk stockings and gaiters.
* The maréchaussée was a kind of mounted police, doing formerly the same
duty as the gendarmerie does now. It was commanded by a prévôt-général,
under the orders of the marshals of France.
T H E M IS A N T H R O P. E.
(LE MISA ATII ROPE.)
A C T I. S C E N E I.
PHILINTE, ALCESTE.”
Phil. What is the matter 2 What ails you ?
Alc. [Seated] Leave me, I pray.
Phil. But, once more, tell me what strange whim . . .
Alc. Leave me, I tell you, and get out of my sight.
Phil. But you might at least listen to people, without
getting angry.
Alc. I choose to get angry, and I do not choose to listen.
Phil. I do not understand you in these abrupt moods, and
although we are friends, I am the first . . .
Alc. [Rising quickly] I, your friend ? Lay not that
flattering unction to your soul. I have until now professed
to be so ; but after what I have just seen of you, I tell
you candidly that I am such no longer; I have no wish to
occupy a place in a corrupt heart.
Phil. I am then very much to be blamed from your point
of view, Alceste §
Alc. To be blamed ? You ought to die from very shame ;
there is no excuse for such behaviour, and every man of
honour must be disgusted at it. I see you almost stifle a
man with caresses, show him the most ardent affection, and
overwhelm him with protestations, offers, and vows of friend-
* See Appendix, Note A.
286 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT I.
ship. Your ebullitions of tenderness know no bounds; and
when I ask you who that man is, you can scarcely tell me
his name ; your feelings for him, the moment you have
turned your back, suddenly cool; you speak of him most
indifferently to me. Zounds ! I call it unworthy, base, and
infamous, so far to demean one's self as to act contrary to
one's own feelings, and if, unfortunately, I had done such a
thing, I should go that very instant, and hang myself out of
sheer vexation.
Phil. I do not see that it is a hanging matter at all; and
I beg of you not to think it amiss if I ask you to show me
some mercy, for I shall not hang myself, if it be all the
same to you.
Alc. That is a sorry joke.
Phil. But, seriously, what would you have people do 2
Alc. I would have people be sincere, and that, like men
of honour, no word be spoken that comes not from the heart.
Phil. When a man comes and embraces you warmly, you
must pay him back in his own coin, respond as best you can
to his show of feeling, and return offer for offer, and vow
for vow.” -
Alc. Not so. I cannot bear so base a method, which
your fashionable people generally affect; there is nothing I
detest so much as the contortions of these great time-and-lip
servers, these affable dispensers of meaningless embraces,
these obliging utterers of empty words, who vie with every
one in civilities, and treat the man of worth and the fop
alike. What good does it do if a man heaps endearments
on you, vows that he is your friend, that he believes in you,
is full of zeal for you, esteems and loves you, and lauds you
to the skies, when he rushes to do the same to the first rap-
scallion he meets 2 No, no, no heart with the least self-
5 See Appendix, Note B.
SC. I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 287
respect cares for esteem so prostituted; he will hardly relish
it, even when openly expressed, when he finds that he
shares it with the whole universe. Preference must be
based on esteem, and to esteem every one is to esteem
no one. As you abandon yourself to the vices of the
times, zounds ! you are not the man for me. I decline this
over-complaisant kindness, which uses no discrimination. I
like to be distinguished ; and, to cut the matter short, theJ
friend of all mankind is no friend of mine.
Phil. But when we are of the world, we must conform
to the outward civilities which custom demands.
Alc. I deny it. We ought to punish pitilessly that
shameful pretence of friendly intercourse. I like a man to
be a man, and to show on all occasions the bottom of his
heart in his discourse. Let that be the thing to speak, and
never let our feelings be hidden beneath vain compliments.
Phil. There are many cases in which plain speaking would
become ridiculous, and could hardly be tolerated. And, with
all due allowance for your unbending honesty, it is as well to
conceal our feelings sometimes. Would it be right or decent
to tell thousands of people what we think of them 2 And
when we meet with some one whom we hate or who dis-
pleases us, must we tell him so openly 3
Alc. Yes.
Phil. What Would you tell old Emilia, that it ill be-
comes her to set up for a beauty at her age, and that the
paints she uses disgusts every one 3
Alc. Undoubtedly.
Phil. Or Dorilas, that he is a bore, and that there is no
one at court who is not sick of hearing him boast of his
courage, and the lustre of his house 3
Alc. Decidedly so.
Phil. You are jesting.
Alc. I am not jesting at all; and I would not spare any
288 THE MISANTHEOPE. [ACT I.
one in that respect. It offends my eyes too much ; and
whether at Court or in town, I behold nothing but what
provokes my spleen. I become quite melancholy and deeply
grieved to see men behave to each other as they do. Every-
where I find nothing but base flattery, injustice, self-interest,
deceit, roguery. I cannot bear it any longer; I am furious;
and my intention is to break with all mankind.
Phil. This philosophical spleen is somewhat too savage.
I cannot but laugh to see you in these gloomy fits, and
fancy that I perceive in us two, brought up together, the two
brothers described in The School for Husbands, who . . .
Alc. Good Heavens ! drop your insipid comparisons.
Phil. Nay, seriously, leave off these vagaries. The world
will not alter for all your meddling. And as plain speaking
has such charms for you, I shall tell you frankly that this
complaint of yours is as good as a play, wherever you go,
and that all those invectives against the manners of the age,
make you a laughing-stock to many people. •
Alc. So much the better, Zounds so much the better.
That is just what I want. It is a very good sign, and I
rejoice at it. All men are so odious to me, that I should be
sorry to appear rational in their eyes. •
Phil. But do you wish harm to all mankind
Alc. Yes; I have conceived a terrible hatred for them.
Phil. Shall all poor mortals, without exception, be in-
cluded in this aversion ? There are some, even in the age
in which we live . . . . .
Alc. No, they are all alike; and I hate all men : some,
because they are wicked and mischievous ; others, because
they lend themselves to the wicked, and have not that healthy
contempt with which vice ought to inspire all virtuous
minds. You can see how unjustly and excessively complacent
people are to that bare-faced scoundrel with whom I am
at law. You may plainly perceive the traitor through his
SC. I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 289
- mask; he is well known everywhere in his true colours:
his rolling eyes and his honeyed tones impose only on those
who do not know him. People are aware that this low-
bred fellow, who deserves to be pilloried, has, by the dirtiest
jobs, made his way in the world ; and that the splendid
position he has acquired makes merit repine and virtue
blush. Yet whatever dishonourable epithets may be
launched against him everywhere, nobody defends his
wretched honour. Call him a rogue, an infamous wretch, a
confounded scoundrel if you like, all the world will say “yea,”
and no one contradicts you. But for all that, his bowing
and scraping are welcome everywhere ; he is received, smiled
upon, and wriggles himself into all kinds of society; and,
if any appointment is to be secured by intriguing, he will
carry the day over a man of the greatest worth. Zounds !
these are mortal stabs to me, to see vice parleyed with ; and
sometimes I feel suddenly inclined to fly into a wilderness
far from the approach of men.
Phil. Great Heaven! let us torment ourselves a little less
about the vices of our age, and be a little more lenient
to human nature. Let us not scrutinize it with the
utmost severity, but look with some indulgence at its
failings. In society, we need virtue to be more pliable.
If we are too wise, we may be equally to blame. Good
sense avoids all extremes, and requires us to be soberly
rational.” This unbending and virtuous stiffness of
ancient times shocks too much the ordinary customs of
our own ; it requires too great perfection from us mortals;
we must yield to the times without being too stubborn ; it
is the height of folly to busy ourselves in correcting the
world. I, as well as yourself, notice a hundred things every
day which might be better managed, differently enacted ;
T-
* Compare St Paul's Epistle to the Romans, xii. 3, “Not to think
more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly.”
III. T
290 THE MISANTHROPE. [Act 1.
but whatever I may discover at any moment, people do not
see me in a rage like you. I take men quietly just as
they are ; I accustom my mind to bear with what they do ;
and I believe that at Court, as well as in the city, my
phlegm is as philosophical as your bile.
Alc. But this phlegm, good sir, you who reason so well,
could it not be disturbed by anything 2 And if perchance
a friend should betray you ; if he forms a subtle plot to get
hold of what is yours; if people should try to spread evil
reports about you, would you tamely submit to all this
without flying into a rage 7
Phil. Ay, I look upon all these faults of which you
complain as vices inseparably connected with human
nature ; in short, my mind is no more shocked at seeing a
man a rogue, unjust, or selfish, than at seeing vultures
eager for prey, mischievous apes, or fury-lashed wolves.
Alc. What! I should see myself deceived, torn to pieces,
robbed, without being . . . Zounds ! I shall say no more
about it; all this reasoning is full of impertinence
Phil. Upon my word, you would do well to keep silence.
Rail a little less at your opponent, and attend a little more
to your suit.
Alc. That I shall not do; that is settled long ago.
Phil. But whom then do you expect to solicit for
you ? -
Alc. Whom ? Reason, my just right, equity.
Phil. Shall you not pay a visit to any of the judges 2
Alc. No. Is my cause unjust or dubious 2
Phil. I am agreed on that ; but you know what harm
intrigues do, and . . .
Alc. No. I am resolved not to stir a step. I am either
right or wrong. -
Phil. Do not trust to that.
Alc. I shall not budge an inch.
SC. I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 201
Phil. Your opponent is powerful, and, by his underhand
work, may induce .
Alc. It does not matter.
Phil. You will make a mistake.
Alc. Be it so. I wish to see the end of it.
Phil. But . . .
Alc. I shall have the satisfaction of losing my suit.
Phil. But after all . . .
Alc. I shall see by this trial whether men have
sufficient impudence, are wicked, villanous, and perverse
enough to do me this injustice in the face of the whole
world. - -
Phil. What a strange fellow !
Alc. I could wish, were it to cost me ever so much, that,
for the fun of the thing, I lost my case.
Phil. But people will really laugh at you, Alceste, if
they hear you go on in this fashion.
Alc. So much the worse for those who will.
Phil. But this rectitude, which you exact so care-
fully in every case, this absolute integrity in which you
intrench yourself, do you perceive it in the lady you
love 27 As for me, I am astonished that, appearing to be at
war with the whole human race, you yet, notwithstanding
everything that can render it odious to you, have found
aught to charm your eyes. And what surprises me still
more, is the strange choice your heart has made. The
sincere Eliante has a liking for you, the prude Arsinoë
looks with favour upon you, yet your heart does not
respond to their passion ; whilst you wear the chains of
Célimène, who sports with you, and whose coquettish humour
and malicious wit seem to accord so well with the manner
of the times. How comes it that, hating these things as
7 See Appendix, Note C.
292 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT I.
mortally as you do, you endure so much of them in that
lady ? Are they no longer faults in so sweet a charmer ?
Do not you perceive them, or if you do, do you excuse
them 2
Alc. Not so. The love I feel for this young widow does
not make me blind to her faults, and, notwithstanding the
great passion with which she has inspired me, I am the first to
see, as well as to condemn, them. But for all this, do what
I will, I confess my weakness, she has the art of pleasing
me. In vain I see her faults; I may even blame them ;
in spite of all, she makes me love her. Her charms con-
quer everything, and, no doubt, my sincere love will purify
her heart from the vices of our times.”
Phil. If you accomplish this, it will be no small task.
Do you believe yourself beloved by her ?
Alc. Yes, certainly . I should not love her at all, did I
not think so. - * -
Phil. But if her love for you is so apparent, how comes
it that your rivals cause you so much uneasiness 2
Alc. It is because a heart, deeply smitten, claims all to
itself; I come here only with the intention of telling her
what, on this subject, my feelings dictate.
Phil. Had I but to choose, her cousin Éliante would
have all my love. Her heart, which values yours, is stable
and sincere; and this more compatible choice would have
suited you better.
Alc. . It is true; my good sense tells me so every day;
but good sense does not always rule love.
Phil. Well, I fear much for your affections; and the hope
which you cherish may perhaps . . . - -
* Compare the supposed conversation between Molière and Chapelle
in the Introductory Notice to The Impromptu of Versailles, Vol. II.,
page 291.
i.
| | l
|

SC. 11.] THE MISANTHROPE. 29.3
SCENE II.
ORONTE, ALCESTE, PHILINTE.
Oron. [To Alcestel I have been informed yonder, that
Éliante and Célimène have gone out to make some pur-
chäses. But as I heard that you were here, I came to tell
you, most sincerely, that I have conceived the greatest regard
for you, and that, for a long time, this regard has inspired
me with the most ardent wish to be reckoned among your
friends. Yes; I like to do homage to merit; and I am
most anxious that a bond of friendship should unite us... I
suppose that a zealous friend, and of my standing, is not
altogether to be rejected. [All this time Alceste has been
'mwsing, and seems not to be aware that Oronte is addressing
him. He looks wb only when Oronte Says to him, It is
to you, if you please, that this speech is addressed.
Alc. To me, sir?
Oron. To you. Is it in any way offensive to you ?
Ale. Not in the least. But my surprise is very great;
and I did not expect that honour. *. * *
Oron. The regard in which I hold you ought, not to
astonish you, and you can claim it from the whole world.
Alc. Sir . A. *
Oron. Our whole kingdom contains nothing above the
dazzling merit which people discover in you.
Alc. Sir . . .
Oron. Yes; for my part, I prefer you to the most im-
portant in it. . . . "
Alc. Sir . . .
Orom. May Heaven strike me dead, if I lie And, to con-
vince you, on this very spot, of my feelings, allow me, sir, to
embrace you with all my heart, and to solicit a place in your
friendship. Your hand, if you please. Will you promise
me your friendship ! *
294 THE MISANTHEOPE. [ACT I.
Alc. Sir. . . .
Oron What you refuse me !
Alc. Sir, you do me too much honour; but friendship is
a sacred thing,” and to lavish it on every occasion is surely
to profane it. Judgment and choice should preside at such
a compact ; we ought to know more of each other before
engaging ourselves; and it may happen that our dispositions
are such that we may both of us repent of our bargain.
Oron. Upon my word that is wisely said ; and I esteem
you all the more for it. Let us therefore leave it to time
to form such a pleasing bond; but, meanwhile I am entirely
at your disposal. If you have any business at Court, every
one knows how well I stand with the King ; I have his
private ear; and, upon my word, he treats me in everything
with the utmost intimacy. In short, I am yours in every
emergency; and, as you are a man of brilliant parts, and to
inaugurate our charming amity, I come to read you a sonnet
which I made a little while ago, and to know whether it be
good enough for publicity.
Alc. I am not fit, sir, to decide such a matter. You
will therefore excuse me.
Oron. Why so :
Alc. I have the failing of being a little more sincere in
those things than is necessary.
Oron. The very thing I ask ; and I should have reason
to complain, if, in laying myself open to you that you might
give me your frank opinion, you should deceive me, and dis-
guise anything from me.
Alc. If that be the case, sir, I am perfectly willing.
Oron. Sommet . . It is a sonnet . . . Hope . . . It is
* The original has l'amitié demande un peu plus de mystère, friendship
demands a little more mystery. I imagine this to be an allusion to the
mystery of religion. Hence the idea of sacredness; for otherwise it is
unintelligible why friendship should demand mystery.
sc. II.] THE MISANTHROPE. 295
to a lady who flattered my passion with some hope. Hope
. . . They are not long, pompous verses, but mild, tender,
and melting little lines.
[At every one of these interruptions he looks at
Alceste.
Alc. We shall see.
Oron. Hope . . . I do not know whether the style will
strike you as sufficiently clear and easy, and whether you
will approve of my choice of words.
Alc. We shall soon see, sir.
Oron. Besides, you must know that I was only a quarter
of an hour in composing it.
Alc. Let us hear, sir; the time signifies nothing.
Oron. [Reads] Hope, it is true, oft gives relief,
Rocks for a while own tedious pain,
But what a poor advantage, Philis,
When nowght remains, and all is gone!
Phil. I am already charmed with this little bit.
Ale. [Softly to Philiate] What I do you mean to tell
me that you like this stuff?
Oron. You once had some complacency,
But less would have sufficed,
You should not take that trouble
To give me mought but hope.
Phil. In what pretty terms these thoughts are put !
Alc. How now you vile flatterer, you praise this
rubbish I
Oron. If I must wait etermally,
My passion, driven to eatremes,
Will fly to death.
Your tender cares cannot prevent this,
Fair Philis, aye we're in despair,
When we must hope for ever.
Phil. The conclusion is pretty, amorous, admirable.
296 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT I.
Alc. [Softly, and aside to. Philimtel A plague on the
conclusion I wish you had concluded to break your nose,
you poisoner to the devil
Phil. I never heard verses more skilfully turned."
Alc. [Softly, and asidel Zounds ! . . . -
Oron. [To Philimte] You flatter me; and you are under
the impression perhaps . . . wº -
Phil. No, I am not flattering at all.
Ale. [Softly, and aside] What else are you doing, you
wretch 3
Oron. [To Alcestel But for you, you know our agree-
ment. Speak to me, I pray, in all sincerity.
Alc. These matters, sir, are always more or less deli-
cate, and every one is fond of being praised for his wit. But
I was saying one day to a certain person, who shall be
nameless, when he showed me some of his verses, that a
gentleman ought at all times to exercise a great control
over that itch for writing which sometimes attacks us, and
should keep a tight rein over the strong propensity which
one has to display such amusements; and that, in the
anxiety to show their productions, people are frequently
exposed to act a very foolish part.
Oron. Do you wish to convey to me by this that I am
wrong in desiring . . . . -
Alc. I do not say that exactly. But I told him that
writing without warmth becomes a bore; that there needs
no other weakness to disgrace a man; that, even if people,
on the other hand, had a hundred good qualities, we view
them from their worst sides. -
Oron. Do you find anything to object to in my sonnet 2
* One of the commentators of Molière, Aimé-Martin, thinks that the
praises which Philinte bestows on Oronte's sonnet prove his kind feeling.
I think the saying, “I never heard verses more skilfully turned,” proves
more than this. .
SC. II.] THE MISANTHROPE. 297
Ale. I do not say that. But, to keep him from writing,
I set before his eyes how, in our days, that desire has spoiled
a great many very worthy people.
Orom. .Do I write badly : Am I like them in any
way ? -
Alc. I do not say that. But, in short, I said to him,
What pressing need is there for you to rhyme, and what
the deuce drives you into print 2 If we can pardon the
sending into the world of a badly-written book, it will only
be in those unfortunate men who write for their livelihood.
Believe me, resist your temptations, keep these effusions
from the public, and do not, how much soever you may be
asked, forfeit the reputation which you enjoy at Court of
being a man of sense and a gentleman, to take, from
the hands of a greedy printer, that of a ridiculous and
wretched author. That is what I tried to make him under-
stand.
Oron. This is all well and good, and I seem to under-
stand you. But I should like to know what there is in my
Sonnet to . . . -
Ale. Candidly, you had better put it in your closet.
You have been following bad models, and your expressions
are not at all natural. Pray what is—Rocks for a while
owr tedious pain 3 And what, When nowght remains,
and all is gone 3 What, Yow should not take that trouble
to give me mought but hope? And what, Philis, aye we're
in despair when we must hope for ever ? This figurative
style, that people are so vain of, is beside all good taste
and truth ; it is only a play upon words, sheer affectation,
and it is not thus that nature speaks. The wretched taste
of the age is what I dislike in this. Our forefathers, un-
polished as they were, had a much better one ; and I value
all that is admired now-a-days far less than an old Song
which I am going to repeat to you :
298 THE MISANTHROPE. [Act I,
“Had owr great monarch granted me
His Paris large and fair;
And I straightway must quit for aye
The love of my true dear; Q
Them would I say, King Hall, I pray,
Take back your Paris fair.
I love much mo my dear, I trow,
I love much mo my dear.”
This versification is not rich, and the style is antiquated;
but do you not see that it is far better than all those
trumpery trifles against which good sense revolts, and that
in this, passion speaks from the heart 2
“Had our great monarch granted me
His Paris large and fair;
And I straightway must quit for aye
The love of my true dear;
Them would I say, King Hall, I pray,
Take back your Paris fair,
I love much mo my dear, I trow,
I love much mo my dear.”
This is what a really loving heart would say. [To
Philimte, who is lawghing] Yes, master wag, in spite of
all your wit, I care more for this than for all the florid pomp
and the tinsel which everybody is admiring now-a-days.
Oron. And I, I maintain that my verses are very
good.
Alc. Doubtless you have your reasons for thinking
them so ; but you will allow me to have mine, which,
with your permission, will remain independent.
Oron. It is enough for me that others prize them.
Alc. That is because they know how to dissemble, which
I do not.
SC. III.] THE MISANTHROPE. 299
Oron. Do you really believe that you have such a great
share of wit?
Alc. If I praised your verses, I should have more.
Oron. I shall do very well without your approbation.
Alc. You will have to do without it, if it be all the
Same.
Orom. I should like much to see you compose some on
the same subject, just to have a sample of your style.
Alc. I might, perchance, make some as bad ; but I
should take good care not to show them to any one.
Oron. You are mighty positive ; and this great suf-
ficiency . . .
Alc. Pray, seek some one else to flatter you, and not
Iſle.
Oron. But, my little sir, drop this haughty tone.
Alc. In truth, my big sir, I shall do as I like.
Phil. [Coming between them] Stop, gentlemen that is
carrying the matter too far. Cease, I pray.
Oron. Ah I am wrong, I confess; and I leave the field
to you. I am your servant, sir, most heartily.
Alc. And I, sir, am your most humble servant.
SCENE III.
PHILINTE, ALCESTE.
Phil. Well you see. By being too sincere, you have got
a nice affair on your hands; I saw that Oronte, in order to
be flattered . . .
Alc. Do not talk to me.
Phil. But . . .
Alc. No more society for me.
Phil. It is too much. . . .
Alc. Leave me alone.
Phil. If I . . .
300 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT II.
Alc. Not another word.
Phil. But what . . .
Alc. I will hear no more.
Phil. But . . .
Alc. Again :
Phil. People insult . . .
Alc. Ah Zounds ! this is too much. Do not dog my
steps.
Phil. You are making fun of me: I shall not leave you.
A CT II. SCENE I.
ALCESTE, CELIMENE.
Alc. Will you have me speak candidly to you, madam ?
Well, then, I am very much dissatisfied with your behaviour.
I am very angry when I think of it; and I perceive that
we shall have to break with each other. Yes; I should
only deceive you were I to speak otherwise. Sooner or later
a rupture is unavoidable; and if I were to promise the
contrary a thousand times, I should not be able to bear
this any longer.
Cel. Oh, I see : it is to quarrel with me, that you wished
to conduct me home 2
Alc. I do not quarrel. But your disposition, madam, is
too ready to give any first conner an entrance into your
heart. Too many admirers beset you; and my temper
cannot put up with that.
Cel. Am I to blame for having too many admirers ? Can
I prevent people from thinking me amiable % and am I to
take a stick to drive them away, when they endeavour by
tender means to visit me !
Alc. No, madam, there is no need for a stick, but only
SC. I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 30 I
a heart less yielding and less melting at their love-tales.
I am aware that your good looks, accompany you, go
where you will ; but your reception retains those whom
your eyes attract; and that gentleness, accorded to those who
surrender their arms, finishes on their hearts the sway which
your charms began. The too agreeable expectation which
you offer them increases their assiduities towards you ; and
your complacency, a little less extended, would drive away
the great crowd of so many admirers. But, tell me at least,
Madam, by what good fortune Clitandre has the happiness
of pleasing you so mightily 7 Upon what basis of merit
and sublime virtue do you ground the honour of your regard
for him 2 Is it by the long nail on his little finger that he
has acquired the esteem which you display for him ? Are
you, like all the rest of the fashionable world, fascinated by
the dazzling merit of his fair wig 7 Do his great rolls make
you love him 2 Do his many ribbons charm you? Is it
by the attraction of his large rhingrave,” that he has con-
quered your heart, whilst at the same time he pretended to
be your slave 2 Or have his manner of smiling, and
his falsetto voice,” found out the secret of moving your
feelings 7
Cel. How unjustly you take umbrage at him Do not
you know why I countenance him ; and that he has
promised to interest all his friends in my lawsuit 2
Alc. Lose your lawsuit, madam, with patience, and do
not countenance a rival whom I detest.
ii. The rhingrave was a large pair of breeches, introduced into France
by a certain Count von Salm, who was called the Rheingraf.
12 Compare with this what Molière says in The Impromptu of Ver-
sailles, Vol. II., Scene iii., p. 309, when he reprimands La Grange.
“That is not the way in which Marquises talk. It must be a little
‘higher. Most of these gentlemen affect a special tone to distinguish
themselves from the vulgar.”
302 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT II.
Cél. But you are getting jealous of the whole world.
Alc. It is because the whole world is so kindly received
by you.
Cél. That is the very thing to calm your frightened
mind, because my goodwill is diffused over all : you would
have more reason to be offended if you saw me entirely
occupied with one. -
Alc. But as for me, whom you accuse of too much
jealousy, what have I more than any of them, madam, pray ?
Cél. The happiness of knowing that you are beloved.
Alc. And what grounds has my love-sick heart for
believing it. -
Cél. I think that, as I have taken the trouble to tell
you so, such an avowal ought to satisfy you.
Alc. But who will assure me that you may not, at the
same time, say as much to everybody else perhaps ?
Cél. Certainly, for a lover, this is a pretty amorous
speech, and you make me out a very nice lady. Well !
to remove such a suspicion, I retract this moment every-
thing I have said ; and no one but yourself shall for the
future impose upon you. Will that satisfy you ?
Alc. Zounds ! why do I love you so I Ah 1 if ever I get
heart-whole out of your hands, I shall bless Heaven for this
rare good fortune. I make no secret of it ; I do all that is
possible to tear this unfortunate attachment from my heart;
but hitherto my greatest efforts have been of no avail; and
it is for my sins that I love you thus.
Cél. It is very true that your affection for me is
unequalled.
Alc. As for that, I can challenge the whole world. My
love for you cannot be conceived; and never, madam, has
any man loved as I do.
Cél. Your method, however, is entirely new, for you
love people only to quarrel with them ; it is in peevish
SC. I1.-111.] THE MISANTHROPE. 303
expressions alone that your feelings vent themselves; no
one ever saw such a grumbling swain.
Alc. But it lies with you alone to dissipate this ill-
humour. For mercy's sake let us make an end of all these
bickerings; deal openly with each other, and try to put a
stop . . . *
SCENE II.
CÉLIMENE, ALCESTE, BASQUE.44
Cel. What is the matter ?
Bas. Acaste is below.
Cel. Very well bid him come up.
SCENE III.
CÉLIMENE, ALCESTE.
Alc. What I can one never have a little private conver-
sation with you ? You are always ready to receive com-
pany; and you cannot, for a single instant, make up your
mind to be “not at home.”
Cél. Do you wish me to quarrel with Acaste §
Ale. You have such regard for people, which I by no
means like. .
Cel. He is a man never to forgive me, if he knew that
his presence could annoy me.
Alc. And what is that to you, to inconvenience yourself
SO . . . -
Cél. But, good Heaven the amity of such as he is of
importance; they are a kind of people who, I do not know
* It has been justly remarked by Génin, that Racine, who until then
had treated love in La Thébaïde, and Alexandre, as a heroic passion,
was taught, probably by The Misanthrope, to treat that passion in a
natural manner; for thus he displays it in Andromaque, which appeared
a year after Molière's play. • *
* See Vol. I., page 245, note 45.
304 THE MISANTHROPE. [act ii.
how, have acquired the right to be heard at Court. They
take their part in every conversation; they can do you no
good, but they may do you harm; and, whatever support
one may find elsewhere, it will never do to be on bad terms
with these very noisy gentry.
Alc. In short, whatever people may say or do, you
always find reasons to bear with every one; and your very
careful judgment . . .
SCENE IV.
ALCESTE, CELIMENE, BASQUE.
Bas. Clitandre is here too, madam.
Alc. Exactly so. [Wishes to gol
Cél. Where are you running to ?
Alc. I am going.
Cél. Stay. -
Alc. For what ?
Cél. Stay.
Alc. I cannot.
Cél. I wish it. -
Alc. I will not. These conversations only weary me; and
it is too bad of you to wish me to endure them.
Cél. I wish it, I wish it.
Alc. No, it is impossible.
Cél. Very well, then I go, begone; you can do as you like.
SCENE V.
ELIANTE, PHILINTE, ACASTE, CLITANDRE, ALCESTE,
CÉLIMENE, BASQUE.”
El. [To Céliméne] Here are the two marquises coming
up with us. Has anyone told you ?
Cél. Yes. [To Basquel Place chairs for everyone.
* See Appendix, Note D,
SC. V.] THE MISANTHROPE. - 305
[Basque places chairs, and eacit] [To Alceste! You are
not gone 7 * - -
Alc. No ; but I am determined, madam, to have you
make up your mind either for them or for me.
Cél. Hold your tongue.
Alc. This very day you shall explain yourself.
Cél. You are losing your senses.
Alc. Not at all. You shall declare yourself.
Cél. Indeed
Alc. You must take your stand.
Cél. You are jesting, I believe.
Alc. Not so. But you must choose. I have been too
patient.” -
Cl. Egad I have just come from the Louvre, where
Cléonte, at the levee,” made himself very ridiculous.
Has he not some friend who could charitably enlighten him
upon his manners ?
Cél. Truth to say, he compromises himself very much in
society; everywhere he carries himself with an air that is
noticed at first sight, and when, after a short absence, you
meet him again, he is still more absurd than ever.
Ac. Egad I talk of absurd people, just now, one of the
most tedious ones has annoyed me. That reasoner, Damon,
kept me, if you please, for a full hour in the broiling sun,
away from my Sedan chair.”
1° Whilst this “aside” is going on between Alceste and Célimène, all the
other persons have taken seats on the stage in a semi-circle, facing the
spectators. After they have been thus settled, Clitandre begins the
conversation ; Alceste has a chair on the extreme right, rather at the
background. -
17 See Vol. I., page 230, note 18. -
* It is odd that English authorities pretend that Sedan chairs were .
introduced from France. D'Israéli, in his Curiosities of Literature, states
that the Duke of Buckingham introduced Sedan chairs into England ;
Hone, in The Every-Day Book, vol. ii., p. 902, says in a note: “Sedan
chairs were first introduced into England in 1634. The first was use
III. U -
306 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT II.
Cél. He is a strange talker, and one who always finds
the means of telling you nothing with a great flow of words.
There is no sense at all in his tittle-tattle, and all that we
hear is but noise.
El. [To Philintel This beginning is not bad; and the
conversation takes a sufficiently agreeable turn against our.
neighbours.
Cl. Timante, too, Madam, is another original.
Cel. He is a complete mystery from top to toe, who
throws upon you, in passing, a bewildered glance, and who,
without having anything to do, is always busy. Whatever
he utters is accompanied with grimaces; he quite oppresses
people by his ceremonies. To interrupt a conversation, he
has always a secret to whisper to you, and that secret turns
out to be nothing. Of the merest molehill he makes a
mountain, and whispers everything in your ear, even to a
“good day.”
Ac. And Géralde, Madam ?
Cél. That tiresome story-teller He never comes
down from his nobleman's pedestal ; he continually mixes
with the best society, and never quotes any one of minor
rank than a Duke, Prince, or Princess. Rank is his hobby,
and his conversation is of nothing but horses, carriages, and
dogs. He thee's and thou's persons of the highest stand-
ing, and the word Sir is quite obsolete with him.
Cl. It is said that he is on the best of terms with
Bélise.
Cél. Poor silly woman, and the dreariest company
When she comes to visit me, I suffer martyrdom ; one has to
by the Duke of Buckingham, to the indignation of the people, who ex-
claimed, that he was employing his fellow-creatures to do the services
of beasts.” According to a note of M. E. Despois in the Précieuses
Ridicules, it was the Marquis de Montbrun who first introduced the
covered Sedan chairs from England into France.
Sc. v.] THE MISANTHROPE. 307
rack one's brain perpetually to find out what to say to her;
and the impossibility of her expressing her thoughts allows
the conversation to drop every minute. In vain you try to
overcome her stupid silence by the assistance of the most
commonplace topics; even the fine weather, the rain, the
heat and the cold are subjects, which, with her, are soon
exhausted. Yet for all that, her calls, unbearable enough,
are prolonged to an insufferable length ; and you may con-
sult the clock, or yawn twenty times, but she stirs no more
than a log of wood.
Ac. What think you of Adraste §
Cél. Oh What excessive pride He is a man posi-
tively puffed out with conceit. His self-importance is
never satisfied with the Court, against which he inveighs
daily; and whenever an office, a place, or a living is
bestowed on another, he is sure to think himself unjustly
treated.
Cl. But young Cléon, whom the most respectable
people go to see, what say you of him 2
Cél. That it is to his cook he owes this distinction, and
to his table that people pay visits.
El. He takes pains to provide the most dainty dishes.
Cél. True ; but I should be very glad if he would not
dish up himself. His foolish person is a very bad dish,
which, to my thinking, spoils every entertainment which he
gives.
Phil. His uncle Damis is very much esteemed ; what
say you of him, Madam?
Cél. He is one of my friends.
Phil. I think him a perfect gentleman, and sensible
enough. 4
Cél. True; but he pretends to too much wit, which
annoys me. He is always upon stilts, and, in all his con-
versations, one sees him labouring to say smart things.
308 THE MISANTHEOPE. [ACT II.
Since he took it into his head to be clever, he is so diffi-
cult to please that nothing suits his taste. He must needs
find mistakes in everything that one writes, and thinks that
to bestow praise does not become a wit, that to find fault
shows learning, that only fools admire and laugh, and that,
by not approving of anything in the works of our time, he
is superior to all other people. Even in conversations he
finds something to cavil at, the subjects are too trivial for
his condescension; and, with arms crossed on his breast,
he looks down from the height of his intellect with pity
on what everyone says.”
Ac. Drat it ! his very picture.
Cl. [To Céliméne] You have an admirable nack of
portraying people to the life.” -
Alc. Capital, go on, my fine courtly friends. You
spare no one, and every one will have his turn. Never-
theless, let but any one of those persons appear, and we
shall see you rush to meet him, offer him your hand, and,
with a flattering kiss, give weight to your protestations of
being his servant. -
Cl. Why this to us? If what is said offends you, the
reproach must be addressed to this lady.
Alc. No, gadzooks it concerns you ; for your assenting
smiles draw from her wit all these slanderous remarks. Her
satirical vein is incessantly recruited by the culpable incense
of your flattery; and her mind would find fewer charms in
raillery, if she discovered that no one applauded her.
Thus it is that to flatterers we ought everywhere to impute
the vices which are sown among mankind.
Phil. But why do you take so great an interest in those
people, for you would condemn the very things that are
blamed in them :
* See Appendix, Note E. * See Appendix, Note F.
sc. v.] THE MISANTHROPE. :309
Cél. And is not this gentleman bound to contradict 2
Would you have him subscribe to the general opinion; and
must he not everywhere display the spirit of contradiction
with which Heaven has endowed him Other people's
sentiments can never please him. He always supports a
contrary idea, and he would think himself too much of
the common herd, were he observed to be of any one's
opinion but his own. The honour of gainsaying has so many
charms for him, that he very often takes up the cudgels
against himself; he combats his own sentiments as soon as
he hears them from other folk's lips.”
Alc. In short, madam, the laughers are on your side;
and you may launch your satire against me. -
Phil. But it is very true, too, that you always take
up arms against everything that is said ; and, that
your avowed spleen cannot bear people to be praised or
blamed. -
Alc. 'Sdeath ! spleen against mankind is always sea-
sonable, because they are never in the right, and I see that,
in all their dealings, they either praise impertinently, or
censure rashly.
Cél. But . .
Alc. No, madam, no, though I were to die for it, you
* This passage has been applied by Molière's contemporaries to the
Duke de Montausier. It is said that this nobleman was one day walk-
ing with a friend, near the Tuileries, when the latter remarked how
foolish Renard, the proprietor of some gardens close by, was to allow the
public to enter there, instead of keeping them only for himself and his
friends. The Duke replied that Renard could not do better than receive
respectable people in his grounds, and proved this convincingly. On
the next day, being by accident in the same neighbourhood, Montausier's
friend observed how praiseworthy it was in Renard to allow good com-
pany to enter his grounds; but the Duke replied, that only a madman
could spoil his own and his friends' pleasures, in order to allow all the
idlers of the court and town to saunter there. It is said that Ménage
related this anecdote. -
310 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT II.
have pastimes which I cannot tolerate; and people are very
wrong to nourish in your heart this great attachment to the
very faults which they blame in you.
Cl. As for myself, I do not know ; but I openly acknow-
ledge that hitherto I have thought this lady faultless.
Ac. I see that she is endowed with charms and attrac-
tions; but the faults which she has have not struck me.
Alc. So much the more have they struck me; and far
from appearing blind, she knows that I take care to reproach
her with them. The more we love any one, the less we
ought to flatter her. True love shows itself by overlooking
nothing; and, were I a lady, I would banish all those mean-
spirited lovers who submit to all my sentiments, and whose
mild complacencies every moment offer up incense to my
vagaries.
Cel. In short, if hearts were ruled by you, we ought, to
love well, to relinquish all tenderness, and make it the
highest aim of perfect attachment to rail heartily at the
persons we love.
El. Love, generally speaking, is little apt to put up
with these decrees, and lovers are always observed to extol
their choice. Their passion never sees aught to blame in
it, and in the beloved all things become loveable. They
think their faults perfections, and invent sweet terms to call
them by. The pale one vies with the jessamine in fair-
ness; another, dark enough to frighten people, becomes an
adorable brunette; the lean one has a good shape and is
lithe ; the stout one has a portly and majestic bearing;
the slattern, who has few charms, passes under the name
of a careless beauty; the giantess seems a very goddess in
their sight; the dwarf is an epitome of all the wonders of
Heaven; the proud one has a soul worthy of a diadem; the
artful brims with wit; the silly one is very good-natured; the
chatterbox is good-tempered ; and the silent one modest and
sc. v.] THE MISANTHROPE. 311
reticent. Thus a passionate swain loves even the very faults
of those of whom he is enamoured.”
Alc. And I maintain that . . .
Cel. Let us drop the subject, and take a turn or two in
the gallery. What are you going, gentlemen 2 *
Cl. and Ac. No, no, madam.
* I have already said that Grimarest stated that Molière had pre-
pared a translation of Lucretius in verse; and that he intended to read
part of it at an evening-party given at the house of M. du Broussin, in
1664, but did not think his verses worthy of coming after those of
Boileau, who read before him. All this rests upon very slight tradition;
the only traces of Lucretius in Molière's works are a few lines of The
Citizen who apes the Wobleman (See Vol. VI.), and the above passage.
For the sake of comparison, I have given the lines of Lucretius taken
from John Mason Good's poetical version (London, 1806) of that poet,
book iv. 1197 to 1222.
“Charms they bestow which never were the fair's.
Bence frequent view we those, each grace denied,
The coarse, the crooked, held in high esteem.
And lovers laugh o'er lovers, and exhort
Offerings to Venus since so vilely sway’d,
While yet themselves are sway’d more vilely still.
To such the black assume a lovely brown,
The rank and filthy, negligence and ease.
The red-eyed is a Pallas; the firm-lim’d,
All bone, a bounding roe ; the pigmy dwarf,
A sprightly grace, all energy and wit ;
The huge and bulky, dignified and grand ;
The stammerer lisps; the silent is sedate ;
The pert virago, spirit all and fire ;
The hectic, fine and delicate of frame;
The victim worn with pulmonary cough,
On life's last verge, a maid of matchless waist.
The broad, big bosom’d, Ceres full displayed,
Hot from the bed of Bacchus; the flat nos'd,
Of monkey shape, a Satyr from the woods;
And the broad-lip'd, a Nymph for kisses form'd.
But countless such conceits, and to narrate
Idle : yet grant the frame ador'd possest
Of face divine, that all the power of love
T'lays o'er each limb symphoneous, others still
Exist of equal beauty.”
312 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT II.
Alc. The fear of their departure troubles you very much.
Go when you like, gentlemen; but I tell you beforehand
that I shall not leave until you leave. -
Ac. Unless it inconveniences this lady, I have nothing
to call me elsewhere the whole day.
Cl. I, provided I am present when the King retires.”.
I have no other matter to call me away.”
Cél. [To Alceste] You only joke, I fancy.
Alo. Not at all. We shall soon see whether it is me
of whom you wish to get rid.”
SCENE WI.
ALCESTE, CKLIMENE, ELIANTE, ACASTE, PHILINTE, CLI-
TANDRE, BASQUE.
Bas. [To Alcestel There is a man down stairs, sir, who
wishes to speak to you on business which cannot be post-
poned. . . -
Alc. Tell him that I have no such urgent business.
