Journal

[109]

In his article on "Ballet: A Neglected Key to Molière's Theatre," {Dance Research, Vol, II, Spring, 1984), Robert McBride states that the "subject of ballet in Molière's theatre has been accorded much less prominent treatment in comparison with other aspects of the plays," and that "comedies involving ballet may appear at first sight to be distinctly flimsy and unimportant in dramaturgical terms" by comparison with the "great and enigmatic character-comedies such as Le Tartuffe, Don Juan, and Le Misanthrope". But "such a view," McBride maintains "owes more to critical tradition than to primary evidence".

 

There is a consensus among the critics that Molière took the different currents and traditions of comedy existing in his time and gave the genre a new direction, but what seems to have been neglected—and what McBride also fails to stress—is the fact that Molière also brought together different types of ballet, in what is a new way. Molière is sometimes less successful in his innovations with ballet than he is with comedy, none the less his concepts will later be taken up by others, leading eventually to Jean Georges Noverre, to result in the ballet a" act ion more or less as we know it today.

 

In Molière's time, there were two main types of ballet, the Italian and the French. Italian ballet emphasized the decor, which was imposing, fabulous, grandiose, just like that of opera. In French ballet, however, the choreographer played a more important role, and greater emphasis was placed on the characters, who were slightly more individualized, and on the costumes. The ballet de cow, a specifically French phenomenon, brought various elements together with the most tenuous of links. French ballet often presented "grotesque" or "exotic" characters, such as Moors, Eunuchs, Egyptians, or even cats, monkeys, roosters, and so on. There was no sharp dichotomy between the French and the Italian ballet traditions, or perhaps, more precisely, no "querelle" between them, as was the case between comedy, music and ballet, or between French and Italian opera a century later, and choreographers newly-arrived from Italy worked more or less harmoniously in the French setting. However, it is clear that Molière works for preference with the elements of the French ballet tradition, not Italian. For example, it is by exploiting the element of the exotic and the grotesque that Molière creates the finales to his greatest comédies-ballets. The classic comic dilemma of how to defeat the character who is the "obstacle" to the young lovers' happiness but who is also, often, the main focus of interest in the comedy, finds in Molière a new solution: the characters become transposed into a different world, that of fantasy and dance and carnival. Thus, dance becomes an essential part of the comedy, insofar as it is the means to resolve the plot. Ballet and comedy become integrated at the most basic level.

 

In his role in the development of ballet, it is especially interesting to see his use of Pantomime. This was an evolving genre, originating in the Italian commedia dell'arte, but rapidly Frenchifying itself, and in Molière we see it growing in sophistication, pointing directly ahead to Noverre's use of it in his ballets.

 

Even among what we now categorize as Molière's comédies-ballets, some are considered better than others, and those which belong to the tradition of the ballet de cour are not normally ranked very high. Les Amants magnifiques, of 1670, which, in chronological sequence, falls between Monsieur de Pourceaugnac and Le Bourgois gentilhomme, has been seen as a step backward for Molière to a more hybrid, possibly less sophisticated genre, such as he had produced in La Princesse d'Elide, which occupies the second day of Les Plaisirs de Vile enchantée, in 1664. Both Les Amants magnifiques and La Princesse d'Elide are "divertissements," or "ballets de cour," in which various genres are brought together, juxtaposed or alternated, the controversial point here being to what extent these genres, --and more specifically ballet, music, and comedy—are fused together into a coherent whole. Against the view that here Molière's comic genius is "thwarted in his wish to provide comic masterpieces" by the specific demands of his royal patron (p. 3), McBride argues a successful, perfect integration of ballet and action. I would like to argue that the truth lies half-way between the two extremes—rather than integrating the genres, La Princesse d'Elide and Les Amants magnifiques seem to balance the diverse genres against each other, so that they complement each other, without becoming totally amalgamated in the same way as comedy, ballet and music become fused into one perfect whole in Monsieur de Pourceaugnac or in Le Bourgeois gentilhomme. Both those former works are described as a "comédie ... melee de musique et d'entrées de Ballet," thus indicating an admixture rather than a fusion: they are presented as a play, in five acts, with spoken dialogue, the "comédie," interspersed with musical (ballet or singing) "intermèdes," which complement the play, or retell the story or emphasize a mood.

 

On the first day of the Royal 'Divertissement' Les Plaisirs de Vile enchantée, in a totally traditional ballet de cour, the King and other nobles file past as heroic cavaliers, speak, or sing verses. The machinery which by tradition plays an important role in such spectacles, offers to the awed spectators an enormous gilded chariot with Apollo and his suite at the beginning, and at the end "une petite montagne ou roche ombragée de plusieurs arbres," with Pan and Diana. This ballet, then, was not dramatic in the common modern sense of this term, and had little relevance to the 'plot'. The second day was taken up by La Princesse d'Elide. The argument of this second fête was that the knights were giving a divertissement to the queen. The third day related by a series of ballets the efforts of the knights to break Alcina's enchantment, and their success. Thus we might argue that we have here an attempt to use ballet to tell a story: a dramatic ballet, although as such somewhat primitive. It is still above all a series of individual dances, more or less linked to the main 'plot'—we have Giants and Dwarves, Moors, Demons, and so on.

 

The subject of La Princesse d'Elide is very simple, and is clearly announced in the First Interlude, in the Récit de l'Aurore: there is no virtue in being "cruelle" to a deserving lover, and love should be indulged in and enjoyed while a girl is young and beautiful. The plot of the play traces the change in the Princesse d'Elide: cold and indifferent towards her suitors at the outset, at the end she loves and accepts in marriage one of them, Euryale, prince d'lthaque. The tone of the text is stylised, formal; these genuinely aristocratic characters behave with elegance and bienséance, there are predictable references to mythical figures: the Princesse, for example, is compared to Diana. In this stylized world, one of the characters, Moron, plays the formal role of go-between and confidant, helping the eventual happy resolution of the love affair of the hero and heroine. Moron originally played by Molière himself, however, is also the main character in the Intermèdes, where he becomed the unrequited lover of Philis, a Shepherdess, or milk-maid, in Arcadia. However this is not the stylized, mythical Arcadia, but a comic world in which values are turned topsy-turvy. Moron as a lover is a buffoon, in the style of the Commedia dell'Arte, whose actions are moderated by his cowardice—or possibly his commonsense. The dances, which take place in the intermedes are either comic, or simply joyous: they are in the tradition of entrées, that is, unrelated dances, but as used by Molière, they express the mood or atmosphere on which the previous act of the play ends.

 

In the play there is a recurring leitmotif of les "courses," the contests in which the rival princes, and especially the hero, Euryale, can display their prowess, as well as of "la chasse" which it is stressed, the Princess loves. In the Premier Intermede the hunt theme is taken up by "six valets de chiens" who dance "avec beaucoup de justesse et disposition"; obviously, then, it was a question of professional dancers, going through their paces and exhibiting their physical skill, not of mime or establising character. The hunt theme is then repeated in the Deuxieme Intermède, where Moron, with great panache and many comic antics, displays his lack of heroism: pursued by a bear, he is rescued by some hunters who kill the animal, whereupon, Moron, "devenu brave par I'eloignement du peril, voulut aller donner mille coups a la bête qui n'était plus en état de se defendre, et fit tout ce qu'un fanfaron, qui n'aurait pas été trop hardi, eut pu faire en cette occasion; et les chasseurs, pour temoigner leur joie, danserent une fort belle entree". This is a lengthy stage direction, indicating a part of the action which the playwright obviously wanted to convey precisely, but without words. Moron also fails to distinguish himself in the Troisieme Intermède, when, hoping to please Philis, he takes a singing lesson from a Satyr. Here again we find some very precise, very complicated stage directions: "Moron ne fut pas satisfait de cette chanson, quoiqu'il la trouvat jolie, il en demanda une plus passionnée, et priant le Satyre de lui dire celle qu'il lui avait ouï chanter quelque jours auparavant" ... We know that Molière was a great comic actor, but stage directions such as these betray a highly sophisticated use of mime to develop character, above all to express abstractions, and they are usually connected to the musical interludes rather than to the play, where presumably the words are considered sufficient to convey both abstractions and character. Here we find mime used not merely in the traditional way which has become associated with classical ballet, but in a more personal and more complex way similar to that developed by great practitioners such as Robert Helpmann at the beginning of his career. The third Intermède, like the others, ends with a dance—Moron and the Satyr quarrel, but "les violons reprirent un air sur lequel ils dansèrent une plaisante Entrée".

 

While the play offers stylisation of tone and manners, in the Intermèdes there is stylisation of movement, through ballet, superimposing order in a comic world where values have gone haywire, where lovers refuse to die for their cruel mistress, or where surviving is more important than appearing heroic. Moron is the character who links the two worlds: albeit comic, he fits into the general order in the one, but then shifts role and turns it upside down in the other. He is the central element which links the play and the Intermèdes so that they are more than just simply two different genres set side by side. Both play and music share this character who represents the comic element. In the world of the Prince and Princesse this comic element is limited and controlled, but it explodes in the Intermèdes, with the shepherds and shepherdesses and hunters, only to be brought back under control by music, as with Moron and the Satyr in the third Intermède. If it is in the musical Arcadia that the comic element temporarily breaks out of its bounds, however, this musical Arcadia is only a representation, an echo of the formal world of the Prince and Princesse. Basically, these Arcadian shepherds and shepherdesses are not much less stylized than the nobility. The comic element of Moron is an intrusion into each of those worlds. He belongs as little to one as to the other, unlike Monsieur Jourdain, who, six years after the Princesse d'Elide, will belong both to the formal world and to the comic one, joining all the elements together into a perfect fusion. Moron brings the different elements together, links them and balances them against each other. Ballet serves to recall the chaos of buffoonery to order, announcing the cosmic order which will prevail at the end. As Philis announces at the end of the play, the dances bear witness to l'allégresse publique" and include "quatre bergers et deux bergères héroiques," and fauns in this "fete si complete" which closes the day's "divertissements". The inherent tensions between the order of ballet and the disorder of farce, between the stylised world of princes, kings and gods and the commonplaceness of "valets de chiens" and buffoons, is not totally resolved in La Princesse d'Elide but is reduced to a harmonious coexistence between the different elements.

 

Six years later, in 1670, Les Amants magnifiques marks an important point in Molière's career, since for the first time he is assigned control of the ballets as well as of the play. In the history of constant rivalry between Molièere and Benserade, this was a great triumph for the playwright. It also marks a revolution in attitude, insofar as the choice implies a new importance accorded to the dramatic piece, as opposed to the old ballet de cour where the text counted for so little. Under Molière's control, the ballets appear more carefully chosen and more neatly organized, but the genres are still separated. Monsieur de Pourceaugnac which precedes it by a few months, and Le Bourgeois gentilhomme which follows it the same year, both fuse in a highly successful and sophisticated way all the different genres, unifying them into a central character who functions equally at the various levels of the play. In this context, Les Amants magnifiques seems almost like a deliberate exercise in deconstruction. Ballet, grand spectacle, musical Arcadia, aesthetic patterns, and pantomime, all work together, yet remain independent in the six Intermèdes which complement the five acts of the play.

 

Both integrated into the action of the play and reflecting it, are the two ballets involving pantomime. In Act I, Scene v, the Princesse Eriphile is broody, melancholy, and wants to be left alone. Her confidante, Cléonice, proposes a divertissement: "Ce sont des personnes qui, par leurs pas, leurs gestes et leurs mouvements, expriment aux yeux toutes choses, et on appelle cela Pantomimes," but the Princesse refuses. Far from trying to persuade her, Cleonice offers to send them away, until ultimately the Princesse has to insist to be allowed to see them. It is an interesting psychological trick, which highlights the character of each of the two women as well as their relationship. We are not told the content of the Mimes' performance, but it is worth noting that all three are male, and that the means which they employ to distract the Princesse from her woeful thoughts would seem to be poetic rather than farcical.

 

At the end of Act IV, Scene 5, Cléonice is again trying to distract the Princese: "Madame, je vous vois 1'esprit tout chagrin: vous plait-il que vos danseurs, qui expriment si bien toutes les passions, vous donnent maintenant quelque épreuve de leur adresse?". This time the Princess agrees, without enthusiasm. "Qu'ils fassent tout ce qu'ils voudront, pourvu qu'ils me laissent a mes pensées". According to the stage directions, in the fifth Intermède, "Quatre Pantomimes, pour épreuve de leur adresse, ajustent leurs gestes et leurs pas aux inquiétudes de la jeune Princesse." In the second Intermède the stage directions simply indicated that "trois danseurs, sous le nom de Pantomimes [...] expriment par leurs gestes toutes sortes de choses," but here it is clear that it is not a question of clownish antics, but of a serious dance, which is integrated into the play at a deep level inasmuchas it exteriorises, and expresses concretely and visually the thoughts and feelings of the Princesse. It is worth observing that here, where the mood is serious, the terms "danseurs" and "pantomimes" are used interchangeably, whereas we noted earlier that in the comic scenes a careful distinction was made between the two. As is clear from the dialogue in Act I, Scene v, the status of the Pantomimes in Molière's time was uncertain, and tended to be associated rather with "mauvais divertissements"; it would appear to be one of Molière's contributions to the genre to have used these Pantomimes in a serious role.

 

The third Intermède is also deeply integrated into the play, on different levels. As part of the peripeteia, it comes to interrupt a scene between Eriphile and Sostrate in which the Princess is trying to elicit, without open success, a declaration of love from the latter. Her reaction to the boy who summons her to a divertissement in the woods is an "Hélas?," but she doesn't try to refuse as she did in the second Intermède, perhaps because the invitation is in the manner of a royal command from her mother, but also partly because Eriphile is no longer melancholy since she has strong grounds for suspecting that Sostrate is in love with her; on top of that, he will also be present at this divertissement. Once again, a divertissement is completely in tune with the heroine's feelings, betraying, this time, her satisfaction and happiness. However, more than that, what gives the third Intermède its importance is that, strategically placed at the centre of the play, it resumes the plot in musical terms. We are back again with shepherds and shepherdesses: a "cruel" lady is loved by a shepherd and by two satyrs; at first she rejects all three, but finally she accepts the shepherd, and the satyrs go away. As an interesting effect of "emboîtement," in this musical Intermède which reproduces in a stylised and dignified way the story of the play transposed into operatic Arcadia, there appear three "petites Dryades" and three "petits Faunes" who "font paraître, dans l'enfoncement du théâtre, tout ce qui se passe sur le devant". In the Arcadia of Les Amants magnifiques, by contrast to that of La Princesse d'Elide, the comic element is always totally controlled, at best relegated to a small corner of the stage.

 

The play and the intermèdes are linked together by the fact that the intermèdes are amusements offered to Eriphile and to the Princess her mother. Some of the intermèdes, we have already argued, have a more profound significance in the work as whole, but the fourth Intermède has only the slightest of connections. Aristione, Eriphile's mother, simply announces that she and her daughter will walk in the grotto. In this intermède there is neither development of plot nor of characters. The ballet itself has no relevance to the play, since it presents eight statues, each with a torch, "qui font une danse variée de plusieurs belles attitudes ou elles demeurent par intervalles". In 1670, Molière reaches the apex of that hybrid genre, the comédie-ballet, but here, briefly, he goes back to the purely balletic element, that is to the 'suite de danses' without a story or a theme, and without characterization.

 

At the beginning and at the end of the work, in the first and sixth Intermèdes, we have a ballet de cour in its purest form. The roles first of Neptune and then of Apollo were written for the King, who, as things turned out, did not dance them. Both Intermèdes are "spectacles" for the nobles of the court at Versailles, justified within the play as being 'spectacles' given in that mythical Thessalie where live Eriphile and her mother. The spectator is informed at the beginning of Act I that the first intermède which he has just seen is a fête offered by the prince Iphicrate with "des cadeaux merveilleux de musique et de danse," to celebrate the beauty of the two princesses. At the end of the play, the Sixieme Intermède presents the celebration of the "jeux pythiens" to bring to a glorious conclusion "par ce pompeux spectacle cette merveilleuse journée," an ambiguous description, referring equally to both the imaginary world within the play, and to the real world of the court at Versailles. The role of Apollo should have been played by the King himself: as so often in the ballets de cour, the King was to appear as a symbolically-costumed representation of himself. The series of individual dances repeated the theme of heroic pagan games.

 

Although the Intermèdes and the peripeteia of Eriphile's love life are linked together to a greater or lesser extent, one can also see them as alternating. And if one considers the "Divertissement Royal" in its entirety, one can describe La Princesse d'Elide itself as an intermède within the theme of the chevaliers enchanted by Alcina, since it is a "divertissement" she has provided.

 

The form of the ballet de cour, such as we find it in the two works we have been examining, has come a long way from its inception a century earlier, but it has also come to a dead end. The different genres comprising it can be brought together, balanced carefully against each other, or fused successfully, but the tension between them is never totally resolved.

 

Historically, one of the sources of tension had its root in the very real world, with the furious rivalry for royal patronage between Molière and Lulli, or between Molière and Benserade. In the Prologue to l'Amour medecin, "la Comédie, la Musique et le Ballet" appear together, and Comedy begins with an exhortation:

 

Quittons, quittons notre vaine querelle, Ne nous disputons pas nos talents tour a tour.

What is interesting here is the implication of the extent of these quarrels between the three genres. Comedy ends:

 

Unissons-nous tous trois d'une ardeur sans seconde, Pour donner du plaisir au plus grand roi du monde.

The ballet de cour had always brought together various genres in order to amuse and give pleasure to the King. In Molière's time, each of the genres has reached a point in its development where it is testing out its own boundaries, or perhaps the extent to which it can encroach upon another's territory. What is happening historically in the 1660's in relation to the evolution of the genres is that the divertissement no longer calls itself a "ballet" but a "comédie," and even in this Prologue, Comedy is assigned the major role. When Molière rejects the description "Comédie mêlée de danse et de musique" in favor of "Comédie-ballet," however, he is allowing ballet once again an importance which it had lost. This newly-defined union was not without its difficulties. Frequently cited is the description of Les Amants magnifiques given by Robinet in a verse-letter to Madame, dated 15 February 1670:

 

Le Divertissement royal Dont la cour fait son carnaval, Est un ballet en comédie, Je ne crains pas qu'on m'en dédie, Ou bien comédie en ballet [„.]¹

The witticism might indicate either the rivalry still rampant between the genres, or perhaps more simply the uncertainty regarding the definition of the genres themselves. "La musique est accoutumée a ne point faire ce qu'on veut," complains Polichinelle, tormented by the violins, in the first Intermède of the Malade imaginaire. Tension between the genres frequently manifests itself in tiffs like this; but the contrary can also be true, and there are instances of the genres not only coexisting peacefully but aiding each other. We have already mentioned how, when Moron and the Satyr quarrel, music intervenes, as an independent element, to appease them.

 

As well as rivalry between the genres, there is a deeper source of tension, basic to each genre. In 1664, three months before la Princesse d'Elide, in the Argument to the Manage force, there is a reference to "ballets, qui sont des comédies muettes," stating that they portray the same subjects: this is the new development, one which precisely we do not find in the ballet de cour, but which is the result of bringing together all those different elements. In 1681, scarcely a generation later, the Jesuit P. Menestrier, writes Des representations en musique anciennes et modernes, followed in 1682 by Des ballets anciens et modernes, indicating a clear conception of a new, a "modern" ballet. He states that "Le ballet exprime les mouvements que la peinture et la sculpture ne pourraient exprimer et, par ces mouvements, il va exprimer jusqu'a la nature des choses et les habitudes de 1'ame qui ne peuvent tomber sous les sens que par ses mouvements".² Polichinelle, in the first Intermede of the Malade imaginaire, complains "Est-ce que c'est la mode de parler en musique?"—a complaint expressed by other characters in other Molière plays. Each genre, then, has inherent within it the qualities of the others. Music can speak, and ballet can express comedy. There is "correspondance" between the genres, and it is this correspondence, explored and developed by Molière and his contemporaries, which will evolve into ballet as we now know it.

 

"Ballet en comédie or "comédie en ballet"? Robinet could not decide, the balance between them having been so carefully achieved. And it was a question of balance, rather than fusion. With a truly balletic movement we see the genres come close together, interlink, move apart only to move together again. After Molière, the genres will definitely separate and develop independently in different directions.

 

Les Amants magnifiques marks a turning point, not in the history of comedy but in that of ballet. The King, who was to dance in it, does not, perhaps because he is getting older, or perhaps because he is becoming conscious of a new, more dignified role he can play: and without royal participation, the ballet de cour will gradually disappear. The purely aesthetic ballet, consisting simply of attractive poses and patterns, is already a century old, going back to Beaujoyeulx, when the spectators were seated high up, looking down, and therefore better able to appreciate the patterns drawn by the dancers. With the spectators now seated on a level with the dancers, the patterns have become less visible and therefore less easily appreciated, but at the same time, perhaps, ballet is becoming tentatively more complex, and the beautiful statues, freezing into attractive poses, appear one of the less satisfying ballets Molière offers.

