The Misanthrope by Moliere (Shafter Ford Theater)

A nouveau riche attempts to acquire high culture and makes a fool of himself. A health-obsessed hypochondriac falls for a series of quack doctors and their remedies. A religious huckster preys on foolish aristocracy to obtain money and sexual favors. A young, snarky hipster mocks everything and anything, but finds nothing to believe in - not even his own misanthropy.

Are these plots from the late Twentieth Century perhaps? Quite the contrary. They come from the Seventeenth Century comédies Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme [The Would-be Gentleman], Le Malade Imaginaire [The Hypochondriac], Tartuffe, and Le Misanthrope, by Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, commonly known by his stage name, Molière.

The above is quoted from my first blog post on Molière, wherein I examined The School for Husbands. I have loved Moliere ever since I read Tartuffe as part of my high school literature curriculum. That scathing indictment of religious hucksters and foolish people who fall for their smarm seems ever-so-relevant today. In fact, most of Molière’s best known works have aged extremely well: human nature hasn’t changed all that much in the last 400 years. We still have the same weaknesses, and we still seem to go for the same charlatans and fall for the same fallacies.

I have seen three different Molière plays live over the years. The Empty Space did a production of Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme years ago, with Bob Kempf in the title role. (He was hilarious.) Theatricum Botanicum presented an adaptation (by Constance Congdon) of Le Malade Imaginaire three years ago, and we took the kids to that one. And, also a while back, our local university did a marvelous version of Le Misanthrope. Basically, if I see Molière on tap at a reasonably local theater, I’m there.

So, when I saw that long-time Bakersfield College theater professor turned Anglican minister Randy Messick was directing Le Misanthrope in Shafter, I knew I had to find a way to go.

This was my first time at this particular theater. It is fairly new, built in the last couple of years, and (presumably) financed by the Starrh family - who must have spent quite a pretty penny over the years on the Colours Festival (I’ve played in the orchestra for that for several years) and other arts-related stuff in Shafter. However, it did (at least in this production) feature local actors that I had seen elsewhere. If Messick is involved, I am sure the artistic values will be high.

So, about this production. Unlike the CSUB version, which used a contemporary setting, more or less (Hipster coffee shop culture…), this one went for the original time period and costumes. The music was slightly anachronistic, using Mozart rather than Lully (Molière’s original collaborator.) But it actually fit pretty well.

I am not sure of the specifics, but illness led to the lead character, Alceste, being played by local thespian and teacher Kevin Ganger reading off the script. I am assuming he was a last-minute fill in. Reading is never ideal, but Ganger is a pro, and nailed the cynical and obnoxious tone just fine anyway.

 Philinte (Nolan Long), Alceste (Kevin Ganger), Eliante (Shelbe McClain)

As Alceste’s best friend, the likeable everyman Philinte, Nolan Long brought an earnestness and equanimity that contrasted nicely with Alceste’s misanthropy. Long has been a regular at TES, and has shown a nice range from comedic bit parts to earnest leads to villains. I’m always happy to see his name in the cast.

Celemene is the main female character. She is frivilous, flirtations, and utterly untrustworthy. She does her best to string along multiple guys, telling each that he is her true love, while doing the same for the others. Alceste, naturally, is dead gone for her - opposites attract in this case. I think Karisma Normandin has been in the cast of something or another local - in a bit part - but she was fantastic in this role. Her over-the-top costume and her over-the-top Betty Boopishness was hilarious.

Celemene (Karisma Normandin) and Oronte (John Spitzer)

The cast was filled out by a few others. John Spitzer was Oronte, the young social climber with the ludicrous wig which strongly resembled the Pointy Haired Boss from Dilbert. Scott Deaton played Clitandre, the smarmy and elderly aristocrat with a bit too much French effeminacy for his own good. Shelbe McClain - another versatile local theater regular - took the role of Eliante, the sensible woman who is invisible to Alceste, but the perfect match for Philinte. She gets some of the absolute best lines in the play, as the observer (the Chorus, perhaps) of the other characters’ foibles. Leslie Aldridge played the prudish Arsinoe (complete with ludicrous prosthetic nose) to good effect. Arsinoe is one of the funniest characters, as her self-righteous (if somewhat accurate) condemnation of Celemene is matched only by her imperfectly suppressed sexual voracity. A couple of servants and officers had bit parts as well.

