History of Western Theatre: 17th Century to Now/Late French 18th
Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais[edit | edit source]
The most important dramatist of late 18th century French theatre is Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais (1732 –1799) with two major plays: "Le barbier de Séville" (The barber of Seville, 1775) and "Le mariage de Figaro" (The marriage of Figaro, 1784), in which Figaro, servant of a duke, comically and insolently questions the authority, social position, and aristocratic privileges of his master in a fashion unheard of in European theatre. “Figaro, a village barber in the first piece, whho has tried his hand at several trades, contrives in various ways to outwit every one, succeeds, by his skill, in everything that he undertakes, and does what he likes with all men. He is always free and easy, sarcastic, not too particular about the means to be employed, and is, in one word, a portrait, and that not a flattered one, of the author himself, just as Cherubin may possibly have been one of Beaumarchais in his youth. In the second piece, Figaro, who has become a valet, declaims too much, and represents the hatred of the people against the aristocracy; of the valet against the master, and that master a young, witty, and generous nobleman“ (Van Laun, 1883 vol 3 pp 117-118).
In "The barber of Seville", “the well-knit intrigue of the play, the amusing situations and witty dialogue, have gained immensely by the new type of valet whom Beaumarchais has put upon the scene, a man of wit and thought, the master-valet, whose efforts are only counter-marched by the calumny uttered by Basile, the unsympathetic character in the play. The force of evil-speaking and slandering in checking the best-matured plans has never been more forcibly put… Figaro…explains that he takes life gaily because he is so unhappy. Immediately afterwards he assures the Count that he is governed by the desire for his own interest and can be thoroughly trusted to bring this about. When Almaviva realizes that Figaro can be useful to him, Figaro sees at once that it is the count's self-interest that has brought them together. Thus, Figaro expresses the bitterness of the working class towards the masters, whose courtesy is only an occasional reward of continual service done for them. Beaumarchais supports the view of Figaro by the action of the other characters, Bartholo expresses to the count his disdain of rank and in the same scene the Count criticizes the administration of the law” (Jourdain, 1921 pp 19-21). “Figaro is an emancipated ex-valet and...resembles [those] of Dancourt, Regnard and Lesage, but his talents are greater and not confined to an aptitude for business intrigue...What distinguishes him is...his self-confidence, his independence and his fundamental sense of justice...[a] self-confidence rooted in the conviction that inherently he is as good as any other man...[A new note is rung when he says:] ‘Does your excellency know many masters worthy of their servants?’ The count [laughs], but the social view is revolutionary” (Brereton, 1977 pp 243-244). Likewise, Knight (1893) pointed out that "the hundred years which elapsed between the production of The Miser (1668) and that of The Barber of Seville had witnessed little absolute change, but much preparation for change. The forces which were to result in upheaval had accumulated. What difference had arisen in the relation between master and servant is shown by comparing the language of Maitre Jacques in The Miser with that of Figaro in The Barber of Seville. 'So much for my master,' says the former when he has been beaten by Harpagon, 'he has some reason to beat me,' while Figaro, acknowledging the existence of a similar state of things, but rebelling against it, avoids notice of his superiors: 'I considered myself all too happy to be forgotten, persuaded that a high-ranking man does good to us when he does no harm.' For the rest, the story is a pleasant if farcical imbroglio, with theatrical and original situations...The dialogue is admirably bright and its animal spirits are irresistible" (p 276). "Beaumarchais's genius shows its real power in another way. Not only do his major characters remain in the mind and take on significance with reflection, but his minor characters are not less clearly presented and they, too, remain with us as real individuals, not as types. Let us take, in 'Le Barbier de Séville', those most ordinary of all, the miserly tyrant Bartolo and his assistant Bazile. The former reminds us of a host of old misers who harshly imposed their mode of life on those about them. We instinctively hark back to the Harpagon of Molière, who is the prototype of a horde of successors. But our Spanish Bartolo is vastly superior to this common herd. He is mean and cruel and nasty, but he is also a man of whom one is afraid. He has power, he is more than a match for the flighty Almaviva, and he can fight for what he considers his right, to the last ditch if necessary. Bazile, too, is raised by his infinite ingenuity to heights never attained by a stock comedy character, such as he really is in his office of accomplice to Bartolo" (Kurz, 1916 p 77).