 

What ballet has now acquired is a new custom of being associated with a story, or of telling a story, involving not knights or Moors or giants, but foolish, social-climbing tradesmen, or cowardly minor courtiers who have no intention of dying for love of an Arcadian shepherdess, that is, realistic, far from idealized characters. This is a true indication of ballet's future. During the course of the following century, the ballet created as a simple series of dances will be replaced by the "ballet d'action": a ballet which, quite as much as a 'comédie', will present on stage clearly defined and individualized characters, and will develop in movement, not speech, a coherent dramatic intrigue. In this context it is relevant to quote Noverre's reference to Molière:

 

...[mjettre des Tragédies & des Comédies en Danse? quelle folie! Y a-t-il de la possibilité? Oui, sans doute: resserrez l'action de L'Avare, retranchez de cette Pièce tout dialogue tranquille; rapprochez les incidents; reunissez tous les Tableaux épars dans ces drames, & vous réussirez [Lettres sur la Danse, No. VI, 1760]

Molière's role in the historical development of comedy has been well documented and justly valued; his role in the historical development of ballet has not yet been accorded full credit.

 

University of California, Davis

Notes

¹

Quoted in Molière, OEuvres complètes, Gallimard (Bibliotheque de la Pleiade), Paris, 1971, Vol. II, p. 642. ²Quoted in Les Spectacles a travers les ages, p. 151.

Works Cited or Consulted

Berton, Claude, "Les Ballets de Cour," in Anon, (ed.), Les Spectacles a trovers les ages: Musique, Danse (Paris, Eds. du Cygne, 1932).

 

McBride, Robert, "Ballet: A Neglected Key to Molière's Theatre," Dance Research, Vol. II, Spring 1984: 3-18.

 

Molière, OEuvres completes, (Paris: Gallimard Bibliotheque de la Pleiade, 1971).

 

Noverre, Jean-Georges, Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets, [1760], facsimile reproduction (New York: Broude Brothers, 1967).

 

[99]

Le rôle dramatique de la servante Toinette du Malade imaginaire est unique dans toute l'oeuvre de Molière par l'importance de sa responsabilité théâtrale. A titre de servante, elle ne peut être comparée qu'à une poignée de personnages antérieurs de même fonction et, de ce petit nombre, celui de la Dorine du Tartuffe, malgré son appellation de suivante, est le seul qui évolue dans une situation dramatique analogue.

 

Je ne vais pas considérer le rôle de la servante sous la rubrique plus générale de "personnages au service d'autres personnages" comme l'a fait Jean Emelina dans son étude (4).¹ Cette analyse n'aura pas l'envergure du travail d'Emelina et j'ai préféré éviter la confusion que des comparaisons entre nourrices et femmes de chambre, servantes et confidentes, etc., ne manqueraient pas de susciter. Or, en cherchant dans le théâtre de Molière des liens de parenté dramatique avec Toinette, Dorine s'établit incontestablement comme le modèle parfait de soeur.

 

Je devrai pourtant, pour les comparer, revenir sur les distinctions que je viens à peine de proposer au risque de me contredire: car ici la distinction de servante et de suivante représente un obstacle franchissable lorsque l'on considère l'interprétation des responsabilités fonctionnelles de l'une et de l'autre. En tant que suivante, Dorine est attachée à la personne de Marianne; son affection pour celle-ci est réelle et elle lui est tout à fait loyale et entièrement dévouée. Toinette est la servante de la maison d'Argan où elle est plus particulièrement responsable du malade; mais il est évident dès le début qu'elle n'en est pas pour autant son esclave et il n'y a aucun doute quant à ses allégeances: elle n'a d'affection que pour Angélique. C'est pour cela qu'elle se donne la fonction de protectrice de sa maîtresse—en se désignant comme sa suivante, car Marianne en a bien besoin. On peut donc, à partir de cette réalité théâtrale correspondante, comparer l'utilisation du rôle dramatique de Dorine avec celui de Toinette.

3 et se prête à l'élaboration d'un monde illusoire où le monomane peut vivre sa condition sans exclure la participation de son entourage. L'interaction des différents éléments de la comédie-ballet contribue énormément à la création de ce monde imaginaire; mais aussi on peut déceler une utilisation modifiée des rôles d'importance, parmi lesquels celui de Toinette représente un des exemples les plus intéressants.

 

Il est clair que la progression de la comédie-ballet est déterminée par l'interdépendance des agréments entre eux mais l'étude du développement du genre et des modalités d'équilibre entre comédie, ballet et musique feront l'objer d'une autre étude étude. J'ai bâti cette analyse à partir de l'excellente thèse développée par Claude Abraham sur la structure des comédies-ballets de Molière. Je lui dois aussi le sujet de cette analyse par l'intérêt qu'ont suscité certaines remarques sur la responsabilité de Toinette dans Le Malade imaginaire: "Toinette is the foil. She guides the plot..." (81).

 

C'est de cette responsabilité de la servante que j'aimerais discuter en faisant ressortir sa contribution dans l'établissement de la fête, du carnaval. Car la création d'un divertissement se libérant progressivement des contraintes du monde réel pour passer dans celui de la fantaisie—comme le fait la comédie-ballet—a nécessité des changements concrets au niveau de l'élément comédique* et, par conséquent, dans la participation de ses personnages.

 

Le rôle dramatique de Dorine et de Toinette, comme celui de la plupart des valets d'importance chez Molière ou de ceux que Jean Emelina a caractérisés de l'appellation de fourbes,⁵ est d'abord de faire avancer l'intrigue. C'est grâce à elles que se déroule la trame de la pièce, laquelle se résume à bien peu de choses dans Le Tartuffe et dans Le Malade comme dans la majorité des pièces de Molière. De plus, elles sont responsables de "conduire l'action" (90), ce qui est déjà une contribution d'une plus grande valeur que celle de délier une trame dont la progression est dépourvue de complexité.

 

Selon Emelina, Dorine, dans Le Tartuffe, "se heurte" (123), dès le début, à la folie de Madame Pernelle (v. 13). Ses premières interventions servent d'énoncé au thème de la comédie tout en identifiant le personnage de la suivant à celui du raisonneur (59). Pourtant, si Dorine se dispute c'est qu'il y a véritablement matière à opposition et non pas parce qu'elle est simplement raisonneuse. Cette nuance importe car elle renferme l'essence même du caractère de la servante et de sa signification dans le mouvement de l'action. Si la servante exhibe des traits de caractère qui lui sont propres, ceux-ci dérivent directement de la juxtapostion des diverses scènes dramatiques; ils n'ont aucune valeur morale intrinsèque et n'existent qu'en fonction de l'exploitation du rire qui découle de l'esquisse des différentes caricatures. W. G. Moore a insisté sur la neutralité des intentions morales des personnages de Molière qui ne cherchent pas à exprimer d'opinions (85-97). Je suis entièrement de cet avis, sans toutefois nier les qualités et les défauts de la servante; je suggère simplement qu'ils appartiennent essentiellement aux situations dramatiques dont ils sont engendrés sans autres prétentions que d'épicer et d'égayer ces tableaux.

 

C'est par opposition que Molière a peint ses grandes caricatures. Soit en contrastant des traits discordants à l'intérieur d'un même personnage—la crédulité d'Orgon fera place à une incrédulité absolue aussi, et la lucidité d'Argan dans la vie guotidienne avec jure sa naïveté en présence du jargon médical—soit en opposant deux ou plusieurs personnages: la naïveté d'Orgon et de Madame Pernelle est amplifiée par la claivoyance de Dorine et de Cléante. L'entêtement de Toinette révèle des traits caractéristiques de la dureté d'Argan.

 

L'emploi de la mécanique conflictuelle constitue dans Le Tartuffe et dans Le Malade non seulement un moyen de faire avancer l'action, mais aussi un procédé pour établir le comique. Par sa rébellion contre le ridiculeprojet de mariage qu'Argan entend mettre à exécution, Toinette, dans sa défense d'Angélique (I, 5), dépasse les limites de son rôle social, mais c'est précisément là le dessein de son rôle dramatique, dont la portée d'exécution dépasse l'avancement de l'action et l'esquisse de caricatures pour parvenir au moment où le rire gagne le spectateur. La servante est avant tout un instrument à déclencher le rire et pour ce faire Molière n'hésite pas à la doter d'une intelligence bruyante qui entraînerait son renvoi immédiat dans un contexte social réaliste.

 

Dorine montre un tempérament tout aussi prompt à l'emportement lorsqu'il s'agit de venir en aide à sa maîtresse (II, 2) et, si la passion de l'intervention provoque le rire, elle aussi un degré de loyauté révèle peu commun. On retrouve ainsi des éléments humains réalistes entremêlés au burlesque, à l'utilitaire dramatique et—surtout chez Toinette, comme on le verra plus loin—à la fantaisie.

 

Si je persiste à rappeler la suivante du Tartuffe, c'est que je crois essentiel, avant tout, de souligner la disparité des deux caractères dramatiques malgré les ressemblances qui me portent à les rapprocher. A partir d'un moule commu, Dorine et Toinette évoluent selon des besoins dramatiques différents. Et l'apparence de similitudes dans les deux rôles en question revêt un masque qui suggère des intentions bien différentes chez l'une et l'autre. Lorsque Dorine affiche une surdité voulue à la suite des plans de mariage qu'Orgon formule pour sa fille (v. 466-470), la suivante se confronte à l'autorité paternelle, en un jeu conforme à son rôle dramatique, pour montrer l'absurdité de la proposition paternelle et pour la ridiculiser. La suivante se jouant du ridicule du maître et de la passivité de sa maîtresse correspond bien au caractère iconoclaste de la comédie. Mais on ne peut soupçonner chez Dorine de motif ultérieur caché; le but de la comédie ne s'y prête pas. La suivante n'aspire pas à changer sa propre condition; son dessein d'empêcher l'exécution d'une union grotesque et ses intentions de démasquer un scélérat naissent de la nécessité comédique qui est exempte de considération personnelle. En comédie, on se moque, on ridiculise, on rit de bon coeur, sans pourtant pouvoir intervenir ni chercher à réformer le caractère du monomane. Cela n'appartient pas au chapitre des besoins de la comédie. Par conséquent, le personnage de Dorine est limité par les exigences mêmes du genre. Il est aussi complexe que l'a voulu son créateur, sans dévier de sa ligne de conduite.

 

Quand Toinette refuse à Argan le plaisir de la quereller en feignant "de s'être cogné la tête (I, 2), elle révèle une attitude qui diffère grandement de celle de Dorine. Toinette entend bien ne pas se laisser marcher sur les pieds. Dans une entrée peu conforme à de son rôle social de servante, elle laisse échapper des gémissements de douleur à chaque remontrance qu'Argan veut lui faire. D'instinct, face à cet hypocondriaque tyrannique, la servante entre en confrontation immédiate. Au-delà du jeu mécanique des oppositions pour faire avancer l'action et pour faire rire, on décèle une dimension nouvelle dans le rôle de Toinette, dès le début de la pièce la servante n'est pas satisfaite de son sort et elle entreprend de le changer. A l'égoïsme d'Argan s'oppose l'amour-propre de la servante qui entend améiorer sa condition sur le plan immédiat par quelques moyens qui lui puissent réussir. La prompte introduction d'une ambiance fantaisiste dans Le Malade, à la mesure de la comédie-ballet, laisse présager une tournure extravagante des événements. Le génie du genre est justement de laisser libre cours à l'imagination et d'encourager l'abandon du monde réel.

 

Voilà qui n'est pas possible dans Le Tartuffe, où le personnage de Dorine est plus indispensable à renonciation de maximes qu'il n'est nécessaire à la sauvegarde de la famille. La responsabilité dramatique de Dorine ne dépasse ni sa contribution au mouvement de l'action, ni sa mise en relief de l'hypocrisie et ou de la crédulité de Tartuffe d'Orgon et de Madame Pernelle. Ce n'est pas pour la condammer: le personnage s'exécute habilement dans un univers inhéremment stable.

 

La comédie-ballet mettra fin à cette stabilité et si la première impression que le spectateur a de Toinette est celle d'un personnage raisonneur et agressif, elle ne manquera pas de révéler d'autres attributs. Toinette serévèle plus imaginative que Dorine dans la confrontation qui l'oppose à Argan an sujet du mariage d'Angélique avec Thomas Diafoirus (I, 5). La contestation de l'autorité paternelle telle que l'interprète Toinette contribue certainement à exciter le rire, mais elle pousse surtout la réalité dramatique vers le domaine de la fantaisie, où Toinette se sentira progressivement plus à l'aise pour affronter les humeurs du malade. La servante comprend tôt l'inutilité de raisonner avec un monomane et elle pénètre rapidement dans le monde imaginaire d'Argan où elle voit d'ailleurs plus clair que lui. Qu'on la regarde puiser dans ses inépuisables réserves d'énergie la hardiesse de provoquer la colère d'Argan, qui en oublie momentanément ses faiblesses pour se jeter à sa poursuite (I, 5).

 

Ce goût du "jeu" chez Toinette, lequel pourrait prendre pour de la fourberie, naît plutôt de la recherche d'un monde dans lequel règne la gaieté. La fourberie, un trait appartenant à un certain type de valet—comme Hali et Covielle par exemple—implique un certain degré d'orgueil à berner le maître, ce qui n'est pas le cas chez Toinette. Le caractère de la servante s'allie mieux aux intentions plus honnêtes de l'aspiration à l'utopie.

 

Dans cette veine, Toinette comprend bien vite qu'elle n'a rien à gagner à se quereller avec Béline; c'est pourquoi elle feint de se ranger du côté de la belle-mère dans la scène 6 du premier acte. Plus tard, quand l'intrigue risque de tourner au mélodrame avec l'entretien d'Argan, de Béline et du notaire (I, 7), Toinette vient aussitôt réduire la tension dans la scène suivante lorsqu'elle avertit Angélique de la tromperie qu'elle prépare. L'introduction de Polichinelle, l'amant de la servante, vient dégager d'avantage l'atmosphère et le rôle de Toinette, par le truchement de son amant qui sera central à la musique et aux diverses entrées de ballet, s'étend ainsi dans le domaine de l'intermède qui suit immédiatement le premier acte. Cette association de la servante avec le monde de la fantaisie est tout à fait conséquente avec la progression de la comédie-ballet qui se veut un divertissement aboutissant à un univers où

 

Lorsque pour rire on s'assemble Les plus sages, ce me semble Sont ceux qui sont les plus fous. (Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, III, 8)

La "sagesse" habituelle de la servante lui dicte une conduite où s'impose une certaine prudence et Toinette s'aventure sous le couvert de la comédie-ballet dans un rôle aui va au-delà de son prototype et de sa condition sociale.

 

Beaucoup de gens aiment voir dans Le Malade une satire de la médecine. Il n'y a aucun doute, pour W. G. Moore, que dans cette comédie-ballet on se moque autant d'Argan que des Purgon et Diafoirus (86). Si la médecine, ou plutôt le jargon pseudo-scientifique dénué de sens, est ridicule, la foi aveugle en son infaillibilité est tout aussi grotesque. L'usage fréquent de la caricature dans le théâtre moliéresque en fait un cliché comédique qui sert précisément d'instrument au rire—d'un rire irrésistiblement renouvelé. On ne doit donc pas y lire des intentions imaginaires si, avec Le Malade, la médecine est un thème central dans la dernière comédie-ballet de Molière.

 

Déguisée en médecin, Toinette continue à manifester sa virtuosité et sa clairvoyance (III, 10) dans un jeu pleinement conscient de l'inutilité de raisonner avec Argan. Elle emprunte le jargon médical pour suggérer un monde meilleur et plus gai, où la nécessité de se nourrir peut réassumer les plaisirs qui l'accompagnent de coutume. Toinette se plaît énormément dans ce monde de fantaisie et elle emploie une énergie extraordinaire à vouloir le perpétuer. Voyez-la entrer et sortir, tantôt en servante, tantôt en médecin, prêtant toute sa vigueur à ce "vieux" représentant de la médecine, qu'elle joue jusqu'à se donner la réplique en coulisse, pour notre divertissement et celui d'Argan.

 

Dorine et Toinette, sensibles chacune aux difficultés qu'éprouvent les amants, s'affairent du mieux qu'elles le peuvent pour les aider. L'entreprise s'apparente bien à leur rôle social respectif et la mise en valeur de leur sens du devoir bien intentionné collabore au mouvement dramatique et au rire. Le "devoir" de Toinette va pourtant plus loin car en démasquant la belle-mère, par exemple, la servante fait bénéficier Argan autant qu'Angélique (III, 12). Le spectacle lui-même a beaucoup à gagner puisque l'immoralité de Béline menace l'intégrité de la fête. Ce dernier personnage n'appartient pas au monde de la comédie-ballet; c'est plutôt un vestige de la comédie qui n'a pas sa place dans l'élaboration du carnaval. La belle-mère doit donc disparaître sous le coup de balai de la servante.

 

C'est Béralde qui vient précipiter le dénouement en suggérant au malade de se faire médecin lui-même. Bien qu'il ait d'abord préféré raisonner avec Argan, il tombe victime lui aussi, joyeuse victime de l'envoûtement carnavalesque animé par Toinette qui va dès lors envahir le théâtre. Il sied bien à l'uniformité de la fantasie que les choses se déroulent ainsi. La réplique de Béralde montre bien jusqu'à quel point il veut entrer dans le jeu, à l'inquiétude d'Angélique:

 

Mais ma nièce, ce n'est pas tant le jouer, que de s'accommoder à ses fantaisies. Tout ceci n'est qu'entre nous. Nous y pouvons aussi prendre chacun un personnage, et nous donner ainsi la comédie les uns les autres. Le carnaval autorise cela. Allons vite préparer toutes choses. (III, 13)

On a beau suggérer que le rôle dramatique de Toinette est raccommodé à partir d'une série de vieux clichés comédiques, il révèle, en collaboration avec les agréments de la comédie-ballet, une nature transformée où la fraîcheur du personnage est renouvelée. Ce sont les exigences nouvelles de la comédie-ballet qui sont surtout responsables des remarquables développements chez Toinette. Pourtant on est souvent tenté d'attribuer ces développements au fruit de l'expérience accumulée et à l'évolution graduelle du personnage, surtout lorsqu'on se limite à analyser Le Malade dans un contexte uniquement comédique plutôt que comme comédie-ballet. Or, la servante a pour principal mérite de battre la mesure du mouvement vers la fête. Elle s'exécute avec panache et mène allègrement la troupe vers le bal. L'ingéniosité du processus qui développe dramatiquement la servante s'associe à la marche impeccable de l'ensemble du spectacle et l'harmonie de la composition, comme la reflète le jeu de Toinette, est le fruit de la souple coordination de toute une série d'éléments savamment orchestrés dans la sphère de l'exécution totale.

 

Il sied bien à l'analyse de chercher à remonter aux sources pour être en mesure de démontrer du développement d'un progressif thème et de sa forme. Il y a pourtant des circonstances où ce progrès s'affirme par des bonds qui dépassent la mesure prudente des expériences usuelles. En de telles circonstances, la critique n'a plus qu'à acclamer le génie de la création. La servante du Malade représente un de ces coups de génie: elle est l'instrument par lequel s'implante la fantaisie. Toinette bat la mesure du mouvement vers la fête et entraîne tout le monde à sa suite pour enfin se perdre humblement elle-même au coeur de l'illusion.

 

University of California, Davis

Notes

¹

Jean Emelina détermine, dans son introduction, les limites de son travail qui comprendra "tous les personnages au service d'autres personnages et qui sont appelés dans la distribution 'valet, suivant, suivant ou laquais'." ²Pour plus de détails sur la comédie et son caractère iconoclaste, voir Abraham ("Molière Ionesco: comique de l'iconoclasme linguistique." ³Dans son chapitre "From Comédie-Ballet to Carnaval," Claude Abraham analyse les propriétés de la comédie-ballet qui se prêtent de façon idéale "to the escapist's aims."(42) Il souligne en citant André Bellessort que "Le divertissement embrassait ainsi tous les divertissements des yeux, des oreilles, de l'esprit. La poésie, la musique, la dance collaboraient. ⁴J'emploie le terme comédique pour ce qui a trait au genre de la comédie en opposition au qualificatif comique qui se rapport à tout rire. ⁵Jean Emelina a inclus, dans sa classification du fourbe, les personnages de Dorine et de Toinette. Je crois que cette classification laisse beaucoup à désirer bien que je sois d'accord en ce qui concerne leur responsabilité du mouvement de l'action. Voir le chapitre sur "Le type du fourbe" dans Les valets et les servantes (17-35).

Works Cited or Consulted

Abraham, Claude. "Molière et Ionesco: comique de l'iconoclasme linguistique." Studi Francesi (1985): 229-242.