Bas. He wears a jacket with large plaited skirts em-
broidered with gold. º
Cél. [To Alcestel Go and see who it is, or else let him
come in.
SCENE VII.
ALCESTE, CKLIMENE, ELIANTE, ACASTE, PHILINTE, CLI-
TANDRE, A GUARD OF THE MARKCHAUSSÉE.”
Alc. [Going to meet the guard] What may be your
pleasure ? Come in, sir.
* The original has petit couche. See Vol. I., p. 230, note 18.
* See Appendix, Note G. * See Appendix, Note H.
* The dress of the guards of the maréchaussée, was something like
that of the “buffetiers” of the Tower of London; hence the allusion to
“the plaited skirts.” The maréchaux de France formed a tribunal, which
t
SC. V11.] THE MISANTHROPE. 313
Guard. I would have a few words privately with you, sir.
Alc. You may speak aloud, sir, so as to let me know.
Guard. The Marshalls of France, whose commands I
bear, hereby summon you to appear before them immedi-
ately, sir. .
Alc. Whom ? Me, sir?
Gward. Yourself.
Alc. And for what ?
Phil. [To Alceste. It is this ridiculous affair between
you and Oronte. -
Cél. [To Philimtel What do you mean?
Phil. Oronte and he have been insulting each other just
now about some trifling verses which he did not like; and
the Marshalls wish to nip the affair in the bud.
Ale. But I shall never show any base complacency.
Phil. But you must obey the summons: come, get
ready. *
Alc. How will they settle this between us? Will the
edict of these gentlemen oblige me to approve of the verses
which are the cause of our quarrel ? I will not retract what
I have said ; I think them abominable. -
Phil. But with a little milder tone .
Alc. I will not abate one jot ; the verses are exe-
crable. - - -
Phil. You ought to show some more accommodating
spirit. Come along. -
Alc. I shall go, but nothing shall induce me to retract.
Phil. Go and show yourself.
Alc. Unless an express order from the King himself
commands me to approve of the verses which cause all this
inquired into affairs of honour among noblemen or officers. The garde
de la connetablie was under its orders, and made the offended parties
appear before the tribunal of the maréchaussée, who settled the repara-
tion to be given. See also page 283, note 3.
314 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT III.
trouble, I shall ever maintain, egad, that they are bad, and
that a fellow deserves hanging for making them.” [To
Clitandre and Acaste who are laughing] Hang it ! gentle-
men, I did not think I was so amusing.
Cél. Go quickly whither you are wanted.
Alc. I am going, madam ; but shall come back here to
finish our discussion. -
A CT III. SCENE I.
CLITANDRE, ACASTE.”
Cl. My dear marquis, you appear mightily pleased with
yourself; everything amuses you, and nothing discomposes
you. But really and truly, think you, without flattering
yourself, that you have good reasons for appearing so
joyful. -
Ac. Egad, I do not find, on looking at myself, any
matter to be sorrowful about. I am wealthy, I am young,
and descend from a family which, with some appearance of
truth, may be called noble ; and I think that, by the rank
which my lineage confers upon me, there are very few offices
to which I might not aspire. As for courage, which
we ought especially to value, it is well known—this with-
out vanity—that I do not lack it; and people have seen me
carry on an affair of honour in a manner sufficiently vigorous
* Tradition pretends that when Boileau was told that Colbert was
very intimate with Chapelain, that even the King liked the latter's
poem La Pucelle, and that therefore the first-mentioned should be more
careful in his criticisms, he exclaimed, “The King and M. Colbert may
do what they please, but unless his Majesty expressly commands me to
consider the verses of M. Chapelain good, I shall always maintain that
a man, after having written such a poem, deserves to be hanged.”
* See Appendix, Note I.
SC. I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 31 5
and brisk. As for wit, I have some, no doubt; and as for
good taste, to judge and reason upon everything without
study; at “first nights,” of which I am very fond, to take
my place as a critic upon the stage,” to give my opinion
as a judge, to applaud, and point out the best passages by
repeated bravoes, I am sufficiently adroit ; I carry my-
self well, and am good-looking, have particularly fine
teeth, and a good figure. I believe, without flattering
myself, that, as for dressing in good taste, very few will
dispute the palm with me. I find myself treated with
every possible consideration, very much beloved by the fair
sex; and I stand very well with the King. With all that,
I think, dear marquis, that one might be satisfied with
oneself anywhere. -
Cl. True. But, finding so many easy conquests else-
where, why come you here to utter fruitless sighs 2
Ac. I? Zounds ! I have neither the wish nor the dis-
position to put up with the indifference of any woman. I
leave it to awkward and ordinary people to burn constantly
for cruel fair maidens, to languish at their feet, and to bear
with their severities, to invoke the aid of sighs and tears,
and to endeavour, by long and persistent assiduities, to
obtain what is denied to their little merit. But men of my
stamp, marquis, are not made to love on trust, and be at
all the expenses themselves. Be the merit of the fair ever
so great, I think, thank Heaven, that we have our value as
well as they ; that it is not reasonable to enthrall a heart
like mine without its costing them anything ; and that, to
weigh everything in a just scale, the advances should be,
at least, reciprocal. -
Cl. Then you think that you are right enough here,
marquis 7 -
*-
* See Vol. II., page 97, note 10.
31 (3 THE MISANTHEOPE. [ACT III.
Ac. I have some reason, marquis, to think so.
Cl. Believe me, divest yourself of this great mistake ;
you flatter yourself, dear friend, and are altogether self-
deceived. -
Ac. It is true. I flatter myself, and am, in fact, alto-
gether self-deceived.
Cl. But what causes you to judge your happiness to be
complete 7
Ac. I flatter myself.
Cl. Upon what do you ground your belief ?
Ac. I am altogether self-deceived.
Cl. Have you any sure proofs 2
Ac. I am mistaken, I tell you.
Cl. Has Célimène made you any secret avowal of her
inclinations 2
Ac. No, I am very badly treated by her.
Cl. Answer me, I pray. -
Ac. I meet with nothing but rebuffs. -
Cl. A truce to your raillery; and tell me what hope
she has held out to you.
Ac. I am the rejected, and you are the lucky one. She
has a great aversion to me, and one of these days. I shall
have to hang myself.
Cl. Nonsense. Shall we two, marquis, to adjust our
love affairs, make a compact together ? Whenever one
of us shall be able to show a certain proof of having the
greater share in Célimène's heart, the other shall leave the
field free to the supposed conqueror, and by that means rid
him of an obstinate rival.
Ac. Egad you please me with these words, and I agree
. to that from the bottom of my heart. But, hush.
SC. II -1II.] THE MISANTHROPE. 317
SCENE II.
CéLIMENE, ACASTE, CLITANDRE.
Cél. What here still ?
Cli. Love, madam, detains us.
Cél. I hear a carriage below. Do you know whose it is ?
Clº. No.
SCENTE III.
CELIMENE, ACASTE, CLITANDRE, BASQUE.
Bas. Arsinoë, Madam, is coming up to see you.
Cél. What does the woman want with me !
Bas. Éliante is down stairs talking to her.
Cél. What is she thinking about, and what brings her
here 2
Ac. She has everywhere the reputation of being a
consummate prude, and her fervent zeal . . .
Cél. Psha, -downright humbug. In her inmost soul she
is as worldly as any ; and her every nerve is strained to
hook some one, without being successful, however. She can
only look with envious eyes on the accepted lovers of others;
and in her wretched condition, forsaken by all, she is for ever
railing against the blindness of the age. She endeavours
to hide the dreadful isolation of her home under a false
cloak of prudishness; and to save the credit of her feeble
charms, she brands as criminal the power which they lack.
Yet a swain would not come at all amiss to the lady ; and
she has even a tender hankering after Alceste. Every
attention that he pays me, she looks upon as a theft com-
mitted by me, and as an insult to her attractions; and her
jealous spite, which she can hardly hide, breaks out against
me at every opportunity, and in an underhand manner. In
short, I never saw anything, to my fancy, so stupid. She is
impertinent to the last degree . . .
3.18 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT III.
SCENE IV.
ARSINof, CELIMENE, CLITANDRE, ACASTE.
Cél. Ah ! what happy chance brings you here, madam :
I was really getting uneasy about you.
Ars. I have come to give you some advice as a matter of
duty.
Cél. How very glad I am to see you !
[Eaceunt Clitandre and Acaste, laughing.]
SCENE V.
ARSINOE, CELIMENE. -
Ars. They could not have left at a more convenient
opportunity. -
Cél. Shall we sit down 2
Ars. It is not necessary. Friendship, madam, must
especially show itself in matters which may be of conse-
quence to us; and as there are none of greater importance
than honour and decorum, I come to prove to you, by an
advice which closely touches your reputation, the friendship
which I feel for you. Yesterday I was with some people of
rare virtue, where the conversation turned upon you;
and there, your conduct, which is causing some stir, was
unfortunately, madam, far from being commended. That
crowd of people, whose visits you permit, your gallantry
and the noise it makes, were criticised rather more freely
and more severely than I could have wished. You can
easily imagine whose part I took. I did all I could to defend
you. I exonerated you, and vouched for the purity of
your heart, and the honesty of your intentions. But you
know there are things in life, which one cannot well defend,
although one may have the greatest wish to do so; and I
was at last obliged to confess that the way in which you lived
did you some harm ; that, in the eyes of the world, it had a
sc. v.] THE MISANTHROPE. 319
doubtful look ; that there was no story so ill natured as not
to be everywhere told about it; and that, if you liked, your
behaviour might give less cause for censure. Not that I
believe that decency is in any way outraged. Heaven for-
bid that I should harbour such a thought ! But the world
is so ready to give credit to the faintest shadow of a crime,
and it is not enough to live blameless one's self. Madam, I
believe you to be too sensible not to take in good part this
useful counsel, and not to ascribe it only to the inner
promptings of an affection that feels an interest in your
welfare. º
Cél. Madam, I have a great many thanks to return you.
Such counsel lays me under an obligation ; and, far from
taking it amiss, I intend this very moment to repay the
favour, by giving you an advice which also touches your
reputation closely ; and as I see you prove yourself my friend
by acquainting me with the stories that are current of me, I
shall follow so nice an example, by informing you what is
said of you. In a house the other day, where I paid a visit,
I met some people of exemplary merit, who, while talking
of the proper duties of a well spent life, turned the topic of the
conversation upon you, madam. There your prudishness and
your too fervent zeal were not at all cited as a good example.
This affectation of a grave demeanour, your eternal conver-
sations on wisdom and honour, your mincings and mouth-
ings at the slightest shadows of indecency, which an inno-
cent though ambiguous word may convey, that lofty esteem
in which you hold yourself, and those pitying glances which
you cast upon all, your frequent lectures and your acrid
censures on things which are pure and harmless ; all this,
if I may speak frankly to you, madam, was blamed unani-
mously. What is the good, said they, of this modest
mien and this prudent exterior, which is belied by all the
rest ? She says her prayers with the utmost exactness;
320 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT III.
but she beats her servants and pays them no wages. She
displays great fervour in every place of devotion ; but she
paints and wishes to appear handsome. She covers the
nudities in her pictures; but loves the reality. As for me,
I undertook your defence against everyone, and positively
assured them that it was nothing but scandal; but the
general opinion went against me, and they came to the con-
clusion that you would do well to concern yourself less
about the actions of others, and take a little more pains
with your own ; that one ought to look a long time at
one's self before thinking of condemning other people; that
when we wish to correct others, we ought to add the weight
of a blameless life; and that even then, it would be better
to leave it to those whom Heaven has ordained for the task.
Madam, I also believe you to be too sensible not to take in
good part this useful counsel, and not to ascribe it only to
the inner promptings of an affection that feels an interest
in your welfare.
Ar. To whatever we may be exposed when we reprove,
I did not expect this retort, madam, and, by its very sting, I
see how my sincere advice has hurt your feelings.
Cél. On the contrary, madam ; and, if we were reason-
able, those mutual counsels would become customary. If
honestly made use of, it would to a great extent destroy the
excellent opinion people have of themselves. It depends
entirely on you whether we shall continue this trustworthy
practice with equal zeal, and whether we shall take great
care to tell each other, between ourselves, what we hear,
you of me, I of you.
Ar. Ah I madam, I can hear nothing said of you. It is
in me that people find so much to reprove.
Cél. Madam, it is easy, I believe, to blame or praise
everything ; and everyone may be right, according to their
age and taste. There is a time for gallantry, there is one
sc. v.] THE MISANTHEOPE. . 321
also for prudishness. One may out of policy take to it,
when youthful attractions have faded away. It sometimes
serves to hide vexatious ravages of time. I do not say that
I shall not follow your example, one of these days. Those
things come with old age; but twenty, as everyone well
knows, is not an age to play the prude. -
Ar. You certainly pride yourself upon a very small
advantage, and you boast terribly of your age. What-
ever difference there may be between your years and mine,
there is no occasion to make such a tremendous fuss
about it; and I am at a loss to know, madam, why you
should get so angry, and what makes you goad me in this
Iſlan1162T.
Cél. And I, madam, am at an equal loss to know why
one hears you inveigh so bitterly against me everywhere.
Must I always suffer for your vexations ? Can I help
it, if people refuse to pay you any attentions ? If men
will fall in love with me, and will persist in offering me
each day those attentions of which your heart would wish
to see me deprived, I cannot alter it, and it is not my
fault. I leave you the field free, and do not prevent you
from having charms to attract people.
Ar. Alas! and do you think that I would trouble myself
about this crowd of lovers of which you are so vain, and that
it is not very easy to judge at what price they may be at-
tracted now-a-days? Do you wish to make it be believed,
that, judging by what is going on, your merit alone attracts
this crowd ; that their affection for you is strictly honest,
and that it is for nothing but your virtue that they all pay
you their court 2 People are not blinded by those empty
pretences; the world is not duped in that way; and I see
many ladies who are capable of inspiring a tender feeling,
yet who do not succeed in attracting a crowd of beaux;
and from that fact we may draw our conclusion that those
III. . X
322 * * THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT III.
conquests are not altogether made without some great ad-
vances; that no one cares to sigh for us, for our handsome
looks only; and that the attentions bestowed on us are
generally dearly bought. Do not therefore puff yourself
up with vain-glory about the trifling advantages of a
poor victory; and moderate slightly the pride on your good
looks, instead of looking down upon people on account of
them. If I were at all envious about your conquests, I dare
say, that I might manage like other people, be under no
restraint, and thus show plainly that one may have lovers,
when one wishes for them. :
Cél. Do have some then, madam, and let us see you try
it; endeavour to please by this extraordinary secret ; and
without . . . -
Ar. Let us break off this conversation, madam, it might
excite too much both your temper and mine; and I would
have already taken my leave, had I not been obliged to
wait for my carriage.
Cél. Please stay as long as you like, and do not hurry
yourself on that account, madam. But instead of wearying
you any longer with my presence, I am going to give you some
more pleasant company. This gentleman, who comes very
opportunely, will better supply my place in entertaining you.”
* One of the commentators of Molière, M. Auger, has justly observed
how admirably Célimène and Arsinoë vent their malignity, under the
pretext of doing their duty as friends. Both are equally bad, both
hate and insult each other; but yet, although their feelings and
situations are the same, Molière shows with a masterhand the difference
between them. The prude Arsinoé is bitter and angry in her speech;
the coquette Céliméne jocular and calm; the first, by getting in a
rage, is wholly off her guard, and exposes herself to the most terrible
blows; the second, keeping cool, preserves all her advantages, and makes
the best possible use of them. The reason of it is that the one is of a
certain age, and of uncertain charms, whilst the other is in the flower
of her youth and beauty ; the one is a hypocrite, whose mask has been
snatched off; the other is a rather impudent young woman, whose
faults are obvious.
sc. vi.-vi.I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 323
SCENE VI.
ALCESTE, CELIMENE, ARSINoſſ.
Cél. Alceste, I have to write a few lines, which I cannot
well delay. Please to stay with this lady; she will all the
more easily excuse my rudeness.
SCENE VII.
ALCESTE, ARSINoć.
Ar. You see, I am left by her to entertain you, until my
coach comes round. She could have devised no more
charming treat for me, than such a conversation. Indeed,
people of exceptional merit attract the esteem and love of
every one ; and yours has undoubtedly some secret charm,
which makes me feel interested in all your doings. I could
wish that the Court, with a real regard to your merits, would
do more justice to your deserts. You have reason to com-
plain; and it vexes me to see that day by day nothing is
done for you.
Alc. For me, madam 2 And by what right could I pre-
tend to anything 7 What service have I rendered to the
State Pray, what have I done, so brilliant in itself, to
complain of the Court for doing nothing for me.
Ar. Not everyone whom the State delights to honour,
has rendered signal services; there must be an opportunity
as well as the power; and the abilities which you allow us .
to perceive, ought . . .
Alc. For Heaven's sake, let us have no more of my
abilities, I pray. What would you have the Court to do
It would have enough to do, and have its hands full, to
discover the merits of people. -
Ar. Sterling merit discovers itself. A great deal is made
of yours in certain places; and let me tell you that, not
324 THE MISANTHROPE. * [ACT III.
later than yesterday, you were highly spoken of in two dis-
tinguished circles, by people of very great standing.
Alc. As for that, madam, everyone is praised now-a-
days, and very little discrimination is shown in our times.
Everything is equally endowed with great merit, so that it
is no longer an honour to be lauded. Praises abound,
they throw them at one's head, and even my valet is put
in the gazette.” . .
Ar. As for me, I could wish that, to bring yourself into
greater notice, some place at Court might tempt you. If
you will only give me a hint that you seriously think
about it, a great many engines might be set in motion to
serve you ; and I know some people whom I could em-
ploy for you, and who would manage the matter smoothly
enough.
Alc. And what should I do when I got there, madam ?
My disposition rather prompts me to keep away from it.
Heaven, when ushering me into the world, did not give me a
mind suited for the atmosphere of a Court. I have not the
qualifications necessary for success, nor for making my fortune
there. To be open and candid is my chief talent; I possess
not the art of deceiving people in conversation; and he who
has not the gift of concealing his thoughts, ought not to stay
long in those places. When not at Court, one has not, doubt-
less, that standing, and the advantage of those honourable
titles which it bestows now-a-days; but, on the other hand,
one has not the vexation of playing the silly fool. One has
* The only newspaper then (1666) known was the official Gazette
de France, established by Renaudot in 1631; Denis de Sallo founded,
in 1665, a literary and scientific paper, called le Journal des Savants.
As the news given by the Gazette was very meagre, there arose the
gazettes secrètes, which were rigorously prosecuted, and, if possible,
suppressed, and the authors, if got hold of, publicly flagellated and
imprisoned.—Compare Byron's line in Don Juan, “And even my
servant’s put in the Gazette.” -
SC. VII.] THE MISANTHROPE. 3.25
not to bear a thousand galling rebuffs; one is not, as it were,
forced to praise the verses of mister so-and-so, to laud
madam such-and-such, and to put up with the whims of
some ingenuous marquis.”
Ar. Since you wish it, let us drop the subject of the
Court: but I cannot help grieving for your amours; and, to
tell you my opinions candidly on that head, I could heartily
wish your affections better bestowed. You certainly deserve
a much happier fate, and she who has fascinated you is
unworthy of you.
Alc. But in saying so, madam, remember, I pray, that
this lady is your friend.
Ar. True. But really my conscience revolts at the
thought of suffering any longer the wrong that is done to
you. The position in which I see you afflicts my very soul,
and I caution you that your affections are betrayed,
Alc. This is certainly showing me a deal of good feeling,
madam, and such information is very welcome to a lover.
Ar. Yes, for all Célimène is my friend, I do not hesi-
tate to call her unworthy of possessing the heart of a man
of honour; and hers only pretends to respond to yours.
Alc. That is very possible, madam, one cannot look
into the heart; but your charitable feelings might well
have refrained from awakening such a suspicion in mine.
Ar. Nothing is easier than to say no more about it, if
you do not wish to be undeceived.
Alc. Just so. But whatever may be openly said on this
subject is not half so annoying as hints thrown out ;
and I for one would prefer to be plainly told that only
which could be clearly proved.
* This is, I believe, the only direct attack Molière ever made against
the Court, and by so doing, he ran the risk of offending Louis XIV.
Part of this outbreak may be found in Juvenal, and also in one of
Boileau's satires. *
326 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT IV.
Ar. Very well and that is sufficient; I can fully en-
lighten you upon this subject. I will have you believe
nothing but what your own eyes see. Only have the kind-
ness to escort me as far as my house; and I will give you
undeniable proof of the faithlessness of your fair one's
heart; * and if, after that, you can find charms in anyone
else, we will perhaps find you some consolation.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
ELLANTE, PHILINTE.
Phil. No, never have I seen so obstinate a mind,
nor a reconciliation more difficult to effect. In vain was
Alceste tried on all sides; he would still maintain his
opinion; and never, I believe, has a more curious dispute
engaged the attention of those gentlemen. “No, gentle-
men,” exclaimed he, “I will not retract, and I shall agree
with you on every point, except on this one. At what is
Oronte offended ? and with what does he reproach me?
Does it reflect upon his honour that he cannot write
well ? What is my opinion to him, which he has alto-
gether wrongly construed ? One may be a perfect gentle-
man, and write bad verses; those things have nothing to do
with honour. I take him to be a gallant man in every
Way; a man of standing, of merit, and courage, any-
thing you like, but he is a wretched author. I shall
praise, if you wish, his mode of living, his lavishness, his
skill in riding, in fencing, in dancing; but as to praising his
verses, I am his humble servant ; and if one has not the
*The original has a bad play on words, or rather on the antithesis of
thought, as shown in the sentence: je vous ferai voir une preuve fidèle,
de l'inſidélite du coeur de votre belle. This was quite in the taste of the
times, though happily no longer so. - -
SC. I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 327
gift of composing better, one ought to leave off rhyming
altogether, unless condemned to it on forfeit of one's life.”
In short, all the modification they could with difficulty
obtain from him, was to say, in what he thought a much
gentler tone—“I am sorry, Sir, to be so difficult to please ;
and out of regard for you, I could wish, with all my heart,
to have found your sonnet a little better.” And they com-
pelled them to settle this dispute quickly with an embrace.
El. He is very eccentric in his doings; but I must
confess that I think a great deal of him; and the candour
upon which he prides himself has something noble and
heroic in it. It is a rare virtue now-a-days, and I, for one,
should not be sorry to meet with it everywhere.
Phil. As for me, the more I see of him, the more I am
amazed at that passion to which his whole heart is given
up. I cannot conceive how, with a disposition like his, he
has taken it into his head to love at all ; and still less can I
understand how your cousin happens to be the person to
whom his feelings are inclined. -
El. That shows that love is not always produced by
compatibility of temper; and in this case, all the pretty
theories of gentle sympathies are belied.” ſe
Phil. But do you think him beloved in return, to judge
from what we see ?
* See page 314, note 27. This passage reminds me of a nearly similar
one in the ninth satire of Boileau, in which he says of Chapelain—
Let aye his honesty and his fair name be praised;
His candour and civility be highly valued ;
Let him be gentle, pliant, upright, o'er-polite ;
Amen, I say to this, not one word will I utter.
But when they say his writings are the very best,
When he's the amplest paid of all the wits in town,
When they declare him king of all the author's tribe,
Then I’m quite in a rage, anxious to scribble too.
* The word “Sympathy” was then used to express in an elegant
manner, the feeling of love.
*
328 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT Iv.
El. That is a point not easily decided. How can we
judge whether it be true she loves 2 Her own heart is not
so very sure of what it feels. It sometimes loves, without
being quite aware of it, and at other times thinks it does,
without the least grounds.
Phil. I think that our friend will have more trouble with
this cousin of yours than he imagines; and to tell you the
truth, if he were of my mind, he would bestow his affections
elsewhere; and by a better choice, we should see him, madam,
profit by the kind feelings which your heart evinces for him.
El. As for me, I do not mince matters, and I think that
in such cases we ought to act with sincerity. I do not
run counter to his tender feelings; on the contrary, I feel
interested in them ; and, if it depended only on me, I would
unite him to the object of his love. But if, as it may happen
in love affairs, his affections should receive a check, and if
Célimène should respond to the love of any one else, I could
easily be prevailed upon to listen to his addresses, and I
should have no repugnance whatever to them on account of
their rebuff elsewhere. -
Phil. Nor do I, from my side, oppose myself, madam,
to the tender feelings which you entertain for him ; and he
himself, if he wished, could inform you what I have taken
care to say to him on that score. But if, by the union of
those two, you should be prevented from accepting his
attentions, all mine would endeavour to gain that great
favour which your kind feelings offer to him; only too
happy, madam, to have them transferred to myself, if his
heart could not respond to yours.
El. You are in the humour to jest, Philinte.
Phil. Not so, madam, I am speaking my inmost feelings.
I only await the opportune, moment to offer myself openly,
and am wishing most anxiously to hurry its advent.
SC. II.] THE MISANTHEOPE. 329
SCENE II.
ALCESTE, ELLANTE, PHILINTE.
Alc. Ah, madam I obtain me justice for an offence which
triumphs over all my constancy.
El. What ails you? What disturbs you ?
Alc. This much ails me, that it is death to me to think
of it; and the upheaving of all creation would less over-
whelm me than this accident. It is all over with me . . .
My love . . . I cannot speak.
El. Just endeavour to be composed.
Alc. Oh, just Heaven must so many charms be allied
to the most odious vices of the most perfidious hearts 2
El. But, once more, what can have .
Alc. Alas! All is ruined I am | I am betrayed 1 I am
stricken to death ! Célimène . . . would you credit it !
Célimène deceives me, and is faithless.”
El. Have you just grounds for believing so
Phil. Perhaps it is a suspicion, rashly conceived ; and
your jealous temper often harbours fancies . . .
Alc. Ah 'Sdeath, please to mind your own business,
sir. [To Eliante] Her treachery is but too certain, for I
have in my pocket a letter in her own handwriting. Yes,
madam, a letter, intended for Oronte, has placed before my
eyes my disgrace and her shame; Oronte, whose addresses
I believed she avoided, and whom, of all my rivals, I feared
the least. &
Phil. A letter may deceive by appearances, and is some-
times not so culpable as may be thought.
Alc. Once more, sir, leave me alone, if you please, and
trouble yourself only about your own concerns.
* The words from “What ails you” till “faithless,” are, with some
slight alterations, taken from Don Garcia of Navarre, Act iv., Scene 7,
Vol. I., p. 362.
330 THE MISANTHEOPE. [ACT IV.
El. You should moderate your passion; and the in-
sult . . .
Alc. You must be left to do that, madam ; it is to you
that my heart has recourse to-day to free itself from this
goading pain. Avenge me on an ungrateful and perfidious
relative who basely deceives such constant tenderness.
Avenge me for an act that ought to fill you with horror.
El. I avenge you ? How %
Alc. By accepting my heart. Take it, madam, instead
of the false one; it is in this way that I can avenge myself
upon her; and I shall punish her by the sincere attachment,
and the profound love, the respectful cares, the eager devo-
tions, the ceaseless attentions which this heart will henceforth
offer up at your shrine.
El. I certainly sympathize with you in your sufferings,
and do not despise your proffered heart; but the wrong
done may not be so great as you think, and you might wish
to forego this desire for revenge. When the injury proceeds
from a beloved object, we form many designs which we never
execute ; we may find as powerful a reason as we like to
break off the connection, the guilty charmer is soon again
innocent ; all the harm we wish her quickly vanishes, and
we know what a lover's anger means.
Alc. No, no, madam, no. The offence is too cruel;
there will be no relenting, and I have done with her.
Nothing shall change the resolution I have taken, and I
should hate myself for ever loving her again. Here she
comes. My anger increases at her approach. I shall taunt
her with her black guilt, completely put her to the blush,
and, after that, bring you a heart wholly freed from her
deceitful attractions.
SC. III.] THE MISANTHEOPE. 331
SCENE III.
CéLIMENE, AICESTE.
Alc. [Aside] Grant, Heaven, that I may control my
temper.
Cél. [Aside] Ah! [To Alceste] What is all this trouble
that I see you in, and what mean those long-drawn sighs,
and those black looks which you cast at me?
Alc. That all the wickedness of which a heart is capable
is not to be compared to your perfidy; that neither fate,
hell, nor Heaven in its wrath, ever produced anything so
wicked as you are.”
Cél. These are certainly pretty compliments, which I
admire very much.
Alc. Do not jest. This is no time for laughing. Blush
rather, you have cause to do so; and I have undeniable
proofs of your treachery. This is what the agitations of my
mind prognosticated ; it was not without cause that my love
took alarm ; by these frequent suspicions, which were hate-
ful to you, I was trying to discover the misfortune which my
eyes have beheld; and in spite of all your care and your skill
in dissembling, my star foretold me what I had to fear. But
do not imagine that I will bear unavenged this slight of being
insulted. I know that we have no command over our in-
clinations, that love will everywhere spring up spontaneously.
that there is no entering a heart by force, and that every soul
is free to name its conqueror: I should thus have no reason to
complain if you had spoken to me without dissembling, and
rejected my advances from the very beginning; my heart would
then have been justified in blaming fortune alone. But to
see my love encouraged by a deceitful avowal on your part,
is an action so treacherous and perfidious, that it cannot meet
* These words, from “That all” till “you are,” are also in Don Garcia
of Navarre, Act iv., Scene 8, Vol. I., p. 363.
332 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT Iv.
with too great a punishment; and I can allow my resentment
to do anything. Yes, yes; after such an outrage, fear every-
thing; I am no longer myself, I am mad with rage.” My
senses, struck by the deadly blow with which you kill me, are
no longer governed by reason; I give way to the outbursts of a
just wrath, and am no longer responsible for what I may do.
Cél. Whence comes, I pray, such a passion ? Speak |
Have you lost your senses 7
Alc. Yes, yes, I lost them when, to my misfortune, I
beheld you, and thus took the poison which kills me, and
when I thought to meet with some sincerity in those
treacherous charms that bewitched me.
Cél. Of what treachery have you to complain Ż
Alc. Ah how double-faced she is how well she knows
how to dissemble ! But I am fully prepared with the means
of driving her to extremities. Cast your eyes here, and
recognise your writing. This picked-up note is sufficient to
confound you, and such proof cannot easily be refuted.
Cel. And this is the cause of your perturbation of spirits 2
Alc. You do not blush on beholding this writing !
Cél. And why should I blush
Alc. What You add boldness to craft 1 Will you dis-
own this note because it bears no name 2
Cél. Why should I disown it, since I wrote it.”
Alc. And you can look at it without becoming confused
at the crime of which its style accuses you !
Cél. You are, in truth, a very eccentric man.
Alc. What you thus out-brave this convincing proof
* The whole of Alceste's speech, from “Blush rather” until “mad
with rage,” is, with some slight alterations, taken from Don Garcia of
Mavarre, Act iv., Scene 8, Vol. I., p. 363.
* The words “Whence comes I pray” until “since I wrote it,” are,
with some slight alterations, taken from Don Garcia of Navarre, Act. ii.,
Scene 5, Vol. I., p. 342.
SC. III.] THE MISANTHROPE. 333
And the contents so full of tenderness for Oronte need have
nothing in them to outrage me, or to shame you ? .
Cél. Oronte Who told you that this letter is for him
Alc. The people who put it into my hands this day.
But I will even suppose that it is for some one else. Has
my heart any less cause to complain of yours ? Will you, .
in fact, be less guilty toward me !
Cél. But if it is a woman to whom this letter is addressed,
how can it hurt you, or what is there culpable in it !
Alc. Hem The prevarication is ingenious, and the
excuse excellent. I must own that I did not expect this
turn ; and nothing but that was wanting to convince me.
Do you dare to have recourse to such palpable tricks 2 Do
you think people entirely destitute of common sense ? Come,
let us see a little by what subterfuge, with what air, you will
support so palpable a falsehood; and how you can apply
to a woman every word of this note which evinces so much
tenderness 2 Reconcile, if you can, to hide your deceit,
what I am about to read . . .
Cél. It does not suit me to do so. I think it ridiculous
that you should take so much upon yourself, and tell me to
my face what you have the daring to say to me !
Alc. No, no, without flying into a rage, take a little
trouble to explain these terms.
Cél. No, I shall do nothing of the kind, and it matters
very little to me what you think upon the stbject.
Alc. I pray you, show me, and I shall be satisfied, if
this letter can be explained as meant for a woman.
Cél. Not at all. It is for Oronte; and I will have you
believe it. I accept all his attentions gladly; I admire
what he says, I like him, and I shall agree to whatever you
please. Do as you like, and act as you think proper; let
nothing hinder you, and do not harass me any longer.
Alc. [Aside] Heavens ! can anything more cruel be
334 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT Iv.
conceived, and was ever heart treated like mine ! What
I am justly angry with her, I come to complain, and I am
quarrelled with instead My grief and my suspicions are
excited to the utmost, I am allowed to believe everything,
she boasts of everything; and yet, my heart is still suffi-
ciently mean not to be able to break the bonds that hold
it fast, and not to arm itself with a generous contempt for
the ungrateful object of which it is too much enamoured.
[To Céliméne] Perfidious woman, you know well how to take
advantage against myself of my great weakness, and to em-
ploy for your own purpose that excessive, astonishing, and
fatal love which your treacherous looks have inspired 1*
Defend yourself at least from a crime that overwhelms even
me, and cease that affectation of being culpable against me.
Show me, if you can, the innocence of this note ; my affec-
tion will even consent to assist you. At any rate, endeavour
to appear faithful, and I shall strive to believe you such.
Cél. Bah, you are mad with your jealous frenzies, and
do not deserve the love which I have for you. I should
much like to know what could compel me to stoop for you
to the baseness of dissembling ; and why, if my heart were
disposed towards another, I should not say so candidly.
What I does the kind assurance of my sentiments towards
you not defend me sufficiently against all your suspicions 7.
Ought they to possess any weight at all with such a
guarantee Is it not insulting me even to listen to them
And since it is with the utmost difficulty that we can re-
solve to confess our love, since the strict honour of our sex,
hostile to our passion, strongly opposes such a confession,
ought a lover who sees such an obstacle overcome for his
sake, doubt with impunity our avowal 2 And is he not
* The phrase “Perfidious woman” until “inspired” is, with few
alterations, to be found in Don Garcia of Navarre, Act iv., Scene 8,
Vol. I., page 366.
SC. III.] THE MISANTHROPE. 335
greatly to blame in not assuring himself of the truth of
that which is never said but after a severe struggle with
oneself ; * Begone, such suspicions deserve my anger, and
you are not worthy of being cared for. I am silly, and am
vexed at my own simplicity in still preserving the least
kindness for you. I ought to place my affections else-
where, and give you a just cause for complaint.
Alc. Ah you traitress mine is a strange infatuation
for you ; those tender expressions are, no doubt, meant only
to deceive me. But it matters little, I must submit to
my fate; my very soul is wrapt up in you ; I will see to
the bitter end how your heart will act towards me, and
whether it will be black enough to deceive me.
Cél. No, you do not love me as you ought to love.
Alc. Indeed . Nothing is to be compared to my exceed-
ing love ; and, in its eagerness to show itself to the whole
world, it goes even so far as to form wishes against you.
Yes, I could wish that no one thought you handsome, that
you were reduced to a miserable existence; that Heaven, at
your birth, had bestowed upon you nothing ; that you had no
rank, no nobility, no wealth, so that I might openly proffer
my heart, and thus make amends to you for the injustice
of such a lot; and that, this very day, I might have the joy
and the glory of seeing you owe everything to my love.”
Cél. This is wishing me well in a strange way !”
41 The words “And since it is” until “with one's self” are found, with
some slight alterations, in Don Garcia of Navarre, Act iii., Scene 1,
Vol. I., page 349. -
* The words “so that” until “love” are, with some alterations, found
also in Don Garcia of Navarre, Act i., Scene 3, Vol. I., page 331.
* It has been said that Molière has reproduced an incident of his
own life, when his wife, out of despair that her love for the Count of
Guiche was not returned, threw herself into the arms of the Duke of
Lauzun, and that the liaison was betrayed to Molière by the Abbé de
Richelieu ; that when Molière reproached his wife with her conduct,
she answered that she was guilty only of thoughtlessness, and begged
336 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT Iv.
Heaven grant that you may never have occasion . . . But
here comes Monsieur Dubois curiously decked out.
SCENE TV.
CáLIMENE, ALCESTE, DUBOIS.
Alc. What means this strange attire, and that frightened
look 7 What ails you ?
Dw. Sir . . . .
Alc. Well ?
Dw. The most mysterious event.
Alc. What is it 2
Dw. Our affairs are turning out badly, sir.
Alc. What ?
Du. Shall I speak out 2
Alc. Yes, do, and quickly.
Dw. Is there no one there ?
Alc. Curse your trifling ! Will you speak 2
Dw. Sir, we must beat a retreat. º
Alc. What do you mean :
Du. We must steal away from this quietly.
Alc. And why Ž
Du. I tell you that we must leave this place.
Alc. The reason ?
Du. You must go, sir, without staying to take leave.
Alc. But what is the meaning of this strain
Du. The meaning is, sir, that you must make yourself
SCarC62.
Alc. I shall knock you on the head to a certainty, booby,
if you do not explain yourself more clearly.
his pardon; that he forgave her; that for some time they lived happily
together; but that, on her return to Paris, she broke out again. For
all these and similar stories, there is no other foundation than the well-
known pamphlet, La Fameuse comédienne. (See Introductory Notice
to The Impromptu of Versailles, Vol. II., page 291. See also Note 85,
page 33.)
Sc. iv.] THE MISANTHROPE. 337
Dw. A fellow, sir, with a black dress, and as black a
look, got as far as the kitchen to leave a paper with us,
scribbled over in such a fashion that old Nick himself
could not have read it. It is about your law-suit, I
make no doubt; but the very devil, I believe, could not
make head nor tail of it.
Alc. Well ! what then : What has the paper to do with
the going away of which you speak, you scoundrel.
Dw. I must tell you, sir, that, about an hour afterwards,
a gentleman who often calls, came to ask for you quite
eagerly, and not finding you at home, quietly told me, know-
ing how attached I am to you, to let you know . . . Stop
a moment, what the deuce is his name 2
Alc. Never mind his name, you scoundrel, and tell me
what he told you. e
Dw. He is one of your friends, in short, that is sufficient.
He told me that for your very life you must get away from
this, and that you are threatened with arrest.
Alc. But how ! has he not specified anything 2
Dw. No. He asked me for ink and paper, and has sent
you a line from which you can, I think, fathom the mystery !
Alc. Hand it over then.
Cél. What can all this mean :
Alc. I do not know ; but I am anxious to be informed.
Have you almost done, devil take you !
Du. [After having fumbled for some time for the note]
After all, sir, I have left it on your table.
Alc. I do not know what keeps me from . . .
Cel. Do not put yourself in a passion, but go and unravel
this perplexing business.
Alc. It seems that fate, whatever I may do, has sworn to
prevent my having a conversation with you. But, to get
the better of her, allow me to see you again, madam, before
the end of the day.
III. Y
338 THE MISANTHEOPE. [ACT v.
ACT V. SCENE I.
ALCESTE, PHILINTE.
Alc. I tell you, my mind is made up about it.
Phil. But, whatever this blow may be, does it compel
you . . .
Alc. You may talk and argue till doomsday if you like,
nothing can divert me from what I have said. The age
we live in is too perverse, and I am determined to with-
draw altogether from intercourse with the world. What
when honour, probity, decency, and the laws, are all against
my adversary; when the equity of my claim is everywhere
cried up ; when my mind is at rest as to the justice of my
cause, I meanwhile see myself betrayed by its issue ! What!
I have got justice on my side, and I lose my case ! A
wretch, whose scandalous history is well known, comes off
triumphant by the blackest falsehood All good faith
yields to his treachery He finds the means of being in
the right, whilst cutting my throat . The weight of his
dissimulation, so full of cunning, overthrows the right
and turns the scales of justice He obtains even a decree
of court to crown his villany. And, not content with
the wrong he is doing me, there is abroad in society an
abominable book, of which the very reading is to be con-
demned, a book that deserves the utmost severity, and of
which the scoundrel has the impudence to proclaim me the
author.” Upon this, Oronte is observed to mutter, and tries
wickedly to support the imposture | He, who holds an
honourable position at Court, to whom I have done nothing
except having been sincere and candid, who came to ask me,
44 According to Grimarest, there was at that time secretly in circula-
tion “a terrible book,” published under Molière's name. Of course it
was said that his opponents, very angry at the Tartuffe, were the
authors of it : hence the allusion.
