George Sand, some aspects of her life and writings Part 14

Novelists are given to speaking of the theatre somewhat disdainfully.

They say that there is too much convention, that an author is too much the slave of material conditions, and is obliged to consider the taste of the crowd, whilst a book appeals to the lover of literature, who can read it by his own fireside, and to the society woman, who loses herself in its pages. As soon, though, as one of their novels has had more success than its predecessors, they do not hesitate to cut it up into slices, according to the requirements of the publis.h.i.+ng house, so that it may go beyond the little circle of lovers of literature and society women and reach the crowd--the largest crowd possible.

George Sand never pretended to have this immense disdain for the theatre which is professed by ultra-refined writers. She had always loved the theatre, and she bore it no grudge, although her pieces had been hissed.

In those days plays that did not find favour were hissed. At present they are not hissed, either because there are no more poor plays, or because the public has seen so many bad ones that it has become philosophical, and does not take the trouble to show its displeasure.

George Sand's first piece, _Cosima_, was a noted failure. About the year 1850, she turned to the theatre once more, hoping to find a new form of expression for her energy and talent. _Francois le Champi_ was a great success. In January, 1851, she wrote as follows, after the performance of _Claudie:_ "A tearful success and a financial one. The house is full every day; not a ticket given away, and not even a seat for Maurice. The piece is played admirably; Bocage is magnificent. The public weeps and blows its nose, as though it were in church. I am told that never in the memory of man has there been such a first night. I was not present myself."

There may be a slight exaggeration in the words "never in the memory of man," but the success was really great. _Claudie_ is still given, and I remember seeing Paul Mounet interpret the part of Remy admirably at the Odeon Theatre. As to the _Mariage de Victorine_, it figures every year on the programme of the Conservatoire compet.i.tions. It is the typical piece for would-be _ingenues._

_Francois le Champi, Claudie_ and the _Mariage de Victorine_ may be considered as the series representing George Sand's dramatic writings.

These pieces were all her own, and, in her own opinion, that was their princ.i.p.al merit. The dramatic author is frequently obliged to accept the collaboration of persons who know nothing of literature.

"Your characters say this," observes the manager; "it is all very well, but, believe me, it will be better for him to say just the opposite. The piece will run at least sixty nights longer." There was a manager at the Gymnase Theatre in those days named Montigny. He was a very clever manager, and knew exactly what the characters ought to say for making the piece run. George Sand complained of his mania for changing every play, and she added: "Every piece that I did not change, such, for instance, as _Champi_, _Claudie_, _Victorine, Le Demon du foyer_ and _Le Pressoir_, was a success, whilst all the others were either failures or they had a very short run."(48)

(48) _Correspondance:_ To Maurice Sand, February 24, 1855.

It was in these pieces that George Sand carried out her own idea of what was required for the theatre. Her idea was very simple. She gives it in two or three words: "I like pieces that make me cry." She adds: "I like drama better than comedy, and, like a woman, I must be infatuated by one of the characters." This character is the congenial one. The public is with him always and trembles for him, and the trembling is all the more agreeable, because the public knows perfectly well that all will end well for this character. It can even go as far as weeping the traditional six tears, as Madame de Sevigne did for Andromaque. Tears at the theatre are all the sweeter, because they are all in vain. When, in a play, we have a congenial character who is there from the beginning to the end, the play is a success. Let us take _Cyraino de Bergerac_, for instance, which is one of the greatest successes in the history of the theatre.

Francois le Champi is eminently a congenial character, for he is a man who always sets wrong things right. We are such believers in justice and in the interference of Providence. When good, straightforward people are persecuted by fate, we always expect to see a man appear upon the scene who will be the champion of innocence, who will put evil-doers to rights, and find the proper thing to do and say in every circ.u.mstance.

Francois appears at the house of Madeleine Blanchet, who is a widow and very sad and ill. He takes her part and defends her from the results of La Severe's intrigues. He is hard on the latter, and he disdains another woman, Mariette, but both La Severe and Mariette love him, so true is it that women have a weakness for conquerors. Francois only cares for Madeleine, though. On the stage, we like a man to be adored by all women, as this seems to us a guarantee that he will only care for one of them.