 

___________. On the Structure of Molière's Comédies-Ballets (Paris-Seattle-Tuebingen: Biblio 17, 1984).

 

Emelina, Jean. Les valets et les servantes dans le théâtre de Molière, (Aix-en-Provence: La Pensée universitaire, 1958).

 

Moore, W. G. Molière: A New Criticism (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968).

 

[91]

Elisabeth Sophie Chéron que l'Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture élut en 1672 est assez oubliée de nos jours, pourtant Voltaire lui donna une place dans la liste alphabétique des satellites fameux dont il environna le Roi-soleil. On lit dans Le Siècle de Louis XIV: "Chéron Elisabeth, née à Paris en 1648, célèbre par la musique, la peinture et les vers, et plus connue sous ce nom que sous celui de son mari, le Sire Le Hay. Morte en 1711." C'est donc que Sophie Chéron demeurait une gloire entre tant de gloires longuement énumérées par Voltaire.

 

Née d'un père protestant et d'une mère catholique, la petite fille fut élevée dans la religion réformée. Le père, peintre, initia ses cinq enfants à la pratique de son art. Trois d'entre eux héritèrent des aptitudes paternelles, mais ces dons apparurent accumulés et multipliés dans Elisabeth Sophie, qui acquit très jeune un renom de portraitiste. Aux environs de Meaux, où les Chéron habitaient, se trouvait l'Abbaye de Jouarre. Elisabeth Sophie ne comptait guère que quatorze printemps quand elle y fut invitée pour faire le portrait de l'abbesse régnante, Henriette de Lorraine. C'est à Jouarre que se sont préparées l'évolution religieuse et la conversion de la jeune fille: l'abjuration d'Elisabeth Sophie et de sa soeur Marie fut enregistrée en l'église Saint-Sulpice à Paris le 25 mars 1668. La jeune convertie s'y qualifiait de peintre.

 

Rappelons très brièvement quels caractères essentiels présentait alors la peinture à la mode et en faveur. Elle était tout aristocratique, regardait en haut; la piété était profitable et les tableaux noblement religieux étaient commandés fréquemment et facilement placés. Les églises s'inondaient de lumière et leurs murailles s'encombraient de peintures. Les grands se donnaient pour familiers, voire pour ancêtres, les héros de l'histoire; ils aimaient aussi beaucoup se contempler eux-mêmes; les portraits devenaient à la mode, et des artistes tels que Largilîière et Rigaud se glorifiaient dans ce labeur lucratif et incessant. Pour Elisabeth Sophie, faire des portraits était une source généreuse de succès mondains et de superbes revenus. Elle n'avait guère que vingt-deux ans lorsqui elle peignit le très illustre archevêque de Paris, Hardouin de Beaumont de Péréfixe, qui avait été le précepteur officiel du petit Louis XIV. Sa réputation ainsi établie, Elisabeth Sophie reçut bien des commandes. Les femmes étaient nombreuses, en particulier celles qui s'illustraient dans le service des muses: Mmes Dacier, Deshoulières, d'Aulnoy, des Ursins, Mlles de Scudéry et de Montpensier, mais aussi Mme Guyon la quiétiste, le janséniste Nicole, le Père Bourdaloue, jésuite, le prince de Condé, le roi Casimir de Pologne, la princesse de Monaco, le jeune duc de Sully, etc. La chronologie de ces portraits est d'ailleurs souvent impossible à établir.

 

Le 11 juin 1672, à l'âge de vingt-quatre ans, Chéron était admise à l'Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture. Fondée en 1648, l'année même de la naissance de la jeune artiste, cette académie, imposait des épreuves à quiconque ambitionnait d'y prendre place. La jeune fille se soumit à cette obligation et fit d'elle-même un portrait qui nous a été conservé. Le couleur n'en est pas très heureuse: A l'instar de Lebrun, Chéron, était plus dessinatrice que coloriste. Le portrait représente Chéron à mi-corps: de ses fines mains, elle tient et déroule un feuillet où se devinent les premières lignes d'une nouvelle oeuvre. C'est un bon portrait selon la formule en usage à cette époque. L'Académie accueillit favorablement à ce portrait qui prit place au Louvre, parmi les autres morceaux dits de réception. II semble bien que Chéron fut la première académicienne.

 

Elisabeth Sophie composa aussi quelques tableaux. Le musée de Rennes conserve une Marie-Madeleine d'agréable aspect. Ce n'est qu'un buste qui pourrait être considéré comme un portrait. Une mise au tombeau présente au contraire de nombreuses figures. C'est une composition quelque peu artificielle mais abondante, heureuse et bien équilibrée dont il ne subsiste que la gravure, datée de 1710. Il reste â vrai dire peu de tableaux d'Elisabeth Sophie, mais un grand nombre de ses oeuvres sont conservées en gravures au Cabinet des Estampes et racontent une vie d'efforts couronnée de succès. Elle avait un goût prononcé de l'antique, lequel, à cette époque, dominait avec Poussin l'Ecole française. Elle fit de nombreaux travaux d'après les médailles et les pierres gravées des principales collections. Elle reproduisait souvent des scènes mythologiques, d'un burin parfois timide et maladroit, mais ne manquent ni de charme ni de couleur. Elle se piquait d'exactitude mais il ne faut pas s'étonner si ces petits monuments de pierre rare, le plus souvent de rouge cornaline, prirent sous l'interprétation de Chéron des élégances un peu mièvres, des grâces un peu modernes, ou même des attitudes comme les enseignerait un bon maître à danser. Quelquefois aussi elle s'essayait à des compositions originales, telles que Narcisse amoureux de lui-même, Pan et Syrinx, mais l'imitation de l'antique y est trop évidente pour qu'on puisse lui en attribuer tout le mérite.

 

Voila donc en résumé ce qu'on peut dire de l'oeuvre peinte ou dessinée où s'exerça le talent de Chéron. N'oublions pas que Voltaire dit qu'elle fut célèbre aussi par la musique et les vers. On ne peut que s'extasier devant tant de talents! On vante aussi l'habileté d'Elisabeth Sophie à jouer du luth. Nous applaudirons de confiance et ne dirons rien de plus sur la musicienne. Voyons ce que dans le jeu des vers pouvait être Chéron.

 

La Coupe du Val-de-Grâce, une sorte d'épître de huit cents vers environ, est une réponse au poème que Molière avait consacré à la gloire de cette coupe décorée par Mignard. On ne saurait, avec certitude en laisser la paternité à Chéron. Le manuscrit autographe, qui ne porte aucun nom d'auteur, retrouvé à la Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal, a été réédité par le bibliophile Jacob (Paul Lacroix) en 1880. Quelques lignes d'avant-propos semblent bien désigner Chéron: "Un cavalier proposa de faire lecture d'une critique du Val de Grâce, qui lui était tombée entre les mains. Il dit qu'elle était d'une dame d'un mérite encore plus distingué par sa vertu que par son mérite ... La dame qui en a fait la critique, n'en forme le dessein que pour faire sa cour à M. Colbert qui protégeait M. Lebrun, qui était l'ami et le concurrent de M. Mignard." Ces lignes sont précieuses et semblent bien se référer à Chéron. L'auteur n'est clément ni envers l'oeuvre même, ni envers le procédé employé, celui de la fresque. Le poème n'est qu'une diatribe méprisante. C'est la coupe elle-même qui parle et proteste contre les éloges qui l'ont saluée. L'imitation des modèles est dénoncée:

 

Les pilleurs et les assassins N'ont jamais fait plus de larcins...

Voici ce que deviennent, dans cette satire, la science des raccourcis, l'habileté de Mignard à grouper des personnages tourbillonnants dans l'espace:

 

Celui qui m'a voulu parer N'a fait que me déshonorer, Il a fait souffrir le martyre A mainte vierge: il les déchire. Il leur casse jambes et bras Sans épée et sans coutelas...

Cette animosité certaine autant qu' injuste s'explique quand on se souvient en effet que Mignard était le rival de Lebrun, qu'il s'efforçait de supplanter, et dont Chéron était la protégée.¹ Elle n'avait que vingt-et-un ans lorsqu'elle écrivit cette critique. Elle n'a jamais montré par la suite quelque humeur de jalousie ou de malveillance. Bien accueillie par le public, recevant des rentes du roi, consacrée par la mode, Elisabeth Sophie pouvait se compter parmi les satisfaits.

 

C'est dans la traduction en vers qu'elle fit du Livre des Psaumes, oeuvre de maturité, qu'Elisabeth Sophie Chéron donna une nouvelle preuve des dons qu'elle avait reçus de la nature, et qui, "concentrés sur un objet unique l'eussent sans doute mise hors pair" (fidère 17). Les Psaumes de David et Cantiques nouvellement mis en vers françois enrichis de figures reçurent le privilège royal le 15 novembre 1693. C'est un livre de collaboration fraternelle, les figures annoncées, du même nombre que les psaumes traduits, étant signées par Louis Chéron, frère cadet d'Elisabeth Sophie. La femme- poète trône au seuil de son livre. Quatre vers latins accompagnent cette effigie qui peuvent se traduire ainsi: "Voilà celle par qui les divins prophètes parlent dans une bouche française et les oracles anciens se dévoilent. Comme si elle s'était dérobée elle-même dans un miroir, elle s'est peinte, mettant son image dans ses vers, sculptant aussi son image dans le bronze."²

 

Voyons comment Chéron s'est acquittée de sa charge de traductrice. Les vers suivants qu'elle composa sur le fameux psaume Super flumina Babylonis, et qui furent aussi paraphrasés par Racine dans Esther, nous semblent dignes d'être cités:

 

Assis sur l'orgueilleuse rive Où Babylone règne et voit couler nos pleurs Captifs nous déplorions tes funestes malheurs, Triste Sion, déplorable captive. Nos harpes, nos hautbois, aux saules suspendus, Muets n'étaient plus entendus. En vains nos durs vainqueurs, enflés de leur [victoire Se flattaient d'en ouïr les déplorables sons: "Chantez, nous disaient-ils, ces célèbres chansons Qui de votre Sion jadis vantaient la gloire!" Hélas, leur disions-nous, par ces cruels mépris Pourquoi renouveler nos douleurs assoupies? Ces cantiques si saints, les avons-nous appris Pour être profanés en des terres impies? Déplorable Sion, si jamais l'avenir De tes cruels malheurs m'ôte le souvenir, Que sur nos luths sacrés mes doigts s'appesantissent, Que la langue me reste attachée au palais O Jérusalem, si jamais Sur les bords étrangers tes concerts retentissent!

Elisabeth Sophie ne traduisait évidemment pas, elle paraphrasait avec habileté. Elle voulait ordonner harmonieusement sa strophe. Le texte traditionnel y perdait sa rude et ferme éloquence, mais l'oeuvre de Chéron ne manque ni d'agrément ni de noblesse. Elle avait le sentiment du nombre, de l'eurythmie facile. Rien n'est heurté, les strophes coulent aisément.

 

Le livre des psaumes fut bien accueilli et les éditions se succédèrent. Du Sauzet, journaliste de Trévoux, écrivait en novembre 1717, donc six ans après la mort de Chéron: "Le style poétique de Mme Le Haye—née Chéron—n'a pas besoin que je le fasse connaître; nos plus grands poètes ne sont pas plus poètes que cette dame. Elle a eu le talent de Sapho; mais elle en a fait un meilleur usage que cette fameuse Grecque, heureuse si elle avait eu la vertu de Mme Le Haye." Dans une lettre adressée de Bruxelles le 4 juillet 1730, à Brossette, voici ce que dit Jean-Baptiste Rousseau à propos de Chéron: "Il y a plus de substance dans le moindre quatrain de Mme Chéron que dans tout ce qu'a fait en sa vie Mme Deshoulières ... Quelle force dans ses vers! Quelle majesté dans ses psaumes! Vous me parlez des miens; je les donnerais tous pour la paraphrase du 103: Benedict anima mea domine!..."

 

La muse d'Elisabeth Sophie Chéron savait aussi passer du grave au doux. Un incident qui lui arriva en compagnie de son mari³ aux environs du Pont-Neuf donna à Elisabeth Sophie l'occasion d'écrire un poème héroï-comique en trois chants: Les cerises renversées. Leur carrosse ayant fait tomber à son passage un panier de cerises, la marchande avait poussé de hauts cris, ameutant si bien la foule qu'il avait fallu à M. Le Haye payer rançon pour arriver à libérer le carrosse et les dames qui se trouvaient à l'intérieur. Ainsi débute le premier chant:

 

Je chante ce combat où tout couvert de gloire, Damon, près du Pont-Neuf, remporta la victoire, Où son coeur généreux, pour deux fois dix-huit [sous, Sut d'un peuple en fureur apaiser le courroux. Muse qui du clocher de la Samaritaine Vis de loin ses exploits, viens animer ma veine;... Conte-moi le péril où se trouvèrent prises Les dames dont le char renversa des cerises; Et dis-moi par quel art Damon sut ménager La gloire du beau sexe et vaincre le danger... Damon voit le péril, entre au champ de bataille, Monte sur une borne: "Ecoutez-moi, canaille! Cria-t-il." On se tait. Chacun de tous côtés Tient sur le harangueur les regards artêtés. Tel on vit entrefois le chantre de la Thrace Par ses divins accents suspendre sa disgrâce, Quand, respirant le sang, le carnage et l'horreur, Des femmes pour le perdre accouraient en fureur...

Se rappelant une scène du Lutrin, Chéron place ses combattants dans le voisinage d'un libraire revendeur sur les quais:

 

Deux cents volumes neufs, en un tas ramassés, Du parapet dans l'eau se trouvent dispersés.

Nous sommes ainsi informés que déjà au XVII^e siècle les bouquinistes étalaient leur marchandise sur les parapets au bord de la Seine.

 

Le combat et le poème finissent par l'ondée de quelques sous:

 

O subite merveille! Cette paix, où les dieux travaillaient vainement, La moitié d'un écu la fit en un moment.

Chéron a démontré avec les Cerises renversées qu'elle connaissait bien les règles du poème héroï-comique. Elle a recueilli un fait un peu ridicule, l'a raconté en le magnifiant, en environnant faits et gens de tout un attirail tapageur et en donnant ainsi à une simple anecdote des proportions et des allures d'épopée. Elle a su contraster des faits très humbles avec un récit à grand orchestre et elle a tiré de ce rapprochement et de ces oppositions des effets comiques et inattendus.

 

Elisabeth Sophie Chéron se trouvait en pleine possession d'une réputation étendue, nous pourrions même dire d'une gloire rayonnante où ses mérites et talents divers étaient reconnus, acclamés, récompensés. Il n'est donc pas surprenant de voir l'Académie des Ricovrati, à Padoue, lui ouvrir ses portes en 1699. Elle fut louée de son vivant et longuement après sa mort, ainsi que l'attestent les nombreux compliments qui furent rimes en son honneur et qui chantent celle qui avait réuni en sa seule personne tant de dons divers:

 

La peinture et la poésie Et la musique chez Sophie Se plaisaient à se réunir Toutes trois relevaient tellement son mérite Qu'on ne pouvait pas deviner Laquelle était sa favorite.

Du Vertron, dans sa Nouvelle Pandore avait dessiné un projet d'armoiries à la gloire de Chéron. Pour cachet il avait imaginé une plume et un pinceau entrelacés d'une couronne de lauriers avec ces mots:

 

Lorsque Chéron prend son pinceau, Sans peine elle ferait trembler celui d'Apeîle; Et lorsque son esprit par un effort nouveau S'abondonne aux travaux où sa muse l'appelle, On doute qui des deux, ou d'Apollon ou d'elle, Se sert d'un langage plus beau.

Nous comprenons très bien que Chéron ait conquis l'approbation de presque tous. Elle était absolument de son temps et de la mode présente. Elle obtint ainsi un succès immédiat et facile. Elle n'atteignit peut-être jamais les hauteurs vertigineuses auxquelles la portaient ses admirateurs excessifs; mais, multiple, brillante, sympathique, bon peintre et bon poète, elle apparaît en bonne place dans le passé artistique de la France.

 

University of Nevada - Las Vegas

Notes

¹

Cf. notre article "The Val-de-Grâce Cupola in Painters' and Writers' quarreis", Laurels, vol. 52, no. 3, (winter 1981-82): 171-180. Hace illa est franco perquam nunc ore loquntur Divini vates, et prisca oracula pandunt. Quîn sese ut spécule furate est, prinxit: at ipsam Mentem carminibus, speciem quoque sculpsit in Aère. ²L'acte de mariage n'a pas été retrouvé. La cérémonie a sans doute eu lieu en 1692. Elisabeth Sophie avait quarante-quatre ans. Jacques Le Hay était ingénieur du roi.

Works Cited or Consulted

Fidère, Octave. Les Femmes artistes {Paris; Charavay frères, 1885).

 

[81]

When Charles Perrault undertook the composition of his Apologie des femmes, published in 1694, the poem was not intended to serve solely as a rebuttal of Boileau's famous tenth Satire. As Perrault stated at the beginning of the work's Preface,

 

Cette Apologie n'est point une réponse en forme a la Satire contre les Femmes & contre le Mariage, puisqu'elle a été composée & lue même en plusieurs endroits avant que la Satire fut imprimée. C'est iseulement une pièce de Poesie qin défend ce que la Satire attaque, pour donner au Public la satisfaction de voir sur cette matière & et le pour & le contre (i).

In presenting "le pour," that is, an argument in favor of women and marriage, Perrault therefore offers the reader a moral and behavioral ideal which goes beyond the mere refusal of the satiric stereotypes enumerated by Boileau. Despite what might be termed its pro-feminist "raison d'être," however, this ideal is founded upon the acceptance, and at times even the celebration, of inequalities between men and women. In Perrault's Apologie, one finds that it is these perceived differences in the natural ability and social function of men and women which most often form the basis for his praise.

 

The Apologie^ Preface, which is in fact longer than the poem itself, offers a somewhat misleading notion of the ideals to be portrayed in the Apologie. Perrault takes issue with Boileau's claim that his greatest hope for the success of the Satire lies in "Papprobation que les femmes y donneront, bien loin d'appréhender qu'elles s'en fâchent" (iv); Boileau's precise words were that "bien loin d'appréhender que les femmes s'en offensent, c'est sur leur approbation et sur leur curiosité que je fonde la plus grande espérance du succès de mon ouvrage" (68). Perrault rejects this idea as an "erreur plus grande & plus inexcusable":

 

Pendant que tant d'honnêtes gens ont bien de la peine à plaire [aux femmes] en leur disant des douceurs, comment a-t-il pu croire qu'il leur plairait en leur disant les injures? (iv)

Perrault thus denies the notion of women as uncritical recipients of verbal abuse, and even suggests that the ancient tradition of treating women as appropriate objects for satire is at fault:

 

L'Auteur de la Satire ... s'imagine qu'on ne peut manquer en suivant 1'exemple des Anciens; & parce qu'Horace & Juvénal ont déclamé contre les femmes d'une manière scandaleuse & en des termes qui blessent la pudeur, il s'est persuadé être en droit de faire la même chose, ne considérant pas que les moeurs d'aujourd'hui sont bien différentes de celles du temps de ces deux Poètes ... (ii)

This modernist outcry is followed in the Preface by the defense of two satiric types ridiculed by Boileau, "la savante" and "la precieuse"(80-81). In contrast to Boileau's mockery of a woman pursuing scientific knowledge, as though to suggest that such studies were unnatural and unfeminine, Perrault defends the woman whom he believes to have served as Boileau's inspiration:

 

On croit que le caractère de la Savante Ridicule a été fait pour une Dame qui n'est plus, & dont le mérite extraordinaire ne devait lui attirer que des louanges. Cette Dame se plaisait aux heures de son loisir à entendre parler d'Astronomie & de Physique; & elle avait même une très grande pénétration pour ces Sciences, de même que pour plusieurs autres que la beauté et la facilité de son esprit lui avaient rendu très familieres. (vi)

By praising this woman's "beauté et facilité d'esprit," Perrault undermines the very concept of a "savante ridicule," or a woman who is ridiculous simply because she attempts to compete in a male intellectual domain. This feminist viewpoint is echoed by Perrault's subsequent defense of the "précieuse," in whom he claims to see Mademoiselle de Scudery because of Boileau's allusions to Clelie and to "le fleuve de Tendre" (72). As Perrault objects,

 

Combien a-t-on été indigné de voir continuer ici son acharnement sur la Clélie? L'estime qu'on a toujours faite de cet Ouvrage, & l'extrême vénération qu'on a toujours eue pour Pillustre Personne qui Fa composé, ont fait soulever tout le monde contre une attaque si souvent & si inutilement répétée (viii).

The preface therefore depicts women as intelligent beings, capable of recognizing and reacting against unwarranted criticism, and furthermore capable of scientific and literary accomplishments worthy of universal admiration.