SC. I.] THE MISANTHROPE. 339
in spite of myself, for my opinion of some of his verses; and
because I treat him honestly, and will not betray either him
or truth, he assists in overwhelming me with a trumped-up
crime. Behold him now my greatest enemy And I shall
never obtain his sincere forgiveness, because I did not think
that his sonnet was good | Sdeath ! to think that mankind
is made thus ! The thirst for fame induces them to do such
things . This is the good faith, the virtuous zeal, the justice
and the honour to be found amongst them | Let us begone,
it is too much to endure the vexations they are devising ;
let us get out of this wood, this cut-throat hole; and since
men behave towards each other like real wolves, wretches,
you shall never see me again as long as I live.
Phil. I think you are acting somewhat hastily; and the
harm done is not so great as you would make it out.
Whatever your adversary dares to impute to you has not
had the effect of causing you to be arrested. We see his
false reports defeating themselves, and this action is likely
to hurt him much more than you.
Alc. Him 2 he does not mind the scandal of such tricks
as these. He has a licence to be an arrant knave; and this
event, far from damaging his position, will obtain him a still
better standing to-morrow.
Phil. In short, it is certain that little notice has been
taken of the report which his malice spread against you;”
from that side you have already nothing to fear; and
as for your law-suit, of which you certainly have reason to
complain, it is easy for you to bring the trial on afresh,
and against this decision . . .
Alc. No, I shall leave it as it is. Whatever cruel wrong
this verdict may inflict, I shall take particular care not to have
* These words of Philinte may perhaps vaguely refer to the accusa-
tion brought by Montfleury against Molière in 1663 (See Prefatory
Memoir, Vol. I., page xxviii.).
340 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT v.
it set aside. We see too plainly how right is maltreated
in it, and I wish it to go down to posterity as a signal
proof, as a notorious testimony of the wickedness of the men
of our age. It may indeed cost me twenty thousand francs,
but at the cost of twenty thousand francs I shall have the
right of railing against the iniquity of human nature, and
of nourishing an undying hatred of it.
Phil. But after all . . .
Alc. But after all, your pains are thrown away. What
can you, sir, say upon this head 2 Would you have the
assurance to wish, to my face, to excuse the villany of all
that is happening 3
Phil. No, I agree with you in all that you say. Every-
thing goes by intrigue, and by pure influence. It is only
trickery which carries the day in our time, and men ought
to act differently. But is their want of equity a reason for
wishing to withdraw from their society ? All human failings
give us, in life, the means of exercising our philosophy. It
is the best employment for virtue; and if probity reigned
everywhere, if all hearts were candid, just, and tractable,
most of our virtues would be useless to us, inasmuch as their
functions are to bear, without annoyance, the injustice of
others in our good cause ; and just in the same way as a
heart full of virtue . . .
Alc. I know that you are a most fluent speaker, sir;
that you always abound in fine arguments; but you are
wasting your time, and all your fine speeches. Reason
tells me to retire, for my own good. I cannot command
my tongue sufficiently ; I cannot answer for what I
might say, and should very probably get myself into a
hundred scrapes. Allow me, without any more words, to
wait for Célimène. She must consent to the plan that
brings me here. I shall see whether her heart has any
love for me; and this very hour will prove it to me.
sc II.] THE MISANTHEOPE. 341
Phil. Let us go upstairs to Éliante, and wait her
coming.
Alc. No, my mind is too harassed. You go and see
her, and leave me in this little dark corner with my black
Care.
Phil. That is strange company to leave you in ; I will
induce Éliante to come down.
SCENE II.
CÉLIMENE, ORONTE, ALCESTE.
Oron. Yes, madam, it remains for you to consider
whether, by ties so dear, you will make me wholly yours.
I must be absolutely certain of your affection: a lover
dislikes to be held in suspense upon such a subject.
If the ardour of my affection has been able to move your
feelings, you ought not to hesitate to let me see it ; and the
proof, after all, which I ask of you, is not to allow Alceste
to wait upon you any longer; to sacrifice him to my love,
and, in short, to banish him from your house this very day.
Cél. But why are you so incensed against him ; you,
whom I have so often heard speak of his merits 2
Oron. There is no need, madam, of these explanations;
the question is, what are your feelings 2 Please to choose
between the one or the other; my resolution depends en-
tirely upon yours.
Alc. [Coming out of his corner] Yes, this gentleman
is right, madam, you must make a choice ; and his request
agrees perfectly with mine. I am equally eager, and the
same anxiety brings me here. My love requires a sure
proof. Things cannot go on any longer in this way, and
the moment has arrived for explaining your feelings.
Oron. I have no wish, sir, in any way to disturb, by
an untimely affection, your good fortune.
3.42 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT v.
Alc. And I have no wish, sir, jealous or not jealous, to
share aught in her heart with you.
Oron. If she prefers your affection to mine . . .
Alc. If she has the slightest inclination towards you . . .
Oron. I swear henceforth not to pretend to it again.
Alc. I peremptorily swear never to see her again.
Oron. Madam, it remains with you now to speak openly.
Alc. Madam, you can explain yourself fearlessly.
Oron. You have simply to tell us where your feelings
are engaged.
Alc. You may simply finish the matter, by choosing
between us two.
Oron. What you seem to be at a loss to make such a
choice.
Alc. What your heart still wavers, and appears un-
certain
Cél. Good Heavens, how out of place is this persist-
ence, and how very unreasonable you both show yourselves |
It is not that I do not know whom to prefer, nor is it my
heart that wavers. It is not at all in doubt between you
two ; and nothing could be more quickly accomplished than
the choice of my affections. But to tell the truth, I feel
too confused to pronounce such an avowal before you; I
think that disobliging words ought not to be spoken in
people's presence; that a heart can give sufficient proof
of its attachment without going so far as to break with
every one ; and gentler intimations suffice to inform a lover
of the ill success of his suit.
Oron. No, no, I do not fear a frank avowal; for my part
I consent to it.
Alc. And I demand it ; it is just its very publicity that
I claim, and I do not wish you to spare my feelings in the
least. Your great study has always been to keep friends with
every one ; but no more trifling, no more uncertainty. You
SC. III.] THE MISANTHROPE. 343
must explain yourself clearly, or I shall take your refusal as
a verdict ; I shall know, for my part, how to interpret your
silence, and shall consider it as a confirmation of the worst.
Oron. I owe you many thanks, sir, for this wrath, and
I say in every respect as you do.
Cél. How you weary me with such a whim | Is there
any justice in what you ask 2 And have I not told you
what motive prevents me ! I will be judged by Éliante,
who is just coming.
SCENE III.
ELIANTE, PHILINTE, CKLIMENE, ORONTE, ALCESTE.
Cel. Good cousin, I am being persecuted here by people
who have concerted to do so. They both demand, with
the same warmth, that I should declare whom my heart has
chosen, and that, by a decision which I must give before
their very faces, I should forbid one of them to tease me any
more with his attentions. Say, has ever such a thing been
done 2
El. Pray, do not consult me upon such a matter. You
may perhaps address yourself to a wrong person, for I am .
decidedly for people who speak their mind.
Oron. Madam, it is useless for you to decline.
Alc. All your evasions here will be badly supported.
Oron. You must speak, you must, and no longer waver.
Alc. You need do no more than remain silent.
Orom. I desire but one word to end our discussions.
Alc. To me your silence will convey as much as
speech.
344 THE MISANTHEOPE. [ACT v.
SCENE IV.
ARSINoé, CéLIMENE, ELIANTE, ALCESTE, PHILINTE,
ACASTE, CLITANDRE, ORONTE.
Ac. [To Céliméne] We have both come, by your
leave, madam, to clear up a certain little matter with you.
Cl. [To Oronte and Alcestel Your presence happens
fortunately, gentlemen; for this affair concerns you also.
Ars. [To Céliméne] No doubt you are surprised at see-
ing me here, madam ; but these gentlemen are the cause of
my intrusion. They both came to see me, and complained
of a proceeding which I could not have credited. I have
too high an opinion of your kindness of heart ever to believe
you capable of such a crime ; my eyes even have refused to
give credence to their strongest proofs, and in my friendship,
forgetting trivial disagreements, I have been induced to
accompany them here, to hear you refute this slander.
Ac. Yes, madam, let us see, with composure, how you
will manage to bear this out. This letter has been written
by you, to Clitandre. -
Cl. And this tender epistle you have addressed to
Acaste. -
Ac. [To Oronte and Alceste. This writing is not
altogether unknown to you, gentlemen, and I have no
doubt that her kindness has before now made you familiar
with her hand. But this is well worth the trouble of
reading.” *
“You are a strange man to condemn my liveliness of
spirits, and to reproach me that I am never so merry as
when I am not with you. Nothing could be more wrijust ;
and if you do not come very soon to ask my pardom for this
offence, I shall never forgive yow as long as I live. Our
* Acaste reads the letter written to Clitandre ; and Clitandre, the one
written to Acaste.
SC. IV.] THE MISANTHROPE. 345
great hulking booby of a Viscownt.” 47 . . . He ought to
have been here. “Our great hulking booby of a Vis-
cownt, with whom you begin your complaints, is a mam,
who would not at all Swit me ; and ever since I watched
him for full three-quarters of an howr spitting in a well
to make circles in the water, I never could have a good
opinion of him. As for the little Marquis . . .” that is
myself, ladies and gentlemen, be it said without the slightest
vanity, . . . “As for the little Marquis, who held my
hand yesterday for a long while, I think that there is
mothing so diminutive as his whole person, and his
sole merit, consists in his cloak and Sword. As to the
man with the green shoulder knot* . . .” [To Alceste)
It is your turn now, Sir. “As to the man with the
green showlder knot, he amºuses me sometimes with his
bluntness and his splemetic behaviour; but there are
hundreds of times when I think him the greatest bore in
the world. Respecting the man with the big waistcoat”. . .”
[To Oromtel This is your share. “Respecting the man with
the big waistcoat, who has thought fit to set up as a wit, and
wishes to be an awthor in spite of every one, I cannot even
take the trouble to listem to what he says; and his prose
bores me just as much as his poetry. Take it them for
granted that I do not always enjoy myself so much as you
* It has been said that the “great hulking booby of a Viscount” was
intended for the Count de Guiche, and that Madame, the wife of Louis
|XIV.'s brother, whose Chevalier he was, wished the description
to be omitted, but that the King told Molière to leave it in. All this
appears to be mere gossip, unsupported by anything.
* On page 283, note 2, we find that Molière, on playing the part of
Alceste, wore a dress “ornamented with green ribands;” hence the
allusion to “the green shoulder knot.”
* Oronte wore a big waistcoat (veste) to distinguish himself from the
other personages. But afterwards everyone wore such a waistcoat; and
La Grange and Vinot, the editors of the first collected edition of
Molière's works, finding that this no longer distinguished Oronte,
called him l’homme aw sonnet, the sonnetteer.
346 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT V.
think ; and that I wish for you, more than I care to say,
amongst all the entertainments to which I am dragged ;
and that the presence of those we love is an eacellent relish
to own pleasures.”
Cl. Now for myself. e
“Your Clitandre, whom you mention to me, and who
has always such a quantity of soft eacpressions at his com-
mand, is the last man for whom I could feel any affection.
He must be crazed in persuading himself that I love him;
and you are so too im, believing that I do not love you.
Yow had better change your fancies for his, and come and
See me as often as you can, to help me in bearing the an-
noyance of being pestered by him.” This shows the model
of a lovely character, madam; and I need not tell you what
to call it. It is enough. We shall, both of us, show this
admirable sketch of your heart everywhere and to everybody.
Ac. I might also say something, and the subject is
tempting; but I deem you beneath my anger; and I will
show you that little marquises can find worthier hearts
than yours to console themselves.
SCENE V.
CÉLIMENE, ELIANTE, ARSINoć, ALCESTE, ORONTE,
PHILINTE.
Oron. What I Am I to be pulled to pieces in this fashion,
after all that you have written to me! And does your heart,
with all its semblance of love, plight its faith to all man-
kind by turns ! Bah, I have been too great a dupe, but I
shall be so no longer. You have done me a service, in
showing yourself in your true colours to me. I am the
richer by a heart which you thus restore to me, and find my
revenge in your loss. [To Alceste] Sir, I shall no longer be
an obstacle to your flame, and you may settle matters with
this lady as soon as you please.
SC. VI.-VII.] THE MISANTHROPE. 347
SCENE VI.
CÉLIMENE, ELIANTE, ARSINoé, ALCESTE, PHILINTE.
Ars. [To Céliméne] This is certainly one of the basest
actions which I have ever seen; I can no longer be silent,
and feel quite upset. Has any one ever seen the like of
it 3 I do not concern myself much in the affairs of other
people, but this gentleman, [pointing to Alcestel, who has
staked the whole of his happiness on you, an honourable and
deserving man like this, and who worshipped you to mad-
ness, ought he to have been . . .
Al. Leave me, I pray you, madam, to manage my own
affairs; and do not trouble yourself unnecessarily. In vain
do I see you espouse my quarrel. I am unable to repay
you for this great zeal ; and if ever I intended to avenge
myself by choosing some one else, it would not be you whom
I would select.
Ars. And do you imagine, sir, that I ever harboured
such a thought, and that I am so very anxious to secure
you ? You must be very vain, indeed, to flatter yourself
with such an idea. Célimène's leavings are a commodity
of which no one needs be so very much enamoured. Pray,
undeceive yourself, and do not carry matters with so high a
hand. People like me are not for such as you. You will
do much better to remain dangling after her skirts, and I
long to see so beautiful a match.
ASCENE VII.
CÉLIMENE, ELIANTE, ALCESTE, PHILINTE.
Al. [To Céliméne] Well ! I have held my tongue, not-
withstanding all I have seen, and I have let everyone have
348 THE MISANTHEROPE, [ACT v.
his say before me. Have I controlled myself long enough
and will you now allow me . . .
Cél. Yes, you may say what you like ; you are justified
when you complain, and you may reproach me with anything
you please. I confess that I am in the wrong; and overwhelmed
by confusion I do not seek by any idle excuse to palliate my
fault. The anger of the others I have despised; but I admit
my guilt towards you. No doubt, your resentment is just ; I
know how culpable I must appear to you, that every thing
speaks of my treachery to you, and that, in short, you have
cause to hate me. Do so, I consent to it.
Alc. But can I do so, you traitress 2 Can I thus get the
better of all my tenderness for you ? And although I wish
to hate you with all my soul, shall I find a heart quite ready
to obey me? [To Eliante and Philinte] You see what
an unworthy passion can do, and I call you both as witnesses
of my infatuation. Nor, truth to say, is this all, and you
will see me carry it out to the bitter end, to show you
that it is wrong to call us wise, and that in all hearts there
remains still something of the man. [To Célimène] Yes, per-
fidious creature, I am willing to forget your crimes. I can
find, in my own heart, an excuse for all your doings, and hide
them under the name of a weakness into which the vices
of the age betrayed your youth, provided your heart will
second the design which I have formed of avoiding all human
creatures, and that you are determined to follow me without
delay into the solitude in which I have made a vow to pass
my days. It is by that only, that, in every one's opinion,
you can repair the harm done by your letters, and that, after
the scandal which every noble heart must abhor, it may
still be possible for me to love you.
Cel. What 1 I renounce the world before I grow old,
and bury myself in your wilderness | -
Alc. If your affection responds to mine what need the
SC. VIII.] THE MISANTHROPE. 349
rest of the world signify to you ? Am I not sufficient for
you ? &
Cel. Solitude is frightful to a widow of twenty.” I do not
feel my mind sufficiently grand and strong to resolve to
adopt such a plan. If the gift of my hand can satisfy
your wishes, I might be induced to tie such bonds; and
marriage . .
Alc. No. My heart loathes you now, and this refusal
alone effects more than all the rest. As you are not dis-
posed, in those sweet ties, to find all in all in me, as I would
find all in all in you, begone, I refuse your offer, and this
much-felt outrage frees me for ever from your unworthy toils.
SCENE VIII.
ÉLIANTE, ALCESTE, PHILINTE.
Alc. [To Eliamtel Madam, your beauty is adorned by
a hundred virtues; and I never saw anything in you but
what was sincere. For a long while I thought very highly
of you ; but allow me to esteem you thus for ever, and
suffer my heart in its various troubles not to offer itself for
the honour of your acceptance. I feel too unworthy, and
begin to perceive that Heaven did not intend me for the
marriage bond; that the homage of only the remainder of a
heart unworthy of you, would be below your merit, and that
in short . . . * s
El. You may pursue this thought. I am not at all
embarrassed with my hand; and here is your friend, who,
without giving me much trouble, might possibly accept it, if
I asked him.
* It would be against all the traditions of the French stage to let a
respectable unmarried young lady be visited by gentlemen; hence
Alceste says (Act i., Scene 1, page 292) that “Célimène is a young
widow.” Arsinoé also would not have given vent to her insinuations
(page 321) if this had not been the case. -
350 THE MISANTHROPE. [ACT v.
Phil. Ah Madam, I ask for nothing better than that
honour, and I could sacrifice my life and soul for it.
Alc. May you, to taste true contentment, preserve for
ever these feelings towards each other Deceived on all
sides, overwhelmed with injustice, I will fly from an abyss
where vice is triumphant, and seek out some small secluded
nook on earth, where one may enjoy the freedom of being
an honest man. -
Phil. Come, madam, let us leave nothing untried to
deter him from the design on which his heart is set.
APPENDIX.
A, Page 285.
Wycherley, in The Plain Dealer (Act i., Scene 1), has imitated
Molière's corresponding scene and act of The Misanthrope; Philinte is
called Freeman and Alceste Manly.
Freeman. Faith, I am sorry you would let the fop go, I intended to
have had some sport with him.
Manly. Sport with him then, why did you not stay? You should
have enjoyed your coxcomb, and have had him to your self for me.
Free. No, I should not have cared for him without you neither; for
the pleasure which fops afford is like that of drinking, only good when
'tis shared ; and a fool, like a bottle, which would make you merry in
company, will make you dull alone. But how the devil could you turn
a man of his quality down stairs? You use a lord with very little
ceremony, it seems.
Man. A lord ' What, thou art one of those who esteem men only by
the marks and value fortune has set upon 'em, and never consider
intrinsic worth ! but counterfeit honour will not be current with me :
I weigh the man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the
metal better or heavier. Your lord is a leaden shilling, which you bend
every way, and debases the stamp he bears, instead of being raised by
it.—Here again, you slaves | . . .
Free. But what will you see nobody? not your friends?
Man. Friends !—I have but one friend, and he, I hear, is not in
town ; nay, can have but one friend, for a true heart admits of one
friendship, as of one love. But in having that friend, I have a thousand,
for he has the courage of men in despair, yet the diffidency and caution
of cowards; the secrecy of the revengeful, and the constancy of martyrs;
one fit to advise, to keep a secret, to fight and die for his friend. Such
I think him ; for I have trusted him with my mistress in my absence;
and the trust of beauty is sure the greatest we can show.
Free. Well, but all your good thoughts are not for him alone, I hope?
Pray what d'ye think of me for a friend?
Man. Of thee why, thou art a latitudinarian in friendship, that is,
no friend; thou dost side with all mankind, but wilt suffer for none.
Thou art indeed like your Lord Plausible, the pink of courtesy, there-
352 THE MISANTHROPE.
fore hast no friendship : for ceremony and great professing renders
friendship as much suspected as it does religion.
Free. And no professing, no ceremony at all in friendship, were as
unnatural and as indecent as in religion : and there is hardly such a
thing as an honest hypocrite, who professes himself to be worse than
he is, unless it be yourself; for though I could never get you to say you
were my friend, I know you’ll prove so.
Man. I must confess, I am so much your friend, I would not deceive
you ; therefore must tell you, not only because my heart is taken up,
but according to your rules of friendship, I cannot be your friend.
Free. Why, pray !
Man. Because he that is, you’ll say, a true friend to a man, is a friend
to all his friends. But you must pardon me, I cannot wish well to pimps,
flatterers, detractors, and cowards, stiff-nodding knaves, and supple,
pliant, kissing fools. Now, all these I have seen you use like the
dearest friends in the world.
Free. Ha 1 ha 1 ha l—What, you observed me, I warrant, in the
galleries of Whitehall, doing the business of the place? Pshaw Court
professions, like court-promises, go for nothing, man. But, faith, could
you think I was a friend to all those I hugged, flattered, and bowed to ?
Ha 1 ha
Man. You told 'em so, and swore it too; I heard you.
Free. Ay, but when their backs were turned, did not I tell you they
were rogues, villains, rascals, whom I despised and hated
Man. Very fine ! But what reason had I to believe you spoke your
heart to me, since you professed deceiving so many ?
Free. Why, don't you know, good captain, that telling truth is a
quality as prejudicial to a man that would thrive in the world, as square
play to a cheat, or true love to a whore? You are severer than the
law, which requires no man to swear against himself. You would
have me speak truth against myself, I warrant, and tell my promising
friend the courtier he has a bad memory.
Man. Yes.
Free. And so make him remember to forget my business? And I
should tell the great lawyer too, that he takes oftener fees to hold his
tongue than to speak.
Man. No doubt on’t.
Free. Ay, and have him hang or ruin me, when he should come to
be a judge, and I before him And you would have me tell the new
officer, who bought his employment lately, that he is a coward.
Man... Ay.
Free. And so get myself cashiered, not him, he having the better
friends, though I the better sword ' And I should tell the scribbler of
honour, that heraldry were a prettier and finer study for so fine a gentle-
man than poetry?
Man. Certainly.
THE MISANTHROPE. 353
Free. And so find myself mauled in his next hissed lampoon? And
you would have me tell the holy lady, too, she lies with her chaplain 7
Man. No doubt on’t.
Free. And so draw the clergy upon my back, and want a good table
to dine at sometimes? And by the same reason to, I should tell you
that the world thinks you a madman, a brutal, and have you cut my
throat, or worse, hate me. What other good success of all my plain-
dealing could I have, than what I’ve mentioned?
Man. Why, first, your promising courtier would keep his word out of
fear of more reproaches, or at least would give you no more vain hopes;
your lawyer would serve you more faithfully; for he, having no
honour but his interest, is truest still to him he knows suspects him; the
new officer would provoke thee to make him a coward, and so be
cashiered, that thou, or some other honest fellow, who had more courage
than money, might get his place the noble sonneteer would trouble
thee no more with his madrigals: the praying lady would leave off rail-
ing at wenching before thee, and not turn away her chambermaid for
her own frailty with thee: and I, instead of hating thee, would love
thee for thy plain-dealing; and in lieu of being mortified, am proud
that the world and I think not well of one another.
Free. Well, doctors differ. You are for plain-dealing, I find ; but
against your particular notions, I have the practice of the whole world.
Observe but any morning what people do when they get together on
the Exchange, in Westminster Hall, or the galleries in Whitehall.
Man. I must confess, there they seem to rehearse Bayes's grand
dance. Here you see a bishop bowing low to a gaudy atheist ; a judge
to a door-keeper; a great lord to a fishmonger, or Scrivener with a
jack-chain about his neck: a lawyer to a sergeant-at-arms; a velvet
physician to a threadbare chemist; and a supple gentleman-usher to a
surly beefeater? and so tread round in a preposterous huddle of
ceremony to each other, whilst they can hardly hold their solemn false
countenances.
Fre. Well, they understand the world.
Man. Which I do not, I confess.
Free. But, sir, pray believe the friendship I promise you real,
whatsoever I have professed to others: try me, at least.
Man. Why, what would you do for me !
Free. I would fight for you.
Man. That you would do for your own honour.—But what else?
Free. I would lend you money, if I had it.
Man. To borrow more of me another time. That were putting your
money to interest; a usurer would be as good a friend. But what
other piece of friendship?
Free. I would speak well of you to your enemies.
Man. To encourage others to be your friends, by a show of gratitude.
—But what else?
1Il. Z
354 THE MISANTHROPE.
Free. Nay, I would not hear you ill spoken of behind your back by
my friend.
Man. Nay, then, thou’rt a friend, indeed.—But it were unreasonable
to expect it from thee, as the world goes now, when new friends, like
new mistresses, are got by disparaging old ones.
B, Page 286.
This Scene from the Misanthrope (Act i., Scene I), is thus freely
followed by Shadwell, in his Sullen Lovers. Lovel represents Philinte,
and Stanford, Alceste.
Lovel. What in a fit again, Stanford? now art
Thou as moody as a Poet after his play is damn'd.
Stanford. Oh Lovel,
I am tormented so beyond my patience
I am resolv’d to quit the World, and find
Some Uninhabited place far from converse,
Where I may live as free as Nature made me.
Lov. Why this is downright Madness,
Prethee send for a Chirurgeon and open a Veine,
Try what that will do; for thou wilt be as
IRipe for Bedlam else as a Fanatick.
Stanf. What would you have me do?
Where ere I turn me I am baited still
By some importunate Foole's that use me Worse
Then Boyes do Cocks upon Shrove-Tuesday;
This makes my life so tedious and unpleasant,
That rather then endure it longer I’le find out
Some place in the West-Indies, where I may
See a Man no oftner then a Blazing-Star.
Lov. Why thou wilt come to be bound in thy bed, Stanford :
Thank Heav'n I find nothing makes me weary of
My life, thou art scandalous; Why dost thou
Abuse this age so? methinks, it's as pretty an Honest
Drinking-Whoring Age as a man wou’d wish to
Live in.
Stanf. Sure, Lovel, thou wer’t born without a Gaule,
Or bear'st thy anger like a Useless thing,
• That can'st indure to live among such Fooles,
As we are every Day Condemn'd to see.
THE MISANTHEOPE. 355
C, Page 291.
Part of Act i., Scene 1, of Molière, has been imitated by Wycherley
in The Plain Dealer (Act i., last Scene).
Ite-enter MANLY and FREEMAN.
Free. But pray what strange charms has she that could make you
love 7
Aſan. Strange charms indeed 1 she has beauty enough to call in
question her wit or virtue, and her form would make a starved hermit
a ravisher ; yet her virtue and conduct would preserve her from the
subtle lust of a pampered prelate. She is so perfect a beauty, that art
could not better it, nor affectation deform it. Yet all this is nothing.
Her tongue as well as her face ne'er knew artifice; nor ever did her
words or look contradict her heart. She is all truth, and hates the
lying, masking, daubing world, as I do: for which I love her, and for
which I think she dislikes not me. For she has often shut out of her
conversation for mine, the gaudy fluttering parrots of the town, apes
and echoes of men only, and refused their common-place pert chat,
flattery and submissions, to be entertained with my sullen bluntness,
and honest love : and, last of all, swore to me, since her parents would
not suffer her to go with me, she would stay behind for no other man; but
follow me without their leave, if not to be obtained. Which oath
Free. Did you think she would keep
Man. Yes; for she is not (I tell you) like other women, but can keep
her promise, though she has sworn to keep it. But, that she might the
better keep it, I left her the value of five or six thousand pounds: for
women's wants are generally the most importunate solicitors to love or
marriage.
Free. And money summons lovers more than beauty, and augments
but their importunity, and their number; so makes it the harder for a
woman to deny 'em. For my part, I am for the French maxim —If
3/ou would have your female subjects loyal, keep 'em poor. But, in
short, that your mistress may not marry, you have given her a portion.
Man. She had given me her heart first, and I am satisfied with the
security ; I can never doubt her truth and constancy.
Free. It seems you do, since you are fain to bribe it with money.
But how come you to be so diffident of the man that says he loves you,
and not doubt the woman that says it?
Man. I should, I confess, doubt the love of any other woman but
her, as I do the friendship of any other man but him I have trusted;
but I have such proofs of her faith as cannot deceive me.
Free. Cannot
Man. Not but I know that generally no man can be a great enemy
but under the name of friend; and if you are a cuckold, it is your friend
only that makes you so, for your enemy is not admitted to your house -
3.56 THE MISANTHROPE.
if you are cheated in your fortune, ’tis your friend that does it, for your
enemy is not made your trustee : if your honour or good name be
injured, 'tis your friend that does it still, because your enemy is not
believed against you. Therefore, I rather choose to go where honest
downright barbarity is professed, where men devour one another like
generous hungry lions and tigers, not like crocodiles; where they think
the devil white, of our complexion ; and I am already so far an Indian.
But if your weak faith doubts this miracle of a woman, come along with
me, and believe; and thou wilt find her so handsome, that thou, who
art so much my friend, wilt have a mind to lie with her, and so wilt not
fail to discover what her faith and thine is to me.
When we’re in love, the great adversity,
Our friends and mistresses at once we try. [Evewnt.
D, Page 304.
Wycherley has borrowed from The Misanthrope (Act ii., Scene 5) the
following scene of the Plain Dealer (Act ii., Scene 1). Olivia and
Eliza represent Célimène and Eliante ; Novel and Lord Plausible
Acaste and Clitandre.
Movel. Madam, I beg your pardon ; perhaps you were busy: I did
not think you had company with you.
Eliza. Yet he comes to me, cousin [Aside to Olivia.
Oliv. Chairs there. [They sit.
Nov. Well; but, madam, d'ye know whence I come now?
Oliv. From some melancholy place, I warrant, sir, since they have
lost your good company.
F. So I
Mov. From a place where they have treated me at dinner with so
much civility and kindness . . . that I could hardly get away to you,
dear madam.
Oliv. You have a way with you so new and obliging, sir!
El. You hate flattery, cousin [Apart to Olivia.
Nov. Nay, faith, madam, d'ye think my way new Then you are
obliging, madam. I must confess I hate imitation, to do anything like
other people. All that know me do me the honour to say I am an
original, faith. But, as I was saying, madam, I have been treated to-
day with all the ceremony and kindness imaginable at my lady Autumn's.
But, the nauseous old woman at the upper end of the table
Oliv. Revives the old Grecian custom, of serving in a death's head
with their banquets.
Nov. Ha! haſ fine, just, i'faith, nay and new. "Tis like eating
with the ghost in The Libertine: * she would frighten a man from her
dinner with her hollow invitation, and spoil one's stomach—
•l See the ghost's dinner in The Libertime, a play by Thos. Shadwell.
THE MISANTHEOPE. 357
Oliv. To meat or women. I detest her hollow cherry cheeks: she
looks like an old coach new painted ; affecting an unseemly smugness,
whilst she is ready to drop in pieces.
E!. You hate detraction, I see, cousin. [Apart to Olivia.
Mov. But the silly old fury, whilst she affects to look like a woman
of this age, talks
Oliv. Like One of the last ; and as passionately as an old courtier
who has outlived his office.
Mov. Yes, madam ; but pray let me give you her character. Then
she never counts her age by the years, but—
Oliv. By the masques she has lived to see.
Mov. Nay then, madam, I see you think a little harmless railing too
great a pleasure for any but yourself; therefore I’ve done.
Oliv. Nay, faith, you shall tell me who you had there at dinner.
. Nov. If you would hear me, madam.
Oliv. Most patiently; speak, sir.
Mov. Then, we had her daughter
Oliv. Ay, her daughter; the very disgrace to good clothes, which
she always wears but to heighten her deformity, not mend it : for she is
still most splendidly, gallantly ugly, and looks like an ill piece of daubing
in a rich frame.
Nov. So But have you done with her, madam? and can you spare
her to me a little now
Oliv. Ay, ay, sir.
Mov. Then, she is like—
Oliv. She is, you’d say, like a city bride; the greater fortune, but
not the greater beauty for her dress.
Mov. Well: yet have you done, madam? Then she
Oliv. Then she bestows as unfortunately on her face all the graces
in fashion as the languishing eye, the hanging or pouting lip. But as
the fool is never more provoking than when he aims at wit, the ill-
favoured of our sex are never more nauseous than when they would be
beauties, adding to their natural deformity the artificial ugliness of
affectation.
F. So, cousin, I find one may have a collection of all one's
acquaintances' pictures as well at your house as at Mr Lely's. Only the
difference is, there we find 'em much handsomer than they are, and
like; here much uglier, and like : and you are the first of the profession
of picture-drawing I ever knew without flattery.
Oliv. I draw after the life; do nobody wrong, cousin.
AZ. No ; you hate flattery and detraction.
Oliv. But, Mr Novel, who had you besides at dinner?
Mov. Nay, the devil take me if I tell you, unless you will allow me
the privilege of railing in my turn. But, now I think on 't, the women
ought to be your province, as the men are mine : and you must know
we had him whom
358 THE MISANTHROPE.
Oliv. Him, whom—
Mov. . What invading me already? and giving the character before
you know the man?
EZ. No, that is not fair, though it be usual.
Oliv. I beg your pardon, Mr Novel; pray go on.
Mov. Then, I say, we had that familiar coxcomb who is at home
wheresoe'er he comes.
Oliv. Ay, that fool
Mov. Nay then, madam, your servant; I’m gone. Taking the fool
out of one's mouth is worse than taking the bread out of one's mouth.
Olºv. I’ve done; your pardon, Mr Novel; pray proceed.
Mov. I say, the rogue, that he may be the only wit in company, will
let nobody else talk, and
Oliv. Ay, those fops who love to talk all themselves are of all things
my aversions. *;
Mov. Then you'll let me speak, madam, sure. The rogue, I say,
will force his jest upon you; and I hate a jest that's forced upon a man
as much as a glass.
EZ. Why, I hope, sir, he does not expect a man of your temper-
ance in jesting should do him reason
Mov. What interruption from this side too? I must then
[Offers to rise. Olivia holds him.
Oliv. No, sir— You must know, cousin, that fop he means,
though he talks only to be commended, will not give you leave to do ’t.
Mov. But, madam—
Oliv. He a wit ! Hang him ; he’s only an adopter of straggling
jests and fatherless lampoons; by the credit of which he eats at good
tables, and so, like the barren beggar-woman, lives by borrowed
children.
Nov. Madam—
Oliv. And never was author of anything but his news: but that is
still all his own.
Mov. Madam, pray
Oliv. An eternal babbler; and makes no more use of his ears, than
a man that sits at a play by his mistress, or in Fop-corner. He's, in
fine, a base distracting fellow, and is my aversion. But who else,
prithee Mr Novel, was there with you? Nay, you shan’t stir.
Mov. I beg your pardon, madam ; I cannot stay in any place where
I’m not allowed a little Christian liberty of railing.
Oliv. Nay, prithee Mr Novel, stay: and though you should rail at
me, I would hear you with patience. Prithee, who else was there with you?
Nov. Your servant, madam.
Oliv. Nay, prithee tell us, Mr Novel, prithee do.
Nov. We had nobody else.
Oliv. Nay, faith, I know you had. Come, my lord Plausible was
there too, who is, cousin, a
THE MISANTHROPE. 359
F. You need not tell what he is, cousin; for I know him to be a
civil, good-natured, harmless gentleman, that speaks well of all the
world, and is always in good humour; and
Oliv. Hold, cousin, hold ; I hate detraction. But I must tell you,
cousin, his civility is cowardice, his good-nature want of wit; and he
has neither courage nor sense to rail : and for his being always in
humour, 'tis because he is never dissatisfied with himself. In fine, he is
my aversion; and I never admit his visits beyond my hall.
Mov. No, he visit you ! Damn him, cringing grinning rogue 1 if
I should see him coming up to you, I would make bold to kick him
down again, Ha
Enter my LORD PLAUSIBLE.
My dear lord, your most humble servant. [Rises and salutes PLAUSIBLE,
and kisses him.
El. So, I find kissing and railing succeed each other with the
angry men as well as with the angry women; and their quarrels are
like love-quarrels, since absence is the only cause of them; for as soon
as the man appears again, they are over. [Aside.
Plaus. Your most faithful humble servant, generous Mr Novel.
And, madam, I am your eternal slave, and kiss your fair hands; which
I had done sooner, according to your commands, but,
Oliv. No excuses, my lord.
El. What, you sent for him then, cousin! [Apart to Olivia.
Mov. Ha invited
Oliv. I know you must divide yourself: for your good company is
too general a good to be engrossed by any particular friend.
Plaus. O lord, madam, my company 1 Your most obliged, faithful,
humble servant. But I could have brought you good company indeed;
for I parted at your door with two of the worthiest bravest men—
Oliv. Who were they, my lord?
Nov. Who do you call the worthiest bravest men, pray ?
Plaus. O, the wisest bravest gentlemen I men of such honour and
virtue ! of such good qualities l ah
El. This is a coxcomb that speaks ill of all people a different way,
and libels everybody with dull praise, and commonly in the wrong
place; so makes his panegyrics abusive lampoons. [Aside.
Oliv. But pray let me know who they were.
Plaus. Ah such patterns of heroic virtue ! such
Nov. Well; but who the devil were they 7
Plaus. The honour of our nation the glory of our age Ah, I
could dwell a twelvemonth on their praise ; which indeed I might spare
by telling their names; Sir John Current and Sir Richard Court-Title.
Mov. Court-Title 1 ha hal
Oliv. And Sir John Current Why will you keep such a wretch
company, my lord?
360 THE MISANTHROPE.
Płaus. O madam, seriously you are a little too severe; for he is a man
of unquestioned reputation in everything.
Oliv. Yes, because he endeavours only with the women to pass for
a man of courage, and with the bullies for a wit; with the wits for a
man of business, and with the men of business for a favourite at court ;
and at court for city-security.
Mov. And for Sir Richard, he—
Plaus. He loves your choice picked company, persons that—
Oliv. He loves a lord indeed ; but
Mov. Pray, dear madam, let me have but a bold stroke or two at
his picture. He loves a lord, as you say, though
Oliv. Though he borrowed his money, and ne'er paid him again.
Nov. And would bespeak a place three days before at the back-end
of a lord's coach to Hyde-park.
Plaus. Nay, i'faith, you are both too severe.
Oliv. Then to show yet more his passion for quality, he makes love
to that fulsome coach-load of honour, my lady Goodly, for he's always
at her lodging.
Plaus. Because it is the conventicle-gallant, the meeting-house of all
the fair ladies, and glorious superfine beauties of the town.
Nov. Very fine ladies 1 there's first—
Oliv. Her honour, as fat as a hostess.
Plaus. She is something plump indeed, a goodly, comely, graceful
person.
Nov. Then there's my lady Frances—what d'ye call her? as
ugly e
Oliv. As a citizen's lawfully begotten daughter.
Plaus. She has wit in abundance, and the handsomest heel, elbow,
and tip of an ear, you ever saw.
Mov. Heel and elbow ! haſ haſ And there's my lady Betty, you
know
Oliv. As sluttish and slatternly as an Irish woman bred in France.
Plaus. Ah! all she has hangs with a loose air, indeed, and becoming
negligence.
EZ. You see all faults with lover's eyes, I find, my lord.
Plaus. Ah, madam, your most obliged, faithful, humble servant to
command l But you can say nothing sure against the superfine
mistress
Oliv. I know who you mean, she is as censorious and detracting a
jade as a superannuated sinner.
Plaws. She has a smart way of raillery, 'tis confessed.
Nov. And then for Mrs Grideline
Plaws. She, I’m sure, is
Oliv. One that never spoke ill of anybody, 'tis confessed. For she
is as silent in conversation as a country lover, and no better company
than a clock, or a weather-glass; for if she sounds, 'tis but once an hour
THE MISANTHROPE. 361
to put you in mind of the time of day, or to tell you't will be cold or
hot, rain or snow.
Plaus. Ah, poor creature She's extremely good and modest.
Nov. And for Mrs Bridlechin, she's
Oliv. As proud as a churchman's wife.
Plaus. She's a woman of great spirit and honour, and will not make
herself cheap, 'tis true.
Nov. Then Mrs Hoyden, that calls all people by their surnames and
is
Oliv. As familiar as a duck
Nov. As an actress in the tiring-room. There I was once before-
hand with you, Madam.
Plaus. Mrs Hoyden | a poor, affable, good-natured soul. But the
divine Mrs Trifle comes thither too. Sure her beauty, virtue, and con-
duct you can say nothing to.
Olºv. No ||
Nov. No 1–Pray let me speak, madam.
Oliv. Can any one be called beautiful that squints?
Plaus. Her eyes languish a little, I own.
Nov. Languish ha haſ
E, Page 308.
Congreve, in Love for Love (Act i., Scenes 9-15) has partly imitated
Molière's Misanthrope (Act ii., Scene 5), though the characters are not
literally the same. We give the scenes here for the sake of comparison.
Enter JEREMY.
Jeremy. More misfortunes, Sir.
Valentine. What, another dun?
Jer. No, Sir ; but Mr Tattle is come to wait upon you.
Val. Well, I cannot help it—you must bring him up ; he knows I
don’t go abroad. [Eacit Jer.
Scandal. . . . . I’ll be gone.
Val. No, pr’ythee stay : Tattle and you should never be asunder; you -
are light and shadow, and show one another. He is perfectly thy re-
verse both in humour and understanding; and, as you set up for
defamation, he is a mender of reputations.
