Not that I here intend to personate the bashful Author, and out of a
point of Honour undervalue my Comedy. I should very unseasonably
disoblige all the People of Paris, should I accuse them of having
applauded a foolish Thing: as the Public is absolute Judge of such sort
of Works, it would be Impertinence in me to contradict it; and even if I
should have had the worst Opinion in the World of my _Pretentious Young
Ladies_ before they appeared upon the Stage, I must now believe them of
some Value, since so many People agree to speak in their behalf. But as
great part of the Pleasure it gave depends upon the Action and Tone of
the Voice, it behooved me, not to let them be deprived of those
Ornaments; and that success they had in the representation, was, I
thought, sufficiently favorable for me to stop there. I was, I say,
determined, to let them only be seen by Candlelight, that I might give
no room for any one to use the Proverb; [Footnote: In Moliere's time it
was proverbially said of a woman, "_Elle est belle a la chandelle, mais
le grand jour gate tout_." She is beautiful by candle-light, but
day-light spoils everything.] nor was I willing they should leap from
the Theatre de Bourbon into the _Galerie du Palais_. [Footnote: The
_Galerie du Palais_ was the place where Moliere's publisher lived.]
Notwithstanding, I have been unable to avoid it, and am fallen under the
Misfortune of seeing a surreptitious Copy of my Play in the Hands of the
Booksellers, together with a Privilege, knavishly obtained, for printing
it. I cried out in vain, O Times! O Manners! They showed me that there
was a Necessity for me to be in print, or have a Law-suit; and the last
evil is even worse than the first. Fate therefore must be submitted to,
and I must consent to a Thing, which they would not fail to do without
me.

Lord, the strange Perplexity of sending a book abroad! and what an