SCENE FROM "LE MISANTHROPE" OF MOLIERE.
Philinte.
Alceste.
Alceste.
philinte.
What is't? What ails you?
alceste.
Pray you, leave me.
philinte.
Nay,
Tell me what new extravagance—
Tell me what new extravagance—
ALCESTE.
Go hence—
Go hide yourself!
Go hence—
Go hide yourself!
PHILINTE.
But while I speak, at least,
Suspend your anger.
Suspend your anger.
Alceste.
I? I will be angry,
And will not listen.
And will not listen.
Philinte.
In so rude a humour
I am at loss to read you. Though we're friends,
I still am first—
I am at loss to read you. Though we're friends,
I still am first—
ALCESTE.
What, I your friend? No longer
Count on't. Till now I have professed you friendship.
But having learned your worth, withdraw my love,
Wishing no place in a corrupted heart.
Count on't. Till now I have professed you friendship.
But having learned your worth, withdraw my love,
Wishing no place in a corrupted heart.
philinte.
You hold me then so much to blame, Alceste?
alceste.
Go, you should die of shame. So vile an action
Baffles excuse. All honourable souls
Should count themselves offended. What! o'erwhelm
A man with your caresses, testify
Esteem, and back with protestations, offers,
And oaths your warm embraces, and when I
Would question you, you scarce recall his name,
Let fall your full-blown love in parting from him,
And bare to me your real indifference!
Death! 'tis unworthy, base, and infamous
Thus to betray the honour of your soul.
And if, by ill hap, I had done as much,
I'd hang myself for grief.
Baffles excuse. All honourable souls
Should count themselves offended. What! o'erwhelm
A man with your caresses, testify
Esteem, and back with protestations, offers,
And oaths your warm embraces, and when I
Would question you, you scarce recall his name,
Let fall your full-blown love in parting from him,
And bare to me your real indifference!
Death! 'tis unworthy, base, and infamous
Thus to betray the honour of your soul.
And if, by ill hap, I had done as much,
I'd hang myself for grief.
philinte.
I do not find
Myself fair cause for hanging, and I pray you,
Forgive nae if I soften your decision,
Nor for this matter hang myself at all.
Myself fair cause for hanging, and I pray you,
Forgive nae if I soften your decision,
Nor for this matter hang myself at all.
alceste.
A poor jest.
philinte.
Nay, then, jesting put aside,
What would you have?
What would you have?
alceste.
Each spokesman of his heart.
philinte.
But when a man embraces you for joy,
Must you not do. the like? Make to his zeal
Fitting reply, and offer pay by offer,
And oath by oath?
Must you not do. the like? Make to his zeal
Fitting reply, and offer pay by offer,
And oath by oath?
alceste.
I cannot tolerate
The ways affected by your vain-tongued courtiers.
There's nothing that's so hateful to my soul
As the grimaces of these false protesters,
Bestowers of frivolous embraces, sayers
Of useless words, whose dull civilities
Tilt with the world, and know not to discern
The true man from the coxcomb. Where's the honour
If he that now caresses you, that swears
Friendship, good faith, zeal, tenderness, esteem,
That lifts heaven-high your praises, turns to give
As much to any rogue? There is no soul
Not wholly base, that does not scorn esteem
Thus prostitute. The richest banquet grows
A common feast, if all the world be there.
Esteem is built on preference. Who esteems
All esteems none. Since you approve and practise
These vices of the time, you shall no more
Walk in my fellowship, and I decline
The courtesy of him who cannot reckon
The shades of merit. I would be preferred,
And, to speak plain, the friend of all mankind
Is not a friend for me.
The ways affected by your vain-tongued courtiers.
There's nothing that's so hateful to my soul
As the grimaces of these false protesters,
Bestowers of frivolous embraces, sayers
Of useless words, whose dull civilities
Tilt with the world, and know not to discern
The true man from the coxcomb. Where's the honour
If he that now caresses you, that swears
Friendship, good faith, zeal, tenderness, esteem,
That lifts heaven-high your praises, turns to give
As much to any rogue? There is no soul
Not wholly base, that does not scorn esteem
Thus prostitute. The richest banquet grows
A common feast, if all the world be there.
