The world's greatest books
Mee, Arthur, 1875-1943, joint editor | Hammerton, John Alexander, Sir, 1871-1949, joint editor | McClure, S. S. (Samuel Sidney), 1857-1949, joint editor
>fc I w % ^ J. *c m % abb '3+ % >> _>" V *<maHs* Copyright, 1910, by S. S. McClure Company Table of Contents Portrait of Percy Bysshe Shelley .... Frontispiece Moliere {Continued) PAGE Misanthrope * School for Wives I4 Tartuffe 28 NlBELUNGENLIED 38 Otway, Thomas Venice preserved 4° Ovro Metamorphoses "4 Pindar Odes 75 Pope, Alexander Essay on Man °4 Racine, Jean BeVemce Io6 Romance of the Rose IX7 Schiller, Frtedrich von William Tell I29 Scott, Sir Walter Marmion *47 Lady of the Lake l6° v Tabic of Contents Shakespeare Hamlet 170 Macbeth 180 Merchant of Venice 186 Midsummer Night's Dream 196 Romeo and Juliet 203 Shelley, Percy Bysshe Revolt of Islam 214 Sheridan, R. B. School for Scandal 226 Sophocles Antigone 237 Tasso, Torquato Jerusalem Delivered 250 Tennyson Idylls of the King 261 In Memoriam 277 Thomson, James City of Dreadful Night 293 Wagner, Richard Nibelungen Ring: Rheingold 305 Valkyrie 316 Siegfried 327 Gotterdammerung 336 A Complete Index of The World's Greatest Books will be found at the end of Volume XX. VI Poetry and Drama MOLIERE (continued) The Misanthrope Persons in the Play Alceste, Celimene's lover Philinte, Alceste 's friend Ononte, Celimene's lover Celimene, Alceste's lover Eliante, Celimene's cousin Arsinoe, Celimene's friend Acaste and Clitandre, Marquises The Scene is laid in Paris. Act I [Enter Alceste and Philinte. Philinte: What is it? What is the matter? Alceste : Leave me, I pray you. Philinte : But, once more, tell me what strange mood Alceste : Leave me, I say. Run away and hide your- self. It was not until the production on June 4, 1666, of the " Misanthrope " that the full genius of Moliere asserted it- self. Regarded purely as a play, the piece may be inferior to " Tartuffe " ; but as an acute philosophical study of the eternal passions and sentiments of human nature it stands supreme, not only among the literature of the French stage, but even among Moliere's own comedies. Nowhere else are his astonishing I The World's Greatest Books Philinte: I cannot make you out when you are in these uncomfortable tempers. Although we are friends, I am one of the first Alceste: I your friend? Don't depend on that. I have hitherto professed to be so; but after what I have just seen in you, I tell you clearly I am no longer your friend. There is no excuse for such behaviour. You lavish caresses on a man, and show him the greatest affection ; and when I ask you who the man is, you can scarcely tell me his name. If I had done such a thing) I should go and hang myself at once from sheer shame. Philinte : For my part, I don't see that it is a hanging matter. If you have no objection, I don't propose to hang myself for this particular offence. When a man comes and greets you warmly, you must pay him back in the same coin, respond in as pleasant a way as possible to his protestations, and return offer for offer and vow for vow. Alceste: There is nothing I hate so much as the grimaces of these protesting people, these charming giv- ers of insincere embraces, these obliging utterers of empty words, who treat alike the man of character and the mere fool. What good is it if a man makes a fuss of you, vows he is your friend, protests his faith, zeal, esteem, and regard for you, and pronounces a glowing eulogy on you, when he hastens to do the same thing to the first scamp he meets ? Esteem is based on some kind of preference, and to esteem everybody is to esteem nobody. power over his own language, his amazing wit, his masterly satire seen to such distinct advantage. Everything mean and base and gross comes under his merciless lash ; his types are not human caricatures, but living representatives of classes and com- munities of peoples. Yet in conception the " Misanthrope " is tragic rather* than comic. " There can be little doubt," says Mr. Frederic Harrison, " that Moliere has painted in Alceste not a little of his own noble yearnings and profound weariness, as of a free spirit born out of time into a most artificial and degen- erate society." 2 /. B. Poqaelin dc Molifre Philinte: But when we are of the world we must practise those civilities which custom demands. Alceste : No, I tell you. We ought to be ruthless in punishing this shameful interchange of mere professions of friendship. My eyes sicken at the sight; whether I am in the town or at court, they show me nothing save objects that raise my bile. I fall into a black humour and into a profound disgust when I see men behaving to one another as they do. I find nothing but false flat- tery, injustice, selfishness, deceit, roguery. I cannot stand it any longer. I am furious ! And it is my design to break a lance with the whole human race. Philinte: Come, seriously, leave all this wild talk. The world will not be changed for all the pains you take. And, since plain speaking has such a charm for you, I will tell you quite plainly that, wherever you go, this complaint of yours is as good as a play, and that all this violent rage against the manners of the age merely makes you