Before Rousseau, Bossuet and Nicole had spoken of the Theatre in the same manner; and before Bossuet and Nicole, Saint Chrysostom had condemned it. Shall we attempt to protest against this anathema? Shall we endeavor to maintain, as the philosophers of the eighteenth century did, that the Theatre is a school of morality? No: let us recognize the evil where it lies; but let us so measure it that it may not appear to be greater than it is. We will not extol the stage, but we will only condemn it for the faults which belong to it. We ought not to expect of it the purity of Christian morality; whoever wishes that, must go to seek it at the Church. Nor ought we to ask of it the severe and high-toned morality of the Porch; nor should we even expect of it the virtuous hatred which the sight of evil gives to good people: it rather takes the part of Philente, who quietly takes men as he finds them, than the part of Alceste. Let us not believe, however, that the drama is, of all the kinds of literature, the most destitute of morality. The mirror of human life, the Theatre, is as moral as our experience; and we may add, alas! to disguise nothing of its inefficacy, as moral as the experience of others, which avail but little in producing a reform.

We will consider in another place what are the dangers of the Theatre in a moral point of view. We wish at present only to ascertain if it is true that Moliere, in his comedies, wished to weaken paternal authority. We will remark first, that the fathers, husbands, and old men whom Moliere makes game of, are not ridiculous in their character of father, husband, and old man, but for the vices and the passions which dishonor in them this very character. In the School for Husbands, Sganarelle is ridiculous, not because he is old, but because being old, he is amorous, and a cold and morose lover, which is contrary to the character of love. And it is so true that Sganarelle is not ridiculous on account of his age, but on account of his faults, that on the side of him is Aristes, his brother, old also and amorous, but amiable and indulgent, who is the hero of the piece, and whom the young Leonora willingly marries. It is not old age that Moliere ridicules, but the faults which dishonor it. We cannot say as much for Arnolfe in the School for Wives: he is not ridiculous because he is old, but because he is captious and jealous. George Dandin is not ridiculous because he is married, but because he has made a marriage of vanity, and he pays

the penalty of his pride. Harpagon, in fine, amuses us not as a father, but because he is avaricious; and if his son is wanting in respect for him, it is because the miser, the usurer, and the amorous old man, the three vices, or the three ridiculous qualities in Harpagon, conceal the paternal char

acter.

Comedy, in causing the vices to punish each other, represents the justice of the world as it is; a justice which is accomplished by the aid of the human passions which contend with each other, and alternately obtain the mastery. It is this justice which the proverbs also express, which are only comic ideas recapitulated in maxims, when they say, for example: to the avaricious wife, a gallant sharper. When the passions are strong and violent, this justice is terrible, and creates the emotion of tragedy; when the passions are more insignificant and trivial, this justice is jocose and humorous; it then creates the ridicule of comedy.

An attentive study of the parts of father and son, of Harpagon and Cleanthe, in The Miser, will justify these reflections.

If we wished in a sermon, to describe avarice, and to render it odious, if we said that this passion made us forget every thing, honor, friendship, and family; that the miser prefers his gold to his children; that if they were reduced by the avarice of their father to the greatest extremities, they would very soon cease to respect him, and that this revolt of the children is the chastisement of the avarice of the father ; if we said all that in a sermon, who would be astonished? Who would think of pretending to say, that in speaking thus, we encourage children to forget the respect which they owe to their parents? Moliere, in the scene of The Miser, which J. J. Rousseau censures, has only put in action this sermon which we have imagined. When the father forgets his honor, the son forgets the respect which he owes to his father. We are not in fact deceived: a glorious title is that of a father of a family; it is almost that of a priest; but it is a title which obliges, and if it gives rights, it also imposes duties. We know well that a son should never accuse his father, even though he should be culpable; that is the precept, but it is, alas! the practice only of virtuous sons. But Moliere, in The Miser, did not at all intend to represent Cleanthe as a virtuous son, whom we must approve at the expense of his father; he only wished to oppose avarice to prodigality, because these

are the two vices which, contrasting most strongly, can, for that very reason, conflict with each other, and punish each other most effectually.

Another art of comedy consists, while causing the passions to combat each other, in preventing the shock from being too violent; which would turn it into tragedy. In The Miser, Moliere has avoided this rock in an admirable manner; and it is the more remarkable, since he always keeps near to it. See the scene in which Cleanthe, expecting a usurer, recognized his father: what an unexpected surprise, and how easy it would have been to fall into grand sentiments! Suppose a sententious or sentimental son, or rather, suppose a son who has not his faults, and who should not be, like his father, taken in flagrante delictu: what a fine opportunity for an inferior to teach lessons to a superior, which pleases so much nowadays! In Moliere, we see nothing of the kind: the situation is peculiar, but it remains comic; every thing is said, but always in the tone of comedy.

