Sganarelle appears in this piece for the first time, if we except the farce, or rather sketch, of the _Medecin volant_, where in reality nothing is developed, but everything is in mere outline. But in Sganarelle Moliere has created a character that is his own just as much as Falstaff belongs to Shakespeare, Sancho Panza to Cervantes, or Panurge to Rabelais. Whether Sganarelle is a servant, a husband, the father of Lucinde, the brother of Ariste, a guardian, a faggot-maker, a doctor, he always represents the ugly side of human nature, an antiquated, grumpy, sullen, egotistical, jealous, grovelling, frightened character, ever and anon raising a laugh on account of his boasting, mean, morose, odd qualities. Moliere was, at the time he wrote _Sganarelle_, more than thirty years old, and could therefore no longer successfully represent Mascarille as the rollicking servant of the _Blunderer_. This farce was published by a certain Mr. Neufvillenaine, who was so smitten by it that, after having seen it represented several times, he knew it by heart, wrote it out, and published it, accompanied by a running commentary, which is not worth much, and preceded by a letter to a friend in which he extols its beauties. Moliere got, in 1663, his name inserted, instead of that of Neufvillenaine, in the _privilege du roi_. Mr. Henry Baker, the translator of this play, in the "Select Comedies of M. de Moliere, London, 1732," oddly dedicates it to Miss Wolstenholme [Footnote: I suppose the lady was a descendant of Sir John Wolstenholme, mentioned in one of the notes of Pepy's Diary, Sept. 5, 1662, as created a baronet, 1664, an intimate friend of Lord Clarendon's, and collector outward for the Port of London--ob. 1679.] in the following words:-- MADAM, Be so good to accept this little Present as an Instance of my high Esteem. Whoever has any Knowledge of the French Language, or any Taste for COMEDY, must needs distinguish the Excellency of _Moliere's_ Plays: one of which is here translated. What the _English_ may be, I leave others to determine; but the ORIGINAL, which you receive along with it, is, I am certain, worthy your Perusal. Tho' what You read, at present, is called a DEDICATION, it is, perhaps, the most unlike one of any thing You ever saw: for, You'll find not one Word, in Praise, either of Your blooming Youth, Your agreeable Person, Your genteel Behaviour, Your easy Temper, or Your good Sense... and, the Reason is, that I cannot for my Life bring myself to such a Degree of Impertinence, as to sit down with a solemn Countenance, and Take upon me to inform the World, that the Sun is bright, and that the Spring is lovely. My Knowledge of You from Your Infancy, and the many Civilities I am obliged for to Your Family, will, I hope, be an Excuse for this Presumption in, MADAM, _Your most obedient humble servant_ H. B. Enfield, Jan. 1st 1731-2.