entertainment to be prepared, the sketch or impromptu called "L'Amour
Medecin" was, in the course of five days, composed, got up, as the
players call it, and represented. In this sketch, slight as it was,
Moliere contrived to declare war against a new and influential body of
enemies. This was the medical faculty, which he had slightly attacked
in the "Festin de Pierre." Every science has its weak points, and is
rather benefited than injured by the satire which, putting pedantry
and quackery out of fashion, opens the way to an enlightened pursuit
of knowledge. The medical faculty at Paris, in the middle of the
seventeenth century, was at a very low ebb. Almost every physician was
attached to some particular form of treatment, which he exercised on
his patients without distinction, and which probably killed in as many
instances as it effected a cure. Their exterior, designed, doubtless,
to inspire respect by its peculiar garb and formal manner, was in
itself matter of ridicule. They ambled on mules through the city of
Paris, attired in an antique and grotesque dress, the jest of its
laughter-loving people, and the dread of those who were unfortunate
enough to be their patients. The consultations of these sages were
conducted in a barbarous Latinity, or if they condescended to use the
popular language, they disfigured it with unnecessary profusion of
technical terms, or rendered it unintelligible by a prodigal tissue of
scholastic formalities of expression.
The venerable dulness and pedantic ignorance of the faculty was
incensed at the ridicule cast upon it in "L'Amour Medecin," especially
as four of its most distinguished members were introduced under Greek
names, invented by Boileau for his friend's use. The consultation held
by these sages, which respects everything save the case of the
patient--the ceremonious difficulty with which they are at first
brought to deliver their opinions--the vivacity and fury with which
each finally defends his own, menacing the instant death of the
patient if any other treatment be observed, seemed all to the public
highly comical, and led many reflecting men to think Lisette was not
far wrong in contending that a patient should not be said to die of a
fever or a consumption, but of four doctors and two apothecaries. The
farce enlarged the sphere of Moliere's enemies, but as the poet
suffered none of the faculty to prescribe for him, their resentment
was of the less consequence.
The "Misanthrope," accounted by the French critics the most correct of
Moliere's compositions, was the next vehicle of his satire against the
follies of the age. Except for the usual fault of his gratuitously
adopted coarseness, it is admirably imitated in the "Plain Dealer," of
Wycherly. Alceste is an upright and manly character, but rude and
impatient even of the ordinary civilities of life and the harmless
hypocrisies of complaisance, by which the ugliness of human nature is
in some degree disguised. He quarrels with his friend Philinte for
receiving the bow of a man he despises; and with his mistress for
enjoying a little harmless ridicule of her friend, when her back is
turned. He tells a conceited poet that he prefers the sense and
simplicity of an old ballad to the false wit of a modern sonnet--he
proves his judgment to be just--and receives a challenge from the poet
in reward of his criticism. Such a character, placed in opposition to
the false and fantastic affectations of the day, afforded a wide scope
for the satire of Moliere. The situation somewhat resembles that of
Eraste, in "Les Facheux." But the latter personage is only interrupted
by fools and impostors during a walk in the Tuileries, where he
expects to meet his mistress; the distress of Alceste lies deeper--he
is thwarted by pretenders and coxcombs in the paths of life itself,
and his peculiar temper renders him impatient of being pressed and
shouldered by them; so that, like an irritable man in a crowd, he
resents those inconveniences to which men of equanimity submit, not as
a matter of choice, indeed, but as a point of necessity. The greater
correctness of this piece may be owing to the lapse of nine months (an
unusual term of repose for the muse of Moliere) betwixt the appearance
of "L'Amour Medecin" and that of the "Misanthrope." Yet this
chef-d'oeuvre was at first coldly received by the Parisian audience,
and to render it more attractive, Moliere was compelled to attach to
its representation the lively farce of "Le Medecin malgre lui." In a
short time the merit of the "Misanthrope" became acknowledged by the
public, and even many of those critics who had hitherto been hostile,
united in its praise. Yet scandal was not silent; for Moliere was
loudly censured, as having, in the person of Alceste, ridiculed the
Duke de Montausier, a man of honor and virtue, but of blunt,
uncourteous manners. The duke, informed that he had been brought on
the stage by Moliere, threatened vengeance; but being persuaded to see
the play, he sought out the author instantly, embraced him repeatedly,
and assured him that if he had really thought of him when composing
the "Misanthrope," he regarded it as an honor which he could never
forget.
