Introduction

Molière (1622-1673) penned The School for Wives Criticized as a biting rejoinder to the controversy caused by his play, School of Wives. The following excerpts include comments on the theatre.

Excerpts from The School for Wives Criticized (1663)

(Scene vi.)

Dorante.—You are, then, Marquis, one of those grand gentlemen who will not allow the pit to have common sense, and who would be vexed to join in their laugh, though it were at the best thing conceivable?…Speaking generally, I would place considerable reliance on the applause of the pit, because, amongst those who go there, many are capable of judging the piece according to rule, whilst others judge it as they ought, allowing themselves to be guided by circumstances, having neither a blind prejudice, nor an affected complaisance, nor a ridiculous refinement.…

(Scene vii.)

Uranie.—…Let us not apply to ourselves the points of general censure; let us profit by the lesson, if possible, without assuming that we are spoken against. All the ridiculous delineations which are drawn on the stage should be looked on by everyone without annoyance. They are public mirrors, in which we must never pretend to see ourselves. To bruit it about that we are offended at being hit, is to state openly that we are at fault.…

Dorante.—…Indeed, I think that it is much easier to soar with grand sentiments, to brave fortune in Verse, to arraign destiny and reproach the Gods, than to broach ridicule in a fit manner, and to make the faults of all mankind seem pleasant on the stage. When you paint heroes you can do as you like. These are fancy portraits, in which we do not look for a resemblance; you have only to follow your soaring imagination, which often neglects the true in order to attain the marvelous. But when you paint men, you must paint after nature. We expect resemblance in these portraits; you have done nothing, if you do not make us recognize the people of your day. In a word, in serious pieces, it suffices to escape blame, to speak good sense, and to write well. But this is not enough in comedy. You must be merry; and it is a difficult undertaking to make gentlefolk laugh.…

Lysidas.—Those who are versed in Horace and Aristotle, Madame, see at once that this comedy sins against all the rules of Art.

Uranie.—I confess that I am not familiar with those gentlemen, and that I do not know the rules of Art.

Dorante.—You are a most amusing set with your rules of Art, with which you embarrass the ignorant, and deafen us perpetually. To hear you talk, one would suppose that those rules of Art were the greatest mysteries in the world; and yet they are but a few simple observations which good sense has made upon that which may impair the pleasure taken in that kind of poems; and the same good sense which in former days made these observations, makes them every day easily, without resorting to Horace and Aristotle. I should like to know whether the great rule of all rules is not to please; and whether a play which attains this has not followed a good method? Can the whole public be mistaken in these matters, and cannot everyone judge what pleases him?…in short, if pieces according to rule do not please, and those do please which are not according to rule, then the rules must, if necessary, have been badly made. So let us laugh at the sophistry with which they would trammel public taste, and let us judge a comedy only by the effect which it produces upon ourselves. Let us give ourselves up honestly to whatever stirs us deeply, and never hunt for arguments to mar our pleasure.

Uranie.—For my part, when I see a play, I look only whether the points strike me; and when I am well entertained, I do not ask whether I have been wrong, or whether the rules of Aristotle would forbid me to laugh.

Dorante.—It is just as if a man were to taste a capital sauce, and wished to know whether it were good according to the recipe in a cookery-book.

Uranie.—Very true; and I wonder at the critical refinements of certain people about things in which we should think for ourselves.

Dorante.—You are right, Madame, in thinking all these mysterious critical refinements very odd. For really, if they are to subsist, we are reduced to discrediting ourselves. Our very senses must be slaves in everything; and, even in eating and drinking, we must no longer dare find anything good, without permission from the committee of taste.

Lysidas.—So, Monsieur, your only reason is that The School for Wives [L'Ecole des femmes] has pleased you; you care not whether it was according to rule, provided—

Dorante.—Gently, Monsieur Lysidas; I do not grant you that. I certainly say that the great art is to please; and that, as this comedy has pleased those for whom it was written, I think that is enough, and that we need not care about anything else. But at the same time, I maintain that it does not sin against any of the rules to which you allude. I have read them, thank Heaven! as well as other men, and I could easily prove that perhaps we have not on the stage a more regular play than this.…

Lysidas.—What, sir! when the protasis, the epitasis, the peripetia—

Dorante.—Nay, Monsieur Lysidas, you overwhelm us with your fine words. Pray, do not seem so learned. Humanize your discourse a little, and speak intelligibly. Do you fancy a Greek word gives more weight to your arguments? And do you not think that it would look as well to say, "the exposition of the subject," as the "protasis"; "the progress of the plot," as the "epitasis"; "the crowning incident," as the "peripetia"?

Lysidas.—These are terms of art that we are allowed to make use of. But as these. words offend your ears, I shall explain myself in another way; and I ask you to give me a plain answer to three or four things which I have to say. Can a piece be endured which sins against the very description of a play? For, after all, the name of a dramatic poem comes from a Greek word which signifies to act, in order to show that the nature of the form consists in action. But, in this comedy, there are no actions.


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