"Champi" is a word peculiar to a certain district, meaning "natural son." Dumas _fils_ wrote a play ent.i.tled _Le Fils naturel_. The hero is also a superior man, who plays the part of Providence to the family which has refused to recognize him.

In _Claudie_, as in _Francois le Champi_, the rural setting is one of the great charms of the play. The first act is one of the most picturesque scenes on the stage. It takes place in a farmyard, the day when the reapers have finished their task, which is just as awe-inspiring as that of the sowers. A cart, drawn by oxen, enters the yard, bringing a sheaf all adorned with ribbons and flowers. The oldest of the labourers, Pere Remy, addresses a fine couplet to the sheaf of corn which has cost so much labour, but which is destined to keep life in them all. Claudie is one of those young peasant girls, whom we met with in the novel ent.i.tled _Jeanne_. She had been unfortunate, but Jeanne, although virtuous and pure herself, did not despise her, for in the country there is great lat.i.tude in certain matters. This is just the plain story, but on the stage everything becomes more dramatic and is treated in a more detailed and solemn fas.h.i.+on. Claudie's misfortune causes her to become a sort of personage apart, and it raises her very high in her own esteem.

"I am not afraid of anything that can be said about me," observes Claudie, "for, on knowing the truth, kind-hearted, upright people will acknowledge that I do not deserve to be insulted." Her old grandfather, Remy, has completely absolved her.

"You have repented and suffered enough, and you have worked and wept and expiated enough, too, my poor Claudie," he says. Through all this she has become worthy to make an excellent marriage. It is a case of that special moral code by which, after free love, the fault must be recompensed.

Claudie is later on the Jeannine of the _Idees de Madame Aubray_, the Denise of Alexandre Dumas. She is the unmarried mother, whose misfortunes have not crushed her pride, who, after being outraged, has a right now to a double share of respect. The first good young man is called upon to accept her past life, for there is a law of solidarity in the world. The human species is divided into two categories, the one is always busy doing harm, and the other is naturally obliged to give itself up to making good the harm done.

_The Mariage de Victorine_ belongs to a well-known kind of literary exercise, which was formerly very much in honour in the colleges. This consists in taking a celebrated work at the place where the author has left it and in imagining the "sequel." For instance, after the _Cid_, there would be the marriage of Rodrigue and Chimene for us. As a continuation of _L'Ecole des Femmes_, there is the result of the marriage of the young Horace with the tiresome little Agnes. Corneille gave a sequel to the _Menteur_ himself. Fabre d'Eglantine wrote the sequel to _Le Misanthrope_, and called it _Le Philinte de Moliere_.

George Sand gives us here the sequel of Sedaine's _chef-d'oeuvre_ (that is, a _chef-d'oeuvre_ for Sedaine), _Le Philosophe sans le savor._

In _Le Philosophe sans le savoir_ Monsieur Vanderke is a n.o.bleman, who has become a merchant in order to be in accordance with the ideas of the times. He is a Frenchman, but he has taken a Dutch name out of sn.o.bbishness. He has a clerk or a confidential servant named Antoine.

Victorine is Antoine's daughter. Vanderke's son is to fight a duel, and from Victorine's emotion, whilst awaiting the result of this duel, it is easy to see that she is in love with this young man. George Sand's play turns on the question of what is to be done when the day comes for Victorine to marry. An excellent husband is found for her, a certain Fulgence, one of Monsieur Vanderke's clerks. He belongs to her own cla.s.s, and this is considered one of the indispensable conditions for happiness in marriage. He loves her, so that everything seems to favour Victorine. We are delighted, and she, too, seems to be in good spirits, but, all the time that she is receiving congratulations and presents, we begin to see that she has some great trouble.

"Silk and pearls!" she exclaims; "oh, how heavy they are, but I am sure that they are very fine. Lace, too, and silver; oh, such a quant.i.ty of silver. How rich and fine and happy I shall be. And then Fulgence is so fond of me." (She gets sadder and sadder.) "And father is so pleased.

