Produced by David Moynihan, D Garcia, Charles Franks and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
L'ÉCOLE DES MARIS.
COMÉDIE.
* * * * *
THE SCHOOL FOR HUSBANDS.
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS.
(_THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE_.)
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
_The School for Husbands_ was the first play in the title of which
the word "School" was employed, to imply that, over and above the
intention of amusing, the author designed to convey a special lesson to
his hearers. Perhaps Molière wished not only that the general public
should be prepared to find instructions and warnings for married men,
but also that they who were wont to regard the theatre as injurious, or
at best trivial, should know that he professed to educate, as well as to
entertain. We must count the adoption of similar titles by Sheridan and
others amongst the tributes, by imitation, to Molière's genius.
This comedy was played for the first time at Paris, on the 24th of June,
1661, and met with great success. On the 12th of July following it was
acted at Vaux, the country seat of Fouquet, before the whole court,
Monsieur, the brother of the King, and the Queen of England; and by them
also was much approved. Some commentators say that Molière was partly
inspired by a comedy of Lope de Vega. _La Discreta enamorada_, The
Cunning Sweetheart; also by a remodelling of the same play by Moreto,
_No puede ser guardar una muger_, One cannot guard a woman; but
this has lately been disproved. It appears, however, that he borrowed
the primary idea of his comedy from the _Adelphi_ of Terence; and
from a tale, the third of the third day, in the Decameron of Boccaccio,
where a young woman uses her father-confessor as a go-between for
herself and her lover. In the _Adelphi_ there are two old men of
dissimilar character, who give a different education to the children
they bring up. One of them is a dotard, who, after having for sixty
years been sullen, grumpy and avaricious, becomes suddenly lively,
polite, and prodigal; this Molière had too much common sense to imitate.
_The School for Husbands_ marks a distinct departure in the
dramatist's literary progress. As a critic has well observed, it
substitutes for situations produced by the mechanism of plot, characters
which give rise to situations in accordance with the ordinary operations
of human nature. Molière's method--the simple and only true one, and,
consequently, the one which incontestably establishes the original
talent of its employer--is this: At the beginning of a play, he
introduces his principal personages: sets them talking; suffers them to
betray their characters, as men and women do in every-day
life,--expecting from his hearers that same discernment which he has
himself displayed in detecting their peculiarities: imports the germ of
a plot in some slight misunderstanding or equivocal act; and leaves all
the rest to be effected by the action and reaction of the characters
which he began by bringing out in bold relief. His plots are thus the
plots of nature; and it is impossible that they should not be both
interesting and instructive. That his comedies, thus composed, are
besides amusing, results from the shrewdness with which he has selected
and combined his characters, and the art with which he arranges the
situations produced.
The character-comedies of Molière exhibit, more than any others, the
force of his natural genius, and the comparative weakness of his
artistic talent. In the exhibition and the evolution of character, he is
supreme. In the unravelling of his plots and the _dénouement_ of
his situations, he is driven too willingly to the _deus ex
machina_.
_The School for Husbands_ was directed against one of the special
and prominent defects of society in the age and country in which Molière
lived. Domestic tyranny was not only rife, but it was manifested in one
of its coarsest forms. Sganarelle, though twenty years younger than
Ariste, and not quite forty years old, could not govern by moral force;
he relied solely on bolts and bars. Physical restraint was the safeguard
in which husbands and parents had the greatest confidence, not
perceiving that the brain and the heart are always able to prevail
against it. This truth Molière took upon himself to preach, and herein
he surpasses all his rivals; in nothing more than in the artistic device
by which he introduces the contrast of the wise and trustful Ariste,
_raisonneur_ as he is called in French, rewarded in the end by the
triumph of his more humane mode of treatment. Molière probably expresses
his own feelings by the mouth of Ariste: for _The School for
Husbands_ was performed on the 24th of June, 1661, and about eight
months later, on the 20th of February, 1662, he married Armande Béjart,
being then about double her age. As to Sganarelle in this play, he
ceases to be a mere buffoon, as in some of Molière's farces, and becomes
the personification of an idea or of a folly which has to be ridiculed.
