since _Valentine_, she had given us peasants among her characters. She
had tried labourers, mole-catchers, fortune-tellers and beggars, but all
these were episodic characters. _Jeanne_ is the first novel in which the
heroine is a peasant. Everything connected with Jeanne herself in the
novel is exquisite. We have all seen peasant women of this kind, women
with serious faces and clearly-cut features, with a dreamy look in their
eyes that makes us think of the maid of Lorraine. It is one of these
exceptional creatures that George Sand has depicted. She has made an
ecstatic being of her, who welcomes all that is supernatural, utterly
regardless of dates or epochs. To her all wonderful beings appeal,
the Virgin Mary and fairies, Druidesses, Joan of Arc and Napoleon. But
Jeanne, the Virgin of Ep Nell, the Velleda of the Jomatres stones, the
mystical sister of the Great Shepherdess, was very poorly supported.
This remark does not refer to her cousin Claudie, although this
individual's conduct was not blameless. Jeanne had gone into service at
Boussac, and she was surrounded by a group of middle-class people, among
whom was Sir Arthur----, a wealthy Englishman, who wanted to marry her.
This mixture of peasants and _bourgeois_ is not a happy one. Neither is
the mixture of _patois_ with a more Christian way of talking, or rather
with a written style. The author was experimenting and feeling her way.
When she wrote _La Mare au Diable_ she had found it, for in this work
we have unity of tone, harmony of the characters with their setting,
of sentiment with the various adventures, and, above all, absolute
simplicity.
In _Francois le Champi_ there is much that is graceful, and there is
real feeling mingled with a touch of sentimentality. Madeleine Blanchet
is rather old for Champi, whom she had brought up like her own child. In
the country, though, where difference of age is soon less apparent, the
disproportion does not seem as objectionable as it would in city life.
The novel is not a study of maternal affection in love, as it is not
Madeleine's feelings that are analyzed, but those of Francois. For a
long time he had been in love without knowing it, and he is only aware
of it when this love, instead of being a sort of agreeable dream and
melancholy pleasure, is transformed into suffering.
The subject of _La Petite Fadette_ is another analysis of a love which
has been silent for a long time. It is difficult to say which is the
best of these delightful stories, but perhaps, on the whole, this last
one is generally preferred, on account of the curious and charming
figure of little Fadette herself. We can see the thin, slender girl,
suddenly appearing on the road, emerging from a thicket. She seems to be
part of the scenery, and can scarcely be distinguished from the objects
around her. The little wild country girl is like the spirit of the
fields, woods, rivers and precipices. She is a being very near to
Nature. Inquisitive and mischievous, she is bold in her speech, because
she is treated as a reprobate. She jeers, because she knows that she is
detested, and she scratches, because she suffers. The day comes when she
feels some of that affection which makes the atmosphere breathable for
human beings. She feels her heart beating faster in her bosom, thanks to
this affection, and from that minute a transformation takes place within
her. Landry, who has been observing her, is of opinion that she must
be something of a witch. Landry is very simple-minded. There is no
witchcraft here except that of love, and it was not difficult for that
to work the metamorphosis. It has worked many others in this world.
The _Maitres Soneurs_ initiates us into forest life, so full of
mysterious visions. In opposition to the sedentary, stay-at-home life
of the inhabitant of plains, with his indolent mind, we have the
free-and-easy humour of the handsome and adventurous muleteer, Huriel,
with his love of the road and of all that is unexpected. He is a
_cheminau_ before the days of M. Richepin.
I do not know any stories more finished than these. They certainly prove
that George Sand had the artistic sense, a quality which has frequently
been denied her. The characters in these stories are living and active,
and at the same time their psychology is not insisted upon, and they
do not stand out in such relief as to turn our attention from things,
which, as we know, are more important than people in the country. We are
surrounded on all sides by the country, and bathed, as it were, in
its atmosphere. And yet, in spite of all this, the country is not once
described. There is not one of those descriptions so dear to the heart
of those who are considered masters in the art of word-painting. We do
not describe those things with which we live. We are content to have
them ever present in our mind and to be in constant communion with
them. Style is, perhaps, the sovereign quality in these stories. Words
peculiar to the district are introduced just sufficiently to give an
accent. Somewhat old-fashioned expressions are employed, and these prove
the survival of by-gone days, which, in the country, are respected more
than elsewhere. Without any apparent effort, the narrative takes that
epic form so natural to those who, as _aedes_ of primitive epochs, or
story-tellers by country firesides, give their testimony about things of
the past.
