Molière The Misanthrope

Full Text and Introduction (NHB Drama Classics)
1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-1-78001-417-3
Verlag: Nick Hern Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 0, 128 Seiten

Reihe: NHB Drama Classi

Drama Classics: The World's Great Plays at a Great Little Price Molière's most-admired comedy of manners, about a man whose quickness to criticise the flaws in others, and in himself, leads him into deep trouble. Alceste, the 'misanthrope', hates all mankind, and despairs of its hypocrisy and falseness. He believes that the world could be perfected if people were more honest with each other. But when his honesty starts to make him enemies, and the target of malicious gossips, it is his world and his life which suffer. The Misanthrope, or the Cantankerous Lover (Le Misanthrope ou l'Atrabilaire amoureux) was first performed in 1666 at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal, Paris. This English version, in the Nick Hern Books Drama Classics series, is translated and introduced by Stephen Mulrine.

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (1622-1673), known by his stage name Molière, was a French playwright and actor who is considered to be one of the greatest masters of comedy in Western literature. Among Molière's best known works are The Misanthrope, The School for Wives, Tartuffe, The Miser, The Imaginary Invalid and The Bourgeois Gentleman.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Molière

Weitere Mitwirkende

Mulrine, Stephen

Leseproben

Act One

The scene is set in CÉLIMÈNE’s house in Paris.

PHILINTE and ALCESTE.

PHILINTE. What is it? What’s the matter?

ALCESTE.

Let me be!

PHILINTE. I’m asking you again, why rage at me?

ALCESTE. Leave me, sir, I beg you – go away!

PHILINTE. You might at least hear what I have to say.

ALCESTE. I won’t – and I’ll be angry if I like!

PHILINTE. I’m mystified – these sudden fits of spite –
Well, even though I count myself your friend …

ALCESTE rises abruptly.

ALCESTE.

My friend, you say? That’s rich! Let’s put an end
Right now to this charade. You may have been,
It’s true, at one time, but from what I’ve seen
Of late, dear sir, I wish no further part
In friendship with a man so base at heart.

PHILINTE. So then, Alceste, you think that I’m to blame?

ALCESTE. Indeed I do, sir – you should die of shame!
Your action was an absolute disgrace.
It does scant honour to our noble race
To treat with such affection some unknown,
Make vows and promises to him, your tone
As sweet and gentle as a maid’s – and next,
When he departs, and I, your friend, perplexed,
Most cordially invite you to explain,
You cannot even say the fellow’s name!
No sooner out of sight than out of mind –
Good God, man, such hypocrisy I find
Incredible. So cheaply to belie
One’s honest sentiments – if it were I,
Sir, I would hang myself in sheer disgust.

PHILINTE. Well, hanging’s out for me today. I must
Accordingly implore you to suspend
My sentence, not myself.

ALCESTE.

Let’s have an end

To jokes, this is a serious affair!

PHILINTE. If it’s so serious, perhaps you’d care
To tell me what you’d rather have me do?

ALCESTE. Why, be sincere, man, absolutely true
In every single word you speak.

PHILINTE.

But say

A fellow bids me joyfully good day,
Should I not answer him in similar vein,
Trade vow for vow, and greet him so again?

ALCESTE. No, all such modern manners I despise –
Sheer affectation, sir, and downright lies.
Their vile contortions worse than any ape,
I loathe the way these fakers bow and scrape;
Their empty heads and brightly smiling faces;
Their hollow speeches, and their false embraces.
Villain, fool, or honest man of note,
They thrust their politesse down every throat.
What use is it when such a one will swear
His friendship, loyalty – his tender care
For you alone – then sing the self-same song
To any parvenu that comes along?
No, sir, no man of principle would dream
Of falling for such cheaply-won esteem.
Praise like that adds nothing to your glory,
If all the world is hearing the same story.
We rank our fellow-men in estimation,
High or low, and that’s a sure foundation,
But if we value all, we value none!
The real vice of our age is to succumb
To every silly fashion of the time –
Well, do so, sir, and you’re no friend of mine!
I totally reject that foolish heart
Which cannot, as to merit, tell apart
One man from any other. No, I’d rather
Not name all of humankind my brother!

PHILINTE. Those courtesies which gentlemen demand –
You would dismiss them, then, quite out of hand?

ALCESTE. Indeed I would, sir! Any such pretence
Of friendship should be rated an offence,
And mercilessly punished. Rather play
A man’s part, and on all occasions say
Exactly what you mean. Let no disguise
Mask what you feel with flattery and lies!