Esteem is built on preference. Who esteems
All esteems none. Since you approve and practise
These vices of the time, you shall no more
Walk in my fellowship, and I decline
The courtesy of him who cannot reckon
The shades of merit. I would be preferred,
And, to speak plain, the friend of all mankind
Is not a friend for me.
philinte.
Being of the world,
We pay the world that tribute which is due.
We pay the world that tribute which is due.
alceste.
I say it should be chastised without mercy,
This shameful trade of seeming friendships. Would
That men were men, and that at every season
Our -words were still the plummets of our hearts,
No matter who should speak, and that our thoughts
Had put aside their masks of painted flatteries!
This shameful trade of seeming friendships. Would
That men were men, and that at every season
Our -words were still the plummets of our hearts,
No matter who should speak, and that our thoughts
Had put aside their masks of painted flatteries!
philinte.
There are occasions when sincerity
Would be ridiculous, nay, barely suffered,
And, sometimes, no offence to your quick honour,
'Tis well to hide the heart. Would it be fit
Or civil, think you, to a thousand people,
To say one's thoughts of them? To him I hate
Or who displeases me, shall I declare
The truth as it is?
Would be ridiculous, nay, barely suffered,
And, sometimes, no offence to your quick honour,
'Tis well to hide the heart. Would it be fit
Or civil, think you, to a thousand people,
To say one's thoughts of them? To him I hate
Or who displeases me, shall I declare
The truth as it is?
alceste.
Yes.
philinte.
What, to Emily
Say it is unbecoming at her age
To play the belle, and that her false complexion
Is shocking to her neighbours?
Say it is unbecoming at her age
To play the belle, and that her false complexion
Is shocking to her neighbours?
alceste.
Certainly.
PHILINtE.
To Dorilas that he is tiresome,
And that he wearies every ear at court
Telling of his valour and ancestral glories?
And that he wearies every ear at court
Telling of his valour and ancestral glories?
ALCESTE.
'Tis well.
PHILINTE.
You jest!
ALCESTE.
I do not jest. Henceforth
Will I spare none. Mine eyes too deep are wounded.
Both court and city feed my growing spleen.
Grief occupies my soul and deep disgust,
When I behold the untruthful ways of men.
Flattery, injustice, treachery, and deceit
Are universal. Out! I'm weary of it;
Patience forsakes me, and my mettled anger
Would fight mankind!
Will I spare none. Mine eyes too deep are wounded.
Both court and city feed my growing spleen.
Grief occupies my soul and deep disgust,
When I behold the untruthful ways of men.
Flattery, injustice, treachery, and deceit
Are universal. Out! I'm weary of it;
Patience forsakes me, and my mettled anger
Would fight mankind!
philinte.
Nay, in good sooth, I pray you
Put by these whims. You cannot mend the world.
And, since you love the truth, I'll tell you plainly
This folly draws great ridicule upon you;
This battling 'gainst the fashions of the times
Makes you the common laughing-stock.
Put by these whims. You cannot mend the world.
And, since you love the truth, I'll tell you plainly
This folly draws great ridicule upon you;
This battling 'gainst the fashions of the times
Makes you the common laughing-stock.
AlCESTE.
By Heaven,
So much the better! Still, so much the better!
'Tis all I ask! My heart rejoices at it.
'Tis a good sign. So hateful is mankind,
That I should weep were men to count me wise.
So much the better! Still, so much the better!
'Tis all I ask! My heart rejoices at it.
'Tis a good sign. So hateful is mankind,
That I should weep were men to count me wise.
philinte.
Yours is a bitter grudge 'gainst human nature!
alceste.
I have conceived for it an utter hatred.
philinte.
And all poor mortals, every one, included?
Not one beneath the sky—
Not one beneath the sky—
alceste.
I tell you, no—
'Tis universal, and I hate all men.
These for ill doing, those for falsely winking
On evil-doers, not regarding vice
With the deep hate of virtuous souls. Thou seest
The full extent of this mean complaisance
Shown for the arrant knave at law with me.
Who does not know the traitor through his mask?
Who knows him not for what he is? His eyes
Devoutly rolling, and his sleekened voice,
Impose on strangers to his name and ways.
