Don Juan (Harvest Book) [Paperback]

"What a fine creed that is! So far as I can see, your religion consists of arithmetic." --said to Don Juan by his valet, Sganarelle

Richard Wilbur won the National Book Award, the Pulitzer Prize, and he has served as Poet Laureate of the United States. His translation of Moliere's once censored comedy, Don Juan (1665), successfully conveys to English readers not only the words but also the humor of the original. For his translation, Wilbur wrote an insightful Introduction explicating the play's moral subtleties.

The play's renowned French comic dramatist, Moliere (1622-1673), previously authored Tartuffe (1664), a comedy lampooning religious hypocrisy. However, Tartuffe offended pious sensibilities to the point that performances of it halted prematurely. As observed in Wilbur's Introduction, Moliere may have hoped to placate religious militants opposed to Tartuffe with a comedy about a young, wealthy, atheistic, amorous scoundrel that gets his just punishment in hell.

However, if placation of religious scruples partially motivated Moliere to select the Don Juan character, his intention failed. The comedy outraged the pious, forcing him to make cuts after the first performance. Like Tartuffe, Don Juan closed early although it was a box-office success. Wilbur suggests that the primary reason it offended is its moral ambiguity. For although Don Juan gets his just punishment for his wickedness, mockery of orthodoxy is just below the surface of the plot.

For example, in Act 1, Scene 1, orthodox beliefs are implicitly put on a par with superstition when Don Juan's valet, Sganarelle, reports that his master "doesn't believe in Heaven, or Hell, or werewolves even." In Act 3, Scene 1, Sganarelle asks if Don Juan believes in Heaven, Hell, and the Devil, to each of which he makes plain his disbelief. Finally, Sganarelle asks if he believes in the Bogeyman, and he answers, "Don't be an idiot." Sganarelle then objects, "Now there you go too far, for there's nothing truer in this world than the Bogeyman; I'll stake my life on that." Thus, Moliere casts a nincompoop as an apologist of orthodoxy.

Another offensive characterization is the pious Poor Man in Scene 2 of Act 3. He is an idiot living alone for ten years in the woods praying for the prosperity of those who give him alms while he himself lacks "a crust of bread to chew on." Don Juan suggests that he worry less about others and pray to Heaven for a coat. Offering him a gold coin, Don Juan says, "Here it is, take it. Take it, I tell you. But first you must blaspheme." The Poor Man replies, "No, Sir, I'd rather starve to death."

Perhaps most offensive is Don Juan's explanation of why he has decided to become a religious hypocrite in Act 5, Scene 2. Being a hypocrite will make it easier to hide his misconduct and make obtaining forgiveness easier by repentance if found out. Moreover, being the hypocrite will enable him to accuse his enemies of impiety, thereby stirring up against them "a swarm of ignorant zealots."

Thus, in Moliere's Don Juan, nothing is sacred, and Richard Wilbur's translation captures every outrageous bit of it. Buy it, read it and laugh!

This play is a treat to read, and I can't wait to see it performed. Moliere, however, must share the spotlight with the translator, Richard Wilbur, who shows an elegant flair for conversational prose. The contemporary American reader lives in a land of waning religiosity, yet one in which theocracy is ironically gaining influence in national politics. It is in this context that we have to smile, if not laugh, when Don Juan says,

"It's no longer shameful to be a dissembler; hypocrisy is now a fashionable vice and all the fashionable vices pass for virtues. The part of the God-fearing man is the best possible role to play nowadays, and in our present society the hypocrite's profession has extraordinary advantages. It's an art whose dishonesty always goes unchallenged...The hypocrite, by means of pious pretenses, attaches himself to the devout, and anyone who then assails him is set upon by a great phalanx of the godly...The true believers are easily hoodwinked by the false...I can't tell you how many men I know who, by means of a feigned devotion, have glossed over the sins of their youth, wrapped themselves in the cloak of religion, and in that holy disguise are now free to be the worst of scoundrels!"

Amazon's rules prohibit me from disclosing the ending, though it has been known for some 331 years, but I will tell you that it leaves Don Juan's valet, Sganarelle, wondering how he'll ever get his back pay.

To call someone a "Don Juan" today is to call him a womanizer, or if you're willing to be a bit more generous in your interpretation, a smooth-operating romancer. That was the beginning and end of my knowledge of all things Don Juan until about two years ago when I first saw the legend of Don Juan performed on stage. It was then that I learned that "womanizer" only begins to scratch the surface of the character, and that Don Juan is in fact an unrepentant libertine who undoes women at every opportunity and then moves on to his next target with the clearest of consciences and without so much as a glance backwards.

Recently, I was reminded of that play and that in turn has spurred an interest in reading the various interpretations of the Don Juan story. The most well known are the original 1630 play by the Spanish playwright Tirso de Molina; Moliere's version that followed a few decades later; a 19th century play by another Spanish playwright by the name of Jose Zorrilla; and Byron's unfinished magnum opus.

An English version of Tirso de Molina's play has been hard to come by, so my reading of the many Don Juan's began with Richard Wilbur's translation of Moliere's work, and it proved to be a thoroughly enjoyable starting point. Moliere's play wonderfully balances wit and at times even rollick with deeper, empathetic moments, such as a powerful scene in which Don Juan's father denounces his son for his baseness and for his disregard of his family's noble legacy, which Don Juan knowingly cheapens through his morally corrupt lifestyle. As for Don Juan himself, there is no deed that is too wicked. As the play opens, we learn that his most recent conquest was a certain Doña Elvira, a nun whom Don Juan, under promise of marriage, beguiled into leaving the convent and breaking her vows. When Don Juan sets his eye on his next seducee, Don Juan's explanation of why he can no longer bear to be with Doña Elvira only adds impiety to his already impious deed, and it's a wonder that God does not make a dark smudge of Don Juan right then and there. Yet despite Don Juan's utterly contemptible acts, Moliere does not make him entirely unsympathetic. Don Juan may be a monster, but he's one that possesses the gifts of charm and eloquence, and we can't help but to find him fascinating. His defense of his actions, and by extension of his immorality, is brilliant and perverse and deeply seductive all at once; his discourse on hypocrisy is sharp and scathing and tempts us, not entirely without success, to reconsider his moral abrogation against the backdrop of society's insincerity. For all his deplorable acts, at least it can be said that Don Juan is true to himself, even in the face of terrible consequences.

As for Richard Wilbur's work in translating Moliere's play, I'm always somewhat reluctant to comment on the quality of a translation. For one, the very reason that I'm reading a translation is that I'm unversed in the original language, and second, I rarely fully read multiple translations of a given work. When there are multiple translations available, I generally read a few passages in each and compare them to find which one speaks to me more. In the case of Moliere's Don Juan, that translation was Wilbur's; the language is vibrant and modern and free of the stodginess that I encountered in older translations. If you're interested in reading Moliere's Don Juan, which I wholeheartedly recommend, then this I believe is the translation to go with.