Poems (May)/Scene from "Le misanthrope" of Moliere

by Edith May

SCENE FROM "LE MISANTHROPE" OF MOLIERE.

Philinte.Alceste.

philinte.

What is't? What ails you?

alceste.

What is't? What ails you? Pray you, leave me.

philinte.

What is't? What ails you? Pray you, leave me. Nay, Tell me what new extravagance—

ALCESTE.Tell me what new extravagance— Go hence—Go hide yourself!

PHILINTE.

Go hide yourself! But while I speak, at least, Suspend your anger.

Alceste.

Suspend your anger. I? I will be angry, And will not listen.

Philinte.

And will not listen. In so rude a humour I am at loss to read you. Though we're friends,I still am first—

ALCESTE.

I still am first— 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.

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.

philinte.

I'd hang myself for grief. 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.

alceste.

A poor jest.

philinte.

A poor jest. Nay, then, jesting put aside, What would you have?

alceste.

What would you have? 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?

alceste.

What would you have? 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.

philinte.

Is not a friend for me. Being of the world, 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!

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?

alceste.

The truth as it is? Yes.

philinte.

The truth as it is? Yes. What, to Emily Say it is unbecoming at her age To play the belle, and that her false complexion Is shocking to her neighbours?

alceste.

Is shocking to her neighbours? Certainly.

PHILINtE.

To Dorilas that he is tiresome, And that he wearies every ear at court Telling of his valour and ancestral glories?

ALCESTE.

'Tis well.

PHILINTE.

'Tis well. You jest!

ALCESTE.

'Tis well. You jest! 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!

philinte.

Would fight mankind! 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.

AlCESTE.

Makes you the common laughing-stock. 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.

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—

alceste.

Not one beneath the sky— 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.

philinte.

Betwixt mankind and me. 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.

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?

philinte.

Will it not move you? 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.

 

THE END.