Classic French Course in English

3-1

disputed the palm; but Menander's works have perished, and his greatness must be guessed. Who

ature; he is one of the foremost names in literature. The names are few on which critics are willin

lightning,-lightning playful, indeed, but lightning that might have been deadly,-the "secrets of the nethermost abyss" of human nature. Not human manners merely, those of a time, or of a race, but human attributes, those of all times, and of all races, are the things with which, in his higher comedies, Molière deals. Some transient whim of fashion may in these supply to him the mould of form that he uses, but it is human nature itself that supplies to Molière the substance

to say of Molière, as was said of Dante, "There goes the man that has been in hell." But Molière was melancholy enough

rews (Job and Isaiah), two Greeks (Homer and ?schylus), one is a Roman (Lucretius), one an Italian (Dante), one an Englishman (Shakspeare),-seven. The eighth coul

trolling band of players,-in 1646 or thereabout. This band, originally composed of amateurs, developed into a professional dramatic company, which passed through various transformations, until, f

ndering life as actor. A sister of this actress-a sister young enough to be daughter, instead of sister-Molière finally married. She led her jealous husband a wretched conjugal life. A peculiarly dark tradition of shame, connected with Molière's marriage, has lately been to a good degree dispelled. But it is not possible to redeem this great man's fame to chastity and honor. He paid heavily, in like misery of his own, for whatever pangs of jealousy he

health was such that he put his life at stake in so doing, he replied that the men and women of his company depended for their bread on the play's going through, and

es, from among which we select a few of the most

ations of a rich man vulgarly ambitious to figure in a social rank too exalted for his birth, his breeding, or his merit. Jourdain is the name under which Molière satirizes such a character. We give a fragment from one of the scenes. M. Jo

; and it vexes me more than I can tell, that my father and mother

Nam sine doctrina vita est quasi mortis imago. You unde

if I had none. Explain

it is, that, without scienc

at Latin is

any principles, any r

yes! I can re

ould you like to begin?

what may th

hich teaches us the thre

hey-these three ope

f universals; the second, to judge well by means of categories; and the third, to draw a c

his logic does not by any means suit m

ll you learn m

Moral p

Phil

es it say, this

ppiness, teaches men to mo

ered, and morality, or no morality, I like to give

uld you like t

have physics to

iscourses of the nature of the elements, of metals, minerals, stones, plants, and animals; which teaches us the cause of a

h hullaballoo in all that

hil. Ve

with a lady of quality, and I should be glad if you would help me to wr

hil. Ve

will be gallan

dly. Is it verse you

Oh, no! n

. You only

ish for neither

t must be one

our.

s nothing by which we can express

is nothing but

is not prose, is verse; and wh

n we speak, wha

Phil.

le, bring me my slippers, and gi

hil. Ye

greatest obligation to you for informing me of it. Well, then, I wish to write to her in a letter, "Fair Marchione

has reduced your heart to ashes; that yo

imply wish for what I tell you,-"Fair Marchio

you might amplify

but they must be put in a fashionable way, and arranged as they should be. Pray

Of love die make me, fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes;" or, "Your beautiful eyes of love make me, fair Marchioness, die;" or,

all these ways,

"Fair Marchioness, your beauti

studied, and I did all r

homme" is a very amus

omedy. There had grown to be a fashion in Paris, among certain women high in social rank, of pretending to the distinction of skill in literary criticism, and of pr

an. Imagine the domestic coterie assembled, and Trissotin, the poet, their guest. He is present, prepared to regale them with what he calls his sonnet. We need to explain that the original poem is thus inscribed: "To Mademoise

to the Princess Ur

ce sure is

luxuriousl

e magnif

hardest-he

what a prett

t a charming

possesses the talent

ield to pruden

hardest-hearted foe is

gnificently: these two adverbs

us hear

rudence sure

luxuriousl

e magnif

hardest-he

dence fa

lodge on

ously and ma

rth that foe, w

r chamber, d

vile, with mu

sails your

Allow me to breat

time to ad

ndescribable something which goes through one'

whate'er men say, From out

gay, is said here! And with what

th that foe, wh

that whate'er men say is! To my

also in love with

ion: whate'er men say

sh I had

worth a w

e me, thoroughly unde

d Bél.

. Although another should take the fever's p

hat foe, what

n say, what

than it seems. I do not know if every one is l

it says more than its

did you yourself understand all its energy? Did you realize all that it t

s. A

ad,-this ungrateful, unjust, uncivil feve

as are admirable. Let us come

more, whate'er

rth that foe, w

and Bél. What

your chamber,

nd Bél. Chambe

grate vile, with

and Bél. That

he assails yo

our lov

and B

reckless of y

y seeks to sh

rm., and

and night to

hs sometime you

o, with yo

d drown her

t is quite

I f

ie from

and sweet thr

baths sometime yo

e ado, with

in the water. With your own ar

we meet at each step

ades through th

eads on fine

ttle lanes all s

the sonnet

d never did any one make

u listen to what has been read without

part we can, my aunt; and to be a

s, perhaps, are

I do no

et us hear

the same protracted scene. The conversation has made the transition from literary criticism to philosophy, in Molière's time a fas