Scan. A mender of reputations ! ay, just as he is a keeper of secrets,
another virtue that he sets up for in the same manner. For the rogue
will speak aloud in the posture of a whisper; and deny a woman's name,
while he gives you the marks of her person. He will forswear receiving
a letter from her, and at the same time shew you her hand in the super-
scription: and yet, perhaps he has counterfeited the hand too, and sworn
to a truth; but he hopes not to be believed ; and refuses the reputation
of a lady's favour, as a doctor says no to a bishoprick, only that it may
362 THE MISANTHROPE.
be granted him.—In short, he is a public professor of secrecy, and makes
proclamation that he holds private intelligence. He is here.
Enter TATTLE.
Tattle. Valentine, good morrow : Scandal, I am yours—that is, when
you speak well of me.
Scan. That is, when I am yours; for, while I am my own, or any
body's else, that will never happen.
Tot. How inhuman
Val. Why, Tattle, you need not be much concerned at anything that
he says; for to converse with Scandal, is to play at Losing Loadum ;
you must lose a good name to him, before you can win it for yourself.
Tat. But how barbarous that is, and how unfortunate for him, that
the world should think the better of any person for his calumniation 1–
I thank Heaven, it has always been a part of my character to handle the
reputations of others very tenderly indeed.
Scan. Ay, such rotten reputations as you have to deal with are to be
handled tenderly indeed. -
Tat. Nay, but why rotten? why should you say rotten, when you
know not the persons of whom you speak? how cruel that is.
Scan. Not know them : Why, thou never hadst to do with anybody
that did not stink to all the town.
Tat. Ha, ha, ha! nay, now you make a jest of it indeed. For there is
nothing more known, than that nobody knows any thing of that nature
of me. As I hope to be saved, Valentine, I never exposed a woman,
since I knew what woman was.
Val. And yet you have conversed with several?
Tat. To be free with you I have—I don't care if I own that—nay,
more (I’m going to say a bold word now), I never could meddle with a
woman that had to do with any body else.
Scam. How
Val. Nay, faith, I’m apt to believe him—except her husband, Tattle.
Tat. Oh that—
Scan. What think you of that noble commoner, Mrs Drab?
Tat. Pooh I know Madam Drab has made her brags in three or four
places, that I said this and that, and writ to her, and did I know not
what—but, upon my reputation, she did me wrong.—Well, well,that was
malice :-but I know the bottom of it. She was bribed to that by one
we all know ;-a man too—only to bring me into disgrace with a
certain woman of quality—
Scan. Whom we all know.
Tat. No matter for that—Yes, yes, everybody knows—no doubt on't,
every body knows my secrets —But I soon satisfied the lady of my
innocence; for I told her—Madam, says I, there are some persons who
make it their business to tell stories, and say this and that of one and
the other, and every thing in the world; and, says I, if your grace—
THE MISANTHROPE. 363
Af
Scan. Grace
Tat. O Lord ' what have I said?—My unlucky tongue !
Val. Ha, ha, ha!
Scan. Why, Tattle, thou hast more impudence than one can in reason
expect: I shall have an esteem for thee—well, and, ha, ha, ha! well, go
on, and what did you say to her grace?
Val. I confess this is something extraordinary.
Tat. Not a word, as I hope to be saved; an arrant lapsus linguæ 1–
Come, let us talk of something else.
Val. Well, but how did you acquit yourself?
Tat. Pooh, pooh, nothing at all, I only rallied with you.-A woman
of ordinary rank was a little jealous of me, and I told her something or
other—faith, I know not what, Come, let's talk of something else.
[Hums a song.
Scan. Hang him, let him alone; he has a mind we should enquire.
Tat. Valentine, I supped last night with your mistress, and her uncle
old Foresight: I think your father lies at Foresight's.
Val. Yes.
Tat. Upon my soul, Angelica's a fine woman—and so is Mrs Fore-
sight, and her sister Mrs Frail.
Scan. Yes, Mrs Frail is a very fine woman; we all know her.
Tat. Oh that is not fair.
AScan. What?
Tat. To tell. .
Scan. To tell what Why, what do you know of Mrs Frail?
Tat. Who, I? Upon honour I don’t know whether she be a man or
woman, but by the smoothness of her chin, and roundness of her hips.
Scan. No ||
Tat. No.
Scan. She says otherwise.
Tat. Impossible.
Scan. Yes, faith. Ask Valentine else. -
Tat. Why then, as I hope to be saved, I believe a woman only obliges
a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.
Scan. No doubt on ’t. Well, but has she done you wrong, or
no? . . . -
Tat. Though I have more honour than to tell first, I have more
manners than to contradict what a lady has declared.
Scan. Well, you own it !
Tat. I am strangely surprised | Yes, yes | I cannot deny it, if she
taxes me with it.
Scan. She'll be here by-and-by ; she sees Valentine every morning.
Tat. How ! : -
Val. She does me the favour, I mean, of a visit sometimes. I did
not think she had granted more to any body.
Scan. Nor I, faith. But Tattle does not use to belie a lady; it is
364 THE MISANTHROPE.
contrary to his character. How one may be deceived in a woman,
Valentine ! - -
Tat. Nay, what do you mean, gentlemen?
Scan. I’m resolved I'll ask her.
Tat... O barbarians ! Why, did you not tell me—
Scam. No, you told us. -
Tat. And bid me ask Valentine !
Val. What did I say? I hope you won't bring me to confess an
answer, when you never asked me the question
Tai. But, gentlemen, this is the most inhuman proceeding
Val. Nay. If you have known Scandal thus long, and cannot avoid
such a palpable decoy as this was, the ladies have a fine time, whose
reputations are in your keeping.
Enter JEREMY.
Jer. Sir, Mrs Frail has sent to know if you are stirring.
Val. Show her up when she comes. [Eacit Jer.
Tat. I’ll be gone.
Wal. You’ll meet her.
Tat. Is there not a back way ?
Val. If there were, you have more discretion than to give Scandal
such an advantage; why your running away will prove all that he can
tell her.
Tat. Scandal, you will not be so ungenerous—O, I shall lose my
reputation of secrecy for ever.—I shall never be received but upon
public days; and my visits will never be admitted beyond a drawing-
room ; I shall never . . . be locked in a closet, nor run behind a
screen, or under a table ; never be distinguished among the waiting-
women by the name of trusty Mr Tattle more.—You will not be so
cruel '!
Val. Scandal, have pity on him; he’ll yield to any conditions.
Tat. Any, any terms.
Scan. Come then, sacrifice half a dozen women of good reputation to
me presently.—Come, where are you familiar –And see that they are
women of quality too, the first quality.
Tat. 'Tis very hard.—Won't a baronet's lady pass?
Scan. No, nothing under a right honourable.
Tat. O inhuman! You don’t expect their names?
Scan. No, their titles shall serve.
Tat. Alas, that is the same thing. Pray spare me their titles; I'll
describe their persons.
Scan. Well, begin then. But take notice, if you are so ill a painter
that I cannot know the person by your picture of her, you must be con-
demned, like other bad painters, to write the name at the bottom.
Tat. Well, first then
THE MISANTHROPE. 365
Fnter MRS FRAIL.
Ounfortunate 1 she's come already. Will you have patience till another
time 2—I’ll double the number.
Scan. Well, on that condition.—Take heed you don’t fail me.
Mrs F. I shall get a fine reputation by coming to see fellows in a
morning! Scandal, you devil, are you here too? Oh, Mr Tattle, every
thing is safe with you, we know.
Scan. Tattle !
Tat. Mum—O Madam, you do me too much honour.
Val. Well, Lady Galloper, how does Angelica?
Mrs F. Angelica Manners
Val. What, you will allow an absent lover
Mrs F. No, I'll allow a lover present with his mistress to be
particular—but otherwise I think his passion ought to give place to his
manners?
Val. But what if he has more passion than manners?
Mrs F. Then let him marry, and reform.
Val. Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion; but it
very rarely mends a man's manners.
Mrs F. You are the most mistaken in the world : there is no creature
perfectly civil, but a husband : for in a little time he grows only rude to
his wife; and that is the highest good breeding, for it begets his civility
to other people. Well, I'll tell you news; but, I suppose, you heard
your brother Benjamin is landed. And my brother Foresight's daughter
is come out of the country—I assure you there's a match talked of by
the old people—Well, if he be but as great a sea-beast, as she is a land-
monster, we shall have a most amphibious breed, the progeny will be
all otters: he has been bred at Sea, and she has never been out of the
country.
Val. . . . Their conjunction bodes me no good, I’m sure.
Mrs F. Now you talk of conjunction, my brother Foresight has cast
both their nativities, and prognosticates an admiral and an eminent
justice of the peace to be the issue male of their two bodies. 'Tis the ,
most superstitious old fool! He would have persuaded me that this
was an unlucky day, and would not let me come abroad: but I invented
a dream, and sent him to Artemidorus for interpretation, and so stole
out to see you. Well, and what will you give me now Come, I
must have something.
Val. Step into the next room, and I’ll give you something.
Scan. Ay, we’ll all give you something.
Mrs F. Well, what will you all give me?
|Val. Mine’s a secret.
Mrs F. I thought you would give me something that would be a
trouble to you to keep.
Val. And Scandal shall give you a good name.
366 THE MISANTHROPE.
Mrs F. That's more than he has for himself. And what will you
give me, Mr Tattle
Tat. I My soul, madam.
Mrs F. Pooh, no, I thank you, I have enough to do to take care of
my own. Well; but I’ll come and see you one of these mornings: I
hear you have a great many pictures.
Tat. I have a pretty good collection, at your service ; some
originals.
Scan. Hang him, he has nothing but the Seasons and the Twelve
Caesars, paltry copies; and the Five Senses as ill represented as they are
in himself; and he himself is the only original you will see there.
Mrs F. Ay, but I hear he has a closet of beauties.
Scan. Yes, all that have done him favours, if you will believe him.
Mrs F. Ay, let me see those, Mr. Tattle.
Tat. Oh, madam, those are sacred to love and contemplation. No
man but the painter and myself was ever blest with the sight.
Mrs F. Well, but a woman—
Tat. Nor woman, till she consented to have her picture there too;-
..for then she is obliged to keep the secret.
Scan. No, no come to me if you'd see pictures.
Mrs F. You ?
Scan. Yes, faith, I can shew you your own picture, and most of
your acquaintance, to the life, and as like as at Kneller's.
Mrs F. O lying creature —Valentine, does not he lie —I can’t be-
lieve a word he says.
Val. No, indeed, he speaks truth now ; for, as Tattle has pictures
of all that have granted him favours, he has the pictures of all that
have refused him ; if satires, descriptions, characters, and lampoons, are
pictures.
Scan. Yes, mine are most in black and white—and yet there are
some set out in their true colours, both men and women. I can shew
you pride, folly, affectation, wantonness, inconstancy, covetousness, dis-
simulation, malice, and ignorance, all in one piece. Then I can shew you
lying, foppery, vanity, cowardice, bragging, lechery, impotence, and
ugliness, in another piece; and yet one of these is a celebrated beauty,
and tº other a professed beau. I have paintings too, some pleasant
enough.
Mrs F. Come, let's hear them.
Scan. Why, I have a beau in a bagnio, cupping for a complexion,
and sweating for a shape.
Mrs F. So.
Scan. Then I have a lady burning brandy in a cellar with a hackney-
coachman.
Mrs F. O devil | Well, but that story is not true.
Scan. I have some hieroglyphics too. I have a lawyer with a hun-
dred hands, two heads, and but one face ; a divine, with two faces, and
THE MISANTHROPE. 367
one head ; and I have a soldier, with his brains in his belly, and his
heart where his head should be.
Mrs F. And no head'
Scan. No head.
Mrs F. Pooh, this is all invention. Have you never a poet?
Scan. Yes, I have a poet, weighing words, and selling praise for
praise : and a critic picking his pocket. I have another large piece too,
representing a school ; where there are huge proportioned critics, with
long wigs, laced coats, Steinkirk cravats, and terrible faces; with cat-
calls in their hands, and horn-books about their necks. I have many
more of this kind, very well painted, as you shall see
Mrs F. Well, I'll come, if it be but to disprove you.
Enter JEREMY.
Jer, Sir, here's the steward again from your father.
Val. I’ll come to him—Will you give me leave 7 I’ll wait on you
again presently.
Mrs F. No, I'll be gone. Come, who squires me to the Exchange? I
must call on my sister Foresight there.
Scan. I will : I have a mind to your sister.
Mrs F. Civil |
Tat. I will; because I have a tendre for your ladyship.
Mrs F. That's somewhat the better reason, to my opinion.
Scan. Well, if Tattle entertains you, I have the better opportunity to
engage your sister.
Val. Tell Angelica, I am about making hard conditions, to come
abroad, and be at liberty to see her.
Scan. I’ll give an account of you and your proceedings. If indis-
cretion be a sign of love, you are the most of a lover of any body that I
know. You fancy that parting with your estate will help you to your
mistress. In my mind he is a thoughtless adventurer
Who hopes to purchase wealth by selling land;
Or win a mistress with a losing hand. [Evewnt.
F, Page 308.
Congreve, in The Way of the World (Act i., Scene 6), has partly
imitated the fifth scene of the second act of The Misanthrope. Mirabell
and Witwoud appear to stand for Acaste and Célimène.
[To them] WITwoUD.
Wit. Afford me your Compassion, my Dears; pity me, Fainall,
Mirabell, pity me. ºt
Mira. I do from my Soul.
Fain. Why, what's the Matter?
Wit. No Letters for me, Betty?
Bet. Did not a Messenger bring you one but now, Sir?
368 THE MISANTHROPE.
Wit. Ay, but no other?
Bet. No, Sir.
Wit. That's hard, that's very hard ;-A Messenger, a Mule, a Beast
of Burden, he has brought me a Letter from the Fool my Brother, as
heavy as a Panegyrick in a Funeral Sermon, or a Copy of Commendatory
Verses from one Poet to another. And what's worse, ’tis as sure a
Forerunner of the Author, as an Epistle Dedicatory.
Mira. A Fool, and your Brother, Witwoud /
Wit. Ay, Ay, my half Brother. My half Brother he is, no nearer
upon Honour.
Mira. Then 'tis possible he may be but half a Fool.
Wit. Good, good, Mirabell, le Drole / Good, good, hang him, don't
let's talk of him ; Fainall, how does your Lady? Gad, I say any-
thing in the World to get this Fellow out of my Head. I beg Pardon
that I should ask a Man of Pleasure, and the Town, a Question at once
so Foreign and Domestick. But I Talk like an old Maid at a Marriage,
I don't know what I say: But she's the best Woman in the World.
Fain. 'Tis well you don't know what you say, or else your Commen-
dation wou'd go near to make me either Vain or Jealous.
Wit. No Man in Town lives well with a Wife but Fainall. Your
Judgment, Mirabell ?
Mira. You had better step and ask his Wife; if you wou'd be credibly
inform'd.
Wºt. Mºrabell.
Mira. Ay.
Wit. My Dear, I ask Ten Thousand Pardons;–Gad I have forgot
what I was going to say to you.
Mira. I thank you heartily, heartily.
Wit. No, but prithee excuse me, my Memory is such a Memory.
Mira. Have a care of such Apologies, Witwoud; for I never knew
a Fool but he affected to complain, either of the Spleen or his Memory.
Fain. What have you done with Petulant &
Wit. He's reckoning his Money, my Money it was
Luck to Day.
Fain. You may allow him to win of you at Play; for you are
sure to be too hard for him at Repartee: Since you monopolize the
Wit that is between you, the Fortune must be his of Course.
Mira. I don't find that Petulant confesses the Superiority of Wit to
be your Talent, Witwoud.
Wit. Come, come, you are malicious now, and wou'd breed Debates
Petulant's my Friend, and a very honest Fellow and a very pretty
Fellow, and has a smattering—Faith and Troth a pretty deal of an
odd sort of a small Wit; Nay, I’ll do him. Justice. I’m his Friend, I
won't wrong him.—And if he had any Judgment in the World,
he wou'd not be altogether contemptible. Come, come, don’t detract
from the Merits of my Friend.
I have no
THE MISANTHROPE. 369
Fain. You don't take your Friend to be over-nicely bred.
Wit. No, no, hang him, the Rogue has no Manners at all, that I
must own—No more Breeding than a Bum-bailiff, that I grant you,
'Tis pity; the Fellow has Fire and Life.
Mira. What, Courage?
Wit. Hum, faith I don’t know as to that, I can't say as to that.
Yes, faith, in a Controversie he'll contradict any Body.
Mira. Tho’’twere a Man whom he fear'd, or a Woman whom he lov’d.
Wit. Well, well, he does not always think before he speaks;–We
have all our Failings; you are too hard upon him, you are, faith. Let
me excuse him, I can defend most of his faults, except one or two ;
one he has, that's the Truth on’t, if he were my Brother, I cou’d not
acquit him——That indeed I cou’d wish were otherwise.
Mira. Ay marry, what's that, Witwoud &
Wit. O pardon me Expose the Infirmities of my Friend
my Dear, excuse me there.
Fain. What I warrant he's unsincere, or 'tis some such Trifle.
Wit. No, no, what if he be? 'Tis no matter for that, his Wit will
excuse that : A Wit shou’d no more be sincere, than a Woman con-
stant ; one argues a Decay of Parts, as tºother of Beauty.
Mira. May be you think him too positive
Wit. No, no, his being positive is an Incentive to Argument, and
keeps up Conversation.
Fain. Too illiterate. t;
Wit. That ' that's his Happiness—His want of Learning gives
him the more Opportunities to shew his natural Parts.
Mira. He wants Words.
Wit. Ay: but I like him for that now ; for his want of Words gives
me the Pleasure very often to explain his Meaning.
Fain. He's Impudent.
Wit. No, that's not it.
Mira, Wain.
Wºº. No.
Mira. What, he speaks unseasonable Truths sometimes, because he has
not Wit enough to invent an Evasion.
Wit. Truths Ha, ha, ha! No, no, since you will have it, -I
mean, he never speaks Truth at all, That's all. He will lie like a
Chambermaid, or a Woman of Quality's Porter. Now that is a Fault.
No,
G, Page 312.
Wycherley, in The Plain Dealer (Act ii., Scene 1), has imitated as
follows the end of the Fifth Scene of the Second Act of The Misanthrope.
Oliv. Good jealous captain, no more of your
Plaus. No, let him go on, Madam, for perhaps he may make you
laugh : and I would contribute to your pleasure any way.
III. 2 A
37 () THE MISANTHROPE.
Man. Gentle rogue.
Oliv. No, noble captain, you cannot sure think anything could take
me more than that heroic title of yours, captain ; for you know we
Women love honour inordinately.
Nov. Ha! haſ faith, she is with thee, bully, for thy raillery.
Man. Faith, so shall I be with you, no bully, for your grinning.
[Aside to Novel.
Oliv. Then that noble lion-like mien of yours, that soldier-like,
weather-beaten complexion and that manly roughness of your voice ;
how can they otherwise than charm us women, who hate effeminacy 1
Nov. Ha! haſ faith I can’t hold from laughing.
Man. Nor shall I from kicking anon. [Aside to Novel.
Oliv. And then, that captain-like carelessness in your dress, but
especially your scarf; ’twas just such another, only a little higher tied,
made me in love with my tailor as he passed by my window the last
training-day ; for we women adore a martial man, and you have nothing
wanting to make you more one, or more agreeable, but a wooden leg.
Plaus. Nay, i' faith, there your ladyship was a wag, and it was fine,
just and well rallied.
Nov. Ay, ay, madam, with you ladies too, martial men must needs
be very killing.
Man. Peace, you Bartholomew-fair buffoons ! And be not you vain
that these laugh on your side, for they will laugh at their own dull jests;
but no more of 'em, for I will only suffer now this lady to be witty and
merry.
Oliv. You would not have your panegyric interrupted. I go on then
to your humour. Is there anything more agreeable than the pretty
sullenness of that than the greatness of your courage, which most of all
appears in your spirit of contradiction? for you dare give all mankind
the lie ; and your opinion is your only mistress, for you renounce that
too, when it becomes another man's. |
Nov. Ha! ha / I cannot hold, I must laugh at thee, too, faith.
Plaus. And i'faith, dear captain, I beg your pardon, and leave to laugh
at you too, though I protest I mean you no hurt ; but when a lady
rallies, a stander-by must be complaisant, and do her reason in laughing:
ha! hal
Man. Why, you impudent, pitiful wretches, you presume sure upon
your effeminacy to urge me ; for you are in all things so like women,
that you may think it in me a kind of cowardice to beat you.
Oliv. No hectoring, good captain.
Man. Or, perhaps, you think this lady's presence secures you ; but
have a care, she has talked herself out of all the respect I had for her;
and by using me ill before you, has given me a privilege of using you so
before her : but if you would preserve your respect to her, and not be
beaten before her, go, begone immediately.
Nov. Begone ! what?
THE MISANTHROPE. 371
Plaus. Nay, worthy, noble, generous, captain
Man. Begone, I say !
Nov. Begone again to us begone !
Man. No chattering, baboons, instantly begone, or
[Puts them out of the room: Novel struts, Plausible cringes.
Nov. Well, madam, we'll go make the cards ready in your bed-
chamber : sure you will not stay long with him.
[Eaceunt Plausible and Novel.
Oliv, Turn hither your rage, good Captain Swaggerhuff, and be
saucy with your mistress, like a true captain ; but be civil to your
rivals and betters, and do not threaten anything but me here ; no, not
so much as my windows; nor do not think yourself in the lodgings of
one of your suburb mistresses beyond the Tower.
Man. Do not give me cause to think so ; for those less infamous
women part with their lovers, just as you did from me, with unforced
vows of constancy and floods of willing tears; but the same winds bear
away their lovers and their vows: and for their grief, if the credulous
unexpected fools return, they find new comforters, fresh cullies, such
as I found here. The mercenary love of those women too suffers
shipwreck with their gallants' fortunes; now you have heard chance
has used me scurvily, therefore you do too. Well, persevere in your
ingratitude, falsehood, and disdain ; have constancy in something, and
I promise you to be as just to your real scorn as I was to your feigned
love ; and henceforward will despise, contemn, hate, loathe, and detest
you most faithfully.
H, Page 312.
Sheridan, in The School for Scandal (Act ii., Scene 2), has partly
followed the scene from The Misanthrope (Act ii., Scene 5). Lady Sneer-
well, Lady Teazle, and Mrs Candour appear to be the representatives of
Céliméne; Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite, of Acaste and Clitandre;
Sir Peter Teazle stands for Alceste.
At LADY SNErnweli’s
Enter LADY SNEERWELL, MRS CANDour, CRABTREE, SIR BENJAMIN
BACKBITE, and Joseph SURFACE.
Lady S. Nay, positively, we will hear it.
Jos. S. Yes, yes, the epigram, by all means.
Sir B. B. O plague on 't, uncle ! 'tis mere nonsense.
Crab. No, no; 'fore God, very clever for an extempore 1
Sir B. B. But, Ladies, you should be acquainted with the circum-
stances. You must know, that one day last week, as Lady Betty
Curricle was taking the dust in Hydé Park, in a sort of duodecimo
phaeton, she desired me to write some verses on her ponies, upon which
37.2 THE MISANTHROPE.
I took out my pocket-book, and in one moment produced the follow-
1ng:—
Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies;
Other horses are clowns, but these macaronies:
To give them this title I’m sure can’t be wrong,
Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long.
Crab. There, ladies, done in the smack of a whip, and on horse-
back too.
Jos. S. A very Phoebus mounted, indeed, Sir Benjamin.
Sir B. B. O dear Sir! trifles, trifles.
Enter LADY TEAZLE and MARIA.
Mrs Can. I must have a copy.
Lady S. Lady Teazle, I hope we shall see Sir Peter!
Lady Z'. I believe he'll wait on your ladyship presently.
Lady S. Maria, my love, you look grave. Come, you shall sit down
to piquet with Mr Surface.
Maria. I take very little pleasure in cards; however, I’ll do as you
please.
Lady T. I am surprised Mr Surface should sit down with her; I
thought he would have embraced this opportunity of speaking to me
before Sir Peter came. [Aside.
Mrs Can. Now, I’ll die, but you are so scandalous, I’ll forswear your
society. -
Lady T. What's the matter, Mrs Candour !
Mrs Can. They’ll not allow our friend, Miss Vermilion, to be hand-
SOIſlē.
Lady S. O surely she is a pretty woman.
Crab. I’m very glad you think so, ma'am.
Mrs Can. She has a charming fresh colour.
Lady T. Yes, when it is fresh put on.
Mrs Can. O fie! I'll swear her colour is natural; I have seen it come
and go. *
Lady Z'. I dare swear you have, ma'am; it goes off at night, and
comes again in the morning.
Sir B. B. True, ma'am, it not only comes and goes, but what’s more,
egad l her maid can fetch and carry it.
Mrs Can. Ha! haſ haſ how I hate to hear you talk so | But surely,
now, her sister is, or was, very handsome.
Crab. Who? Mrs Evergreen? O Lord, she's six and fifty if
she's an hour. -
Mrs Can. Now positively you wrong her; fifty-two or fifty-three is
the utmost; and I don’t think she looks more.
Sir B. B. Ah! there's no judging by her looks, unless one could see
her face. *
Lady S. Well, well, if Mrs Evergreen does take some pains to repair
THE MISANTHROPE. 373
the ravages of time, you must allow she effects it with great ingenuity,
and surely that's better than the careless manner in which the widow
Ochre chalks her wrinkles.
Sir B. B. Nay, now, Lady Sneerwell, you are severe upon the widow.
Come, come, ’tis not that she paints so ill, but when she has finished her
face, she joins it so badly to her neck, that she looks like a mended
statue, in which the connoisseur sees at once that the head's modern,
though the trunk's antique.
Crab. Ha! haſ haſ well said, nephew.
Mrs Can. Ha! haſ haſ well, you make me laugh, but I vow I hate
you for it. What do you think of Miss Simper?
Sir B. B. Why, she has very pretty teeth. -
Lady T. Yes, and on that account, when she is neither speaking nor
laughing (which very seldom happens), she never absolutely shuts her
mouth, but leaves it always on a jar, as it were—thus. [Shows her teeth.
Mrs Can. How can you be so ill-natured?
Lady T. Nay, I allow even that’s better than the pains Mrs Prim
takes to conceal her losses in front. She draws her mouth till it posi-
tively resembles the aperture of a poor's box, and all her words appear
to slide out edgewise, as it were thus, How do you do, madam? Yes,
nadam.
Lady S. Very well, Lady Teazle; I see you can be a little severe.
Lady T. In defence of a friend it is but justice. But here comes
Sir Peter to spoil our pleasantry. '
Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE.
Sir P. T. Ladies, your most obedient. Mercy on me ! here is the
whole set ! a character dead at every word, I suppose. [Aside.
Mrs Can. I am rejoiced you are come, Sir Peter. They have been so
censorious; and Lady Teazle as bad as any one.
Sir P. T. It must be very distressing to you, Mrs Candour, I dare
SW623.I’. -
Mrs Can. O, they will allow good qualities to nobody; not even good
nature to our friend, Mrs Pursy. -
Lady T. What! the fat dowager who was at Mrs Quadrille's last
night!
Mrs Can. Nay, her bulk is her misfortune; and when she takes such
pains to get rid of it, you ought not to reflect on her.
Lady S. That’s very true, indeed, -
Lady T. Yes, I know she almost lives on acids and small whey ;
laces herself by pullies; and often, in the hottest noon in summer, you
may see her on a little squat pony, with her hair plaited up behind like
a drummer's, and puffing round the Ring on a full trot.
Mrs Can. I thank you, Lady Teazle, for defending her.
Sir P. T. Yes, a good defence, truly
Mrs Can. Truly Lady Teazle is as censorious as Miss Swallow.
tº
374 THE MISANTHEROPE.
Crab. Yes, and she is a curious being to pretend to be censorious
—an awkward gauky, without any one good point under heaven.
Mrs Can. Positively you shall not be so very severe. Miss Swallow
is a near relation of mine by marriage, and as for her person, great
allowance is to be made; for, let me tell you, a woman labours under
many disadvantages who tries to pass for a girl at six-and-thirty.
Lady S. Though, surely, she is handsome still; and for the weak-
ness in her eyes, considering how much she reads by candle-light, it is
not to be wondered at.
Mrs Can. True, and then as to her manner; upon my word I think it
is particularly graceful, considering she had never had the least educa-
tion ; for you know her mother was a Welsh milliner, and her father a
sugar-baker at Bristol.
Sir B. B. Ah! you are both of you too good-natured
Sir P. T. Yes, d d good-natured This their own relation 1
mercy on me ! [Aside.
Mrs Can. For my part, Iown I cannot bear to hear a friend ill spoken of.
Sir P. T. No, to be sure :
Sir B. B. Oh you are of a moral turn. Mrs Candour and I can sit
for an hour and hear Lady Stucco talk sentiment.
Lady T. Nay, I vow Lady Stucco is very well with the dessert after
dinner; for she's just like the French fruits one cracks for mottoes—
made up of paint and proverb.
Mrs Can. Well, I never will join in ridiculing a friend ; and so I
constantly tell my cousin Ogle, and you all know what pretensions she
has to be critical on beauty.
Crab. O to be sure she has herself the oddest countenance that
ever was seen ; ’tis a collection of features from all the different countries
of the globe.
Sir B. B. So she has, indeed—an Irish front—
Crab. Caledonian locks—
Sir B. B. Dutch nose
Crab. Austrian lips—
Sir B. B. Complexion of a Spaniard—
Crab. And teeth 6 la Chinois.
Sir B. B. In short, her face resembles a table d'hôte at Spa, where no
two guests are of a Nation
Crab. Or a congress at the close of a general war—wherein all
the members, even to her eyes, appear to have a different interest, and
her nose and chin are the only parties likely to join issue.
Mrs Can. Ha! haſ hal
Sir P. T. Mercy on my life!—a person they dine with twice a week.
[Aside.
Lady S. Go, go ; you are a couple of provoking toads.
Mrs Can. Nay, but I vow you shall not carry the laugh off so ; for
give me leave to say that Mrs Ogle -
THE MISANTHROPE. 375
Sir P. T. Madam, madam, I beg your pardon ; there's no stopping
these good gentlemen's tongues. But when I tell you Mrs Candour, that
the lady they are abusing is a particular friend of mine, I hope you'll not
take her part.
Lady S. Ha! haſ haſ Well said, Sir Peter! But you are a cruel
creature—too phlegmatic yourself for a jest, and too peevish to allow
wit in others.
Sir P. T. Ah! madam, true wit is more nearly allied to good-nature
than your ladyship is aware of.
Lady S. True, Sir Peter. I believe they are so near akin that they
can never be united.
Sir B. B. Or rather, madam, suppose them to be man and wife, be-
cause one seldom sees them together.
Lady T. But Sir Peter is such an enemy to scandal, I believe he
would have it put down by Parliament.
Sir P. T. "Fore heaven, madam, if they were to consider the sporting
with reputation of as much importance as poaching on manors, and pass
an Act for the preservation of fame, I believe there are many would
thank them for the bill.
Lady S. O Lud | Sir Peter; would you deprive us of our privileges?
Sir P. T. Ay, madam ; and then no person should be permitted to
kill characters and run down reputations, but qualified old maids and
disappointed widows.
Lady S. Go, you monster
Mrs Can. But, surely, you would not be quite so severe on those who
only report what they hear?
Sir P. T. Yes, madam, I would have merchant-law for them too; and
in all cases of slander currency, whenever the drawer of the lie was not
to be found, the injured parties should have a right to come on any of
the indorsers.
Crab. Well, for my part, I believe there never was a scandalous
tale without some foundation.
Sir P. T. O, nine out of ten of the malicious inventions are founded
on some ridiculous misrepresentation.
Lady S. Come, ladies, shall we sit down to cards in the next room
Enter a SERVANT, who whispers SIR PETER.
Sir P. T. I'll be with them directly. I'll get away unperceived.
[Apart.
Lady S. Sir Peter, you are not going to leave us?
Sir P. T. Your ladyship must excuse me; I’m called away by parti-
cular business. But I leave my character behind me. [Erit Sör Peter.
Sir B. B. Well, certainly, Lady Teazle, that lord of yours is a strange
being; I could tell you some stories of him would make you laugh
heartily if he were not your husband. .
Lady T. O, pray don't mind that ; come, do let's hear them.
376 THE MISANTHROPE.
I, Page 314.
Wycherley has imitated the First Scene of the Third Act of The Mis-
anthrope, in The Plain Dealer (Act iv., Scene 2).
Scene II.-OLIVIA’s LODGING.
Enter LoRD PLAUSIBLE and Boy with a candle.
Plausible. Iittle gentleman, your most obedient, faithful, humble
servant. Where, I beseech you, is that divine person, your noble lady ?
Boy. Gone out, my lord; but commanded me to give you this letter.
[Gives him a letter.
Enter NOVEL.
Plaus. Which he must not observe. [Aside, Puts it up.
Mov. Hey, boy, where is thy lady?
Boy. Gone out, Sir ; but I must beg a word with you.
[Gives him a letter and evit.
Nov. For me? So-(Puts up the Letter) Servant, servant, my
lord; you see the lady knew of your coming, for she is gone out.
Plaus. Sir, I humbly beseech you not to censure the lady's good
breeding: she has reason to use more liberty with me than with any
other man.
Nov. How, viscount, how !
Plaus. Nay, I humbly beseech you, be not in choler; where there is
most love, there may be most freedom.
Nov. Nay, then 'tis time to come to an eclaircissement with you, and
to tell you, you must think no more of this lady's love.
Plaus. Why, under correction, dear Sir!
Nov. There are reasons, reasons, viscount.
Plaus. What, I beseech you, noble sir?
Nov. Prithee, prithee, be not impertinent, my lord ; some of you
lords are such conceited, well assured, impertinent rogues.
Plaus. And you noble wits are so full of shamming and drolling, one
knows not where to have you seriously.
Nov. Well, you shall find me in bed with this lady, one of these
days.
Plaus. Nay, I beseech you, spare the lady's honour; for hers and
mine will be all one shortly.
Nov. Prithee, my lord, be not an ass. Dost thou think to get her
from me? I have had such encouragements
Plaus. I have not been thought unworthy of 'em.
Nov. What, not like mine ! Come to an eclaircissement, as I said.
Plaus. Why, seriously then, she has told me viscountess sounded
prettily.
Nov. And me, that Novel was a name she would sooner change hers
for, than for any title in England.
THE MISANTHROPE. 377
Plaus. She has commended the softness and respectfulness of my
behaviour.
Nov. She has praised the briskness of my railing, of all things,
Hla,Il.
Plaus. The sleepiness of my eyes she liked.
Nov. Sleepiness dulness, dulness. But the fierceness of mine she
adored. g
Plants. The brightness of my hair she liked.
Nov. The brightness no, the greasiness, I warrant. But the black-
ness and lustre of mine she admires.
Plaus. The gentleness of my smile.
Nov. The subtilty of my leer.
Plaus. The clearness of my complexion.
Nov. The redness of my lips.
Plaus. The whiteness of my teeth.
Nov. My janty way of picking them.
I’laus. The sweetness of my breath.
Nov. Ha 1 haſ nay, then she abused you, 'tis plain ; for you know
what Manly said :—the sweetness of your pulvillio she might mean :
but for your breath ! haſ ha haſ your breath is such, man, that
nothing but tobacco can perfume; and your complexion nothing could
mend but the small-pox.
Plaus. Well, sir, you may please to be merry; but, to put you out of
all doubt, sir, she has received some jewels from me of value.
Nov. And presents from me ; besides what I presented her jantily,
by way of ombre, of three or four hundred pounds value, which I'm sure
are the earnest-pence of our love-bargain.
Plaus. Nay, then, sir, with your favour, and to make an end of all
your hopes, look you there, sir, she has writ to me
Nov. How ! how ! well, well, and so she has to me; look you there
[Deliver to each other their letters.
Plaws. What's here !
Nov. How's this? (Reads out) MY DEAR SAUL.—You'll eacuse me
for breaking my word with you, since ’twas to oblige, not offend you ; for I
am only gone abroad but to disappoint Novel, and meet you in the drawing-
zoom ; where ſeapect you with as much impatience as when I used to suffer
Novel's visits—the most impertinent fop that ever affected the name of a
wit, therefore not capable, I hope, to give you jealousy; for, for your sake
alone, you saw I renounced an old lover, and will do all the world. Burn
the letter, but lay up the kindness in your heart, with your–OLIVIA.
Very fine ! but pray let's see mine.
Plaus. I understand it not ; but sure she cannot think so of me.
Nov. (Reads the other letter) Hum ! hal—meet—for your sake—hum,
—quitted an old lover—world—burn—in your heart—with your–OLIVIA.
Just the same, the names only altered.
378 THE MISANTHEOPE.
Plaus. Surely there must be some mistake, or somebody has abused
her and us.
Nov. Yes, you are abused, no doubt on’t, my lord; but I’ll to
Whitehall, and see.
Plaus. And I, where I shall find you are abused.
Nov. Where, if it be so, for our comfort, we cannot fail of meeting
with fellow-sufferers enough ; for, as Freeman said of another, she stands
in the drawing-room, like the glass, ready for all comers, to set their
gallantry by her: and like the glass too, lets no man go from her un-
satisfied with himself. [Eaceunt.
LE MÉDEGIN MALG RE, LUI.
COMEDIE.
THE PHYSIGIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF,
A COMEDY IN THEREE ACTS.
(THE ORIGINAL IN PROSE.)
AUGUST 6TH, 1666.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
The Physician in spite of Himself was played for the first time on the
6th of August, 1666, according to Molière's nearly invariable rule, by
which he always produced a farcical work, which made people laugh,
after a serious one, which had caused people to reflect. The plot of
this play was not entirely new ; it existed probably in outline in the
Italian Commedia dell'arte, and was found among the stories related by
the troubadours and trouvères. Molière must have often played a re-
modelling of it in the Provinces. La Grange, in his Register (see Intro-
ductory Notice to The School for Wives criticised, vol. II., page 237),
speaks of a farce called Le Fagotier, of another called Le Fagoteuz—both
words, meaning The Faggot-Maker—and of a third named Le Médecwn
par force. But all these small plays appear to refer to one jocular short
comedy, which was changed and doctored to suit the tastes of the
different provincial audiences. Molière got his chief plan from these,
and probably from nothing else. The Physician in spite of Himself
consists of two different parts, each drawn from a different source.
There is, first, the idea of a clodhopper on whom his wife wishes to be
avenged, and whom she pretends to be a skilful physician, whose zeal
has to be stimulated by the stick; and there is, secondly, the idea of a
girl who feigns to be dumb, but who recovers speech again, and abuses
it in such a manner that every one wishes her to be speechless.
One of the oldest accounts of the story on which Molière's play is
based, but which we are convinced the French dramatist never saw, is
the following, -to be found in a Sanscrit collection, La Couka Saptal.
“In the town of Pantchapoura lived a king called Satroumardana.
His daughter, named Madanarekha, had an abscess in her throat. The
doctors applied all kinds of plasters, but without effect, so at last they
agreed that there was no remedy for the disease. Then the King pro-
claimed in every country that he who cured the Princess should be
richly rewarded. The wife of a Brahmin who lived in a village, having
heard the proclamation, said to the messenger, “My husband is the most
skilful magician and charmer in the world. Take him with you; he
will cure the Princess.’ And she said to her husband, “Pretend to be
a magician and a charmer, and go boldly into the town to cure the
Princess. You won't waste your time.’ The Brahmin went to the
palace and to the Princess, sprinkled her with water, blew at her, and
382 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
imitated the charmers, muttering the while between his teeth. Sud-
denly he cried out at the top of his voice, and uttered a farrago of the
most absurd words he could think of. On hearing all these strange
utterances, the Princess was taken with such a fit of laughter, that the
abscess broke and she was cured. The King, transported with joy,
overloaded the Brahmin with presents.” --
It is, however, possible that Molière may have seen Olearius' Scientific
Journey to Moscow and Persia, which history was translated into French
as early as the year 1656 by the celebrated Wickefort.
The account to be found there is as follows: “The Grand Duke
Boris Gudenow, who reigned during the years 1597 and 1605, was,
according to the relation of Olearius, very much afflicted with the gout.
At a certain period, when he suffered very severe pains, he caused it
publicly to be proclaimed at Moscow, that he would reward with extra-
ordinary favour and great riches, the man, whoever he might be, that
would relieve him from those pains. It seems that no one voluntarily
appeared to earn the favour of the Grand Duke ; and, indeed, no wonder,
for a doctor had his whole existence at stake in those times in Russia if
his cure failed upon some high or noble patient ; and Gudenow was in the
habit of making the surgeon, as if he considered the latter as absolute
master of nature, responsible for the result of his art.
“The wife of a certain bojaar, or councillor of the cabinet, who re-
ceived very harsh treatment from her husband, took the advantage of
this public edict of the Grand Duke to revenge herself, in a cunning
manner, on her cruel husband. She therefore had the Duke informed
that her husband possessed an infallible remedy for the gout, but that
he was not sufficiently humane to impart it.
