y the poet himself could fully convey what he alone could have
composed. He performed the principal character in almost all his own
pieces, and adhered to the stage even when many motives occurred to
authorize his retirement.

We do not reckon it any great temptation to Moliere that the Academy
should have opened its arms to receive him, under condition that he
would abandon the profession of an actor; but the reason which he
assigned for declining to purchase the honor at the rate proposed is
worthy of being mentioned. "What can induce you to hesitate?" said
Boileau, charged by the Academicians with the negotiation. "A point of
honor," replied Moliere. "Now," answered his friend, "what honor can
lie in blacking your face with mustachios and assuming the burlesque
disguise of a buffoon, in order to be cudgelled on a public stage?"
"The point of honor," answered Moliere, "consists in my not deserting
more than a hundred persons, whom my personal exertions are necessary
to support." The Academy afterward did honor to themselves and justice
to Moliere by placing his bust in their hall, with this tasteful and
repentant inscription:

"Nothing is wanting to the glory of Moliere. Moliere was wanting to
ours!"

That Moliere alleged no false excuse for continuing on the stage, was
evident when, in the latter years of his life, his decaying health
prompted him strongly to resign. He had been at all times of a
delicate constitution, and liable to pulmonary affections, which were
rather palliated than cured by submission during long intervals to a
milk diet, and by frequenting the country, for which purpose he had a
villa at Auteuil, near Paris. The malady grew more alarming from time
to time, and the exertions of voice and person required by the
profession tended to increase its severity. On February 17, 1673, he
became worse than usual. Baron, an actor of the highest rank and of
his own training, joined with the rest of the company in remonstrating
against their patron going on in the character of Argan. Moliere
answered them in the same spirit which dictated his reply to Boileau.
"There are fifty people," he said, "who must want their daily bread,
if the spectacle is put off. I should reproach myself with their
distress if I suffered them to sustain such a loss, having the power
to prevent it."

He acted accordingly that evening, but suffered most cruelly in the
task of disguising his sense of internal pain. A singular cont