But not even the praises paid to the "Misanthrope," though a piece of
a mood much higher than "Le Medecin malgre lui," satisfied Moliere.
"_Vous verrez bien autre chose_," said he to Boileau, when the latter
congratulated him on the success of the chef-d'oeuvre which we have
just named. He anticipated the success of the most remarkable of his
performances, the celebrated "Tartuffe," in which he has unmasked and
branded vice, as in his lighter pieces he has chastised folly. This
piece had been acted before Louis, before his queen, and his mother,
and at the palace of the great Prince of Conde; but the scruples
infused into the king long induced him to hesitate ere he removed the
interdict which prohibited its representation. Neither were these
scruples yet removed. Permission was, indeed, given to represent the
piece, but under the title of the "Impostor," and calling the
principal person Panulphe, for it seems the name of Tartuffe was
particularly offensive. The king, having left Paris for the army, the
president of the parliament of Paris prohibited any further
representation of the obnoxious piece, thus disguised, although
licensed by his majesty. Louis did not resent this interference, and
two compositions of Moliere were interposed betwixt the date of the
suspension which we have noticed, and the final permission to bring
"Tartuffe" on the stage. These were, "Melicerte," a species of heroic
pastoral, in which Moliere certainly did not excel, and "Le Sicilien,
ou L'Amour Peintre," a few lively scenes linked together, so as to
form a pleasing introduction to several of those dances in costume, or
ballets, as they were called, in which Louis himself often assumed a
character.
At length, in August, 1667, "Le Tartuffe," so long suppressed,
appeared on the stage, and in the depth and power of its composition
left all authors of comedy far behind. The art with which the
"Impostor" is made to develop his real character, without any of the
usual soliloquies or addresses to a confidant, for the benefit of the
audience, has been always admired as inimitable. The heart of a man
who had least desired, and could worst bear close investigation, is
discovered and ascertained, as navigators trace the lines and bearings
of an unknown coast. The persons among whom this illustrious hypocrite
performs the principal character, are traced with equal distinctness.
The silly old mother, obstinate from age as well as bigotry; the
modest and sensible Cleante; his brother-in-law, Orgon, prepared to be
a dupe by prepossession and self-opinion; Damis, impetuous and
unreflecting; Mariane, gentle and patient; with the hasty and petulant
sallies of Dorine, who ridicules the family she serves with
affection; are all faithfully drawn, and contribute their own share on
the effect of the piece, while they assist in bringing on the
catastrophe. In this catastrophe, however, there is something rather
inartificial. It is brought about too much by a _tour de force_, too
entirely by the _de par le roi_, to deserve the praise bestowed on the
rest of the piece. It resembles, in short, too nearly the receipt for
making the "Beggars' Opera" end happily, by sending someone to call
out a reprieve. But as it manifested at the same time the power of the
prince, and afforded opportunity for panegyric on his acuteness in
detecting and punishing fraud, Moliere, it is certain, might have his
own good reasons for unwinding and disentangling the plot by means of
an _exempt_ or king's messenger.