Molière dedicated _The School for Husbands_ to the Duke of Orleans,
the King's only brother, in the following words:--
MY LORD,
I here shew France things that are but little consistent. Nothing can be
so great and superb as the name I place in front of this book; and
nothing more mean than what it contains. Every one will think this a
strange mixture; and some, to express its inequality, may say that it is
like setting a crown of pearls and diamonds on an earthen statue, and
making magnificent porticos and lofty triumphal arches to a mean
cottage. But, my Lord, my excuse is, that in this case I had no choice
to make, and that the honour I have of belonging to your Royal Highness,
[Footnote: Molière was the chief of the troupe of actors belonging to
the Duke of Orleans, who had only lately married, and was not yet
twenty-one years old.] absolutely obliged me to dedicate to you the
first work that I myself published. [Footnote: _Sganarelle_ had
been borrowed by Neufvillenaine; _The Pretentious Ladies_ was only
printed by Molière, because the copy of the play was stolen from him;
_Don Garcia of Navarre_ was not published till after his death, in
1682.] It is not a present I make you, it is a duty I discharge; and
homages are never looked upon by the things they bring. I presumed,
therefore, to dedicate a trifle to your Royal Highness, because I could
not help it; but if I omit enlarging upon the glorious truths I might
tell of you, it is through a just fear that those great ideas would make
my offering the more inconsiderable. I have imposed silence on myself,
meaning to wait for an opportunity better suited for introducing such
fine things; all I intended in this epistle was to justify my action to
France, and to have the glory of telling you yourself, my Lord, with all
possible submission, that I am your Royal Highness' very humble, very
obedient, and very faithful servant,
MOLIÈRE.
In the fourth volume of the "Select Comedies of M. de Molière, London,
1732," the translation of _The School for Husbands_ is dedicated to
the Right Honourable the Lady Harriot Campbell, in the following
words:--
MADAM,
A _Comedy_ which came abroad in its Native Language, under the
Patronage of the _Duke_ of ORLEANS, Brother to the _King_ of
FRANCE, attempts now to speak English, and begs the Honour of Your
LADYSHIP'S Favour and Acceptance. That distinguishing good Sense, that
nice Discernment, that refined Taste of Reading and Politeness for which
Your LADYSHIP is so deservedly admir'd, must, I'm persuaded, make You
esteem _Molière_; whose way of expression is easy and elegant, his
Sentiments just and delicate, and his morals untainted: who constantly
combats Vice and Folly with strong Reason and well turn'd Ridicule; in
short, whose _Plays_ are all instructive, and tend to some useful
Purpose:--An Excellence sufficient to recommend them to your LADYSHIP.
As for this Translation, which endeavours to preserve the Spirit as well
as Meaning of the Original, I shall only say, that if it can be so happy
as to please Your LADYSHIP, all the Pains it cost me will be over-paid.
I beg Pardon for this Presumption, and am, with the greatest Respect
that's possible, _Madam, Your Ladyship's Most Obedient and most Humble
Servant_,
THE TRANSLATOR.
Sir Charles Sedley, well known through a history of a "frolick" which
Pepys relates in his "Diary," [Footnote: See Pepys' Diary, October 23,
1668.] wrote _The Mulberry Garden_, of which Langbaine, in his "An
Account of the Dramatick Poets," states "I dare not say that the
character of Sir John Everyoung and Sir Samuel Forecast are copies of
Sganarelle and Ariste in Molière's _l'École des Maris_; but I may
say, that there is some resemblance, though whoever understands both
languages will readily and with justice give our English wit the
preference; and Sir Charles is not to learn to copy Nature from the
French." This comedy, which was played by his Majesty's servants at the
Theatre Royal, 1688, is dedicated to the Duchess of Richmond and Lennox,
a lady who has "'scap'd (prefaces) very well hitherto," but, says Sir
Charles, "Madam, your time is come, and you must bear it patiently. All
the favour I can show you is that of a good executioner, which is, not
to prolong your pain." This play has two girls like Isabella, called
Althea and Diana, two like Leonor, Victoria and Olivia, and four lovers,
as well as a rather intricate plot. The Epilogue is amusing, and we give
the beginning of it:--
Poets of all men have the hardest game,
Their best Endeavours can no Favours claim.