 Celemene and Arsinoe (Leslie Aldridge)

 Eliante, Clitandre (Scott Deaton), Alceste, Celemene

There are some outstanding lines in this play. I wish I could quote at length, but I really prefer that people read the whole thing. Or, better yet, go see a Molière play live. I am not sure which translation Messick used as the basis for his adaptation (ALL productions you are likely to see have been adapted, as the originals required songs, ballet numbers, and other stuff that rather interrupts the plot…) but I am using my own Franklin hardback version, translated by Donald M. Frame. One thing I did note was that the parts of Oronte and Acaste have been combined and remixed with Clitandre - which works fine, considering they are both young noblemen seeking Celemene’s love. Here is a good example of the wit.

Clitandre: You glow with satisfaction, dear Marquis:

You’re free from worriment and full of glee.

But do you think you’re seeing things aright

In taking such occasion for delight?

Acaste (Oronte): My word! When I regard myself, I find

No reason for despondency of mind.

I’m rich, I’m young, I’m of a family

With some pretension to nobility…

…

My wit is adequate, my taste discerning,

To judge and treat all subjects without learning…

This is just one of the many witty exchanges in the play. One more is worth quoting here. Alceste is trying to convince the others that if you truly love someone, you will see - and try to correct - their every fault. Yep, that sure sounds like a plan for marital bliss, right? The far more sensible Eliante understands the truth far better.

Acaste (Oronte): Her charms and grace are evident to me;

But any faults I fear I cannot see.

Alceste: I see them all; she knows the way I feel;

My disapproval I do not conceal.

Loving and flattering are worlds apart;

The least forgiving is the truest heart;

And I would send these soft suitors away,

Seeing they dote on everything I say,

And that their praise, complaisant to excess,

Encourages me in my foolishness.

Celemene: In short, if we’re to leave it up to you,

All tenderness in love we must eschew;

And love can only find its true perfection

In railing at the objects of our affection.

Eliante: Love tends to find such laws somewhat austere,

And lover always brag about their dear;

Their passion never sees a thing to blame,

And everything is lovely in their flame:

They find perfection in her every flaw,

And speak of her with euphemistic awe.

The pallid one’s the whitest jasmine yet;

The frightful dark one is a sweet brunette;

The spindly girl is willowy and free;

The fat one bears herself with majesty;

The dowdy one, who’s ill endowed as well,

Becomes a careless and neglectfull belle;

The giantess is a divinity;

The dwarf, a heavenly epitome;

With princesses the proud one can compete;

The tricky one has wit; the dull one’s a sweet;

The tireless talker’s charmingly vivacious;

The mote girl modest, womanly, and gracious.

Thus every man who loves beyond compare

Loves even the defects of his lady fair.

That manages to be both hilarious, witty, satirical, and sweet at the same time.

I mentioned the costumes briefly. These were made by a local artisan, Jennifer Keller at Fantasy Frocks. As such, they were ludicrous and delightful, totally overboard and perfect. Between the dresses with an obscene number of bows and the foppish wigs, the production was aided by the costumes.

I should also mention the running gag where the servant girl (Basque, played by Cheyenne Reyes) used a different percussion instrument to announce guests each time. The bell to start with - normal enough. But then, a triangle, various cymbals, castanets, drums, and more. It was a nice humorous touch for those who paid attention.

Before the play, Messick came out to talk briefly about it, and asked if anyone had seen Molière before. I think he was surprised to hear that Amanda and I had see three live productions before this one, and were quite familiar with Molière. I am sad that he isn’t better known. He was indeed the French Shakespeare, and, if his language wasn’t as revolutionary and profound, his grasp of human nature and eye for the details of hypocrisy set him apart as one of the all time greats. Seriously, if you get the chance, go see one of his plays. And if not, read one. You might be surprised that, under the 17th Century surface, Molière’s satire seems as if it could be written in our own times.

