The Misanthrope E-Book

Moliere

• Herausgeber: Raanan Editeur
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

The Misanthrope, or the Cantankerous Lover (French: Le Misanthrope ou l'Atrabilaire amoureux; is a 17th-century comedy of manners in verse written by Molière. It was first performed on 4 June 1666 at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal, Paris by the King's Players.
The play satirizes the hypocrisies of French aristocratic society, but it also engages a more serious tone when pointing out the flaws that all humans possess. The play differs from other farces at the time by employing dynamic characters like Alceste and Célimène as opposed to the traditionally flat characters used by most satirists to criticize problems in society. It also differs from most of Molière's other works by focusing more on character development and nuances than on plot progression. The play, though not a commercial success in its time, survives as Molière's best known work today.
Because both Tartuffe and Don Juan, two of Molière's previous plays, had already been banned by the French government, Molière may have subdued his actual ideas to make his play more socially acceptable. As a result, there is much uncertainty about whether the main character, Alceste, is supposed to be perceived as a hero for his strong standards of honesty or whether he is supposed to be perceived as a fool for having such idealistic and unrealistic views about society. Molière has received much criticism for The Misanthrope.
|Source Wikipédia|

Leseprobe

SOMMMAIRE

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

ACT IV

ACT V

MOLIÈRE

THE MISANTHROPE

COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS

1666

Translated By Curtis Hidden Page

Raanan Éditeur

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THE MISANTHROPE

A COMEDY

CHARACTERS

ALCESTE, in love with Célimène

PHILINTE, friend of Alceste

ORONTE, in love with Célimène

CELIMENE

ELIANTE, Célimène's cousin

ARSINOE, friend of Célimène

ACASTE, a marquis

CLITANDRE, a marquis

BASQUE, Célimène's servant

AN OFFICER of the Marshals' Court

DUBOIS, Alceste's valet

The Scene is at Paris

ACT I

SCENE I

PHILINTE, ALCESTE

PHILINTE

What is it? What’s the matter?

ALCESTE, seated

Leave me, pray.

PHILINTE

But tell me first, what new fantastic humour . . .

ALCESTE

Leave me alone, I say. Out of my sight!

PHILINTE

But can't you listen, at least, and not be angry?

ALCESTE

I will be angry, and I will not listen.

PHILINTE

I cannot understand your gusts of temper;

And though we're friends, I'll be the very first . . .

ALCESTE, starting to his feet

What, I, your friend? Go strike that off your books.

I have professed to be so hitherto;

But after seeing what you did just now,

I tell you flatly I am so no longer

And want no place in such corrupted hearts.

PHILINTE

Am I so very wicked, do you think?

ALCESTE

Go to, you ought to die for very shame!

Such conduct can have no excuse; it must

Arouse abhorrence in all men of honour.

I see you load a man with your caresses,

Profess for him the utmost tenderness,

And overcharge the zeal of your embracings

With protestations, promises, and oaths;

And when I come to ask you who he is

You hardly can remember even his name!

Your ardour cools the moment he is gone,

And you inform me you care nothing for him!

Good God! 'tis shameful, abject, infamous,

So basely to play traitor to your soul;

And if, by evil chance, I'd done as much,

I should go straight and hang myself for spite.

PHILINTE

It doesn't seem to me a hanging matter,

And I'll petition for your gracious leave

A little to commute your rigorous sentence,

And not go hang myself for that, an't please you.

ALCESTE

How unbecoming is your pleasantry!

PHILINTE

But seriously, what would you have me do?

ALCESTE

Be genuine; and like a man of honour

Let no word pass unless it's from the heart.

PHILINTE

But when a man salutes you joyfully,

You have to pay him back in his own coin,

Make what response you can to his politeness,

And render pledge for pledge, and oath for oath.

ALCESTE

No, no, I can't endure these abject manners

So much affected by your men of fashion;

There's nothing I detest like the contortions

Of all your noble protestation-mongers,

So generous with meaningless embraces,

So ready with their gifts of empty words,

Who vie with all men in civilities,

And treat alike the true man and the coxcomb.

What use is it to have a man embrace you,

Swear friendship, zeal, esteem, and faithful love,

And loudly praise you to your face, then run

And do as much for any scamp he meets?

No, no. No self-respecting man can ever

Accept esteem that 's prostituted so;

The highest honour has but little charm

If given to all the universe alike;

Real love must rest upon some preference;

You might as well love none, as everybody.

Since you go in for these prevailing vices,

By God, you 're not my kind of man, that's all;

I'll be no sharer in the fellowship

Of hearts that make for merit no distinction;

I must be singled out; to put it flatly,

The friend of all mankind’s no friend for me.

PHILINTE

But, while we’re of the world, we must observe

Some outward courtesies that custom calls for.