The Lawyer if o'erthrown, though by the Laws,
He quits himself, and lays it on your Cause.
The Soldier is esteem'd a Man of War,
And Honour gains, if he but bravely dare.
The grave Physician, if his Patient dye,
He shakes his head, and blames Mortality.
Only poor Poets their own faults must bear;
Therefore grave Judges be not too severe.
Flecknoe has also imitated several of the scenes of _The School for
Husbands_ in _The Damoiselles à la Mode_, which is a medley of
several of Molière's plays (see Introductory Notice to _The
Pretentious Young Ladies_).
James Miller has likewise followed, in _The Man of Taste_ (Act i.,
Scene 2). (see Introductory Notice to _The Pretentious Young
Ladies_), one scene of the first act of Molière's _The School for
Husbands_.
Murphy, in _The School for Guardians_, has borrowed from three
plays of Molière. The main plot is taken from _The School for
Wives_; some incidents of the second act are taken from _The
Blunderer_ (see Introductory Notice to _The Blunderer_), but the
scenes in which Oldcastle and Lovibond state their intention of marrying
their wards, and the way in which one of the wards, Harriet, makes her
love known to Belford is taken from _The School for Husbands_,
though Leonor does not betray in the French comedy, as she does in the
English, the confidence placed in her. The French Isabella acts like
Harriet, but then she has a foolish and jealous guardian.
Wycherley in _The Country Wife_, probably acted in 1672 or 1673,
and which is partly an imitation of Molière's _School for Wives_,
has borrowed from _The School for Husbands_, the letter which
Isabella writes to Valère (Act ii., Scene 8), and also the scene in
which Isabella escapes disguised in her sister's clothes: but, of
course, to give an additional zest to the English play, the author makes
Pinchwife himself bring his wife to her lover, Horner. The scene hardly
bears transcribing. He has also partly imitated in _The Gentleman
Dancing-Master_, first performed in 1673, some scenes of _The
School for Husbands_.
Otway, in _The Soldier's Fortune_ (see Introductory Notice to
_Sganarelle, or The Self-Deceived Husband_), has borrowed from
Molière's _School for Husbands_ that part of his play in which Lady
Dunse makes her husband the agent for conveying a ring and a letter to
her lover.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SGANARELLE, [Footnote: This part was played by Molière himself.
In the inventory taken after Molière's death, and given by M. Soulié,
we find: "A dress for _The School for Husbands_, consisting of
breeches, doublet, cloak, collar, purse and girdle, all of a kind of
brown coloured (_couleur de muse_) satin."]
}
} _brothers_.
ARISTE, )
VALÈRE, _lover to Isabella_.
ERGASTE, _servant to Valère_.
A MAGISTRATE.
[Footnote: The original has _un Commissaire_, who in Molière's
time, appears to have been a kind of inferior magistrate under the
authority of the _Lieutenant-général de la Police_.
The _Commissaires de Police_ were not established till 1699;
and _The School for Husbands_ was played for the first time in 1661.]
A NOTARY.
ISABELLA, )
) _sisters_.
LÉONOR, }
LISETTE, _maid to Isabella_.
_Scene_.--A PUBLIC PLACE IN PARIS.
THE SCHOOL FOR HUSBANDS.
(_L'ECOLE DES MARIS_).
* * * * *
ACT I.
SCENE I.--SGANARELLE, ARISTE.
SGAN. Pray, brother, let us talk less, and let each of us live as he
likes. Though you have the advantage of me in years, and are old enough
to be wise, yet I tell you that I mean to receive none of your reproofs;
that my fancy is the only counsellor I shall follow, and that I am quite
satisfied with my way of living.
AR. But every one condemns it.
SGAN. Yes, fools like yourself, brother.
