Ninon de l'Enclos and her centuryRowsell, Mary C. (Mary Catherine)
History
Ninon de l'Enclos and her century
Rowsell, Mary C. (Mary Catherine)
Lenclos, Ninon de, 1620-1705
Molière’s recent plays had raised him to the height of his fame.
He suffered from the usual gnat-bites and little stings of
jealousy inseparable from literary success. The critics did their
spitefullest. The critics, said Molière, were like the children who
can whip horses, but cannot drive them.
Molière’s life, apart from its work, was more than incomplete; it was
a cruel one. The wife he had chosen, Madeleine Béjârt, the daughter
of an actress of his company, was a silly, ignorant little coquette,
in no way worthy of him, and constantly giving him cause for jealousy.
On the production of _Tartufe_, the plaudits rang again and again
from floor to ceiling. _Veluti in speculum._ The cap fitted many
heads so admirably, so entirely, that the comedy created the author
a host of enemies among the bigots and the hypocrites whom his satire
so vigorously lashed. Orgon, who has seen at church a young man who
conducts himself with such a devout air that he believes in its
genuineness, and receives him into his own family, which he neglects
in his great admiration for Tartufe. He is on the point even of
proposing to give him his daughter in marriage, when, hidden under
a table, concealed by a deep, trailing tablecloth, he overhears his
protégé’s declaration of passion for Elmire, his own wife. “_Mais,
madame, après tout, je ne suis pas un ange_,” says Tartufe. The
scene is inimitable, with its crowning picture of Orgon’s face of
mingled rage and smiling satisfaction, peering up from the folds
of the tablecloth at the discomfited scoundrel, whom he forthwith
turns out of the house. Tartufe’s endeavour to circumvent Orgon
only brings condign punishment on the impostor, who is sent to
expiate his misdeeds in prison. Shallow pretence and profession of
piety, shibboleths the world has always with it; and the truth of
the picture struck home with such a shock, that the piece ran in
perilous risk of being condemned. The king, however, commanded a
representation of it at Versailles. “_Le roi le veut_, and unfading
laurels crown _Tartufe_.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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