| THE MAN WHO MARRIED A DUMB WIFE
A comedic monologue from the play by Anatole France
LEONARD: My wife is dumb. Quite dumb. I admit, I noticed it before we
were married. I couldn't help noticing it, of course, but it
didn't seem to make so much difference to me then as it does
now. I considered her beauty, and her property, and thought
of nothing but the advantages of the match and the happiness
I should have with her. But now these matters seem less important,
and I do wish she could talk; that would be a real intellectual
pleasure for me, and, what's more, a practical advantage for
the household. What does a judge need most in his house? Why,
a good-looking wife, to receive the suitors pleasantly, and,
by subtle suggestions, gently bring them to the point of making
proper presents, so that their cases may receive--more careful
attention. People need to be encouraged to make proper presents.
A woman, by clever speech and prudent action, can get a good
ham from one, and a roll of cloth from another; and make still
another give poultry or wine. But this poor dumb thing Catherine
gets nothing at all. While my fellow judges have their kitchens
and cellars and stables and store-rooms running over with good
things, all thanks to their wives, I hardly get wherewithal
to keep the pot boiling. You see, Master Adam Fumée,
what I lose by having a dumb wife. I'm not worth half as much.
. . . And the worst of it is, I'm losing my spirits, and almost
my wits, with it all. When I hold my wife in my arms--a woman
as beautiful as the finest carved statue, at least so I think--and
quite as silent, that I'm sure of--it makes me feel queer and
uncanny; I even ask myself if I'm holding a graven image or
a mechanical toy, or a magic doll made by a sorcerer, not a
real human child of our Father in Heaven; sometimes, in the
morning, I am tempted to jump out of bed to escape from bewitchment.
Worse yet! What with having a dumb wife, I'm going dumb myself.
Sometimes I catch myself using signs, as she does. The other
day, on the Bench, I even pronounced judgment in pantomime,
and condemned a man to the galleys, just by dumb show and gesticulation!
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DON JUAN
A comic monologue from the play by Molière
DON JUAN: What! would you have a man bind himself to the first girl he falls in love with, say farewell to the world for her sake, and have no eyes for anyone else? A fine thing, to be sure, to pride oneself upon the false honour of being faithful, to lose oneself in one passion for ever, and to be blind from our youth up to all the other beautiful women who can captivate our gaze! No, no; constancy is the share of fools. Every beautiful woman has a right to charm us, and the privilege of having been the first to be loved should not deprive the others of the just pretensions which the whole sex has over our hearts. As for me, beauty delights me wherever I meet with it, and I am easily overcome by the gentle violence with which it hurries us along. It matters not if I am already engaged: the love I have for a fair one cannot make me unjust towards the others; my eyes are always open to merit, and I pay the homage and tribute nature claims. Whatever may have taken place before, I cannot refuse my love to any of the lovely women I behold; and, as soon as a handsome face asks it of me, if I had ten thousand hearts I would give them all away. The first beginnings of love have, besides, indescribable charms, and the true pleasure of love consists in its variety. It is a most captivating delight to reduce by a hundred means the heart of a young beauty; to see day by day the gradual progress one makes; to combat with transport, tears, and sighs, the shrinking modesty of a heart unwilling to yield; and to force, inch by inch, all the little obstacles she opposes to our passion; to overcome the scruples upon which she prides herself, and to lead her, step by step, where we would bring her. But, once we have succeeded, there is nothing more to wish for; all the attraction of love is over, and we should fall asleep in the tameness of such a passion, unless some new object came to awake our desires and present to us the attractive perspective of a new conquest. In short, nothing can surpass the pleasure of triumphing over the resistance of a beautiful maiden; and I have in this the ambition of conquerors, who go from victory to victory, and cannot bring themselves to put limits to their longings. There is nothing that can restrain my impetuous yearnings. I have a heart big enough to be in love with the whole world; and, like Alexander, I could wish for other spheres to which I could extend my conquests.
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