love and veneration. He was generous to a high degree--undeviating in
his friendship; charitable to all in need. His sense of Barron's talent
and friendless position caused him to adopt him as a son; and he taught
him the art in which both as a comic and tragic actor Barron afterwards
excelled. One day the young man told him of a poor stroller who wanted
some small sum to assist him in joining his company--Molière learnt
that it was Mondorge, who had formerly been a comrade of his own; he
asked Barron, how much he wished to give; the other replied, four
pistoles. "Give him," said Moliere, "four pistoles from me--and here are
twenty to give from yourself." His charities were on all sides very
considerable; and his hand was never shut to the poor. Getting into a
carriage one day, he gave a piece of money to a mendicant standing by;
the man ran after the carriage, and stopt it, "You have made a mistake,
sir," he cried out, "You have given me a louis d'or." "And here is
another, to reward your honesty," replied Molière; and, as the carriage
drove off, he exclaimed, "Where will virtue next take shelter" (_où la
vertu va-t-elle se nicher!_), showing that he generalised even this
simple incident, and took it home to his mind as characteristic of human
nature. The biographer, Grimarest--who by no means favours him, and
dilates on anecdotes till he turns them into romance--says, that he was
very irritable, and that his love of order was so great that he was
exceedingly discomposed by any want of neatness or exactitude in his
domestic arrangements. That ill health and the various annoyances he
suffered as manager of a theatre, may have tended to render him
irritable, is possible; but there are many anecdotes that display
sweetness of disposition and great gentleness of mind and manner.
Boileau, who was an excellent mimic, amused Louis XIV. one day by taking
off all the principal actors--the king insisted that he should include
Molière, who was present; and afterwards asked him, What he thought of
the imitation? "We cannot judge of our own likeness," replied Molière;
but if he has succeeded as well with me as with the others, it must
needs be admirable. One day La Fontaine having drawn on himself an
unusual share of raillery by his abstraction and absence of mind,
Molière felt that the joke was being carried too far--"_Laissons-le_,"
he said, "_nous n'effacerons jamais le bon-homme_,"--the name bestowed
on La Fontaine by his friends. We cannot help considering also in the
same light, that of a heart true to the touch of a nature, which "makes
the whole world kin," his habit of reading his pieces, before they were
acted, to his old housekeeper, La Forêt. From the dulness or vivacity
which her face expressed as he read, he judged whether the audience
would yawn or applaud his scenes as acted. That she was a sensible old
woman cannot be doubted; as when a play, by another author, was read to
her as written by her master, she shook her head, and told Molière that
he was cheating her.
As a comic actor Molière had great merit: he played broad farcical
parts; and a description of his style is handed down to us both by his
enemies and friends. Montfleuri (the son of the actor), in his satire,
says,----
----"Il vient le nez au vent,
Les pieds en parenthèse, et l'épaule en avant;
Sa péruque, qui suit le côté qui avance,
Plus pleine de lauriers qu'un jambon de Mayence;
Les mains sur les côtés, d'un air peu négligé,
La tête sur le dos, comme un mulet chargé,
Les yeux fort égarés, puis débitant ses roles,
D'un hoquet perpétuel sépare les paroles."
No doubt, though a caricature, there is truth in this picture. We still
see in his portraits the wig, thickly crowned with laurels; and
theatrical historians have mentioned the sort of catching of the
breath--exaggerated in the verses above quoted into a hoquet, or
hiccough,--which he had acquired by his endeavour to moderate the
rapidity of his articulation. The newspapers of the day, in giving an
account of him when he died, describe him as "actor from head to foot:
he seemed to have many voices--for all spoke in him; and by a step, a
smile, a trick of the eye, or a motion of the head, he said more in a
moment than words could express in an hour." "He was," we find written
in another newspaper, "neither too fat nor too thin; he was rather above
the middle height, and carried himself well--he walked gravely, with a
very serious manner; his nose was thick; his mouth large, his complexion
dark; his eyebrows black and strongly marked, and the way in which he
moved them gave great comic expression to his countenance." He acted
well also, because, in addition to his genius, his heart was in all he
did; and he wrote well from the same cause. He had that enthusiasm for
his art which marks the man of genius. He did not begin to write till
thirty-four--but the style of his productions, founded on a knowledge of
mankind and of life, necessitates a longer apprenticeship than any
other. When he did write it was with facility and speed. The whole of
his comedies--each rising in excellence--were composed during the space
of fourteen years; and Boileau addresses him as----
"Rare et fameux esprit, dont la fertile veine
Ignore en écrivant le travail et la peine."
