Paris: With Pen and Pencil Part 19

He now retired to the house of Madam du Chatelet in the country, where he remained for several years. She was a woman of fine intellect, but a harsh nature, and worshipped Voltaire. He here wrote several plays; labored at his essay "_On the Manners and Spirit of Nations_;" collected materials for his "_History of the Age of Louis XIV_;" and wrote the famous "_Pucelle d'Orleans_." It was while at this house that Voltaire commenced the celebrated correspondence with Frederick the Great. Each had the highest admiration for the other. The great king wrote to him as follows:

"See in me only, I entreat you, a zealous citizen, a somewhat skeptical philosopher, but a truly faithful friend. For G.o.d's sake write to me simply as a man; join with me in despising t.i.tles, names, and all exterior splendor."

Voltaire replied; "This is a command after my own heart. _I know not how to treat a king_; but I am quite at my ease with a man whose head and heart are full of love for the human race."

The two men met at Cleave. The king had been very anxious for Voltaire to visit the court of Prussia, but he would not without Madame du Chatelet; and Frederic cared not for the acquaintance of a French court lady. Some time after this, Voltaire was sent on a secret mission to Prussia, and startled Frederic by his sudden appearance. He tried to persuade him to take up his abode with him, but the philosopher would not consent. He sighed for his home, and the applause of a Parisian audience.

He brought out other plays, which were well received. A minister dying at this time, who had been a bitter enemy of his, he ventured more boldly before the world. He sought to be elected a member of the Academy. A violent opposition arose. He had fought his enemies to the death, never sparing sarcasm or ridicule, and these things could not be forgotten. He lost his election, but was compensated by the success of a new tragedy, which set all Paris into transports of delight.

He was chosen by the duke de Richelieu to negotiate with the king of Prussia in reference to a treaty. He was honored in the highest degree by Frederic--was feted, praised, and made as much of as if he had been a king. He succeeded in his negotiations, manifesting great subtlety and tact. He returned to the house of Madame du Chatelet. For a time he lived either here or at Paris--until Madame du Chatelet died, when he went to Paris to spend all his time. He was deeply affected by the death of the only woman he ever loved with sincerity. He propitiated the mistress of Louis XV.--Madame Pompadour--and was appointed to a place in the court; and was also made historiographer of France. Soon after, he was elected a member of the Academy, thus triumphing over his old enemies at last. For a time he sacrificed his manly independence, and was not unlike any other court flatterer. He had a rival in Crebillon; and disgusted with the state of things, he accepted the invitation of Frederic, and made him a visit. He was received with the greatest joy by the monarch--who even kissed the poet's hand in a transport of admiration.

The king's cook awaited his orders when he wished to eat in his own rooms, and the king's coach was ready for him when he would ride. He spent two hours each day in studying with the king, correcting his works, etc. etc. He was tempted by so much attention to accept of the king a pension and the office of chamberlain; and was obliged to resign his places at the French court. He wrote to a friend in France:

"How can I forget the barbarous manner with which I have been treated in my own country? You know what I have gone through.

I enter port after a storm that has lasted thirty years."

He had a salary of twenty thousand francs for himself, and four thousand for his niece, who bitterly opposed the acceptance of Frederick's offer.

She prophesied that in the end it would be his death. He went at work correcting his tragedies and writing new plays. He soon thought he discovered deceit in the king, and learned that he was despotic. The keen remarks of each were treasured up. Voltaire heard from a friend that the king had said of him: "I shall not want him more than a year longer--one squeezes the orange and throws away the peel."

The remark caused him much sorrow. The king also treasured up a remark sarcastically made by Voltaire, which was as follows: "When I correct the royal poems I am washing the king's dirty linen." They soon lost their attachment for each other. Voltaire watched in vain for a way to escape from Prussia. At last it came, and he was once more a free man in Switzerland.

He went into a Protestant region, where there were no Catholics, and bought him a pretty estate, and determined to live in complete independence. Persecution however followed him here, and he took up his abode in a retired part of France. He wrote his "_Encyclopedia_" which was severely condemned. In 1788, in his eighty-fourth year, he returned to Paris, bringing with him a newly-written tragedy. His new life in Paris was not good for him, and he died at the end of May.

This was the man who, in the years that followed him, ruled, as it were, the intellect of Paris and France. He was a mighty man, and the fact that he was bitterly persecuted, gave him a hold upon the sympathies of succeeding generations. The conduct of the church toward him was shameful, and he made the sad mistake of rejecting all religion, the true as well as the false.