ridiculous in the opinion of most persons. Alceste : So much the better, upon my word, so much the better ; it is what I want ! All men are so absolutely odious to me that I should be sorry to seem wise to them. Philinte: Do you really wish great harm to the human race? Alceste: Yes, I have conceived an intense hatred for it. Philinte : Are all poor mortals without any exception to be included in this aversion? Alceste: Yes, my aversion is general, and I hate all men ; some because they are wicked and evil-doers, and others because they are complacent to the wicked, and have not for them that strong loathing with which vice ought to inspire all virtuous souls. Philinte : Good Heavens ! Let us worry ourselves a little less about the morals of the age, and let us make allowances for human nature. Let us not examine it with great rigour, but let us look with some mildness on 3 The World's Greatest Books its shortcomings. In this world we need a virtue that is pliable; by being too wise we may commit mistakes. True reason shuns all extremes, and would have us soberly wise. This great stiffness, this copying of the virtues of ancient times, clashes too much with the com- mon usages of our age; it requires too great perfection from mortals. I take people quite quietly as they are, I accustom my mind to endure what they do, and I believe that at court, as in the city, my phlegm is as philosophical as your bile. Alceste: But this phlegm, monsieur — you who rea- son so well — this phlegm, can it not be stirred by any- thing? If, by chance, it happened that a friend betrayed you, or laid a plot to get hold of your property, would you watch all this without getting into a passion? Philinte: Yes. I regard all these feelings at which your soul murmurs as vices inseparable from human na- ture. In short, my mind is no more shocked at seeing a man a knave, unjust, or selfish, than at seeing vultures greedy for carnage, apes mischievous, or wolves mad with fury. Alceste: Then I am to see myself deceived, torn to pieces, robbed without being — Heaven, I will say no more ! Philinte: Yes, you would do well to keep silent. Shout a little less loudly against your adversary, and give some of your care to your lawsuit. Alceste : That I will not do. That matter is settled. Philinte: To whom are you looking to plead for you? Alceste: Whom? Reason, my just right, equity. Philinte: Will you pay a visit to any of the judges? Alceste: No; is my cause unjust or doubtful? Philinte: No, your cause is just; but, on the other hand, intrigue is an awkward thing to tackle. Alceste : No ; I am resolved not to move a step in the matter. I am either right or wrong. 4 /. B. Poquclin de Moliere Philinte : Don't trust to that. Alceste: I shall not stir. Philinte: Your adversary is strong, and, by his secret practices, he may draw Alceste: Be it so. I shall see what comes of it. I shall see by this trial whether men have sufficient effront- ery— whether they are wicked, villainous, and perverse enough to do me this injustice in the face of the whole world. Philinte then asks Alceste if he finds this scrupulous integrity in Celimene, the lady of his affections, pointing out that either the sincere Eliante or the prude Arsinoe — both of whom look with favour on Alceste — would seem a more suitable choice, whereas Celimene's coquettish humour and malicious cleverness would appear to be too much akin to the manners of the time. Alceste, in reply, confesses his inconsistency in the matter, but pleads that Celimene makes him love her despite himself, and that his love for her will doubtless purify her heart. Then — as if to redress the balance — he nearly quarrels with another of Celimene's lovers, Ononte, because he cannot honestly praise the latter's verses, and has a stormy scene with Celimene her- self, in which he reproaches her for encouraging the attentions of other admirers. Act II [Enter Eliante, Celimene, Alceste, Clitandre, Philinte, and Acaste. Eliante : Here are the two marquises coming up with us. Did any one tell you ? Celimene: Yes. (To Alceste) You have not gone? Alceste : No ; I am resolved, madame, that your heart shall declare either for them or for me. Celimene: You are losing your senses! Alceste : You must take one side or the other, Clitandre: I have just come from the Louvre, madame, where Cleonte made himself appear absolutely ridiculous. Has he not got some friend who would be kind enough to enlighten him upon his manners ? Celimene: He certainly appears to poor advantage 5 The World's Greatest Books in society. He carries himself everywhere with an air that leaps to the eye at once, and when you see him again after a short absence you find him more extraordinary than ever. Acaste: Talking of extraordinary people, I have just had to endure one of the most wearisome of them. That arguer, Damon, kept me, if you please, a full hour in the broiling sun out of my chair. Celimene: He is a strange prattler. He has always got the knack of telling you nothing in a flood of words. There is not a grain of sense in what he says. You listen to nothing but noise. Eliante : This beginning is not bad ; the conversation takes a sufficiently kindly turn against