“The bojaar was immediately sent for to court, and strictly examined.
The latter declared, by all that was holy, that he was unacquainted
with any such remedy, and had not the slightest knowledge of medicine.
But oaths would not avail him ; Gudenow had him severely whipped
and confined. When, shortly after, he was again examined, he repeated
the same declarations, adding that this trick was probably played upon
him by his wife; the Duke had him whipt a second time, but more
severely, and threatened him with death if he did not speedily relieve him
from pain. Seized with terror, the bojaar was now entirely at a loss what
to be at. He promised to do his best, but requested a few days in order
to have the necessary drugs gathered. Having, with great difficulty,
had his request granted, he sent to Ozirbalt, two days’ journey from
Moscow, in order to get thence all sorts of drugs which were to be had
there. He sent for a cartload of them, mixed them all together, and
prepared therewith a bath for the Duke, in the hope of his blind cure
proving successful. Gudenow, after having used the bath, really found
some relief, and the bojaar had his life spared him. Nevertheless, because
he had known such an art, denied his knowledge of it, and refused his
assistance to the Grand Duke, the latter had him again thoroughly
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 383
whipt, and after being entirely recovered, he gave him a new dress, two
hundred rubles, and eighteen slaves, by way of a present. In addition
to this, he seriously admonished the doctor never to be revenged on his
wife. It is said that the bojaar, after this occurrence, lived many years
in peace and happiness with his spouse.”
The idea of a woman avenging herself on her husband, by pretend-
ing that he is a doctor, and must be compelled to exercise his art, is
found in many ancient fabliaua, above all, in one of the twelfth century,
Le vilain Mire, the rustic physician, which is nearly the same story as
that told by Olearius, except that it is the king's daughter who has a fish-
bone sticking in her throat, which prevents her eating and drinking. The
rustic's wife, who is the daughter of a poor knight, and whom her hus-
band has maltreated, revenges herself in the same way as the bojaar's
spouse, but the cure is different ; the rustic scratches himself in all
kinds of ridiculous attitudes, so that the royal maiden laughs to such a
degree that the fish-bone flies out. The ending is also different. The king,
delighted that his daughter has been cured, sends for a great many sick
people, and orders the physician to restore them to health. He refuses,
and is beaten ; whereupon he commands a great fire to be kindled in
the large hall, tells all his patients that he has an infallible remedy, and
that he is going to put the most seriously ill of them into the fire, to
give his ashes to the others to drink, and that then they shall be cured.
It is needless to say that all immediately recover their health in a great
Iſlea,Sullſe.
Rabelais, in the twenty-fourth chapter of the third book of Pantagruel,
relates that he and some of his friends acted in his youth “the moral
comedy of him who had espoused and married a dumb wife. ... The good
honest man, her husband, was very earnestly urgent to have the fillet of
her tongue untied, and would needs have her speak by any means. At his
desire, some pains were taken on her, and partly by the industry of the
physician, other part by the expertness of the surgeon, the encyliglotte
which she had under her tongue being cut, she spoke, and spoke again ;
yea, within a few hours she spoke so loud, so much, so fiercely, and so
long, that her poor husband returned to the same physician for a receipt
to make her hold her peace. There are, quoth the physician, many
proper remedies in our art to make dumb women speak, but there are
none that ever I could learn therein to make them silent. The only
cure which I have found out is their husband's deafness. The wretch
became within a few weeks thereafter, by virtue of some drugs, charms,
or enchantments, which the physician had prescribed unto him, so deaf,
that he could not have heard the thundering of nineteen hundred can-
nons at a salvo. His wife, perceiving that indeed he was as deaf as a
door nail, and that her scolding was but in vain, sith, that he heard her
not, she grew stark mad. Some time after the doctor asked for his fee
of the husband; who answered, That truly he was deaf, and so was not
able to understand what the tenour of his demand might be. Where-
384 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
upon the leech bedusted him with a little, I know not what, sort of
powder; which rendered him a fool immediately, so great was the stulti-
ficating virtue of that strange kind of pulverised dose. Then did this
fool of a husband, and his mad wife, join together, and falling on the
doctor and the surgeon, did so scratch, bethwack, and bang them, that
they were left half dead upon the place, so furious were the blows which
they received. I never in my lifetime laughed so much, as at the acting
of that buffoonery.”
Ménage and Brossette mention that Molière intended Sganarelle for a
certain wig-maker of his time, Didier l'Amour, whose shop was under
the stairs of la Sainte Chapelle, whose first wife was very violent, like
Martine, and to whom Boileau, later on, gave a place in the Lutrin. It
really seems that Sganarelles may be found in every country, men who,
with a certain amount of natural mother-wit, and a few sesquipedalian
words, acquired heaven knows where, are the heroes of the bar-parlour,
and the admired of all admirers among their boon-companions. Such
men may possibly love their wives, but they box their ears; they may
have a certain feeling for their children, but, instead of giving them
bread, they squander their scanty wages, lazily gained, in the public-house,
caring neither for the day nor the morrow, never thinking of the future
or the past, and deserving, in one word, the reputation of “real good
fellows.”
It has been well said by Boileau, that “in the smallest farces of Molière,
there are some admirable touches that may vainly be sought in the
finest pieces of other comic authors.” The Physician in spite of Himself
is a proof of this. It is written in a most unbounded spirit of mirth,
the matrimonial breezes wafting a certain amount of refreshing coolness
through it all. The way in which Sganarelle is dubbed, or rather drubbed
a doctor, is highly amusing; and the cure of the dumb girl, and the use
which she makes of her recovered speech, contains a philosophical lesson
which may be sometimes applied to the way in which nowveawa, riches
spend their newly acquired wealth. The learned and anatomical dis-
quisitions between Sganarelle and Géronte are also very entertaining,
as well as the growth of greed in the rustic physician.
In the second volume of the Select Comedies of M. de Molière,
London, 1732, The Physician in Spite of Himself is dedicated to Dr
Mead, under the title of Doctor and no Doctor, in the following words:—
SIR,-MoLIERE having sent most of his Performances Patronless into the World,
his Translators have determin'd to supply this his only Defect by prefixing some
favourite Name to each of 'em, in order to recommend 'em the more powerfully
to the perusal of their Countrymen. None can have a stronger Influence in this
respect than that of Dr Mead, for if we have but as many Readers as owe to him
being in a Capacity of reading at all, our Bookseller will have no cause to repent
of his undertaking.—It may, by some, be here expected, that I should apologize
for my Author, as having in this and several other of his Comedies treated
Medicine and its Professors with a severe kind of Freedom ; but this, Sir, to one
of Your Discernment and Politeness would be highly impertinent.
THE PEIYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 385
As 'twas perverted Medicine alone, and its quack Professors that were the
subjects of his Ridicule, Dr Mead can be no more affected by it than a true
Prophet by the Punishment of Imposture, nor be displeas'd with a Satire he
could not fear.
YoU are too well acquainted, Sir, with the universal History of Physick, to be
ignorant of the State of it at Paris in Moliere's time, or the Characters of their
Physicians. All they employ'd themselves about, was searching after visionary
Specificks, and trying of chimical Tricks; the Cause of a lisease was never
enquir'd into, nor the Symptoms of it regarded, but hypothetical Jargon and
random Prescription serv’d in the room. This made Medicine become a Pest, in-
stead of a Remedy, on which account you'll readily acknowledge that the Chas-
tisement was just. On the contrary, Sir, Your Practice was founded on the Rock
of sound Learning, and Your Success secur'd by an extensive and well-mark'd
Experience; by which means You have establish'd the Honour of the Profession,
are become a general Blessing to the Society You belong to, and have been cap-
able, as a good Physician, of doing more Service in Your Generation than all
the bad ones have done Mischief.
It will be thought, I know, by the World, that when I'm speaking of Dr Mead,
I should not only celebrate him as an excellent Physician, but as an excellent
Man likewise, and an accomplish'd Gentleman ; but these Characters are
necessary to, and included in the other. To be a good Physician, a Man must
possess all the Virtues of Humanity and Politeness, he must be Eyes to the blind,
Feet to the lame, and Health and Refreshment to the sick and needy; he must
be a fine Scholar by Education, and a fine Gentleman by being oblig'd to converse
with the best Company: In all these respects, therefore, You are certainly as
eminent, Sir, as You are in Your Profession.
THAT Heaven may prolong Your Life for the Benefit of Your Fellow-creatures,
as long as Life can be a Good, and that at last, when you must quit this mortal
Coil, You may do it with that Ease, which You have so often procur'd for others
in those critical Moments, is the sincere Prayer of all that ever heard of Your
Name, but of none more sincerely than of, SIR, Your most obedient humble
Servant, THE TRANSLATOR.
The Physician in Spite of Himself has been often imitated by English
dramatists; first by Lacy in The Dumb Lady; or the Farrier made
a Physician, a farce in five acts, acted about 1672, and in which the
adapter played probably “Drench, the farrier.” The main plot is taken
from Molière's play, and the catastrophe from Love is the best Doctor
(see Introductory Notice to Love is the best Doctor, page 193).
Another partial adaption of Molière's play is by Mrs Centlivre, who,
in Love's Contrivance, acted in 1703 at Drury Lane, imitated several of
the French author's comedies (see Introductory Notice to The Forced
Marriage, Vol. II., page 329).
Benry Fielding has also nearly literally followed Molière's play, and
has added some songs, in a “ballad farce,” called The Mock Doctor; or
the Dumb Lady cured, acted at Drury Lane in 1732. This piece was,
and has remained, a great favourite on the English stage.
Another imitation of Molière's Physician in Spite of Himself, or
"rather a remodelling of Fielding's translation, is George Wood's The
Irish Doctor, or the Dumb Lady cured, first performed at the Queen's
Theatre, November 19th, 1844. It is Fielding's Mock Doctor, with all
III. 2 B .
386 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
the spirit evaporated. Sganarelle becomes an Irish broom-maker,
Dennis Murphy, and Géronte, Sir Ralph Credulous.
All the scenes borrowed or imitated from Molière by the different
English dramatists will be given in the Appendix.
The “high-born and most hopeful prince,” to whom Lacy inscribed
his play, was the eldest of the three natural sons of Charles II. by
Barbara Williers, wife of Roger Palmer, Earl of Castlemaine, better
known as Duchess of Cleveland, a dignity conferred by her royal keeper
in testimony of the high opinion he entertained of her “personal”
virtues,"—at least, so runs the preamble of the patent of creation.
At the date of the play, the hopeful prince enjoyed the title of Earl
of Southampton, “as,” says Collins, the Peerage writer, “heir of his
mother, the Duchess of Cleveland,” that being her second title. Upon
the 1st of April 1673, he was installed a Knight of the Garter, and upon
the 10th of September 1675 was created Duke of Southampton, Earl
of Chichester, and Baron of Newberry, with remainder to the heirs-
male of his body, whom failing, to his younger brother George, Duke of
Northumberland. Upon the death of his mother, at her house of Chis-
wick, in the county of Middlesex, on the 9th October 1709, the title of
Cleveland, under the limitations in the patent, devolved on her eldest
son Charles. His Grace married, when eighteen, Mary, heiress of Sir
Henry Wood, the elder brother of Thomas, Bishop of Litchfield and
Coventry. The Duchess died in 1680, and was buried in Westminster
Abbey. By her he had no issue. This lady seems to have brought him
a very handsome fortune,"as in Michaelmas term 1685 he had a decree in
Chancery against the Bishop for £30,000, “as part of his lady's fortune.”
In 1694, the Duke took to wife Anne, daughter of Sir William Pulteny
of Misterton, in the county of Leicester, by whom he had three sons and
three daughters. He died on the 9th September 1730, and was suc-
ceeded by his eldest son William, who died without issue in 1774, so that
the titles of Cleveland and Southampton became extinct, and remained
so for more than half a century, when the Dukedom of Cleveland was
revived in the person of the Earl of Darlington, the heir of line of Lady
Grace Fitzroy, the second daughter of Duke Charles, who married Henry
Vane, son of Lord Barnard. Her eldest sister Barbara died unmarried;
and her younger sister, Lady Anne, who married John Paddey, Esq.,
departed this life at Waterford, Herts, on the 23d of January 1769.
* Collins' Peerage, vol. i., p. 56. London, 1741. 8vo. See also Introductory
Notice to The Princess of Elis, page 23, note 68, and lntroductory Notice to Love
is the best Doctor, page 193.
D R A MATIS PERSONAE.
GáRONTE, father to Lucinde.
LÉANDRE, Lucinde's lover.
SGANARELLE, husband to Martine.”
M. ROBERT, Sganarelle's neighbour.
LUCAS, husband to Jacqueline.
WALERE, Géronte's servant.”
THIBAUT,
© easants.
PERRIN, his son, }p
LUCINDE, Géronte's daughter.
MARTINE, Sganarelle's wife.
JACQUELINE, nurse at Géronte's, and Lucas' wife.
* This part was played by Molière himself. In the inventory of his
dresses, given by M. E. Soulié, and taken after his death, we find,
“The clothes for the representation of The Physician in spite of Himself,
consisting of a doublet, breeches, collar, girdle, ruff, woollen stockings, and
pouch, all of yellow serge, trimmed with green radon ;" a satin dress, with
breeches of short-nap, flowered velvet.”
* The original has domestique, which in the seventeenth century meant a
steward, a secretary, a trustworthy man.
* I have not been able to find this word in any dictionary.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
(LE MÉDECIN MALGRf LUI.)
ACT I. SCENE I.
The Scene represents a Forest.
SGANARELLE, MARTINE [appearing on the stage,
quarrelling.]*
Sgan. No ; I tell you that I will do nothing of the kind,
and that it is for me to speak, and to be master.
Mart. And I tell you that I will have you to live as I like,
and that I am not married to you to put up with your
vagaries.
Sgan. Oh what a nuisance it is to have a wife and
Aristotle is perfectly right in saying that a woman is worse
than a demon.”
Mart. Look at Master Clever, with his silly Aristotle !
Sgan. Yes, Master Clever. Find me another faggot-
binder who can argue upon things as I can, who has served
a famous physician for six years, and who, when only a boy,
had his rudiments at his fingers' ends !"
* See Appendix, Note A.
* It would be difficult to give the passage in Aristotle, where such
a thing is stated.
* The rudiments stand here for a little book containing the elements
of the Latin tongue. Compare Shakespeare in As You Like It (Act v.
Scene 4), who says— “This boy is forest-born,
And has been tutored in the rudiments
Of many desperate studies.”
39 () THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT I.
Mart. Plague on the arrant fool!"
Sgam. Plague on the slut !
Mart. Cursed be the hour and the day when I took it
into my head to say yes.
Sgam. Cursed be the cuckold of a notary that made me
sign my own ruination.
Mart. Certainly it well becomes you to complain on that
score. Ought you not rather to thank Heaven every minute
of the day that you have me for a wife 2 and did you deserve
to marry a woman like me !
Sgan. It is true you did me too much honour, and
I had great occasion to be satisfied with my wedding-night.
Zounds ! do not make me open my mouth too wide : I
might say certain things . . .
Mart. What ? What could you say ?
Sgam. Enough; let us drop the subject. It is enough
that we know what we know, and that you were very glad
to meet with me.
Mart. What do you call very glad to meet with you ?
A fellow who will drive me to the hospital—a debauched,
deceitful wretch, who gobbles up every farthing I have got
Sgan. That is a lie : for I drink part of it.
Mart. Who sells piecemeal every stick of furniture in the
house !
Sgan. That is living upon one's means.
Mart. Who has taken the very bed from under me !
Sgam. You will get up all the earlier.
Mart. In short, who does not leave me a stick in the
whole house.
Sgan. There will be less trouble in moving.
Mart. And who from morning to night does nothing but
gamble and drink
* The original has fou fieffe. See Vol. II., page 343, note 22.
SC. I.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 39 1
Sgam. That is done in order not to get in the dumps.
Mart. And what am I to do all the while with my
family 7
Sgam. Whatever you like.
Mart. I have got four poor children on my hands.
Sgam. Put them down.
Mart. Who keep asking me every moment for bread.
Sgam. Whip them. When I have had enough to eat and
to drink, every one in the house ought to be satisfied.
Mart. And do you mean to tell me, you sot, that things
can always go on So 2 *
Sgam. Wife, let us proceed gently, if you please.
Mart. That I am to bear for ever with your insolence
and your debauchery 2
Sgam. Do not let us get into a passion, wife.
Mart. And that I do not know the way to bring you back
to your duty ?
Sgam. Wife, you know that I am not very patient, and
that my arm is somewhat heavy.
Mart. I laugh at your threats.
Sgam. My Sweet wife, my pet, your skin is itching as
usual.
Mart. I will let you see that I am not afraid of you.
Sgam. My dearest rib, you have set your heart upon a
thrashing.”
Mart. Do you think that I am frightened at your talk 3
Sgan. Sweet object of my affections, I shall box your
ears for you.
Mart. Sot that you are :
Sgam. I shall thrash you.
* The original has Vous avez envie de me dérober quelque chose, You
wish to rob me of something, meaning, of course, “of a box on the
ear.” In English we say also familiarly of any one who receives some-
thing which he richly deserves: He has not stolen that.
392 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT I.
Mart. Walking wine-cask
Sgan. I shall pummel you.
Mart. Infamous wretch
S9am. I shall curry your skin for you.
Mart. Wretch villain deceiver ! curl scoundrel ! gal-
lows-bird churl rogue 1 scamp ! thief . . .
Sgan. You will have it, will you ?
[Takes a stick and beats her.
Mart. [shrieking] Help ! help ! help ! help !
Sgam. That is the real way of quieting you.”
SCENE II.
M. RobHET, SGANARELLE, MARTINE."
M. Rob. Hulloa, hulloa, hulloa Fie! What is this ?
What a disgraceful thing ! Plague take the scamp to beat
his wife so. º
#
Mart. [Her arms akimbo, speaks to M. Robert, and
Tmakes him draw back ; at last she gives him, a slap on
the face] And I like him to beat me, I do.
M. Rob. If that is the case, I consent with all my heart.
Mart. What are you interfering with ?
M. Rob. I am wrong.
Mart. Is it any of your business 2
M. Rob. You are right. “
Mart. Just look at this jackanapes, who wishes to
hinder husbands from beating their wives |
M. Rob. I apologize.
Mart. What have you got to say to it 2
M. Rob. Nothing.
Mart. Is it for you to poke your nose into it !
M. Rob. No.
Mart. Mind your own business.
* See Appendix, Note B. 19 See Appendix, Note C.
SC. II.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 393
M. Rob. I shall not say another word.
Mart. It pleases me to be beaten.
M. Rob. Agreed.
Mart. It does not hurt you.
M. Rob. That is true.
Mart. And you are an ass to interfere with what does
not concern you.
M. Rob. Neighbour, I ask your pardon with all my heart.
Go on, thrash and beat your wife as much as you like; I
shall help you, if you wish it. [He goes towards Sgamarelle,
who also speaks to him, makes him draw back, beats him.
with the Stick he has been using, and puts him to flight.]
Sgam. I do not wish it. - -
M. Rob. Ah that is a different thing.
Sgam. I will beat her if I like ; and I will not beat
her if I do not like.
M. Rob. Very good.
Sgam. She is my wife, and not yours.
M. Rob. Undoubtedly.
Sgan. It is not for you to order me about.
M. Rob. Just so.
Sgan. I do not want your help.
M. Rob. Exactly so.
Sgan. And it is like your impertinence to meddle with
other people's business. Remember that Cicero says that
between the tree and the finger you should not put the
bark.” [He drives him away, then comes back to his wife,
and says to her, squeezing her hand.”]
* Sganarelle quotes the proverb wrong, which says that between the
tree and the bark one ought not to put one's finger, which means figu-
ratively, “Never interfere in things which do not concern you.” Of
course Cicero says nothing of the kind.
* See Appendix, Note D.
394
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT I.
SCENE III.
SGANARELLE, MARTINE.
Sgam. Come, let us make it up. Shake hands.
Mart. Yes, after having beaten me thus !
Sgan. Never mind that. Shake hands.
Mart. I will not.
Sgam. Eh
Mart. No.
Sgan. Come, wife
Mart. I shall not.
Sgan. Come, I tell you.
Mart. I will do nothing of the kind.
Sgan. Come, come, come.
Mart. No ; I will be angry.
Sgam. Bah! it is a trifle. Do.
Mart. Leave me alone.
Sgan. Shake hands, I tell you.
Mart. You have treated me too ill.
Sgam. Well! I beg your pardon ; put your hand there.
Mart. I forgive you; [aside, Softly] but I shall make you
pay for it.
Sgan. You are silly to take notice of it; these are trifles
that are necessary now and then to keep up good feeling;
and five or six strokes of a cudgel between people who
There now !
I am going to the wood, and I promise you that you shall
love each other, only brighten the affections.
have more than a hundred faggots to-day.
SCENE IV.
MARTINE, alone.
Go, my lad, whatever look I may put on, I shall not
forget to pay you out; and I am dying to hit upon some-
thing to punish you for the blows you gave me. I know
SC. V.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 395
well enough that a wife has always the means of being
revenged upon her husband; but that is too delicate a
punishment for my gallows-bird ; I want a revenge that
shall strike home a little more, or it will not be satisfaction
for the insult which I have received. -
SCENE V.
WALERE, LUCAs, MARTINE.”
Luc. [To Valère, without seeing Martine] I'facks we
have undertaken a curious errand ; and I do not know, for
my part, what we shall get by it.”
Val. [To Lucas, without seeing Martime] What is the
use of grumbling, good foster-father ? we are bound to do
as our master tells us: and, besides, we have both of us
some interest in the health of his daughter, our mistress;
for her marriage, which is put off through her illness, will
no doubt bring us in something. Horace, who is generous,
is the most likely to succeed among her suitors; and although
she has shown some inclination for a certain Léandre, you
know well enough that her father would never consent to
receive him for his son-in-law.
Mart. [Musing on one side, thinking herself alone] Can
I not find out some way of revenging myself?
Luc. [To Valère] But what an idea has he taken into
his head, since the doctors are quite at a loss.”
Val. [To Lucas] You may sometimes find by dint of
seeking, what cannot be found at once ; and often in the
most unlikely spots you may . . .
* See Appendix, Note E. -
* Lucas speaks in a provincial dialect, which I think it unnecessary
to endeavour to imitate in English.
* The original has puisque les médecins y avont tous pardu leur latin
“since the doctors have lost all their Latin over it.” I suppose in allusion
to the latinized gibberish which the doctors in Molière's time used to
employ in their consultations.
396 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT I.
Mart. [Thinking herself always alone] Yes; I must
pay him out, no matter at what cost. Those cudgel blows
lie heavy on my stomach; I cannot digest them; and . . .
[She is saying all this musingly, and as she moves, she
comes in contact with the two men.] Ah, gentlemen, I beg
your pardon, I did not notice you, and was puzzling my
brain about something that perplexes me.
Val. Every one has his troubles in this world, and we
also are looking for something that we should be very glad
to find.
Mart. Is it something in which I can assist you ?
Val. Perhaps. We are endeavouring to meet with
some clever man, some special physician, who could give
some relief to our master's daughter, seized with an illness
which has all at once deprived her of the use of her tongue.
Several physicians have already exhausted all their know-
ledge on her behalf; but sometimes one may find people
with wonderful secrets, and certain peculiar remedies, who
very often succeed where others have failed; and that is the
sort of man we are looking for.
Mart. [Softly and aside.] Ah ! This is an inspiration
from Heaven to revenge myself on my rascal. [Aloud] You
could never have addressed yourselves to any one more able
to find what you want ; and we have a man here, the most
wonderful fellow in the world for desperate maladies.
Wal. Ah for mercy's sake, where can we meet with
him ; -
Mart. You will find him just now in that little spot
yonder, where he is amusing himself in cutting wood.
Luc. A doctor who cuts wood
Val. Who is amusing himself in gathering some simples,
you mean to say ?
Mart. No ; he is a strange fellow who takes a delight in
this; a fantastic, eccentric, whimsical man, whom you would
sc. v.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 397
never take to be what he really is. He goes about dressed
in a most extraordinary fashion, pretends sometimes to be
very ignorant, keeps his knowledge to himself, and dislikes
nothing so much every day as using the marvellous talents
which God has given him for the healing art.
Val. It is a wonderful thing that all these great men
have always some whim, some slight grain of madness mixed
with their learning.
Mart. The madness of this man is greater than can be
imagined, for sometimes he has to be beaten before he will
own his ability; and I warn you beforehand that you will
not succeed, that he will never own that he is a physician,
unless you take each a stick, and compel him, by dint of
blows, to admit at last what he will conceal at first. It is
thus that we act when we have need of him. '
Val. What a strange delusion
Mart. That is true ; but, after that, you shall see that
he works wonders.
Wal. What is his name 3
Mart. His name is Sganarelle. But it is very easy to
recognise him. He is a man with a large black beard, and
who wears a ruff, and a yellow and green coat.
Luc. A yellow and green coat . He is then a parrot-
doctor ?
Val. But is it really true that he is as clever as you say?
Mart. As clever. He is a man who works miracles.
About six months ago, a woman was given up by all the
other physicians; she was considered dead at least six hours,
and they were going to bury her, when they dragged by
force the man we are speaking of to her bedside. Having
seen her, he poured a small drop of something into her
mouth; and at that very instant she rose from her bed,
and began immediately to walk in her room as if nothing
had happened.
398 THE PEIYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT I.
Luc. Hah!
Wal. It must have been a drop of liquid gold.”
Mart. Possibly so. Not more than three weeks ago, a
young child, twelve years old, fell from the top of the belfry,
and Smashed his head, arms, and legs on the stones. No
sooner took they our man to it, than he rubbed the whole
body with a certain ointment, which he knows how to
prepare ; and the child immediately rose on its legs, and
ran away to play at chuck-farthing.
Luc. Hah!
Yal. This man must have the universal heal-all.”
Mart. Who doubts it 2
Lwc. Odds-bobs that is the very man we want. Let
us go quickly and fetch him.
Val. We thank you for the service you have rendered
us.”
Mart. Butt do not fail to remember the warning I have
given you.
Luc. Hey! Zooks 1 leave it to us. If he wants nothing
but a thrashing, we will gain our point.”
|Wal. [To Lucas]. We are very glad to have met with
this woman; and I conceive the best hopes in the world
from it.”
* The liquid gold (aurum potabile) was long thought to be a most
wonderful remedy, and was in use even during the last century.
17 Liquid gold was formerly thought to cure all diseases, hence the
name of “universal heal-all.”
* See Appendix, Note F.
* In the original la vache est à nous, the cow is ours.
* See Appendix, Note G.
sc. vi.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 399
SCENE VI.
SGANARELLE, WALERE, LUCAS.”
Sgan. [Singing behind the Scene]. La, la, la. . . .
Val. I hear some one singing, and cutting wood.
Sgam. [Coming on, with a bottle in his hand, without
perceiving Valère or Lucas.] La, la, la . . . Really I have
done enough to deserve a drink. Let us take a little
breath. [He drinks.] This wood is as salt as the very
devil.” [Sings.]
How sweet to hear,
My pretty flask,
How Sweet to hear,
Yowr little gull, gull /
No fate with mine could vie,
If never yow ran dry,
Oh 1 darling little flask,
But constantly were full 1*
Come ! Zounds ! we must take care not to get the blues.
* See Appendix, Note H.
* Meaning that he wants something to drink. -
* Tradition mentions that the President Rose, a few days after the
first representation of The Physician in spite of himself, met Molière at
the Duke de Montausier, and accused the dramatist, before a numerous
company, of having translated Sganarelle's couplet from the Latin, which
was itself borrowed from the Greek. Molière denied the fact ; and to
his great surprise, the President recited the following verses, which
astounded Molière, and which were afterwards admitted by Rose to be
a translation from the playwright's original, which we give as well:—
Qu'ils sont doux, Quam dulces,
Bouteille jolie, Amphora amoena,
Qu'ils sont doux, Quam dulces
Vos petits glougloux | Sunt tuae voces !
Mais mon sort ferait bien des jaloux, Dum fundis merum in calices,
Si vous étiez toujours remplie, Utinam semper esses plena
Ah bouteille, ma mie, Ah! Ah 1 cara mea lagena,
Pourquoi vous videz-vous? Vacua curjaces?
400 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT 1.
|Wal. [Softly to Lucas.] This is the very man.
Luc. [Softly to Valère.] I think you are right, and that
we have just hit upon him.
Val. Let us look a little closer.
Sgan. [Hugging the bottle]. Ah! you little rogue ! I
love you, my pretty dear ! [He sings; but perceiving Lucas
and Valère, who are easamining him, he lowers his voice.
No fate . . . with mine . . . could . . . vie,
If . . .
[Seeing that they eacamine him more closely..] Whom the
deuce do these people want 7
Val. [To Lucas.] It is surely he.
Luc. [To Valère.] There he is, exactly as he has been
described to us.
Sgan. [Aside.] [At this point he puts down his bottle;
and Valère stooping down to bow to him, he thinks that it
is in order to Snatch it away, and puts it on the other side.
As Lucas is doing the same thing as Valère, Sganarelle
takes it wºo again, and hugs it to his breast, with various
grimaces which make a great deal of by-play.] They are
consulting each other, while looking at me. What can be
their intentions !
Val. Sir, is not your name Sganarelle 7
Sgam. Hey! What ?
Val. I ask you if your name is not Sganarelle.
Sgan. [Turning first to Valère, then to Lucas.] Yes,
and no. It depends on what you want with him.
Val. We want nothing with him, but to offer him our
utmost civilities.
Sgam. In that case, my name is Sganarelle.
Val. We are delighted to see you, Sir. We have been
recommended to you for what we are in search of ; and we
have come to implore your help, of which we are in want.
sc. v1.1 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 401
Sgan. If it be anything, gentlemen, that belongs to my
little trade, I am quite ready to oblige you.
Val. You are too kind to us, Sir. But put your hat on,
Sir, if you please; the sun might hurt you.
Luc. Pray, Sir, put it on.
Sgan. [Aside..] What a deal of ceremony these people
use. [He puts his hat on.]
Val. You must not think it strange, Sir, that we have
addressed ourselves to you. Clever people are always
much sought after, and we have been informed of your
capacity.
Sgam. It is true, gentlemen, that I am the best hand
in the world at making faggots.
Val. Oh Sir. . . .
Sgam. I spare no pains, and make them in a fashion that
leaves nothing to be desired.
Wal. That is not the question we have come about, Sir.
Sgan. But I charge a hundred and ten sous the hundred.
Val. Let us not speak about that, if you please.
Sgan. I pledge you my word that I could not sell them
for less.
Yal. We know what is what, Sir.
Sgan. If you know what is what, you know that I charge
that price.
Val. This is a joke, Sir, but . . .
Sgan. It is no joke at all, I cannot bate a farthing.
Yal. Let us talk differently, please.
Sgam. You may find some elsewhere for less; there be
faggots and faggots; but for those which I make . . .
Yal. Let us change the conversation, pray, Sir.
Sgan. I take my oath that you shall not have them for
less, not a fraction. #
TVol. Fiel Fiel
Sgam. No, upon my word, you shall have to pay that
III. 2 C
402 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT I.
price. I am speaking frankly, and I am not the man to
overcharge.
Val. Ought a gentleman like you, Sir, to amuse himself
with those clumsy pretences, to lower himself to talk thus?
Ought so learned a man, such a famous physician as you
are, to wish to disguise himself in the eyes of the world
and keep buried his great talents | *
Sgan. [Aside] He is mad.
Val. Pray, Sir, do not dissemble with us.
Sgam. What do you mean :
Luc. All this beating about the bush is useless. We
know what we know.
Sgam. What do you know 2 What do you want with
me 2 For whom do you take me .
Wal. For what you are, a great physician.
Sgam. Physician yourself; I am not one, and I have
never been one.
Val. [Aside] Now the fit is on him. [Aloud] Sir, do
not deny things any longer, and do not, if you please, make
us have recourse to unpleasant extremities.
Sgam. Have recourse to what ?
|Wal. To certain things that we should be sorry for.
Sgam. Zounds ! Have recourse to whatever you like. I
am not a physician, and do not understand what you mean.
|Wal. [Aside] Well, I perceive that we shall have to
apply the remedy. [Alowd] Once more, Sir, I pray you to
confess what you are.
Luc. Odds bobs, do not talk any more nonsense ; and
confess plainly that you are a physician.
Sgan. [Aside] I am getting in a rage.
|Wal. What is the good of denying what all the world
knows 7
24 See Appendix, Note: I.
sc. VI.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 403
Luc. Why all these funny falsehoods 2 What is the
good of it 2
Sgan. One word is as good as a thousand, gentlemen. I
tell you that I am not a physician.
|Wal. You are not a physician 2
Sgam. No.
Luc. You are not a physician 2
Sgam. No, I tell you.
Wal. Since you will have it so, we must make up our
minds to do it. [They each take a stick, and thrash him.
Sgan. Hold hold! hold, gentlemen I will be anything
you like.
Val. Why, Sir, do you oblige us to use this violence
Luc. Why do you make us take the trouble of giving
you a beating 2
Yal. I assure you that I regret it with all my heart.
Luc. Upon my word I am sorry for it too.
Sgan. What the devil does it all mean, gentlemen 2 For
pity's sake, is it a joke, or are you both gone out of your
minds, to wish to make me out a physician 2
Yal. What you do not give in yet, and you still deny
being a physician Ž
Sgan. The devil take me if I am one !
Luc. Are you not a physician 2
Sgam. No, plague choke me ! [They begin to thrash him.
again] Hold I hold ! Well, gentlemen, yes, since you will
have it so, I am a physician, I am a physician—an apothe-
cary into the bargain, if you like. I prefer saying yes to
everything to being knocked about so.
Val. Ah that is right, Sir ; I am delighted to see you
so reasonable.
Luc. It does my heart good to hear you speak in this
way.
Wal. I beg your pardon with all my heart.
404 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT I.
Luc. I hope you will forgive me for the liberty I have
taken.
Sgan. [Aside] Bless my soul I Am I perhaps myself
mistaken, and have I become a physician without being aware
of it 2
Val. You shall not regret, Sir, having shown us what
you are ; and you shall certainly be satisfied.
Sgam. But tell me, gentlemen, may you not be yourselves
mistaken 2 Is it quite certain that I am a physician 7
Luc. Yes, upon my word
Sgam. Really and truly 2
Val. Undoubtedly.
Sgam. The devil take me if I knew it !
Wal. Nonsense ! You are the cleverest physician in the
world.
. Sgan. Ha, ha!
Luc. A physician who has cured I do not know how
many complaints.
Sgam. The dickens I have 1
Wal. A woman was thought dead for six hours; she
was ready to be buried when you, with a drop of something,
brought her to again, and made her walk at once about the
room.
Sgam. The deuce I did
Luc. A child of twelve fell from the top of the belfry,
by which he had his head, his legs, and his arms smashed;
and you, with I do not know what ointment, made him im-
mediately get up on his feet, and off he ran to play chuck-
farthing.
Sgam. The devil I did
Val. In short, Sir, you will be satisfied with us, and you
shall earn whatever you like, if you allow us to take you
where we intend.
Sgam. I shall earn whatever I like 2
sC. I.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 405
Wal. Yes.
Sgan. In that case I am a physician : there is no doubt
of it. I had forgotten it; but I recollect it now. What is
the matter ? Where am I to go
Val. We will conduct you. The matter is to see a
girl who has lost her speech.
Sgan. Indeed I have not found it.
Val. [Softly to Lucas] How he loves his joke [To
Sganarelle] Come along, Sir I
Sgan. Without a physician's gown
Val. We will get one.
Sgan. [Presenting his bottle to Valère] You carry this :
I put my juleps in there [Twrming row.nd to Lucas, and
Spitting on the grownd] And you, stamp on this, by order
of the physician. &
Luc. Odds sniggers this is a physician I like. I think
he will do, for he is a comical fellow.”
A CT II. SCENE I.
[The Scene represents a room in Géronte's house.]
GéRONTE, WALERE, LUCAS, JACQUELINE.”
Val. Yes, Sir, I think you will be satisfied; we have
brought the greatest physician in the world with us.
Luc. Oh ! Zooks I this one beats everything; all the
others are not worthy to hold the candle to him.”
Val. He is a man who has performed some marvellous
CUITéS.
Luc. Who has put dead people on their legs again.
* See Appendix, Note J. 26 See Appendix, Note K.
27 The original has tous les autres ne sont pas daignes de li déchausser
ses souliés, all the others are not worthy to take off his shoes.
406 THE PEIYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT II.
Val. He is somewhat whimsical, as I have told you;
and at times there are moments when his senses wander,
and he does not seem what he really is.
Luc. Yes, he loves a joke, and one would say sometimes
that he has got a tile loose somewhere.”
Val. But in reality, it is all learning this; and very
often he says things quite beyond any one's comprehension.
Luc. When he sets about it, he talks as finely as if he
were reading a book.
Val. He has already a great reputation hereabout, and
everybody comes to consult him.
Gér. I am very anxious to see him ; send him to me
quickly.
Val. I am going to fetch him.
SCENE II.
GóRONTE, JACQUELINE, LUCAS.
Jacq. Upon my word, Sir, this one will do just the same
as all the rest.” I think it will be six of the one and half-
a-dozen of the others; and the best medicine to give to
your daughter would, in my opinion, be a handsome strapping
husband, for whom she could have some love.”
Ger. Lord bless my soul, nurse dear, you are meddling
with many things |
Luc. Hold your tongue, mother Jacqueline; it is not for
you to poke your nose there.
* The original has qu'il a quelque petit coup de hache à la tête, that
he has received some small blow with an axe on his head.
* Jacqueline talks in a kind of peasant's dialect, which cannot be
translated. The first sentence is thus in the original: Par ma fi,
nonsieu, ceti-cifera justement ce qu' ant fait les autres.
* Something similar is said by Gros-René in the third scene of one
of Molière's early farces, The flying Physician (Le Médecin volant), which
will be given in the last volume of this edition.
SU. Il.] THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 407
Jacq. I tell you, and a dozen more of you,” that all
these physicians do her no good; that your daughter wants
something else than rhubarb and Senna, and that a husband
is a plaster which cures all girls' complaints.
Ger. Would any one have her in her present state, with
that affliction on her ? and when I intended her to marry,
has she not opposed my wishes 2
Jacq. No wonder. You wished to give her a man whom
she does not like. Why did you not give her to Monsieur
Léandre, who takes her fancy 2. She would have been
very obedient, and I vouch for it that he will take her as
she is, if you but give her to him.
Gér. Léandre is not the man we want; he has not got
a fortune like the other.
Jacq. He has got an uncle who is so rich, and whose
fortune he will inherit.
Ger. All these expectations seem to me but moonshine.
Brag is a good dog, but Holdfast is a better; and we run a
great risk in waiting for dead men's shoes. Death is not
always at the beck and call of gentlemen heirs; and while
the grass grows, the cow starves.”
Jacq. That is all well and good, but I have always heard
that in marriage, as in everything else, happiness excels
riches. Fathers and mothers have this cursed habit of
asking always, “How much has he got ?” and “How
* The original has an attempt at a play on words: je vous dis et vous
douze, because dis, say, and dia, ten, have nearly the same pronunciation.
32 This is rather a free translation of Géronte's speech. The original
has : Tous ces biens à venir me semblent autant de chansons. Il n'est rien
tel ce qu'on tient; et l’on court grand risque de s'abuser, lorsque l’on compte
sur le bien qu'un autre vous garde. La mort n'a pas toujours les oreilles
ouvertes aua yeux et aua prières de messieurs les heritiers ; et l'on
a le temps d’avoir les dents longues, lorsqu' on attend, pour vivre, le trepas
de quelqu'un. Avoir les dents longues is, according to Génin's Lewigue
comparé de la langue de Molière, to be hungry, because hunger is sup-
posed to sharpen one's teeth.
408. THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT 11.
much has she got ?” And gaffer Peter has married his
Simonette to that lout Thomas, because he has got a few
more vineyards than young Robin, for whom the girl had
a fancy; and now the poor creature is as yellow as a guinea,
and has not looked like herself ever since. That is a good
example for you, Sir. After all, folks have but their
pleasure in this world; and I would sooner give my
daughter a husband whom she likes, than have all the
riches in the country.” -
Ger. Bless me, nurse, how you chatter Hold your
tongue, let me beg of you; you take too much upon your-
self, and you will spoil your milk.
Luc. [Slapping Géronte's shoulder at every word] In-
deed, be silent; you are too saucy. The master does not
want your speeches, and he knows what he is about. All
you have got to do is to suckle your baby, without arguing
so much. Our master is the girl's father, and he is good
and clever enough to know what she wants.