I am aware that George Sand has been accused of tracing portraits of
her peasants which were not like them. This is so absurd that I do not
consider it worth while to spend time in discussing it. It would be so
easy to show that in her types of peasants there is more variety, and
also more reality, than in Balzac's more realistic ones. Without being
untruthful portraits, it may be that they are somewhat flattered, and
that we have more honest, delicate and religious peasants in these
stories than in reality. This may be so, and George Sand warns us of
this herself. It was her intention to depict them thus.
It was not absolute reality and the everyday details of the peasants'
habits and customs that she wanted to show us, but the poetry of the
country, the reflection of the great sights of Nature in the soul of
those who, thanks to their daily work, are the constant witnesses of
them. The peasant certainly has no exact notion of the poetry of Nature,
nor is he always conscious of it. He feels it, though, within his soul
in a vague way. At certain moments he has glimpses of it, perhaps, when
love causes him emotion, or perhaps when he is absent from the part of
the world, where he has always lived. His homesickness then gives him a
keener perception. This poetry is perhaps never clearly revealed to any
individual, not to the labourer who traces out his furrows tranquilly in
the early morning, nor to the shepherd who spends whole weeks alone in
the mountains, face to face with the stars. It dwells, though, in the
inner conscience of the race. The generations which come and go have it
within them, and they do not fall to express it. It is this poetry
which we find in certain customs and beliefs, in the various legends and
songs. When Le Champi returns to his native place, he finds the whole
country murmuring with the twitter of birds which he knew so well.
"And all this reminded him of a very old song with which his mother
Zabelli used to sing him to sleep. It was a song with words such as
people used to employ in olden times."
In George Sand's pastoral novels we have some of these old words.
They come to us from afar, and are like a supreme blossoming of old
traditions.
It is all this which characterizes these books, and assigns to them
their place in our literature. We must not compare them with the rugged
studies of Balzac, nor with the insipid compositions of the bucolic
writer, nor even with Bernadin de Saint-Pierre's masterpiece, as there
are too many cocoanut trees in that. They prevent us seeing the French
landscapes. Very few people know the country in France and the humble
people who dwell there. Very few writers have loved the country well
enough to be able to depict its hidden charms.
La Fontaine has done it in his fables and Perrault in his tales. George
Sand has her place, in this race of writers, among the French Homers.
IX
THE 'BONNE DAME' OF NOHANT THE THEATRE--ALEXANDRE DUMAS FILS--LIFE AT
NOHANT
Novelists are given to speaking of the theatre somewhat disdainfully.
They say that there is too much convention, that an author is too much
the slave of material conditions, and is obliged to consider the taste
of the crowd, whilst a book appeals to the lover of literature, who can
read it by his own fireside, and to the society woman, who loses herself
in its pages. As soon, though, as one of their novels has had more
success than its predecessors, they do not hesitate to cut it up into
slices, according to the requirements of the publishing house, so that
it may go beyond the little circle of lovers of literature and society
women and reach the crowd--the largest crowd possible.
George Sand never pretended to have this immense disdain for the theatre
which is professed by ultra-refined writers. She had always loved the
theatre, and she bore it no grudge, although her pieces had been hissed.
In those days plays that did not find favour were hissed. At present
they are not hissed, either because there are no more poor plays,
or because the public has seen so many bad ones that it has become
philosophical, and does not take the trouble to show its displeasure.
