Moliere's friends urged him to give up the stage.

"Your health is going," Boileau would say to him, "because the duties of a comedian exhaust you.

Why not give it up ?" "Alas!" replied Moliere, with a sigh, "it is a point of honor that prevents me." "A what ?" rejoined Boileau; "what! to smear your face with a mustache as Sganarelle, and come on the stage to be thrashed with a stick?
That is a pretty point of honor for a philosopher like you!" Moliere might probably have followed the advice of Boileau, he might probably have listened to the silent warnings of his failing powers, if he had not been unfortunate and sad.

Unhappy in his marriage, justly jealous and yet passionately fond of his wife, without any consolation within him against the bitternesses and vexations of his life, he sought in work and incessant activity the only distractions which had any charm for a high spirit, constantly wounded in its affections and its legitimate pride: _Psyche, Les Fourberies de Scapin, La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas,_ betrayed nothing of their author's increasing sadness or suffering.

_Les Femmes Savantes_ had at first but little success; the piece was considered heavy; the marvellous nicety of the portraits, the correctness of the judgments, the delicacy and elegance of the dialogue, were not appreciated until later on.