and private. We cannot expect to find strictness of moral conduct in
French comedians, in an age when the manners of the whole country was
corrupt, and civil war loosened still more the bonds of society, and
produced a state characterised as being "a singular mixture of
libertinism and sedition, rife with wars at once sanguinary and
frivolous; when the magistrates girded on the sword, and bishops assumed
a uniform; when the heroines of the court followed at once the camp and
church processions, and factious wits made impromptus on rebellion, and
composed madrigals on the field of battle." The war of the Fronde
produced a state of license and intrigue: and of course it must be
expected that such should be found in a company of strolling actors; to
detail the loves of Molière at this time would excite little interest,
except inasmuch as it would seem that he brought an affectionate heart
and generous spirit, to ennoble what in a less elevated character would
have been mere intrigue. Madeleine Bejart was a woman of talent as well
as beauty; her brothers were men of good principles and conduct. The
sort of liberal, friendly, and frank-hearted spirit that characterised
the circle of friends, is well described in the autobiography of a
singular specimen of the manners of those times. D'Assouçy was a sort
of troubadour; a good musician, and an agreeable poet, who travelled
from town to town, lute in hand, and followed by two pages, who took
parts in his songs; gaining his bread, and squandering what he gained
without forethought. At Lyons, he fell in with Molière, and the
brothers Bejart. He continues: "The stage has charms, and I could not
easily quit these delightful friends. I remained three months at Lyons,
amidst plays and feasts, though I had better not have staid three days,
for I met with various disasters in the midst of my amusements (he was
stripped of all his money in a gambling-house.) Having heard that I
should find a soprano voice at Avignon, whom I could engage to join me,
I embarked on the Rhone with Molière, and arrived at Avignon with forty
pistoles in my pocket, the relics of my wreck." He then goes on to state
how he was stripped of this sum among gamblers and jews; and adds, "But
a man is never poor while he has friends; and having Molière and all
the family of Bejart as allies, I found myself, despite fortune and
jews, richer and happier than ever; for these generous people were not
satisfied by assisting me as friends, they treated me as a relation.
When they were invited to the States, I accompanied them to Pezenas, and
I cannot tell the kindness I received from all. They say that the
fondest brother tires of a brother in a month; but these, more generous
than all the brothers in the world, invited me to their table during the
whole winter; and, though I was really their guest, I felt myself at
home. I never saw so much kindness, frankness, or goodness, as among
these people, worthy of being the princes whom they personated on the
stage."
At Pezenas, to which place they were invited by the prince of Conti,
Molière's company found a warm welcome and generous pay from the prince
himself. Molière got up, for the prince's amusement, not only the two
regular plays which he had written, but other farcical interludes, which
became afterwards the groundwork of his best comedies. Among these were
the "Le Docteur Pedant;[34]" "Gorgibus dans le Sac" (the forerunner of
"La Fourberies de Scapin"); "Le grand Benet de Fils," who afterwards
flourished as "Le Médecin malgré Lui;" "Le grand Benet de fils," who
appears to have blossomed hereafter into _Thomas Diafoirus_, in the
"Malade Imaginaire." There were also "Le Docteur Amoureux," "Le Maître
d'École," and "La Jalousie de Barbouillé." All these farces perished.
Boileau, notwithstanding his love for classical correctness, lamented
their loss; as he said, there was always something spirited and
animating in the slightest of Molière's works.
These theatrical amusements delighted the prince of Conti; and their
author became such a favourite, that he offered him the place of his
secretary, which Molière declined. We are told that the prince, with
all his kindness of intention, was of such a tyrannical temper, that his
late secretary had died in consequence of ill treatment, having been
knocked down by the prince with the fire-tongs, and killed by the blow.
We do not wonder, therefore, at Molière's refusing the glittering bait.
And in addition to the independence of his spirit, he loved his art, and
no doubt felt the workings of that genius which hereafter gave such
splendid tokens of its existence, and which is ever obnoxious to the
trammels of servitude.
He continued for some time in Languedoc and Provence, and formed a
friendship at Avignon with Mignard, which lasted to the end of their
lives, and to which we owe the spirited portrait of Molière, which
represents to the life the eager, impassioned, earnest and honest
physiognomy of this great man. As Paris became tranquil Molière turned
his eyes thitherward, desirous of establishing his company in the
metropolis. He went first to Grenoble and then to Rouen, where, after
some negotiation and delay, and several journeys to Paris, he obtained
the protection of monsieur, the king's brother; was presented by him to
the king and queen-mother, and finally obtained permission to establish
himself in the capital.