our neighbours. Clitandre: Timarte, too, madame, is a type worth noticing. Celimene: From head to foot he is a complete mys- tery. When passing you, he casts a bewildered glance at you, and, without having anything to do, is always busy. Whatever he retails to you abounds in affectation ; he overpowers everybody by his ceremonies. He is never tired of whispering a secret to you in order to interrupt a conversation, and that secret is nothing. Of the least trifle he makes a marvel, and whispers every- thing in your ear, even his " good-morning." Acaste: And Geralde, madame? Celimene: Oh, that tedious story-teller! You never see him get off the subject of his nobleman. He always mixes with brilliant society, and never mentions anyone of lower rank than a duke, a prince, or a princess. Title turns his head ; all his conversation is full of nothing but carriages, horses, and dogs. He speaks familiarly to people of the highest degree, and the word sir is never used by him. Clitandre : He is said to be on the best of terms with Belise. Celimene : What a stupid woman she is ! And what 6 /. B. Poquelin de Holier e poor company! When she comes to see me, I suffer martyrdom. One is in a continual state of perspiration to find out what to say to her, and the absolute barren- ness of her remarks allows the conversation to drop every moment. In vain you try to break down her stupid silence by tackling the most commonplace subjects; even the fine weather, the rain, the heat and the cold are topics which are soon exhausted with her. Yet, notwithstand- ing this, she drags out her unendurable visits to an in- sufferable length, and though you ask what the time is and yawn a score of times, she stirs no more than a log of wood. Acaste: What do you think of Adraste? Celimene : Oh ! What extreme pride ! He is a man puffed up with self-love. He thinks the court shows no proper appreciation of his merits, so he makes it his daily business to inveigh against it ; and an office, a place, or a living cannot be bestowed on another, but he thinks an injustice has been done to himself. Clitaxdre: But young Cleon, whom the best people now visit ; what have you to say of him ? Celimene: That it is to his cook that he owes the honour ; that it is to his table that people pay visits. Eliante: He takes care to provide the most dainty food. Celimene : Yes, but I do wish he would not serve up himself. His stupid person is a very unpleasant dish, which, to my taste, spoils every dinner he gives. Philinte: His uncle Damis is highly esteemed. What do you say, madame? Celimene: He is one of my friends. Philinte: I find him a decent fellow, and sensible enough. Celimene: Yes, but he wants to be too witty, and that makes me angry. He is always unnatural, and in all his talk you see that he is striving to say smart things. Since he took it into his head to be clever, he is so hard 7 The World's Greatest Books to please that nothing suits his taste. He sees faults in everything that is written, and thinks that to give praise does not become a man of wit, that to find fault is a proof of intelligence, that only fools admire and laugh, and that, by not approving of anything in the literature of to-day, he shows his superiority to everyone else. Even in conversation he finds something to criticise ; the talk is too trifling for him to deign to descend to, and, with his arms crossed, he looks down contemptuously from the height of his intellect upon all that is said. Acaste : Good ! His very picture ! Clitandre : You are admirable at sketching people. Alceste: Cheer up! Push on, my good friends and courtiers. You don't spare anyone. Everyone will have his turn. And yet, were any one of them to appear before your eyes, we should see you all making the most solemn protestations of being his servant. Clitandre: Why find fault with us? If you are offended at what is said, you must address your reproach to the lady. Alceste: No, indeed, it concerns you; for your ap- proving smiles draw all these slanderous strokes from her, and her satirical disposition is continually fostered by the wretched incense of your flattery. Philinte: But why do you take so deep an interest in these people? You would condemn them for the very things we blame in them. Celimene: Would you have this gentleman adopt the common view? Must he not display everywhere the spirit of contradiction which he has received from Heaven? Other persons' sentiments can never please him ; he always supports an opposite opinion. The honour of contradicting has so many charms for him that he often takes up arms against himself and combats his own true sentiments as soon as he discovers them on other persons' lips. Alceste: The laughers are on your side, madame, 8 /. B. Poquclin de Moliere and that is saying everything: you can direct your satire against me. Philinte: Your avowed surliness of disposition will not suffer persons to be either blamed or praised. Alceste: It is because men are never reasonable that my surliness of disposition towards them is always sea- sonable. I see that in all matters they praise without discrimination and censure with rashness. Act III [Enter Celimene and Arsinoe. Celimene: Ah, madame, what happy fate brings you here? Truly I was becoming uneasy about you. Arsinoe: I have come about some advice which I think I ought to give you. Celimene: Shall we sit down? Arsinoe: It is not necessary, madame. Friendship ought especially to show itself in those things which may be of the most consequence to us ; and as there are none of more importance than those of honour and propriety, I come to prove my friendship by giving you a word of advice as regards your reputation. Yesterday I was with some people of singular virtue, and they turned their discourse on you. Unfortunately, your conduct and the gossip it provokes were far from being the subject of commendation. The crowd of persons whose visits you permit, your gallantry, and the reports it sets going, found censors more numerous than they deserved, and more severe than I could have wished. I did all I could to defend you. I pleaded the innocence of your inten- tions, and said I would vouch for the honesty of your heart. But you know there are things in life which one cannot excuse, although one would like to ; and I was at last forced to admit that your fashion of living did you some harm, that in the eyes of the world it had an ugly look, and that there was no story, however ill-natured, 9 The World's Greatest Books which was not in circulation everywhere about you. Not that I believe, at bottom, that virtue is in any way com- promised. Madame, I believe that yot> are too sensible not to take this perhaps useful advice in the right spirit, and not to ascribe it to the secret promptings of a zeal that attaches me to all your interests. Celimene: Madame, I have to return you many thanks; such advice puts me under an obligation. Far from taking it amiss, I desire instantly to acknowledge your kindness by giving you a word of advice as regards your reputation ; and as I see you show yourself my friend by telling me the reports which are published about me, I shall follow, in my turn, so pleasing an example, and inform you of what is said about you. In a house the other day where I was paying a visit, I met some people of signal worth, who, speaking of the true concerns of a virtuous life, got the conversation round to you. There, your prudishness and outbursts of zeal were not mentioned as a very good example. Your affectation of a grave expression, your eternal talk about wisdom and reputation, your mincings and little shrieks at the shadow of impropriety which an innocent but ambiguous word might cast, that lofty esteem in which you hold yourself, those pitying looks which you throw on all, your frequent lectures, and your bitter censures on things which are innocent and pure, all this, if I may speak frankly, madame, was blessed by common consent. What is the good, said they, of this modest mien and this virtuous exterior which all the rest belies? She is exact in the last degree in saying her prayers, but she beats her servants, and does not pay them any wages. In every place of worship she displays great zeal, but she powders and wishes to appear beautiful. She has the nudities covered in her pictures, but delights in the realities. As for me, I undertook your defence against everyone, and strongly assured them this was nothing but slander. But the prevailing opinion went against me, 10 J. B. Poquclin de Moliere and the conclusion was that you would do well to have less concern about the actions of others, and to take a little more trouble about your own. Madame, I believe that you also are too sensible not to take this perhaps useful advice in the right spirit, and not to ascribe it to the secret promptings of a zeal which attaches me to all your interests. Arsinoe : I did not expect this retort, madame, and by its bitter quality I see how my disinterested advice has wounded your feelings. Celimene: On the contrary, madame; if we were wise, these mutual counsels would come into fashion. And frankly made use of, they would help to destroy that blindness of egoism which prevents us from seeing ourselves. Arsinoe : Ah ! madame, I can hear nothing said of you ; it is in me that people find so much to blame. Celimene: Madame, I fancy one can blame or praise everything, and that everyone may be right, according to age or taste. There is a season for gallantry; there is also one proper to prudishness. Out of policy, one may take up the latter when our youthful years are dead with all their bloom. I don't say that one day I shall not fol- low your example. Age brings everything, but twenty, as everybody knows, is not the time at which to act the prude. Arsinoe: You certainly pride yourself upon a slight advantage, and brag terribly about your age. But I am at a loss to know why you should attack me in this strange way. Celimene: And I, madame, am at a loss to know why you are to be seen attacking me so violently everywhere. Can I help it if men won't pay you attentions, and will fall in love with my beauty? You have a free field ; I do not hinder you from having charms to attract people. Arsinoe : And do you think one troubles oneself about these many lovers of whom you boast? Is it not quite II The World's Greatest Books easy to judge at what a price