ion pours out its vials of
wrath upon Argan, threatening him with every disease that flesh is heir
to. And every time Argan rises from his seat, as though to silence
Purgon, the latter disappears for a moment, being, as it were, thrust
back into the wings; then, as though Impelled by a spring, he rebounds
on to the stage with a fresh curse on his lips. The self-same
exclamation: "Monsieur Purgon!" recurs at regular beats, and, as it
were, marks the TEMPO of this little scene.

Let us scrutinise more closely the image of the spring which is bent,
released, and bent again. Let us disentangle its central element, and
we shall hit upon one of the usual processes of classic
comedy,--REPETITION.

Why is it there is something comic in the repetition of a word on the
stage? No theory of the ludicrous seems to offer a satisfactory answer
to this very simple question. Nor can an answer be found so long as we
look for the explanation of an amusing word or phrase in the phrase or
word itself, apart from all it suggests to us. Nowhere will the usual
method prove to be so inadequate as here. With the exception, however,
of a few special instances to which we shall recur later, the
repetition of a word is never laughable in itself. It makes us laugh
only because it symbolises a special play of moral elements, this play
itself being the symbol of an altogether material diversion. It is the
diversion of the cat with the mouse, the diversion of the child pushing
back the Jack-in-the-box, time after time, to the bottom of his
box,--but in a refined and spiritualised form, transferred to the realm
of feelings and ideas. Let us then state the law which, we think,
defines the main comic varieties of word-repetition on the stage: IN A
COMIC REPETITION OF WORDS WE GENERALLY FIND TWO TERMS: A REPRESSED
FEELING WHICH GOES OFF LIKE A SPRING, AND AN IDEA THAT DELIGHTS IN
REPRESSING THE FEELING ANEW.

When Dorine is telling Orgon of his wife's illness, and the latter
continually interrupts him with inquiries as to the health of Tartuffe,
the question: "Et tartuffe?" repeated every few moments, affords us the
distinct sensation of a spring being released. This spring Dorine
delights in pushing back, each time she resumes her account of Elmire's
illness. And when Scapin informs old Geronte that his son has been
taken prisoner on the famous galley, and that a ransom must be paid
without delay, he is playing with the avarice of Geronte exactly as
D