But although when having conceived the project of a play his labour was
light, his life, like that of all great authors, was spent in study--the
study of mankind. Boileau called him the contemplator. He was silent and
abstracted in company--he listened, and felt; and carried away a
knowledge that displayed itself afterwards in his conception of
character, in his perception of the ridiculous, in his portraitures of
the human heart. Perhaps nothing proves more the original and innate
bent of genius than the fact, that Molière was a comic writer. His
sense of the ridiculous being intuitive, forced him to a species of
composition, which, by choice, he would have exchanged for tragic and
pathetic dramas: but he could only idealise in one view of life; his
imagination was tame when it tried to soar to the sublime, or to touch
by tenderness. Of course he has not escaped criticism even in the pieces
in which his genius is most displayed. Voltaire says that his farce is
too broad, and his serious pieces want interest; and that he almost
always failed in the _dénouement_ of his plots. The latter portion of
this remark is truer than the former; though there is foundation for the
whole. Voltaire, like Boileau, was bitten by the then Gallic mania for
classical (_i.e._ in modern literature, imitative instead of original)
productions. Boileau too often considers that Molière sacrificed good
taste to the multitude when he made his audience laugh. Boileau's poetry
is arid, with all its wit; and he had no feeling for humour: his very
sarcasms, full of point and epigram as they are, turn entirely on
manner; he seldom praises or blames the higher portions of composition.
Schlegel, in his bigotted dislike for all things French, by no means
does Molière justice[46]; and many of his criticisms are quite false.
As, for instance, that on the "Avare;" where he says, that no miser at
once hides a treasure and lends money on usury. Any one who consults the
history of our celebrated English misers of the last century will find
that they, without exception, united the characters of misers and
money-lenders.
It has been mentioned that Molière did not succeed in the serious, the
sentimental, the fanciful. Voltaire mentions his little one-act piece of
"L'Amour Peintre" as the only one of the sort that has grace and spirit.
This slight sketch is evidently the groundwork of the "Barber of
Seville;" it contains the same characters and the same situations in a
more contracted space.
Similar to our Shakspeare, Molière held up a faithful mirror to nature;
and there is scarcely a trait or a speech in any of his pieces that does
not charm the reader as the echo of reality. It is a question, how far
Molière individualised general observations, or placed copies of real
persons in his canvass. All writers of fiction must ground their
pictures on their knowledge of life; and comic writers (comedy deriving
so much of its excellence from slight but individual traits) are led
more entirely into plagiarisms from nature. Sir Walter Scott is an
instance of this, and could point out the original of almost all his
comic characters. This may be carried too far; and the question is, to
what extent Molière sinned against good taste and good feeling in
holding up well-known persons to public ridicule. We have mentioned the
story of his having paid M. de Soyecourt a visit, for the purpose of
transferring his conversation to the stage, for the amusement of the
king on the following day. This was hardly fair; while, on the other
hand, he had full right to the count de Soissons _naïve_ annunciation
of the discovery that he had been speaking prose all his life, and
putting it into M. Jourdain's mouth; and also to the anecdote we have
related concerning Louis XIV. and the bishop of Rhodes, which he
introduced into the "Tartuffe." Nor was it his fault that the name of
_Tartuffe_ became fixed on the bishop of Autun, as several allusions in
madame de Sévigné's letters testify. There is, however, a difference
to be drawn between the cap fitting after it is made, and its being made
to fit. And in _Trissotin_, in the "Femmes Savantes," where the works of
the abbé Cotin were held up to ridicule, we are apt to think that he
went beyond good taste in his personality. The effect was melancholy.
Cotin had long suffered from Boileau's attacks; but this last public one
from Molière completely overwhelmed him, and he fell into a state of
melancholy that soon after caused death. "Sad effect," writes Voltaire,
"of a liberty more dangerous than useful; and which does not so much
inspire good taste as it flatters the malice of men. Good poems are the
best satires that can be levelled against bad poets; and Molière and
Boileau need not, in addition, have had recourse to insult."
Molière died on the 17th of February, 1673, aged fifty-one. His friends
deeply mourned his loss, and many epitaphs were written in his honour.
By degrees France became aware of the honour the country received from
having given birth to such a man. The academicians of the eighteenth
century endeavoured to atone for the folly of their predecessors. The
bust of Molière was placed in their hall, with an appropriate
inscription by Saurin:--
"Rien ne manque à sa gloire, il manquait à la nôtre."