AR. Thank you very much. It is a pleasant compliment.
SGAN. I should like to know, since one ought to hear everything, what
these fine critics blame in me.
AR. That surly and austere temper which shuns all the charms of society,
gives a whimsical appearance to all your actions, and makes everything
peculiar in you, even your dress.
SGAN. I ought then to make myself a slave in fashion, and not to put on
clothes for my own sake? Would you not, my dear elder brother--for,
Heaven be thanked, so you are, to tell you plainly, by a matter of
twenty years; and that is not worth the trouble of mentioning--would you
not, I say, by your precious nonsense, persuade me to adopt the fashions
of those young sparks of yours?
[Footnote: The original has _vos jeunes muguets_, literally "your
young lilies of the valley," because in former times, according to some
annotators, the courtiers wore natural or artificial lilies of the
valley in their buttonholes, and perfumed themselves with the essence of
that flower. I think that _muguet_ is connected with the old French
word _musguet_, smelling of musk. In Molière's time _muguet_
had become rather antiquated; hence it was rightly placed in the mouth
of Sganarelle, who likes to use such words and phrases. Rabelais employs
it in the eighth chapter of _Gargantua, un tas de muguets_, and it
has been translated by Sir Thomas Urquhart as "some fond wooers and
wench-courters." The fashion of calling dandies after the name of
perfumes is not rare in France. Thus Regnier speaks of them as
_marjolets_, from _marjolaine_, sweet marjoram; and Agrippa
d'Aubigné calls them _muscadins_ (a word also connected with the
old French _musguet_), which name was renewed at the beginning of
the first French revolution, and bestowed on elegants, because they
always smelled of musk.]
Oblige me to wear those little hats which provide ventilation for their
weak brains, and that flaxen hair, the vast curls whereof conceal the
form of the human face;
[Footnote: The fashion was in Molière's time to wear the hair, or wigs,
very long, and if possible of a fair colour, which gave to the young
fashionables, hence called _blondins_, an effeminate air.
Sganarelle addresses Valère (Act ii. Scene 9), likewise as _Monsieur
aux blonds cheveux_. In _The School for Wives_ (Act ii. Scene
6), Arnolphe also tells Agnès not to listen to the nonsense of these
_beaux blondins_. According to Juvenal (Satire VI.) Messalina put a
fair wig on to disguise herself. Louis XIV. did not begin to wear a wig
until 1673.]
those little doublets but just below the arms, and those big collars
falling down to the navel; those sleeves which one sees at table trying
all the sauces, and those petticoats called breeches; those tiny shoes,
covered with ribbons, which make you look like feather-legged pigeons;
and those large rolls wherein the legs are put every morning, as it were
into the stocks, and in which we see these gallants straddle about with
their legs as wide apart, as if they were the beams of a mill?
[Footnote: The original has _marcher écarquillés ainsi que des
volants_. Early commentators have generally stated that
_volants_ means here "the beams of a mill," but MM. Moland and E.
Despois, the last annotators of Molière, maintain that it stands for
"shuttlecock," because the large rolls (_canons_), tied at the knee
and wide at the bottom, bore a great resemblance to shuttlecocks turned
upside down. I cannot see how this can suit the words _marcher
écarquillés_, for the motion of the _canons_ of gallants,
walking or straddling about, is very unlike that produced by
shuttlecocks beaten by battledores; I still think "beams of a mill"
right, because, though the _canons_ did not look like beams of a
mill, the legs did, when in motion.]
I should doubtless please you, bedizened in this way; I see that you
wear the stupid gewgaws which it is the fashion to wear.
AR. We should always agree with the majority, and never cause ourselves
to be stared at. Extremes shock, and a wise man should do with his
clothes as with his speech; avoid too much affectation, and without
being in too great a hurry, follow whatever change custom introduces. I
do not think that we should act like those people who always exaggerate
the fashion, and who are annoyed that another should go further than
themselves in the extremes which they affect; but I maintain that it is
wrong, for whatever reasons, obstinately to eschew what every one
observes; that it would be better to be counted among the fools than to
be the only wise person, in opposition to every one else.
