There is not much plot to "Woe from Wit." Moltchalin, Famusoff's secretary, a cold, calculating, fickle young man, has been making love to Famusoff's only child, an heiress, Sophia, an extremely sentimental young person. Famusoff rails against foreign books and fashions, "destroyers of our pockets and our hearth," and lauds Colonel Skalozub, an elderly pretender to Sophia's hand, explaining the general servile policy of obtaining rank and position by the Russian equivalent of "pull," which is called "connections." He compares his with Tchatsky, to the disadvantage of the latter, who had been brought up with Sophia, and had been in love with her before his departure on his travels three years previously, though he had never mentioned the fact. Tchatsky gives rise to this diatribe by returning from his travels at this juncture, asking for Sophia's hand, and trying to woo the girl herself with equal unsuccess. Tchatsky's arraignment of the imitation of foreign customs then everywhere prevalent, does not win favor from any one. Worse yet, he expresses his opinion of Moltchalin; and Sophia, in revenge, drops a hint that Tchatsky is crazy. The hint grows apace, and the cause is surmised to be a bullet-wound in the head, received during a recent campaign. Another "authority" contradicts this; it comes from drinking champagne by the gobletful--no, by the bottle--no, by the case. But Famusoff settles the matter by declaring that it comes from knowing too much. This takes place at an evening party at the Famusoffs, and Tchatsky returns to the room to meet with an amazing reception. Eventually, he discovers that he is supposed to be mad, and that he is indebted to Sophia for the origin of the lie; also, that she is making rendezvous with the low-minded, flippant Moltchalin. At last Sophia discovers that Moltchalin is making love to her maid through inclination, and to her only through calculation. She casts him off, and orders him out of the house. Tchatsky, cured of all illusions about her, renounces his suit for her hand, and declares that he will leave Moscow forever. Tchatsky, whose woe is due to his persistence in talking sense and truth to people who do not care to hear it, and to his manly independence all the way through, comes to grief through having too much wit; hence the title.