PHILINTE. But such plain-speaking isn’t always good –
At times it’s silly, even downright rude;
With due respect to your austere ideal,
There are some things it’s better to conceal.
To go round telling people to their face
Just what you think, is surely out of place.
So, when we meet some fellow we detest,
You’d have that feeling openly expressed?

ALCESTE. Yes.

PHILINTE. What! You’d tell that old hag Émilie
That beauty’s something she will never see
Again – a laughing-stock, for all her paint?

ALCESTE. I would!

PHILINTE.

And Dorilas, who makes us faint

With sheer ennui at tales of martial glory,
His and his family’s – you’ll spoil his story?

ALCESTE. Yes, indeed!

PHILINTE.

You’re joking, surely?

ALCESTE.

No,

I’m not, and henceforth I intend to show
No mercy. I’ve seen more than I can take,
When Court and town alike conspire to make
The gorge rise in my throat. I’m in a black
Mood, sir, profoundly saddened at the lack
Of simple honesty in daily life.
Indeed, I find base flattery is rife –
Self-interest, fraud, deceit, it’s a disgrace –
I’ll take my stand against the human race!

PHILINTE. I think your reasoning’s too grim by half –
Your black moods simply make me want to laugh.
We’re like those brothers in that Molière
Play: School for Husbands …

ALCESTE.

Oh, for God’s sake, spare

Me your comparisons!

PHILINTE.

These fits of pique

Will never bring about the change you seek,
And since plain truth’s the order of the day,
This malady of yours, I’ll plainly say,
Makes you absurd, a figure, sir, of fun –
Your rage at everything and everyone
Exposes you to ridicule.

ALCESTE.

So much

The better! Frankly, sir, to me that’s such
A comfort. Yes, by God, a welcome sign –
The last thing I desire is that these swine
Should prize me.

PHILINTE.

What, you hate the human race?

ALCESTE. Indeed, I’ve come to loathe its ugly face.

PHILINTE. And all of us poor mortals, sir, in sum,
You have the gall to classify as scum?
There surely must be someone who is worth …

ALCESTE. I hate them all, sir – every man on earth;
Some for downright wickedness and lies,
Others for the way they shut their eyes
To evil, and thereby neglect to show
How virtue is to vice the sternest foe.
That scoundrel I now have before the court
Relies on moral cowards for support.
His villainy is plain beneath his mask,
And what he is, one scarcely needs to ask.
Let him avert his eyes, so meek and mild –
His posturing would not deceive a child,
For what the wretched cur cannot conceal
Is his own part in every shady deal.
His secret of success is simply fraud –
A slight to virtue, an offence to God.
Though hollow titles advertise his fame,
The world at large derides his very name.
Call him villain, rogue, unbridled cheat –
No man will contradict you. I repeat,
The man’s a scoundrel, yet his smiling face
Is welcome everywhere. He has his place
At each soirée, and should a sinecure
Be offered, sir, of this you may be sure,
For one like him, there’s no such word as ‘queue’ –
By-passing others he sees as his due.
The honest men can wait. Dear God, it pains
Me sorely that society remains
On terms with vice. For two pins I’d forsake
The wretched human race entirely, make
Some wilderness my home.

PHILINTE.

Good Lord, forget

The modes and manners of the age and let
Frail human nature take its share of blame!
Such rigour’s out of keeping, and our aim
Should be to look more kindly on our flaws.
A certain pragmatism, if we pause
To think, is what society requires;
A moral code that’s too extreme inspires
Unreason – wisdom lies in moderation.
Spartan harshness has no application
To our day – it goes against the grain,
And seeks perfection of mere man in vain.
No, we must bend, my dear sir, with the age,
It’s utter folly for one man to wage
War on the world. A hundred times a day,
The same as you, I see things that I’d say
Might well be better done, but even so,
I’m not prepared, unlike yourself, to show
My disapproval in unseemly rage.
I readily accept the world’s a stage,
And therefore take life as it comes, both good
And bad. So tell me, honoured sir, why should
My sangfroid be less reasoned than your spleen?

ALCESTE. This sangfroid, as you call it – do you mean
To say that nothing sets your blood on fire?
Betrayal by a friend won’t rouse your ire?
If someone should by trickery lay claim
To all your goods, or vilify your name,
You’ll look on calmly, unperturbed?

PHILINTE.

Such crimes,

Dear sir, are not unique to our own times –
They’re part and parcel of our fallen state.
So men are selfish and unjust? I rate
That frankly no more shocking, than...