 

The egalitarian promise of the Preface is not to be found in the poem itself. The Apologie is framed as a father's exhortation to his misogynous son, attempting to convince him of the desirability of marriage. The woman scientist and woman author have disappeared; in the poem, a woman's identity is defined exclusively by her role as a wife. Marriage is furthermore extolled as a means of producing children: "Serais-tu bien, mon fils, insensible au plaisir / De voir un jour de toi naître un autre toi-meme ... ?" (3) The modern reader cringes at this ultimately sexist reduction of woman to the status of a producer of future males, but it should be noted that the text in no way proves that such an opinion was held by Perrault himself. It is equally possible that these lines reflected the imaginary father's art of persuasion, by offering his recalcitrant son an overview of marriage which avoids the issue of the worthiness of women, and instead makes an appeal to which even the most misogynist male ego ought to respond.

 

Before proceeding with the enumeration of female virtues, Perrault disgresses long enough to aim a few darts at Boileau. First, he casts doubt upon the validity of Boileau's cynical observations by stating that "Chacun en quelque endroit que le hazard le porte, / Ne rencontre & ne voit que des gens de sa sorte" (4). If the tendency of mankind is to seek out companions of similar bent, "Faut-il done s'etonner si des hommes perdus, / Jugeant du sexe entier par celles qu'ils ont vues, / Assurent qu'il n'est plus que des femmes perdues?" (5). An author (unnamed of course) who therefore sees nothing but shallow coquetry and avarice in women must himself be tarred with the same brush.

 

Then, Perrault responds to the celebrated lines of Boileau's poem stating that "On pent trouver encor quelque femme fidèle. / Sans doute, et dans Paris, si je sais bien compter, / II en est jusqu'à trois que je pourrais citer" (69). Perrault alters this arithmetic, stating that "Pour six qui sans cervelle avec un peu d'appas, / Feront de tous côtés du bruit & du fracas, (...) Sans peine on trouvera mille femmes de bien, / Qui vivent en repos & dont on ne dit rien" (p. 5). Then yet another ratio is suggested when Perrault states that although the coquette may be seen everywhere in public, so that

 

II semble, a regarder 1'essor de sa folie, Que pour être partout elle se multiplie. Pour des femmes d'honneur, dans ces lieux [hasardeux, De cent que Ton connaît on n'en verra pas deux. (5)

What then are the characteristics of a "femme d'honneur?" For one thing, they do not frequent the playgrounds of society. Instead, one may find a thousand honorable women "dans les Hôpitaux où l'on voit de longs rangs / De malades plaintifs, de morts & de mourants" (6). Or, "Descends dans des caveaux, monte dans des greniers / Ou des Pauvres obscurs fourmillent a milliers" (7). There you will see virtuous ladies, "par leur zèle ardent, leurs aumônes, leurs soins, / Soulager tous leurs maux, remplir tous leurs besoins." This description enshrines woman as a care-giver, soothing fevered brows; even when she ventures into the outside world, her role is still a domestic one. The poem continues:

 

Entre dans les Reduits des honnetes families, Et vois-y travailler les mères & les filles, Ne songeant qu'à leur tâche & qu'a bien recevoir Leur père ou leur époux quand il revient le soir. (7)

In the poem's preface, Perrault revealed his awareness that these lines went too far in defense of a rigidly domestic and subservient ideal, as shown by the following attempt at self-justification:

 

Je suis encore persuadé que quelques femmes de la haute volée n'aimeront pas ces mères & ces filles, qui travaillant chez elles, «Ne songent qu'à leur tâche, & qu'à bien recevoir leur père ou leur epoux quand il revient le soir.» Elles trouveront ces manières bien bourgeoises, & le sentiment que j'ai là-dessus, bien antique pour un Défenseur des Modernes; mais quoi qu'elles puissent dire, & quelque autorisees qu'elles soient par l'usage & par la mode, il sera toujours plus honnete pour elles de s'occuper à des ouvrages convenables à leur sexe & à leur qualité, que de passer leur vie dans une oisiveté continuelle. (xx)

The salient issue, of course, is not the contrast between socalled "women's work" and idleness, but the contrast between household labor and activity of a different sort, which might involve thoughts not devoted to providing comforts to the man of the family. Perrault, however, clings to a sentimental view of family life which perhaps echoes the hazy nostalgia of a man who had been widowed for sixteen years. In any case, this model of behavior proposed by Perrault is claimed to be "et si simple et si sage" (7) that the skeptical reader cannot help but be charmed.

 

The next celebration of inequality is found in Perrault's portrayal of women as a civilizing influence upon the brute instincts of man:

 

Peux-tu ne savoir pas que la Civilité Chez les Femmes naquit avec l'Honnéteté? Que chez elles se prend la fine polîtesse, Le bon air, le bon goût, & la délicatesse? (7)

Perrault supports this view with a humorous description of the werewolf, whose very name in English and in French (garou) derives from ancient Germanic roots meaning "man-wolf":

 

Regarde un peu de près celui qui Loupgarou, Loin du sexe a vécu renferme dans son trou, Tu le verras crasseux, maladroit & sauvage, Farouche dans ses moeurs, rude dans son langage, Ne pouvoir rien penser de fin, d'ingenieux, Ni dire jamais rien que de dur ou de vieux. (7-8)

Perrault then cannot resist aiming this exaggerated description at his favorite target:

 

S'il joint à ces talents 1'amour de l'Antiquaille, S'il trouve qu'en nos jours on ne fait rien qui [vaille, Et qu'à tout bon Moderne il donne un coup de [dent, De ces dons rassembles se forme le Pédant, Le plus fastidieux, comme le plus immonde, De tous les animaux qui rampent dans le monde. (8)

Returning to the subject at hand, Perrault now raises the question of why women sometimes do not behave as perfect wives. He proposes two explanations, both of which manage to combine praise and condescension. Women may be absolved of blame, he says, because:

 

N'as tu pas remarque que de tout ce scandale, Les Maris sont souvent la cause principale, Soit par le dur excès de leur sévérité, Soit par leur indolence & leur trop de bonté. (8)

Unruly wives are therefore simply reacting to the provocation of their husbands' harshness, or else taking natural advantage of the husbands' leniency. Their behavior is determined by that of the husband. Furthermore,

 

La Femme en son époux aime a trouver son maitre, Lorsque par ses vertus il mérite de l'être; Si Pon la voit souvent résoudre & décider, C'est que le faible époux ne sait pas commander. (9)

The second explanation for unhappy marriages is that too often, they are contracted by the husband and the parents, who are concerned more with financial arrangements than with the compatibility of the future spouses. Again, women themselves are not at fault, but this very innocence of blame derives from the passivity and lack or power in their perceived status.

 

At this point, the poem shifts in tone, and waxes eloquent in its praise of the ideal mate. The most precious possession or wealth, Perrault says, is not fame or gold, but rather a wife. It is interesting to note here that Perrault avoids describing the wife as an object. Instead,

 

Des biens le plus solide & le plus précieux, Est de voir pour jamais unir sa destinée Avec une Moitié sage, douce & bien née ... (11)

It is the bond of marriage itself which is "le bien le plus precieux," and not the wife. The term "moitie" also suggests the equality of man and woman in marriage.

 

In enumerating the wife's virtues, however, Perrault reverts to the praise of gender-bound differences. The perfect wife "couronne sa Dot d'une chaste pudeur, / D'une vertu sincère & d'une tendre ardeur." These are notably qualities of moral character, not intellect or ability. If the husband is fortunate, Heaven will add to these precious gifts "une beauté parfaite," composed of "le vif éclat du teint, la finesse des traits" and "[une] bouche enfantine & d'un coral sans prix, [qui] a tous les agréments que forme un doux souris" (11).

 

"La bouche enfantine" notwithstanding, there is one domain in which Perrault allows the wife equality with the husband, if not actual superiority.

 

Si dans la bonne chère un Epoux emporte, En dissipant son bien altère sa sante, Par de sages repas, & sans dépense vaine, Chez elle adroitement l'Epouse le ramène, Et retranchant toujours la superfluité, Le remet pas à pas dans la frugalité. (12)

Here it is the husband in the role of the gluttonous spouse who must be controlled, and the wife who takes the active part ("elle ... le ramène, et ... le remet pas à pas dans la frugalité").

 

When it comes to other forms of masculine self-indulgence, however, the perfect wife must once more assume a completely passive stance:

 

Si son oeil aperçoit quelque intrigue galante, Alors elle se rend encor plus complaisante, Souffre tout, ne dit mot, tant qu'enfin sa douceur L'attendrit, le désarme & regagne son coeur. (12)

The wife's very silence and complaisance will presumably suffice to bring the errant husband back to his hearth.

 

If a man should possess such a treasure, he will be content even in sickness,

 

Quand il voit près de lui pendant sa maladie, Une épouse attentive, & qui ne s'étudie Qu'à prevoir ses besoins & qu'à le soulager, Et qui pleure en secert dès le moindre danger... (13)

The perfect wife is utterly devoted to her husband's wants, and serves once more as care-giver. Perrault employs this image to set up the poem's conclusion, which contrasts the manner in which the married man and the bachelor will exit this life. The husband, "... si le Ciel enfin ordonne son trépas, / Sans peine & sans murmure il meurt entre ses bras" (p. 14), that is, in his wife's arms. The bachelor, however, dies friendless, and instead of a loving wife and children, is surrounded by thieving servants and greedy creditors:

 

onfus, embarrassé d'un si penible rôle, Voit l'oeil a démi clos, son valet qui le vole, Et sent, quoiqu'abattu de douleur & d'ennui, Qu'on tire impudemment son drap de dessous lui, (14)

Perrault's final message, then, is that perhaps the greatest virtue of marriage is that it spares a man from 'Thorreur qui suit le celibat" (p. 15). In this regard, the end of the poem echoes the end of the preface, which concluded with a harsh critique of bachelorhood. Perrault does not condemn the celibacy of those who enter the Church or choose to live a life of austerity, but rather,

 

Je n'en veux qu'à ceux qui choisissent cet état par pur libèrtinage, pour ne pouvoir souffrir aucun lien qui les retienne dans les bornes de la raison & de l'honnéteté; à ces hommes sans joug, à ces enfants de Bélial, comme parte 1'Ecriture, qui non contents de vivre sans règle & sans ordre, veulent que tout le monde vive comme eux, & qui prétendent, tout insensés qu'ils sont, passer pour les plus sages d'entre les hommes. (xxi)

This dire view of the unmarried state leads back once more to Boileau, the confirmed bachelor whom Perrault has already accused of not understanding women. The moral implication is that some day the author of the satire against women will receive his just deserts.

 

The poem's ending also makes clear the fact that it is indeed an "apologie du mariage." Women themselves are praised not for their abilities, which would place them on a plane of equality with men, but for those qualities which reinforce their subservience, and in general the traits which conform to Perrault's ideal of the passive, perfect wife. By orienting his poem towards marriage rather than female character, Perrault did succeed in finding another means to attack his bachelor rival Boileau. In so doing, however, he sent a very mixed message about women's supposed virtues, and in some measure undermined the poem's original purpose as a defense or "apologie des femmes."

 

University of Missouri-St. Louis

Works Cited or Consulted

Perrault, Charles. L'Apologie des femmes Paris: Coignard, 1694. The preface is unpaginated, and the spelling in citations has been modernized.

 

Boileau-Despreaux, Nicolas. Satire X, in Oeuvres, Paris: Gamier Freres, 1961.

 

[67]

Any discourse on equality produced in seventeenth-century France must be considered symptomatic. Obsession with categories and hierarchies characterizes and strains social relations of the period. The issue of equality with regard to women was a particularly popular topic, inherited from the lively tradition of the querelle des femmes and eventually subsumed under the rubric of the more contemporary querelle des Anciens et des Modernes. Two authors from this period, Marie de Gournay and Poullain de la Barre, are singled out as worthy of mention in Marks' and de Courtivron's introduction to New French Feminisms. They are cited as "the two outstanding feminist writers between Christine de Pisan and Simone de Beauvoir" (6), but not without reservations. Marks and de Courtivron recognize the dilemma inherent to assuming any position of arguing for women's equality from within traditional systems of thought. Feminist discourse there will be, of necessity, like all discours contestataire, reactionary, referring itself always to the prevailing masculinist discourse, challenging patriarchal order with patriarchically invented tools, hence self-alienating and self-subverting, always determined by and inscribed within the very system it contests. Theorizing on equality yields little ground, whereas historicizing difference at least reworks the ground.

 

I propose to look at the treatises of Marie de Gournay and Poullain de la Barre in relation to the ideological systems that inform them, and in relation to the ideological systems that inform them, and in relation to each other. In the case of Gournay's L'égalité des hommes et des femmes we have a text classed as a product of the "humanist" tradition, where in Poullain's De l'égalité des deux sexes¹ we have a ground-breaking example of "rationalist" enquiry (Marks and Courtivron 8). Both authors were intent upon proving the equality of men and women with the tools available through their respective systems, but both also have significant personal agenda that must be factored in to consideration of their enterprises. The relations structured by the two narrators to their readerships are symptomatic of their relationship to the subject. Articulated through these are two radically different projects: on the one hand, to appeal to the membership of the dominant group, to be recognized as enjoying equal status and allowed to join the club; on the other, to challenge that membership, to destroy the club and start a new one.

 

In order to consider closely the two sorts of discourse, I have chosen to focus on one of the features the two texts share: allusions to Plato and Aristotle. I am not so much interested in determining whether the positions of these two philosophers are accurately represented by Gournay and Poullain as I am in observing how they are invoked and used in the "humanist" and the "rationalist" discourses respectively. Nor do I look at the cogent arguments that both authors develop to demonstrate that the status of women has been culturally rather than naturally determined, or their mutual conviction that the key to equality is education. My interest here is less in what they say than in how they say it.

 

Let us begin with the 1622 "humanist" discourse of Gournay. One of the first striking characteristics is the uncanny resemblance of her voice to another's. A general truism inaugurates this text:

 

La pluspart de ceux qui prennent la cause, des femmes contre cette orgueilleuse preferance que les hommes s'attribuent, leur rendent le change entier: r'envoyans la preferance vers elles. (61)

The process begins whereby the writing subject situates and identifies itself through a dialogical relation to others who have pronounced on the subject. The narrator dissociates her position from that of these overzealous defenders, and distinguishes herself as taking a moderate stand: "Moy qui fuys toutes extremitez..." The familiarity of this tactic, mobile and reasonable, self-searching and -asserting, rings a bell, and echos of Montaigne sound distantly henceforth throughout the text.² It should come as no surprise that his "fille d'alliance" emits a textual voice so in conformity with his, since it was that recognition of spiritual compatibility which brought them together in the first place. Nevertheless, the resonance is disconcerting, and leads one to wonder where he leaves off and she begins. To what extent that chord has been deliberately and strategically struck to consecrate the text under the aegis of Montaigne provokes further thought. Is it intended to serve as a reminder to her readership (which is assumed by the narrator to be male) that at least one significant figure has deemed her worthy of serious conversation? It also reminds this latter-day reader that she is writing in the shadow of a father figure. Given the climate for women writers in her day, it is understandable that she should have sought to fortify her position by reference, however subtle, to her friend and ally, a bona fide member of the club.³

 

The paternity motif permeates the text, and informs its very texture. As Gournay argues for the equality of women and men, she observes proper humanist protocol. She insists on keeping company with the great figures of Classical thinking, and on finding in their writing justification for her own ideas. To do so she is often reduced to distorting, even repressing their positions, but she needs the authority of their approbation to establish credence for her own. Often she merely provides litanies of great names that function as synonyms for truth, studding her text with incontrovertible evidence. Indeed, she as much as claims this to be her strategy:

 

Et si je juge bien, soit de la dignité, soit de la capacité des dames, je ne pretends pas a cette heure de le prouver par raisons, puisque les opiniastres les pouroient debattre, ny par exemples, d'autant qu'ils sont trop communs; ains seulement par l'aucthorité de Dieu mesme, des arcsboutans de son Eglise et de ces grands hommes qui ont servy de lumiere a l'Univers. (63)

The list of names she offers in her text is impressive, but the statements associated with those names are more often than not unconvincing. Reasoning within the christian humanist framework, and subscribing unquestioningly to the prescriptive code of the bienséances for women's comportment, she is reduced to feeble assertions such as the following:

 

Et si les hommes se vantent, que Jesus-Christ soit nay de leur sexe, on respond, qu'il le falloit par necessaire biensceance, ne se pouvant pas sans scandale, mesler jeune et à toutes les heures du jour et de la nuict parmi Ies presses aux fins de convertir, secourir et sauver le genre humain, s'il eust ete du sexe des femmes. (75)

Although she has ostensibly renounced tactics of argument and example, she does in fact argue, and persuasively, when following her own line of reasoning, against custom. She recognizes in tradition an agent of oppression, specifically insofar as it denies women the right to education. She notes that national temperaments and immediate environments have produced degrees of oppressive tradition, creating more difference among women according to the amount of education allowed them in their respective societies—urban / provincial, French/ Italian / English, than between men and women (65).

 

As for examples, she limits mention of meritorious women to a few, noting that she is reluctant to cite what might be simply dismissed as exceptional instances. The three examples she does offer though are telling: Judith, Joan of Arc, Mary Magdalen--three women who abetted decisively the projects of their besieged masters and ministered to their needs. Although she has wryly noted earlier that when men admire women, they bestow upon them their ultimate compliment—that they are just like men, she appears to forget her own insight on the androcentrism of the prevalent value system. The examples she chooses to illustrate the excellence of women fit a commonly valorized female profile, women who have saved the day or made the day for their men. Gournay becomes mired in the very ground which is supposed to support her stand.

 

Let us consider how she invokes Plato. He figures at the head of her list of "glorieux tesmoins" to the equality of women:

 

Platon a qui nul n'a debattu le tiltre de divin, et consequemment Socrates son interprete... leur assignent mesmes droicts, facultez et functions, en leurs Republiques et par tout ailleurs. (63-64)

It does not occur to her to contest Plato's status or to explore his various and in fact contradictory pronouncements in order to assess his stand on women. All that is required for her purposes in an inclusion of this authority figure in her text to lend weight to her words.

 

The narrator's allusion to Aristotle is more circumspect. So intent is she upon mustering a powerful constituency that she commits an infraction against the humanist ideal of comprehensive erudition. She chooses the safer tactic of claiming possible ignorance rather than venturing to deal with this philosopher's actual and most problematic pronouncements on women. Her 'humanist' argument requires at least a passing reference to him:

 

Quant au phiiosophe Aristote, puisque remuant Ciel et terre, il n'a point contredit en gros, que je scache, l'opinion qui favorise les dames, il Pa confirmee: s'en rapportant, sans doubte, aux sentences de son pere et grand pere spirituels, Socrates et Platon, comme a chose constante et fixe soubs le credit de tels personnages: par la bouche desquels il faut advouer que le genre humain tout entier, et la raison mesme, ont prononce leur arrest. (67)

Gournay constructs a figurative patriarchal genealogy— sons, fathers and grandfathers constitute an intellectual chain in which there is no place for her. She thus writes herself out of her own argument in the very attempt to claim a place for herself within and through it. Dutiful respect for precedence and authority characterizes Gournay's rhetoric, and contributes to explain the frustration she felt at being denied recognition and entry to the 'Republique' by her contemporaries. Her subscription to the humanist canon brought her for the most part only derision. Although she illustrated by her text that she was capable of engaging in dialogue with great minds and thinking great thoughts, that she was erudite and committed to the world of ideas and writing, there was no place for her, even in her own text, written according to the tenets of that world.

 

Little surprise that in 1626 she gave vent to her bitterness and anger in Grief des dames, still fixated on ther other, the uncooperative male readership:

 

Bien-heureux es-tu, lecteur, si tu n'es point de ce sexe, qu'on interdict de tous les biens, I'interdisant de la liberie: ouy qu'on interdict encore à peu près, de toutes les vertus, luy soustrayant le pouvoir, en la moderation duquel la pluspart, d'elles se forment; afin de luy constituer pour seule felicité, pour vertus souveraines et seules, ignorer, faire le sot et servir." (89)

Here is a much more powerful statement, a diatribe fuelled by anger. The will to please has been succeeded by the determination to speak out, to accuse and attack that rejecting readership. Strategies of deferent onomastics drop out and a genuine voice of outrage takes over. The dutiful daughter revolts, but will remain trapped in her learned androcentric ways.

 

The final outburst of Grief attests to the degree to which she was self-alienated in the humanist rhetoric: Tignorance est mere de presomption" (97). The gender-coded metaphor, a commonplace then and even now, connotes a correspondence not only between the two terms of comparison but with the mediating term as well, thus suggesting an infelicitous affinity not only between ignorance and presumption, but among "ignorance," "mere" and "presomption." Her unquestioning recourse to a standard patriarchal metaphor in the very act of decrying patriarchal prejudice subverts her own attempt at self-affirmation. She is in no position to 'flee extremes' as long as they inform the only language she knows. Rather than look to herself, as her adoptive father Montaigne had done so profitably for himself, she persisted obstinately in looking to the other, in knocking at the father's door, in speaking the father's language, demanding entry to No-Woman's-Land.