SGAN. That smacks of the old man who, in order to impose upon the world,
covers his grey hairs with a black wig.
AR. It is strange that you should be so careful always to fling my age
in my face, and that I should continually find you blaming my dress as
well as my cheerfulness. One would imagine that old age ought to think
of nothing but death, since it is condemned to give up all enjoyment;
and that it is not attended by enough ugliness of its own, but must
needs be slovenly and crabbed.
SGAN. However that may be, I am resolved to stick to my way of dress. In
spite of the fashion, I like my cap so that my head may be comfortably
sheltered beneath it; a good long doublet buttoned close, as it should
be,
[Footnote: The young dandies in the beginning of the reign of Louis
XIV., wore slashed doublets, very tight and short.]
which may keep the stomach warm, and promote a healthy digestion; a pair
of breeches made exactly to fit my thighs; shoes, like those of our wise
ancestors, in which my feet may not be tortured: and he who does not
like the look of me may shut his eyes.
SCENE II.--LÉONOR, ISABELLA, LISETTE; ARISTE _and_ SGANARELLE,
_conversing in an under-tone, unperceived_.
LEO. (_To Isabella_). I take it all on myself, in case you are
scolded.
LIS. (_To Isabella_). Always in one room, seeing no one?
ISA. Such is his humour.
LEO. I pity you, sister.
LIS. (_To Léonor_). It is well for you, madam, that his brother is
of quite another disposition; fate was very kind in making you fall into
the hands of a rational person.
ISA. It is a wonder that he did not lock me up to-day, or take me with
him.
LIS. I declare I would send him to the devil, with his Spanish ruff,
and...
[Footnote: The Spanish ruff (_fraise_) was in fashion at the end of
Henri IV.'s reign; in the reign of Louis XIII., and in the beginning of
Louis XIV.'s, flat-lying collars, adorned with lace were worn, so that
those who still stuck to the Spanish ruff in 1661, were considered very
old-fashioned people.]
SGAN. (_Against whom Lisette stumbles_). Where are you going, if I
may ask?
LEO. We really do not know; I was urging my sister to talk a walk, and
enjoy this pleasant and fine weather; but...
SGAN. (_To Léonor_). As for you, you may go wherever you please.
(_To Lisette_). You can run off; there are two of you together.
(_To Isabella_). But as for you, I forbid you--excuse me--to go
out.
AR. Oh, brother! let them go and amuse themselves.
SGAN. I am your servant, brother.
AR. Youth will...
SGAN. Youth is foolish, and old age too, sometimes.
AR. Do you think there is any harm in her being with Léonor?
SGAN. Not so; but with me I think she is still better.
AR. But...
SGAN. But her conduct must be guided by me; in short, I know the
interest I ought to take in it.
AR. Have I less in her sister's?
SGAN. By Heaven! each one argues and does as he likes. They are without
relatives, and their father, our friend, entrusted them to us in his
last hour, charging us both either to marry them, or, if we declined, to
dispose of them hereafter. He gave us, in writing, the full authority of
a father and a husband over them, from their infancy. You undertook to
bring up that one; I charged myself with the care of this one. You
govern yours at your pleasure. Leave me, I pray, to manage the other as
I think best.
AR. It seems to me...
SGAN. It seems to me, and I say it openly, that is the right way to
speak on such a subject. You let your ward go about gaily and stylishly;
I am content. You let her have footmen and a maid; I agree. You let her
gad about, love idleness, be freely courted by dandies; I am quite
satisfied. But I intend that mine shall live according to my fancy, and
not according to her own; that she shall be dressed in honest serge, and
wear only black on holidays; that, shut up in the house, prudent in
bearing, she shall apply herself entirely to domestic concerns, mend my
linen in her leisure hours, or else knit stockings for amusement; that
she shall close her ears to the talk of young sparks, and never go out
without some one to watch her. In short, flesh is weak; I know what
stories are going about. I have no mind to wear horns, if I can help it;
and as her lot requires her to marry me, I mean to be as certain of her
as I am of myself.