Harpagon. How, villain! It is you who have abandoned yourself to these culpable extremities?

Cleanthe. How, my father! Is it you who commit such shameful actions?

Harpagon. It is you who wish to ruin yourself by such extravagant loans !

Cleanthe. It is you who seek to enrich yourself by such crimina! usuries!

Harpagon. Do you then dare, after that, to appear before me? Cleanthe. Do you then dare, after that, to show yourself before the world?

Harpagon. Tell me, are you not ashamed to enter into such debauches, to involve yourself in such frightful expenses, and to dissipate the property which your parents have earned with so much labor?

Cleanthe. Do you not blush to dishonor your condition by the traffic which you have made; to sacrifice glory and reputation to the insatiable desire of hoarding up money, and to increase its interest, by using the most infamous arts which the most notorious usurers have ever invented?

Act ii. scenes 2 and 3.

In this scene, what makes the comedy, is that both of them accuse each other; Harpagon accuses Cleanthe, and Cleanthe accuses Harpagon. But the little respect which we have for Cleanthe, saves the paternal authority from the re

proaches which it would have received. If Cleanthe, instead of being a prodigal and a libertine, was a virtuous and prudent son; if, as in the melodramas of our days, Moliere, opposing virtue to vice, had made a hoary-headed moralist of the son of Harpagon; if, in a word, we had been able to take seriously the reproaches which he casts upon his father, instead of laughing alternately at that passion which rebukes. the other, the scene would have been more dangerous for the paternal authority: the serious would have destroyed all; the laugh saves all.

The examination, in another scene of The Miser, and it is that which J. J. Rousseau has attacked most violently, will still better explain what we mean. We refer to the scene in which Harpagon announces to his son, that he wishes to give him Marianne for a wife, and makes him confess that he has loved her for a long time; then, after having obtained this confession, gives him to understand that he must renounce his love: for Marianne will be his mother-inlaw, and not his wife.

We know that Mithridates, wishing to tear from Monime the confession of the love which she has for Xiphares, employs the same expedient as Harpagon: he makes her believe also, that he wishes to give her Xiphares for a husband; and when she has confessed to the King that she has loved Xiphares for a long time, he orders her to forget him. It is curious to see Harpagon and Mithridates, comedy and tragedy, employ the same expedient, and bring about the same revolt.

Harpagon. So you have no inclination, then, for Marianne ?
Cleanthe. None at all.

Harpagon. I regret it, for that banishes a thought which had come into my mind. I have made, in seeing her here, a reflection upon my age, and have thought that they would blame me for marrying so young a person. This consideration has made me abandon the intention; and, as I have demanded her, and have pledged my word to her, I would have given her to you, were it not for the aversion which you show for her.

Cleanthe. To me?
Harpagon. To you.

Cleanthe. In marriage?

Harpagon. In marriage.

Cleanthe. Hear me. It is true that she is not very much to my taste; but, to do you a pleasure, my father, I will consent to marry her, if you desire it.

Harpagon. Me! Yes, I am more reasonable than you think. I do not wish to force your inclination

Cleanthe. Well! my father, since things are so, it is necessary that you should know my heart; it is necessary to reveal our secret to you. The truth is, I loved her since the day that I met her in a promenade; my intention was to demand her of you as my wife, and nothing has prevented me but the declaration of your sentiments, and the fear of displeasing you. Act iv. scene 3.

When Harpagon tells Cleanthe that he must renounce his love for Marianne, he resists his father; but the vivacity of the scene does not go out of the tone of comedy.

Cleanthe. Yes, my father, it is thus that you trifle with me! Ah well! Since things have come to that, I declare to you, that I will not give up the passion which I have for Marianne: there is no extremity to which I would not resort in order to dispute her conquest with you; and if you have, for yourself, the consent of a mother,

I will have friends who will combat for me!

Harpagon. How, villain! Have you the audacity to oppose me? Cleanthe. It is you who oppose me; I have a prior claim. Harpagon. Am I not your father, and do you not owe me respect?

Cleanthe. These are not matters in which children are obliged to yield to parents, and love knows nobody.

Harpagon. I will make you know me, by beating you with my

cane.

Cleanthe. All your threats will not affect me.

Harpagon. Leave me, traitor!

Cleanthe. Do just what you please.

Harpagon. I forbid you to see me again.

Cleanthe. Be it so.

Harpagon. I abandon you.

Cleanthe. Abandon.

Harpagon. I renounce you for my son.

Cleanthe. Be it so.

Harpagon. I disinherit you.

Cleanthe. Do all that you please.

Harpagon. And I give you my malediction.
Cleanthe. I care nothing about your gifts.

Act iv. scenes 3 and 5.

Has Harpagon the right to curse his son, after having trifled with him as he has done? A grave question, which comedy is careful about resolving, or even proposing; and it is for this reason that it is occupied in laughing, which is