"The Figaro of "The marriage of Figaro" is an older man [than the one in The barber of Seville] and is the critic of society as a whole...Figaro...is at once the defender of public morality and the comic satirist. It is not only Figaro who expresses these views. When Almaviva thinks he has convicted his wife of infidelity, Antonio the gardener criticizes the situation by saying that this would only be a fair return for the harm the count himself has caused...Figaro protests with Suzanne against the rights of the seigneur over the morals and life of the villagers, and the count answers in a sententious tone, agreeing that the shameful right should be abolished for reasons of abstract justice. Then, in the scene where Marceline declares her history, a scene of which only a portion was acted, there is an attack on the selfishness and vice of men, and a clear explanation of the economic difficulties which were affecting the position of women, and of the low esteem in which even men of high rank held their wives- all this reading like the manifesto of someone interested in the more serious side of problems concerning women. Figaro too discourses on the helpless elements in the state: as, for example, the soldier who is under orders” (Jourdain, 1921 pp 21-22). "Figaro delivers rapier thrusts to the Old Regime. The initial cause of the action is the fact that Almaviva wishes to exercise a medieval right at the marriage of Figaro to Suzanne. From this situation, explained in the first act with sparkling wit, arises a long series of complications and mistaken identities. The plot is a maze of intrigues; but the action Is always clear, because the audience sees the whole machinery revolving smoothly. Beaumarchais produced a masterpiece because be combined wit, clever characters and skilful plotting in a play which contains a vital theme: the conflict between traditional authority and the rights of the Third Estate. There is no finer example in all dramatic art of a comedy founded upon an important theme, and containing, at the same time, a complicated plot which does not obscure the basic idea" (Stuart, 1960 p 450). "Who is Figaro but the immortal rebel, the hater of injustice, the lowly soul pushing its way for air against the mass of putrid social conventions!" (Kurz, 1916 p 79). Regarding Almaviva, "it is interesting to note here what quality this Spaniard considers inherent in the course of love-making. It is legitimate, so he thinks, to try to win a beauty to favor him, but he must never force her favors. This plausible theory is startlingly Oriental. We see it again and again in practice in the eastern harem. But in the west it remains a theory, an ideal to strive for. Rarely indeed is a Spanish girl in our plays allowed the liberty of choice. Even Almaviva is a hypocrite with all his Spanish honor, for he tries to seduce Suzanne even before she is married to her Figaro" (Kurz, 1916 p 75). "The page, Cherubim, Beaumarchais’ most original creation not excepting Figaro,...a pre-adolescent...experimenting with the [similarly aged] gardener’s daughter...[his] pubescent love...shocked some contemporaries. But there was much greater offence in the dominant theme, only latent in ‘The barber of Seville’. There is the struggle between [Figaro and the count for Suzanne] and...it is won by the better man, who is a commoner...[Figaro’s] criticism of the aristocracy is not that it is sometimes crooked, but that it is incompetent” (Brereton, 1977 pp 246-248).
“There was a disintegrating satire in these comedies of Beaumarchais, a daring bitterness of attack like that of a reckless journalist who might happen also to be an ingenious and witty playwright. Where Molière had assaulted hypocrisy in religion and humbug in medicine, Beaumarchais made an onslaught on the Ancient Régime as a whole. No doubt a portion of the vogue Beaumarchais enjoyed among his contemporaries was due to their covert sympathy with the thesis he was so cleverly sustaining on the stage. He knew how to profit by the scandal aroused by his scathing insinuations against the established order. Yet he was not dependent on these factitious aids, and his solidly constructed comedies reveal remarkable dramaturgic felicity” (Matthews, 1903b p 5).
"The barber of Seville"[edit | edit source]
Time: 1770s. Place: Seville, Spain.