ISA. I believe you have no grounds for....
SGAN. Hold your tongue, I shall teach you to go out without us!
LEO. What, sir....
SGAN. Good Heavens, madam! without wasting any more words, I am not
speaking to you, for you are too clever.
LEO. Do you regret to see Isabella with us?
SGAN. Yes, since I must speak plainly; you spoil her for me. Your visits
here only displease me, and you will oblige me by honouring us no more.
LEO. Do you wish that I shall likewise speak my thoughts plainly to you?
I know not how she regards all this; but I know what effect mistrust
would have on me. Though we are of the same father and mother, she is
not much of my sister if your daily conduct produces any love in her.
LIS. Indeed, all these precautions are disgraceful. Are we in Turkey,
that women must be shut up? There, they say, they are kept like slaves;
this is why the Turks are accursed by God. Our honour, sir, is very weak
indeed, if it must be perpetually watched. Do you think, after all, that
these precautions are any bar to our designs? that when we take anything
into our heads, the cleverest man would not be but a donkey to us? All
that vigilance of yours is but a fool's notion; the best way of all, I
assure you, is to trust us. He who torments us puts himself in extreme
peril, for our honour must ever be its own protector. To take so much
trouble in preventing us is almost to give us a desire to sin. If I were
suspected by my husband, I should have a very good mind to justify his
fears.
SGAN. (_to Ariste_). This, my fine teacher, is your training. And
you endure it without being troubled?
AR. Brother, her words should only make you smile. There is some reason
in what she says. Their sex loves to enjoy a little freedom; they are
but ill-checked by so much austerity. Suspicious precautions, bolts and
bars, make neither wives nor maids virtuous. It is honour which must
hold them to their duty, not the severity which we display towards them.
To tell you candidly, a woman who is discreet by compulsion only is not
often to be met with. We pretend in vain to govern all her actions; I
find that it is the heart we must win. For my part, whatever care might
be taken, I would scarcely trust my honour in the hands of one who, in
the desires which might assail her, required nothing but an opportunity
of falling.
SGAN. That is all nonsense.
AR. Have it so; but still I maintain that we should instruct youth
pleasantly, chide their faults with great tenderness, and not make them
afraid of the name of virtue. Léonor's education has been based on these
maxims. I have not made crimes of the smallest acts of liberty, I have
always assented to her youthful wishes, and, thank Heaven, I never
repented of it. I have allowed her to see good company, to go to
amusements, balls, plays. These are things which, for my part I think
are calculated to form the minds of the young; the world is a school
which, in my opinion, teaches them better how to live than any book.
Does she like to spend money on clothes, linen, ribands--what then? I
endeavour to gratify her wishes; these are pleasures which, when we are
well-off, we may permit to the girls of our family. Her father's command
requires her to marry me; but it is not my intention to tyrannize over
her. I am quite aware that our years hardly suit, and I leave her
complete liberty of choice.
[Footnote: _The School for Husbands_ was played for the first time,
on the 24th of June, 1661, and Molière married Armande Béjart (see
Prefatory Memoir), on the 20th of February, 1662, when he was forty, and
she about twenty years old. It is therefore not unreasonable to suppose
that the words he places in the mouth of Ariste are an expression of his
own feelings.]
If a safe income of four thousand crowns a-year, great affection and
consideration for her, may, in her opinion, counterbalance in marriage
the inequality of our age, she may take me for her husband; if not she
may choose elsewhere. If she can be happier without me, I do not object;
I prefer to see her with another husband rather than that her hand
should be given to me against her will.
SGAN. Oh, how sweet he is! All sugar and honey!
AR. At all events, that is my disposition; and I thank Heaven for it. I
would never lay down these strict rules which make children wish their
parents dead.
SGAN. But the liberty acquired in youth is not so easily withdrawn later
on; all those feelings will please you but little when you have to
change her mode of life.
AR. And why change it?
SGAN. Why?
AR. Yes.
SGAN. I do not know.