George Sand's first piece, _Cosima_, was a noted failure. About the year
1850, she turned to the theatre once more, hoping to find a new form of
expression for her energy and talent. _Francois le Champi_ was a great
success. In January, 1851, she wrote as follows, after the performance
of _Claudie:_ "A tearful success and a financial one. The house is full
every day; not a ticket given away, and not even a seat for Maurice. The
piece is played admirably; Bocage is magnificent. The public weeps and
blows its nose, as though it were in church. I am told that never in
the memory of man has there been such a first night. I was not present
myself."
There may be a slight exaggeration in the words "never in the memory of
man," but the success was really great. _Claudie_ is still given, and I
remember seeing Paul Mounet interpret the part of Remy admirably at the
Odeon Theatre. As to the _Mariage de Victorine_, it figures every year
on the programme of the Conservatoire competitions. It is the typical
piece for would-be _ingenues._
_Francois le Champi, Claudie_ and the _Mariage de Victorine_ may be
considered as the series representing George Sand's dramatic writings.
These pieces were all her own, and, in her own opinion, that was their
principal merit. The dramatic author is frequently obliged to accept the
collaboration of persons who know nothing of literature.
"Your characters say this," observes the manager; "it is all very well,
but, believe me, it will be better for him to say just the opposite. The
piece will run at least sixty nights longer." There was a manager at
the Gymnase Theatre in those days named Montigny. He was a very clever
manager, and knew exactly what the characters ought to say for making
the piece run. George Sand complained of his mania for changing every
play, and she added: "Every piece that I did not change, such, for
instance, as _Champi_, _Claudie_, _Victorine, Le Demon du foyer_ and _Le
Pressoir_, was a success, whilst all the others were either failures or
they had a very short run."(48)
(48) _Correspondance:_ To Maurice Sand, February 24, 1855.
It was in these pieces that George Sand carried out her own idea of what
was required for the theatre. Her idea was very simple. She gives it in
two or three words: "I like pieces that make me cry." She adds: "I like
drama better than comedy, and, like a woman, I must be infatuated by one
of the characters." This character is the congenial one. The public is
with him always and trembles for him, and the trembling is all the more
agreeable, because the public knows perfectly well that all will
end well for this character. It can even go as far as weeping the
traditional six tears, as Madame de Sevigne did for Andromaque. Tears at
the theatre are all the sweeter, because they are all in vain. When, in
a play, we have a congenial character who is there from the beginning to
the end, the play is a success. Let us take _Cyraino de Bergerac_, for
instance, which is one of the greatest successes in the history of the
theatre.
Francois le Champi is eminently a congenial character, for he is a man
who always sets wrong things right. We are such believers in justice and
in the interference of Providence. When good, straightforward people are
persecuted by fate, we always expect to see a man appear upon the
scene who will be the champion of innocence, who will put evil-doers to
rights, and find the proper thing to do and say in every circumstance.
Francois appears at the house of Madeleine Blanchet, who is a widow and
very sad and ill. He takes her part and defends her from the results of
La Severe's intrigues. He is hard on the latter, and he disdains another
woman, Mariette, but both La Severe and Mariette love him, so true is
it that women have a weakness for conquerors. Francois only cares for
Madeleine, though. On the stage, we like a man to be adored by all
women, as this seems to us a guarantee that he will only care for one of
them.
"Champi" is a word peculiar to a certain district, meaning "natural
son." Dumas _fils_ wrote a play entitled _Le Fils naturel_. The hero
is also a superior man, who plays the part of Providence to the family
which has refused to recognize him.
In _Claudie_, as in _Francois le Champi_, the rural setting is one
of the great charms of the play. The first act is one of the most
picturesque scenes on the stage. It takes place in a farmyard, the
day when the reapers have finished their task, which is just as
awe-inspiring as that of the sowers. A cart, drawn by oxen, enters the
yard, bringing a sheaf all adorned with ribbons and flowers. The oldest
of the labourers, Pere Remy, addresses a fine couplet to the sheaf of
corn which has cost so much labour, but which is destined to keep life
in them all. Claudie is one of those young peasant girls, whom we met
with in the novel entitled _Jeanne_. She had been unfortunate, but
Jeanne, although virtuous and pure herself, did not despise her, for in
the country there is great latitude in certain matters. This is just the
plain story, but on the stage everything becomes more dramatic and is
treated in a more detailed and solemn fashion. Claudie's misfortune
causes her to become a sort of personage apart, and it raises her very
high in her own esteem.