While awaiting beneath Rosina's window for the purpose of courting her, Count Almaviva is interrupted by his servant, Figaro, in the throes of musical composition, convinced that "what is unworthy to be said one can sing". Almaviva takes the occasion to remind his servant of his many faults. "Does your excellence know of many masters worthy to be servants?" his servant retorts sarcastically. From the balcony, Rosina drops her song-book for the count's benefit, containing a message expressing her interest in him but also asking about his intentions. Almaviva learns by the way that her protector, Doctor Bartolo, intends to marry her the next day, so that he will strictly follow Figaro's plot to remove her. Almaviva enters Bartolo's house disguised as a drunken military officer, handing him a letter with an order from a field marshal that he lodge him for a single night, to which Bartolo answers he is exempt from such duties. Almaviva pretends Rosina has dropped a letter, which she picks up, but is actually his own. When the count leaves, Bartolo wishes to read this letter. Instead she substitutes it with an innocent one from her cousin's and gives him that. Almaviva next enters as a bachelor of arts on behalf of Bazile, her music teacher, and shows Bartolo the contents of Rosina's letter, which he says was obtained from Almaviva's mistress and then shown to Rosina. Bartolo laughs approvingly at this and suggests the bachelor should replace Bazile as her teacher. To enable the lovers to speak alone together, Figaro breaks some glassware on the stairs, prompting Bartolo's hurried exit. Figaro obtains the key to the Venetian blinds in Rosina's room, but the three plotters are stunned on seeing the unexpected arrival of Bazile followed by Bartolo re-entering. Being partly a barber by profession, Figaro proposes to shave Bartolo's head to distract attention. Eventually, his fooleries cause all four to show him the door. Bartolo notices the bachelor suspiciously whispering something to his future wife. His suspicions make her angry and she leaves the room. At the dead of night, Bartolo shows her the letter given him by the bachelor, revealing, to her surprise, that it came from Count Almaviva, obtained from his mistress. Now convinced that the bachelor wooed her for the benefit of another man, Rosina accepts Bartolo's marriage proposal. She reveals that the key to her room has been stolen. Now alone, on hearing a noise at the window, she leaves the room as Almaviva and Figaro enter, but then, recovering her senses, comes back and learns that the bachelor is actually Count Almaviva, loved for his own person, not his title. In joy, Rosina half-faints in his arms: "Is not hating the most awful torture when one is meant to love?" she asks. The lovers are unable to escape because Bartolo removed the ladder. However, to their content, Bazile comes in with the notary meant for Bartolo's marriage. Bazile is surprised to find the count there but the count's purse is sufficient to quiet him. Although Bartolo arrives with an officer-of-law, they are too late to prevent the count and Rosina from signing their marriage contract.
"The marriage of Figaro"[edit | edit source]
Time: 1780s. Place: Near Seville, Spain.
On their wedding day, to the servant Figaro and his fellow servant, Suzanne, there is one worry: their master, Count Almaviva, "has views on her". Was her dowry given by Almaviva because of Figaro's merits? If he thinks so, "how foolish are the witty!" Suzanne exclaims. Alamaviva possesses sexual rights on her by the ancient law of a lord's will on all female servants. The mere thought of that makes Figaro feel his "fertilized brow". Almaviva quickly tries to seduce her, at which point he discovers Cherubim, his page, hidden in her room, caught in this compromising situation out of panic. Suspecting that the page has views on several women of his domains including Rosina, his wife, he sends him away as a soldier in his legion. To make the count jealous and distract him from Suzanne, Figaro writes him an anonymous letter stating that during the wedding ball a gallant lover intends to seduce his wife. Figaro's second plan is to disguise Cherubim in Suzanne's clothes, preventing the count's access to her. Cherubim enters trembling in the countess' room, where Suzanne tries her clothes on him. When they hear her husband knocking, the page hurries off in the next room. Almaviva hears some noise within, but, unable to enter, goes off to find something to force open the door. This gives Cherubim time to jump out of the window and land safely on a melon patch. When the count returns, his wife says Cherubim is inside, but when the outraged count opens the door, he finds, confounded and ashamed, Suzanne instead. Suzanne's uncle, Antonio, a gardener, enters to complain that a man jumping from the window damaged his garden-plot. To protect Cherubim, Figaro says he was the one who jumped. Antonio is surprised, since the man he saw was much smaller, to which he counters: "Certainly, while jumping we crouch into a ball." The gardener then shows a sheet of paper that the jumper dropped, which the count seizes, interrogating his servant about its contents. Guided by the countess and Suzanne, Figaro reveals that the letter contains Cherubim's order for the army, given to him unsealed. As the wedding ceremony is underway, Marceline, previously engaged to be married to Figaro, arrives to break it up. The count promises to hear her complaints against Figaro in a tribunal. In view of the imminent danger of the count attempting to seduce Suzanne, Rosine proposes to take her place in bed. During the court-trial, Almaviva judges that Figaro must either pay money he owes Marceline or else marry her, but Figaro provides evidence that Marceline is her mother, and, according to her, Doctor Bartolo is the father. However, Bartolo refuses to acknowledge Figaro as his son. Because of this, Antonio refuses to give his niece's hand to him, till Bartolo, weakening, changes his mind. Bazile, Marceline's old lover, arrives to remind her she once promised him marriage should he find her long-lost child, but when he discovers it is Figaro, he think he sees the devil. At night during the festivities, Figaro suspects a secret meeting has been planned between Suzanne and the count. As he looks on from a hiding place, Cherubim mistakes the disguised countess for Suzanne and offers to kiss her, but the kiss is received by Almaviva instead. When the count moves forward to strike Cherubim, he strikes Figaro by mistake. The count then grows very amorous towards the disguised countess, mistaking her for Suzanne, but, on seeing Figaro, escapes quickly away. Affronted for suspecting her loyalty, Suzanne slaps Figaro, a sign of love that rejoices him. The count returns, looking for Suzanne again. He sees what he thinks is his wife with another man. Angered at that sight, he calls for his servants to attack the man, but at last recognizes his wife and Suzanne in each other's clothes, for which he is forced again to beg his wife's pardon.