AR. Is there anything in it that offends honour?
SGAN. Why, if you marry her, she may demand the same freedom which she
enjoyed as a girl?
AR. Why not?
SGAN. And you so far agree with her as to let her have patches and
ribbons?
AR. Doubtless.
SGAN. To let her gad about madly at every ball and public assembly?
AR. Yes, certainly.
SGAN. And the beaux will visit at your house?
AR. What then?
SGAN. Who will junket and give entertainments?
AR. With all my heart.
SGAN. And your wife is to listen to their fine speeches?
AR. Exactly.
SGAN. And you will look on at these gallant visitors with a show of
indifference?
AR. Of course.
SGAN. Go on, you old idiot. (_To Isabella_). Get indoors, and hear
no more of this shameful doctrine.
SCENE III.--ARISTE, SGANARELLE, LÉONOR, LISETTE.
AR. I mean to trust to the faithfulness of my wife, and intend always to
live as I have lived.
SGAN. How pleased I shall be to see him victimized!
AR. I cannot say what fate has in store for me; but as for you, I know
that if you fail to be so, it is no fault of yours, for you are doing
everything to bring it about.
SGAN. Laugh on, giggler! Oh, what a joke it is to see a railer of nearly
sixty!
LEO. I promise to preserve him against the fate you speak of, if he is
to receive my vows at the altar. He may rest secure; but I can tell you
I would pass my word for nothing if I were your wife.
LIS. We have a conscience for those who rely on us; but it is
delightful, really, to cheat such folks as you.
SGAN. Hush, you cursed ill-bred tongue!
AR. Brother, you drew these silly words on yourself. Good bye. Alter
your temper, and be warned that to shut up a wife is a bad plan. Your
servant.
SGAN. I am not yours.
SCENE IV.--SGANARELLE, _alone_.
Oh, they are all well suited to one another! What an admirable family. A
foolish old man with a worn-out body who plays the fop; a girl-mistress
and a thorough coquette; impudent servants;--no, wisdom itself could not
succeed, but would exhaust sense and reason, trying to amend a household
like this. By such associations, Isabella might lose those principles of
honour which she learned amongst us; to prevent it, I shall presently
send her back again to my cabbages and turkeys.
SCENE V.--VALÈRE, SGANARELLE, ERGASTE.
VAL. (_Behind_). Ergaste, that is he, the Argus whom I hate, the
stern guardian of her whom I adore.
SGAN. (_Thinking himself alone_). In short, is there not something
wonderful in the corruption of manners now-a-days?
VAL. I should like to address him, if I can get a chance, and try to
strike up an acquaintance with him.
SGAN. (_Thinking himself alone_). Instead of seeing that severity
prevail which so admirably formed virtue in other days, uncontrolled and
imperious youth here-about assumes... (_Valère bows to Sganarelle from
a distance_).
VAL. He does not see that we bow to him.
ERG. Perhaps his blind eye is on this side. Let us cross to the right.
SGAN. I must go away from this place. Life in town only produces in
me...
VAL. (_Gradually approaching_). I must try to get an introduction.
SGAN. (_Hearing a noise_). Ha! I thought some one spoke...
(_Thinking himself alone_). In the country, thank Heaven, the
fashionable follies do not offend my eyes.
ERG. (_To Valère_). Speak to him.
SGAN. What is it?... my ears tingle... There, all the recreations of our
girls are but... (_He perceives Valère bowing to him_). Do you bow
to me?
ERG. (_To Valère_). Go up to him.
SGAN. (_Not attending to Valère_). Thither no coxcomb comes.
(_Valère again bows to him_). What the deuce!... (_He turns and
sees Ergaste bowing on the other side_). Another? What a great many
bows!
VAL. Sir, my accosting you disturbs you, I fear?
SGAN. That may be.
VAL. But yet the honour of your acquaintance is so great a happiness, so
exquisite a pleasure, that I had a great desire to pay my respects to
you.
SGAN. Well.
VAL. And to come and assure you, without any deceit, that I am wholly at
your service.