In 1769, his eulogy was made the subject of a prize. It was gained by
Chamfort; and, on the day of its public recital, two Poquelins were
hunted out from their obscurity, and an honourable place assigned them
among the audience; and there they sat, living epigrams on the bigotry
which in former days expunged Molière's name from their genealogical
tree.
His remains, unhonoured at first, were destined to several mutations
during the revolution. A stone is at present erected to their honour, in
the cemetery of Père la Chaise; but it may be considered a cenotaph, as
there is every reason to doubt the identity of the remains placed
beneath.
His troop of comedians did not long survive him. The theatre had been
shut on his death, and not reopened till a fortnight after; when his
widow, in contempt of decency, filled a part. She became manager; but
was speedily deserted by the best actors, and soon after the use of the
theatre was transferred to Lulli. Madame Molière applied to the king,
and obtained the use of another; but within a few years this company no
longer existed: amalgamated at first with that of the Marais, and soon
after with that of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, there remained only one
company of actors in France, called the king's troop. Molière's widow
soon after married Guerin, an actor; her career was not reputable:
frivolity and misconduct long deprived her of the public esteem. She
continued to act till the 14th October, 1694, when she retired from the
stage with a pension of 1000 livres. From this time she partly redeemed
past errors by leading a perfectly respectable life till she died, 30th
November, 1700. Of Molière's three children one only survived, a
daughter. She was placed in a convent by her mother; but, resisting her
wish to take the veil, she returned home. A grown up daughter interfered
with madame Guerin's arrangements; and Molière's orphan child was
unhappy and neglected. Unable to induce her mother to make any
arrangement for her marriage, she allowed herself to be carried off by
M. Claude Rachel, sieur de Montalant, a widower with four children, and
forty-nine years of age. Her mother was soon reconciled; and they all
together went to live at Argenton. Madame de Montalant died in 1723, at
the age of fifty-seven. She had no children; and not only does the
posterity of Molière no longer exist, but even the many descendants of
his numerous brothers and sisters have left no trace--and the family of
Poquelin is extinct.
[Footnote 31: A thousand mistakes were current, even in Molière's own
day, with regard to various particulars of his history, which he took no
pains to contradict, and which have been copied and recopied by
succeeding biographers. Even the calumny that he had incurred the hazard
of marrying his own daughter, which he disdained to confute in print,
aware that facts known to every one acquainted with him bore the
refutation with them, was faintly denied. These days, however, have
brought forth a commentator, unwearied in the search for documents on
the subject. M. L. F. Beffara hunted through parish registers and other
public records, and, by means of these simple but irrefutable
instruments, has thrown light on all the darker passages of Molière's
history, exonerated him from every accusation, and set his character in
a higher point of view than ever.]
[Footnote 32: Bellerose (whose real name was Pierre Le Meslier) was the
best tragic actor of the reign of Louis XIII.: he was the original
_Cinna_ of Corneille's play. He was elegant in manner, and his elocution
was easy. Scarron accuses him of affectation: and we are told, in the
Memoirs of the Cardinal de Retz, that a lady objected to M. de la
Rochefoucauld, that he resembled Bellerose in the affectation of
gentleness.]
[Footnote 33: Biographers are apt to invent, if they cannot discover the
causes of even trifling events. That the son replaced the father on this
occasion, made the elder biographers state that the latter was prevented
by his advanced age. Beffara has discovered that the grandfather of
Molière married 11th July, 1594, consequently that the father could not
be more than forty-six years of age in 1641. A thousand reasons may be
found for the substitution of the son. The aversion that Parisians have
for travelling might suffice--the large motherless family that the elder
Poquelin must leave behind, or a wish to introduce his son to the notice
of the king, &c.]
[Footnote 34: Molière's company then consisted of, in actors, the two
brothers, Bejart, Du Parc, De Brie, De Croisal: in actresses, of the
sisters Bejart, Du Parc, De Brie, and Hervé. Du Croisy and La Grange,
two first-rate actors, were soon afterwards added.]
[Footnote 35: For him surely was written Miss Lamb's pretty song--
"High born Helen
Round your dwelling
These twenty years I've paced in vain.
Haughty Beauty,
Your lover's duty
Has been his pleasure and his pain."