Collin d'Harleville[edit | edit source]
Another comedy of note in late 18th century theatre is "Le vieux célibataire" (The old bachelor, 1793), written by Collin d'Harleville (1755-1806). A comedy with the same title written by William Congreve in a more virulent manner appeared in 1693 (see 17th century English Restoration in the current wikibook).
"The old bachelor" "can only he compared with...Terence (195-159 BC). We have here the utmost refinement and accuracy of characterization, most felicitously combined with an able plot, which keeps on the stretch and rivets our attention, while a certain mildness of sentiment is diffused over the whole" (Schlegel, 1846 p 326). “The dialogue is well written and expresses very subtly the mixture of real affection and self-interest in the minds of Dubriage's servants, and the gradual increase of their selfishness and evil-doing. Dubriage is represented as sinning through weakness. Too easily touched by feeling, he loses will-power and reasoning faculties. The dangers awaiting the sensitive man are here too very clearly expressed” (Jourdain, 1921 p 33).
"The old bachelor"[edit | edit source]
Time: 1790s. Place: France.
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Knowing how Dubriage’s servants have been stealing from him for many years, Armand, his nephew, enters his house disguised as a servant and chooses the name of Charles, a plot achieved thanks to George, an honest porter in the old bachelor’s service. Charles meets Mrs Evrard, the widowed house-keeper. Unaware that she is speaking with the disguised Armand, Mrs Evrard sounds him out by revealing that she has done her best to prevent her master’s sympathizing with Armand by intercepting the nephew’s letters to him. She asks Charles’ help in a plan to marry the old bachelor and get her hands on his rich estate. From Dubriage Charles learns that she has done even more: invented threatening letters on his part against his uncle. One day, Mrs Evrard scolds Dubriage’s steward, Ambrose, for his excessive boldness while trying to obtain his wishes in their master’s presence. Ambrose is even bolder, hoping to marry her so that the two can combine their efforts to obtain their master’s riches, but she prefers to wait. In accordance with Charles’ plan, his wife, Laura, obtains a servant’s position alongside of him, which Ambrose accepts. Five of Dubriage’s cousins arrive, also for the purpose of getting his money, all made welcome by Charles, though against his interest, but not nearly in so friendly a manner by Mrs Evrard, who fears that they may succeed. To influence Dubriage, she schools George’s two children to make heart-warming overtures towards him and then insinuates her desire to marry him. Just as he is at the point of accepting, they are interrupted by Ambrose, who informs his master of Laura’s arrival. Fearing a younger rival, Mrs Evrard disagrees with his choice of servants, but Dubriage overrules her. While conversing with Laura, he inquires about her background, but they are interrupted by Mrs Evrard, who seeks to get rid of her. Unexpectedly, Dubriage refuses to accede to her wishes, preferring to keep Laura rather than herself. Mrs Evrard is forced to desist. When Dubriage resumes his discussion with Laura, she blurts out that she is Armand’ wife. He recommends her not to speak of this to his house-keeper. Still unaware of Charles’ identity, Mrs Evrard tells him she has learned of Laura’s, which they must prove to be false. To contradict Laura’s assertions and having still in her possession Armand’s old letters, she changes the date on one of them and reads its contents aloud to Dubriage. Learning about Laura’s assertions, Ambrose is now keen on getting rid of her as well, but the plans of both are foiled when Charles finally reveals with George’s support that he is Armand and welcomed as such by Dubriage.
Fabre D'Églantine[edit | edit source]
Fabre D'Églantine (1750-1794) excelled in another worthy comedy of the period, "L'intrigue épistolaire" (The epistolary intrigue, 1791).
"The epistolary intrigue"[edit | edit source]
Time: 1790s. Place: Paris, France.