The Imaginary Invalid by Molière

I wrote about Molière several years back when I read The School for Husbands. I recommend reading that post if you are unfamiliar with Molière and his works. Between his Jerry Springer Show lifestyle (those 17th Century French…) and his plots which often seem as if they could be written in our own time, he is simply fascinating. To quote from my previous post:

A nouveau riche attempts to acquire high culture and makes a fool of himself. A health-obsessed hypochondriac falls for a series of quack doctors and their remedies. A religious huckster preys on foolish aristocracy to obtain money and sexual favors. A young, snarky hipster mocks everything and anything, but finds nothing to believe in - not even his own misanthropy.

Are these plots from the late Twentieth Century perhaps? Quite the contrary. They come from the Seventeenth Century comedies Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, Le Malade Imaginaire, Tartuffe, and Le Misanthrope, by Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, commonly known by his stage name, Molière.

I read The Imaginary Invalid (Le Malade Imaginaire) some years back, and was thoroughly excited to get the chance to see it live. For reasons I cannot fathom, Molière is not performed that often, despite the hilarity and timelessness of his plays. I did at least get a chance to see Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme at The Empty Space, and Le Misanthrope at Cal State Bakersfield before that. Both were worthy productions. But they occurred before the kids were born, let alone after they because old enough to enjoy live theater. I was eager to introduce them to Molière and see their reactions.

This play was a big hit - the slapstick and silly scenes were of course popular, but also the verbal humor this time. We have seen quite a few plays together, and they are starting to pick up on the jokes. Even the naughty ones - and there are a lot of naughty jokes in this one.

There are always interesting choices in staging a Molière play. There are multiple translations, and they don’t entirely match. Also, there are different versions, plus places where there would have been a ballet or musical selection between acts. This leaves plenty of room for interpretation - and in some cases, improvisation as well.

We saw this down at Theatricum Botanicum (more about this theater in this previous post), and in this adaptation by Constance Congdon, they decided to play up the references to bodily functions and semi-inadvertent double entendres. This worked pretty well. The original was certainly broad in its time - and it is likely that the actors tarted it up a bit. Even the English wrote some bawdy stuff back then.

Another interesting decision was to go with essentially period costumes. I am not well versed in the specifics of the times, so it is possible I suppose that the costumes were as much Eighteenth as Seventeenth Century, but they were certainly of that sort, ridiculous wigs and all. One might argue that all comedies would be more effective in old French costumes.

Anyway, here is the plot:

Argan is -in the original - a nobleman who is convinced he is ill with a variety of maladies. In this version, Argan is a woman, played by Ellen Geer. She retains a certain doctor, Purgon (a nice pun that) who doses her on enemas and herbs and other such “medical” treatments as were common back in that time.

Actually, what is surprising is that so many of them remain in use now - by those who practice the quackery of “alternative” medicine. A few names are the same, but if you merely substitute “cleanse” and “colonic” for “enema,” you pretty much have it. (In this production, they did insert some modern terms such as “organic” and a few trendy “superfoods” and so on. They fit perfectly fine with the others. The more things change…)

Meanwhile, her daughter Angelique (Willow Geer) has fallen in love with a young man, Cleante, who returns her love. However, they are in the first throes of love, and haven’t yet figured out how to meet and declare their love openly.

Argan has other plans: she wishes Angelique to marry Claude (Thomas in the original) Diafoirus, the nephew of a doctor - and soon to be doctor himself. In this way, she will guarantee free medical advice for the rest of her life. As in the case of Purgon, Diafoirus is a gross pun, roughly the equivalent of Diarrhea. (The actors played this up in this version, in case the reference was missed.)

Claude is a real dimwit, alas, and fails to impress. In this version, they took a brief reference to his being sent to the henhouse and made it into an entire chicken schtick. Thomas struts like a rooster, has a wig that looks more than a little like a coxcomb, and devolves into cackles when nervous. Cameron Rose played this part up to hilarious result. The kids loved his portrayal. 

 Cameron Rose as Claude. Publicity photo by Miriam Geer.

It is this scene that contains some of the very best lines of the play. My translation differs a bit from the version we heard live, but the gist is the same. When Claude attempts to woo Angelique, he displays his great learning but little thinking:

Mademoiselle, no more nor less than the statue of Memnon gave forth a harmonious sound when it came to be lit by the sun’s rays, even so I feel myself animated by a sweet transport at the apparition of the sun in your beauties. And as the naturalists note that the flower named heliotrope turns incessantly toward that day star, so my heart shall henceforth always turn toward the resplendent stars of your adorable eyes, as toward its only pole. So permit me, Mademoiselle, to append to the altar of your charms the offering of this heart, which breathes and aspires to no other glory than to be all its life, Mademoiselle, your most humble, most obedient, and most faithful servant and husband.