The rival theatre was at the Hôtel de Bourgogne; here Corneille's
tragedies were represented by the best tragic actors of the time.[34]
The first appearance of Molière's company before Louis XIV. and his
mother, Anne of Austria, took place at the Louvre. "Nicomede" was the
play selected; success attended the attempt, and the actresses in
particular met with great applause. Yet even then Molière felt that his
company could not compete with its rival in tragedy: when the curtain
fell, therefore, he stepped forward, and, after thanking the audience
for their kind reception, asked the king's leave to represent a little
divertisement which had acquired a reputation in the provinces: the king
assented; and the performers went on, to act "Le Docteur Amoureux" one
those farces, several of which he had brought out in Languedoc,
conceived in the Italian taste, full of buffoonery and bustle. The king
was amused, and the piece succeeded; and hence arose the fashion of
adding a short farce after a long serious play. The success also secured
the establishment of his company; they acted at first at the Theatre du
Petit Bourbon, and afterwards, when that theatre was taken down to give
place to the new building of the colonnade of the Louvre, the king gave
him that of the Palais Royal, and his company assumed the name of
Comédiens de Monsieur.
Parisian society opened a new field for Molière's talents; subjects for
ridicule multiplied around him. The follies which appeared most
ludicrous were so nursed and fostered by the high-born and wealthy, that
he almost feared to attack them. But they were too tempting. In addition
to the amusement to be derived from exhibiting in its true colours an
affectation the most laughable, he was urged by the hope of vanquishing
by the arms of wit, a system of folly, which had taken deep root even
with some of the cleverest men in France;--we allude to the _coterie_ of
the Hôtel de Rambouillet; and to the farce of the "Précieuses
Ridicules," which entered the very sanctum, and caused irremediable
disorder and flight to all the darling follies of the clique.
The society of the Hôtel de Rambouillet had a language and conduct all
its own; these were embodied in the endless novels of mademoiselle
Scuderi. Gallantry and love were the watchwords, and metaphysical
disquisitions were the labours of the set. But these were not allowed to
subsist in homely phrase or a natural manner. The euphuism of our
Elizabethian coxcombs was tame and tropeless in comparison with the high
flights of the heroes and heroines of the Hôtel de Rambouillet. All was
done by rule; all adapted to a system. The lover had a regular map laid
out, and he entered on his amorous journey, knowing exactly the
stoppages he must make, and the course he must pass through on his way
to the city of Tenderness, towards which he was bound. There was the
village of _Billets galans_; the hamlet of _Billets doux_; the castle of
_Petits Soins_; and the villa of _Jolis Vers_. After possessing himself
of these, he still had to fear being forced to embark on the sea of
Dislike, or the lake of Indifference; but if, on the contrary, he pushed
off on the river of Inclination, he floated happily down to his bourne.
Their language was a jargon, which, as Sir Walter Scott observes, in his
"Essay on Molière," resembled a highlander's horse, hard to catch, and
not worth catching. They gave enigmatic names to the commonest things,
which to call by their proper appellations, was, as Molière terms it,
du dernier bourgeois. When an "innocent accomplice of a falsehood" was
mentioned, a _Précieuse_ (they themselves adopted and gloried in this
name; Molière only added ridicules, to turn the blow a little aside
from the centre of the target at which he aimed) could, without a blush,
understand that a night-cap was the subject of conversation; water with
them was too vulgar unless dignified as celestial humidity; a thief
could be mentioned when designated as an inconvenient hero; and a lover
won his mistress's applause when he complained of her disdainful smile,
as "a sauce of pride."
Purity of feeling however was the soul of the system. Authors and poets
were admitted as admirers, but they never got beyond the villa of _Jolis
Vers_. When Voiture, who had glorified Julie d'Angennes his life-long,
ventured to kiss her hand, he was thrown from the fortifications of the
castle of _Petit Soins_, and soused into the lake of Indifference: even
her noble admirer, the duke Montauzier, was forced to paddle on the
river of Inclination, for fourteen years[35], before he was admitted to
the city of Tenderness, and allowed to make her his wife. Their style of
life was as eccentric as their talk. The lady rose in the morning,
dressed herself with elegance, and then went to bed. The French bed,
placed in an alcove, had a passage round it, called the _ruelle_; to be
at the top of the _ruelle_ was the post of honour; and Voiture, under
the title of _Alcovist_, long held this envied post, beside the pillow
of his adored Julie, while he never was allowed to touch her little
finger. The folly had its accompanying good. The respect which the women
exacted, and the virtue they preserved, exalted them, and in spite of
their high-flown sentiments, and metaphysical conceits, wits did not
disdain to "put a soul into the body of" nonsense. Rochefoucauld,
Menage, madame de Sévigné, madame Des Houillères, Balzac, Vaugelas,
and others, frequented the Hôtel de Rambouillet, and lent the aid of
their talents to dignify their _galimathias_.
