Alceste did not leave the stage triumphant like Mascarille; he lost the capricious love of Célimène and the steadfast loyal devotion of Éliante as he marched off into the silence of the empty desert life that awaited him. It is generally accepted that it was about this time he and Armande chose to live apart. Almost as if he had visited the temple of Aesculapius – the god of healing located in sanctuaries near most Greek theaters – the actor, to ease the pain of his mounting personal and business problems, seemed to pay the cock to Aesculapius and go back to the basic lecheries that had nothing at stake for the man behind the mask of comedy. He found nourishment in the pure, simple joy of being on stage and getting the thunderous laugh at the same moment in time from everyone in the audience. The ironic smile is gone. The belly laugh is heard in the land.

It's not difficult to imagine that following the gasping needs of Arnolphe, the lecheries of Tartuffe, the power trips of Don Juan, the passions of Alceste, as well as all the poisonous reactions to these four masterpieces about deadly serious issues – plus all that time on milk – Molière might have felt pressured not only to recover his own health but also to develop a healthier box-office. Maybe laughter became more attractive to him than dramatic ambiguities.