This does not, shall we say, go over well with the women of the play (except for Argan - who is male in the original).

Monsieur Diaforius (the uncle) gives an explanation for his nephew, which includes this bit of faint praise:

He has never had a very lively imagination, nor that sparkling wit that you notice in some; but it’s by this that I have always augured well of his judgment, a quality required for the exercise of our art.  

But what really thrills the uncle is this:

But what I like about him above all else, and in which he follows my example, is that he attaches himself blindly to the opinions of our ancients, and he has never been willing to understand or listen to the reasons and experiments of the so-called discoveries of our century, about the circulation of the blood, and other opinions of the same ilk.

It is this bit that echoes so thoroughly the spirit of our own age, where scientific denialism is rampant, and millions still cling to the opinions of the pre-scientific age on so many things. I have to hand it to Theatricum for specifically mentioning vaccine panic in the program notes - this was a bold move in Los Angeles, one of several hotbeds of anti-vaccine activism in California.

While this is happening, Cleante has disguised himself as a music teacher for Angelique, and improvises an “opera” as a means of declaring his love to her and also castigating Argan for attempting to force her to marry another.

After this disaster, Argan seems to be left without a doctor - a dreadful state for her. Angelique is in tears, desperate to escape her mother’s scheme, even if she must become a nun.

At this point, I should introduce some additional characters. Argan has remarried after the death of Angelique’s father: Beline (Jonathan Blandino) is a much younger man, and a shameless gold digger. He wants nothing more than to get Argan to sign over her property, and then die. (You can’t entirely blame him - Argan is hellish to live with.) This is where the gender flipping for this version works marvelously. Beline is hilarious as a man. The part calls for melodramatic weeping and flirting and simpering. It is a lot of fun to watch.

In order to carry out the scheme, Beline invites a crooked notary (back in the early days of the notary!) to witness signatures - and advise Argan how she can skirt the entailment laws which would guarantee that Angelique inherits the fortune. When Argan says she wants to call her lawyer, the notary objects. My version isn’t quite as pithy, but in the production, the notary responds with, “It’s not lawyers you should go to, for lawyers concern themselves with what is legal.” In other words, they aren’t crooked enough for this task.

One wonders at this a bit now, I suppose. I can’t imagine there are no lawyers that answer to the challenge to skirt the law. But, give credit for actually having something nice to say about us lawyers. I’ll take it.

The other character isn’t a minor one, but a major one, with many of the best likes. Argan’s faithful servant, Toinette (the always marvelous Melora Marshall), has a tongue about her, and sasses her mistress without shame. Since Toinette is clearly the most intelligent and perceptive character in the play, it falls to her to set things to right. 

Melora Marshall, Ellen Geer, and Willow Geer. Publicity photo by Miriam Geer.

After the disaster with Thomas, she proposes to carry out a prank on Argan. Disguising herself, she claims to be a new doctor, come to see Argan. After declaring everything the other doctors did to be “rubbish,” she gives a new diagnosis, which Argan falls for just like the rest.

Then, Toinette gives things a horrific turn. She claims that Argan’s one arm is stealing all the nutrients from the other - so it should be cut off. And likewise an eye is at fault and must be removed. For once, Argan refuses a remedy.

Having thoroughly punked Argan, Toinette then turns her schemes to the next victims. She convinces Argan to fake her own death in order to see who really loves her and who doesn’t. Beline utterly fails the test, shall we say, and Angelique proves her love. Thus, the stage is set for a happy ending.

There are a couple of characters this production omitted. First is Argan’s brother, the other sane person in the play. His lines mostly go to Toinette. Likewise, Argan’s younger daughter is omitted, along with the subplot that she appears in. I think this is a defensible decision.

At the risk of spoiling the ending, I do want to mention how Molière wraps things up. (Since the play is 350 years old, I assume this isn’t really a spoiler by this point.)

As in The Would-Be Gentleman, there is a “ceremony” at the end, wherein a character is given an honorary degree to great humorous effect. In this play, since Argan cannot bring a doctor into the family - and Cleante seems unwilling to devote the next decade of his life to the cause - Toinette suggest that Argan him(her)self become a doctor. After all, he(she) has already experienced every disease - at least in her head.