Vide _Poet. Works of Charles Lamb._
Molière in the farce in question gives a diverting account of a
_Précieuse_ courtship: "Il faut qu'un amant, pour être agréable,
sache débiter les beaux sentiments, pousser le doux, le tendre, et le
passionné, et que sa recherche soit dans les formes. Premièrement, il
doit voir au temple, ou à la promenade, ou dans quelque cérémonie
publique, la personne dont il devient amoureux, ou bien être conduit
fatalement chez elle par un parent ou un ami, et sortir de la tout
rêveur ou mélancholique. Il cache, un temps, sa passion à l'objet
aimé, et cependant lui rends plusieurs visites où l'on ne manque
jamais de mettre sur le tapis une question galante qui exerce les
esprits de l'assemblée. Le jour de la déclaration arrive, qui se doit
faire ordinairement dans une allée de quelque jardin, tandis que la
compagnie s'est un peu éloignée: et cette déclaration est suivie d'un
prompte courroux, qui parait à notre rougeur, et qui, pour un temps,
bannit l'amant de notre présence. Ensuite il trouve moyen de nous
appaiser, de nous accoutumer insensiblement au discours de sa passion,
et de tirer de nous cet aveu qui fait tant de peine. Après cela
viennent les aventures, les rivaux qui se jettent à traverse d'une
inclination établie, les persécutions des pères, les jalousies
conçues sous des fausses apparences, les plaintes, les désespoirs, les
enlèvemens, et ce qui s'ensuit."]
[Footnote 36: When Fléchier delivered a funeral oration on the death of
madame de Montauzier, he spoke of her mother by her assumed name of
Athénice. "You remember, my brothers," he exclaimed, "those cabinets,
which we still regard with so much veneration; where the mind was
purified and where virtue was revered under the name of the incomparable
Athénice; where persons of quality or talent assembled, and composed a
select court--numerous without confusion, modest without constraint,
learned without pride, refined without affectation." La Bruyère
describes this society in somewhat different terms: "Not long ago we
witnessed a circle of persons of either sex, drawn together by
conversation and the cultivation of talent. They left the art of
speaking intelligibly to the vulgar. One remark, enveloped in mysterious
phrase, brought on another yet more obscure; and they went on
exaggerating till they spoke in absolute enigmas, which were most
applauded. By talking of delicacy, sentiment, and finesse of expression,
they managed neither to make themselves understood, nor to understand.
There was need of neither good sense, memory, nor cleverness for these
conversations. Wit was all in all--not true wit, but that which consists
in conceits and extravagant fancies."]
[Footnote 37: It has been frequently asserted this piece was written
while the author was in the country; his preface favours this notion, in
which he says that he only ridicules _les fausses Précieuses_, that
name being then held in esteem. Contemporary notices, however, make it
apparent that this piece came out first in Paris; and it was impossible
that he could have so well seized the peculiar tone of these sentimental
pedants any where except in their very birth-place.]
[Footnote 38: It is well known that even during his life-time the
calumny was spread abroad, that Molière married his own natural
daughter. The great difference of age between the sisters, Madeleine and
Armande Bejart gave to those who were ignorant of their true
relationship some foundation for a report, which sprung from a former
intimacy between Molière and the elder sister. He always disdained to
contradict the falsehood; and it has generally been assumed by
biographers, while they acquitted him of the alleged crime, that his
wife was the daughter of Madeleine. We owe the discovery of this
falsehood to the pains which M. Beffara took to discover the certificate
of Molière's marriage; which is as follows:--"Jean Baptiste Poquelin,
son of sieur Jean Poquelin, and of the late Marie Cressé, on the one
side: and Armande Gresinde Bejart, daughter of the late Joseph Bejart
and of Marie Hervée, on the other: both of this parish, opposite the
Palais Royal, affianced and married together, by permission of M.
Comtes, deacon of Notre-Dame, and grand vicar of Monseigneur the
cardinal de Retz, archbishop of Paris; in presence of the said Jean
Poquelin, father of the bridegroom, and of André Boudet, brother-in-law
of the bridegroom; the said Marie Hervée, mother of the bride, and
Louis Bejart and Madeleine Bejart, brother and sister of the said
bride." This certificate is signed by J. B. Poquelin, J. Poquelin,
Boudet, Marie Hervée, Armande Gresinde Bejart, Louis Bejart, and Bejart
(Madeleine). Madeleine's daughter, by the noble Modena, who was the
cause of this calumny, was older than the wife of Molière; her
baptismal register names her the daughter of Madeleine Bejart et Messire
Esprit de Raymond, noble of Modena, and chamberlain to Monsieur, brother
of the king, born 11th July, 1638; her name was Françoise, and she is
mentioned as illegitimate in her baptismal register. It is singular that
in his "Essay on Molière," Sir Walter Scott slurs over the complete
refutation which this certificate brings with it of the calumny in
question, and speaks of the relationship of Molière and his wife as a
doubtful point. This is neither just nor generous; but Sir Walter seems
to insinuate that as Molière's life was not entirely exempt from the
stain of illicit love, a little more or less was of no account.]