 

Poullain, on the other hand, by sole virtue of his sex, was not condemned like women to "ignorer, faire le sot et servir." At ease in the social, intellectual and religious climate of his time, he found in Cartesianism a powerful tool against tradition and prejudice, and, in the question of the equality of the sexes, a lively and controversial issue appropriate to serve as vehicle for demonstrating and disseminating the validity of the rationalist approach. While such motivation might be dismissed as simply opportunistic, probably more telling is the narrator's relation to his subject. Gournay's texts can be read as those of the devout daughter offering obedient subscription to the patriarchal world of letters, angered by its rejection but persistent nonetheless. Poullain's might be read as those of a son in revolt against the fathers of western thought. Social Cartesian, iconoclast, rebel, he would topple the idols and follow the path of hiw own intellect. He begins where Gournay ends. In fact, his text takes up so many of the strands of Gournay's, that I wonder if he had it in mind as he wrote. He dismisses her touchstone, L'Authorité des grands hommes et de I'Ecriture Sainte" to replace it with his own: "L'Authorité" ... de la Raison et du Bon Sens (p. 7).

 

Poullain does not propose to instate himself in place of the fathers. A crucial move in his argument (noted by Beauvoir and Alcover) (Beauvoir xxv; Alcover 37) is to undermine the authority of his own text, thereby forcing his readership to decide for itself what to make of his treatise, to be its own authority:

 

On consideroit autrefois les femmes, comme Ton fait aujourd'huy, et avec aussi peu de raison. Ainsi tout ce qu'en on [sic; lire: ont] dit les hommes doit estre suspect, parce qu'ils sont Juges et parties;... (52)⁴

The generosity of this move, inviting not subscription but contestation, skepticism, attests to the good will of the narrator. He goes so far as to say that he expects and looks forward to debate with women themselves as they consider his argument:

 

Je m'attends bien que ce traité ne leur échapera pas non plus: que plusieurs y trouverons à redire:... mais j'espère aussi que ma bonne volonté, et le dessein que j'ay pris de ne rien dire que de vray,... m'excuseront aupres d'elles. (34)

The captatio gesture seems highly unusual in the context of a reasoned treatise. Why should Poullain the good rationalist care whether he receives a positive reception from the object of his study? Is his project not a dispassionate examination of the facts in order to arrive at the truth? Apparently not. In fact "galanterie" and "amour," always suspected, as Poullain himself has noted, when men speak favorably of women, informs his own stance vis-a-vis his subject (9). He is unable or unwilling to objectivize the subject.

 

The split between reason and emotion, so basic to the cartesian method, is not altogether respected in Poullain's treatise. "Clarity, dispassion and detachment," the hallmarks of Descartes' epistemology, which tacitly informs Poullain's approach, do not totally govern his text (Bordo 440). As a consequence, his argument is less convincing as an argument if more persuasive as a panegyric (42). His attachment to and experience of the historical subject interfere with his ability to distance himself, to treat the question of women as a purely cerebral issue. The consequences are mixed—simply put: poor Cartesianism and good feminism, and, at the same time, poor feminism and good Cartesianism. He will blindly indulge in adulation of qualities that have stereotyped women and imprisoned them in categories, he will attach to them unquestioning flattering cliches, he will attribute to their nature essential virtues that are simply consequences of the supportive and subordinate roles to which they have been relegated and which he is in the very process of describing. Many of these instances are linked to his discussions of woman in her capacity as mother with the standard virtues attached—compassion, patience, generosity, devotion (42). He is unable to separate from her, to establish that critical distance so central to the cartesian method of cognition.

 

On the other hand, his process of methodically comparing the two sexes, assuming patriarchical society to be the normative structure into which women might be more happily assimilated, will reinforce polarizing oppositions, thus further dividing the sexes and threatening his argument (33). More disturbingly, he will objectify women by categorizing them in his discourse as "le Sexe" (53) as if there were only one, thus representing himself and his kind as properly disembodied Cartesians. He will address a male readership and include himself in their ranks ("nous") even as he argues against them, thus textually constructing an exclusive community of male subjects. He will speak of women only in the third person in spite of his appeal to them as potential beneficiaries of his treatise, and so delimit them grammatically as the object, as the 'matter' of his enquiry (p. 83, as just one example).

 

At the same time, in his enthusiasm, he will claim for women superiority as opposed to the equality he is supposedly seeking to establish. He will coolly contextualize, historicize and dispel popular negative prejudices while further propagating positive ones. He will argue reasonable for women's rights, and at the same time affectionately enshrine them. While such extravagant unruliness offends those exacting Cartesians who would have him adhere to the rules of the game, it is welcome to those recent critics of Descartes who decry his subordination of the passions to reason, who seek their revalorization in the realm of intellectual discourse, who critique "the Cartesian masculinization of thought."¹¹

 

In a sense, Poullain's inability to split himself, to construct a purely rational argument at the expense of his emotional investment in the question, his failure as a strict cartesian, attests more powerfully to his conviction than all of the careful reasoning in the world. His is a voice committed to women not only in the abstract, not as a matter of principle, but in the concrete and the affective, whose experience got in the way of his thinking the question.

 

If Marie de Gournay can be read as the daughter who loved her father, Poullain features as the son who loved his mother. Freud has conditioned us to expect that son to seek to replace the father. Poullain played out the oedipal drama, challenging the patriarchal establishment, but attacking particularly viciously its most venerated fathers. Let us contrast his treatment of Plato and Aristotle with what we have just seen of Marie de Gournay's. Of Plato he says:

 

Platon, le pere de la Philosophic ancienne remerçioit les Dieux de trois graces qu'ils luy avoient faites, mais particulierement de ce qu'il estoit né homme et non pas femme. S'il avoit en veûe leur condition presente, je serois bien de son avis; mais ce qui fait juger qu'il avoit autre chose dans l'esprit, c'est le doute qu'on dit qu'il témoignoit souvent s'il faloit mettre les femmes de la cathegorie des bestes. Cela suffiroit à des gens raisonnables pour le condamner luy même d'ignorance ou de betîse, et pour achever de le dégrader du tiltre de Divin qu'il n'a plus que parmy les pedans. (107)

To what extent is it for the very reason that Plato enjoyed the status of father ("le pere de la philosophie") that Poullain had to unseat him, basing his attack on mere hear-say ("le doute qu'on dit qu'il temoignoit"), and, completing that gesture of attack, stripping him of his title within his own text? "Le tiltre de Divin" are the very words used by Gournay in her treatment of Plato. Although Poullain has the 'grace' not to name her (if this is indeed a direct allusion), she, along with her idol is by implication demoted, to "pedans." In fact, he may be covering for her, clearing the way and offering belatedly tools of thought that he sees as more useful to her than those she had at hand.

 

Aristotle also is sharply dismissed, and here Poullain offers to women, along with a gratuitous compliment, the idea of reversing the dynamics of the invidious comparison, of positing a gynocentric norm in the place of that inevitably defeating androcentric one. He invites them to assume their subjectivity, as he has his:

 

Son disciple Aristote a qui Ton conserve encores dans les Ecoles le nom glorieux de Genie de la nature sur le préjugé qu'il Fa mieux connue qu'aucun autre Philosophe, pretend que les femmes ne sont que des Monstres... Pour estre Monstre, selon la pensee meme de cet homme, il faut avoir quelque chose d'extraordinaire, et de surprenant. Les femmes n'ont rien de tout cela; elles ont toujours este faites de memes, toujours belles et spirituelles; et si elles ne sont pas faites comme Aristote, elles peuvent dire aussi qu'Aristote n'estoit pas fait comme elles. (107-108)

Although still caught up in the dualistic warp, Poullain recognizes the liberatory impulses inherent to Descartes' method. The belief that the individual mind has the capacity to arrive independently at truth frees him of the burdensome authority of tradition, rids him of the father. He recognized that women had an even more urgent need than his own to free themselves of that same father. While he claims to have chosen to discourse on the subject of women because it was such a blatant example of prejudice, and thus a perfect opportunity to demonstrate the efficacity of the rational approach, it is obvious from the way he argues, both successfully and unsuccessfully, that he cares deeply about the subject.

 

The extent to which his gallant gesture of offering the treatise to women as helpful might be interpreted as paternal in turn can be debated:

 

...1'on avertit les personnes d'Esprit, et particulierement les Femmes qui ne sont point la Dupe de ceux qui prennent authorité sur elles, que si elles se donnent la peine de lire ce Traité, ... elles remarqueront que le Caractere essentiel de la verité, c'est la clarté et l'évidence. (11-12)

Here he is offering not himself as the new authority figure, but a mediating text that demonstrates tools utilized for women's benefit that they might take up and use for themselves. I prefer to think of this offering as a brotherly gesture, rather than a paternal one, with whatever new problematic that may imply. Indeed there is more of a conspiratorial ring to his espousal of the cause than a self-aggrandizing one. It was in the mutual interest of son and daughter, brother and sister, to undo the rule of the father, to revalorize the mother, to reinvent their relations to the world, to each other, together.

 

Poullain's sequel to his treatise represents just that sort of Utopian project: De Veducation des dames is made up a series of conversations among two men and two women--peers, cousins, friends, equals. The only possible sequel for Gournay, imprisoned within the humanist tradition, was the lone and angry, still ambivalent, diatribe of her Chef. For Poullain, dialogue among rational minds, male-and female-subjectivity, held out the promise of a new order. So he made women the object of his attention, he gallantly opened the door... and wrote them in.

 

Rice University

Notes

¹

The Fayard edition reads Poulain, whereas Alcover's book reads Poullain, the two spellings in this article are faithful to the texts I am quoting, and the inconsistency simply points to the instability of seventeenth-century orthography. ²Essais I: XXX, p. 195 and II: XII, pp. 540-1, to cite just two examples of a pervasive trait. ³Marjorie Henry Ilsley quotes Guez de Balzac in her book to suggest what a forbidding territory the "Republique des lettres" must have seemed to women who ventured to write:

II y a longtemps que je me suis declaré contre cette pédanterie de l'autre sexe et que j'ai dit que je souffrirais plus volontiers une femme qui a de la barbe qu'une femme qui fait la savante... Tout de bon, si j'étais moderateur de la police, j'enverrais filer les femmes qui veulent faire des livres. (127)

⁴

I am grateful to M. Alcover for pointing out that "on" is a mistake in the Fayard edition; the original reads "ont." The wording of Poullain's text is slightly different from Alcover's and Beauvoir's versions: "Tout ce qui a ete ecrit par les hommes sur les femmes doit être suspect, car ils sont à la fois juge et partie (52)."

Works Cited

Alcover, Madeleine. Poullain de la Barre: une aventure philosophique (Paris/Seattle/Tubingen: Biblio 17, 1981)

 

Bordo, Susan. "The Cartesian Masculinization of Thought". Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 11,3 (Spring 1986).

 

___________ & Lloyd, Genevieve. The Man of Reason:"Male" and "Female" in Western Philosophy. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984).

 

Gournay, Marie de. L'égalité des hommes et des femmes. Voir Mario Schiff

 

Ilsley, Marjorie Henry. A Daughter of the Renaissance: Marie le Jars de Gournay, Her Life and Works (The Hague: Mouton, 1963).

 

Marks, Elaine, & Courtivron, Isabelle de, eds. New French Feminisms: an Anthology (New York: Schocken Books, 1981).

 

Montaigne, Michel Eyquem de. OEuvres completes Maurice Rat & Albert Thibaudet, eds. (Paris: Gallimard, 1962).

 

Poullain de la Barre, Francois. De I'égalité des deux sexes (Paris: Fayard, 1984).

 

Schiff, Mario. La fille d'alliance de Montaigne, Marie de Gournay suivi de l'Egalité des hommes et des femmes et du Grief des dames (Paris: Librairie Honore Champion, 1910).

 

[57]

La Princesse de Clèves, on the surface, scarcely appears a work in which one would expect to find equality of any sort. It is a novel in which kings, various levels of nobility and their ladies machinate for position and power and in which all struggle to maintain themselves above everyone else. Yet, in a sense, there is not only equality among men, but between the two sexes as well. Our problem is to formulate a working definition of "equal" upon which the present study can concentrate. The adjective égal is generally defined as "semblable, le même en nature, en quantité, en qualité ... qui ne varie pas" and as a noun as "qui est de même rang." The substantive definition does not seem to suffice, since by nature, a king is higher than a duke and a duke is higher than a count. Even among kings, equality varies according to ability and power. Henri II, who reigns at the novel's beginning, is a physically stronger, more capable king than his sickly son, François II, who reigns, but does not rule at the work's end. For our definition of equality, we must instead work with the concept of "similar" and "the same in nature" as we strive to establish the equality of the sexes in La Princesse de Clèves.

 

The plot outline itself does not inherently lend itself to this stance of equality. Writing nearly a century before Madame de La Fayette, Michel de Montaigne refers and disgresses to many of the historical characters of the novel in his Essais, but only the male figures receive extensive coverage. He delights in his narration of Henri II's death, the exploits of the Guise family, and even of the brief reign of François II. On the other hand, he refers to Catherine de Medici as only "la reine mère" and to the unfortunate Mary Stuart as merely the widow of the sickly François. Madame de La Fayette's innovation appears hence in her accordance of a personality to female characters, a trait lacking in the Essais.

 

Superficially, the world of La Princesse de Clèves is one in which men rule and dominate; women appear only in subservient roles. The introductory part of the novel leads us to this belief:

 

La magnificence et la galanterie n'ont jamais paru en France avec tant d'éclat que dans les dernières années du règne de Henri second. Ce prince était galant, bien fait et amoureux..., (3).

Turnell (34) cautions us not to accept anything here at face value and we must read between the lines. Salic Law specifically bars women from the throne, even if they are more capable than the ruling males. Henri II, François II, the Duke Nemours, as well as various male members of the Guise clan, seem to be in charge, if we look at the trappings of authority seen from the opening passage. Legally, only a man can sit on the throne, wear a crown or lead an army, and the first tome of the novel concentrates on this aspect of power and authority. But there is more to be seen below the surface. Barbara Woshinsky points to the outward appearance of order:

 

In the Princesse de Clèves, Mme de Lafayette reveals both the dynamism and the stability of the court and shows how they are combined in the daily lives of its members. History follows a continuous, orderly pattern, from father to son [not mother to daughter], from dynasty to dynasty. (64).

As the work unfolds we see on the surface various masculine figures maneuvering for power. At the top is King Henri, legal in ruler of France in theory. Below him we find the Duke Guise, struggling to rise to the top and dominate Henri's successor, François. On the other hand, the Duke Nemours does not aim for ascendancy in France, but sets his own sights for a crown and its power in England. Throughout the first tome of the Princesse de Clèves, we learn of the struggles of the Vidame de Chartres, Montmorency, Brissac and others to attain and retain power vis-a-vis their countless rivals. The royal crown, the marshal's baton, the bishop's mitre and the general's insignia all are visible signs of male power and ambitions and seem to prove that France is a man's country—or so it would appear on the surface.

 

Madame de Chartres' keen observation early in the novel provides a key to the proper interpretation of the actual situation. "Ce qui parait n'est presque jamais la verité" (51) refers specifically to court intrigues, but it applies equally well to the social structure of the novel. Underlying the facade is an interior world which is less concerned with maintaining appearances of force than with the functional possession of power. This less visible society, based uniquely on influence, is one in which women predominate. While they lack the outward trappings of their male counterparts, females wield more effective power and actually are in charge where the men only seem in charge.

 

Reality vs. illusion. This theme prevails through many seventeenth-century works, possibly stemming from Calderon's La vida es sueño and Corneille's L'lllusion comigue. Janine Kreiter refers to the opposition between essence and appearances in la Princesse de Clèves:

Le monde du paraître, s'il est incompatible avec celui de l'être, lui est cependant essentiel, puisqu'il maintient l'illusion qui permet de vivre—dans la mauvaise foi—pour survivre. Cette illusion était nécessaire à tous, tous l'entretiennent, et chacun est dépendant et redevable de la complicité des autres. II semble que Mme de Lafayette (sic) voite la dichotomie de l'être et du paraître comme irrévocablement inhérente a la condition de l'homme dont I'idéal et les aspirations, relevant de Fabsolut, provoquent des actions qui se situent dans le domaine du relatif. (268)

What initially appears a patriarchy is in reality a matriarchy, as we soon realize upon closer scrutiny of the novel.

 

Corresponding to the major male figures of power are various cabales ruled by women. King Henri represents the focal point for two such groups, one headed by his wife, Catherine de Medici, the second by his mistress, Diane de Poitiers. At the opening of the novel, the second cabale predominates. While Henri wears the crown, Diane makes the important decisions. The king officially promotes, demotes and banishes his courtiers, but his mistress tells him whom to promote, demote or banish. Although the monarch may protest these dictates, once expressed, they are written in stone and are no longer subject to appeal. Despite the real authority which she exercises, Diane's rule depends on her ties to the king; based on an extramarital relationship, her continued dominance without legitimate foundation is tied to Henri's life, not to the throne.

 

The faction centered on Queen Catherine seems eclipsed in power, for she wields little power in comparison to her rival. Yet the queen does not want for followers, for the patient realists of the court are aware of her potential and of the legitimacy of her power. While the impatiently ambitious seek Diane, those who recognize the total picture understand that the latter will stay in power so long as Henri lives, but that a change of monarchs will bring about a change in power. Catherine, long denied her husband's sexual favors, harbors a grudge against the mistress. Once her husband dies, she becomes queen-mother, the power behind the throne for her minor sons, François, Charles and Henri, who in turn will reign, but only under the direction of their formidable mother. Perceptive courtiers tie their own fortunes to Catherine, who, while lacking Diane's power during her husband's reign, still has enough connections and influence to make or break people—provided that her wishes do not directly run contrary to those of the royal mistress.

 

A third faction exists at the court, tied to the reine-dauphine Mary Stuart. This faction, too, appears eclipsed by the Poitiers cabale, but it manages to attract the young and the youthful, including the novel's heroine, the Princesse de Clèves and her aspirant Nemours. Many of the participants, including the sickly dauphin and his wife, are mere teenagers. This group serves as a school in politics to prepare its members for adult life when they can create or choose real cabales. The dauphin is the legal center at present, but his wife Mary initiates all discussion and activities as the courtiers come to pay court to her, no to him. At the outset of the novel, we see this as the future Valois court, but little do we suspect how soon the change will be made. The dauphine lacks the wisdom and power of her mother-in-law or of the royal mistress to break courtiers, but she can assist would-be aspirants to make their mark at court. Madame de Clèves, unable to penetrate either of the first two factions, finds her niche here and patiently awaits the rise of this faction for her own social rise.

 

This group has its limitations. Comprised of adolescents in age or maturity, it lacks present organization and real power. Moreover, it depends uniquely on the frail life of its symbol, the dauphin. Since he and Mary have produced no male offspring, she lacks the tie to the throne that Catherine holds; there is no possibility that the dauphine could become the reine-mère. Moreover, during François' reign, there will be jockeying of powers between wife and mother, each trying to exercise effective authority over the poor, dying boy.

 

Henri's death in 1559 in the third tome of the work precipitates Diane's downfall and raises Mary Stuart to queenship and power. The change of kings pulls down Diane's followers and on the surface, it elevates Mary's; one will note, however, that Catherine manages to draw courtiers to herself, both from the shambles of the Poitiers clique as well as from the Stuart group. The most notable "convert" is the Duke de Guise, Mary's maternal uncle, who knows exactly who will be calling the shots. Within the text there are a few indicators of the future; extratextually, we know from history that the Stuart faction will last less than a year and a half. At François' death in late 1560, Catherine will seize the reins of power without opposition for her second son Charles IX and will exile Mary to her native Scotland. Thus, Catherine's cabale will triumph over her rivals'.

 

Women need not ally themselves with kings to attain and exercise power. At the beginning of the novel, we find several single young men with ties to powerful families. These males pride themselves in the display of their titles or prowess, but all eventually fall sway to the irresistible, feminine attraction of Mademoiselle de Chartres. Her presence and its magical coup de foudre captivate the Maréchal de St. Andre, the Chevalier de Guise and the Prince de Clèves. Although superficially she seems weaker than any of the above, she is in fact stronger than all of the above. Denial of her hand causes both St.-André and Guise to despair; the latter will even join the Knights of Malta to forget her.