But it was too much for the honest comic poet to bear. He perceived the
whole of society infected--nobles and prelates, ladies and poets,
marquisses and lacqueys, all wandered about the _Pays de Tendre_, lost
in a very labyrinth of inextricable nonsense. They assumed fictitious
names[36], they promulgated fictitious sentiments; they admired each
other, according as they best succeeded in being as unnatural as
possible. Molière stripped the scene and personages of their gilding in
a moment. His fair _Précieuses_ were the daughters of a _bourgeois_
named Gorgibus, who quitted their homely names of Cathos and Madelon,
for Aminte and Polixene, dismissed their admirers for proposing to marry
them, scolded their father for not possessing _le bel air des choses_,
and are taken in by two valets whom they believe to be nobles, who
easily imitate the foppery and sentimentalism, which these young ladies
so much admire.[37]
[Sidenote: 1659.
Ætat.
37.]
The success of the piece was complete--from that moment the Hôtel de
Rambouillet talked sense. Menage says: "I was at the first
representation of the "Précieuses Ridicules" of Molière, at the Petit
Bourbon, mademoiselle de Rambouillet, madame de Grignan, M. Chapelain,
and others, the select society of the Hôtel de Rambouillet, were there.
The piece was acted with general applause; and for my own part I was so
delighted that I saw at once the effect that it would produce. Leaving
the theatre, I took M. Chapelain by the hand, and said We have been used
to approve all the follies so well and wittily satirised in this piece;
but believe me, as St. Remy said to king Clovis--'We must burn what we
have adored, and adore what we have burnt.' It happened as I predicted,
and we gave up this bombastic nonsense from the time of the first
representation." A better victory could not have been gained by comic
poet: to it may be said to have been added another. While the
_Précieuses_ yielded to the blow, unsophisticated minds enjoyed the
wit: in the midst of the piece, an old man cried out suddenly from the
pit, "Courage, Molière, this is true comedy!" The author himself felt
that he had been inspired by the spirit of comic drama. That this
consisted in a true picture of the follies of society, idealised and
grouped by the fancy, but in every part in accordance with nature. He
became aware, that he had but to examine the impression made on himself,
and to embody the conceptions they suggested to his mind. As he went on
writing, he in each new piece made great and manifest improvement.
"Sganarelle" was his next effort: it is, perhaps, not in his best taste;
it is like a tale of the Italian novelists--that the husband's
misfortune had existence in his fancy only is the author's best excuse.
[Sidenote: 1661.
Ætat.
39.]
Success ought to have taught Molière to abide by comedy, and to become
aware that a quick sense of the ridiculous, and a happy art in the
scenic representation of it, was the bent of his genius. But a desire to
succeed in a more elevated and tragic style still pursued him. He
brought out "Don Garcie de Navarre," a very poor play, unsuccessful in
its _début_, and afterwards so despised by the author as not to be
comprised in his edition of his works. He quickly dissipated this cloud,
however, by bringing out "L'École des Maris," one of his best comedies.
The splendours of the reign of Louis XIV. were now beginning to shine
out in all their brilliancy. The first attempt, however, at a
fête--superior in magnificence, originality, and beauty to any thing
the world had yet seen--was made, not by the king himself. In an evil
hour for himself, Fouquet, the minister of finances, got leave to
entertain royalty at his villa, or rather palace of Vaux. Blinded by
prosperity, this unfortunate man thought to delight the king by the
splendor of his entertainment; he awoke indeed a desire to do the like
in Louis's mind, but he gave the final blow to his own fortunes, already
undermined. Fouquet had admired mademoiselle de la Vallière; he had
expressed his admiration, and sought return with the insolence of
command rather than the solicitations of tenderness: he was rejected
with disdain. His mortification made him suspect another more successful
lover: he discovered the hidden and mutual passion of the king and the
beautiful girl; and, with the most unworthy meanness, he threatened her
with divulging the secret; and added the insolence of an epigram on her
personal appearance. La Vallière informed her royal lover of the
discovery which Fouquet had made--and his fall was resolved on.