[Footnote 39: The king often danced in these ballets, till struck by
some lines in the "Britannicus" of Racine, in allusion to Nero's public
exhibitions of himself, he entirely gave up the practice; and soon after
the appearing in them fell into such discredit, that, when Lulli took a
part in that appended to the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme," the secretaries of
the king refused to receive him among them on this account, and the king
was obliged to interpose to bring them to reason.]
[Footnote 40: The following is the story of Ninon de l'Enclos and the
"Tartuffe":--When Gourville, the vicissitudes of whose life were many and
great, was, in 1661, in danger of being hanged, and was indeed hanged in
effigy, he left two caskets full of money, one with Ninon, the other
with a priest of his acquaintance, who affected great devotion. On his
return, Ninon restored him his casket, and the value of money being
increased, he was richer than before. He offered this surplus to his
friend; but she replied by threatening to throw the money out of window,
if he said a word more on the subject. The priest acted in a different
way: he said he had employed the sum deposited with him in pious works,
having preferred the good of Gourville's soul to pelf, which might have
occasioned his perdition. This story Ninon used to tell with such clever
mimicry of the false devotee, that Molière declared he owed his best
inspiration to her.]
[Footnote 41: Preface to "Tartuffe."]
[Footnote 42: Schlegel.]
[Footnote 43: There are some excellent observations on the moral of the
"Tartuffe" in Sir Walter Scott's article on Molière, published in the
seventeenth vol. of his prose works, in answer to Bourdaloue's violent
philippic against this play. Scott argues with force and justice on the
propriety of affixing the stigma of ridicule to the most hateful vice
ever nurtured in the human heart--the assumption of the appearance of
religion for worldly and wicked purposes; and he represents also the
utility of the picture drawn to arrest in his course one in danger of
incurring the sin of spiritual pride, by showing him that the fairest
professions and strictest observances may be consistent with the foulest
purposes. "The case of the 'Tartuffe,'" Sir Walter Scott thus sums up in
his argument, "is that of a vilely wicked man, rendering the profession
of religion hateful by abusing it for the worst purposes: and if such
characters occurred, as there is little reason to doubt, in the time and
court of Louis XIV., we can see no reason against their being gibbeted
in effigy. The poet himself is at pains to show that he draws the true
line of distinction between the hypocrite and the truly religious man.
When the duped _Orgon_, astonished at the discovery of _Tartuffe_'s
villainy, expresses himself doubtful of the existence of real worth
_Cléante_ replies to him, with his usual sense and moderation:
'Quoi! parce qu'un fripon vous dupe avec audace,
Sous le pompeux éclat d'une austère grimace,
Vous voulez que partout on soit fait comme lui,
Et qu'aucun vrai dévot ne se trouve aujourd'hui?
Laissez aux libertins ces sottes conséquences:
Démêlez la vertu d'avec ses apparences;
Ne bazardez jamais votre estime trop tôt.
Ne soyez pour cela dans le milieu qu'il faut.
Gardez-vous, s'il se peut, d'honorer l'imposture,
Mais au vrai zèle, aussi, n'allez pas faire injure;
Et s'il vous faut tomber dans une extrémité,
Péchez plutôt encor de cet autre côté.']
[Footnote 44: Molière thus describes himself in one of his pieces. A
Lady says: "I remember the evening when, impelled by the reputation he
has acquired, and the works he has brought out, Célimène wished to see
Damon. You know the man, and his indolence in keeping up conversation.
She invited him as a wit; but he never appeared so stupid as in the
midst of a dozen persons she had made it a favour to invite to meet him,
who looked at him with all their eyes, fancying that he would be
different from every body else. They fancied that he would amuse the
company with bon mots; that every word he should say would be witty,
each speech an impromptu, that he must ask to drink with a point; and
they could make nothing of his silence."]
[Footnote 45: Chapelle's Epigram on this insult to his friend's remains
deserves mention:--