they may be enlisted nowa- days? Do you wish it to be believed that your merit alone attracts this crowd, that they are consumed merely with an honourable love for you and that they count your virtues? People are not blinded by these vain shifts. If my eyes envied the conquests made by yours, I think one might manage to do like other persons ; one could easily be reckless, and one could soon show you that one has lovers when one wishes for them. Celimene: Do have some, then, madame, and let us see how you manage the business; try to please by this wonderful way of yours, and without [Enter Alceste. Arsinoe: Let us break off this sort of talk; it might put too severe a strain both on your temper and on mine. I should already have taken my informal leave had not the non-arrival of my carriage compelled me to wait. Celimene: You can stay as long as you please, madame. But I am going to give you better company than my own. Alceste, I must go and write a line or two which I cannot delay without being rude. Please stay with this lady ; she will be good enough readily to pardon my incivility. [Exit. Left alone with Alceste, Arsinoe exercises her flatteries, and tells him how it vexes her to see nothing done for him by the court. Alceste replies that he has no claims to place or prefer- ment, and that the very atmosphere of the court would choke him. Arsinoe then expresses her sympathy for him in his love affairs, assures him that Celimene is unworthy of him and false to him, and, when Alceste demands proofs in place of hints and innuendos, promises them in abundance if he will accompany her to her house. The result of this visit is seen in a frantic appeal subsequently made by Alceste to Eliante to avenge him on Celimene for her treachery by accepting his hand. But, though Eliante has never disguised her regard for Alceste, she is unwilling to accept him offhand and in those circumstances, and having been told that the proof of Celimene's faithlessness is a love-letter of hers in Alceste's possession, written to Ononte, she tells the latter's jealous rival that there may be some mis- take, and that the wrong done him may not be so great as he supposes. This, indeed, proves to be the case, for when Alceste 12 /. B. Poquclin dc Moliere goes to his mistress in a frenzy of rage, and accuses her of treachery, she disarms him by saying that the letter was written to a woman, rebukes him for his suspicions and mad jealousy, and almost convinces him that she is true to him. Celimene's love for Alceste is, however, to be submitted to a final and more searching proof. The misanthrope loses the lawsuit in which right has been so clearly on his side, and, in a passion of resentment, declares to Philinte his resolution to withdraw from all intercourse with the world. Philinte urges him to appeal against the judicial decision and to have the case re-tried. " No," says Alceste, " I shall abide by the decision. Whatever cruel injury such a verdict may inflict on me, I shall take good care not to have it quashed. One sees in this case too plainly how right is trampled on, and I wish it to go down to posterity as a signal proof, as a glaring evidence of the wickedness of the men of to-day. It may cost me twenty thousand francs, but at the cost of twenty thousand francs I shall have the right to inveigh against the iniquity of human nature, and to nourish an eternal hatred for it." In this mood Alceste approaches Celimene to have a final un- derstanding with her. He finds Ononte with her, and they are both urging her to make a definite choice between them, when Acaste and Clitandre, two marquises who have long dangled at Celimene's heels, appear to demand from the lady an explana- tion of a couple of letters which she has written. Acaste reads out one written to Clitandre mocking at Acaste, Ononte, and Alceste ; and Clitandre reads out another written to Acaste abus- ing Clitandre. At this Ononte withdraws his offer to Celimene, the latter confesses to Alceste that she is in the wrong, and he offers to forgive her if she will marry him and withdraw with him from the world. But Celimene cannot in the end prevail upon herself to make such a renunciation, and Alceste, having made an unsuccessful offer of his hand to Eliante, who, however, agrees to marry Philinte, retires to seek out some secluded place on earth where he may be free and honest. 13 The World's Greatest Books The School for Wives Persons in the Play Arnolphe, otherwise M. de la Souche Agnes, a young girl brought up by Arnolphe Horace, the lover of Agnes Chrysalde, Arnolphe' s friend Enrique, Chrysalde's brother-in-lazu Oronte, Horace's father, Arnolphe' s great friend The scene is laid in a tozvn square. Act I Scene I. [Enter Chrysalde and Arnolphe. Chrysalde : Your plan makes me feel uneasy for you ; however you look at the business, taking a wife is a dis- tinctly risky affair in your case. Arnolphe: True. Perhaps it is what you have in your own home that makes you fear for me. Chrysalde: Chances of that sort one must take. I fear for you because of your habit of ridiculing poor husbands, from which so many hundreds have suffered. It is your greatest pleasure. Few plays have