THE MISANTHROPE
A monologue from the
play by Molière
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from The Dramatic Works of Molière, Vol. II. Ed.
Charles Heron Wall. London: George Bell & Sons, 1898. |
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CELIMENE: Madam, I have many thanks in return to you,
and such advice lays me under great obligation. Far from taking
it unkindly, I am only too anxious at once to prove my gratitude
by giving you on my part a certain piece of advice, which, wonderful
to say, closely concerns your honour; and as I see you prove
yourself my friend by informing me of the reports that people
spread about me, I wish, in my turn, to follow so pleasing an
example by acquainting you with what is said of you. In a certain
house, where I was visiting the other day, I met with people
of the most striking merit; and they, speaking of the duties
of a person who leads a virtuous life, turned the conversation,
madam, upon you. There, your prudishness and the vehemence of
your zeal were by no means quoted as a good example. That affectation
of a grave demeanour; your everlasting speeches on discretion
and honour; your simpering, and your outcries at the shadow of
any impropriety which an innocent though ambiguous word may present;
the high esteem in which you hold yourself, and the looks of
pity you cast upon others; your frequent lectures and your sharp
censures on things which are harmless and pure; all this, madam,
if I may speak the plain truth, was blamed by common accord.
"What signify," said they, "that modest mien and
that grave manner, which are belied by all the rest? She is most
exact at all her prayers, but she beats her servants and pays
them no wages. She makes the greatest display of fervour in all
places of worship, but she paints and wishes to appear beautiful.
She has all nudities covered in her pictures, but she delights
in the reality." For my part, I undertook your defense against
every one, and assured them it was all calumny; but the general
opinion went against me, and the conclusion was that you would
do well to be less solicitous about other people's actions and
take more pains about your own; that we should examine ourselves
a great deal before thinking of condemning others; that we ought
to add the weight of an exemplary life to the corrections we
pretend to make in our neighbors; and that, after all, it would
be better still to leave that care to those who were ordained
by Heaven for it. Madam, I believe that you also are too sensible
not to take in good part this kindly-meant advice, and not to
attribute it to the earnestness of an affection which makes me
anxious for your welfare.
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