 

M. de Clèves, the "successful" candidate, remains distraught, for he has attained only her respect, but not her love. When the Duke Nemours enters the picture, he innerly captures Madame de Clèves' heart despite her efforts to appear unmoved by him. By the end of the work, she alone has achieved mastery of her passions. Nemours languishes from unrequited love, while Cleves dies from exaggerated suspicions and jealousy. St.-André and Guise, both rejected early on, continue to despair. All four of these men are brave, capable individuals, who would not falter in battle or in the service of king or country. Yet once faced with denial or refusal from this beauty, they all crumble. She wields as effective a force over them as Mary Stuart, Diane de Poitiers and Catherine de Medici exercise over the various court factions. In essence, the latter are metaphors for the powers of Madame de Clèves. Males flock to females and willingly surrender themselves and their visible signs of authority in exchange for favors of one sort or another. Whether they seek sexual favors, a promotion or the ruin of a rival, all seek out a woman as a means to this end.

 

The novel seems to depict outwardly a man's world, where man is supreme, but there are other factors which merit consideration. The author of the novel, we must recall, is a woman; whatever importance she may assign to the males in her work, they are viewed from a feminine perspective. She selects and arranges the literary details to suit her ends, not the ends of males. Likewise, she has selected a female narrator, who in turn presents several women characters, who narrate tales in which women predominate. These digressions relate in depth the general dominance of women and show their power over men; whether in the tale of Diane de Poitiers, Marie de Guise or Elizabeth of England, we see females who have overcome obstacles to exercise authority successfully over males.

 

The French monarchy has a mirror image in England. A literary image, however, is only as good as its novel-mirror, which in La Princesse de Clèves tends to distort the picture. The reflections we see involve essence rather than ocular imagery, for in England, we find a country ruled by a woman. Elizabeth I reigns with an iron fist and holds the same outward trappings of monarchy as her counterpart, Henri II. We are aware from history that there are several male-oriented factions at her court. To receive promotions or favors from Elizabeth, the ambitious must first seek a male intermediary such as Leicester, Cecil or Hatton to intercede on their behald. When Henri II encourages Nemours to pursue his romancing of the English queen, it is partially with the intent of having direct access to Elizabeth. What we find in England is the reverse of France: a female sits on the throne, but males seem to have some impact on her decision-making.

 

We have observed situations in La Princesse de Clèves which may cause us to debate whether there is indeed equality in the work. If we attempt to follow the guidelines of "same as," there is no equality. Twentieth-century feminists, civil rights activists and egalitarians seem overly preoccupied with possession of both de jure and de facto equality. What such individuals would require to complete the definition is that both sexes enjoy equality in theory as well as in practice and such a doctrine in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries seemed wholy impractical and improbable. In that age, women could not aspire to the French throne, but for that matter, very few men could entertain such prospects either. The crown, the foremost symbol of authroity, being unattainable to them, men and women of ambition sought to manipulate its possessor; hence, we understand the raison d'être of such characters as Diane de Poitiers, Mary Stuart and Catherine de Medici, who had seventeenth-century counterparts in the guise of Mesdames de Montespan, Maintenon and others. If a woman in the novel and in real life could not expect to reign directly, she could at least hope to rule the person in theoretical authority.

 

If we view the concept of equality from the stance of physical strength, we are perplexed. In the -sense of military prowess and physical force, the males in the novel seem to display greater strength; nowhere do we encounter any female with physical force greater than that expressed in Henri II, the Duke de Nemours and the Duke de Guise, the male "giants." Still, not all men are physically strong as we know from the sickly François II. On the other hand, women are emotionally stronger. In terms of passion, men fall to women more often than women fall to men. The female alone seems capable of controlling her emotions and feelings, and hence, acquires a mastery of the situation. Kaps documents that the latter are better capable of dissimulating their true feelings:

 

Dissimulation, however, requires a great deal of discipline. Perfect discipline would require perfect control; and although composure and quick-thinking are developed to a fine art in courtly society, occasional errors are inevitable. Even the most practiced do not attain complete self-mastery. (7).

If one equates emotional and physical strength, then each sex counterbalances or equals the other; in a parallel manner, male-symbol, female-power France counter­balances female-symbol, male-power England. For a contemporary concept of this equality, we have only to turn to the Duke de La Rochefoucauld, Madame de La Fayette's companion and possible collaborator, for the key; he states in his Maximes that "Quelque différence qui paroisse entre les fortunes, il y a néanmoins une certaine compensatin de bien et de maux qui les rend égaux" (LII), a statement in keeping with the situation of the novel.

 

If we look at the concept of equality as "similarity" or as "complementarity," we find less difficulty in establishing the égalité des deux sexes in the novel. If we do not expect to find equal power and authority vested in each sex, but instead consider each as the complement to the other to complete a unified whole, then we do find equality. The concept of separation of powers applies to good government as well as to La Princesse de Clèves. If we consider women as the counterbalance to men (in the same manner as we consider the legislative branch as a counterbalance to the executive branch of government), then we can suppose an equality, not in the sense of "exact" or "same," rather in the sense of "counterweight." Each unit has its own defined sphere of influence, whether it is "to reign" or "to rule." What we see in the novel is a symbiosis in which both sexes live in close association advantageous to each and to both. Men and women do not enjoy equality in both types of power, the de facto and the de jure. Through the association of the two sexes, they both jointly wield power and share trappings of authority. The equality of the two sexes resides in their complementary nature.

 

 

Kutztown University

Works Cited or Consulted

Brooks, Franklin. "Madame de Lafayette et le XVI^e siècle: Marie Stuart." PFSCL, 10, no. 2 (1978), 121-140.

 

Haig, Stirling. Madame de Lafayette. (New York: Twayne, 1970).

 

Haussonville, Comte de. Madame de La Fayette. (Paris: Hachette, 1919).

 

Kaps, Helen Karen. Moral Perspectives in La princesse de Clèves. (Eugene: University of Oregon Press, 1968).

 

Kreiter, Janine Anseaume. Le Problème du paraitre dans Voeuvre de Mme de Lafayette. (Paris: Nizet, 1977).

 

Kuizenga, Donna. Narrative Stategies in La princesse de Clèves. (Lexington, KY: French Forum, 1976).

 

Lafayette, Marie-Madeleine Pioche de La Vergne, coratesse de Lafayette, dite madame de. La Princesse de Clèves. Ed. H. Ashton. (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1930).

 

La Rochefoucauld, François, due de. Maximes. (Paris: Gamier Freres, 1961).

 

Montaigne, Michel de. Les Essais. Ed. Pierre Villey. (Paris: PUF, 1965).

 

Niderst, Alain. La princesse de clèves de Madame de Lafayette. (Paris: Nizet, 1977).

 

Paulson, Michael G. "La Princesse de Clèves: The Other Story." Language Quarterly, 19, no. 1-2 (1982), 48-51.

 

Phillips, James Emerson. Images of a Queen. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1964).

 

Pingaud, Bernard. Mme de La Fayette par elle-mime. (Paris: Seuil, 1959).

 

Raitt, Janet. Madame de Lafayette and La princesse de Cleves. (London: George Harrap, 1971).

 

Raynal, Marie-Aline. Le Talent de Madame de La Fayette. (Geneva: Slatkine, 1978).

 

Turnell, Martin. The Novel in France. New (York: New Directions, 1951).

 

Woshinsky, Barbara R. La princesse de Clèves: The Tension of Elegance. (The Hague: Mouton, 1973).

 

[45]

Ever since La Querelle du Cid, Cornelian theater has impelled critics to consider the images of women it depicts, from the femme forte and the mere monstrueuse to weaker, perhaps more nurturing female characters like Sabine. In the last 15 years, Corneille scholars have produced some subtle analyses demonstrating the complexity of Corneille's treatment of women (see AUentuch, Greenberg, Muratore, Rowan, Verhoeff). I propose a slight shift in perspective: I will concentrate on the possibility of a "female" reading of Cornelian texts, with the understanding that men can do a "female" reading just as women can, and usually have, read as males.

 

An evolution has occurred in Anglo-American feminist criticism since the late sixties: descriptions of the "immasculation" of women characters and readers of texts written by men, for example Judith Fetterly's The Resisting Reader, have been overshadowed by feminist scholarship on texts written by women. Elaine Showalter has argued that this approach is more fruitful in that it will lead to the elaboration of a true feminist poetics (182-85). However, the argument has recently been put forth convincingly in a collection of articles entitled Gender and Reading that feminist critics must not abandon the study of the female reader (see the articles by Kennard and Schweikart). A feminist reader response to texts written by men can yield a different, more positive result than simply uncovering negative images of women and the exclusion of woman's story from male texts. Although Corneille scholarship has already gone beyond a simplistic view of the portrayal of women in the corpus, the female reader has not been highlighted, either in her abstract, idealized form or in her individual reality.

 

Pierre Corneille's theater is well-suited to a refocused feminist reader response from the perspective of the actual late twentieth-century female reader; the grandes tragédies in particular have been force-fed to French students (and to our own) as works containing images essential to the French perception of nationhood. Almost any French person not in our profession (and even some who are) will manifest either hostility or incredulity when introduced to a Corneille specialist. I have found the distaste for Cornelian theater stronger among women, usually because the traditional presentation of Cornelian heroism suggests personal fulfillment through the pursuit of gloire while stifling intimate interpersonal relations. If women could reread the scorned texts in a new light, perhaps their self-image would emerge refreshed rather than tarnished.

 

Critics examining the psychology of our author have found evidence in the plays of extreme fear of women (Verhoeff) as well as of the validation of so-called feminine values usch as sentimentality and avoidance of disputes (Allentuch, "Cinna," 881-85), but even these critics do not explicitly pursue the effect of the text on the reader, or her power over the text. A model based on the psychology of a hypothetical female reader should help women regain possession of a classical literature whose long-standing claim to celebrate universal values has tended to exclude them despite the work of these scholars.

 

Who is the "female" reader? A hypothesis surrounding her can be built up from at least two rather different perspectives. Definitions of femininity by French theorists such as Kofman, Irigaray, Lemoine-Luccioni, and Montrelay deny any distinctive identity to women. As Jonathan Culler puts it, they "see le feminin as any force that disrupts the symbolic structures of Western thought," even though they all have moments when they speak of the actual women's experience (49-50).

 

In this article, my perspective is an Anglo-American one: Anglo-American feminist critics explore the nature of feminity with a practical, overtly political, reality-grounded approach which insists on the validity and authority of women's experience as opposed to men's, and of a generalized viewpoint on the part of the female reader. In order to tap into this experience without relying entirely on the subjectivity of the individual reader, the notion of the hypothetical reader must be put forward. Culler suggests that the hypothesis of a female reader "marks the double or divided structure of 'experience' in reader-oriented criticism. Much male response criticism conceals this structure--in which experience is posited as a given, yet deferred as something to be achieved--by asserting that readers simply do in fact have a certain experience" (50). I propose a female-centered paradigm for reading Corneille which takes its definition of feminity from Carol Gilligan's In a Different Voice.¹Gilligan's theory of sexually differentiated moral development provides many examples of the cohesiveness of a "women's experience" upon which a reading can be based.²

 

The dramatic structure of Corneille's plays provides another reason why the reader's role should be reemphasized. The spectator or reader of Corneille's dramas is obliged to participate actively in the play's construction, more so than in the works of other playwrights of the period. Whether reading or viewing, the audience members function as part of a group, a collective which must judge the central figures in order to decide whether or not they deserve the label of "hero"; the structure is more that of classical comedy than of tragedy since the text does not encourage the individual spectator or reader to identify with the hero. The hero is a superior being, but he/she can only be so with the approbation of society as represented by the consumer of the text. (See my article "The Woman as Heavy" for a fuller explanation of the functioning of this structure). It is the reader/spectator's responsibility to validate the potential hero, to name her or him. The goal of such judgment is to designate the behaviors which will best perpetuate and renew society. According to most reader response theory, thexts await the reader before they exist. This operation becomes extremely clear in Cornelian plays because they cannot come to a conclusion without an audience. The burden of judgment, the assumption of responsibility on the part of the reader or spectator makes her the creator of the denouement. Her sex, when used as a conscious instrument of difference, can change the outcome of the play.

 

Carol Gilligan's theory centers on notions of judgment and responsibility; she describes how definitions of right and wrong based on male paradigms have traditionally been put forth as universal, from Freud to Piaget to Erikson to Kohlberg. In a Different Voice proposes an ethic of responsibility and judgment different from the male model. The male ethic emphasizes fairness and equality, a sense of justice emanating from a consistent application of the rule of Law. The male ethical conception equates maturity with separation and individuation, a tendency which psychologists may of course trace from the infant's relations with the mother; Gilligan studies both male theorists and actual male behaviors from infancy to adulthood in order to reinforce her argument. Since each individual should have access to equal treatment according to this model, everyone has the right to fulfill his or her potential. In the case of the Cornelian hero, this means the possibility for glorious achievement. Interestingly, the male texts and individuals that Gilligan studies communicate strongly their belief in the possibility for success on an almost unlimited scale, barring circumstances that make them identify themselves as ordinary (or non-heroic). The ability to recognize this potential in themselves: these men should be quite receptive to Corneille's theater in its most conventional interpretation.

 

The female ethical model Gilligan traces is quite different, since for women connectedness supersedes separateness, and judgment is based on context rather than on a strict application of rules. Responsibility for women means caring for others, and equity in a given circumstance is more important than a uniform notion of equality. Recognition of the difference of the other is essential, and yet empathy is sought rather than avoided as threatening. The fully morally developed person would let the female model readjust the picture of isolation the male model projects, but without sacrificing autonomy and feelings of self-worth.

 

In Cornelian theater, the grandes tragédies bring issues of adjudication explicitly to the forefront, and the critics' commentary on the label "heroic" has diverged the most for these plays. The perspective I propose applies to today's readers, although I do not discount a certain stability of male-female reader response across the centuries. My rereading is not radically new, but where on occasion others have noted and chosen to validate the behaviors I will call female, I will attempt to analyze them systematically according to Gilligan's schema in the hope of arriving at a conclusion helpful to those who would like to read as women without the attandent inferiority complex Corneille's texts have tended to inspire. Gender identity is a theme in moral development, a theme that is usually, but not necessarily, linked to one's sex.

 

Most psychological theorists have equated failure to spearate from the other with failure to develop: Gilligan cites Piaget, Mead, Lever, Erikson, Bettelheim, and Horner (9-15). Rodrigue is an excellent example of a man seizing the opportunity to become successful through separation. An act ostensibly committed for his father actually permits Rodrigue to acquire a self-made identity: he will be "Le Cid." If this act also cuts him off from Chimene, this unfortunate but necessary side effect can be accepted, at least temporarily. Rodrigue works for the collectivity and is rewarded by it; he appears confident and triumphant throughout most of the play and self-doubt does not plague him. The female viewpoint described by Gilligan demonstrates why Chimène wavers in her resolve to punish Rodrigue and why she also has difficulty in accepting the solution proposed by the king: women include in their judgments points of view other than their own. What has been seen as "women's moral weakness, manifest in an apparent diffusion and confusion of judgment, is thus inseparable from women's moral strength, an overriding concern with relationships and responsibilities" (16-17).

 

The other perspectives Chimène must add to her judgment of Rodrigue's behavior are that of her dead father as well as that of society. While Rodrigue is able to earn social approval by continuing to act, Chimène's position remains ambiguous. She attempts to act through her pursuit of Rodrigue, but her actions are considered detrimental to the group. However, were she to acquiesce and marry Rodrigue after a suitable period as the king wishes, society might still regard her disapprovingly. Les Sentiments de l'Académie sur Le Cid suggest the reaction of some seventeenth-century spectators, and marriage and patricide could still be shocking today.

 

Both Rodrigue and Chimène pay attention to the qu'en dira-t-on since group judgment is just as important as individual judgment in Cornelian theater. Nevertheless, Chimène's notion of a just and fair outcome considers the nuances of context more than does Rodrigue's, so she does not cease to suffer. Gilligan compares what she calls the rights conception of moral development to the responsibility conception. While in the rights conception, the highest stage of moral development is "geared to arriving at an objectively fair or just resolution of moral dilemmas upon which all rational persons could agree, the responsibility conception focuses instead on the limitations of any particular resolution and describes the conflicts that remain" (21-22).

 

The dénouement of Le Cid has been controversial precisely because it is open-ended. The text places responsibility for resolving the conflict—or not—on the audience. Any possible solution does indeed present limitations; the play seems to emphasize the (female) responsibility conception of moral development when Chemène's dilemma is highlighted. Chimène alone continuously articulates the difficulties inherent in their situation. A female reading in Gilligan's sense would insist that Chimène's waffling between love and honor represents a higher form of moral development than the certainty Rodrigue exhibits during most of the play.

 

In Horace, the doubling of the couple allows a more nuanced treatment of moral issues and illustrates that the female perspective need not reside only in female characters. While both Horace and Camille tend to cling to moral absolutes, Curiace and Sabine see all sides of their problem and waver and suffer for it. However, Curiace has the advantage of escape through an honorable death; Sabine's request to die in the last scene expresses her pain as she confronts a situation apparently without any other solution. Mitchell Greenberg shows that death in the play means apotheosis for men in a reflection of the ideals of the State, as opposed to intimate family relations (277). However, the women cannot make the same leap into metaphor because "they can never subscribe entirely to the ideology that founds the polis" (278), that is, the ideology of Law and patriarchal order. Gilligan finds in the female viewpoint a reluctance to judge, which "remains a reluctance to hurt,... one that stems not from a sense of personal vulnerability but rather from a recognition of the limitation of judgment itself (102). Sabine's behavior would in this light be considered the result of the depth of her understanding rather than of a desire to escape her fate. Greenberg points out that male characters in Horace (besides Curiace) repress those threatening female traits in themselves that represent refusal of the Law (273). The female characters express a dangerous ambiguity of values. In this play, according to Greenberg, "margins of ambiguity remain possible, margins that must be watched and controlled by the State" (276). As Gilligan suggests, women's moral conception tends to threaten long-accepted norms, especially as regards the relationship between individual needs and the rule of Law.³

 

Corneille completely reverses the moral perspective of the male and female characters in Cinna. Harriet Allentuch has alread demonstrated that in Jungian terms, Corneille often depicts both the masculine and feminine principles within one character in a play (880) ,⁴ Curiace and Camille in Horace are, I believe, examples of this strategy. Cinna continues it in a clearer manner: he has the "feminine" role of highlighting bonding rather than political victory, he gratifies the emotional demands of others, he does not fear intimacy as Emilie appears to, and his appeal to sentiment is rewarded; sincere emotion is a source of growth and power for all who embrace it in the play (881). Allentuch also sees the feminine principle at work in Cinna's submissiveness and aversion to disputes as well as in his anguish as he is unable to choose between Emilie and August, which leads to feelings of helplessness (883-84). It is Auguste who ends up balancing the masculine and feminine principles in the play, according to Allentuch (885).

 

The problem with this sort of reading is that the feminine principle ends up devalued unless put in the context of feminine morality. Gilligan suggests a balance between the masculine and feminine ethic and that they can act as correctives upon each other, but by noting that Cinna feels "helpless to determine his own destiny" (884) without explaining why this is not necessarily negative, Allentuch appears to add a major weakness to her definition of the feminine principle. The text, for example 11,4, justifies the view of Cinna as Emilie's pawn, but the very lack in initiative on his part can be read as one more element in an ethic which stresses connectedness as its fundamental value. Cinna can never choose between Emilie and Auguste because he loves them both, just as Sabine declares herself unable to either accept or reject the murders committed by Horace, and Chimene remains uncomfortable when choosing between her father and her fiance. Cinna's character makes explicit that essential segment of the female ethic more obliquely suggested by the open-ended structure of Le Cid and Horace, that the reluctance to make a choice is not a defect but rather the result of a well-refined moral understanding. Gilligan does not see moral paralysis in the reluctance to judge because in the fully developed feminine ethic, "moral judgment is renounced in an awareness of the psychological and social determination of human behavior..." (103). Cinna acts and reacts in a social and psychological context he understands so well that it would be impossible to exclude either Auguste or Emilie from his compassion and support.

 

While Emilie hesitates little in her quest to punish Auguste, Pauline in Polyeucte never really comprehends her husband's choice until the last moment of miraculous grace in V,5 (as compared with V,3). She doubts, thus she suffers. There is no ambiguity in Polyeucte's moral code. Only Severe ends the play wrestling with moral uncertainty. He is the one left behind because he continues to wonder, to doubt, to weigh, and to avoid a definitive choice. Even this play about the certainty of a Christian martyr does not avoid the issue of moral relativism; Pauline and Severe's emphasis on relationships seems in fact more reasonable and appealing, and quite worthy of consideration on the part of the reader.

 

The reader's situation is as ambiguous as the character's in the open-endedness of a female moral perspective. However, validation of a reluctance to choose and to judge within the text does not need to imply reluctance to interpret on the part of the reader: the choice may not be definitive, but is must still be made—in Gilligan's paradigm as in Lorneill's.