The minister had lavished wealth, taste, and talent on his fête. Le
Brun painted the scenes; Le Nôtre arranged the architectural
decorations; La Fontaine wrote verses for the occasion; Molière not
only repeated his "École des Maris," but brought out a new species of
entertainment: a ballet was prepared, of the most magnificent
description; but, as the principal dancers had to vary their characters
and dresses in the different scenes, that the stage might not be left
empty and the audience get weary with waiting, he composed a light
sketch, called "Les Fâcheux" (our unclassical word _bore_ is the only
translation), in which a lover, who has an assignation with his
mistress, is perpetually interrupted by a series of intruders, who each
call his attention to some subject that fills their minds, and is at
once indifferent and annoying to him. A novel sort of amusement added
therefore charms to luxury and feasting; but the very perfection of the
scene awoke angry feelings in Louis's mind: he saw a portrait of La
Vallière in the minister's cabinet, and was roused to jealous rage:
disdaining to express this feeling, he pretended another cause of
displeasure, saying that Fouquet must have been guilty of peculation, to
afford so vast an expenditure. He would have caused him to be arrested
on the instant, had not his mother stopped him, by exclaiming, "What, in
the midst of an entertainment which he gives you!"
Louis accordingly delayed his revenge. A glittering veil was drawn over
the reality. With courtly ease he concealed his resentment by smiles;
and, while meditating the ruin of the master and giver of the feast,
entered with an apparently unembarrassed mind on the enjoyment of the
scene. He was particularly pleased with "Les Fâcheux;" but, while he
was expressing his approbation to Molière, he saw in the crowd _Grand
Veneur_, or great huntsman to the king, a Nimrod devoted to the chase;
and he said, pointing to him, "You have omitted one bore." On this
Molière went to work; he called on M. de Soyecourt, slily engaged him
in one of his too ready narrations of a chase; and, on the following
evening, the lover had added to his other bores a courtier, who insists
on relating the history of a long hunting-match in which he was engaged.
English followers of the field find ample scope for ridicule in this
scene, which in their eyes contrasts the rules of French sport most
ludicrously with their more manly mode of running down the game. Another
more praiseworthy effort to please and flatter the king in this piece
was the introducing an allusion to Louis's efforts to abolish the
practice of duelling.
The success of Molière and his talent naturally led to his favor among
the great. The great Condé delighted in his society; and with the
delicacy of a noble mind told him, that, as he feared to trespass on his
time inopportunely if he sent for him; he begged Molière when at
leisure to bestow an hour on him to send him word, and he would gladly
receive him. Molière obeyed; and the great Condé at such times
dismissed his other visitors to receive the poet, with whom he said he
never conversed without learning something new. Unfortunately this
example was not followed by all. Many little-minded persons regarded
with disdain a man stigmatised with the name of actor, while others
presumed insolently on their rank. The king generously took his part on
these occasions. The anecdotes indeed which displays Louis's sympathy
for Molière are among the most agreeable that we have of that monarch,
and are far more deserving of record than the puerilities which Racine
has commemorated. When brutally assaulted by a duke, the king reproved
the noble severely. Madame Campan tells a story still more to this
monarch's honour. Molière continued to exercise his functions of royal
_valet de chambre_, but was the butt of many impertinences on account of
his being an actor. Louis heard that the other officers of his chamber
refused to eat with him, which caused Molière to abstain from sitting
at their table. The king, resolved to put an end to these insults, said
one morning, "I am told you have short commons here, Molière, and that
the officers of my chamber think you unworthy of sharing their meals.
You are probably hungry, I always get up with a good appetite; sit at
that table where they have placed my _en cas de nuit_" (refreshment,
prepared for the king in case he should be hungry in the night, and
called an _en cas_.) The king cut up a fowl; made Molière sit down,
gave him a wing, and took one himself, just at the moment when the doors
were thrown open, and the most distinguished persons court entered, "You
see me," said the king, "employed in giving Molière his breakfast, as
my people do not find him good enough company for themselves." From this
time Molière did not need to put himself forward, he received
invitations on all sides. Not less delicate was the attention paid him
by the poet Bellocq. It was one of the functions of Molière's place, to
make the king's bed; the other valets drew back, averse to sharing the
task with an actor; Bellocq stept forward, saying, "Permit me, M.
Molière, to assist you in making the king's bed."
It was however at court only that Molière met these rebuffs; elsewhere
his genius caused him to be admired and courted, while his excellent
character secured him the affection of many friends. He brought forward
Racine; and they continued intimate till Racine offended him by not only
transferring a tragedy to the theatre of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, but
seducing the best actress of his company to that of the rival stage.