excited a more , violent literary war than Moliere's " School for Wives" (" L'Ecole des Femmes"), which was produced on December 26, 1662. Nevertheless, it is quite •one of the best plays that came from his pen ; it is witty and epigrammatic, and its satire on the whims and foibles of its time is merciless. " In pure comedy," says Mr. Frederic Harri- son, " Moliere has no superior, or none but Aristophanes. He is marked out by the wonderfully systematic and profound study that he devoted to every type of folly, affectation, hypocrisy, quackery, foppery, and grossness which beset his age." 14 /. B. Poquclin dc Moliere Arnolphe: Quite true! Is there another town in the world which contains husbands as patient as they are here? As a spectator may I not laugh at them? Chrysalde : Yes, but he who laughs at another ought to fear lest he be laughed at in his turn. No one has ever heard me delighting in the stories which are told in the houses I visit. I might condemn undue toleration on the part of husbands. I would not under any circumstances suffer what many of them suffer quite calmly ; yet I have never dreamed of saying so. So if, as fate will have it, this sort of disgrace ever falls upon me, I am certain, after the way I have acted, that people would content themselves with laughing up their sleeves at me. But in your case, my dear friend, it is different. I tell you again, you are running a very awkward risk. Arnolphe: Don't distress yourself, my friend. I know all the sharp tricks and subtle devices which women make use of to deceive us. Against this accident I have taken my precautions. The girl I am marrying has all the innocence required to preserve my honour from evil influences. I am marrying a fool to escape being fooled. It's a bad lookout to have a clever wife. I want mine to be completely ignorant. I shall be satisfied if she can say her prayers, love me, sew, and spin. Virtue is all I want. Chrysalde: But, after all, how can you expect a stupid woman ever to know what it is to be virtuous? Besides, it must be very tedious, I should think, to have such a woman by one's side all one's life. Arnolphe: Preach and prate till Whitsuntide, you won't convince me in the least. Chrysalde: I won't say another word. Arnolphe: Everyone must follow his own way. I'm rich enough, I think, to choose a partner who will owe all to me. A sweet and steadfast air caused me to love her above all other children when she was only four years old. The mother, a poor peasant woman, finding 15 The World's Greatest Books Jierself weighed down by poverty, the idea came to me to adopt the child, and the good creature, when she learnt my wish, was quite ready to rid herself of her charge. In a little convent, far from the world, I had the little girl brought up on a plan of my own; that is to say, I told them what care they should take to make her as simple as possible. Thank God, success has crowned my endeavours ! I found her so completely innocent that I blessed Heaven for having granted my wish and given me a wife who is exactly to my taste. I then took her away, and as my house is always open to hundreds of persons, and as one must always be on the lookout, I have kept her under lock and key in another house where no one comes to see me ; so her naturally good dis- position stands no chance of being spoiled. I ask you to sup with us to-night. I should like you to examine her, and to see whether my choice is to be condemned or not. Chrysalde: I shall be very glad to do so, Seigneur Arnolphe. Arnolphe: Why do you always call me by that name? Chrysalde : It will come to my lips. I never remem- ber Monsieur de la Souche. What on earth made you re-christen yourself at the age of forty-two ? Arnolphe: Well, my house is known by that name; moreover, La Souche pleases me better than Arnolphe.1 Chrysalde: Be it so. I will take care to accus- tom my lips to call you nothing but Monsieur de la Souche. Arnolphe: Adieu. I shall call here just to say I have come back. Chrysalde {going azvay) : Upon my word, I believe he is an absolute fool. Arnolphe: He is a little crazy on some matters. 1 St. Arnolphe was the patron saint of deceived husbands. 16 /. B. Poquelin de Moliere Scene II. [Enter Horace and Arnolphe. Horace: Arnolphe! Arnolphe : Eh ! How glad I am to see you ! How long have you been here? Horace : Nine days. I went straight to your house, but it was a fruitless visit. Arnolphe: I have been in the country. But tell me, how is your father Oronte? We have not seen one an- other for nearly four years. Horace : Nor, I believe, written, which is worse. He is much more hearty than you or I, Seigneur Arnolphe. I have a letter for you from him, but he has since told me in another letter that he is coming here. Do you know who that fellow-citizen of yours can be who is com- ing back to these parts with a fortune he has made in America in fourteen years? Arnolphe : No. Have you heard his name ? Horace: Enrique. Arnolphe : No. Horace : My father speaks of him and of his return as though I ought to know all about him. He writes me that they are meeting one another on some important business. Arnolphe: I shall certainly be very pleased to see him, and