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Following the death of her patents, Pauline is placed under the guardianship of Christopher Clénard, who wants to keep her fortune by marrying her. She refuses, but he does not accept her refusal. He discovers that, despite being under the watchful eye of her governess, she has managed to write letters to Louis Cléri, the man she loves and one who also loves her. Incensed at the news of a rival, Christopher swears they will be married the next day and asks his sister to watch over her. He learns that Louis' brother, Fougère, a painter, has debts he cannot pay and, as the bailiff in the case, sends a subordinate over to seize the man's properties. Desperate to communicate her plight to her lover, Pauline pretends to break the sister's glasses by mistake and then substitutes the sister's letter meant for another with her own. Uneasy about Louis' proximity, Christopher decides to leave town with his hoped-for bride. While Pauline looks over new dresses he proposes to her view, she notices a piece of paper stuck on his back, no other than the answer to her letter, which she quickly seizes. It says that Louis intends to disguise himself as the clerk of the notary responsible for marrying them. He requests her to take the print of her room-key with a piece of wax enclosed in the letter and send it back to him. Despite the imminence of the arrival of the bailiff's officers and his wife's anxieties, Fougère is quite cool as he finishes a painting based on a scene from Tasso's "Jerusalem delivered". Informed about these troubles, Louis assures his sister that he is able to obtain the money she needs this evening. However, he has a more pressing need: to hide from the law as he has just kidnapped Pauline under the nose of Christopher's sister. They are interrupted by Christopher's officers. Fearing detection, Louis and Pauline hide inside mannequins in the artist's studio, but they are discovered and taken away. While Christopher locks her up more securely than ever in the house, he hands over a golden cross she accidently dropped among the coach's cushions on their hurried way back here. A puzzled Pauline knows she never had the cross inside the coach but instead gave it to her lover's sister to keep. She discovers inside another message from Louis, beseeching her to pretend agreeing to the marriage, since he has matters under control in the form of his disguise as the notary's clerk. Meanwhile, Fougère arrives with the money he owes, a loan obtained as promised from his brother-in-law. Among the legal papers, Christopher discovers a letter from Louis meant for another, stating that a letter was enclosed to Pauline inside the golden cross about a plot concerning a notary's clerk, except that he failed to win the notary over on his side. He asks for his friend's help in obtaining a girl he would like to marry just for the money. When a triumphant Christopher shows this letter to Pauline, she seems sorely distressed. "Just heaven!" she exclaims, "I can barely breathe." However, she is already informed that her guardian's letter was falsified so that the intended marriage may proceed as planned. Louis arrives with the marriage contract meant for himself and Pauline. But they are interrupted by the arrival of the real clerk. Undeterred, Louis and Pauline pretend that the clerk is the disguised Louis. When Louis drops her room-key, he accuses the bewildered clerk of wanting to take her away. After retrieving from him the marriage contract and with Christopher's approval, they show him the door. An unsuspecting Christopher signs the marriage contract with Louis' name on it, to the joy of the loving couple.
Claude Prosper Jolyot de Crébillon[edit | edit source]
Claude Prosper Jolyot de Crébillon (1707-1777), Crébillon the Younger, may also be worthily mentioned for "La Nuit et le moment" (Night and the moment, 1755), a comedy with a similar structure as August Strindberg's tragedy, Miss Julie (1888), in that both contain a dialogue between a man, a woman, and a female servant.
"Few authors provide a better insight into the homologies between sexuality and gambling than Claude Prosper Jolyot de Crebillon. Crebillon fils, the son of the best known tragic playwright of the first half of the century, was born in 1707 and lived until 1777. From the age of twenty-five until well into his sixties, he wrote a series of novels and short prose works that capture perfectly the 18th-century science of seduction and domination known as libertinage. The intense yet uneasy relations that characterized the sexual entanglements of the ancien regime aristocracy are the constant theme of his works. His La Nuit et le Moment, for instance, the complex chain of events set in motion when the beautiful Cidalise decides to invite to her chateau for the weekend not only the man she hopes to seduce but four of his former mistresses" (Kavanagh, 2000 p 506).
"Night and the moment"[edit | edit source]
Time: 1750s Place: France.