His plays and writings abound with shocking sentiments, and some of his writings are exceedingly coa.r.s.e. These scoffs, coming from an ordinary man, would have wrought little harm; but from the great Voltaire, who was worshiped by the French people, they possessed an astonishing power to work iniquity. A New Englander can scarcely credit his senses in Paris when he finds the estimation in which Voltaire and his writings are held by a vast cla.s.s of the most intelligent Parisians. In religious America he is regarded as a monster of iniquity; in France as a great poet, philosopher, and advocate of human liberty.

THE GREAT COMIC WRITER.

The place where Moliere, the great comic writer of France, lived in Paris, was pointed out to me one day while near the Rue St. Honore; and I have often noticed on one of the prominent streets a very neat monument to the memory of the great man. It is a niche, with two Corinthian columns, surmounted by a half-circular pediment, which is richly ornamented. A statue of Moliere is placed in the niche in a sitting posture, and in a meditative mood. In front of the columns on each side, there are allegorical figures--one representing his serious, the other his comic plays. Each bears a scroll which contains--one, his comic plays, arranged in chronological order; and the other, his serious plays, arranged in like manner. The bas.e.m.e.nt is beautifully sculptured.

The inscriptions are as follows: "_A. Moliere. Ne a Paris, le 15 Jauvier, 1622, et mort a Paris, le 17 Fevrier, 1673_." The monument is over fifty feet in height, and cost one hundred and sixty-eight thousand francs. It was erected in 1844, with a great deal of attendant ceremony when it was finished.

Moliere is one of the names of which France is justly proud, and in Paris his memory is half-worshiped. Not to know him well, would be in the eyes of a Parisian the sure sign of intolerable stupidity. He was the greatest comic writer of France, and perhaps of the world. It will not be out of place, therefore, to give a slight sketch of his life.

The real name of Moliere was Jean Baptiste Poguelin, and he was born in a little house in the Rue St. Honore, in the year 1622. His father was a carpet-furnisher to the king, and he was brought up to the same business by his father. His mother died when he was only ten years old, and his father was left with a large family of children to educate. The boy pa.s.sed his early days in his father's warehouse, but his grandfather was accustomed to take him often to the play-house, where he listened to some of the great Corneille's plays, to his thorough delight. Thus in his youth, even while a mere boy, the taste for the drama was created.

His father at one time remonstrated with the old man for taking the boy thus early to the theater, and asked, "Do you mean to make an actor of him?"

Nothing daunted by this question, the grandfather replied, "Yes, if it please G.o.d to make him as good a one as Bellerose"--who was the best tragic actor of that time.

The boy was discontented as he grew older, and panted for knowledge. As he contemplated a life given up to trade, he grew melancholy. He was finally sent as an out-student to the college of Clermont, and afterward to the college of Louis-le-Grand, which was under the direction of the Jesuits. The young prince of Conti was at school at that time. Ga.s.sendi, the private tutor to the natural son of a man of fortune, named Chapelle--the son at that time at school with Poguelin--discovered the boy's talents, and taught him the philosophy of Epicurus, and gave him lessons in morals. Another of his fellow-students was one de Bergerac, of fine talents but wild disposition. Chapelle and de Bergerac became afterward distinguished.

As soon as he was through college, Poguelin entered into the king's service as _valet de chambre_, and made the journey with his majesty to Narbonne. After this he studied law in Orleans, and commenced practice in Paris as an advocate. He here became a.s.sociated with a few friends in getting up a series of plays. The age was one full of enthusiasm for the stage, and plays were enacted upon the stage and off of it, in private circles. The club of young men who acted together for the amus.e.m.e.nt of their friends, were so successful that they resolved to take to the public stage; and as was the custom, each took an a.s.sumed name.

Poguelin a.s.sumed the name of Moliere, a name which he immortalized, and by which he was ever afterward known.

His father was very much displeased with his course, and sent a friend to persuade him to relinquish it, but the deputy was so fascinated by Poguelin's acting, that he became a convert to him, and was not fitted to urge the arguments of the father. The family for a time refused in a manner to acknowledge their son, being ashamed of his new profession; but they are now known only through him.

The masters under whom Moliere princ.i.p.ally studied were Italians, and he imbibed a love for the Italian comic art. He also read the Spanish comedies, and learned to admire them.

Moliere and his little band left Paris for the provinces. The times were unpropitious, for the wars of the Fronde at that time made the whole country a scene of confusion and danger. They had visited Bordeaux, and were protected by the governor of Guienne. While here, Moliere wrote and brought out a tragedy, which had so poor a success that he gave up tragedy. After a short provincial tour he returned to Paris, and renewed the acquaintance of the prince of Conti. The latter caused Moliere and his fellows to bring out plays at his palace. But Paris was too full of strife, and Moliere went to Lyons, where he wrote and brought out his first comedy, "_L'Etouedi_." It met with a great success. There is an English translation, ent.i.tled "Sir Martin Marplot." The next piece was ent.i.tled "_Depit Amourex_," and its genuine humor gave it a fine reputation.