'Tis known this scoundrel by the basest means
Has pushed his fortunes, and their bright success
Makes worth complain and virtue blush. Howe'er
You pelt him with foul words, no man disputes.
Call him cheat, villain, rascal, all agree,
Yet all do welcome, smile on him; no door
Shuts out his baseness. Nay, if men contend
For any dignity, he triumphs ever
Over the worthiest. I'm sore at heart
To see vice honoured thus, and there are times
When sudden promptings of my inmost soul
Would counsel me to put the desert's breadth
Betwixt mankind and me.
'Tis universal, and I hate all men.
These for ill doing, those for falsely winking
On evil-doers, not regarding vice
With the deep hate of virtuous souls. Thou seest
The full extent of this mean complaisance
Shown for the arrant knave at law with me.
Who does not know the traitor through his mask?
Who knows him not for what he is? His eyes
Devoutly rolling, and his sleekened voice,
Impose on strangers to his name and ways.
'Tis known this scoundrel by the basest means
Has pushed his fortunes, and their bright success
Makes worth complain and virtue blush. Howe'er
You pelt him with foul words, no man disputes.
Call him cheat, villain, rascal, all agree,
Yet all do welcome, smile on him; no door
Shuts out his baseness. Nay, if men contend
For any dignity, he triumphs ever
Over the worthiest. I'm sore at heart
To see vice honoured thus, and there are times
When sudden promptings of my inmost soul
Would counsel me to put the desert's breadth
Betwixt mankind and me.
philinte.
Oh, in God's name,
Let not the times' offences sink so deep,
But judge humanity and scan its errors
With milder zeal. The virtue of this world
Must be discreet, and we may err by pushing
Goodness too far. Wisdom avoids extremes;
Bids us be virtuous with sobriety.
Your code of sterner days would be a yoke
Too heavy for the morals of the age,
And asks too much of human imperfection.
Bend to the times, and hold no folly greater
Than that of wishing to reform the world.
Like you, I see a hundred things a day
That call for mending, but whate'er they be,
Like you I am not angry, rather willing
To take men as they are. To soft forbearance
I school my soul, and hold, in court and city,
My phlegm as philosophic as your bile.
Let not the times' offences sink so deep,
But judge humanity and scan its errors
With milder zeal. The virtue of this world
Must be discreet, and we may err by pushing
Goodness too far. Wisdom avoids extremes;
Bids us be virtuous with sobriety.
Your code of sterner days would be a yoke
Too heavy for the morals of the age,
And asks too much of human imperfection.
Bend to the times, and hold no folly greater
Than that of wishing to reform the world.
Like you, I see a hundred things a day
That call for mending, but whate'er they be,
Like you I am not angry, rather willing
To take men as they are. To soft forbearance
I school my soul, and hold, in court and city,
My phlegm as philosophic as your bile.
alceste.
Ay, but this phlegm, so good at argument,
Can nothing ruffle? If, perchance, a friend
Betray you; if a skilful net entrap
Your gold, or if some busy-body scatter
For you, the quick seed of prolific slander,—
Will it not move you?
Can nothing ruffle? If, perchance, a friend
Betray you; if a skilful net entrap
Your gold, or if some busy-body scatter
For you, the quick seed of prolific slander,—
Will it not move you?
philinte.
I do count these evils
You fret against, as vices that are part
Of human nature. It no more offends me
To see a man unjust, deceitful, selfish,
Than to behold vultures that scent the battle,
Malicious apes, or wolves that howl for rage.
Heaven's wonders; pride is worthy of a crown,
Cunning is wit, stupidity 's pure goodness,
The babbler 's pleasant company, the silent
Mute from becoming modesty—'tis thus
A lover, in his ardour's blind excess,
Adores the very faults of her he loves.
You fret against, as vices that are part
Of human nature. It no more offends me
To see a man unjust, deceitful, selfish,
Than to behold vultures that scent the battle,
Malicious apes, or wolves that howl for rage.
Heaven's wonders; pride is worthy of a crown,
Cunning is wit, stupidity 's pure goodness,
The babbler 's pleasant company, the silent
Mute from becoming modesty—'tis thus
A lover, in his ardour's blind excess,
Adores the very faults of her he loves.
THE END.