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At a mutual friend's house, Cidalisa receives a visit from Clitander. She has heard that he is no longer with Araminta, she herself having separated from the disloyal Eraste. Because of the unhappy ending of that relation, she is unwilling to enter into a new one. Nevertheless, were she to love another, she could still maintain control. "I flatter myself that I could triumph over my feelings and even let the object of this love be unaware of them," she boasts. But she wants to hear more about Araminta. Clitander explains he lay with her "in a rather darkened grove" near Julia's house and repeated the performance in her room. As they talk of other love-matters, Clitander casually sits on her bed with Cidalisa in it, specifying that in regard to Araminta there was absolutely no love involved. Clitander begins to tremble, apparently from the cold, wearing nothing underneath his bath-robe. Cidalisa is scandalized that a man, though a professed friend, would enter her room so lightly clad. Clitander dismisses such feelings of delicacy and wants to move closer to her. "Is it possible you have a doubt of my respect for you?" he asks. "No," she answers, "I wish to believe that you respect me, and since the idea flatters me, I will not put you in a position to make me lose it." Clitander dismisses that argument and enters in the bed. At first, this bold move angers her, but then she laughs, eventually requesting him to return to his room. He refuses on the pretext that, were he to meet someone in the corridor so late at night, everyone would infer that they have lain together. When she reiterates her request, he reveals his love for her. Why did he not reveal this sooner? Because of her past relations, first with Damis, then with Eraste. "You were born tender," he assures her. Instead of pursuing this line of talk, she wants to hear more about Julia, to which he retorts there is little to say. He becomes bolder, she more indignant, until she breaks down. "Rejoice in your victory: I adore you," she cries out. "Here they come back, those cruel feelings that have made till now all the unhappiness of my life!" He at last obtains what he came for, at the end of which Cidalisa immediately thinks he will leave her. He tries to reassure her. She blames him for keeping his love a secret; otherwise, she would never have known Eraste, then wants to hear more of his amours, notably his supposed love for Belisa. He denies loving Belisa, though he admits laying with her, as he did with Julia, on a particularly hot day after seeing her lounge about in scant attire. Julia supposed that a man cannot possibly have an erection in the midst of such heat, but Clitander proved to her that her notions of male physiology were incorrect. They repeated their performance on a particularly cold day with the same positive result. What about Luscinda? He admits having lain with Luscinda in his carriage on her way back from Julia's house. "But her house is only one street away," Cidalisa reminds him. True, but he hired a slow driver. After laying with her while being unwilling to keep her, he attempted to guide Luscinda back to more tender feelings towards her estranged lover, Oronte, and was successful at the endeavor. To keep up appearances as morning breaks, Cidalisa asks the count to help her arrange the bedsheets. He does, but then destroys such good housekeeping work by laying with her a second time.
Denis Diderot[edit | edit source]
In the late 18th century, a new form of theatrical genre developed: bourgeois drama, whose dramatic characters are taken from lower social levels than is usually the case in classic tragedies, with prose, not verse, being used, of which Denis Diderot (1713-1784) with "Le père de famille" (The father of the family, 1758) provides the best example.
"Diderot...summarized his own play in 'The father of the family': A father has two children, a son and a daughter. The daughter secretly loves a young man living in the same house. The son is infatuated with a girl of the neighborhood. He has sought to seduce her, but without success. He has disguised himself and settled down near her under an assumed name. He is there known as a mechanic of some kind. Occupied during the day, he can see the object of his passion only at night. But the father, watchful of what is going on in his house, learns that his son is absent every night. It is this conduct that introduces the derangement, the disquiet in the family affairs: he awaits his son. There the piece begins. What follows? He finds that the young girl is suitable for his son and discovering at the same time that his daughter loves the young man for whom he has destined her, he arranges the two marriages, but against the consent of his brother-in-law, who has other plans. But why is it a secret love on the part of the young girl? How happens it that the young man she loves lives in the same house? What is he doing there? Who is he? Who is this unknown girl with whom the son is infatuated? How is it that she has fallen into her present state of poverty? Whence comes she? Born in the provinces, what has led her to Paris ? What holds her there? Who is this brother-in-law? Upon what is based his authority in the household of this father? Why does he oppose these marriages that are agreeable to the father? But the action not being able to proceed in two places, how shall the young girl, the stranger, be introduced into the house of the family? How does the father discover the passion existing between his own daughter and the young man in the house? What reason has he for dissimulating his design? How does it happen that the girl, the young stranger, gains his approval? What are the obstacles that the brother-in-law brings to bear? How is the double marriage to be accomplished in spite of these obstacles?...The plot remained the same; but all the episodes would have been different if I had chosen for my chief character the son, the lover, or the uncle" (Price, 1913 248-251).
“Single scenes [of Diderot’s] are effective, such as the opening of the Père de Famille showing the family anxiously awaiting the return of the son and the explanation of hfs absence. The worried father interrogating the servant, the daughter playing backgammon with the uncle, their trivial conversation concerning the game, the candles burning out in the dawn: this whole picture is very different from the eternal exposition of servant and soubrette, or hero and servant in comedy” (Stuart, 1960 p 444).