Gér. Gently, gently. -
Luc. [Still slapping Géronte's shoulder] I wish to show
her her place, and teach her the respect due to you, Sir.
Gér. Very well. But it does not need all this gesticu-
lating.
* The original has toutes les rentes de la Biawsse, of Beauce, because
it is one of the richest agricultural parts of France—Beauce having for
its principal towns Dreux, Chartres, and Châteaudun. Rabelais, in his
Gargantua, Book I., Chapter 16, relates how the huge mare on which
Gargantua rode destroyed the ox-flies of the Beauce with her enormous
tail, “and felled everywhere the wood with as much ease, as the mower
doth the grass, in such sort that never since hath there been there
neither wood nor dorflies: for all the country was thereby reduced to a
plain champagne field, which Gargantua took great pleasure to behold,
and said to his company no more but this, ‘Je trouve beau ce, I find
this pretty; whereupon that country hath been ever since that time
called Beauce.”
SC. III.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 409
&CENE III.
WALERE, SGANARELLE, GERONTE, LUCAS, JACQUELINE.”
Wal. Look out, Sir, here is our physician coming.
Gér. [To Sgamarelle] I am delighted to see you, Sir,
at my house, and we have very great need of you.
Sgan. [In a physician's gown, with a very pointed cap)
Hippocrates says . . . that we should both put our hats on.
Gér. Hippocrates says that ?
Sgam. Yes.
Gér. In which chapter, if you please !
Sgan. In his chapter . . . on hats.
Gér. Since Hippocrates says so, we must obey.
Sgam. Doctor, having heard of the marvellous things . . .
Gér. To whom are you speaking, pray ?
Sgam. To you.
Gér. I am not a physician.
Sgam. You are not a physician 2 t
Gér. Indeed I am not.
Sgam. Really 4
Gér. Really. [Sgamarelle takes a stick and thrashes
Géronte.] Oh! Oh Oh
Sgam. Now you are a physician, I have never taken any
other degree.
Gér. [To Valère] What a devil of a fellow you have
brought me here !
Val. Did I not tell you that he was a funny sort of a
physician.
Gér. Yes; but I shall send him about his business
with his fun.
Iºwc. Do not take any notice of it, Sir. It is only his
joking.
Gér. The joking does not suit me.
* See Appendix, Note L.
410 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT II.
Sgan. Sir ; I beg your pardon for the liberty I have
taken.
Gér. I am your humble servant, Sir.
Sgam. I am sorry . . .
Gér. It is nothing.
Sgam. For the cudgelling I . . .
Gér. There is no harm done.
Sgam. Which I have had the honour to give you.
Gér. Do not say any more about it, Sir. I have a
daughter who is suffering from a strange complaint.
Sgam. I am delighted, Sir, that your daughter has need
of my skill; and I wish, with all my heart, that you stood
in the same need of it, you and all your family, in order to
show you my wish to serve you.
Gée. I am obliged to you for these kind feelings.
Sgam. I assure you that I am speaking from my very
heart.
Gér. You really do me too much honour.
Sgam. What is your daughter's name 3
Gér. Lucinde.
Sgan. Lucinde Ah a pretty name to physic Lu-
cinde (* *
Gér. I will just see what she is doing.
Sgam. Who is that tall woman :
Gér. She is my baby's nurse.
SCENE IV.
SGANARELLE, JACQUELINE, LUCAS.”
Sgam. [Aside] Zounds, that is a fine piece of household
furniture. [Aloud] Ah, nurse ! Charming nurse ! my
physic is the very humble slave of your nurseship, and
* Not unlikely this was an allusion to the Juno Lucinda.
* See Appendix, Note M.
sc. Iv.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 4 | 1
I should like to be the fortunate little nursling to suck
the milk of your good graces. [He puts his hand on her
bosom] All my nostrums, all my skill, all my cleverness,
is at your service; and . . .
Luc. By your leave, Mr Doctor; leave my wife alone, I
pray you.
Sgam. What is she your wife 2
Luc. Yes.
Sgam. Oh, indeed I did not know that, but I am very
glad of it for the love of both. [He pretends to embrace
Lwcas, but embraces the mºurse.
Luc. [Pulling Sgamarelle away, and placing himself
between him and his wife] Gently, if you please.
Sgam. I assure you that I am delighted that you should
be united together. I congratulate her upon having such
a husband as you ; and I congratulate you upon having a
wife so handsome, so discreet, and so well-shaped as she is.
[He pretends once more to embrace Lucas, who holds out his
arms, he slips wºnder them, and embraces the nurse.
Luc. [Pulling him away again] Do not pay so many
compliments, I beg of you.
Sgan. Shall I not rejoice with you about such a lovely
harmony ?
Luc. With me as much as you like ; but a truce to
compliments with my wife.
Sgan. I have both your happiness equally at heart; and
if I embrace you to show my delight in you, I embrace her
to show my delight in her. [Same by-play.
Luc. [Pulling him away for the third time] Odds
boddikins, Mr Doctor, what vagaries
412 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT II.
SCENE V.
GéRONTE, SGANARELLE, LUCAS, JACQUELINE.
Gér. My daughter will be here directly, Sir.
Sgam. I am awaiting her, Sir, with all my physic.
Gér. Where is it !
Sgan. [Touching his forehead] In there.
Gér. That is good.
Sgan. But as I feel much interested in your family, I
should like to test the milk of your nurse, and examine her
breasts. [He draws close to Jacqueline.]
Luc. [Pulling him away, and swinging him round]
Nothing of the sort, nothing of the sort. I do not wish it.
Sgan. It is the physician's duty to see the breasts of the
nurse.
Luc. Duty or no duty, I will not have it.
Sgan. Have you the audacity to contradict a physician?
Out with you.
Luc. I do not care a straw about a physician.
Sgan. [Looking askance at him] I will give you a fever.
Jacq. [Taking Lucas by the arm, and 8winging him
round also] Get out of the way. Am I not big enough to
take my own part, if he does anything to me which he
ought not to do
Luc. I will not have him touch you, I will not.
Sgan. For shame you rascal, to be jealous of your wife.
Ger. Here comes my daughter.
SCENE VI.
LUCINDE, GERONTE, SGANARELLE, WALERE,
LUCAS, JACQUELINE.”
Sgan. Is this the patient
Gér. Yes. I have but one daughter; and I would
never get over it if she were to die,
tº Emº we
87 See Appendix, Note N.

sc. v1.1 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 41 3
Sgam. Do not let her do anything of the kind. She
must not die without a prescription of the physician.”
Gér. A chair here !
Sgan. [Seated between Géronte and Lucindel This is
not at all an unpleasant patient, and I am of opinion that
she would not be at all amiss for a man in very good health.
Gér. You have made her laugh, Sir. y
Sgam. So much the better. It is the best sign in the
world when a physician makes the patient laugh. [To
Lucinde] Well, what is the matter 2 What ails you ?
What is it you feel?
Luc. [Replies by motions, by putting her hand, to her
mouth, her head, and wnder her chim.] Ha, hi, ho, ha!
Sgam. What do you say ?
Luc. [Continues the same motions] Ha, hi, ho, ha,
ha, hi, hol
Sgam. What is that ?
Luc. Ha, hi, ho
Sgan. [Imitating her.] Ha, hi, ho, ha, haſ I do not
understand you. What sort of language do you call that ?
Gér. That is just where her complaint lies, Sir. She
has become dumb, without our having been able till now
to discover the cause. This accident has obliged us to post-
pone her marriage:
Sgam. And why so
Gér. He whom she is going to marry wishes to wait
for her recovery to conclude the marriage.
Sgan. And who is this fool that does not want his wife
to be dumb 7 Would to Heaven that mine had, that com-
plaint | I should take particular care not to have her cured.
Gér. To the point, Sir We beseech you to use all
your skill to cure her of this affliction.
88 Géronte and Sganarelle's remarks are also found slightly altered
in Molière's The flying Physician, one of his early farces.
414 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT II.
Sgan. Do not make yourself uneasy. But tell me, does
this pain oppress her much 3
Gér. Yes, Sir.
Sgam. So much the better. Is the suffering very acute?
Gér. Very acute.
Sgan. That is right. Does she go to . . . you know
where 2
Gér. Yes.
Sgam. Freely 7
Gér. That I know nothing about.
Sgam. Is the matter healthy Ž
Ger. I do not understand these things.
Sgam. [Twrning to the patient] Give me your hand.
[To Géronte] The pulse tells me that your daughter is
dumb.
Gér. Sir, that is what is the matter with her; ah yes,
you have found it out at the first touch.
Sgam. Of course !
Jacq. See how he has guessed her complaint
Sgam. We great physicians, we know matters at once.
An ignoramus would have been nonplussed, and would have
told you : it is this, that, or the other ; but I hit the mail
on the head from the very first, and I tell you that your
daughter is dumb. *
Gér. Yes; but I should like you to tell me whence it
arises.
Sgan. Nothing is easier; it arises from loss of speech.
Gér. Very good. But the reason of her having lost
her speech, pray ?
Sgam. Our best authorities will tell you that it is
because there is an impediment in the action of her
tongue.
Gér. But, once more, your opinion upon this impedi-
ment in the action of her tongue.
SC. VI.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 4, 15
Sgan. Aristotle on this subject says . . . a great many
clever things.
Gér. I dare say.
Sgan. Ah He was a great man
Gér. No doubt.
Sgan. Yes, a very great man. [Holding owt his arm, and
putting a finger of the other hand in the bend] A man who
was, by this, much greater than I. But to come back to
our argument : I am of opinion that this impediment in the
action of her tongue is caused by certain humours, which
among us learned men, we call peccant humours; peccant
—that is to say . . . peccant humours; inasmuch as the
vapours formed by the exhalations of the influences which
rise in the very region of diseases, coming, . . . as we
may say to . . . Do you understand Latin 7
Gér. Not in the least.
Sgan. [Suddenly rising] You do not understand
Latin Ż
Gér. No.
Sgam. [ASSwming various comic attitudes] Cabricias
arci thwram, catalamws, singulariter, nominativo, haec
'musa, the muse, bonus, bona, bomwm. Dews Sanctus, est-me
oratio latinas Ž Etiam, Yes. Qware 3 Why? Qwia sub-
stantivo et adjectivum, concordat in generi, nºwmerwm, et
casus.”
Gér. Ah Why did I not study
Jacq. What a clever man
* The first four words of Sganarelle's address are words of Molière's
coining, and belong to no language ; the rest is a truncated quotation
of the following passage from the old Latin grammar of Despautére:
Deus sanctus, est-ne oratio latina & Etiam. Quare # Quia substantivum
et adjectivum concordant in genere, numero, casu. In pronouncing the
word casus, which means “case,” and “fall,” the actor, who plays the
part of Sganarelle, upsets his chair whilst sitting down, and falls on
the floor, according to tradition.
4l 6 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT 1ſ.
Luc. Yes, it is so beautiful that I do not understand a
word of it.
Sgam. Thus these vapours which I speak of, passing from
the left side, where the liver is, to the right side, where we
find the heart, it so happens that the lungs, which in Latin
we call armyan, having communication with the brain, which
in Greek we style maSmws, by means of the vena cava, which
in Hebrew, in termed cubile,” meet in their course the said
vapours, which fill the ventricles of the omoplata; and
because the said vapours . . . now understand well this
argument, pray . . . and because these said vapours are
endowed with a certain malignity . . . listen well to this,
I beseech you.
Gér. Yes.
Sgam. Are endowed with a certain malignity which is
caused . . . pay attention here, if you please.
Ger. I do.
Sgam. Which is caused by the acridity of these humours
engendered in the concavity of the diaphragm, it happens that
these vapours. . . . OSSabandw8, nequeis, nequer, potarinwm,
gwipsa milws.” That is exactly the reason that your
daughter is dumb.
Jacq. Ah How well this gentleman explains all this.
Luc. Why does not my tongue wag as well as his 2
Gér. It is undoubtedly impossible to argue better.
There is but one thing that I cannot exactly make out :
that is the whereabouts of the liver and the heart. It
appears to me that you place them differently from what
they are; that the heart is on the left side, and the liver
on the right.
Sgam. Yes; this was so formerly; but we have changed
* Armyan and Masmus belong to no language; cubile is the Latin
for bed or den.
* These words belong to no language.
sc. vii.1 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 417
all that, and we now-a-days practise the medical art on an
entirely new system.
Gér. I did not know that, and I pray you pardon
my ignorance.
Sgan. There is no harm done ; and you are not obliged
to be so clever as we are.
Gér. Certainly not. But what think you, Sir, ought
to be done for this complaint %
Sgam. What do I think ought to be done
Gér. Yes.
Sgan. My advice is to put her to bed again, and make
her, as a remedy, take plenty of bread soaked in wine.
Gér. Why so, Sir
Sgan. Because there is in bread and wine mixed together
a sympathetic virtue which produces speech. Do you not see
that they give nothing else to parrots, and that, by eating
it, they learn to speak.
Gér. That is true. Oh the great man Quick,
plenty of bread and wine.
Sgan. I shall come back to-night to see how the patient
is getting on.”
SCENE VII.
GERONTE, SGANARELLE, JACQUELINE.
Sgan. [To Jacqueline] Stop a little you. [To Géronte]
Sir, I must give some medicine to your nurse.
Jacq. To me, Sir 2 I am as well as can be.
Sgan. So much the worse, nurse, so much the worse.
This excess of health is dangerous, and it would not be
amiss to bleed you a little gently, and to administer some
little soothing injection.
42 See Appendix, Note Q.
III. 2 D
4, 18 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT II.
Ger. But, my dear Sir, that is a method which I cannot
understand. Why bleed folks when they are not ill ?
Sgan. It does not matter, the method is salutary; and
as we drink for the thirst to come, so must we bleed
for the disease to come.”
Jacq. [Going] I do not care a fig for all this, and I
will not have my body made an apothecary’s shop.
Sgan. You object to my remedies; but we shall know
how to bring you to reason.
SCENE VIII.
GéRONTE, SGANARELLE.
Sgan. I wish you good day.
Gér. Stay a moment, if you please.
Sgan. What are you going to do
Gér. Give you your fee, Sir.
Sgam. [Putting his hands behind him, from wwder his
gown, while Geronte opens his purse] I shall not accept it,
Sir.
Gér. Sir.
Sgam. Not at all.
Gér. One moment.
Sgam. On no consideration.
Gér. Pray !
Sgan. You are jesting.
Gér. That is settled.
Sgam. I shall do nothing of the kind.
Gér. What
Sgam. I do not practise for money's sake.”
* This is really no joke. It was the custom in Molière's time to
swallow a certain amount of physic, as a matter of precaution, and in
case of future maladies.
* This is taken from Rabelais' Pantagruel, Book III., Chapter 34,
when Panurge, having taken counsel with the physician Rondibilis,
SC. IX.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 4, 19
Gér. I am convinced of that.
Sgan. [After having taken the money] Are they good
weight 7
Gér. Yes, Sir.
Sgan. I am not a mercenary physician.
Gér. I am well aware of it.
Sgam. I am not actuated by interest.
Gér. I do not for a moment think so.
Sgan. [Alone, looking at the money he has received]
Upon my word, this does not promise badly; and pro-
vided . . .
SCENE IX.
LÉANDRE, SGANARELLE.”
Léam. I have been waiting some time for you, Sir, and
I have come to beg your assistance.
Sgam. [Feeling his pulse] That is a very bad pulse.
Léam. I am not ill, Sir; and it is not for that that I am
come to you. ſ
Sgan. If you are not ill, why the devil do not you tell
me So 2
Léan. No. To tell you the matter in a few words,
my name is Léandre. I am in love with Lucinde to whom
you have just paid a visit; and as all access to her is denied
to me, through the ill-temper of her father, I venture to
beseech you to serve me in my love affair, and to assist me
clapped into his hand, without the speaking of so much as one word,
four rose nobles. “Rondibilis did shut his fist upon them right kindly ;
yet, as if it had displeased him to make acceptance of such golden pre-
sents, he in a start, as if he had been wroth, said, He, he, he, he, he,
there was no need of anything, I thank you nevertheless. From wicked
folks I never get enough, and from honest people I refuse nothing. I
shall be always, Sir, at your command. Provided that I pay you well,
quoth Panurge. That, quoth Rondibilis, is understood.”
* See Appendix, Note P.
420 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT II.
in a stratagem that I have invented, so as to say a few
words to her, on which my whole life and happiness ab-
solutely depend.
Sgan. [I'm apparent anger] Whom do you take me for ?
How dare you address yourself to me to assist you in your
love affair, and to wish me to lower the dignity of a phy-
sician by an affair of that kind
Léan. Do not make a noise, Sir
Sgan. [Driving him back] I will make a noise. You
are an impertinent fellow.
Léan. Ah gently, Sir.
Sgan. An ill-mannered jackanapes.
Léam. Pray ! º
Sgan. I will teach you that I am not the kind of man
you take me for, and that it is the greatest insolence. . . .
Léam. [Taking out a purse] Sir . . .
Sgan. To wish to employ me . . . [taking the purse]
I am not speaking about you, for you are a gentleman; and
I should be delighted to be of any use to you : but there
are certain impertinent people in this world who take folks
for what they are not ; and I tell you candidly that this
puts me in a passion.
Léan. I ask your pardon, Sir, for the liberty I have . . .
Sgan. You are jesting. What is the affair in ques-
tion ?
Léan. You must know then, Sir, that this disease which
you wish to cure is a feigned complaint. The physicians
have argued about it, as they ought to do, and they have
not failed to give it as their opinion,-this one, that it arose
from the brain; that one, from the intestines; another, from
the spleen; another, again, from the liver; but the fact is
that love is its real cause, and that Lucinde has only in-
vented this illness in order to free herself from a marriage
with which she has been harassed. But for fear that we
sc. I.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 421
may be seen together, let us retire ; and I will tell you as we
go along, what I wish you to do.
Sgam. Come along, then, Sir. You have inspired me
with an inconceivable interest in your love; and if all my
medical science does not fail me, the patient shall either die
or be yours.”
A CT III. SCENE I.
[The Scene represents a spot near Géronte's house.]
LÉANDRE, SGANARELLE.”
Léan. I think that I am not at all badly got up for an
apothecary ; and as her father has scarcely ever seen me,
this change of dress and wig is likely enough, I think, to
disguise me.
Sgam. There is no doubt of it.
Léam. Only I should like to know five or six big medical
words to leaven my conversation with, and to give me the
air of a learned man.
Sgam. Go along, go along ; it is not at all necessary.
The dress is sufficient; and I know no more about it than
you do.
Léam. How is that
Sgam. The devil take me if I understand anything about
medicine ! You are a gentleman, and I do not mind con-
fiding in you, as you have confided in me.
Léan. What Then you are not really . . .
Sgan. No, I tell you. They have made me a physician
in spite of my teeth. I have never attempted to be so
learned as that ; and all my studies did not go farther than
the lowest class at school. I do not know how the idea has
* See Appendix, Note Q. * See Appendix, Note R.
422 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. . [ACT III.
come to them; but when I saw that in spite of every thing
they would have it that I was a physician, I made up my
mind to be so at somebody's expense. You would not be-
lieve, however, how this error has spread, and how everyone is
possessed, and believes me to be a learned man. They come
Seeking me on all sides; and if things go on in this way, I
am resolved to stick to the profession all my life. I find that
it is the best trade of all; for, whether we manage well or
ill, we are paid just the same. Bad workmanship never
recoils upon us; and we cut the material we have to work
with pretty much as we like. A shoemaker, in making a pair
of shoes, cannot spoil a scrap of leather without having to
bear the loss; but in our business, we may spoil a man
without its costing us a farthing. The blunders are never
put down to us, and it is always the fault of the fellow who
dies. The best of this profession is, that there is the
greatest honesty and discretion among the dead; for you
never find them complain of the physician who has killed
them.
Léam. It is true that the dead are very honourable in
that respect. &
Sgan. [Seeing some people advancing towards him] There
come some people, who seem anxious to consult me. [To
Léandre] Go and wait for me near the house of your lady-
love.
SCENE II.
THIBAUT, PERRIN, SGANARELLE.”
Thib. Sir, we come to look for you, my son Perrin and
myself.”
Sgam. What is the matter ?
* See Appendix, Note S.
* In the original, Thibaut speaks like a peasant ; as, Mounsie, je venoms
vous charcher, mon fils Perrin et moi.
SC. II.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 423
Thib. His poor mother, whose name is Perrette, has
been on a bed of sickness for the last six months.
Sgam. [Holding out his hand as if to receive money]
What would you have me do to her ?
Thib. I would like you to give me some little doctor's
stuff to cure her.
Sgam. We must first see what is the matter with her.
Thib. She is ill with the hypocrisy, Sir.
Sgam. With the hypocrisy?
Thib. Yes; I mean she is swollen everywhere. They
say that there is a lot of seriosities in her inside, and that
her liver, her belly, or her spleen, as you would call it,
instead of making blood makes nothing but water. She has,
every other day, the quotiguian fever, with lassitude and pains
in the muscles of her legs. We can hear in her throat
phlegms that are ready to choke her, and she is often taken
with syncoles and conversions, so that we think she is going
off the hooks. We have got in our village an apothecary—
with respect be it said—who has given her, I do not know
how much stuff; and it has cost me more than a dozen good
crowns in clysters, saving your presence, in apostumes which
he has made her swallow, in infections of hyacinth, and
in cordial potions. But all this, as people say, was nothing
but an ointment of fiddle-faddle. He wanted to give her a
certain drug called ametile wine; but I was downright
afeard that this would send her to the other world alto-
gether; because they tell me that those big physicians kill,
I do not know how many, with that new-fangled notion.”
Sgan. [Still holding owt his hand, and moving it about
to show that he wants money] Let us come to the point,
friend, let us come to the point.
* Of course, Thibaut mispronounces nearly every word, and also the
medical words. Sganarelle corrects him a little further on. For emetic
wine, which he calls “ametile wine,” see page 132, note 19.
424 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT III.
Thib. The point is, Sir, that we have come to beg of
you to tell us what we must do.
Sgam. I do not understand you at all.
Per. My mother is ill, Sir, and here are two crowns
which we have brought you to give us some stuff.
Sgam. Ah you I do understand. There is a lad who
speaks clearly, and explains himself as he should. You say
that your mother is ill with the dropsy ; that she is swollen
all over her body; that she has a fever, with pains in the
legs; that she sometimes is taken with syncopes and con-
vulsions, that is to say, with fainting fits.
Per. Indeed, Sir that is just it.
Sgam. I understood you at once. Your father does not
know what he says. And now you ask me for a remedy ?
Per. Yes, sir.
Sgam. A remedy to cure her ?
Per. That is just what I mean.
... Sgam. Take this then. It is a piece of cheese which
you must make her take.
Per. A piece of cheese, Sir
Sgam. Yes; it is a kind of prepared cheese, in which
there is gold, coral, and pearls, and a great many other
precious things.
Per. I am very much obliged to you, Sir, and I shall
go and make her take it directly.
Sgam. Go, and if she dies, do not fail to bury her in the
best style you can.
SCENE III.
The Scene changes, and represents, as in the Second Act,
a room in Géronte's house.
JACQUELINE, SGANARELLE, LUCAS, at the far end of the stage.
Sgan. Here is the pretty nurse. Ah you darling
nurse, I am delighted at this meeting ; and the sight of
SC. III.] THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 425
you is like rhubarb, cassia, and senna to me, which purges
all mélancholy from my mind.
Jacq. Upon my word, Mr Physician, it is no good talk-
ing to me in that style, and I do not understand your Latin
at all.
Sgan. Get ill, nurse, I beg of you ; get ill for my sake.
I shall have all the pleasure in the world of curing you.
Jacq. I am your humble servant; I would much rather
not be cured.
Sgan. How I grieve for you, beautiful nurse, in having
such a jealous and troublesome husband.
Jacq. What am I to do, Sir 2 It is as a penance for
my sins; and where the goat is tied down she must browse.
Sgan. What | Such a clod-hopper as that a fellow
who is always watching you, and will let no one speak to
you !
Jacq. Alas! you have seen nothing yet; and that is
only a small sample of his bad temper. *
Sgan. Is it possible 2 and can a man have so mean a
spirit as to ill-use a woman like you ? Ah I know some,
sweet nurse, and who are not very far off, who would only
be too glad to kiss your little feet ! Why should such a
handsome woman have fallen into such hands ! and a mere
animal, a brute, a stupid, a fool . . . Excuse me, nurse,
for speaking in that way of your husband.
Jacq. Oh Sir, I know full well that he deserves all
these names.
Sgan. Undoubtedly, nurse, he deserves them ; and he
also deserves that you should plant something on his head
to punish him for his suspicions.
Jacq. It is true enough that if I had not his interest so
much at heart, he would drive me to do some strange
things.
Sgam. Indeed it would just serve him right if you were
426 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. Act III.
to revenge yourself upon him with some one. The fellow
richly deserves it all, I tell you, and if I were fortunate
enough, fair nurse, to be chosen by you .
[While Sganarelle is holding out his arms to embrace
Jacqueline, Lucas passes his head wrºder them, and
comes between the two. Sganarelle and Jacqueline
stare at Lucas, and depart on opposite sides, but the
doctor does so in a very comic manner.
SCENE IV.
GéRONTE, LUCAS.
Gér. I say, Lucas, have not you seen our physician here
Luc. Indeed I have seen him, by all the devils, and
my wife too. *
Gér. Where can he be 2
Luc. I do not know ; but I wish he were at the devil.
Gér. Just go and see what my daughter is doing.
SCENE V.
SGANARELLE, LéANDRE, GéRONTE.
Gér. I was just inquiring after you, Sir. -
Sgan. I have just been amusing myself in your court with
expelling the superfluity of drink. How is the patient 7
Gér. Somewhat worse since your remedy.
Sgam. So much the better; it shows that it takes effect.
Gér. Yes; but while it is taking effect, I am afraid it
will choke her.
Sgan. Do not make yourself uneasy; I have some remedies
that will make it all right ! and I wait until she is at death's
door. .
Gér. [Pointing to Leandre] Who is this man that is
with you ? .
SC. VI.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPLTE OF HIMSELF. 427
Sgan. [Imtimates by motions of his hands that it is an
apothecary.] It is . . . .
Gé,'. What ?
Sgam. He who . . .
Gér. Oh I
Sgan. Who . . . .
Gér. I understand.
dº
Sgam. Your daughter will want him.
SCENE VI.
LUCINDE, GéRONTE, LÉANDRE, JACQUELINE, SGANARELLE.”
Jacq. Here is your daughter, Sir, who wishes to stretch
her limbs a little.
Sgam. That will do her good. Go to her, Mr Apothe-
cary, and feel her pulse, so that I may consult with you
presently about her complaint. [At this point he draws
Géronte to ome end of the stage, and putting one arm,
wpon his showlder, he places his hand wºnder his chim, with
which he makes him turn towards him, each time that
Géronte wants to look at what is passing between his daugh-
ter and the apothecary, while he holds the following discourse
with him] Sir, it is a great and subtle question among phy-
sicians to know whether women or men are more easily
cured. I pray you to listen to this, if you please. Some
say “no,” others say “yes:” I say both “yes” and “no ; ”
inasmuch as the incongruity of the opaque humours, which
are found in the natural temperament of women, causes the
brutal part to struggle for the mastery over the sensitive,”
we find that the conflict of their opinion depends on the
oblique motion of the circle of the moon ; and as the sun,
which darts its beams on the concavity of the earth,
meets . . .
* See Appendix, Note T.
* Compare Gros René's Speech in The Love Tiff, Act iv., Scene ii.,
Vol. I., page 156.
428 THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT III.
Luc. [To Léandre] No ; I am not at all likely to change
my feelings. t
Gé. Hark! my daughter speaks O, great virtue of
the remedy O, excellent physician How deeply am I
obliged to you, Sir, for this marvellous cure And what can
I do for you after such a service 2
Sgan. [Strutting about the stage, fanning himself with
his hat] This case has given me some trouble.
Luc. Yes, father, I have recovered my speech; but I
have recovered it to tell you that I will never have any
other husband than Léandre, and that it is in vain for you
to wish to give me Horace.
Gér. But . . .
Luc. Nothing will shake the resolution I have taken.
Gér. What . . .
Luc. All your fine arguments will be in vain.
Gér. If . . .
Luc. All your talking will be of no use.
Gér. I . . .
Luc. I have made up my mind about the matter.
Gér. But . . .
Luc. No paternal authority can compel me to marry
against my will.
Gér. I have . . .
Luc. You may try as much as you like.
Gér. It .
Luc. My heart cannot submit to this tyranny.
Gér. The . . .
Luc. And I will sooner go into a convent than marry a
man I do not love.
Gér. But . . .
Luc. [In a lowd voice] No. By no means. It is of
no use. You waste your time. I shall do nothing of the
kind. I am fully determined.
SC. VI.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 429
Gér. Ah what a torrent of words ! One cannot hold
out against it. [To Sganarelle] I beseech you, Sir, to make
her dumb again. *
Sgan. That is impossible. All that I can do in your
behalf is to make you deaf, if you like.
Gér. I thank you. [To Lucinde] Do you think . . .
Luc. No ; all your reasoning will not have the slightest
effect upon me.
Gér. You shall marry Horace this very evening.
Luc. I would sooner marry death itself.
Sgan. [To Gérontel Stop, for Heaven's sake stop. Let
me doctor this matter; it is a disease that has got hold of
her, and I know the remedy to apply to it. 3
Gér. Is it possible indeed, Sir, that you can cure this
disease of the mind also :
Sgan. Yes; let me manage it. I have remedies for every
thing; and our apothecary will serve us capitally for this
cure. [To Léandre] A word with you. You perceive that
the passion she has for this Léandre is altogether against
the wishes of the father; that there is no time to lose ; that
the humours are very acrimonious; and that it becomes
necessary to find speedily a remedy for this complaint, which
may get worse by delay. As for myself, I see but one, which
is a dose of purgative flight, mixed, as it should be, with
two drachms of matrimonium, made up into pills. She may,
perhaps, make some difficulty about taking this remedy;
but as you are a clever man in your profession, you must
induce her to consent to it, and make her swallow the thing
as best you can. Go and take a little turn in the garden
with her to prepare the humours, while I converse here with
her father; but, above all, lose not a moment. Apply the
remedy quick I apply the specific | *
33 See Appendix, Note U.
430 THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT III.
SCENE VII.
GERONTE, SGANARELLE.”
Gér. What drugs are those you have just mentioned,
Sir 2 It seems to me that I never heard of them before.
Sgam. They are drugs which are used only in urgent
Ca,SeS.
Gér. Did you ever see such insolence as hers ?
Sgam. Daughters are a little headstrong at times.
Gér. You would not believe how infatuated she is with
this Léandre.
Sgam. The heat of the blood produces those things in
young people.
Gér. As for me, the moment I discovered the violence of
this passion, I took care to keep my daughter under lock
and key.
Sgan. You have acted wisely.
Gér. And I have prevented the slightest communication
between them.
Sgam. Just so.
Gér. They would have committed some folly, if they
had been permitted to see each other.
Sgam. Undoubtedly.
Gér. And I think she would have been the girl to run
away with him.
'Sgam. You have argued very prudently.
Gér. I was informed, that he tried every means to get
speech of her.
Sgam. The rascall
Gér. But he will waste his time.
Sgan. Aye! Aye!
Gér. And I will effectually prevent him from seeing
her.
* See Appendix, Note V.
2
sc. TX.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 431
Sgan. He has no fool to deal with, and you know some
tricks of which he is ignorant. One must get up very early
to catch you asleep.
SCENE VIII.
LUCAS, GéRONTE, SCANARELLE.
Luc. Odds bobs Sir, here is a pretty to do. Your
daughter has fled with her Léandre. It was he that played
the apothecary, and this is the physician who has performed
this nice operation.
Ger. What I to murder me in this manner | Quick,
fetch a magistrate, and take care that he does not get
away. Ah villain I will have you punished by the law.
Luc. I am afraid, Mister Doctor, that you will be hanged.”
Do not stir a step, I tell you.
SCENE IX.
MARTINE, SGANARELLE, LUCAS.
Mart. [To Lucas] Good gracious! what a difficulty I
have had to find this place I Just tell me what has become
of the physician I recommended to you ?
Lwc. Here he is ; just going to be hanged.
Mart. What I my husband hanged Alas, and for what ?
Lwc. He has helped some one to run away with master's
daughter.
Mart. Alas, my dear husband, is it true that you are
going to be hanged ?
Sgan. Judge for yourself. Ah
Mart. And must you be made an end of in the presence
of such a crowd. e
Sgam. What am I to do
* A nearly similar saying is also used by Georgibus in one of
Molère's early farces, The Flying Physician.
4.32 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. [ACT III.
Mart. If you had only finished cutting our wood, I
should be somewhat consoled.
Sgan. Leave me, you break my heart.
Mart. No, I will remain to encourage you to die; and I
will not leave you until I have seen you hanged.
Sgam. Ah
SCENE X.
GéRONTE, SGANARELLE, MARTINE.
Ger. [To Sganarelle] The magistrate will be here
directly, and we shall put you in a place of safety where they
will be answerable for you.
Sgan. [On his knees, hat in hand] Alas! will not a few
strokes with a cudgel do instead 2
Ger. No, no ; the law shall decide. But what do I
see ?
SCENE XI.
GéRONTE, LÉANDRE, LUCINDE, SGANARELLE, LUCAS,
MARTINE.
Léan. Sir, I appear before you as Léandre, and am
come to restore Lucinde to your authority. We in-
tended to run away, and get married ; but this design
has given way to a more honourable proceeding. I will
not presume to steal away your daughter, and it is from
your hands alone that I will obtain her. I must at the
same time acquaint you, that I have just now received
some letters informing me of the death of my uncle, and
that he has left me heir to all his property.
Ger. Really, Sir, your virtue is worthy of my utmost
consideration, and I give you my daughter with the greatest
pleasure in the world.
Sgan. [Aside] The physician has had a narrow escape I
SC. xI.] THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 433
Mart. Since you are not going to be hanged, you may
thank me for being a physician ; for I have procured
you this honour. - - -
Sgam. Yes, it is you who procured me, I do not know
how many thwacks with a cudgel. -
Léan. [To Sganarelle] The result has proved too happy
to harbour any resentment.
Sgan. Be it so. [To Martime] I forgive you the blows
on account of the dignity to which you have elevated me ;
but prepare yourself henceforth to behave with great respect
towards a man of my consequence ; and consider that the
anger of a physician is more to be dreaded than people
imagine.”
* See Appendix, Note W.
III. 2 E
A P P E N DIX.
A, Page 389.
Lacy, in The Dumb Lady (Act i., Scene 1), imitates the same scene
same act, from Molière's The Physician in spite of himself; Sganarelle,
faggot-maker, is changed into Drench, a farrier, and Martine into
Isabel, his wife.
Enter DRENCH, a farrier, and ISABEL, his wife.
Drench. I say, dame Isabel, I’ll have it my way !
Isabel. Have it my way ! Why, who are you, sir? Art thou any
more than my husband, fellow . How camest thou thus audacious, then,
to say, I’ll have it my way? Say that again, and by the faith I have in
my confidant, my gallant shall make thee an example.
Dr. Aha I have you your confidant and your gallant, wife
Isa. Yes, that I have. You know when the great ones have done
with a fashion, it comes amongst we mean madams into the country at
last ; and I have as much privilege due to me as any freeborn people
in the world has, and we women will maintain the liberties of the sub-
ject with our lives and fortunes.
Dr. By ‘r lady, wife, you rant like a freeborn subject indeed But,
pray you, what do you with the word “freeborn subject?”
Isa. I have it to show that I am one of the freeborn, and may have
my gallant, with all the perquisites belonging thereunto.
Dr. Why, thou stragglest as far out of the bonds of matrimony as if
thou’dst a good jointure to justify thee in 't. There is a thing called
duty, wife; the parson, you may remember, said so when he married us.
Isa. I no more remember what the parson said when he married us
than what he has said ever since when he preached.
Dr. The jade's mad beyond recovery ; . . . the liberty of the she
subject 1 Wife, there are five children by the fireside; pray you, how
many of 'em's mine, wife I think 'tis high time to ask that question.
Isa. I must not be so much concerned with thee as to call thee hus-
band ; therefore, Mr Drench, the first child was yours.
Dr. And whose are the rest ?
Isa. The rest are mine, fellow ; let that suffice thee!
Dr. And but one of them mine, wife?
Isa. No but one yours, and for this following reason. After my first
436 THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
child, you neglected your family duty, Mr Drench ; and when you grew
negligent of me I grew careful of myself, and from that care came the
rest of my children, Mr Drench.
Dr. And those four children, it seems, are freeborn subjects? I find
a wife a little modish is worse than a wife a little oldish. Wife, I'll
downright poison your freeborn children.
Isa. Othou ungallantified beast ! wouldst thou destroy thy own flesh
and blood
Dr. Not mine, but I will yours, wife.
Isa. Why, are not man and wife one flesh? and then are not your
children mine, and mine yours, Mr Drench /
Dr. Faith, I doubt this argument is the general security that man-
kind has to warrant their offsprings legitimate.
Isa. Sirrah, talk of poisoning my children, and I’ll have thee so gal-
lantified
Dr. Gallantified Prithee what's that, wife
Isa. To be gallantified is to be soundly cudgell’d, sirrah. There is
another point of she doctrine for you.
Dr. Pray you, let me ask you a question, madam. Nay, be not
ashamed to be called madam, for as mean people as yourself has the
impudence to own it. Therefore, madam, are you true to your gallant?
Isa. Ay, by my life am Iſ I else deserve to lose my privileges, and
be a bondwoman, ay, and condemned to my own husband.
Dr. That part of me that's gentleman forgives thee freely for that ;
but the rough part, which is farrier, must be revenged ; and though
your gallant carry your cudgel of love, I carry your cudgel of chastise-
ment. I plead my privileges, wife, and must beat you ; take this, and
that, and that, and this! [Beats her.
Isa. Help! murder, murder! Will you kill me, you villain
Dr. Kill you? Alas! this is but compliment, wife, and 'tis a new
fashion come into the country, wife ; so I have it to show you that I’m
one o' th' freeborn, wife. [Beats her again.
Isa. Murder, murder help, murder
B, Page 392.
Mrs Centlivre, in Love's Contrivance (Act i., Scene 2), has imitated
the first scene of the first act from Molière's The Physician in spite of
himself.
The Scene changes to the Street.
Jºmter MARTIN and his WIFE.
Martin. I say, I won't work to-day ; and if I say I won't, I won't ;
and so you had as good hold your Tongue.
Wife. 'Tis very fine indeed, a Woman must not speak.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 437
Mart. I say 'tis my Business to speak, and act too; pray who am I?
am not I your Lord and Master?
Wife. And who am I, if you go to that ? am not I the Wife of your
Bosom What did I marry you for ? to bear with all your mad Freaks?
No, no, I'd have you to know, I shall make you turn over a new Leaf.
Mart. Oh the Plague of an ill Wife, as Aristotle has well observ'd,
when he says, a bad woman is worse than the Devil.
Wife. Pray observe this learned Man, with his musty Airs, that Man
of Parts.
Mart. Yes, Hussy, I am a man of Parts; shew me e'er a – in
Town knows what I do ; tho’ I am forced to follow such a mechanick
Employment, I was brought up better. I lived six years with Mr Bell-
'mie, the most ingenious Gentleman about Town, in the quality of a
Valet de Chambre : I read all his Books, and tho' I say it, had a very
good Smattering of Philosophy, which Science my Master was an Ad-
mirer of ; and I say again, Aristotle condemn'd you.
Wife. The Man's mad.
Mart. The Woman's mad, I think, or she'd never cross such a Hus-
band.
Wife. Curs'd be the Hour I made you so, and double curs'd the
minute I said yes. - [Cries.
Mart. Curs'd be the that made me sign my Ruin.
Wife. Your Ruin you have ruin’d me indeed, and almost brought
me upon the Parish ; you have eat up all I brought, tho' 'twas more
than you cou’d have expected with a Wife.
Mart. That's a Lie, for I have drank the greatest part of it.
Wife. You have e'en stript me of the Bed I lay upon.
Mart. You’ll rise the earlier.
Wife. Nay, you han’t left so much as one Moveable in the whole
IIouse. -
Mart. That's another Lie, for I have left your Tongue ; and as for
Goods, the fewer we have, the easier we shall remove.
Wife. And from Morning to Night do nothing but drink and play.
Mart. That's because I wou’d not wear myself out too soon with
Labour ; for Labour overcomes everything, you know. t
Wife. And what do you think I shall do in the meantime with the
Family -
Mart. E'en what you please.
Wife. And, you Sot, must things always go thus?
Mart. Softly, good Wife, softly, if you please, good words, I beseech
you.