lligence to the power of judging of a skirt, of the make o

shameful condition, and brave

and that, if I render homage to the brightness of th

; that, like men, they can hold learned meetings-regulated, too, by better rules; that they wish to unite what elsewhere is kept apart, join noble lan

er, I prefer p

tractions, I

ases me, for his

but I find it difficult to understand a

ree with Descarte

ike his

I, his fal

opened, and to distinguish our

enlightened knowledge, for natur

oasting, already made one discovery;

uite distinguished men, but I have s

ophy, we will dive into grammar, h

rmerly the admiration of great geniuses: but I give the prefere

ndards which the ladies of that circle enforced. Their mutual communication was all conducted in a peculiar style of language, the natural deterioration of which was into a kind of euphuism, such as English readers will remember to have seen exemplified in Walter Scott's Sir Piercie Shafton. These ladies called each other, with demonstrative fondness, "

it has a happy ending like comedy. Pity and terror are absent; or, if not quite absent, these sentiments are present raised only to a pitch distinctly below the tragic. Indignation is t

ciently feel how much is lost when the form is lost which the creations of this great genius took, in their native French, under his own master hand. A satisfactory metri

with his wife, and with his mother, in fact, believes in him absolutely. These people have received the canting rascal into their house, and are about to bestow upon him their daughter in marriage. The following scene from act first shows the skill with which Molière co

my anxiety by asking news of the family. (To Dorine, a maid-servant.) Has eve

as very feverish from morning to night, and

nd Tar

ly well, stout and fat, with b

Poo

and the pain in her head was so great tha

nd Tar

er, and very devoutly devoured a brace of

Poo

tting one wink of sleep: she was very feverish,

nd Tar

the table to his room, and got at once into his warme

Poo

suasions, she consented to be bl

nd Tar

l against all evils, to make up for the blood which our la

Poo

; and I will go and tell our lady how

expelled from the house for his pains; while Tartuffe, in recompense for the injury done to his feelings, is presented with a gift-deed of Orgon's estate. But now Orgon's wife contrives to let her husband see and hear for himself the vileness of Tartuffe. This done, Orgon confronts the villain, and, with

believe, my son, that he wo

. W

le are always

do you mea

rt here, and that I am but too well a

l will to do with wha

ung, that in this world virtue is ever liable to persecu

his to do with what

ted a hundred foolish

y told you that I

evil-disposed per

her! I tell you that I saw his au

enom to pour forth; and here below,

u,-saw it with my own eyes! what you can call s-a-w, saw! Must I din it

nces often deceive us! We must

shall

to judge wrongly, and good

on his desire of seduci

you accuse another, and you should have w

sure? I suppose, mother, I ought to have wait

e a zeal; and I cannot possibly conceive that he

really don't know what I might now

existing circumstances some sort of peace ought to be patched up between Orgon and Tartuf

of the stage). Good-day, my dear sis

and I do not think he c

ll find nothing unpleasant in my visit: in fact, I co

at is y

t I come from Mr. Tart

a civil way from Mr. Tartuffe, on some b

must see who it is, a

settle matters between us in a friendly way

ent, and, if he speaks of a

eaven punish whoever wrongs you! and may

beginning agrees with my conjectures,

s always dear to me, an

o say that I do not know who you a

the last forty years I have had the good fortune to fill the office, thanks to Heaven, wit

t! you a

ve this place, you and yours; to take away all your goods and chattels,

leave th

ware, to the good Mr. Tartuffe. He is now lord and master of your estates, accor

great impudence is, indee

o Orgon.) My business is with this gentleman. He is tractable and gentl

. B

, show contumacy; and that you will allow me, like a re

from indignant members of the family. Then follows scene fifth, one exchange o

ht; and you can judge of the rest by the wr

k, and can scarcely be

that Tartuffe, the villain, has accused Orgon to the king. Orgon must fly. Valère offers him his own carriage and money,-will, in fact, himself keep him c

o fast, I beg. You have not far to go to find a l

shaft for the last; by it you finis

sturb me, and I know how to suffer

n is really great,

the infamous wretch

ve me. I have no other wi

rom the performance of this duty: it

rwise than glorious, when it comes

aritable hand, ungrateful scoundrel

my first duty. The just obligation of this sacred duty stifles in my heart all oth

The im

cunning he makes a cloak

o deliver me from all this noise, and to ac

y, and you very rightly remind me of it. To execute my order, foll

Who?

r. Yes

hy to

with delicate discernment, at all times sees things in their true, light.... He annuls, by his sovereign will, the terms of the contract by which you gave him [Tartuffe] your property. He moreover forgives you this secret offence in which you were involved by the f

aven be

I breat

vorable end t

ould have

e Officer leads him off)

, with a vanishing glimpse afforded us of a happy

of Tartuffe. This, at least, was like Dante. There is not much swe

ight and ingenious wits who produce comedy. But as ther