 

Notes

¹

Gilligan's theory proposing that a different ethical code exists for men and women has been controversial, but well received by feminist scholars in all disciplines who are ready to accept a radical shift in perspective in order to highlight long-neglected aspects of women's experience. Gilligan's works is grounded in at least two sorts of study: 1) interviews with male and female paired subjects of several different ages, and 2) a study of the effects on women of their decisions about abortion and how they articulate their feelings differently one year after an abortion. Social scientists may criticize the generalizations she draws from her studies, but the contrasts she finds between men and women do exist, even if they are not universally applicable. Literary critics of the 1980s must surely be able to acknowledge that no reading is definitive and to allow experimentation with various paradigms. Feminist literary critics cite Gilligan with some frequency: see Gender and Reading (xx and passim). ²When Gilligan's theory is juxtaposed with the work of the above-mentioned French theorists, some connections can be made, since Gilligan too participates in the process of disrupting traditional symbolic structures. However, the basic difference in approach remains, and needs to be further examined in a more detailed manner than would be possible here. ³Greenberg's work would be a good starting point for the reconciliation of Anglo-American and French feminisms since his definitions of feminity are taken from French theorists, especially Irigaray and Montrelay, and yet possible parallels with Gilligan do exist, as suggested here. ⁴Allentuch is referring to the concepts of animus/anima in Jung's work. Animus and anima "represent basic tendencies within each person that usually correspond to those manifested by persons of the opposite sex" {Comprehensive Textbook of Psychiatry 815).

Works Cited or Consulted

Allentuch, Harriet R. "The Problem of Cinna." French Review 48 (1975): 878-76.

 

________________. "Reflections on Women in the Theater of Corneille." Kentucky Romance Quarterly 21 (1974): 77-97.

 

Carlin, Claire. "The Woman as Heavy: Female Villains in the Theater of Pierre Corneille." French Review 58 (1986): 389-98

 

Comprehensive Textbook of Psychiatry/HI, vol. I. Ed. H. Kaplan, A. Freedman, B. Sadoch. (Baltimore: Williams and Wilkns, 1980).

 

Corneille, Pierre. OEuvres completes. Ed. G. Couton. (Paris: Gallimard, 1980).

 

Culler, Jonathan. On Deconstruction. (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983).

 

Fetterly, Judith. The Resisting Reader: A Feminist Approach to American Fiction. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978).

 

Gender and Reading: Essays on Readers, Texts, and Contexts. Ed. Elizabeth A. Flynn and P. Schweickart. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1986).

 

Gilligan, Carol. In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women's Development. (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1982).

 

Greenberg, Mitchell. "Horace, Classicism, and Female Trouble." Romanic Review 74 (1983): 271-92.

 

Muratore, Mary Jo. The Evolution of the Cornelian Heroine. (Madrid: Studia Humanitatis, 1982).

 

Rowan, Mary M. "Corneille's Orphaned Heroines: Their Fathers and Their Kings." French Review 52 (1979): 594-603.

 

Showalter, Elaine. "Feminist Criticism in the Wilderness." Critical Inquiry 8 (1981): 179-205.

 

Verhoeff, Han. Les Comedies de Corneille: une psycholecture. (Paris: Klincksieck, 1979).

 

________________. Les Grandes tragedies de Corneille: une psycholecture. (Paris: Lettres Moderners, 1982).

 

[35]

According to the Petit Robert, Episteme is the "Ensemble des connaissances réglées (conceptions du monde, sciences, philosophies...) propres à un groupe social, à une epoque." "Classical Episteme," therefore, is an overwhelming subject to address, because the seventeenth century, from the epistemological standpoint, may be the most complex, ambiguous and fruitful period in the history of Western thought.

 

Precisely because I am a "classicist," I have had to address the problem of the epistemological grounding of the conceptual framework of classicism, since I understand that classicism is founded on a theory of Art based on the notion of mimesis, that is, representation/simulation of nature/reality. This notion of mimesis, along with the emphasis on the didactic dimension of Art (Horace's utile dulci) implies a theory of knowledge, and its corollary, an epistemological stance.

 

It is this epistemological stance which is problematized by the distinction, current in the classical period, between the notions of "vrai" and "vraisemblable." Le vrai or truth, whatever its nature (Platonic, Aristotelian, Epicurian,...) always implies the objective, the a priori, the given before-meaning. Le vraisemblable, on the other hand, grounds the episteme in a cultural event, an "appearing" or "seeming" to an audience inscribed within its own historicity. Most discussions on these two basic notions of French classicism have been more or less successful attempts at reconciling their contradictory nature, often by occulting either one or the other. Limitations preclude any attempt at a fair survey of these discussions. It might be enough to illustrate two of the extreme positions taken by critics: from the totally idealistic definition of le vraisemblable to the purely theoretical.

 

In the seventeenth century Rapin offers a "Platonic" definition of "vraisemblance" and opposes it favorably to truth or "vérité": "La vérité est toujours défectueuse oar le mélange des conditions singulières qui la composent" (emphasis mine). In this context, truth is therefore, for Rapin, equated with reality as the particular, grounded in existence. He then argues that "11 faut chercher des originaux et des modèles dans la vraisemblance" which he defines as "les principes universels des choses ou il n'entre rien de materiel et de singulier qui les corrompe." Therefore "vraisemblance" for Rapin is the world of "Ideas", of "Forms", of essences. In this century, Antoine Adam, following Rapin's idealistic lead, speaks of "une imitation de la nature qui, par-dela le réel, atteint ce que le siècle appelle le vraisemblable et qu'ii serait plus juste d'appeler la vérité idéale." (Adam I35)¹ More recently, on the other hand, Gerard Genette, in a well-known essay, equates what he calls "la servilité du vraisemblable" with "un corps de maximes et de préjuges qui constitue tout à la fois une vision du monde et un systeme de valeurs." (Genette, 71-92)

 

So, on the one hand verisimilitude is even more true ("vérité idéale") than truth ("la vérité"), and on the other it is servile conformity to vulgar opinion ("prejudices"). These opposite interpretations are useful to the extent that they draw attention to the contradictory epistemological stance involved in the opposition between "vrai" and "vraisemblable." Which brings us face to face with our problem: can the classical theory of art as imitation of nature/truth/reality subscribe to both truth and verisimilitude?

 

I would like to clarify the issue by stressing that my concern here is the theoretical conceptual framework of classicism. I believe that as an "ideology," this conceptual framework is based on the notion of mimesis, which makes it, in my opinion, Aristotelian. Mimesis is a difficult and important notion, which might lead to confusion. An esteemed colleague of mine, commenting on my interpretation of Classicism, remarked that "mimesis...does not always have the same sense in Plato, Aristotle or Horace, and the differences are significant not only in themselves but also for their impact on Renaissance and 17th-century theoreticians." He added that "...following Borgerhoff...there are numerous 17th century classicisms."²

 

I could not agree more with both statements. There is no denying the multiple nature of the classical "production." One can certainly transpose Arthur Lovejoy's famous pronouncement on Romanticism in his "On the Discrimination of Romanticisms," fPMLA. XXXIX (1924) 229-253) and affirm that there is not one Classicism but many "Classicisms". But Arthur Lovejoy notwithstanding, the very use of the suffix ism implies a common denominator, a categorical identity, which makes for the use of one label, in this instance the word "classical," as opposed to any other that could come to mind. Furthermore, Classicism possesses what Romanticism doesn't, namely, after Rene Bray, a "doctrine." (Bray) Antoine Adam argues that:

 

"De 1620 à 1680 les théoriciens et les critiques sont à peu près unanimes autout d'un corps d'idées littéraires, que nous appelons la doctrine classique. Boileau ne i'a point inventée. II Pa reçue déjà constituée de ses devanciers...Elle etait aussi nette avant lui que chez lui." (Adam 134)

This is not to claim that classicism is as Rene Bray or Antoine Adam describe it but simply to point out that it lends itself to a coherent, comprehensive interpretation. Such an interpretation is impossible without a dominant conceptual framework to support it. And however one interprets classicism, that interpretation can be grounded on one conceptual framework only. Given the essential epistemological differences between them, one simply cannot state that classicism can be Platonic and Aristotelian and Epicurian, and so on. We have to choose. And if we cannot, then we must work to reconcile the differences in order to warrant the use of the common label "classicism." My colleague notwithstanding, the concept of mimesis which the "doctrine" implies cannot be therefore both Aristotelian and Platonic. It can only be either/or.

 

In his "Platonisme et Classicisme," Jules Brody argues convincingly for a strong Platonic basis for Classicism:

 

"L'on entend par classicisme, non pas un mouvement littéraire, ce qu'il ne fut jamais, mais une mentalité particulière, une façon de voir, une manière de se représenter la nature essentielle de la vérité, qu'elle soit morale, esthétique, ou intellectuelle, et, ce qui est plus important, la nature du rapport qui existe, ou qu'on croit devoir exister, entre cette vérité et Pesprit humain auquel il incombe de l'appréhender et de la connaître."(202-203)

But, in my opinion, his description of the classical process is closer to the Aristotelian model than to the Platonic one. The confusion is, to some extent, understandable since Aristotle, as student of Plato, was formed by the Platonic-Socratic philosophy of life, namely: immortality of the soul, the right order of the soul, the true being of the Idea, the order of reality through methexis, through participation in the Idea,...and so on. Therefore his thought has much in common with Platonic thought. The problems he worked on were problems raised by Platonic assumptions.

 

In the specific domain which interests us here, i.e., the problem of mimesis, both Plato and Aristotle are in agreement on the presence of Form: Idea, essence (Rapin's "les principes universels des choses"), in empirical reality. But for Plato the origin of realized form is in a realm of separate forms, of a transcendental reality. For Aristotle on the other hand essences do not enter becoming from a transcendental realm of being. The form is perceived as such in reality, through a function of the mind, through noesis. And there are no essential beings except the essences which are discerned as such in reality.³

 

Which makes for a clear opposition between Platonic transcendentalism and idealism on the one hand and Aristotelian immanentism and realism on the other, an opposition directly reflected in the well-known opposite value both ascribe to mimesis. In The Republic, Plato's condemnation of poets because of the mimetic character of their work is unequivocal, and this in spite of his love and reverence for what he calls Homer's "mighty spell." Since for Plato the object of the search for truth is the original Idea, reality as imitation is obviously not the original. Furthermore art as imitation of an imitation is a reality "at the third remove." What's more, the mimetic artist, in his desire to please his audience, might want to represent not the truth but only those appearances that will please.

 

Aristotle on the other hand, does away with the distinction between the two separate realms. Truth being immanent in nature makes nature the normative matrix of truth, and art as imitation of the "Ideal form" or truth, is therefore the supreme teacher, since it is a kind of mimetic knowledge.

 

Consequently, given this contradictory valuation of mimesis by Plato and Aristotle, and unless in the 17th century art is not, on the whole, predicated on an imitation/representation of Nature/Reality/Truth, then Boileau's paradigmatic "Imitez la nature" and "Seule la nature est vraie" seem to me to constitute an obvious Aristotelian premise for Classicism.⁴

 

So much for Aristotle and Plato, which of course does not solve the problem. On the contrary, the Aristotelian conceptual premise based on mimesis is predicated on the reliability of sense data: things can be known in themselves because sense experience is reliable. The world as Nature/Truth/Reality is intelligible through the senses and through reason which is, to quote Aristotle, "the principle alike in works of Art and in works of Nature." Which is why, if we go back to Rapin's definition he can affirm the coincidence of a truth that can transcend reality, and 'Topinion du public," a public perfectly capable of discerning the ideal behind the particulars of the given. Rapin does not doubt either his senses or his reason.

 

But the 17th century is recognized today, especially, through the work of Michel Foucault, as a period of epistemological change, even of rupture, although I personally reject the latter notion. Among other factors, the remarkable surge of skepticism, from Montaigne to the libertine philosophy to Bayle, affects one way or another the whole century; I shall leave to another study the manner in which the century is affected by skeptcism. But in regard to the particular problem addressed here, we can immediately see the paradox, the contradiction: on the one hand a theory of Art predicated on the reliability of sense data to discern truth (in order to imitate it), on the other a generalized problematization of the possibility of attaining truth through the senses or otherwise. Or to reverse somewhat Boileau's famous aphorism "le vraisemblable peut-il être vrai?"

 

I would like to argue that the century did, to some extent, resolve the contradiction by evolving the discourse of science, and that this discourse can be seen as informing as well the discourse of classicism. Indeed, it is in the seventeenth century that philosophy as search for truth, and science as the acquisition of knowledge, came to a parting of the ways. Following Michel Foucault's description of the preceding medieval and Renaissance episteme, (Foucault 32-59) we can conclude that its thrust was a search for truth, for an Ur-text, a word of the origins to be found in a hierarchy of correspondences structured by resemblance. As Walter Benjamin puts it: "tirelessly the process of thinking makes new beginnings returning in a roundabout way to its original object" (28). This discourse was posited on an uninterrupted circularity between Man and the World and on the inseparability of the Name and the Thing. The discourse of science, or knowledge, on the other hand, is posited on the radical separation of the knowing subject from the object of knowledge, the World as Other. The model for this radical separation is obviously Descartes' Cogito ergo sum, in which knowledge is a reasoning practice upon the world. Foucault's description of classical episteme as informed by "representation" (opposed to the "ressemblance" that precedes it) is by now a standard accepted interpretation (Foucault 60-91), although its reductionism, inherent in all structuralist approaches, has been exposed and qualified, among others, by Louis Marin {La Critique du discours) for instance, and Timothy Reiss in The Discourse of Modernism. Reiss disproves effectively the notion of epistemic rupture which Foucault's "archeology" posits, when he traces the gradual emergence of modern discourse, which he calls "analytico-referential," from the preceding discourse of "patterning" (his own term).

 

What the discourse of science does is impose "the discursive / upon the world outside it" (Reiss). The mind perceives the object and then by an ordering activity conceives it. The result is that the intellect (reason) imposes its structure upon the world as matter. In this process the mind perceives, measures, calculates, and interprets; an interpretation or conception which relies on the statistical reliability of the accumulation of particulars. A statistical reliability verified by experimentation on the world. In this manner the mind possesses the world, and to quote Walter Benjamin again - this possession is what qualifies knowledge as opposed to truth. "Truth bodies forth in the dance of represented ideas, resists being projected, by whatever means, into the realm of knowledge. Knowledge is possession. Its very object is determined by the fact that it must be taken possession of." (29)

 

It should be evident by now that this knowledge as possession is the knowledge of phenomena and not of truth or essences.

 

"Knowledge is open to question but truth is not. Knowledge is concerned with individual phenomena, but not directly with their unity. The unity of knowledge—if indeed it exists—would consist rather in a coherence which can be established [in the consciousness] only on the basis of individual insights..." (30)

To come back finally to Classicism we might want to draw the parallel that truth is to "vrai" what knowledge is to "vraisemblance." "L'opinion du public" then can be interpreted neither as Genette would have it, a servile catering to arbitrary and prejudiced taste, nor as "la vérité idéale" of Adam, but knowledge derived from the experience of reality. And it is this knowledge which would constitute "vraisemblance."

 

In this manner, many if not all of the inner tensions and contradictions of the so-called classical doctrine could be, if not resolved, at least made irrelevant: the confusion in and between the notions of Truth, Reality, Nature, "Vraisemblance"; the opposition of Nature as truth, and Taste as culture; the insistence on the need for, yet distrust of, public approval; the pre-eminence of decorum of "bienséances" in a theory of art committed to imitation of reality as a given, and so on. Bernard Tocanne's impressive L'Idée de nature en France dans la seconde moitié du XVIIème siècle, praiseworthy for its erudition and analyses, fails nevertheless to reach a conclusion that would dispel the confusion between Nature, Truth and Reality as is evident in the following:

 

"L'art dégage de la confusion de la réalité empirique une sorte de forme intelligible qui est le vrai de l'art, et répond à la perception confuse qu'en a tout homme. La nature n'est pas la réalité empirique, elle en est plus exactement sa forme intelligible, l'universalité de l'art dans la communauté du vrai oû les hommes peuvent se reconnaitre." (Tocanne 304)

The equation between "réalité empirique," "Nature," "forme intelligible," "vrai de l'art," "communauté du vrai"..., may be valid; however, none of these notions, however, is given a clear epistemological basis, and the confusion remains.

 

In final analysis, the validity of any theory lies in its application in practice. I believe the classical "production," on the whole, supports the interpretation of Nature/Truth/Reality as a gathering and ordering of phenomena. Limitations of space precluding this being treated here, I can only point toward various areas. One is the general contention with which we are all familiar that Classicism's thrust is not philosophical (search for truth) but psychological (the description of human behavior). Another is the pre-eminence of the theatre as the locus for the imitation of life as action, and motives as deduced from behavior. When we turn to the moralists we find that their vision of Man, derived from observation, is of one caught in a set of relationships or laws which condition his being: "La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure," "les vertus se perdent dans l'interet comme les fleuves dans la mer." La Princesse de Cleves can be (and has been) viewed as an experiment conducted "en vase clos," of a maxim (defined as a psychological law or notion) devised in one of the salons.

 

To conclude I would like to quote, in order to stress its difference from mine, Erica Harth's interpretation of Boileau's famous "II n'est point de serpent ni de monstre odieux/Qui par l'art imite ne puisse plaire aux yeux." She holds that "Boileau would accept any "monstre odieux" on the stage as long as it was rendered "aimable," inoffensive, in keeping with the "bienséances," (Harth. "Exorcizing teh Beast..." 23) And more recently referring to the same lines: "Art transforms the monstrous into the pleasurable and in so doing calls attention to itself as mediation." (Harth. "Classical Science..." 26) I agree with the emphasis on Art both as illusion and as mediation, but we must not forget that Boileau continues with the emphasis at the rhyme on "pIeurs"-"douleurs", "alarmes"-"larmes":

 

Ainsi pour nous charmer, la tragédie en pleurs D'Oedipe tout sanglant fit parler les douleurs, D'Oreste parricide exprima les alarmes, Et, pour nous divertir, nous arracha des larmes.

Oedipus and Orestes are monsters. But their "douleurs" and their "alarmes" are not. "Douleurs" and "alarmes" are the common ground of experience shared by both the characters on the stage and the spectators in the audience.

 

Louisiana State University

Notes

¹

He also cites Rapin. ²Since these remarks were made in a private communication, I do not feel free to divulge my source. I simply consider this quote as representative of an attitude which I disagree with and feel needs rebuttal. ³For this whole discussion on the comparison between Plato and Aristotle, see Eric Voegelin, Plato and Aristotle (Baton Rouge, 1957), pp. 131-134 and 271-292. ⁴When Brody notes that the 17th century reconciled Plato's condemnation of poets and a notion of art based on imitation he is, in fact, describing the Aristotelian process: "A vrai dire, il n'était guère difficile de réintégrer I'art dans le schème platonicien. Quoi de plus simple après tout que de dire que ce n'est nullement la réalité concrète de tous les jours que l'artiste va chercher a reproduire; que c'est, au contraire, l'idée même, cette réalité essentielle et pure que, dorénavant, les poetes et les peintres vont prétendre imiter? Done, tout en retenant la métaphysique platonicienne, et en même temps en supprimant ou, plutôt, en négligeant quelques-unes de ses conséquences génantes, les défenseurs de I'art surent remettre le peintre et le poète sur un pied d'égalité avec le philosophe." (191).

[15]

Of the 10,000 actors who played their roles before Saint-Simon's piercing gaze, it is not surprising that the majority, and especially the most prominent among them, belong to the two higher orders of the Ancien Regime. The bottom rung, the other 97% of the French population, is however present to some extent in the Mémoires. A first category constitutes a somewhat ambiguous group, small in gross terms but looming large in Saint-Simon's consciousness, those of recent ennoblement; for him they seem to exist in a purgatory of caste, less than genuinely noble, although bearing official titles and enjoying privileges. In addition to these imperfect aristocrats of Third Estate antecedents, the Mémoires present a range of people belonging firmly to the lowest order. Contrary to what one might expect from an arch-conservative defined to a great degree by his class consciousness, Saint-Simon's attitudes towards both these groups are nuanced.