Wife. Must I eternally be plagued with your Debaucheries and Lazi-
ness? *
Mart. You know, Wife, I am sometimes cholerick, and given to Pas-
sion, and have a pair of very good Fists.
Wife. I scorn your Threats.
4.38 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Mart. My good Wife, your Hide itches for a Dressing.
Wife. I'd have you to know I don't fear that. [Striping her fingers.
Mart. Thou dear half of me, thou hast a mind to have something at
my Hands.
Wife. Do you think to fright me with your Words?
Mart. Sweet object of my Eyes, I shall warm your Cheeks.
Wife. You Sot, who are you?
Mart. I shall beat you.
Wife. Drunkard.
Mart. Don't provoke me.
Wife. Infamous Fellow.
Mart. I shall curry your Jacket.
Wife. You curry my Jacket ! Traytor, Cheat, Coward, Rascal, Thief,
Rnave, Varlet, Informer
Mart. Nay then
Wife. Ah Murder Murder, ah
[Beats her.
C, Page 392.
Mrs Centlivre, in Love's Contrivance (Act i., Scene 2), thus imitates
the second scene of the first act of Molière's play. M. Robert is called
Octavio.
Enter OCTAVIo, with his sword, and slaps MARTIN o'er the shoulders.
Octavio. How now ! what Insolence is this? Are you not asham'd
to beat a Woman? haſ
Wife. May be I have a mind to be beaten, what's that to you?
[Coming up to him.
Oct. Nay, if you have a mind to it, with all my Heart.
[Putting up his sword.
Wife. Pray why do you trouble yourself?
Oct. Good Woman, be patient, I have done.
Wife. Is it your Business?
Oct. No truly.
Wife. Go, you are an impertinent Fellow.
Oct. I shall not speak one Word more, but heartily wish he had
drub'd her ten times as much. [Aside.
Wife. Suppose I am pleased he shou'd beat me, I say, what's that to
you. *
Oct. (Nods only.)
Wife. You are a Fool to trouble yourself with other Folks Business.
Oct. (Wods again, then turns to Martin) Friend I am sorry I dis-
turb’d your Diversion, but hope you know how to begin again.
Mart. May be I do, may be I do not, what's that to you, whether I
do or no
THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 439
Oct. That's true, as you say, neither do I care.
Mart. If I have a mind to beat her, I will beat her, and if I have not
a mind, I won’t.
Oct. With all my Heart.
Mart. She's my wife, not yours.
Oct. Thank Heaven.
Mart. You have nothing to do with me, nor do I want your help.
Oct. Nor shall I trouble myself to give it you. Ha!
D, Page 393.
Lacy has imitated, rather coarsely, in The Dumb Lady, the second
scene of the first act of The Physician in spite of himself; M. Robert is
there called a Neighbour.
Enter a NEIGHBOUR.
Neighbour. What's here Fie, fie, neighbour Drench Hold, for
shame ! What, beating your wife?
Isabel. Ay, marry is he, sir; what's that to you suppose I long for a
beating " I have been getting him in a good humour this two months
to do it, and now you must disturb us.
Neigh. Nay, if you long for a beating, I’m sorry I disturbed you. I
have done.
Isa. You wicked fellow, do you know what you’ve done? You
have taken him off of the sweetest humour. I see by his looks I shall
not get another blow off him to save my life.
Dr. The jade is mad beyond all cure,
Neigh. Ay, for none but a madwoman would long for a beating; but
farewell, neighbours. I have done.
Dr. You're an impertinent fellow to begin, Men that part ren-
counters are often killed or hurt, and therefore you ought, neighbour,
to be soundly cudgelled. [Beats him.
Meigh. Nay, good neighbour, hold, hold !
lsa. You see he has taken off his anger from me, and now you
must have all the sweet blows, you rascal
Dr. So he shall, for if I had known thou had'st longed for a
beating, thou shouldst not have had a blow to 've saved thy life; but
you shall have it. [Beats him again.
Neigh. Hold, hold, hold ! If ere I part man and wife, if ere I put
my hand betwixt the bark and the tree again, may my fingers bear
fruit and the boys rob my orchard | A woman to long for a beating !
What a blessing 'twere if all our wives would long so
[Eacit Weighbour.
Dr. Now I know you long for a beating, wife, lest you should
miscarry, I’ll beat you wonderfully.
Isa. Hold, hold ! my longing is over indeed.
f
440 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF,
Dr. Is it? Why then, I'll to the wood and drench a sick horse;
and by that time I return I hope you may come to your longing again,
and then I shall plead the liberty of the subject, and claw your free-
born sides again. [Eacit Drench.
Isa. To be beaten thus ! If I be not revenged, say I'm a woman
without gall or invention. Let me think a little. They say when a
woman means mischief, if she but look upon her apron-strings the devil
will help her presently. I'll try him. Who is here?
E, Page 395.
In Mrs Centlivre's Love Contrivance (Act iii., last Scene), Molière is
imitated as follows:—
The Scene changes to the Street. *
Jºnfer MARTIN'S WIFE.
Wife. Which Way shall I be reveng'd on my Husband, a Woman
always has it in her Power to be revenged one Way; but I wou'd pay
him in his own Coin. • -
Enter one of Selfwill's Footmen going to the Printer’s,
Servant. Pray, good woman, whereabouts lives the Printer that prints
the Courant' .
Wife. At the Post-house at Temple Bar; pray, Sir, what News are
you going to put into the Courant, any Robberies or Murders com-
mitted 2 i . e
Serv. No, good Woman, I am going to put a Reward of five hundred
Pounds, for any man that can restore my young Mistress to her Speech
again.
Wife. A good Hint [Aside]—Pray, Sir, who do you belong to?
Serv. Mr Self will.
Wife. Good lack-a-day, is his daughter taken Dumb, do you say?
Serv. 'Tis too true indeed.
Wife. I know a Man who can cure her if he will, but you’ll have much
ado to persuade him to it; he has prodigious Skill, and to my Knowledge
has done wonderful Cures, even to the raising the Dead; but there
is but one Way to make him own his Knowledge, for to look at him you
would not think he knew a Pig from a Dog, as we may say.
Serv. Say you so ; what is he, pray?
Wife. Nay, but a poor Man neither ; he’s a Faggot-maker, but a
seventh Son, and as I tell you, he can do it if he will. -
Serv. Why sure five hundred Pounds will tempt him then.
Wife. No, nothing will tempt him, for he never takes any Money for
what he does; but I can tell you how you shall make him own himself
a Doctor.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 441
Serv. How is it Pray ?—Egad I shall be a rich Man, for I'll keep the
Money to myself. tº [Aside.
Wife. Why you must beat him soundly, or he’ll not own any thing
of the Matter; try first with good words, but I know that will be to no
purpose ; but you may try, however, you’ll find him in the Wood-yard
binding of Faggots. I'd advise you to make what haste you can, for I
can assure you he is a Man of wondrous Skill, but be sure don’t spare
his bones till he confesses it.
Serv. I’ll warrant you I'll make him confess it with a Devil to him,
if beating will do it. [Evit.
Wife. So now shall I have sufficient Revenge;
$
The old Law says give Eye for Eye,
And Tooth for Tooth restore ;
Then beat him well for beating me,
* And I desire no more.
F, Page 398.
Lacy, in The Dumb Lady, has thus imitated Molière's The Physician
ºn spite of himself (Act i., Scene 5.) Valère is called Jarvis, and Lucas
Softhead.
Enter JARVIS and SoFTHEAD to her,
Softhead. We may search long enough ; the devil a wise man that I
can find or hear of.
Jarvis. Ay, but, sir, you must know there be several sorts of wise
men ; and our business is to find out a wise physician.
Isa. Either the proverb's false or the devil's very dull, for he has
helped me to no invention yet. [Aside.
Soft. But all the professed doctors which we take to be wise physicians
have given her over, you see.
Jar. Ay, but there may be skilful and wise men in physic that do
not profess it.
Soft. You say very true, for I was cured once o' th' bellyache by an
old woman and a warm trencher, when all the doctors i' th' town had
given me over.
Isa. God-a-mercy, devil; I have it, i' faith ! These gentlemen have
given me a hint for a revenge upon my barbarous husband. Gentlemen,
I overheard your discourse, and I find you are in great distress for a
wise physician.
Soft. What then? does such a country creature as thou know anything
that's wise?
Isa. I know not what your worship means by wise.
Soft. I dare swear thou dost not, for I, that am a squire, scarce know
myself.
442 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Isa. But, sir, I can help you to the most excellent physician upon
earth ; but then he's a man of the most strangest humours.
Soft. 'Slid, no matter for his humours, so he be wise ! Where is he
Isa. Why, in that very copse, blooding and drenching of a sick horse,
Soft. Why, that's a wise farrier, not a wise physician, woman
Isa. But he is a famous physician of Padua, and has retired himself
on purpose to avoid patients.
Soft. Then he is a fool, and no physician; for the wise doctors never
leave a patient whilst he has either breath in ’s body, or money in 's
purse.
Isa. Ay, but, sir, this is not a man that values money.
Soft. Then, I say, he is not a wise man. Come away, Jarvis, this
cannot be he we look for.
Isa. Why, you must know, sir, he exceeds the world for physic; but
then his humour is to deny his profession, and acknowledge nothing but
ignorance. Then, Sir, he looks so like a farrier, that you would swear
he were one indeed : then he is such a clown.
Jar. The greater the scholar, still the more clown ; and the further
he is gone in learning, the more ignorant still in other things.
Soft. Ay, but is he far gone in physic? Can he make a dumb woman
speak?
Isa. A dumb woman speak! I’ll undertake he shall provoke a dumb
devil to speak.
Soft. That's the wise man I want ; pray you, where is he
Isa. Why, sir, he is easily spoke with, but you’ll find it wonderful
difficult to get him to a patient. Neither gold, compliment, nor other
fair usage could ever yet work upon him; and yet there is a way to gain
him.
Soft. Heart of a horse . . . what way can that be
Isa. A way that you’ll think strange, but very true. He could never
yet be brought to a patient without being rudely used and soundly
cudgelled to it.
Soft. Nay, by the heart of a horse, he shall want for no beating
Isa. Ay, marry, sir, that will do it, and nothing else i' th' world ;
yet he will carry his seeming simplicity so cunningly, that I hold a
wager you come away persuaded that he is no physician.
Jar. I hold a wager he shall own it ; I'll make him commence
doctor else with a good cudgel, I warrant you. But is he such a rare
physician'
Isa. Truly sir, but two days since he brought a madwoman to her
wits again that was suspected never to any ; nay, he has taken men's
legs and arms off, and set ’em on sound again.
Jar. That's beyond Surgeon's Hall ; sure he can conjure.
Soft. I’ll be hanged if this fellow be not a spy of the virtuosos, and is
come hither disguised to betray secrets in nature.
Jar. But does he take no other fees but beating, mistress
THE PHYSICIAN-IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 443
Isa. Of a certain, nothing else, sir.
Jar. I would some doctors I know could be brought to that : I.
would want no physic, nor he should want no fees, 'i faith !
Isa. Gentlemen, you’ll find him in the wood with a leather apron,
and a hammer by his side, as if he were a real Smith ; and he studies as
much to be a farrier now as formerly a physician. And as his drink
was altogether wine before, now, farrier-like, he studies all sorts of ale,
and drinks them soundly, too. So farewell, gentlemen ; you'll find all
things true as I have said, and my rascal, I hope, will be cudgelled from
a farrier to a doctor. [Evit Isabel
Jar. Why this is such an humorous physician as yet I have not
heard of. $
Soft. 'Slid, we should have asked the woman one thing : it may be
he delights to be beaten with one sort of cudgel more than another.
Jar. We’ll be so civil as to ask him that, if he puts us to it.
But come, let us into the wood and find him out. *
Soft. Hark! I hear the trees burl+ in the wood. 'Slid, here's a
man coming towards us; I hope ’twill prove the doctor.
Jar. By mass 1 he has a leather apron on, and a hammer by his side.
Soft. "Tis hel What if we cudgel him before we speak to him.
Jar. Not for the world, sir; that would be rude indeed.
G, Page 398.
Fielding, in The Mock Doctor, has nearly literally followed the fifth
scene of the first act of Molière's play. Lucas is called Harry; Valère,
James; and Martine, Dorcas.
SCEAVE IV.
Enter HARRY, JAMES, and DORCAs.
Har. Were ever two fools sent on such a message as we are, in quest
of a dumb doctor.
Jam. Blame your own cursed memory, that made you forget his
name. For my part, I’ll travel through the world rather than return
without him; that were as much as a limb or two were worth. . . . .
Dor. Can I find no invention to be revenged?—Heyday ! who are
these? .
Jam. Harkye, mistress, do you know where—where—where doctor
what-d'ye-call-him lives?
Dor. Doctor who '.
Jam. Doctor—Doctor—what's his name?
Dor. Hey ! what, has the fellow a mind to banter me?
Har. Is there no physician hereabouts famous for curing dumbness.
Dor. I fancy you have no need of such a physician, Mr Impertinence.
* Rattle.
444 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Har. Don't mistake us, good woman ; we don’t mean to banter you ;
we are sent by our master, whose daughter has lost her speech, for a
certain physician, who lives hereabouts; we have lost our direction, and
'tis as much as our lives are worth to return without him.
Dor. There is one Doctor Lazy lives just by, but he has left off prac-
tising. You would not get him a mile, to save the lives of a thousand
patients. - -
Jam. Direct us but to him; we'll bring him with us one way or other,
I warrant you. - *
Har. Ay, ay, we'll have him with us, though we carry him on our
backs. -
Dor. Ha! Heaven has inspired me with one of the most admirable
inventions to be revenged on my hangdog ' [Aside] I assure you, if you
can get him with you, he’ll do your young lady's business for her; he's
reckon'd one of the best physicians in the world, especially for dumb-
IlêSS. - -
Har. Pray tell us where he lives?
Dor You'll never be able to get him out of his own house; but if
you watch hereabouts, you'll certainly meet with him, for he very often
amuses himself here with cutting of wood.
Har. A physician cut wood?
Jam. I suppose he amuses himself in searching after herbs, you mean.
Dor. No, he's one of the most extraordinary men in the world : he
goes drest like a common clown; forthere is nothing he so much dreads,
as to be known for a physician.
Jan. All your great men have strange oddities about 'em.
Dor. Why he will suffer himself to be beat, before he will own him-
self to be a physician—and I'll give you my word, you’ll never make
him own himself one, unless you both of you take a good cudgel, and
thrash him into it; 'tis what we are all forced to do when we have any
need of him.
Jam. What a ridiculous whim is here !
Dor. Very true; and in so great a man.
Jam. And is he so very skilful a man
Dor. Skilful? why he does miracles. About half a year ago, a
woman was given over by all her physicians, nay, she had been dead
some time ; when this great man came to her, as soon as he saw her, he
pour’d a little drop of something down her throat—he had no sooner
done it, than she got out of her bed, and walk’d about the room, as if
there had been nothing the matter with her.
Both. Oh prodigious !
Dor. 'Tis not above three weeks ago, that a child of twelve years old
fell from the top of a house to the bottom, and broke its skull, its arms,
and legs.-Our physician was no sooner drubb’d into making him a
visit, than having rubb'd the child all over with a certain ointment, it
got upon its legs, and ran away to play.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 445
Both. Oh most wonderful º -
Har. Hey! gad, James, we'll drub him out of a pot of this ointment.
Jam. But can he cure dumbness? . -
Dor. Dumbness why the curate of our parish's wife was born dumb,
and the doctor, with a sort of wash, washed her tongue 'till he set it
a-going, so that in less than a month's time she out-talked her husband.
Har. This must be the very man we were sent after.
Dor. Yonder is the very man I speak of.
Jam. What, that he yonder P
Dor. The very same.—he has spy'd us, and taken up his bill.
Jam. Come, Harry, don't let us lose one moment.—Mistress, your
servant; we give you ten thousand thanks for this favour. -
Dor. Be sure and make good use of your sticks.
Jam. He shant want that. [Eveunt.
H, Page 399.
This scene from Molière's The Physician in spite of himself (Act i.,
Scene 6) has thus been imitated by Fielding in The Mock Doctor (Act i.,
Scene 5); Sganarelle is called Gregory.
Another part of the Wood.
Enter JAMEs, HARRY, and GREGORY.
Greg. 'Tis most confounded hot weather. Hey! who have we here?
Jam. Sir, your most obedient humble servant.
Greg. Sir, your servant.
Jam. We are mighty happy in finding you here.
Greg. Ay, like enough.
Jam. 'Tis in your power, Sir, to do us a very great favour.—We
come, Sir, to implore your assistance in a certain affair.
Greg. If it be in my power to give you any assistance, masters, I am
very ready to do it. -
Jam. Sir, you are extremely obliging—but, dear Sir, let me beg you'd
be cover'd, the sun will hurt your complexion.
Har. For heaven's sake, Sir, be cover'd.
Greg. These should be footmen, by their dress; but should be cour-
tiers, by their ceremony. [Aside.
Jam. You must not think it strange, Sir, that we come thus to seek
after you ; men of your capacity will be sought after by the whole world.
Greg. Truly, gentlemen, though I say it, that should not say it, I have
a pretty good hand at a faggot.
Jam. O dear Sir
Greg. You may, perhaps, buy faggots cheaper otherwhere; but if
you find such in all this country, you shall have mine for nothing. To
make but one word then with you, you shall have mine for ten shillings
a hundred.
446 THE PHYSICIAN INSPITE of HIMSELF.
Jam. Don't talk in that manner, I desire you.
Greg. I could not sell 'em a penny cheaper, if 'twas to my father.
Jam. Dear Sir, we know you very well—don't jest with us in this
Iſlanner.
Greg. Faith, master, I am so much in earnest, that I can't bate one
farthing. *
Jam. O pray, Sir, leave this idle discourse.—Can a person, like you,
amuse himself in this manner? Can a learned and famous physician,
like you, try to disguise himself to the world, and bury such fine talents
in the woods? -
Greg. The fellow's a fool.
Jam. Let me intreat you, Sir, not to dissemble with us.
Har. It is in vain, Sir ; we know what you are.
Greg. Know what you are what do you know of me?
Jam. Why, we know you, Sir, to be a very great physician.
Greg. Physician in your teeth ! I a physician
Jam. The fit is on him.——Sir, let me beseech you to conceal your-
self no longer, and oblige us to you know what.
Greg. Devil take me, if I know what, Sir.—But I know this, that
I’m no physician. -
Jam. We must proceed to the usual remedy, I find.—And so you are
no physician? * *
Greg. No.
Jam. You are no physician?
Greg. No, I tell you. - - #
Jam. Well, if we must, we must. [Beats him.
Greg. Oh oh! Gentlemen! Gentlemen what are you doing? I am
—am I–whatever you please to have me.
. Jam. Why will you oblige us, Sir, to this violence 1
Har. Why will you force us to this troublesome remedy?
Jam. I assure you, Sir, it gives me a great deal of pain.
Greg. I assure you, Sir, and so it does me. But pray, gentlemen, what
is the reason that you have a mind to make a physician of me?
Jam. What! do you deny your being a physician again?
Greg. And the devil take me if I am.
- Har. You are no physician?
Greg. May I be . . . if I am. [They beat him] Oh –oh!—Dear
gentlemen Oh! for heaven's sake; I am a physician, and an apothe-
cary too, if you'll have me : I had rather be any thing, than be knock'd
o' the head. - - -
Jam. Dear Sir, I am rejoiced to see you come to your senses; I ask
pardon ten thousand times for what you have forced us to.
Greg. Perhaps I am deceived myself, and am a physician without
knowing it. But, dear gentlemen, are you certain I’m a physician?
Jam. Yes, the greatest physician in the world.
Greg. Indeed!
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 447
Har. A physician that has cured all sorts of distempers.
Greg. The devil I have
Jam. That has made a woman walk about the room after she was
dead six hours.
Har. That set a child upon its legs immediately after it had broke
'em.
Jam. That made the curate's wife, who was dumb, talk faster than
her husband.
Har. Look ye, Sir, you shall have content; my master will give you
whatever you will demand.
Greg. Shall I have whatever I will demand?
Jam. You may depend upon it.
Greg. I am a physician, without doubt—I had forgot it, but I begin
to recollect myself.-Well—and what is the distemper I am to cure?
Jam. My young mistress, Sir, has lost her tongue!
Greg. The devil take me if I have found it.—But come, gentlemen, if
I must go with you, I must have a physician's habit; for a physician
can no more prescribe without a full wig, than without a fee. [Evewnt.
I, Page 402.
Mrs Centlivre, in Love's Contrivance (Act iv., Scene 1), has thus imi-
tated the last scene of the first act of Molière's The Physician in spite
of himself.
Scene, a Wood-yard, Martin singing, binding of Faggots, with
his Bag and Bottle by him.
JEnter Two SERVANTs.
1st Serv. This must be he.
2d Serv. He looks more like a Gold-finder than a Doctor Come,
let's speak to him.
1st Serv. Speed your work, honest man.
Mart. Thank you, thank ye, Friend. [Sings on.
(Martin seeing them come near him, removes his Bag and
Bottle t'other side.)
2d Serv. We are come upon earnest Bussiness to you, Sir. [They go on
the other side, he moves his Bag and Bottle again.
Mart. I don’t like your Business, you look as if you were a sharp
set [Asidel. From whom pray?
(One goes on the one side, and tºother on the other; he
moves his Bag and Bottle between his legs.)
, 1st Serv. From Mr Selfwill.
: Mart. , Ha, about Faggots, I suppose ; I promise you there is not
better in England than what I sell.
2d Serv. No, Sir, he has heard of your wondrous Skill.
448 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Mart. Ay, Master, I defy any man in England to make better.
2d Serv. He has heard I say
Mart. Ay, master, he has heard, I suppose, that mine are two
shillings better in an hundred, than any he can buy.
2d Serv. That you have great Skill
Mart. In Faggot-making ; why truly not to praise myself too
much, I’ll bind a Faggot with any man in the Queen's Dominions, be
he what he will.
2d Serv. In Physic, Sir.
Mart. Ha! what . . . does he mean —Egad, I’ll not understand
him. * [Aside.
1st Serv. And desires you'd let him have
Mart. Them as cheap as I can that I will I promise you.
1st Serv. Give him your best
Mart. That I will too, Master :—But then he must give the best
Price ; Here's a Faggot now, do you see, a hundred of them Faggots
are twelve shillings, and I’ll sell him an hundred of these for ten ; now
perhaps you may like these as well as them, but there's a great deal of
Difference.
1st Serv. Zounds, will you hear what we have to say to you ?
Mart, Ay, Master, give me leave to deal honestly with you, I don't
sell for once, but hope to keep your Custom ; do ye see, Master, there's
great difference between dry wood and fallow wood.
1st Serv. My Master desires you to come along with us
Mart. I can’t tell how to spare so much Time, Master, except you
are certain he will give me my Price ; for I won't abate a Farthing of
what I told you, take them or leave them. [Sits down again and sings.
2d Serv. This is the Devil of the Doctor, Sir, I say we don't come
about
Mart. I have set you the last price, Masters, I promise you.
2d Serv. I say—
Mart, Ay, say what you please, Master, but I can't abate a Penny.
1st Serv. We don't come about Faggots, my Master's Daughter is
stricken dumb, and he is inform'd you have very great skill in physical
operations, therefore he has sent for you, and if you can restore her to
her speech, he'll give you five hundred Pounds.
Mart. Ha I smell a Rat, they want to have me in their Clutches,
to reward me for my oranges; but I shall fail them. [Aside.
2d Serv. What say you, Sir
Mart. Alas ! Master, I don't know what to say, you are pleased to
be merry, I find ; Ia Doctor 1 ha. I ha, ha!
1st Serv. Nay, we are in earnest, I’ll assure you, therefore pray don't
put us to the Trouble of using you roughly ; for upon my Word, tho' I
know how to make you comply, I wou'd much rather you should con-
fess it by fair Means.
Mart. Confess what, Sir
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 449
2d Serv. That you are a Doctor, Sir : We have heard what wondrous
Cures you have done, tho' your Modesty won't let you own it; but pray
Sir, don't stand to dispute, but come along with us.
Mart. Cures ha, ha, ha! you certainly have mistaken the Man ;
why do I look as if I was a Doctor'ſ
1st Serv. 'Tis no Matter what you look like, Sir, we know you are
one, therefore pray come along, or we shall make you.
Mart. Ay, you may make me go along with you, if you will, but
you’ll never make a Doctor of me I can tell you.
2d Serv. Nor you won't own it? [Slaps him over the back.
Mart. Own what, Gentlemen, what do you mean?
1st Serv. To make you confess. [Strikes him.
Mart. What must I confess?
2d Serv. Your Skill.
Mart. Skill, Gentlemen I confess all the skill I have is in Faggot
making, in good faith, Masters.
1st Serv. We shall make you alter your note, Mr Faggot-maker, ere
we have done with you. [Both beat him.
Mart. Hold, hold, Gentlemen, I am—
2d Serv. Oh ! have we found the way to make you speak Truth.
Mart. But a Faggot-maker [Looking pitifully.
1st Serv. Again at your Shifts; we were told, indeed, that you must
be soundly beaten ere you would own it. [They beat him soundly.
Mart. Oh hold, hold, I am a Doctor, Gentlemen, I beg your Par-
dons.
2d Serv. Sir, your humble Servants; now we honour you, be pleas'd
to be cover'd, Sir.
Mart. By no Means, Sir.
2d Serv. O ! by all Means, Sir, pray, put on your Hat.
Mart. Sir, your humble Servant, Sir : [Comically.] Pray, what
Distemper has your young Lady, Sir?
2d Serv. She's dumb, Sir.
Mart. Dumb good lack, good lack
I wish my Wife was so.
[Aside.
2d Serv. She was struck dumb, just as she was going to be married
to Sir Toby Doubtful; and they were forced to put off the Marriage,
because she cou’d not say after the Parson.
Mart. Say you so, a very hard case truly–This may be a very
lucky Hit for my Master Bellmie ; for I suspect she's not dumb in ear-
nest. [Aside.
2d Serv. Well, Sir, do you think you can do her any good?
Mart. Why, Masters, I'll use my Endeavours, since you have got
the secret out, I'll assure you ; and I don't question but to bring her
to her speech again.
1st Serv. Say you so, Sir, pray come along quickly then. [Eveunt.
III. 2 F
450 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
J, Page 405.
Lacy in The Dumb Lady; has thus imitated the last scene of the
first act of Molière's play.
Jarvis. Save you, sir.
Drench. Save me, sir? Spare your compliment till I’m dying, and
then I'll thank you for’t.
Softhead. By the heart of a horse, I like him for that ; for what
should a man be saved for till he is dead, you know?
Jar. Sir, in short, we come, having business with you, to pay you
all the respect and reverence that's due to your worship.
Dr. Respect, reverence, and worship ! You're very merry, gentle-
men. Pray you, sir, what part of me is it that you find worshipful ?
Jar. Oh, sir, it is your virtues that we admire,
Dr. Virtue ! I never heard the word in my life; no nor the use on’t.
Soft. Thou speak'st like an honest man, for, by my troth, I see no sign
of virtue about thee.
Jar. 'Slid, you'll spoil all to be so blunt with him. Sir, we under-
stand you are a great doctor.
Dr. I understand myself to be a great horse-doctor, sir.
Soft. But pray you, sir, be a man-doctor for my sake. By this cudgel,
it will be the better for you, if you knew all!
Jar. Sir, in short, we know you to be a famous doctor of Padua, and
we wish you would leave these abject thoughts of being a farrier, and
follow your own worthy profession of physic. -
Dr. Now you provoke me, sir. Do you think a farrier inferior to a
physician? He is the son of a mare that thinks a horse has not as
many diseases as a man.
Soft. And he is the son of a . . . that thinks a squire has not as
many diseases as a horse. And, friend, take heed how you make com-
parisons, for you’ll have all the squires i' the country about your ears
upon this score.
Dr. Country squires I shall deal well enough with, and I shall
justify a horse has more diseases than a squire, and take the honour of
knighthood to help you.
Soft. You lie! and for the honour of squirehood I'll die a virgin
martyr I [Offers to draw.
Jar. Hold, hold, sir! the latter end of a squire's argument is still
quarrelling.
Soft. Without quarrelling, then, I’ll prove that squire and squiress
have more diseases than a horse.
Dr. Ay, with the diseases of their own, that nature never meant
them, I grant you.
Soft. And first, I prove a squiress, that is, a woman, may be dumb.
Dr. And I answer, a horse cannot speak—set that against that.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 451
And yet I'll undertake to make a horse speak before you shall make a
woman dumb, sir.
Jor. Good squire, let us mind our business. In short, sir, will you
own your profession? Are you a doctor or no?
Dr. A . . . doctor! I am a downright farrier. I can give you a
drench, or cut you for the staggers when you’re drunk; I have no more
learning than a horse. Pray open my head, and see if you can find a
physician there.
Jar. Since no means but the extremity will make you own your pro-
fession, we will cudgel you with as much compliment as we can, sir.
Soft. A cudgel is but a coarse compliment, I confess.
Dr. Hey, good boys, i' faith ! What a devil mean you, gentlemen
Jar. Squire, do you strike the first blow.
Soft. No; do you, Jarvis, for the first blow will bear an action, you
know ; and thou’rt a poor fellow, he can recover nothing of thee.
Dr. What a devil's the matter 7
Jar. Fall on, fall on 1 Will you confess yourself a doctor?
[Beats him.
Dr. Hold, hold, hold! I will be a physicianſ
Jar. Will you own you are one, sir? [Beats him again.
Dr. I am one, I am one ! Hold, I am a very good physician ; I feel
I am.
Enter ISABEL.
Isa. Yes, gentlemen, he is a rare physician ; and would confess it,
too, but that he would not lose the pleasure of a cudgel, for once a week
he longs for a beating. Now you and I are even, sir. [Eacit Isabel.
Dr. Is this your design I’ll be revenged you jade, to the purpose.
If I should say she is my wife, and that I’m a very blacksmith, they’d
not believe me ; ’twere but the way to be cudgelled again.
Jar. Nay, come, sir. What are you falling into a relapse again?
Dr. No, no ; hold ! As the woman says, I am a doctor.
Jar. Ay, and so famous, that you can take off broken limbs and set
them on sound again.
Dr. Well, I will own all this rather than have my bones broken.
And, now I remember, you fetched me once before out of this great
wood, in Plato's great year, as my master called it.
Soft. Pray you, sir, how long is that since?
Dr. Why, next strawberry time, it will be complete six and thirty
thousand years.
Jar. Ho, boy |
Dr. Ay, and I remember I poisoned somebody at your request.
Jar. No, Sir, I do not remember that.
Dr. But I do, sir; by the same token you gave me a hundred
pieces for a bribe, tied up in a laced handkerchief.
Jar. I remember now as well as can be.
452 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Soft. But I do not remember I hired him to poison anybody, nor do
I remember I’m six-and-thirty thousand years old. . . . Plato's great
year, and his little year too !
Jar. Pray, sir, remember your mistress will ne'er be cured else.
Soft. Nay, rather than so, I will remember anything.
Jar. Look you there, sir; you see we both remember; therefore, I
pray you, go with us to cure a distressed lady.
Dr. My business in physic is killing, not curing, I assure you; for
as there is your man-tailor and your woman-tailor, so there is your
killing doctor, and your curing doctor—distinct professions, I assure
you.
Jar. But, sir, you must own curing as well as killing, or else we shall
court you with a cudgel again.
Soft. As we did in Plato's great year, you know, Jarvis.
Dr. I do not remember that ye beat me then.
Soft. But I remember it ; by the same token you gave me my laced
handkerchief back when you had put the gold in your pocket.
Dr. Now I do remember. Hold, hold ! [Offers to beat him] I do
own curing, and, since there is no remedy, I confess I am a doctor;
but if all men should take their degrees as I have done, we should
have but small commencements. 'I once served a mountebank, and
have some of his canting terms, and for aught I know, may prove as
good a physician as if I’d served an apprenticeship at Padua. Well,
gentlemen, what disease is it I must cure?
Soft. You must help a lady that is dumb, and has lost her speech.
Dr. How, dumb, and lost her speech too ! That's a great work. If
she had only lost her speech, I could have cured her, or if she had been
but dumb ; but to be dumb and speechless too, her case is very
desperate. Would I'd my wife and all the neighbourhood at that lock
Jar. But we must entreat your utmost skill, for ’tis a sad thing for a
woman to be speechless.
Dr. Ay, and dumb ; but 'tis a sadder thing for a man to be a fool,
for certainly he is a changeling that has a dumb wife and would have
her speak again. Are you in love with a woman’s sting?
Jar. Why do you call it a sting, sir?
Dr. Because, sir, a woman has no tongue ; they’re tongues in men's
mouths, but they’re called stings in women.
Jar. But, sir, this lady never spoke an angry word—not so much as
to a servant
Dr. But she will do if I cure her, for I’ve an unlucky hand that
way ; yet for her sweet disposition's sake I’ll preserve her. And now
I'll answer to the name of doctor with as much confidence as a quack
dressed up in all his ignorance.
Soft. Will ignorance make men confident? 'Slid, would I’d a little
ignorance too !
Jar. Ay, if you had but a little, ’twere very well, sir.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 453
*
Dr. Let me see how to behave myself like a doctor, now. I will first
take your mistress by the pulse, and look up gravely at the ceiling all
the while; then ask what she took last . . . and there's half a doctor's
work. Then I'll prescribe something that will neither do hurt nor
good, so leave her to luck; and there's the other half of the doctor.
. Then, to amuse the people, I’ll give her the powder of a dried dock-leaf
with apothecaries' hard name to it; and if that will not mend her, I’ll
give her a drench, for women have sturdy stomachs, and why not as
strong of constitution as horses
Soft. Heart of a horse, thou’rt a delicate mad doctor | Sirrah, wilt
thou give her a drench -
Dr. Why, a drench is a potion, and a potion is a drench ; only the
distinction is, when you put it into a horn, then’tis a drench for a horse ;
and when you put it into a vial-glass, 'tis a potion for a man. Nay, I'll
discover all their cheats.
Come, my Squire Softhead, never fear thy wench,
She shall be cured by learned Dr Drench.
K, Page 405.
Molière's first scene of the second act is imitated by Lacy in the
same scene of the same act of The Dumb Lady; Géronte is called Ger-
nette, and Jacqueline Nurse.
Enter GERNETTE, SoFTHEAD, JARVIs, and NURSE.
Gernette. And is he so famous a physician, say you ?
Jarvis. Why, sir, Esculapius, as you call him, is a mere mountebank
to him.
Softhead. Ay, and that fellow Galen Hippocrates, as you call him,
not worthy to be his apothecary. He can conjure, for he'll cure a wooden
leg, make it flesh and blood, and set you up sound again
Jar. Nay, if he like your pulse, he’ll give you a lease of your life for
term of years.
Murse. I would he would give me three lives in mine, and begin them
all at fifteen again. 3.
Jar. Is not one life sufficient to make a man a cuckold, but you'd
have three to do it in
Mur. Yes, because I’d make thee a monster, that my child and I may
live upon showing thee.
Ger. You talk of wonders; I long to see him.
Jar. He is i' th' next room, sir; but 'tis the maddest doctor, and of
the strangest humours.
Soft. So he is, for, by the heart of a horse, we were fainto bribe him
with a cudgel before he would own being a doctor.
Nur. A downright sir reverence of a doctor | I say, get her a
worthy husband, and say I told you so.
45.4 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Ger. You're a foolish woman, and talk of that you understand not.
Mur. Understand not Sure I should know what a woman wants
as well as you. I say again . . . get her a good husband 1 A plaster
of true love clapped to her will do her more good than Senna or rhubarb.
Ger. Did I not provide her a good husband 7 Was she not to marry
the Squire here ?
Mur. A precious morsel of him How came you to be a Squire . . .
with your soft head, and your little head, and your no head at all?
Soft. Bear witness, she says I have no head at all!
Mur. Thou mayest take it and throw it to the dogs for any brains
there’s in ’t.
Soft. I will not call you . . . gentlewoman, but, by the heart of a
horse, your husband's a cuckold ; and he is not only an English cuckold,
but also an Italian cuckold . . .
Nur. Sirrah, cudgel him, or lie in the truckle-bed all thy life
Jar. I’ll rather cudgel thee, for I believe every word he says.
Nur. For shame ! Proffer her a husband of her own choosing. Let
her have Leander
Ger. She shall never be his Hero.
Mur. If she perish in the Hellespont, at your peril
Ger. Hellespont ?—how came you by that fine word 7
Nur. Honestly enough.
Jar. As honestly as you came by your child, I think.
Mur. I have seen Mr Hellespont in a puppet-show, and Hero, and
Leander too.
Ger. Talk no more of Leander, I know him not ; but whoe'er he be,
he is not to be compared with the Squire here for wealth.
Mur. Is your Squire boobe, loobe, poope, to stand with Leander for
parts and person'ſ & e
Soft. Grant me patience, for I have much ado to forbear calling you
. . . forsooth !
Mur. Do, if thou dar'st | Is wealth to be named the same day with
love? I scorn that comparison, though I’m o' th' wrong side o' th' teens,
i’ faith.
Ger. Hast thou any sense of the fopperies of love left
Nur. Dost thou call sweet love foppery'ſ Though thou’rt my master,
thou’rt a beast. Go, go to bed and die ; what dost thou in this world !
Let the doctors give him physic; nobody else has need on 't.
Jar. You're very bold with your master, wife . . .
Ger. Go, give your child suck, for that’s your talent, and meddle no
Iſlore,
Jar. That’s another sign 'tis none of my child, for why should he be
so careful to have the child suck if it were not his own 7
Soft. Look you, friend, your wife has abus'd me . . . Oh, here come's
our delicate, humoursome doctor, i' faith !
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 45.5
L, Page 409.
Fielding, in The Mock Doctor (Actii, Scene 8), has imitated as follows
the third scene of the second act of The Physician in spite of hºm-
self; Géronte is called Sir Jasper James.
Enter GREGORY and HARRY.
Har. Sir, this is the doctor.
Sir Jas. Dear Sir, you're the welcomest man in the world.
Greg. Hippocrates says, we should both be cover'd.
Sir Jas. Ha 1 does Hippocrates say so? In what chapter, pray ?
Greg. In his chapter of hats.
Sir Jas. Since Hippocrates says so, T shall obey him.
Greg. Doctor, after having exceedingly travell'd in the highway of
letters——
Sir Jas. Doctor pray whom do you speak to ?
Greg. To you, doctor.
Sir Jas. Ha, ha!—I am a knight, thank the king's grace for it :
but no doctor.
Greg. What, you're no doctor
Sir Jas. No, upon my word.
Greg. You're no doctor
Sir Jas. Doctor 1 no.
Greg. There—'tis done. [Beats him.
Sir Jas. Done, in the devil's name ! what's done 7
Greg. Why now you are made a doctor of physic—I am sure it's
all the degrees I ever took.
Sir Jas. What devil of a fellow have you brought here
Jam. I told you, Sir, the doctor had strange whims with him.
Sir Jas. Whims, quotha egad, I shall bind his physicianship over
to his good behaviour, if he has any more of these whims.
Greg. Sir, I ask pardon for the liberty I have taken.
Sir Jas. Oh it's very well, it's very well for once.
Greg. I am sorry for those blows.
Sir Jas. Nothing at all, nothing at all, Sir.
Greg. Which I was obliged to have the honour of laying on so thick
upon you.
Sir Jas. Let's talk no more of 'em, sir.—My daughter, doctor, is fallen
into a very strange distemper.
Greg. Sir, I am overjoy'd to hear it : and I wish with all my heart,
you and your whole family had the same occasion for me, as your
daughter, to shew the great desire I have to serve you.
Sir Jas. Sir, I am obliged to you.
Greg. I assure you, Sir, I speak from the very bottom of my soul.
Sir Jas. I do believe you, Sir, from the very bottom of mine.
Greg. What is your daughter's name?
456 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Sir Jas. My daughter's name is Charlot?
Greg. Are you sure she was christen’d Charlot?
Sir Jas. No, Sir, she was christen’d Charlotta.
Greg. Hum ! I had rather she should have been christen’d
Charlotte. Charlotte is a very good name for a patient ; and, let me
tell you, the name is often of as much service to the patient as
the physician is.
M, Page 410.
In The Dumb Lady (Act ii., Scene 1), Lacy thus imitates the third,
fourth and fifth scenes of the second act of Molière's The Physician in
spite of himself. -
. Enter DOCTOR.
Ger. Squire, go bid them make my daughter ready to receive the
Doctor. -
Soft. I do not care to go, for she has her wild Irish chambermaid,
that always calls me Squire Pogemihone, and then laughs at me.