I will do my best to entertain him. {After hav- ing read the letter) Even if he had not taken the trou- ble to write to me, you were quite welcome to avail yourself of any means I possess. Horace : I am a man who takes persons at their word, and just now I am in need of a hundred pistoles. Arxulphe: Well, you oblige me by making use of me in this way. I am glad I have the money on me. Keep the purse also. How do you like this town? Horace: It seems to be well populated and to have splendid buildings; I should think its amusements are wonderful too. 17 The World's Greatest Books Arnolphe: Everyone can find pleasures to suit his taste; but those whom one christens gallants have every reason to be content with the country, for the women are born coquettes. Both the blondes and the brunettes have the same charming disposition, and the husbands, too, are the most easy-going in the world. Have you had any success as yet? Horace: I will confess to you quite frankly that my heart has been captured by a beauty here. My little at- tentions met with so much success from the first that she very kindly welcomed me to the house, and, without boasting too much or doing her any injury, I may claim that the affair is going very well with me. Arnolphe (laughing) : And who is she? Horace {pointing to the house) : A young girl who lives in that red house over there. She is simple in all conscience, thanks to the unexampled folly of a man who thus hides her from all intercourse with the world. But, despite the ignorance in which she is being enslaved, she has many shining and enthralling charms, and a man- ner indescribably gentle and engaging, against which the heart is quite defenceless. But perhaps you know her; this young star of love, this casket of charms, is called Agnes. Arnolphe (aside): Ah! I shall betray myself! Horace: As for the man, I think he is called Zouss or Source. From what I hear, he is rich, but he cer- tainly lacks sense. Do you know him? Arnolphe (aside) : What a bitter pill! Horace: Why don"t you speak? Arnolphe : Oh ! yes, I know him. Horace: He is a fool, is he not? Ar nolp h e : Eh Horace: You mean yes. A fool and ridiculously jealous! I see it is exactly as I was told. Agnes is a charming jewel; it would be a sin to leave so pure a beauty in the power of that strange fellow. All my ef- iS /. B. Poquclin de Moliere forts, all my dearest wishes are to gain her. The money I have just borrowed so freely from you is to enable me to accomplish this noble undertaking. You seem distressed; can it really be that you disapprove of the design I have planned? Arnolphe: No, I was only thinking. Horace: The conversation wearies you. Good-bye. I will call on you very soon to thank you. You will keep my secret. [Exit. Arnolphe: I feel Horace (returning) : Above all, from my father — he perhaps might be angry about it. [Exit. Arnolphe : Oh ! what I have suffered during this conversation ! Never was a man so troubled. With what imprudence and with what extreme haste did he come to tell me this affair ! Did any blunderer ever show himself madder? Yet, after suffering so much, I ought to have controlled myself until I had found out whether I had reason for my fears. I tremble to think of the misery which may come to me, for one often seeks more than one wishes to find. [Exit. Act II [Enter Agnes and Arnolphe. Agnes has told Arnolphe that during his absence a handsome young man, i.e., Horace, gained access to the house, swore he loved her better than anyone else had ever been loved, and said the prettiest things imaginable to her, things which thrilled her zvith pleasure. Arnolphe warns her that to receive such attentions is a mortal sin, and orders her the next time the young man calls to slam the door in his face, and if he knocks to throw stones at him from her window. Arnolphe (seated) : I am going to marry you, Agnes, and a hundred times a day you ought to bless your lucky 19 The World's Greatest Books fate to contemplate the low estate from which" you sprang, and at the same time to admire my goodness, which, from the mean condition of a poor village girl, has raised you to the rank of a worthy citizen's wife. Marriage, Agnes, is no laughing matter, and you must understand that you are not raised to this position in order that you may be giddy, and have a good time. Your sex's business in this union is to be dependent ; all authority is on the side of the beard. Beware of imi- tating those wicked coquettes about whose goings-on the whole city chatters, and don't let yourself yield to the attacks of the evil one. I mean, be deaf to the overtures of any young coxcomb. It is my honour, Agnes, that I leave with you, and this honour is delicate and easily wounded. Remember that in hell there are boiling caul- drons into which they throw wives who have led wicked lives — from which may Heaven preserve you. I have here in my pocket an important work which will teach you the duties of a wife. (He gets up) Come, let us now see if you can read it at all well. Agnes (reading) : The Maxims of Marriage, or The Duties of the Married Woman, With Her Daily Lessons. First Maxim: She who enters into the honourable state of matrimony ought