ALCESTE

No, no, I tell you; we must ruthlessly

Chastise this shameful trade in make-beliefs

Of friendship. Let's be men; on all occasions

Show in our words the truth that's in our hearts,

Letting the heart itself speak out, not hiding

Our feelings under masks of compliment.

PHILINTE

There’s many a time and place when utter frankness

Would be ridiculous, or even worse;

And sometimes, no offence to your high honour,

'Tis well to hide the feelings in our hearts.

Would it be proper, decent, in good taste,

To tell a thousand people your opinion

About themselves? When you detest a man,

Must you declare it to him, to his face?

ALCESTE

Yes.

PHILINTE

What!—you’d tell that ancient dame, Emilia,

That she’s too old to play the pretty girl,

And that her painting is a public scandal?

ALCESTE

Of course.

PHILINTE

And Dorilas, that he’s a bore;

And that he’s wearied every ear at court

With tales of his exploits and high extraction?

ALCESTE

By all means.

PHILINTE

You are joking.

ALCESTE

No. I’ll spare

No one. My eyes are far too much offended.

The court and town alike present me nothing

But objects to provoke my spleen; I fall

Into black humours and profound disgust,

To see men treat each other as they do;

There's nowhere aught but dastard flattery,

Injustice, treachery, selfishness, deceit;

I can't endure it, I go mad —and mean

Squarely to break with all the human race.

PHILINTE

This philosophic wrath’s a bit too savage.

I laugh at the black moods I find you in,

And think that we, who were brought up together,

Are like those brothers in the School for Husbands,

Whose ...

ALCESTE

Heavens, have done your dull comparisons.

PHILINTE

No, really now, have done your own vagaries.

The world will not reform for all your meddling;

And since plain speaking has such charms for you,

I’ll tell you plainly that your strange distemper

Is thought as good's a play, where'er you go;

Such mighty wrath against the ways o' the world

Makes you a laughing-stock for many people.

ALCESTE

So much the better! Zounds, so much the better!

The very thing I want; I’m overjoyed;

'Tis a good sign. I hate mankind so much,

I should be sorry if they thought me wise.

PHILINTE

You have a great spite against human nature.

ALCESTE

Yes, I've conceived a frightful hatred for it.

PHILINTE

And are all mortals, quite without exception,

To be included in this detestation?

There are some, surely, even now-a-days . . .

ALCESTE

There’s no exception, and I hate all men:

A part, because they’re wicked and do evil;

The rest, because they fawn upon the wicked,

And fail to feel for them that healthy hatred

Which vice should always rouse in virtuous hearts.

You see the rank injustice of this fawning,

Shown toward the bare-faced scoundrel I’m at law with.

The traitor's face shows plainly through his mask,

And everywhere he's known for what he is;

His up-turned eyes, his honeyed canting voice,

Impose on none but strangers. All men know

That this confounded, low-bred, sneaking scamp

Has made his way by doing dirty jobs,

And that the splendid fortune these have brought him

Turns merit bitter and makes virtue blush.

Whatever shameful names you heap upon him,

There's no one to defend his wretched honour;

Call him a cheat, a rogue, a cursed rascal,

And every one agrees, none contradicts you.

But yet his grinning face is always welcomed;

He worms in everywhere, he’s greeted, smiled on;

And if there is preferment to compete for,

Intrigue will win it for him, from the worthiest.

Damnation! It offends me mortally

To see how people compromise with vice;

Sometimes I’m seized upon by sudden longings

To flee from all mankind, and live in deserts.

PHILINTE

Don't take the manners of the time so hard!

Be a bit merciful to human nature;

Let us not judge it with the utmost rigour,

But look upon its faults with some indulgence.

Our social life demands a pliant virtue;

Too strict uprightness may be blameworthy;

Sound judgment always will avoid extremes,

And will be sober even in its virtue.

The stiff unbending morals of old times

Clash with our modern age and common usage;

They ask of mortal men too much perfection;

We must yield to the times, and not too hardly;

And 'tis the very utmost height of folly

To take upon you to reform the world.

I see a hundred things each day, as you do,

That might be better, were they different;

And yet, whatever I see happening,

I don't fly in a passion, as you do;

I quietly accept men as they are,

Make up my mind to tolerate their conduct,

And think my calmness is, for court or town,

As good philosophy as is your choler.

ALCESTE

But can this calmness, sir, that talks so well,

Be moved at nothing? If perchance a friend

Betrays you—tries by fraud to steal your fortune—

Or if vile slanders are devised against you,

Will you behold all this and not get angry?

PHILINTE

Yes, I can look on faults, at which your soul

Revolts, as vices linked with human nature;

To put it in a word, I'm no more shocked

To see a man unjust, deceitful, selfish,

Than to see vultures ravenous for prey,