"I am not afraid of anything that can be said about me," observes
Claudie, "for, on knowing the truth, kind-hearted, upright people will
acknowledge that I do not deserve to be insulted." Her old grandfather,
Remy, has completely absolved her.
"You have repented and suffered enough, and you have worked and wept and
expiated enough, too, my poor Claudie," he says. Through all this she
has become worthy to make an excellent marriage. It is a case of
that special moral code by which, after free love, the fault must be
recompensed.
Claudie is later on the Jeannine of the _Idees de Madame Aubray_,
the Denise of Alexandre Dumas. She is the unmarried mother, whose
misfortunes have not crushed her pride, who, after being outraged, has
a right now to a double share of respect. The first good young man is
called upon to accept her past life, for there is a law of solidarity in
the world. The human species is divided into two categories, the one
is always busy doing harm, and the other is naturally obliged to give
itself up to making good the harm done.
_The Mariage de Victorine_ belongs to a well-known kind of literary
exercise, which was formerly very much in honour in the colleges. This
consists in taking a celebrated work at the place where the author has
left it and in imagining the "sequel." For instance, after the _Cid_,
there would be the marriage of Rodrigue and Chimene for us. As a
continuation of _L'Ecole des Femmes_, there is the result of the
marriage of the young Horace with the tiresome little Agnes. Corneille
gave a sequel to the _Menteur_ himself. Fabre d'Eglantine wrote the
sequel to _Le Misanthrope_, and called it _Le Philinte de Moliere_.
George Sand gives us here the sequel of Sedaine's _chef-d'oeuvre_ (that
is, a _chef-d'oeuvre_ for Sedaine), _Le Philosophe sans le savor._
In _Le Philosophe sans le savoir_ Monsieur Vanderke is a nobleman, who
has become a merchant in order to be in accordance with the ideas of
the times. He is a Frenchman, but he has taken a Dutch name out of
snobbishness. He has a clerk or a confidential servant named Antoine.
Victorine is Antoine's daughter. Vanderke's son is to fight a duel, and
from Victorine's emotion, whilst awaiting the result of this duel, it is
easy to see that she is in love with this young man. George Sand's
play turns on the question of what is to be done when the day comes for
Victorine to marry. An excellent husband is found for her, a certain
Fulgence, one of Monsieur Vanderke's clerks. He belongs to her own
class, and this is considered one of the indispensable conditions for
happiness in marriage. He loves her, so that everything seems to favour
Victorine. We are delighted, and she, too, seems to be in good spirits,
but, all the time that she is receiving congratulations and presents, we
begin to see that she has some great trouble.
"Silk and pearls!" she exclaims; "oh, how heavy they are, but I am sure
that they are very fine. Lace, too, and silver; oh, such a quantity of
silver. How rich and fine and happy I shall be. And then Fulgence is so
fond of me." (She gets sadder and sadder.) "And father is so pleased.
How strange. I feel stifled." (She sits down in Antoine's chair.) "Is
this joy? . . . I feel . . . Ah, it hurts to be as happy as this. . . ."
She bursts into tears. This suppressed emotion to which she finally
gives vent, and this forced smile which ends in sobs are very effective
on the stage. The question is, how can Victorine's tears be dried? She
wants to marry young Vanderke, the son of her father's employer, instead
of the clerk. The only thing is, then, to arrange this marriage.
"Is it a crime, then, for my brother to love Victorine?" asks Sophie,
"and is it mad of me to think that you will give your consent?"
"My dear Sophie," replies Monsieur Vanderke, "there are no unequal
marriages in the sight of God. A servitor like Antoine is a friend, and
I have always brought you up to consider Victorine as your companion and
equal."
This is the way the father of the family speaks. Personally, I consider
him rather imprudent.