How strange. I feel stifled." (She sits down in Antoine's chair.) "Is this joy? . . . I feel . . . Ah, it hurts to be as happy as this. . . ."

She bursts into tears. This suppressed emotion to which she finally gives vent, and this forced smile which ends in sobs are very effective on the stage. The question is, how can Victorine's tears be dried? She wants to marry young Vanderke, the son of her father's employer, instead of the clerk. The only thing is, then, to arrange this marriage.

"Is it a crime, then, for my brother to love Victorine?" asks Sophie, "and is it mad of me to think that you will give your consent?"

"My dear Sophie," replies Monsieur Vanderke, "there are no unequal marriages in the sight of G.o.d. A servitor like Antoine is a friend, and I have always brought you up to consider Victorine as your companion and equal."

This is the way the father of the family speaks. Personally, I consider him rather imprudent.

As this play is already a sequel to another one, I do not wish to propose a sequel to _Le Mariage de Victorine_, but I cannot help wondering what will happen when Vanderke's son finds himself the son-in-law of an old servant-man, and also what will occur if he should take his wife to call on some of his sister's friends. It seems to me that he would then find out he had, made a mistake. Among the various personages, only one appears to me quite worthy of interest, and that is poor Fulgence, who was so straightforward and honest, and who is treated so badly.

But how deep Victorine was! Even if we admit that she did not deliberately scheme and plot to get herself married by the son of the family, she did instinctively all that had to be done for that. She was very deep in an innocent way, and I have come to the conclusion that such deepness is the most to be feared.

I see quite well all that is lacking in these pieces, and that they are not very great, but all the same they form a "theatre" apart. There is unity in this theatrical work of George Sand. Whether it makes a hero of the natural son, rehabilitates the seduced girl, or cries down the idea of _mesalliances_, it is always the same fight in which it is engaged; it is always fighting against the same enemies, prejudice and narrow-mindedness. On the stage, we call every opinion contrary to our own prejudice or narrow-mindedness. The theatre lives by fighting.

It matters little what the author is attacking. He may wage war with principles, prejudices, giants, or windmills. Provided that there be a battle, there will be a theatre for it.

The fact that George Sand's theatre was the forerunner of the theatre of Dumas _fils_ gives it additional value. We have already noticed the a.n.a.logy of situations and the kins.h.i.+p of theories contained in George Sand's best plays and in the most noted ones by Dumas. I have no doubt that Dumas owed a great deal to George Sand. We shall see that he paid his debt as only he could have done. He knew the novelist when he was quite young, as Dumas _pere_ and George Sand were on very friendly terms. In her letter telling Sainte-Beuve not to take Musset to call on her, as she thought him impertinent, she tells him to bring Dumas _pere_, whom she evidently considered well bred. As she was a friend of his father's, she was like a mother for the son. The first letter to him in the _Correspondance_ is dated 1850. Dumas _fils_ was then twenty-six years of age, and she calls him "my son."

He had not written _La Dame aux Camelias_ then. It was performed for the first time in February, 1852. He was merely the author of a few second-rate novels and of a volume of execrable poetry. He had not found out his capabilities at that time. There is no doubt that he was greatly struck by George Sand's plays, imbued as they were with the ideas we have just pointed out.

All this is worthy of note, as it is essential for understanding the work of Alexandre Dumas _fils_. He, too, was a natural son, and his illegitimate birth had caused him much suffering. He was sent to the Pension Goubaux, and for several years he endured the torture he describes with such harshness at the beginning of _L'Affaire Clemenceau_. He was exposed to all kinds of insults and blows. His first contact with society taught him that this society was unjust, and that it made the innocent suffer. The first experience he had was that of the cruelty and cowardice of men. His mind was deeply impressed by this, and he never lost the impression. He did not forgive, but made it his mission to denounce the pharisaical att.i.tude of society. His idea was to treat men according to their merits, and to pay them back for the blows he had received as a child.(49) It is easy, therefore, to understand how the private grievances of Dumas _fils_ had prepared his mind to welcome a theatre which took the part of the oppressed and waged war with social prejudices. I am fully aware of the difference in temperament of the two writers. Dumas _fils_, with his keen observation, was a pessimist. He despised woman, and he advises us to kill her, under the pretext that she has always remained "the strumpet of the land of No." although she may be dressed in a Worth costume and wear a Reboux hat.

