Moliere, The School for Wives

Moliere, The School for Wives, transl. & introduced by Richard Wilbur, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich & Co., New York, 1971

The play seems to assert that any effort to impose expectations on life will meet with surprises, and that a narrow, rigid, and inhumane demand will not be honored by Nature. (Introduction, x)

The plot of L’Ecole des femmes has often been criticized for its unlikelihood. Doubtless Moliere was careless of the fact, since, as W.G. Moore has written, “The plot is not the main thing at all…The high points of the play are not the turning points of the action; they are moments when the clash of youth and age, of spontaneity and automatism, takes shape in speech and scene.” And yet it may not be too much to say that the absurdity of the plot is expressive, that it presents us with the world as Arnolphe is bound to experience it. To an obsessed man, the world will be full of exasperating irrelevancies… (x)

Arnolphe. Your wife, no doubt, is a wise, virtuous woman,
But brightness, as a rule, is a bad omen,
And I know men who’ve undergone much pain
Because they married girls with too much brain.
I want no intellectual, if you please,
Who’ll talk to nothing but her Tuesday teas,
Who’ll frame lush sentiments in prose and verse
And fill the house with wits, and fops, and worse,
While I, as her dull husband, stand about
Like a poor saint whose candles have gone out.
No, keep your smart ones; I’ve no taste for such.
Women who versify know far too much. (1.1.10)

Arnolphe. In short, I want an unaccomplished wife,
And there are four things only she must know:
To say her prayers, love me, spin, and sew.
/
Chrysalde. Stupidity’s your cup of tea, I gather.
/
Arnolphe. I’d choose an ugly, stupid woman rather
Than a great beauty who was over-wise. (1.1.11)

Arnolphe. I’m rich, and so can take a wife who’ll be
Dependent, in the least respect, on me—
A sweet, submissive girl who cannot claim
To have brought me riches or an ancient name.
The gentle, meek expression which she wore
Endeared Agnes to me when she was four;
…
In a small convent, far from the haunts of man
The girl was reared according to my plan:
I told the nuns what means must be employed
To keep her growing mind a perfect void, (1.1.12)


Arnolphe. You won’t believe this, but the other day
She came and asked me in a puzzled way,
And with a manner touchingly sincere,
If children are begotten through the ear. (1.1.14)

Arnolphe. Oh! … What I’ve suffered during this conversation!
No soul has ever endured such agitation. (1.4.34)

Alain. Suppose you were eating soup, and it occurred
That someone tried to take what you were eating:
Wouldn’t you feel like giving him a beating?
Georgette. Yes, I see that.
Alain. Then grasp this, if you can.
Womankind is, in fact, the soup of man,
And when a man perceives the others wish
To dip their dirty fingers into his dish,
His temper flares, and bursts into a flame. (2.3.42)

Agnes. Then an old woman came, next day,
And found me standing in the entryway.
She said to me, “May Heaven bless you, dear,
And keep you beautiful for many a year.
God, who bestowed on you such grace and charm,
Did not intend those gifts to do men harm,
And you should know that there’s a heart which bears
A wound which you’ve inflicted unawares.” (2.5.48)

Arnolphe. Remember now—
Georgette. Oh, Sir, we won’t forget again, I vow.
That young man won’t get round us any more.
Alain. I’ll give up drink if he gets through that door.
Anyway, he’s an idiot; we bit
Two coins he gave us, and they were counterfeit. (3.1.64)

Arnolphe. My dear, I’m going to wed you, and you should bless
Your vast good fortune and your happiness.
Reflect upon your former low estate,
And judge, then, if my goodness is not great
…
Be ever mindful, Agnes, that you would be,
Without this union, a nonentity;
And let that thought incline your heart to merit
The name which I shall lend you, and bear it (3.2.65)