 

Locating roturiers in seventeenth-century Paris and Versailles was as difficult for Saint-Simon, or as easy, as locating the center of the universe for Pascal: they were everywhere, hiding under recent titles they had bought, married or cajoled from the king. It is true that the memorialist's requirements concerning antiquity of nobility were demanding. He snubs the ducal Brissac family, for example, by reporting that the lineage could only be traced back to 1386; "cela," he comments, "ne fait pas une grande origine (Ed. True, III, 492)."¹ On this point, as on many others, Saint-Simon's elasticity of vision (Coirault 147),² his way of deforming the real, is revealed: the duke had been engaged for many years in a bitter lawsuit with the Due de Brissac (over the legacy of a family member: Saint-Simon's half-sister, Duchesse de Brissac), and had grown to hate his adversary. The memorialist practices a similar distortion in regard to the venerability of his own lineage by stressing the family's descent from Charlemagne, "sans contestation quelconque," (1,77) while glossing over the newness of his dukedom, granted to his own father and originally just for life (Ed. Coirault, I, 1190 n. 9).³

 

Satisfied of his own superior and demanding place at the apex of the aristocratic order, yet with no qualms about the family's recent arrival there, Saint-Simon therefore (or nevertheless) suffered torments when mortal humans, vainly imitating the Creator, attempted to intervene in that order (Brody 189-190). The king is the nemesis in the Memoires. He interferes by favoring his bastard children, by marrying a commoner who had emerged from the earth to "surpasser rapidement les plus hauts cedres" (11,192), and by filling government posts with bourgeois. He had thus established an atmosphere where disorder and confusion—the key concepts in the Memoires, the state against which Saint-Simon is writing—reigned. With a pen eager to retrace ignominious genealogies and to castigate usurpation and derogation in every form, Saint-Simon defends himself and his ideal notion of "haute noblesse," decades after the facts. The language is rich in doubled adjectives that spit out his scorn ("la pleine et parfaite roture" of Voysin, grandson of a clerk, 111,192) in expressions of glee (as when lowly origins are revealed in public, 1,693), and in insinuations ("on a dit même qu'il [Crozat] avoit été son laquais," V,34). The effrontery of those who usurped titles, a practice becoming more common amidst the confusion Saint-Simon evokes, elicits a dark and angry meditation on his milieu: the Comte de Croy simply changed his title to prince; his wife, a mere heiress from Flanders, promises to become in fact a princess of rank "dans un pays où il n'y a qu'a pretendre et tenir bon pour réussir, a condition toutefois que ce soit contre tout droit, ordre, justice et raison" (V,320).

 

Marriages crossing the lines between the two estates also contribute to the disorder. Saint-Simon's total dismissal of gross misalliances usually does not require literary embellishment; it suffices to merely state that the Marquis de Mirepoix is the son of a cabaret girl from Alsace (1,642). In other cases, the turn of expression is pithier. We shall pass by the most famous of these inappropriate wives, "cette funeste fee" married to the king, to cite another, a chambermaid, subsequently publicly kept, and finally, "vieille, laide et borgnesse," the Duchesse de Gramont (11,319). Where money was a consideration, Saint-Simon adopts a more ambivalent position. Such marriages are sometimes a necessity, and can be countenanced if dignity and proportion are maintained. Thus he blames Mme de Sevigne's daughter for her witticism about the marriage of a son with a financier's offspring ("il falloit bien de temps en temps du fumier sur les meilleures terres," 11,395), and lauds the modesty and respectfulness of the Crozat's mother-in-law when the financier's daughter becomes a countess (11,780). Thus, too, another revealing silence about certain of his own in-laws. His cherished wife was, in fact, the grand­daughter of a financier.

 

The role of men of the robe in promoting the mingling of the second and third estates merits special attention. Saint-Simon correctly intuited that the judicial corps was gaining ground against his own caste, and fought this encroachment with arguments that required the assumption of the superiority of the distant past over the more recent one. A long digression on the matter in Volume IV leads to this conclusion:

 

Avec cette démonstration, comment se peut-il entendre qu'une cour de justice qui, par son essence, n'est ni du premier ni du second ordre, et qui n'est établie que pour juger les causes des particuliers, puisse 6tre le premier corps de I'Etat? (IV.550)

Saint-Simon's complaints about the robe's pretensions touch on the same headings as his other attacks on mingled orders. The robe is guilty of usurpation, as when brothers of provincial presidents a mortier add "marquis de" to their bourgeois family names. Saint-Simon's ironical comment about this "friandise": "c'est un apanage apparemment comme Orleans Test du frere du Roi" (II, 56). Genealogies where the robe dominates often culminate in descendants who are reduced by Saint-Simon's terrible "IL etait peu de chose" or worse, "IL n'etait rien." Robe people are bold, showing up to pay respects after Monseigneur's death (111,865), or finding the means to "percer partout et d'etre du plus grande monde" (VI,288). They, too, marry needy bluebloods and become, for example, "cette noble duchesse" (111,429).

 

This atmosphere of socialclimbing and hybridizing, and the memorialist's violent reaction to it, suggest several comments and qualifications. First, Saint-Simon's denigration of recent ennoblements is clearly a prejudice, shared to a lesser degree by his fellow great nobles, but with no legal foundation. One paid taxes or one did not. As Francois Bluche demonstrates in the case of Louis XIV's secretaries of state, these men were bona fide nobles, if recently so, before being named to their posts, and several in fact were not named, having held survivances since the preceding century.⁴ Secondly, in spite of his detailed knowledge of genealogies, Saint-Simon made serious mistakes about the status of certain families (e.g., the La Salle line, IV.78). Thirdly, as was evident in his position on misalliances, the manner of the guilty affects his reaction. Fourthly, if rank matters in Saint-Simon's eyes, so also does merit. The portraits of Ducasse, ex-pirate and scion of Bayonne ham-sellers (11,270; IV,8-9; IV,673-4) are a good illustration. The duke objects strongly to Ducasse's being named to the Spanish order of the Golden Fleece, because of his origins, but has only praise for his achievements in the navy. Saint-Simon is probably not given sufficient credit for his wholly admirable castigation of incompetence. Finally, he is inconsistent. Several close friends in life, and presented as such in the Mémoires, bore the freshest of titles, chief among them the Chancelier Pontchartrain, the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the Duchesse de Beauvilliers, both daughters of Colbert.⁵ Their rank is reported without the emotional terminology that marks his comments about persons he dislikes. Numerous other unimpressive genealogies, of a variety that precludes generalization, are presented without passion. Perhaps a portion of Saint-Simon's eulogy of the Due de Bourgogne, lines which patently project his own values, best states his own nuanced code:

 

Gracieux partout, plein d'attention au rang, à la naissance, a l'âge, à l'âcquis de chacun, choses depuis si longtemps honnies et confondues avec le plus vil peuple de la cour; régulier à rendre à chacune de ces choses ce qui leur étoit du de politesse..." (111,972).

In Volume V, Saint-Simon states two principles of selection for portraits in the Mémoires: "J'ai repandu ... les caracteres des personnages de tous etats ... pour la necessite ou la curiosite de les bien connoitre" (V,227). It is this curiosity, Saint-Simon's inexhaustible inquisitiveness, which explains the presence of various obituaries of members of the Third Estate. The three pages on Ninon de Lenclos end thus with an explanation, almost an apology that is sincere, if not stylistically very felicitous: "La singularité unique de ce personnage m'a fait étendre sur elle" (11,516).

 

A distinction between the two overlapping worlds of upper-class Paris and Versailles is occasionally noted (e.g., Mme Herwart, IV,50), but in no way does their meeting on a social level automatically elicit criticism from the duke. A case in point is Savary (1,630), a wealthy, Epicurean Parisian. Saint-Simon's barb in this account is aimed not at the many high-born friends of Savary, but rather at the person who was apparently responsible for his murder and someone who is often scorned in the Mémoires, "un très vilain petit homme," the king's brother.

 

Given the peripheral place of literature in the Mémoires, it would seem that curiosity is the principle governing the inclusion of a number of bourgeois writers. The paragraphs devoted to the great (Racine, I, 623-5) and the second-rank (the Daciers, VI, 633-4; VII, 259) tend to recount anecdotes, to situate the person on the city/court grill, and to recall, briefly and often vaguely, his or her literary achievements. Social status is mentioned neutrally, if at all; Saint-Simon seems not to have felt these professionals as threats. Nor are clergymen from the Third Estate normally subjected to close social scrutiny. Worldly abbés (Testu, II, 625-6; Alary, VI, 421) move in high circles without comment. Some few clerics who gain high positions without losing their virtue are praised without qualification. They include Godet, bishop of Chartres (III, 314-15) and Vittement (VI, 345-6), who became a tutor of the king on merit alone, "chose bien rare a la cour," and did the even rarer thing of rejecting the offer of a rich abbey, to Saint-Simon's profound admiration. His birth in a humble family is not even mentioned. Others who machinated in order to rise in church and governmental ranks* and who in Saint-Simon's eyes were incompetent and/or superbes once in place, might have seen the splendor of their Third Estate origins fully displayed in the Mémoires (Dubois, I, 30-31).

 

Court secretaries often play prominent roles in Saint-Simon's world. Of Millain, secretary of the son of the prince de Conde and an important assistant to Saint-Simon and his cohorts in arranging the lit de justice that reduced the royal bastards in rank and power—cause dearest to the duke's heart—we read a compliment underlining once more Saint-Simon's insistence on merit as well as birth: "Millain étoit fort homme d'honneur, de règle et de sens, et par son mérite fort au-dessus de son etat" (VI, 89). About Rose, official forger of the king's style and handwriting, Saint-Simon observes: "gai, libre, hardi, volontiers audacieux, mais, à qui ne lui marchait point sur le pied, poli, respectueux, tout a fait en sa place" (I, 821). That this place was near Saint-Simon's, for Rose held one of the numerous and much-coveted charges that granted automatically four generations of nobility, is not mentioned. Either the memorialist did not take this form of aristocracy seriously enough to comment on it, or did not resent it as deeply as he did the titles granted by the king for frivolous reasons.⁶ Various other professionals from the Third Estate appear at least briefly. Le Ndtre earns a long eulogy where he is praised for keeping to his proper station (I, 754), but class is not mentioned in stories about less important persons, e.g., the chemist Homburg (V, 135) and a cure who speaks Persian (IV, 631).

 

The crown's medical personnel occupy in the Mémoires a major place that has recently begun to be studied by scholars,⁷ Royal patients, like any other, became dependent on and submissive to their doctors, so that the latter were often held in an esteem and confidence out of proportion to their social standing. A story about the king's brother illustrates this point vividly. Monsieur, rather than offend his elderly first surgeon, who fumbled in surgical procedures, refrained from being bled at all, and died as a result (I, 907), Saint-Simon, with a keen interest in medecine and extensive practice at being ill himself, is sympathetic towards many of the doctors he presents, especially his friend and source of information, the chief surgeon Mareschal.⁸ However, despite his genuine admiration and respect for this surgeon, class distinction is not forgotten. The last element noted in the portrait of Mareschal, and therefore a point of importance, is the surgeon's respectfulness and willingness to keep to his place (II, 190). Again, Saint-Simon makes no mention of the letters of nobility granted Mareschal in 1707 and his acquisition of a title upon purchase of a fief in 1723. In at least two other cases, complimentary accounts mention nothing about a doctor's social status. For Drs. Higgins at the court of Spain and Helvetius in Paris, perhaps the simple noting of their respectively Irish and Dutch births sufficed to situate them on the social scale. Nor does Saint-Simon think to add a word of comment about the place of someone as lowly as an apothecary, albeit one whom he respects and who is also an informant (Boulduc, III, 1169). Or perhaps the explanation is again that class is not an issue if the person is worthy and unpretentious. For Saint-Simon is not tender towards the arriviste doctors. He recounts and ridicules incessant requests of D'Aquin for bishoprics and other favors for family members (I, 106-7), and is scornful of the prominence of Boudin, Monseigneurs' chief doctor, at the court of Meudon (III, 747).

 

As we descend the ladder to ranks where there was virtually no chance of pretension to a change of estate, references to origins and class become rarer. Exceptions are the principal valets, personages in the court, whose positions were lucrative and venal. Several of these servant-administrators merit portraits in the Mémoires, where their sense of station, appropriate or usurpative, is emphasized. Bontemps, Louis XIVs principal valet for 50 years, a holdover from his father's court that Saint-Simon admired so greatly, was "respectueux et tout a fait a sa place" (I, 827), and Moreau, principal valet of the Due de Bourgogne, was "fort au-dessus de son etat sans se meconnoitre" (III, 1172). In the other direction, Nyert is called, in addition to a dangerous monkey, an "affranchi," because of his excessive familiarity with the king (VI, 358). Joyeux theoretically served Monseigneur, but in reality was a personage with whom the Dauphin "se mesuroit fort, et avec qui sa cour interieure etoit en grand management et fort en contrainte" (II, 587). As for the hordes of lesser servants who move in the background of the Memoires, there are glimpses of their activities, their moeurs, and their feelings. They often end up resembling their employers (for example those of Mme de Maintenon, IV, 1049). They notice the king's decline, but do not dare to speak of it (IV, 879). The lowest often find themselves presiding over the final departures of their masters and mistresses. They keep watch over Monseigneur's infectious corpse (III, 826) and desert the dying Due de Vendome, stealing his mattress and coverlet from under him (IV, 35-6). It is probably that the mentions in all these stories of "les derniers des valets" are literary superlatives chosen by Saint-Simon to emphasize the reduction of the great to a final nothingness. In an affinity with Saint-Simon, servants also observe and comment. They revolt occasionally against impossible masters, who, as it happens, are always enemies of Saint-Simon (e.g., the Princesse d'Harcourt, II, 135). They spread the story about the Due d'Orleans being the poisoner of the Dauphin and Dauphine (IV, 311). They applaud, along with the guests in the salon, when they hear the story of a scoundrel bested (VI, 368). And in that masterfully told scene where Louis greets the news that the Duchesse de Bourgogne has had a miscarriage with an outburst of relief that now he may travel as he wants, it is the workers present who underline the monstrosity of his egoism: "Chacun demeura stupefait; jusqu'aux gens des batiments et aux jardiniers demeurérent immobiles" (II, 1007-8). These few samples cannot properly define the place of servants in the Mémoires, a subject that does not seem to have been studied in any detail, but at least they can demonstrate the comprehensive view of a memorialist who notices even the invisible people, and his artistry in placing them for literary effect.

 

Beyond the confines of Versailles were the humble, who appear en masse at different points of the Mémoires. Saint-Simon has been criticized for evoking the populace only when it is in revolt and for paying only summary attention to suffering (d'Astier 77-78, 136). As will be seen, the first accusation is based on an inaccurate view of the peuple in the Mémoires; and of the second, it should be remembered how few writers paid the lowest and largest class any heed at all. Saint-Simon's Lettre anonyms au roi stands with that of Fenelon and with Vauban's book on the dime as exceptional efforts. In Saint-Simon's case, the letter is supplemented by several hundred passages in the Mémoires where the lowest segment of the Third Estate appears.⁹ These texts reveal the varied contours in his perception of the masses. Volume I includes several affectionate reminiscences of common soldiers known during his early campaigns. The gulf between the orders is nonetheless evident when a handful of noble victims merit obituaries several pages in length, while the thirty thousand infantrymen killed are dismissed in only two lines (I, 97-9). At the other end of the Mémoires, compassion for the soldiery again surfaces, in a statement reporting the effects of inflation on servicemen, "cette partie de l'Etat, si importante, is repandue, si nombreuse, plus que jamais tourmentee et reduite sous la servitude des bureaux" (VII, 388). The whole country appears thus, in the account of the terrible winter of 1709-10: "On ne peut comprendre la desolation de cette ruine generate" (III, 83). Which, and this seems to be Saint-Simon's point in his long account, was greatly exacerbated by individual greed and the king's bickering with the Parliaments. The human being after the fall, the true subject of Saint-Simon's history, is certainly apparent in these stories of individual evil causing massive ills. The human being attempting to redeem himself also emerges against the same backdrop. Almsgiving, as in this same account (87-8), is a recurring theme in the Mémoires.

 

Saint-Simon shows other faces of the populace for other reasons. This segment of humanity supplies vocabulary terms, always used to denigrate the subject: the Marquise de Charlus dressed like a "crieuse de vieux chapeaux" (VI, 288), Pere Tellier is a peasant (IV, 747), the social-climbers often rise from "la lie du peuple." The lowest class also provides vehicles of disguise or projection of psychological truths that Saint-Simon wants to convey, consciously or not. On several occasions he tells of the Parisian harengeres who visit Monseigneur to show their concern, vulgarly expressed, at the Dauphin's illnesses, and his effusive and kindly reactions are recorded (e.g., Ill, 809). Likewise, the hated Marechal de Vileroy has the same kind of rapport with "ces ambassadrices" (VI, 614). The inner meaning of these anecdotes is clear: Saint-Simon succeeds, through association, in lowering Monseigneur and the marshal to the level of fishwives. When Saint-Simon writes that Paris and the public had a certain reaction to some event, he is usually implying his own reaction. We can sense, for example, his life-long feeling of endurance and acquiescence to higher powers in the statement about the riots that happened when Law's system exploded: "rien ne branla, ce qui marque bien la bonte et l'obeissance de ce peuple qu'on mettoit a tant et de si etranges epreuves" (VI, 617). An unsettling story where the peuple appears in passing also reveals the duke's psyche. During the regency he persuaded the Due d'Orleans to buy a 136-carat diamond at a time when, as Saint-Simon ingenuously admits, "'on avoit tant de peine à subvenir aux nécessités les plus pressantes et qu'il falloit laisser tant de gens dans la souffrance" (V, 658). This is the Saint-Simon who saw and felt the meaning of forms, in Georges Poisson's words, "ces manifestations exterieures auxquelles il attachait tant de prix... [qui etaient] l'exteriorisation de sentiments ou d'actions profondes." He knew the reality of a hungry and miserable population; but that reality faded before the sparkle of a diamond that represented preeminence and rank, his own raison d'etre.

 

Because that being had been successfully threatened by the lowest estate, the latter appears in the Memoires at times as a negative force. The generalization is therefore often made that Saint-Simon despised the lower classes. A more correct statement would be that he despised individuals in the Third Estate—it is rather his contemporary Voltaire and other philosophes who held a whole class (the peuple) in contempt. Nor is it really membership in a class that inspires his scorn; it is the desire to change one's God-given place in society and to exercise functions that were beyond one's capabilities, that were culpable. The flaws in this scheme are only too evident to modern eyes: birth does not always grant merit, the partitions between classes had never been and never would be watertight, privilege had become divorced from responsibility. The psychological sources of his values and prejudices qualify equally the very personal vision he writes in the Memoires.¹¹His commitment to merit as a guiding concept in public and private life, however, needs no qualification at all.

 

Georgia State University

NOTES

¹

Future references to this first Pleiade edition (1953-61) will be given in the text. The new edition is not complete at this writing. ²The metaphor is Yves Coirault's. ³See the new edition of the Mémoires by Y. Coirault, for a summary of this genealogy. ⁴"L'Origine sociale des Secretaires d'Etat de Louis XIV (1661-1715)," Dix-septieme Steele, Nos. 42-3 (1959): 8-22. ⁵Saint-Simon himself, in first aspiring to the hand of the daughter of the Due de Beauvilliers, would have joined this tainted family. ⁶Saint-Simon was perfectly aware of the ennoblement of these secretaries. One of his goals in the "projets de gouvernement" elaborated with the Due de Bourgogne was to reduce drastically the number of these secretaries, and to eliminate the privilege of nobility. See Roland Mousnier, "Saint-Simon et les Equilibres sociaux," Cahiers Saint-Simon, No. 3 (1975): 14, and Jean-Louis Vergnaud, "De Fage des services au temps des vanites: la compagnie des conseillers-secretaires du roi, maison, couronne de France, et de ses finances. Histoire, fonctions et privileges," Cahiers Saint-Simon, No. 14 (1986): 55-70. ⁷Cahiers Saint-Simon, No. 11 (1983), is devoted to various medical aspects of the Memoires and includes as well a call for further study by Helene Himelfarb, 3-7. ⁸Paul-Louis Chigot, "Samt-Simon, le bon malade," Medecine de France, 206 (1969): 9-17, treats Saint-Simon's generally sympathetic attitude towards the medical world. ⁹The number is given by Pierre Ronzeaud in a commentary on Brody, "Saint-Simon peintre...," 192. ¹⁰The observation is made in reference to the long mourning Saint-Simon observed after the death of his wife (Poison 364). ¹¹Alphonse de Waelhens gives a sustained psychoanalytical interpretation of the Mémoires in Le Due de Saint-Simon: immuable comme Dieu et d'une suite enragee (Brussels: Facultes universitaires Saint-Louis, 1981).

Works Cited or Consulter

Astier, Emmanuel d'. Sur Saint-Simon. (Paris: Gallimard, 1972).

 

Bluche, Francois. "L'origine sociale des secretaires d'Etat de Louis XIV (1661-1715)". Dix-septieme siecle, Nos. 42-3 (1959): 8-22.

 

Brody, Jules. "Saint-Simon, peintre de la vie en declin". Marseille, No. 109 (2e trimestre 1977): 189-190.

 

Chigot, Paul-Louis. "Saint-Simon, le bon malade". Médecine de France, 206 (1969): 9-17.

 

Coirault, Yves. L'optique de Saint-Simon: essai sur les formes de son imagination et de sa sensibilite d'après les Mémoires (Paris: Armand Colin, 1965).

 

Saint-Simon, Louis de Rouvroy, due de. Mémoires. Edition Gonzague True (Paris: Gallimard, 1953). Edition Yves Coirault (Paris: Gallimard, 1983).

 

Waelhens, Alphonse de. Le due de Saint-Simon: immuable comme Dieu et d'une suite enragée (Brussels: Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis, 1981).