always to bear in mind, in spite of the way the world wags nowadays, that the hus- band who takes her takes her only for himself. [Agnes goes on. Second Maxim: She must dress herself only in the way the husband who possesses her approves ; the care of her beauty concerns him alone. It is of no account whatever that other persons find her ugly. Third Maxim: The study of tender glances, washes, 20 /. B. Poquclin de Moliere paint, pomades, and the thousand ingredients that give colour to the cheeks — all these she must put far from her. These are drugs which bring death to honour, and it is but seldom that pains to appear beautiful are taken for the sake of the husband. Fourth Maxim: When she goes out, she must, if she would be a virtuous woman, hide under her hood the kill- ing glances of her eyes ; for if she would best please her husband, she ought not to please anybody se. Fifth Maxim: Good form forbids her to receive any other soul than those who come to visit her husband; those who are of a gallant disposition, and have business only with madame, are not welcomed by monsieur. Sixth Maxim: She must on no account allow herself to take presents from men, for in the age in which we live nothing is given for nothing. Seventh Maxim: She ought not to have among her belongings desk, ink, paper, or pens; it is the proper thing for the husband to write all that is written in his house. Eighth Maxim: Those unseemly meetings called fash- ionable assemblies always corrupt the minds of women. As a matter of policy they ought to be forbidden, for it is there that conspiracies are planned against poor hus- bands. Ninth Maxim: Every woman who wishes to dedicate herself to virtue ought to avoid high playing as she would the plague ; for play is very deceiving, and often induces a woman to stake her last possession. Tenth Maxim: She should not be seen in public prom- enades or at picnics, for wise heads say that in these sort of reckonings the husband is always the one who pays. Eleventh Maxim: She Arnolphe: You shall finish by yourself, and very soon I will explain these things to you properly, step by step. (Exit Agnes.) I cannot do better than make her my wife. I shall mould her character just as I wish. 21 The World's Greatest Books She is like a piece of wax in my hands, and I shall be able to give her the form that pleases me. That young idiot Horace shall have no occasion for laughing at me. Thanks to his trick of chattering, he has met with his deserts. But here he comes. I must pretend a little, and try to find out whether he is much annoyed or not. {Enter Horace.) Tell me how your love affairs are going on. Seigneur Horace. I admire the rapid- ity of your .irst attempts, and I am interested in the issue. Horace: Cruel fortune has brought back from the country my fair one's guardian, and further, to my great regret, he has learned of the secret intercourse between us. So, when I was going to pay my usual visit, the maid and valet stopped my entry, and slammed the door in my face; while Agnes, from the window, sent me off in a very angry voice, and threw a stone at me. Arnolphe: I am afraid you are in a bad way, but you will find means to set matters right. Horace: I must try by some scheme to defeat that jealous fellow's unsleeping vigilance. Arnolphe: You ought to find that easy; and, after all, the girl loves you. Horace : Certainly. Arnolphe : The stone put you to flight ; but it ought not to have surprised you. Horace: Of course. I understood at once that my rival was there, conducting the whole affair without be- ing seen. But what surprised me, and what will surprise you, is another incident of which you shall hear, a bold stroke which that young beauty made, and which one would not have expected from a girl of her simplicity. It must be confessed that love is a great teacher: it teaches us to be what we never were before ; and by its lessons a complete change in our manners is often the work of a moment. It conquers obstacles in our very na- ture, and its sudden effects have the appearance of mira- 22 /. B. Poquclin de Molihe cles. A miracle is very evident in Agnes for dismissing me in these definite terms : " Go away ; I know all you have got to say, and there is my reply." This stone fell at my feet with a letter attached. Does not love know the art of sharpening wits? Don't you find it amusing to watch the part my jealous rival is playing throughout this game? You don't laugh enough at it, to my thinking. Arnolphe (with a forced laugh) : Pardon me, I am laughing as heartily as I can. Horace : As to her letter, her hand has put on paper all that her heart dictated, and in terms so moving and full of good feeling, so innocently tender and ingenuous, as to represent in short all that an unspoiled nature would feel on receiving love's first wound. Arnolphe : Good-bye. Horace: Why such haste? Arnolphe: I have just remembered some pressing business. Horace : But don't you know anyone who could gain access to that house? Cannot you devise some means of helping me? Arnolphe: No, really; you will find a way without me. Horace : Good-bye, then. You see how I trust you. [Exit. Arnolphe: I have to hide my feelings before him. 