"M D'Orbesson, the hero of 'The Père de famille', is a combination of Mr Turveydrop and Mr Pecksniff. Unimpeachable sentiments drop from his mouth upon all topics. But marriage is the one which provokes his most unctuous sallies. It is then 'O sacred tie of spouses', 'if I think of you my soul warms over and is lifted' and 'O tender name of son and daughter, I have never pronounced you without shuddering or being moved!'. It is some atonement for his offences that he describes the probable consequences of an imprudent alliance in terms which seem to come red-hot from the furnace of Diderot's own experience" (Millar, 1902 p 241).
"The most absorbing character in the play is the commander...to the very end unconciliatory and unreconciled...The father of the family, on the other hand, does not fill the role intended for him. He is too passive. He follows the action instead of dominating it” (Wilson, 1972 p 324). This adverse comment is an instance of a critic wishing for a strong protagonist, although weakness may befit the play’s scheme. "The conflict between father and son, between the reasonable behavior demanded by society, and that dictated by passion, is not to be resolved. At play's end, Diderot blandly side-steps the dilemma. The problem of Saint-Albin's [plan] evaporates when it is learned that Sophie is actually Saint-Albin's cousin and thus of entirely suitable family (Vxii). The marriage can take place; there is no need to choose. Both adversaries can prevail" (Mittman, 1971-1972 p 275).
"The father of the family"[edit | edit source]
Time: 1750s. Place: France.
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D'Orbesson is very anxious about his son, Saint-Albin, who often goes out at night no one knows where. "If you are crazy about them when they are young," says D'Orbesson's brother, Commander D'Auvilé, on the subject of sons "you will become their martyrs when they will get bigger." When interrogated by his father, Saint-Albin explains that he rented an apartment next door to that of a poor woman, Sophie, accompanied by a servant, Mrs Hebert. Pretending to be as poor as they are, he then moved in with them and now begs his father's consent to their marriage. The father knows even before speaking with her that such a marriage is impossible, her social condition being too low. D'Orbesson tells Sophie that her so-called friend is his son, news which grieves her. He next proceeds to tell his son he has seen her, believes her wise, but as a matter of course he will not consent. "I, by a shameful weakness authorizing the disorder of society," he asks rhetorically, "the confusion of blood and rank, the degradation of families?" The commander agrees with his brother's opinion, promising his nephew money after his death to compensate for the loss of a wife. Let Saint-Albin use her as a mistress but not as a wife. Sophie, abashed and unwilling to enter a family that does not want her, relinquishes her dream and leaves her suitor. A friend of the family, Germeuil, in love with Saint-Albin's sister, Cecilia, despite the commander's disapproval, also advises him to submit to his father's decision, but Saint-Albin refuses. To help his friend, Germeuil asks Cecilia to see Sophie. Cecilia refuses but nevertheless accepts Sophie in her house, the latter lying dazed and confused at the attention from such a wealthy family. Angry at his nephew for disobeying him, the commander devotes his entire attention to Cecilia. He has changed his mind concerning Germeuil, now wishing him married to Cecilia, to whom intends to leave his fortune, but she refuses such a boon. When Saint-Albin despairs at finding Sophie, the commander informs him that with the help of Germeuil he has taken her away from him, but Germeuil reveals he has not done as his uncle wished. From Cecilia Saint-Albin learns that Germeuil has brought Sophie over to his house, but, to counter their plot, the commander does the same. He discloses these news to his pained brother, who hopes eventually that son, daughter, and friend will all plead for pity at his feet. "Pusillamous man, have you no shame?" the commander asks sneeringly. When the entire family meets Sophie, she discovers that the commander is her uncle. Although disgusted at failing to obtain what he wished, the father forgives everyone. He consents that his son marry his niece and his daughter marry Germeuil. The commander is less generous than his brother, declaring that he hates Sophie and will disinherit his nephew. "Had you one hundred children, I would acknowledge none," he fumes.
Michel-Jean Sedaine[edit | edit source]
In addition to Diderot, Michel-Jean Sedaine (1719-1797) provided a worthy example of middle-class drama of his own with "Le philosophe sans le savoir" (The philosopher without knowing it, 1765).
In "The philosopher without knowing it", "we have all the elements of bourgeois drama. M Vanderk, the successful man of business who comes of an old territorial house, is the ideal heavy father of sentimental comedy. In his transactions with M Desparville, it is true, he scarcely displays the qualities we expect in the 'bonus paterfamilias' of the civilians and, if he had conducted all his business on the same footing, his strong box had been much less snugly lined than it was. But he is essentially the 'show man' of his class, and the blue blood which circulates in his veins does not prevent him from denouncing the duello as 'unhappy prejudice! cruel abuse fo the point of honour!'" (Millar, 1902 pp 242-243).