"George Dandin" was acted July 18, 1668. On September 3, in the same
year, the moral comedy of "L'Avare" was presented to the public by the
fertile muse of our author. The general conception of the piece, as
well as many of the individual scenes, are taken from Plautus, but
adapted to French society with a degree of felicity belonging to
Moliere alone. Omitting "Les Amants Magnifiques," called by Moliere a
minor comedy, but which may be rather considered as a piece of
framework for the introduction of scenic pageantry, and which is only
distinguished by some satirical shafts directed against the now
obsolete folly of judicial astrology, we hasten to notice a
masterpiece of Moliere's art in "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme." This piece
was written to please the court and gentry, at the expense of the
_nouveaux riches_, who, rendered wealthy by the sudden acquisition of
immense fortune, become desirous to emulate such as have been educated
in the front ranks of society, in those accomplishments, whether
mental or personal, which cannot be gracefully acquired after the
early part of life is past. A grave, elderly gentleman learning to
dance is proverbially ridiculous; but the same absurdity attaches to
everyone who, suddenly elevated from his own sphere, becomes desirous
of imitating, in the most minute particulars, those who are denizens
of that to which he is raised. It is scarcely necessary to notice that
the ridicule directed against such characters as Monsieur Jourdain
properly applies, not to their having made their fortunes, if by
honest means, but to their being ambitious to distinguish themselves
by qualities inconsistent with their age, habits of thinking, and
previous manners.
The last of this great author's labors was at once directed against
the faculty of medicine, and aimed at its most vulnerable
point--namely, the influence used by some unworthy members of the
profession to avail themselves of the nervous fears and unfounded
apprehensions of hypochondriac patients. Instead of treating imaginary
maladies as a mental disease requiring moral medicine, there have been
found in all times medical men capable of listening to the rehearsal
of these brain-sick whims as if they were real complaints, prescribing
for them as such, and receiving the wages of imposition, instead of
the honorable reward of science. On the other hand, it must be
admitted that the faculty has always possessed members of a spirit to
condemn and regret such despicable practices. There cannot be juster
objects of satire than such empirics, nor is there a foible more
deserving of ridicule than the selfish timidity of the hypochondriac,
who, ungrateful for the store of good health with which nature has
endowed him, assumes the habitual precautions of an infirm patient.
Moliere has added much to the humor of the piece by assigning to the
Malade Imaginaire a strain of frugality along with his love of
medicine, which leads him to take every mode that may diminish the
expense of his supposed indisposition. The expenses of a sick-bed are
often talked of, but it is only the imaginary valetudinarian who
thinks of carrying economy into that department; the real patient has
other things to think of. Argan, therefore, is discovered taxing his
apothecary's bill, at once delighting his ear with the flowery
language of the pharmacopoeia, and gratifying his frugal disposition
by clipping off some items and reducing others, and arriving at the
double conclusion, first, that if his apothecary does not become more
reasonable, he cannot afford to be a sick man any longer; and
secondly, that as he has swallowed fewer drugs by one-third this month
than he had done the last, it was no wonder that he was not so well.
The inference, "_Je le dirai a Monsieur Purgon, a fin qu'il mette
ordre a cela_," is irresistibly comic.
As the Malade Imaginaire was the last character in which Moliere
appeared, it is here necessary to say a few words upon his capacity as
an actor. He bore, according to one contemporary, and with justice,
the first rank among the performers of his line. He was a comedian
from top to toe. He seemed to possess more voices than one; besides
which, every limb had its expression--a step in advance or retreat, a
wink, a smile, a nod, expressed more in his action, than the greatest
talker could explain in words in the course of an hour. He was, says
another contemporary, neither corpulent nor otherwise, rather above
the middle size, with a noble carriage and well-formed limbs; he
walked with dignity, had a very serious aspect, the nose and mouth
rather large, with full lips, a dark complexion, the eyebrows black
and strongly marked, and a command of countenance which rendered his
physiognomy formed to express comedy. A less friendly pen (that, of
the author of "L'Impromptu de l'Hotel de Conde") has caricatured
Moliere as coming on the stage with his head thrown habitually back,
his nose turned up into the air, his hands on his sides with an
affectation of negligence, and (what would seem in England a gross
affectation, but which was tolerated in Paris as an expression of the
_superbia quoesita meritis_) his peruke always environed by a crown of
laurels. But the only real defect in his performance arose from an
habitual _hoquet_, or slight hiccough, which he had acquired by
attempting to render himself master of an extreme volubility of
enunciation, but which his exquisite art contrived on almost all
occasions successfully to disguise.
[Illustration: A Dinner at the House of Moliere at Auteuil.]