(49) See our study of Dumas _fils_ in a volume ent.i.tled _Portraits d'ecrivains._

As a dramatic author, Alexandre Dumas _fils_ had just what George Sand lacked. He was vigorous, he had the art of brevity and brilliant dialogue. It is thanks to all this that we have one of the masterpieces of the French theatre, _Le Marquis de Villemer_, as a result of their collaboration.

We know from George Sand's letters the share that Dumas _fils_ had in this work. He helped her to take the play from her novel, and to write the scenario. After this, when once the play was written, he touched up the dialogue, putting in more emphasis and brilliancy. It was Dumas, therefore, who constructed the play. We all know how careless George Sand was with her composition. She wrote with scarcely any plan in her mind beforehand, and let herself be carried away by events. Dumas'

idea was that the _denouement_ is a mathematical total, and that before writing the first word of a piece the author must know the end and have decided the action. Theatrical managers complained of the sadness of George Sand's plays. It is to Dumas that we owe the gaiety of the Duc d'Aleria's _role_. It is one continual flow of amusing speeches, and it saves the piece from the danger of falling into tearful drama. George Sand had no wit, and Dumas _fils_ was full of it. It was he who put into the dialogue those little sayings which are so easily recognized as his.

"What do the doctors say?" is asked, and the reply comes:

"What do the doctors say? Well, they say just what they know: they say nothing."

"My brother declares that the air of Paris is the only air he can breathe," says another character.

"Congratulate him for me on his lungs," remarks his interlocutor.

"Her husband was a baron . . ." remarks some one.

"Who is not a baron at present?" answers another person.

A certain elderly governess is being discussed.

"Did you not know her?"

"Mademoiselle Artemise? No, monsieur."

"Have you ever seen an albatross?"

"No, never."

"Not even stuffed? Oh, you should go to the Zoo. It is a curious creature, with its great beak ending in a hook. . . . It eats all day long. . . . Well, Mademoiselle Artemise, etc. . . ."

The _Marquis de Villemer_ is in its place in the series of George Sand's plays, and is quite in accordance with the general tone of her theatre.

It is like the _Mariage de Victorine_ over again. This time Victorine is a reader, who gets herself married by a Marquis named Urbain. He is of a gloomy disposition, so that she will not enjoy his society much, but she will be a Marquise. Victorine and Caroline are both persons who know how to make their way in the world. When they have a son, I should be very much surprised if they allowed him to make a _mesalliance_.

George Sand was one of the persons f or whom Dumas _fils_ had the greatest admiration. As a proof of this, a voluminous correspondence between them exists. It has not yet been published, but there is a possibility that it may be some day. I remember, when talking with Dumas _fils_, the terms in which he always spoke of "la mere Sand," as he called her in a familiar but filial way. He compared her to his father, and that was great praise indeed from him. He admired in her, too, as he admired in his father, that wealth of creative power and immense capacity for uninterrupted work. As a proof of this admiration, we have only to turn to the preface to _Le Fils naturel_, in which Dumas is so furious with the inhabitants of Palaiseau. George Sand had taken up her abode at Palaiseau, and Dumas had been trying in vain to discover her address in the district, when he came across one of the natives, who replied as follows: "George Sand? Wait a minute. Isn't it a lady with papers?" "So much for the glory," concludes Dumas, "of those of us with papers." According to him, no woman had ever had more talent or as much genius. "She thinks like Montaigne," he says, "she dreams like Ossian and she writes like Jean-Jacques. Leonardo sketches her phrases for her, and Mozart sings them. Madame de Sevigne kisses her hands, and Madame de Stael kneels down to her as she pa.s.ses." We can scarcely imagine Madame de Stael in this humble posture, but one of the charms of Dumas was his generous nature, which spared no praise and was lavish in enthusiasm.