"The creator of the bourgeois drama in France is Sedaine; and his Le Philosophe sans le Savoir portrays artificial social convention in mortal conflict with instinctive human feeling. With all his imperfections as a dramatist, Sedaine is the forerunner of the social dramatist of today, who paints the true conflict of modern life as the struggle of humanity against the hampering restrictions of convention and the oppressive influence of institutionalism" (Henderson, 1914 p 260).
The play “is not only the finest example of the 18th-century drama, but may well be called the first modern drama, so similar is it to plays of the 19th and early 20th centuries...[The] restraint in dialogue, the suspense and foreshadowing brought out with such simplicity, the combination of happiness and tragedy hanging over a peaceful household are new and modern elements in dramatic art in 1765...It is a procedure of modern realists, especially of Ibsen and his followers, to express impending tragedy by indirect methods to allow the audience to get by implication the dramatic emotions which are behind such common incidents of real life. The tragic atmosphere is heightened by being in contrast with the apparent triviality of the incident, while the very triviality of the incident makes the tragedy seem more real. The spectator enjoys making the necessary deductions from the simple words of the dialogue which become fraught with dramatic emotion...The power of the whole play is the result of simplicity and restraint. Sedaine’s technique is the antithesis of the technique of contemporary tragedy. His dialogue is apparently only a skeleton. There is not a line of what would have been called poetry then or literature today. But each line implies a hundredfold more than it says. The virtue of his characters is brought out by what they do, not by long tirades, telling how virtuous they arc. Their deep emotion Is betrayed as much by what they do not say as by what he does express in words. After La Chaussée's and Diderot's outbursts, this is a great relief...Victorine is the transformed soubrette of comedy, just as Antoine is the tricky servant metamorphosed into the faithful confidential clerk. Victorine is in love with Vanderk, Jr. Much of the tragedy of the situation is brought out through her emotions; but she does not marry the son of her employer in the 18th century. Not until almost a century has passed is she finally married to this man of rank by George Sand in her sequel to this drama entitled Le Mariage de Victorine (1861)” (Stuart, 1960 pp 445-449).
“Even when study of the drame was unfashionable, the status of Sedaine's Le Philosophe sans le sgavoir as the masterpiece of the genre was undisputed. Now that scholars are becoming aware that the form offers a unique insight into French eighteenth-century tastes and attitudes, works like those of Sedaine and Diderot have begun to feature on undergraduate courses, and good, reasonably-priced modern editions are to be welcomed...Sedaine's comparison of differing systems of values is enriched by the double social identity of Vanderk, proving that an aspect of the text that has often been viewed as a failure on Sedaine's part is, in fact, a great strength” (Connon, 1995 p 762).
"The philosopher without knowing it"[edit | edit source]
Time: 1760s. Place: France.
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When Antoine asks his daughter, Victorine, why she is crying, she answers: "My good father, sometimes young girls cry to rid themselves of boredom." The true cause is that she heard of a quarrel between Vanderk, the son of her father's friend, and a cavalry officer in a coffee-house. Vanderk's sister, Sophie, is to marry the next day. Vanderk denies that there is a quarrel, but nonetheless she worries about him. Vanderk broaches the subject as to why his father is a merchant when he has just found out he is also of noble descent. The reason is that his father fought a duel in his youth, escaped to prevent punishment, and was befriended by a Dutch merchant, though whom he met Antoine, who facilitated his eventual marriage. Vanderk's father defends his profession, but his son dislikes it. "What has it that is respectable?" he queries. Vanderk's aunt is even more prejudiced against commercial interests. When confronted with Victorine's anxieties about his approaching duel, he responds: "What does it matter?" Late at night when about to leave the house surreptitiously, Vanderk wakes up Antoine to obtain the keys of the main entry-door, but they are in the possession of Vanderk's father. Vanderk asks Antoine to get them for him. Instead of Antoine, his father comes out. Vanderk is to fight a duel with a cavalry officer who insulted the merchant class. His father sorrows over this, but nevertheless lets him go without embracing him. Antoine learns of the duel and desires to take his place, but Vanderk's father wants him present at the duel without interfering in anything. If his son loses, he is to knock three times at the door. Vanderk's father then receives the visit of baron D'Esparville with a pressing need of cash, whom he helps in a commercial exchange. He discovers that D'Esparville is the father of the man his son is challenging, and, while in discussion, hears the three knocks at the door. Antoine confirms his son is dead, but, while talking with Victorine, Vanderk's father sees D'Esparville re-enter with both duellers, for Antoine only saw Vanderk's hat blown off by a bullet and assumed he was dead, both sons, to keep up appearances, only having agreed beforehand to fake the duel.