In the original play, the “ceremony” is conducted in a ludicrous combination of Latin, French, and Italian, which the audience would readily understand. It is filled with both utter nonsense and jokes.

For this production, the spirit of the ceremony is preserved, but not the words. Instead, there is a combination of Latin in the form of legal and medical terms (I laughed at the former, my wife at the latter...and the former - she is a lawyer’s daughter), Spanish in the form of nonsense and bad jokes, and Pig Latin, which my kids thought was hilarious.

I want to mention a bit about the music. In Molière’s day, there would have been song and dance throughout. Theatricum did include some of this in their version. Songs were interspersed, and there was a bit of dancing, although not the hour long spectacle a French audience of the time would have expected.

The music was an interesting choice. Molière worked closely with Jean-Baptiste Lully for most of his career. Before The Imaginary Invalid, Molière’s last play, they had a falling out, and he went with Marc-Antoine Charpentier. This was a “breaking up the Beatles” level of scandal, and, after Molière collapsed and died after a performance of the play (talk about method acting!), it was rumored that Lully had poisoned him. In actuality, Molière died of tuberculosis, which he had suffered from for years. The reason the rumor gained traction is that Lully was the sort who actually might have poisoned a rival. Lully himself would die of gangrene after stabbing himself accidentally with his conductor’s staff. He refused an amputation as it would interfere with his dancing…

Anyway, Theatricum eschewed the Baroque era for its music, instead choosing the age of Mozart. I would say it was a good choice, as Mozart’s style is more singable than the earlier one, and it still struck the right note for the period setting.

I have recommended Theatricum Botanicum’s productions before. Shakespeare is, naturally, their bread and butter. You can read about their productions in years past of All’s Well That Ends Well, and As You Like It. The season runs through September, so if you are in the Los Angeles area, go check one out.

The School for Husbands by Molière

Source of book: I own a beautiful Franklin Library hardback edition of the major Molière plays - an unread used book find.

A nouveau riche attempts to acquire high culture and makes a fool of himself. A health-obsessed hypochondriac falls for a series of quack doctors and their remedies. A religious huckster preys on foolish aristocracy to obtain money and sexual favors. A young, snarky hipster mocks everything and anything, but finds nothing to believe in - not even his own misanthropy. 

Are these plots from the late Twentieth Century perhaps? Quite the contrary. They come from the Seventeenth Century comedies Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, Le Malade Imaginaire, Tartuffe, and Le Misanthrope, by Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, commonly known by his stage name, Molière.

Born in an era when the profession of actor was considered to be morally suspect, Molière lived the sort of dramatic life one might associate with penny novels. He married the daughter of his (female) business partner, a girl half his age who is generally thought to be the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. The Seventeenth Century equivalent of the tabloids accused him of marrying his own daughter, naturally, as Molière probably had an ongoing affair with the mother. (Reading the biographies of French intellectuals during this period is like watching the Jerry Springer show.) While performing in his last play, Le Malade Imaginaire, he was suddenly stricken, and died soon thereafter. Although the cause was almost certainly his tuberculosis, the popular rumor of the time was that he was poisoned at the behest of composer Jean-Baptiste Lully. Molière and Lully worked together on many of Molière’s plays, which included music and dance sequences. The two had a falling out, and Molière switched to Marc-Antoine Charpentier, causing a bit of drama at the time.

I first read Tartuffe in high school, and loved it. Since that time, in addition to the plays I have read, I have seen excellent local productions of Le Misanthrope (California State University Bakersfield) and Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme (The Empty Space, a local theater). I never ceases to amaze me how modern and relevant his plays seem. As much as I love Shakespeare for his glorious language and timeless understanding of human nature, I must admit that his plots speak of long departed eras. Thus, I am somewhat surprised that Molière isn’t more popular today.

The School for Husbands was Molière’s first full length play, although it is still shorter than most of his best known works. Two brothers, Ariste and Sganarelle have been given the care of two orphaned young ladies, Léonor and Isabella, respectively. Each hopes to win the love of his lovely ward.  Ariste is fairly laid back, and allows Léonor and her maid Lisette to attend fashionable parties, and generally treats her as an equal. Sganarelle, in contrast, prefers to keep his intended in a box, and governs her in an overbearing manner.