Thus externally fitted for his art, there can be no doubt that he who
possessed so much comedy in his conceptions of character, must have
had equal judgment and taste in the theatrical expression, and that
only the poet himself could fully convey what he alone could have
composed. He performed the principal character in almost all his own
pieces, and adhered to the stage even when many motives occurred to
authorize his retirement.
We do not reckon it any great temptation to Moliere that the Academy
should have opened its arms to receive him, under condition that he
would abandon the profession of an actor; but the reason which he
assigned for declining to purchase the honor at the rate proposed is
worthy of being mentioned. "What can induce you to hesitate?" said
Boileau, charged by the Academicians with the negotiation. "A point of
honor," replied Moliere. "Now," answered his friend, "what honor can
lie in blacking your face with mustachios and assuming the burlesque
disguise of a buffoon, in order to be cudgelled on a public stage?"
"The point of honor," answered Moliere, "consists in my not deserting
more than a hundred persons, whom my personal exertions are necessary
to support." The Academy afterward did honor to themselves and justice
to Moliere by placing his bust in their hall, with this tasteful and
repentant inscription:
"Nothing is wanting to the glory of Moliere. Moliere was wanting to
ours!"
That Moliere alleged no false excuse for continuing on the stage, was
evident when, in the latter years of his life, his decaying health
prompted him strongly to resign. He had been at all times of a
delicate constitution, and liable to pulmonary affections, which were
rather palliated than cured by submission during long intervals to a
milk diet, and by frequenting the country, for which purpose he had a
villa at Auteuil, near Paris. The malady grew more alarming from time
to time, and the exertions of voice and person required by the
profession tended to increase its severity. On February 17, 1673, he
became worse than usual. Baron, an actor of the highest rank and of
his own training, joined with the rest of the company in remonstrating
against their patron going on in the character of Argan. Moliere
answered them in the same spirit which dictated his reply to Boileau.
"There are fifty people," he said, "who must want their daily bread,
if the spectacle is put off. I should reproach myself with their
distress if I suffered them to sustain such a loss, having the power
to prevent it."
He acted accordingly that evening, but suffered most cruelly in the
task of disguising his sense of internal pain. A singular contrast it
was betwixt the state of the actor and the fictitious character which
he represented. Moliere was disguising his real and, as it proved, his
dying agonies, in order to give utterance and interest to the feigned
or fancied complaints of Le Malade Imaginaire, and repressing the
voice of mortal sufferance to affect that of an imaginary
hypochondriac. At length, on arriving at the concluding interlude, in
which, assenting to the oath administered to him as the candidate for
medical honors in the mock ceremonial, by which he engages to
administer the remedies prescribed by the ancients, whether right or
wrong, and never to use any other than those approved by the college,
as Moliere, in the character of Argan, replied, "Juro," the faculty
had a full and fatal revenge. The wheel was broken at the cistern--he
had fallen in a convulsive fit. The entertainment was hurried to a
conclusion, and Moliere was carried home. His cough returned with
violence, and he was found to have burst a blood-vessel. A priest was
sent for, and two scrupulous ecclesiastics of Saint Eustace's parish
distinguished themselves by refusing to administer the last
consolations to a player and the author of "Tartuffe." A third, of
better principles, came too late; Moliere was insensible, and choked
by the quantity of blood which he could not discharge. Two poor
Sisters of Charity who had often experienced his bounty, supported him
as he expired.
