The amusing repetitions wrought into the mechanism
of comedy are, as Moli^re may tell us, commonly far less
aggressive. The reproduction of the series of exclama-
tions of Cldonte on the perfidy of his mistress by his
valet, Covielle, in Le Bov/rgeois gentilhomme, and the
counterpart to this, the slightly varied repetitions of the
reproaches of Cleonte's mistress by her maid, are quite
delightfully suggestive of a plot on the part of Love to
reduce his victims to one level of imbecility. ^

Comedy, both ancient and modern, is full of trickery and ^
dupery. A whole play may be one big piece of fooling,
ending for the most part in a merry scene in which the
deluded victim or victims come to their senses again. The
spectator, who is in the secret, enjoys sympathetically the
laughter of the plot-maker.
One of the simplest and earliest comic devices, another L|-^
outgrowth from child's play, seems to be a disguise. The
figures of comedy towards whom our laughter is guided are
not gifted with the finest of visions, and a small amount of
disguise, especially when it meets and flatters their desires,
suffices for complete deception. Classic comedy and that
of Shakespeare make large use of such trickery.
1 Compare the breezy fun of the scene in Le Twrtuffe, where the
maid, Dorine, has to tackle in turn each of a pair of lovers urging the
same grievances in almost the same vyords (Act II., So. iv.).