Arnolphe. And though there are two portions of mankind,
Those portions are not equal, you will find:
One half commands, the other must obey;
The second serves the first in every way;
And that obedience which the soldier owes
His general, or the loyal servant shows
His master, or the good child pays his sire,
Or the stern abbot looks for in the friar,
Is nothing to the pure docility,
The deep submission and humility
Which a good wife must ever exhibit toward
The man who is her master, chief, and lord. (3.2.66)

Arnolphe. Study his teaching faithfully, and heed it.
Here, take the book; let’s hear how well you read it. (3.2.67)

Agnes reading from The Maxims of Marriage, or, The Duties of a Married Woman, Together with Her Daily Exercises:
She needs no fine attire
More than he may desire
Who is her lord and master.
To dress for any taste but his is vain; (3.2.68)

Let her be veiled whenever she leaves the house,
So that her features are obscure and dim.
If she desires to please her spouse,
She must please no one else but him. (3.2.68)

She has no need, whatever she may think,
Of writing table, paper, pen, or ink.
In a proper house, the husband is the one
To do whatever writing’s to be done. (3.2.69)

It is not good for wives
To go on gay excursions,
Picnics, or country drives. [69]
In all such light diversions,
No matter who’s the host,
The husband pay the most. (3.2.69-70)

Horace. Love is indeed a wondrous master, Sir,
Whose teaching makes us what we never were, (3.4.77)

Arnolphe. She has no funds, no family, yet she can dare
Abuse my lavish kindness and my care; (3.5.83)

Arnolphe. The more she sat there, cool and unperturbed,
The less I thought my fury could be curbed;
Yet, strange to say, my heart’s increasing ire
Seemed only to redouble my desire. (4.1.87)

Notary. As a general rule, the husband gives the bride
A dowry that’s one-third the size of hers; (4.2.91)

Notary. Why shrug your shoulders? Am I taking rot?
Do I know contracts, Sir, or do I not? (4.2.91)

Arnophle. As for Agnes, I’ll keep her under guard,
And all dishonest women shall be barred—
Hairdressers, glovers, handkerchief-makers, those
Who come to the door with ribbons, pin, and bow,
And often, as a sideline to such wares,
Are go-betweens in secret love affairs. (4.5.99)

Chrysalde. One shouldn’t ape those husbands who permit
Such scandal, and who take a pride in it,
Dropping the names of their wives’ latest gallants,
Praising their persons, bragging of their talents,
…
If men do wrong to flatter their wives’ gallants,
It’s no less bad when, lacking tact and balance,
They vent their grievances with savage fury,
Calling the whole world to be judge and jury,
And won’t be satisfied till they acquaint
All ears whatever with their loud complaint.
Between these two extremes, my friend, there lies
A middle way that’s favored by the wise,
And which, if followed, will preserve one’s face
However much one’s wife may court disgrace.
…
It can be lived with, if one has the wit
To take it calmly, and make the best of it. (4.8.106)

Arnolphe. Tonight, I’ll give a lesson to mankind.
If all endangered husbands took a mind
To greet their wives’ intrusive gallants thus,
Cuckolds, I think, would be less numerous. (4.9.111)

Agnes. Yes; but if I may give my point of view,
He’d suit me, as a husband, better than you.
In all your talk of marriage, you depict
A state that’s gloomy, burdensome, and strict;
But, ah! when he describes the married state,
It sounds so sweet that I can hardly wait. (5.4.126)

Agnes. Good heavens, it’s not I whom you should blame.
He made me love him; why didn’t you do the same? (5.4.128)

Agnes. Do you fancy that I’m blind to what you’ve done,
And cannot see that I’m a simpleton?
Oh, it humiliates me; I revolt
Against the shame of being such a dolt. (5.4.130)

Chrysalde. I know that you’re in a painful state of mind;
Yet what the Fates have done is not unkind.
Since your chief treasures is a hornless head,
The safest course, for you, is not to wed.
Arnolphe, exiting the play in a speechless passion. Oof! (5.9.145)