From the very beginning, it is clear that Sganarelle has no use for pleasure or society. He argues with Ariste over his antisocial behavior.

Ariste:     That surly humor, whose severity

    Shuns all the pleasures of society,

    Gives all your actions an eccentric air,

    And lends uncouthness even to what you wear.

Sganarelle: Of course, I must be fashion’s slave! Oh yes!

    And not content myself in how I dress!

    …

    Wouldn’t you like to see me ape the ways

    Of your young fashionable popinjays,

    Wear one of their ridiculous chapeaux

    That bare weak brains to every breeze that blows,

    And a blond wig that takes up so much space

    As quite to obfuscate the human face?

    A tiny doublet, like to disappear,

    And a great collar reaching down to here?

    Those sleeves, at dinner sampling every food,

    Those petticoats, as breeches misconstrued?

    Those ribbons on the shoes, which look as sweet

    As feathers look upon a pigeon’s feet?

    And those great canions, reaching from the knees,

    Which rob the legs of freedom and of ease,

    And give our gallant fops a straddling gait

    As though on shuttlecocks they ambulate?

    This is the way you’d like to see me dressed:

    Wearing this trash, like you and all the rest.

This is, of course, a brilliant and cutting takedown of the fashion of the time, and an excellent example of Molière’s cutting wit. However, Ariste’s response is sensible, and cuts to the heart of the issue.

Ariste:     Aways we must accept the general ways,

    And never draw on us the public gaze.

    In clothes as well as speech, the man of sense

    Will shun all these extremes that give offense,

    Dress unaffectedly, and, without haste,

    Follow the changes in the current taste.

    I have no wish to set men on the road

    Of those who always overdo the mode

    And, loving its extremes, would feel distress

    If anyone outdid them in excess.

    But I maintain no reason makes it right

    To shun accepted ways from stubborn spite;

    And we may better join the foolish crowd

    Than cling to wisdom, lonely though unbowed.

In context, I think Ariste’s use of the word “wisdom” is sarcastic. The point is that Sganarelle is drawing attention to himself through his aggressive disregard of fashion. He is seeking to make an impression every bit as much as the most fashionable. I am reminded of groups like the Amish and others who intentionally adopt fashions from the past. The problem is that this decision is held out as being somehow more “moral” than modern fashion choices - just as Sganarelle does here. He clearly thinks he is a better person, as becomes clear as the play progresses.

Not only does Sganarelle adopt this philosophy for himself, he also imposes it on his ward. After Ariste indicates that he intends to continue to give Léonor her freedom, Sganarelle relies:

Sganarelle: Do as you will. But I intend that mine

    Live not by hers, sir, but by my design.

    Dress in a decent woolen serge or baize,

    And wear black only on the proper days;

    That closeted, as girls should be, indoors,

    She put her mind all on household chores,

    Mending my clothes when other work is done,

    Or knitting me some stockings just for fun;

    And that, completely deaf to all sweet talk,

    She never go unchaparoned to walk.

   
Lest one mistake this idea for a relic of the Seventeenth Century, I will note that there is a subculture familiar to me that advocates this exact idea.

Molière recognizes the logical result of this plan. In typical fashion, he lets the servant have the cheeky response. I might even go so far as to say that the servants have all the best lines in any Molière play.

Lisette: Indeed, I am appalled at all these quirks.

    Imprison women? Are we among Turks?

    I hear they treat them there like slaves, or worse,

    And that is why God marks them with his curse.

    You must think us quite ready to discard

    Our honor, that you put it under guard.

    Come, do you really think all these precautions

    Are any obstacle to our intentions,

    And that, when we’ve an mind, we can’t prevail,

    And make a fool out of the smartest maile?

    You act like madmen when you spy on us.

    The greatest danger is for you to hector:

    Our honor wants to be its own protector.

    You almost give us a desire to sin

    When you take such great care to hem us in;

    And if a husband used constraint on me,

    I might let him see what he should see.

Ariste, too, thinks this is ludicrous.

Ariste: Suspicions, locks, and bars are all misplaced,

    And will not keep our girls and women chaste.