SGAN. I believe it.
VAL. I have the advantage of being one of your neighbours, for which I
thank my lucky fate.
SGAN. That is all right.
VAL. But, sir. do you know the news going the round at Court, and
thought to be reliable?
SGAN. What does it matter to me?
VAL. True; but we may sometimes be anxious to hear it? Shall you go and
see the magnificent preparations for the birth of our Dauphin, sir?
[Footnote: The Dauphin, the son of Louis XIV. was born at Fontainebleau,
on the 1st of November, 1661; _The School for Husbands_ was first
acted on the 24th of June of the same year; hence Molière ventures to
prophesy about the Dauphin's birth.]
SGAN. If I feel inclined.
VAL. Confess that Paris affords us a hundred delightful pleasures which
are not to be found elsewhere. The provinces are a desert in comparison.
How do you pass your time?
SGAN. On my own business.
VAL. The mind demands relaxation, and occasionally gives way, by too
close attention to serious occupations. What do you do in the evening
before going to bed?
SGAN. What I please.
VAL. Doubtless no one could speak better. The answer is just, and it
seems to be common sense to resolve never to do what does not please us.
If I did not think you were too much occupied, I would drop in on you
sometimes after supper.
SGAN. Your servant.
SCENE VI.--VALÈRE, ERGASTE.
VAL. What do you think of that eccentric fool?
ERG. His answers are abrupt and his reception is churlish.
VAL. Ah! I am in a rage.
ERG. What for?
VAL. Why am I in a rage? To see her I love in the power of a savage, a
watchful dragon, whose severity will not permit her to enjoy a single
moment of liberty.
ERG. That is just what is in your favour. Your love ought to expect a
great deal from these circumstances. Know, for your encouragement, that
a woman watched is half-won, and that the gloomy ill-temper of husbands
and fathers has always promoted the affairs of the gallant. I intrigue
very little; for that is not one of my accomplishments. I do not pretend
to be a gallant; but I have served a score of such sportsmen, who often
used to tell me that it was their greatest delight to meet with churlish
husbands, who never come home without scolding,--downright brutes, who,
without rhyme or reason, criticise the conduct of their wives in
everything, and, proudly assuming the authority of a husband, quarrel
with them before the eyes of their admirers. "One knows," they would
say, "how to take advantage of this. The lady's indignation at this kind
of outrage, on the one hand, and the considerate compassion of the
lover, on the other, afford an opportunity for pushing matters far
enough." In a word, the surliness of Isabella's guardian is a
circumstance sufficiently favourable for you.
VAL. But I could never find one moment to speak to her in the four
months that I have ardently loved her.
ERG. Love quickens people's wits, though it has little effect on yours.
If I had been...
VAL. Why, what could you have done? For one never sees her without that
brute; in the house there are neither maids nor men-servants whom I
might influence to assist me by the alluring temptation of some reward.
ERG. Then she does not yet know that you love her?
VAL. It is a point on which I am not informed. Wherever the churl took
this fair one, she always saw me like a shadow behind her; my looks
daily tried to explain to her the violence of my love. My eyes have
spoken much; but who can tell whether, after all, their language could
be understood?
ERG. It is true that this language may sometimes prove obscure, if it
have not writing or speech for its interpreter.
VAL. What am I to do to rid myself of this vast difficulty, and to learn
whether the fair one has perceived that I love her? Tell me some means
or other.
ERG. That is what we have to discover. Let us go in for a while--the
better to think over it.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--ISABELLA, SGANARELLE.
SGAN. That will do; I know the house, and the person, simply from the
description you have given me.
ISA. (_Aside_). Heaven, be propitious, and favour to-day the artful
contrivance of an innocent love!
SGAN. Do you say they have told you that his name is Valère?
ISA. Yes.
SGAN. That will do; do not make yourself uneasy about it. Go inside, and
leave me to act. I am going at once to talk to this young madcap.
ISA. (_As she goes in_). For a girl, I am planning a pretty bold
scheme. But the unreasonable severity with which I am treated will be my
excuse to every right mind.