As this play is already a sequel to another one, I do not wish to
propose a sequel to _Le Mariage de Victorine_, but I cannot help
wondering what will happen when Vanderke's son finds himself the
son-in-law of an old servant-man, and also what will occur if he should
take his wife to call on some of his sister's friends. It seems to me
that he would then find out he had, made a mistake. Among the various
personages, only one appears to me quite worthy of interest, and that is
poor Fulgence, who was so straightforward and honest, and who is treated
so badly.
But how deep Victorine was! Even if we admit that she did not
deliberately scheme and plot to get herself married by the son of the
family, she did instinctively all that had to be done for that. She was
very deep in an innocent way, and I have come to the conclusion that
such deepness is the most to be feared.
I see quite well all that is lacking in these pieces, and that they are
not very great, but all the same they form a "theatre" apart. There is
unity in this theatrical work of George Sand. Whether it makes a hero of
the natural son, rehabilitates the seduced girl, or cries down the idea
of _mesalliances_, it is always the same fight in which it is
engaged; it is always fighting against the same enemies, prejudice and
narrow-mindedness. On the stage, we call every opinion contrary to our
own prejudice or narrow-mindedness. The theatre lives by fighting.
It matters little what the author is attacking. He may wage war with
principles, prejudices, giants, or windmills. Provided that there be a
battle, there will be a theatre for it.
The fact that George Sand's theatre was the forerunner of the theatre
of Dumas _fils_ gives it additional value. We have already noticed the
analogy of situations and the kinship of theories contained in George
Sand's best plays and in the most noted ones by Dumas. I have no doubt
that Dumas owed a great deal to George Sand. We shall see that he paid
his debt as only he could have done. He knew the novelist when he was
quite young, as Dumas _pere_ and George Sand were on very friendly
terms. In her letter telling Sainte-Beuve not to take Musset to call
on her, as she thought him impertinent, she tells him to bring Dumas
_pere_, whom she evidently considered well bred. As she was a friend of
his father's, she was like a mother for the son. The first letter to him
in the _Correspondance_ is dated 1850. Dumas _fils_ was then twenty-six
years of age, and she calls him "my son."
He had not written _La Dame aux Camelias_ then. It was performed for
the first time in February, 1852. He was merely the author of a few
second-rate novels and of a volume of execrable poetry. He had not found
out his capabilities at that time. There is no doubt that he was greatly
struck by George Sand's plays, imbued as they were with the ideas we
have just pointed out.
All this is worthy of note, as it is essential for understanding the
work of Alexandre Dumas _fils_. He, too, was a natural son, and his
illegitimate birth had caused him much suffering. He was sent to
the Pension Goubaux, and for several years he endured the torture
he describes with such harshness at the beginning of _L'Affaire
Clemenceau_. He was exposed to all kinds of insults and blows. His first
contact with society taught him that this society was unjust, and that
it made the innocent suffer. The first experience he had was that of the
cruelty and cowardice of men. His mind was deeply impressed by this,
and he never lost the impression. He did not forgive, but made it his
mission to denounce the pharisaical attitude of society. His idea was to
treat men according to their merits, and to pay them back for the blows
he had received as a child.(49) It is easy, therefore, to understand how
the private grievances of Dumas _fils_ had prepared his mind to welcome
a theatre which took the part of the oppressed and waged war with social
prejudices. I am fully aware of the difference in temperament of the two
writers. Dumas _fils_, with his keen observation, was a pessimist. He
despised woman, and he advises us to kill her, under the pretext that
she has always remained "the strumpet of the land of No." although she
may be dressed in a Worth costume and wear a Reboux hat.
(49) See our study of Dumas _fils_ in a volume entitled _Portraits
d'ecrivains._
As a dramatic author, Alexandre Dumas _fils_ had just what George
Sand lacked. He was vigorous, he had the art of brevity and brilliant
dialogue. It is thanks to all this that we have one of the masterpieces
of the French theatre, _Le Marquis de Villemer_, as a result of their
collaboration.