Ger. Pray you, go, sir. You're very welcome, Sir ; I have very
much desired to see you. [Eacit Softhead.
Doct. Hippocrates says, I pray you be covered.
Ger. Pray you, in what chapter of Hippocrates does he bid you be
covered
Doct. In the first chapter of keeping your head warm.
Ger. A pleasant gentleman, and I love his humour. But, sir, con-
cerning my daughter, who is very sick, sir— *
Doct. I am very glad on’t, sir; and I would you and your whole
family were sick, lame, or blind, that I might have the honour to cure
you.
Ger. Why, this is the strangest doctor. He had need of good parts
to bear out his humours.
Doct. And now, sir, I pray you, what's your daughter's name
Ger. Olinda, sir, at your service.
Doct. Olinda a pretty name to be cured.
Ger. Sir, I’ll see if my daughter be ready to come forth to you.
[Eacit Gernette.
Doct. Your servant, sir; and what woman is that, I pray you?
Jar. The nurse of the house, sir.
Doct. By’r lady, a pretty piece of household stuff, and a fine ornament
for a couch. I do salute you, nurse, and I would I were that happy
suckling that shall draw down the milk of your favour and affection
Ill II’Se.
Jar. Her pulse beats not thereabouts, sir! Hands off, for she's my
wife, sir! * - -
Doct. I cry you mercy, sir. I congratulate you for having so hand-
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPTTE OF HIMSELF. 457
some a wife, and your wife for having so worthy a husband. Your
breasts, sweet nurse— , -
Jar. Pray you, hold, sir! Half this courtesy would serve.
Doct. Worthy sir, I cannot declare enough how much I'm your
servant Delicate breasts, nurse. [His hands upon her breasts still.
AWur. At your service.
Jar. Oh, devil take you, sir; let my wife's breasts alone !
Doct. Sweet sir, I must see her breasts; it is the doctor's duty to look
to the nurse's milk.
Jar. You shall not look to her milk . . .
Doct. You will not hinder me from following my profession. . . .
Jar. My wife is sound and well, and shall have no doctor.
Doct. Sir, I know you're a man of sense, and I beseech you hear
reason. A sweet nurse ! -
Nur. Oh, dear Doctor
Jar. . . . Give me my wife, sir . . . .
Nur. Now, good husband, take physic . . . In troth, sir, he is always
so fretful, and so cholericly jealous !
Jar. I’ll make you an example! . -
Doct. Such another word, and I’ll put thee in a fever, and keep thee
in’t a year. I tell thee, fellow, thy wife is not well. . . . Prithee be
sick, Nurse.
Nur. Yes, sir, I am sick . . .
Jar. You are no more sick than I am housewife
Nur. Sure the doctor knows better than you or I whether I be sick
Ol' D.O. . . .
Jar. My master is coming, or I’d give you such a gentle gentile !
N, Page 412.
Lacy, in The Dumb Lady, thus imitates the third and sixth scenes of
the second act of Molière's The Physician in spite of himself.
Enter old GERNETTE, his DAUGHTER led in by Servants, and
SQUIRE SOFTHEAD.
Ger. Sir, I have brought my daughter; and I beseech your best care
of her, for the world's gone with me if she die.
Doct. Hold, sir! People do not die so easily without the help of a
physician.
Ger. A notable droll, and puts me in great comfort.
Doct. Is this she A very pretty patient, and one a man may ven-
ture on in sickness or in health. Come on, sir, let me feel your pulse!
Ger. I am not sick, sir.
Doct. But your daughter is, therefore give me your pulse. Why, by
your pulse, I find your daughter is dumb 1. - -
Nur. Oh dear ! how he hits on 't
458 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Jar. Hits on 't You'd be hit on 't too, would you? He may thank
his knowing on 't before.
Ger. But, sir, 'tis strange that you should know my daughter's disease
by my pulse.
Doct. Sympathy does it. I find you have no faith here in the sympa-
thetical powder, therefore cannot know our sympathetical way of prac-
tice. When any man or woman is sick in Greenland, they always send
the next of kin to the doctor; and by that pulse the disease is known
and the patient cured. -
Soft. Pray, Doctor, feel whether I be dumb or no. -
Nur. Let me feel your pulse, husband, Oh, I am sick, and the Doc-
tor must physic me, or I die . . .
-Ger. But what may be the cause, think you, of her dumbness?
Doct. Why, sir, according to the sense of Aristotle—
Ger. Aristotle was a philosopher, sir.
Doct. Ay, and a physician too; I know what I say. Heart 1 I had
like to have been gravell'd I say again, according to the sense of
Hippocrates.
Ger. Ay, marry, sir, he was a physician indeed.
Doct. Ay, and a philosopher too; therefore no matter which of their
opinions I take.
Jar. By my troth, I think so too.
Doct. And therefore, as I said at first, according to the sense of Aris-
totle, women are dumb because they cannot speak . . .
Ger. But, sir, are there many reasons for dumbness in a woman
Doct. Several, sir. A woman may be dumb when she has no mind
to speak; and she may speak when nobody has a mind to hear her.
This is natural philosophy, now.
Ger. Why, you speak as if it were sullenness in their sex, and not a
defect in nature, nor other accident. -
Doct. I do so. In some romance, perhaps, you may have read of a
woman's being dumb ; but sure no man seriously ever heard of a woman
that could not speak.
Nur. He is i' th' right, i' faith; this is the doctor of doctors, i' faith.
Jar. Again the Doctor 7 I would he were hung about thy neck |
Mur. By my troth, so would I, to determine thy jealousy
Ger. But pray you, sir, why should you think a woman cannot be
dumb
Doct. Why, sir, your men that have endeavoured to find out the
perpetual motion have come near it, I confess, with their clocks and
pendulums; but Aristotle says, Fix a dial-plate to a woman's mouth,
and if the perpetual motion be not there, let them never hope to find it:
and if it be there, ’tis infallible a woman cannot be dumb. . . . .
Ger. But touching the cause of my child's disease, sir.
Doct. Why, you must know, her dumbness may proceed from the
string-holt.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 459
Ger. The string-holt | Why, that's a disease one of my horses has
now in the stable.
Doct. I grant you, sir; but we of Padua call a lameness in the tongue
the string-holt, from that very string which you call the greedy-worm.
. . . I shall betray myself a farrier —[Aside.]—And this dumbness
proceeds from a contraction or shrinking of that nerve or string, which
shrinking proceeds from stomachous fumigations, which proceed from
certain exhalations or influence of the stars, called in Arabic—do you
understand Arabic ;
Ger. Not a word—not, I sir.
Doct. A gentleman, and not speak Arabic : Why, where have you
been bred
Ger. I neither speak Arabic, Latin, nor any language but my mother
tongue. -
Doct. What blessed luck is this for me ! How shall I do to explain
it to you, then } For optimum purgamentum, cantaridem, venetreclum
—do you conceive me, sir?—vinum cum drammum, scirramoucha scru-
pulum ; and this is just your daughter's case, sir. -
Nur. Hoboy, Doctor he claws it away with Latin, i' faith !
Jar. Still commending the Doctor . . .
Ger. Sure he's a learned man, if one could understand him. Pray
you, if you please, state her case in English.
Doct. Why, this is worse than all the rest. Why, you must know,
sir, that the vapours passing from the right side, where lies the heart,
into the left, where lies the liver, the lungs, which in Latin we call
Armion, having communication with the brain, which in Greek we call
Nazmathon, by intermedium of the Vena cava, which in Hebrew we
call Rabshack, and in Arabic Helgoshob
Nur. Thou beast ! when wilt thou know Rabshack and Helgoshob?
O most divine Doctor
Jar. Divine ! Is it come to divinity now 7 Why, then, you hope
to be saved by him . . .
Ger. Ragshag'ſ Sir, I understand these tongues less than Latin.
Doct. I'm sorry for 't, sir; did you but know the sweet sound of
Hebrew and Arabic, you would never speak your mother tongue again.
Ger. Sir, I like your discourse well, only where you say the heart
lies on the right side and the liver on the left, which is contrary to all
anatomists I ever heard of.
Doct. How shall I answer this . . . he makes me sweat —Why, sir,
it is true that in time of health the heart lies on the left side, and in
most diseases too ; but in dumbness, the heart by some strong passion
being turned and whirled to the right side, till by art it be returned
and whirled back to the left, neither man nor woman can possibly
speak; and that is the positive cause of all dumbness.
Mur. O dear Doctor, I cry still !
Jar. Is it come to dear Doctor, now? Is he your dear . . .
46 (). THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Ger. Sir, I am well satisfied. Now, if you please, let us proceed to
the cure of my daughter. -
Doct. Oh, there's the point | Why, there be several ways to cure,
and twice as many ways to kill; for we learned physicians with too
much study have likely a worm in our heads, and when that worm
wriggles the mind alters, so that we change our fashions as much in
physic as the court and gentry do their clothes. But come, get my
patient to her bed, and when she's warm give her a lusty dose of sops
and wine.
Ger. How ! sops and wine ! Sure that will make her drunk, sir.
Doct. The better, sir; for when people are drunk, they are apt to
speak their minds. I work by natural causes. You see by the virtue
of cakes and wine how women tattle at a gossiping. No man ever knew
a dumb woman at a christening or a gossiping but she talked before she
went away.
Nur. The Doctor's i' th' right, I’ll be sworn ; I know it by experi-
ence. O brave Doctor | -
Jar. Brave Doctor . . .
Doct. So lead her to bed, and let Nurse drink with her to counten-
. ance her.
Nur. I will indeed, Mr Doctor; I will be sure to obey your com-
mands. -
Doct. And when you have drunk smartly, bring me word how it
works, Nurse.
Jar. You shall be hanged first, Doctor.
Doct. And be sure, Nurse, come alone still ; for you know she may
have something to say to me that is not fit for her husband to hear.
Ger. Pray you take your fee, sir.
Doct. By no means; no cure no money with me, sir. But pray you
be careful of my patient, and be sure to send Nurse still to me.
Ger. Sir, I shall send to you, but perhaps not Nurse . . .
Doct. I hope I shall make that rogue mad for beating me.
Nur. Your servant, Mr Doctor.
Doct. Your servant, Nurse. [Eaceumt.
O, Page 417.
The ninth scene of the second act of Fielding's The Mock Doctor,
borrowed from The Physician in spite of himself (Act ii., Scene 6) is
as follows. Lucinde is called Charlotte, and Jacqueline is the maid.
Sir James. Sir, my daughter's here.
Gregory. Is that my patient 7 Upon my word she carries no dis-
temper in her countenance ; and I fancy a healthy young fellow would
sit very well upon her. -
Sir Jas. You make her smile, doctor.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 461
'Greg. So much the better; 'tis a very good sign when we can
bring a patient to smile ; it is a sign that the distemper begins to clarify,
as we say.—Well, child, what's the matter with you? what's your dis-
temper? e
Charlotte. Han, hi, hon, han.
Greg. What do you say? º #
Char. Han, hi, han, hon.
Greg. What, what, what?
Char. Han, hi, hon.
Greg. Hanſ Hon! Honin ha –I don't understand a word she
says. Han . Hi! Hon what the devil of a language is this?
Sir Jasper. Why, that's her distemper, Sir ; she's become dumb, and
no one can assign the cause ; and this distemper, Sir, has kept back her
marriage.
Greg. Kept back her marriage why so?
Sir Jas. Because her lover refuses to have her till she's cured.
Greg, O ludl was ever such a fool, that would not have his wife
dumb l—would to heaven my wife was dumb, I'd be far from desiring
to cure her.—Does this distemper, this Han, hi, hon, oppress her very
much"
Sir Jas. Yes, Sir.
Greg. So much the better. Has she any great pains'
Sir Jas. Very great,
Greg. That's just as I would have it. Give me your hand, child.
Hum—ha—a very dumb pulse indeed.
Sir Jas. You have guess'd her distemper.
Greg. Ay, Sir, we great physicians know a distemper immediately :
I know some of the college would call this the Boree, or the Coupee, or
the Sönkee, or twenty other distempers : but I give you my word, Sir,
your daughter is nothing more than dumb–So I'd have you be very
easy, for there is nothing else the matter with her—if she were not
dumb, she would be as well as I am.
Sir Jas. But I should be glad to know, doctor, from whence her
dumbness proceeds ;
Greg. Nothing so easily accounted for.—Her dumbness proceeds
from her having lost her speech
Sir Jas. But whence, if you please, proceeds her having lost her
speech { *
Greg. All our best authors will tell you, it is the impediment of the
action of the tongue.
Sir Jas. But if you please, dear Sir, your sentiments upon that im-
pediment. -*
Greg. Aristotle has upon that subject said very fine things; very
fine things.
Sir Jas. I believe it, doctor.
Greg. Ah! he was a great man ; he was indeed a very great man,
462 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
—A man, who upon that subject was a man that—but to return to our.
reasoning : I hold that this impediment of the action of the tongue is
caused by certain humours, which our great physicians call—humours—
Ah you understand Latin?—
Sir Jas. Not in the least.
Greg. * What, not understand Latinº
Sir Jas. No indeed, doctor.
Greg. Cabricius arci Thurum Cathalimus, Singulariter nom. Haec
musa, hic, haec, hoc, Genitivo hujus, hunc, hanc Musae, Bonus, bona,
bonum. Estne oratio Latimus? Etiam. Quia Substantivo et Adjecti-
vum concordat in Generi, Numerum, & Casus, sic dicunt, aiunt praedi-
cant, clamitant, et similibus.
Sir Jas. Ah Why did I neglect my studies?
Har. What a prodigious man is this
Greg. Besides, Sir, certain spirits passing from the left side, which
is the seat of the liver, to the right, which is the seat of the heart, we
find the lungs, which we call in Latin Whiskerus, having communica-
tion with the brain, which we name in Greek, Jackbootos, by means of
a hollow vein, which we call in Hebrew, Periwiggus, meet in the road
with the said spirits, which fill the ventricles of the Omotoplasmus, and
because the said humours have—you comprehend me well, Sir? and
because the said humours have a certain malignity—listen seriously, I
beg you.
Sir Jas. I do.
Greg. Have a certain malignity that is caused—be attentive if you
please. g
Sir Jas. I am.
Greg. That is caus'd, I say, by the acrimony of the humours en-
gender'd in the concavity of the diaphragm; thence it arrives, that
these vapours Propria quae maribus tribuumtur, mascula dicas, Ut sunt
divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.—This, Sir, is the cause of your
daughter's being dumb.
Har. Oh that I had but his tongue !
Sir Jas. It is impossible to reason better, no doubt. But, dear Sir,
there is one thing—I always thought till now, that the heart was on
the left side, and the liver on the right.
Greg. Ay Sir, so they were formerly, but we have changed all that.
—The college at present, Sir, proceeds upon an entire new method.
Sir Jas. I ask your pardon, Sir.
Greg. Oh, Sir there's no harm—you're not obliged to know so
much as we do.
Sir Jas. Very true; but doctor, what would you have done with my
daughter?
Greg. What would I have done with her? Why, my advice is,
that you immediately put her into a bed warm'd with a brass warming-
pan; cause her to drink one quart of spring water, mix’d with one pint
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 463
of brandy, six Seville oranges, and three ounces of the best double-
refin'd sugar.
Sir Jas. Why, this is punch, doctor. *
Greg. Punch, Sir! Ay, Sir ;-and what's better than punch, to
make people talk?—Never tell me of your juleps, your gruels, your—
your—this, and that, and tº other, which are only arts to keep a patient
in hand a long time.—I love to do a business all at once.
Sir Jas. Doctor, I ask pardon, you shall be obey'd. [Gives money.
Greg. I’ll return in the evening, and see what effect it has had on
her.—But hold ! there's another young lady here, that I must apply
some little remedies to.
Maid. Who, me? I was never better in my life, I thank you, Sir.
Greg. So much the worse, madam, so much the worse—"Tis very
dangerous to be very well—for when one is very well, one has nothing
else to do, but to take physic, and bleed away.
Sºr Jas. Oh strange | What, bleed, when one has no distemper.
Greg. It may be strange, perhaps, but ’tis very wholesome. Be-
sides, madam, it is not your case, at present, to be very well; at least,
you cannot possibly be well above three days longer; and it is always
best to cure a distemper before you have it—or, as we say in Greek.
distemprum bestum est curare ante habestum.—What I shall prescribe
you, at present, is to take every six hours one of these bolus's.
Maid. Ha, ha, ha! Why, doctor, these look exactly like lumps of
loaf sugar.
Greg. Take one of these bolus's, I say, every six hours, washing it
down with six spoonfuls of the best Holland's geneva.
Sir Jas. Sure, you are in jest, doctor.--This wench does not show any
symptom of a distemper.
Greg. Sir Jasper, let me tell you, it were not amiss if you yourself
took a little lenitive physic; I shall prepare something for you.
..Sir Jas. Ha, ha, ha! No, no, doctor, I have escaped both doctors and
distempers hitherto, and I am resolved the distemper shall pay me the
first visit.
Greg. Say you so, Sir? Why then if I can get no more patients
here, I must even seek 'em elsewhere, and so humbly beggo te Domine
Domiti veniam goundi foras. [Eacit.
Sir Jas. Well, this is a physician of vast capacity, but of exceeding
odd humours [Eacit.
464 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
P, Page 419.
Lacy, in The Dumb Lady (Act ii., last scene) imitates as follows
Molière's The Physician in spite of himself (Act ii., Scene 9); Sganarelle
is called the Doctor.
Enter DOCTOR.
Doct. By your favour, sir, I was looking out at my window, and as I
thought I saw a duel towards, so I came.
Lea. To prevent it?
Doct. No, by my troth, sir; my business is not to prevent wounds, but
to cure 'em. Where is the other that fought you? Nounze, you have
made quick despatch; have you killed him and buried him already?
Lea. No ; he is gone very safe, and no wound about him but that of
his honour.
Doct. Was it not Squire Softhead, sir?
Lea. It was so, sir; and how he has behaved himself you shall know
anon. But, sir, I guess you are the doctor that undertakes the Dumb
Lady?
Doct. I am so, sir.
Lea. You're happily come, sir, for I have earnest business with you.
Doct. Why, ay, the dulness of your eye shows you have—let's see,
let's see—a very dangerous and highflying pulse.
Lea. I am not sick, sir.
Doct. You are loth to confess . . .
Lea. By my honour, not I, sir.
Doct. Do not let it go too far . . .
Lea. If you please, sir, I shall acquaint you with my business. My
name, sir, is Leander; perhaps you may have heard of me.
Doct. I have heard of a naval knight called Sir Hero Leander; are
you the man, I pray you?
Lea. You are merry, sir, but my affair is serious. You have a dumb
lady your patient to whom I am a servant, and she, sir, has an equal
love for me. Now, being by her father barred of all means of coming
together
Doct. You would have me do it, and so pimp for you?
Lea. Not pimp, sir; but I would fain oblige you to befriend us.
Doct. Befriend us? a modest phrase for pimping. I begin to find
that physic is but one part of a doctor's trade; and I shall gain the
character of Chaucer's seamstress, for says he,
“She keeps a shop for countenance,
But bawdeth for her sustenance.”
So I shall physic give for countenance,
But pimping's my chief maintenance.
Lea. Sir, I know you may bring me to the speech of her. I mean no
pimping, sir.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 465
Doct. Whatever you mean, the thing is the same, sir; for how can I
help you to the speech of her but I must bring you together? And if I
bring you together, what's that but pimping, sir?
Lea. But I mean in the way of honesty, sir.
Doct. Honesty? Indeed I have heard 'twill make men rich and
brave, but I never heard of honesty in the case before. Sir, the profes-
sion will not bear it. And would you make a pimp of a physician? O
most horrible indignity | g
Lea. Pray you, sir, be pacified, and let this show you that I can be
grateful. [Gives him a purse.
Doct. Is there a fee belonging to that part of a doctor too? I begin
now to think that pimping is no such scandalous thing as malicious men
report it. Sir, you have given me such strong reasons to think so well
on 't, that I believe none rail at it but such as would be glad of the em-
ployment themselves. And, sir, as you call it, I will help you to the
speech of her, or befriend you, or pimp for you.
Lea. Your servant, sir. I must now reveal a secret to you. You
must know, sir, the lady feigns this dumbness for love of me, and to
avoid marriage with this Squire Softhead.
Doct. I knew there was some trick in 't. "Twere impossible else,
either by nature, art or misfortune, a woman should be dumb ; for take
a woman's tongue, and pluck it up by the roots, I'm sure in an hour an-
other would grow i' th' room on ’t. But come, sir; you shall shift you,
and pass for my apothecary.
Lea. That I think an excellent way, and nothing better.
Doct. We cannot miss to cure her now. I shall get credit as I am
her physician, and money as I am your bringer together, or your pimping
friend. g
Thus shall I be your advocate and protector. [Rings.
And venerably called both bawd and doctor.
Q, Page 421.
Fielding, in The Mock Doctor (Actii., Scene ll), thus imitates the last
scene of the second act of Molière's play.
Enter LEANDER and GREGORY.
Greg. Upon my word, this is a good beginning, and since—
Lean. I have waited for you, doctor, a long time. I'm come to beg
your assistance.
Greg. Ay, you have need of my assistance indeed. What a pulse is
here ! What do you do out o' your bed ) [Feels his Pulse.
Lean. Ha, ha, ha! doctor, you're mistaken ; I am not sick, I assure
you.
Greg. How, Sir not sick | do you think I don't know when a man
is sick, better than he does himself
III. 2 G
466 TEIE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Lean. Well, if I have any distemper, it is the love of that young lady
your patient, from whom you just now came, and to whom if you can
convey me, I swear, dear doctor, I shall be effectually cured.
Greg. Do you take me for a pimp, Sir, a physician for a pimp!
Lean. Dear Sir make no noise.
Greg. Sir, I will make a noise ; you're an impertinent fellow.
Lean. Softly, good Sir!
Greg. I shall shew you, Sir, that I'm not such a sort of a person, and
that you are an insolent, saucy—[Leander gives a Purse.]—I’m not
speaking to you, Sir; but there are certain impertinent fellows in the
world, that take people fer what they are not—which always puts me,
Sir, into such a passion, that—
Lean. I ask pardon, Sir, for the liberty I have taken.
Greg. O dear Sir no offence in the least.—Pray, Sir, how am I to
serve you?
Lean. This distemper, Sir, which you are sent for to cure, is feign'd.
The physicians have reason'd upon it, according to custom, and have
derived it from the brain, from the bowels, from the liver, lungs, lights,
and every part of the body; but the true cause of it is love ; and is an
invention of Charlot's, to deliver her from a match she dislikes.
Greg. Hum !—suppose you were to disguise yourself as an
apothecary? *
Lean. I’m not very well known to her father, therefore believe I may
pass upon him securely.
Greg. Go then, disguise yourself immediately ; I'll wait for you here
—Ha 1 methinks I see a patient : Gad, matters go swimmingly, I’ll e'en
continue a physician as long as I live. [Ea;it Leander.
R, Page 421.
The first scene of the third act of Molière's play is imitated by Lacy
in the same scene and same act of The Dumb Lady, as follows:—
Enter DoCTOR, and LEANDER like an apothecary.
Lea. This habit will pass me for an apothecary; I only want some
of their canting phrases. g
Doct. Why, faith, you are as well qualified for an apothecary as I
am for a physician. You have trusted me with your heart, and now I'll
trust you with my simplicity. I am no doctor, but was forced to own
being one—why and how I'll tell you hereafter ; but having served a
mountebank, that and my great share in impudence has made me
famous.
Lea. It is possible impudence should have such virtuous effects?
Doct. Yes; yet some men rail at impudence, and speak it vicious,
when the jest is, they that rail most at it make most use on't. 'Tis
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 4.67
doubtless the greatest blessing in the world, and most men do their
business by it.
Lea. But if you be so ignorant, sure impudence should not bear you
out, especially in this learned profession.
Doct. Oh, sir, it is the securest clack for ignorance of all arts | Other
professions are liable to miscarriages and questionable; but the physician
may kill from the fool to the senator, from the beggar to the blood-royal,
and ne'er be called in question ; the dead was never so uncivil yet as to
come out o' th' other world to complain of the physician.
Lea. 'Tis a sign they're civilly used where they are. But do you not
study at all?
Doct. It needs not, for the great study of physic is come to nothing
now but letting blood; and it falls out well for me, that am a downright
farrier?
Lea. How ! is your real profession a farrier?
Doct. Yes, faith ; and with the same fleams I let horse's blood I use
my patients to ; and the horse's drench is the potion I give to men ;
and I cure more than I kill, so that I am the only doctor that has found
out horse and man to be of one constitution.
Lea. But how comes letting of blood so much in fashion ?
Doct. Oh, sir, 'tis a la mode Paris. If your corn does but ache against
rain, what says the doctor? 'Let him blood. Nay, if you be troubled
in conscience, they’ll let you blood for that too.
Lea. They let not blood for the small-pox, I hope?
Doct. But they do ; and 'tis the opinion of Padua that 'tis as sure a
way to kill as an old woman and saffron is to cure.
S, Page 422.
Fielding has imitated this scene in his Mock Doctor (Act ii., Scene 12),
as follows:—
Enter GREGORY, JAMES, and DAVY.
Jam. [Speaking to DAVY.] Fear not, if he relapse into his humours,
I'll quickly thrash him into the physician again.—Doctor, I have brought
you a patient.
Davy. My poor wife, doctor, has kept her bed these six months
[GREGORY holds out his hand.] If your worship would find out some
names to cure her
Greg. What's the matter with her?
Davy. Why, she has had several physicians; one says 'tis the dropsy ;
another ’tis what-d’ye-call-it, the tumpany; a third says, 'tis a slow
fever; a fourth says, the rumatiz; a fifth–
Greg. What are the symptoms?
Davy Symptoms, sir?
468 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Greg. Ay, ay, what does she complain of
Davy. Why, she is always craving and craving for drink, eats nothing
at all. Then her legs are swell'd up as big as a good handsome post, and
as cold they be as a stone.
Greg. Come, to the purpose ; speak to the purpose, my friend.
[Holding out his hand.
Davy. The purpose is, sir, that I am come to ask what your worship
pleases to have done with her.
Greg. Pshaw, pshaw, pshaw I don't understand one word that you
Iſleå.Il.
Jam. His wife is sick, doctor, and he has brought you a guinea for
your advice.—Give it the doctor, friend. [Davy gives the Guinea.
Greg. Ay, now I understand you : here's a gentleman explains the
case. You say your wife is sick of the dropsy %
Davy. Yes, an’t please your worship.
Greg. Well, I have made a shift to comprehend your meaning at last ;
you have the strangest way of describing a distemper. You say your
wife is always calling for drink; let her have as much as she desires,
she can't drink too much ; and, dy'e hear? give her this piece of cheese.
Davy. Cheese, sir!
Greg. Ay, cheese, sir. The cheese, of which this is a part, has cur'd
more people of a dropsy, than ever had it.
Davy. I give your worship a thousand thanks; I'll go make her take
it immediately. t [Eacit.
Greg. Go, and if she dies, be sure to bury her after the best manner
you can.
T, Page 427.
Fielding has borrowed this scene from Molière's Play (Act iii., Scene
5), in The Mock Doctor (Act ii., Scene 16).
SIR. JASPER, CHARLOT, MAID, GREGORY, LEANDER.
Sir Jas. Has she made no attempt to speak yet 7
Maid. Not in the least, Sir ; so far from it, that as she used to
make sort of a noise before, she is now quite silent.
Sir Jas. [Looking on his watch] 'Tis almost the time the doctor pro-
mised to return. Oh he is here. Doctor, your servant.
Greg. Well, Sir, how does my patient?
Sir Jas. Rather worse, Sir, since your prescription.
Greg. So much the better, 'tis a sign that it operates.
Sir Jas. Who is that gentleman, pray, with you?
Greg. An apothecary, Sir.—Mr Apothecary, I desire you would
immediately apply the remedy I prescribed.
Sir Jas. A song, doctor? prescribe a song !
Greg. Prescribe a song, Sir yes, Sir, prescribe a song, Sir. Is
THE PHYSICLAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 469
there anything so strange in that? did you never hear of pills to purge
melancholy? If you understand these things better than I, why did
you send for me? shud! Sir, this song would make a stone speak.
But, if you please, Sir, you and I will confer at some distance during
the application ; for this song will do you as much harm as it will do
your daughter good. Be sure, Mr Apothecary, to pour it down her ears
very closely.
AIR 7.
Lean. Thus, lovely patient, Charlotte sees
Her dying patient kneel;
Soon cured will be your feign'd disease,
But what physician e're can ease
The torments which I feel.
Think, skilful nymph, while I complain,
Ah, think what I endure :
All other remedies are vain:
The lovely cause of all my pain
Can only cause my cure.
Greg. It is, Sir, a great and subtile question among the doctors
whether women are more easy to be cured than men. I beg you would
attend to this, Sir, if you please.—Some say, No ; others say, Yes; and
for my part, I say both Yes, and No ; forasmuch as the incongruity of
the opaque humours that meet in the natural temper of women, are
the cause that the brutal part will always prevail over the sensible.—
One sees that the inequality of their opinions depends on the black
movement of the circle of the moon, and as the sun that darts his rays
upon the concavity of the earth finds—
Char. No, I am not at all capable of changing my opinion.
Sir Jas. My daughter speaks my daughter speaks! Oh, the great
power of physicſ Oh, the admirable physician How can I reward
thee for such a service
Greg. This distemper has given me a most insufferable deal of
trouble.
[Traversing the Stage in a great heat, the Apothecary following.
Char. Yes, Sir, I have recover'd my speech; but I have recover'd it
to tell you, that I never will have any husband but Leander.
[Speaks with great eagerness, and drives Sir Jasper round the Stage.
&r Jas. But
Char. Nothing is capable to shake the resolution I have taken.
Sir Jas. What
Char. Your rhetoric is in vain; all your discourses signify nothing.
Sir Jas. I
Char. I am determin'd, and all the fathers in the world shall never
oblige me to marry contrary to my inclination.
Sir Jas. I have
470 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Char. I never will submit to this tyranny; and if I must not have
the man I like, I’ll die a maid.
Sir Jas. You shall have Mr Dapper
Char. No, not in any manner, not in the least, not at all; you throw
away your breath, you lose your time; you may confine me, beat me,
bruise me, destroy me, kill me, do what you will, use me as you will,
but I never will consent; nor all your threats, nor all your blows, nor
all your ill-usage, never shall force me to consent ; so far from giving
him my heart, I never will give him my hand; for he is my aversion, I
hate the very sight of him, I had rather see the devil, I had rather
touch a toad ; you may make me miserable any other way; but with
him you shan’t, that I’m resolved. º
Greg. There, Sir, there, I think we have brought her tongue to a
pretty tolerable consistency.
Sºr Jas. Consistency, quotha why, there is no stopping her tongue.
–Dear doctor, I desire you will make her dumb again.
Greg. That’s impossible, Sir ; all that I can do to serve you is,
I can make you deaf, if you please.
Sir Jas. And do you think—
Char. All your reasoning shall never conquer my resolution.
Sir Jas. You shall marry Mr Dapper, this evening.
Char. I’ll be buried first.
Greg. Stay, Sir, stay, let me regulate this affair; it is a distemper
that possesses her, and I know what remedy to apply to it.
Sir Jas. Is it possible, Sir, that you can cure the distempers of the
mind?
Greg. Sir, I can cure any thing. Harkye, Mr Apothecary, you see
that the love she has for Leander is entirely contrary to the will of her
father, and that there is no time to lose, and that an immediate remedy
is necessary : for my part, I know of but one, which is a dose of purga-
tive running-away, mixt with two drachms of pills matrimoniac and
three large handfuls of the Arbor Vitae; perhaps she will make some
difficulty to take them ; but as you are an able Apothecary, I shall
trust to you for the success; go, make her walk in the garden, be sure
lose no time ; to the remedy quick, to the remedy specific.
U, Page 429.
Mrs Centlivre, in her Love's Contrivance (Act iv., Scene 2), has partly
imitated Molière ; Self will is Géronte.
Enter SELFWILL and MARTIN.
Selfwill. How dost thou, child? speak to me if thou can'st ||
[She shakes her head.
Bell. Indeed, Uncle, I have try’d all the ways I cou’d think on to
make her speak to me, but to no Purpose.—Ha 1 if I’m not mistaken,
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 471
that is the same Fellow that brought the oranges to-day. I suspect
she'll quickly speak, were but my Uncle removed. [Aside.
Self. Good lack Well, Mr Doctor, you see what a Condition she's
in, if you can restore her to her Speech, I'll give you what you'll ask.
Mart. I don’t doubt it, Sir, Pray, Madam, open your mouth.
[She opens.] Very well — Let me feel your Pulse ; in a very low
Condition truly. Sir, I must desire every body to avoid the Room; for
I never work any of these Cures before any but by my Patients, and
you must bring me Pen, Ink, and Paper, and be sure you shut the
Doors fast, and for your Life don't let anybody approach within twenty
Feet of the Door. [In a very grave tone.
Bell. So now I see my Suspicion is true.—Sure, Doctor, you
design to Conjure for her Speech.
Mart. Not at all, Madam, but I have a particular Method, and it is
not safe for anybody to be near.
Bell. I am gone, pray Heaven your Design prospers. [Evit.
Self. But Doctor, may I not stay in the Room, I’ll not look towards
you.
Mart. By no means, Sir, I tell you, if any Person is in the
Room the Charm will be of no Effect.
Self. Say you so, Sir? well then, I’m gone, but I’m resolv'd to
watch which way this Fellow does this Miracle, it must be by the
Devil certainly ; I have a Window in my Chamber looks into this,
whence I may see all that's done. [Aside.] Well, Doctor, I’ll pray for
you that your Undertaking may prosper, I’ll send you Pen, Ink, and
Paper immediately. [Evit.
Mart. Pray do, Sir.—Now if she shou’d really be dumb.--Egad,
I'll try [Aside.] What wou'd my Master Bellmie give to be in my
Place, Madam. -
Luc. Ha! Bellmie / are you not he that was here with Oranges.
Mart. I am, Madam.—Ho, ho, it is as I suppos'd. [Aside.
Enter one with Pen, Ink, etc.
Mart. And go, go, go, begone quickly. [Evit Servant.] Ah!
Madam, if you had taken that Letter.
Luc. I wish I had ; but hark ye, did you never live with Bellmie.
Mart. Yes, Madam, when he first courted you, my Name is Martin ;
but Poverty and Labour, Madam, has almost defac'd me in the Memory
of everybody; but Madam, we must be quick, pray take this Paper
and write to my Master, who is almost driven to Despair to hear of
this sad Accident.
Luc. Give it me quickly; but pray, which way got you Credit with
my Father to pass upon him for a Doctor'ſ
Self. Certainly they talk, I can't hear what they say tho’.
[Appears at a window.
Mart. By Inspiration, I think ; for how I came to be taken for a
472 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Doctor I don’t know ; all I know is, that I was forced hither out of the
Field, by two of your Father's Men, perhaps they mistook me for
another; but they were very importunate, as my poor Back and Shoulders
can testify, for I am almost beaten to a Jelly. [Shrugs his shoulders.
Luc. Alas! poor Fellow, there's a Guinea for thee; certainly this
must be a lucky omen. —Well, I’ll give you a Letter immediately.
[Writes.
Self. They certainly talk, but if I’m not mistaken, she's a writing
too; pray Heaven this ben’t some Fiend, and my Child making a Con-
tract with the Devil; I’ll step down and try whether the Devil or I are
most cunning. -
Luc. There, I have done.
Enter SELFWILL behind her, and Snatches the paper from her.
Self. Have you so
Luc. Oh Lord *
Mart. Ha! Nay then, a clear Stage for the Doctor. [Eacit.
Self. What's this? [Reads.
V, Page 430.
Fielding has imitated Molière's Physician in spite of himself (Act iii.
Scene 7), in The Mock Doctor (Act ii., Scene 17.)
SIR. JASPER, GREGORY.
Sir Jas. What drugs, sir, were those I heard you mention, for I don't
remember I ever heard them spoke of before ?
Greg. They are some, sir, lately discover'd by the Royal Society.
Sir Jas. Did you ever see anything equal to her insolence?
Greg. Daughters are indeed sometimes a little too head-strong.
Sir Jas. You cannot imagine, sir, how foolishly fond she is of that
Leander.
Greg. The heat of blood, sir, causes that in young minds.
Sir Jas. For my part, the moment I discovered the violence of her
passion, I have always kept her lock'd up.
Greg. You have done very wisely.
Sir Jas. And I have prevented them from having the least com-
munication together ; for who knows what might have been the
consequence? who knows but she might have taken it into her head to
have run away with him
Greg. Very true.
Sir Jas. Ay, sir, let me alone for governing girls; I think I have some
reason to be vain on that head; I think I have shewn the world, that
I understand a little of women, I think I have ; and let me tell you,
Sir, there is not a little art required ; if this girl had had some fathers,
they had not kept her out of the hands of so vigilant a lover as I have
done.
Greg. No, certainly, Sir.
THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 473
W, Page 433.
In the last scenes of the second act of The Mock Doctor, Fielding thus
finishes his play, which ending, of course, is borrowed from Molière.
SCENE XVIII.
Enter SIR JASPER, GREGORY, and DoRCAs.
Do?". Where is this villain, this rogue, this pretended physician?
Sir Jas. Heyday ! what, what, what's the matter now
Dor. Oh sirrah! sirrah ! would you have destroyed your wife, you
villain would you have been guilty of murder, dog
Greg. Hoity, toity | What mad woman is this?
Sir Jas. Poor wretch ! for pity's sake, cure her, doctor.
Greg. I shall not cure her, unless somebody gives me a fee. If you
will give me a fee, Sir Jasper, you shall see me cure her this instant.
Dor. I'll fee you, you villain. Cure me !
AIR 8.
If you hope by your skill
To give Dorcas a pill,
You are not a deep politician;
Could wives but be brought
To swallow the draught,
Each husband would be a physician.
SCENE XIX.
Enter JASPER, GREGORY, DORCAs, and JAMEs.
Jam. Oh, sir! undone, undone | your daughter is run away with
her lover Leander, who was here disguised like an apothecary—and this
is the rogue of a physician, who has contrived all the affair.
Sir Jas. How ! am I abused in this manner } Here, who is there
Bid my clerk bring pen, ink, and paper: I’ll send this fellow to jail
immediately.
Jam. Indeed, my good doctor, you stand a very fair chance to be
hanged for stealing an heiress.
Greg. Yes, indeed, I believe I shall take my degrees now.
Dor. And are they going to hang you, my dear husband?
Greg. You see, my dear wife.
Dor. Had you finished the faggots, it had been some consolation.
Greg. Leave me, or you’ll break my heart.
Dor. No, I’ll stay to encourage you at your death; nor will Ibudge
an inch, till I’ve seen you hanged.
ASCENE XX.
To them LEANDER and CHARLOT.
Lean. Behold, sir, that Leander, whom you had forbid your house,
restores your daughter to your power, even when he had her in his. I
474 THE PHYSICIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
will receive her, sir, only at your hands. I have received letters, by
which I have learnt the death of an uncle, whose estate far exceeds that
of your intended son-in-law.
Sir Jas. Sir, your virtue is beyond all estates, and I give you my
daughter with all the pleasure in the world.
Lean. Now my fortune makes me happy indeed, my dearest Char-
lotte. And, doctor, I'll make thy fortune too.
Greg. If you would be so kind to make me a physician in earnest,
I should desire no other fortune.
Lean. Faith, doctor, I wish I could do that in return for your hav-
ing made me an apothecary ; but I’ll do as well for thee, I warrant.
Dor. So, so, our physician, I find has brought about fine matters.
And is it not owing to me, sirrah, that you have been a physician at all?
Sir Jas. May I beg to know whether you are a physician or not, or
what the devil you are :
Greg. I think, sir, after the miraculous cure you have seen me per-
form, you have no reason to ask, whether I am a physician or no. And
for you, wife, I’ll henceforth have you behave with all deference to my
greatness; for a faggot-maker can only thrash your jacket, but a physi-
cian, he—
Dor. Can pick your pocket. Why, thou puffed up fool, I could
have made as good a physician myself; the cure was owing to the apo-
thecary, not the doctor.
AIR. We've cheated the Parson, etc.
When tender young virgins look pale and complain,
You may send for a dozen great doctors in vain;
All give their opinion, and pocket their fees;
Each writes her a cure, though all miss her disease ;
Powders, drops,
Juleps, slops,
A cargo of poison from physical shops.
Though they physic to death the unhappy poor maid,
What's that to the doctor—since he must be paid?
Would you know how you may manage her right?
Our doctor has brought you a nostrum to-night;
Never vary,
Nor miscarry,
If the lover be but the apothecary.
END OF VOLUME THIRD.
TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERs, EDINBURGH,
D. .….
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