    ‘Tis honor that must hold them to their duty,

    Not our confinement of their beauty.

    It must be a strange woman, I confess,

    Who owes her virtue solely to duress.

    We hope to rule their every step in vain;

    I say the heart is what we have to gain;

    My honor would I think in jeopardy,

    For all my worry, in the custody

    Of one who, if temptation should assail,

    Would lack only a ready chance to fail.

Sganarelle cannot understand this apparent laxity, but Ariste replies:

Ariste:     At least thank God I am no martinet.

    I’d hate to practice those forbidding ways

    That force children to count their father’s days.

A brilliant and piercing line, that.

Unsurprisingly, Sganarelle’s austerity has not exactly won Isabelle’s heart. Rather, she loves Valère, a young man that Sganarelle disdains. While Valère bemoans the fact that Isabelle is kept under wraps, his servant Ergaste notes that “That helps your cause, and you have grounds for hope, In that he gives your love so little rope. Be steadfast in the course you have begun: A woman that is watched is halfway won.”

The majority of the play from this point forward involves Valère and Isabelle plotting to get married to each other. They both use Sganarelle to unwittingly pass messages to each other, and indeed, to set up the marriage ceremony itself. This, like the other mad schemes that Molière is fond of, makes for a delicious farce at the expense of the sanctimonious Sganarelle. The lovers use words charged with a double meaning, using Sganarelle himself to convey their love for each other, and he never suspects it. Their plots eventually lead to a situation in which Sganarelle is convinced that Léonor is attempting to elope on Ariste. While Ariste is shocked that his ward did not confide in him, he has no wish to interfere.

Ariste:     I never will accept the weakling’s part,

    Of wanting to possess a loveless heart.

Ariste need not fear, of course. Léonor is bored by the overeager young men chasing her.

Lisette: Each one tries hard to please your eye, I’m sure.

Léonor: And that is just what I cannot endure.

    I’d rather hear good plain talk any day

    Than all the silly empty things they say.

    To them their blond wig is a smashing hit;

    And they assume they are the soul of wit

    When they come up with some ironic jest

    To the effect that older men love best.

As Le Misanthrope proved, Molière anticipated the hipster by about 350 years. In the end, of course, everything turns out fine for everyone. (It is a comedy, after all.) Except for Sganarelle, but he gets his proper comeuppance.

Lisette’s words conclude the play:

Lisette: [to the audience] If any husband is a churlish fool,

    This is the place to send him - to our school.

I highly recommend Molière as an entertaining and amusing author, but also as a piquant commentator on our own times. The School for Husbands is not a bad place to start, although all of his major works are enjoyable and well worth a read.

Note on the translation:

My version of these plays was translated by Donald M. Frame in the 1960s. As one can tell from the quotes, he attempts to retain the rhymed couplets in iambic pentameter, which actually works pretty well. I am not sure which translations were used for the live versions that I saw, but the language worked well there as well. I found that Molière generally wrote in a simple enough style so that the translations did not need to search too much for a good English equivalent. I will admit, however, that I have not read them in the original French, so I must go by what I have noted in the English versions.

Note on the music:

Jean-Baptiste Lully is considered to be the father of the French Baroque style. Immensely popular during his lifetime, and a favorite of the aristocracy, his works are largely forgotten today. He, like Molière, was a frequent subject of the tabloid, being a notorious libertine with a taste for both women and men. His death was also oddly ironic. While beating time with a staff, he accidentally smashed his toe. It turned gangrenous, he refused an amputation, and the infection killed him.

Lully’s music accompanies most of Molière’s plays, although it is practically never heard in that context today, which is a shame.

Lully’s successor, Marc-Antoine Charpentier, in contrast, was more famous for his sacred than for his secular music. His style is more backward-looking, often using the modes and counterpoint from Renaissance era music in combination with the newer Baroque styles. Modern musical judgment generally considers Charpentier to be the superior composer to Lully, although both were excellent and influential within their own spheres. Lully influenced opera and ballet for centuries thereafter, while Charpentier established the sacred style that would be perfected by Bach and Handel a half century later.

For comparison, here are the Te Deums by each composer, performed on period instruments. I find both to be inspiring and delightful in their own way. I will admit that Charpentier managed to write one of the most memorable trumpet themes of all time.