Bigotry persecuted to the grave the lifeless reliques of the man of
genius. Harlai, Archbishop of Paris, who himself died of the
consequences of a course of continued debauchery, thought it necessary
to show himself as intolerantly strict in form as he was licentious in
practice. He forbade the burial of a comedian's remains. Madame
Moliere went to throw herself at the feet of Louis XIV., but with
impolitic temerity her petition stated, that if her deceased husband
had been criminal in composing and acting dramatic pieces, his
majesty, at whose command and for whose amusement he had done so, must
be criminal also. This argument, though in itself unanswerable, was
too bluntly stated to be favorably received; Louis dismissed the
suppliant with the indifferent answer, that the matter depended on the
Archbishop of Paris. The king, however, sent private orders to Harlai
to revoke the interdict against the decent burial of the man, whose
talents during his lifetime his majesty had delighted to honor. The
funeral took place accordingly, but, like that of Ophelia, "with
maimed rites." The curate of Saint Eustace had directions not to give
his attendance, and the corpse was transported from his place of
residence and taken to the burial-ground without being, as usual,
presented at the parish church. This was not all. A large assemblage
of the lower classes seemed to threaten an interruption of the funeral
ceremony. But their fanaticism was not proof against a thousand francs
which the widow of Moliere dispersed among them from the windows, thus
purchasing for the remains of her husband an uninterrupted passage to
their last abode.
JOHN MILTON
(1608-1674)
John Milton was born in London on December 9, 1608. His father, in
early life, had suffered for conscience sake, having been disinherited
upon his abjuring the Catholic faith. He pursued the laborious
profession of a scrivener, and having realized an ample fortune,
retired into the country to enjoy it. Educated at Oxford, he gave his
son the best education that the age afforded. At first young Milton
had the benefit of a private tutor; from him he was removed to St.
Paul's school; next he proceeded to Christ's College, Cambridge; and
finally, after several years preparation by extensive reading, he
pursued a course of continental travel. It is to be observed that his
tutor, Thomas Young, was a Puritan, and there is reason to believe
that Puritan politics prevailed among the fellows of his college.
This must not be forgotten in speculating on Milton's public life, and
his inexorable hostility to the established government in church and
state; for it will thus appear probable that he was at no time
withdrawn from the influence of Puritan connections.
[Illustration: John Milton.]
In 1632, having taken the degree of M.A., Milton finally quitted the
University, leaving behind him a very brilliant reputation, and a
general good-will in his own college. His father had now retired from
London, and lived upon his own estate at Horton, in Buckinghamshire.
In this rural solitude Milton passed the next five years, resorting to
London only at rare intervals, for the purchase of books or music. His
time was chiefly occupied with the study of Greek and Roman, and, no
doubt, also of Italian literature. But that he was not negligent of
composition, and that he applied himself with great zeal to the
culture of his native literature, we have a splendid record in his
"Comus," which, upon the strongest presumptions, is ascribed to this
period of his life. In the same neighborhood, and within the same five
years, it is believed that he produced also the "Arcades," and the
"Lycidas," together with "L'Allegro," and "Il Penseroso."
In 1637 Milton's mother died, and in the following year he commenced
his travels. The state of Europe confined his choice of ground to
France and Italy. The former excited in him but little interest. After
a short stay at Paris he pursued the direct route to Nice, where he
embarked for Genoa, and thence proceeded to Pisa, Florence, Rome, and
Naples.
Sir Henry Wotton had recommended, as the rule of his conduct, a
celebrated Italian proverb, inculcating the policy of reserve and
dissimulation. From a practised diplomatist, this advice was
characteristic; but it did not suit the frankness of Milton's manners,
nor the nobleness of his mind. He has himself stated to us his own
rule of conduct, which was to move no questions of controversy, yet
not to evade them when pressed upon him by others. Upon this principle
he acted, not without some offence to his associates, nor wholly
without danger to himself. But the offence, doubtless, was blended
with respect; the danger was passed; and he returned home with all his
purposes fulfilled. He had conversed with Galileo; he had seen
whatever was most interesting in the monuments of Roman grandeur, or
the triumphs of Italian art; and he could report with truth that, in
spite of his religion, everywhere undissembled, he had been honored by
the attentions of the great, and by the compliments of the learned.
After fifteen months of absence, Milton found himself again in London
at a crisis of unusual interest. The king was on the eve of his second
expedition against the Scotch; and we may suppose Milton to have been
watching the course of events with profound anxiety, not without some
anticipation of the patriotic labor which awaited him. Meantime he
occupied himself with the education of his sister's two sons, and soon
after, by way of obtaining an honorable maintenance, increased the
number of his pupils.