With Boileau he continued on friendly terms all his life. His old
schoolfellow, "the joyous Chapelle," was his constant associate; though
he was too turbulent and careless for the sensitive and orderly habits
of the comedian.
Molière indeed was destined never to find a home after his own heart.
Madeleine Bejart had a sister[38] much younger than herself, to whom
Molière became passionately attached. She was beautiful, sprightly,
clever, an admirable actress, fond of admiration and pleasure. Molière
is said to describe her in "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme," as more piquante
than beautiful--fascinating and graceful--witty and elegant; she charmed
in her very caprices. Another author speaks of her acting; and remarks
on the judgment she displays both in dialogue and by-play: "She never
looks about," he says, "nor do her eyes wander to the boxes; she is
aware that the theatre is full, but she speaks and acts as if she only
saw those with whom she is acting. She is elegant and rich in her attire
without affectation: she studies her dress, but forgets it the moment
she appears on the stage; and if she ever touches her hair or her
ornaments, this bye-play conceals a judicious and inartificial satire,
and she thus enters more entirely into ridicule of the women she
personates: but with all these advantages, she would not please so much
but for her sweet-toned voice. She is aware of this, and changes it
according to the character she fills." With these attractions, young and
lovely, and an actress, madame (or as she was called according to the
fashion of the times, which only accorded the madame to women of rank,
mademoiselle) Molière, fancying herself elevated to a high sphere when
she married, giddy and coquettish, disappointed the hopes of her
husband, whose heart was set on domestic happiness, and the interchange
of affectionate sentiments in the privacy of home. Yet the gentleness of
his nature made him find a thousand excuses for her:--"I am unhappy," he
said, "but I deserve it; I ought to have remembered that my habits are
too severe for domestic life: I thought that my wife ought to regulate
her manners and practices by my wishes; but I feel that had she done so,
she in her situation would be more unhappy than I am. She is gay and
witty, and open to the pleasures of admiration. This annoys me in spite
of myself. I find fault--I complain. Yet this woman is a hundred times
more reasonable than I am, and wishes to enjoy life; she goes her own
way, and secure in her innocence, she disdains the precautions I entreat
her to observe. I take this neglect for contempt; I wish to be assured
of her kindness by the open expression of it, and that a more regular
conduct should give me ease of mind. But my wife, always equable and
lively, who would be unsuspected by any other than myself, has no pity
for my sorrows; and, occupied by the desire of general admiration, she
laughs at my anxieties." His friends tried to remonstrate in vain.
"There is but one sort of love," he said, "and those who are more easily
satisfied do not know what true love is." The consequence of these
dissensions was in the sequel a sort of separation; full of
disappointment and regret for Molière, but to which his young wife
easily reconciled herself. Her conduct disgraced her; but she had not
sufficient feeling either to shrink from public censure or the
consciousness of rendering her husband unhappy. To these domestic
discomforts were added his task of manager; the difficulty of keeping
rival actresses in good humour, the labour of pleasing a capricious
public.
The latter task, as well as that of amusing his sovereign, was by far
the easiest; as in doing so he followed the natural bent of his genius.
He had begun the "Tartuffe." He brought out "L'École des Femmes," one
of his gayest and wittiest comedies. It is known in England, through the
adaptation of Wycherly; and called "The Country Girl." Unfortunately, in
his days, the decorum of the English stage was less strict than the
French; and what in Molière's play was fair and light raillery,
Wycherly mingled with a plot of a licentious and disagreeable nature.
The part, however, of the _Country Girl_ herself, personated by Mrs.
Jordan, animated by her bewitching _naïveté_, and graced by her frank,
joyous, silver-toned voice, was an especial favourite with the public in
the days of our fathers. In Paris, the critics were not so well pleased;
truth of nature they called vulgarity, familiarity of expression was a
sin against the language. Molière deigned so far to notice his
censurers as to write the "Critique de l'École des Femmes," in which he
easily throws additional ridicule on those who attacked him. The
"Impromptu de Versailles" was written in the same spirit, at the
command of the king. The war of words thus carried on, and replied to,
grew more and more bitter: personal ridicule was exchanged by his
enemies for calumny. Monfleuri, the actor, was malicious enough to
present a petition to the king, in which he accused Molière of marrying
his own daughter. Molière never deigned to reply to his accusation; and
the king showed his contempt by, soon after, standing godfather to
Molière's eldest child, of whom the duchess of Orleans was godmother.