The moral character of Moliere at this time was exceedingly bad. The times were such that a band of players found every temptation before them. The French biographers give an account of some of his "gallantries," but they only lead the reader to feel disgust rather than admiration. That plays written by such a man, and during times which corrupted the whole people, should be pure, one could not expect.

Moliere's plays, therefore, bear the same character, in this respect, as all the great performances of authors of France in those and succeeding times. They were altogether loose in their morals.

The company of players were invited to Paynas by the prince of Conti, who was staying there at the time. They acted before him, and Moliere wrote several little interludes for the special amus.e.m.e.nt of the prince, which were afterward the ground-work of some of his best comedies. The prince was so pleased with the comedian, that he invited him to become his secretary. He declined, but whether from love of comedy, or fear of the prince, we do not know. The prince possessed an awful temper, and actually killed his former secretary by throwing the tongs at him.

Paris at length became more quiet, and Moliere turned his steps toward it. He obtained the protection of the king's brother, was introduced to the king, and obtained permission to establish himself in the capital.

There was a rival theater at the Hotel de Bourgogue, at which Corneille's tragedies were played. Moliere and his company acted before Louis XIV. and his mother, in the Louvre. The play was that of "Nicomede," and the success was very great. The play was a tragedy, but Moliere knew very well that they could not rival the other tragedy-theater, in that line; and he therefore introduced the custom that night of concluding a tragedy with a farce. The farce acted was one of his own, and was so well received that the custom was ever after kept up. The company finally settled down in the Palais Royal, which the king had granted them.

The next poem which Moliere wrote and brought out, was aimed at a society of men, including many of the most talented in Paris, called the "_Society of the Hotel de Rambouillet_." The peculiarities of this society were too ridiculous to describe at this day, and Moliere's comedy, which was aimed at them, was wonderfully successful. Paris at once was in an uproar of laughter, and in the midst of the piece an old man rose in the theater, crying out, "Courage, Moliere; this is a true comedy!"

The next piece was ent.i.tled "_Sganarelle_," and although it was quite successful, it was inferior to those which preceded it. Moliere now tried tragedy, but with no success. It was not his _forte_. He returned to comedy, and brought out a piece ent.i.tled "_L'Ecoledes Maris_," which achieved a brilliant success.

At this time Foquet was the minister of finance, and gave a fete in honor of the king; indeed he entertained the king at his villa. He was in some respects another Cardinal Wolsey, in his magnificence and recklessness of display. Foquet loved a beautiful girl, who rejected him. He discovered that the girl loved the king, and that the pa.s.sion was reciprocated. In his anger he charged it upon the girl, who ran with the secret to the king. Louis was resolved on the downfall of his minister. The fete took place upon a scale of almost unparalleled splendor. Le Brun painted the scenes, La Fontaine wrote verses for it, and Moliere prepared a ballet for the occasion. The king concealed his wrath at this display of wealth, and very much enjoyed Moliere's amus.e.m.e.nts; and suggested a new comedy to the comedian, while talking with him at the minister's. Foquet soon fell.

Moliere was by this time so distinguished that he had troops of friends among the wise, learned, and great. Among the warmest of them was the great Conde, who was always pleased with his society. He told the comedian that he feared to trespa.s.s by sending for him on peculiar occasions, and therefore requested him to come to him whenever he had a leisure hour; and at such times he would dismiss all other matters, and give himself up to pleasant conversation. The king invariably defended Moliere. A duke once attacked him, and the king reproved the n.o.ble. He still attended to his duties as _valet de chambre_ to the king, and was constantly subjected to annoyance on account of his profession. The other officers of the king's chamber would not eat with him, such was their petty meanness and pride. The king determined to give them a lesson, so one morning he addressed Moliere as follows:

"I am told you have short commons here, Moliere, and that the officers of my chamber think you unworthy of sharing their meals. You are probably hungry; I got up with a good appet.i.te.

Sit down at that table where they have placed my refreshments." The king sat down with him, and the two went heartily at a fowl. The doors were opened, and the most prominent members of the court entered. "You see me," said Louis, "employed in giving Moliere his breakfast, as my people do not find him good enough company for themselves."

From this time Moliere had no trouble on the score of treatment from his fellow _valets_.

Everywhere except at court, before this, Moliere was treated with the greatest consideration on account of his brilliant genius. He was intimate with Racine and with Boileau. The story for a time was believed that Moliere married his natural daughter, but it has been proved a falsehood. He became attached to the sister of Madeleine Bejaet, a very witty and graceful woman, and married her; but he soon found that she was too fond of admiration to make him happy. She was coquettish, and without principle, and though Moliere bore with her long, they at length separated. He said: "There is but one sort of love, and those who are more easily satisfied, do not know what true love is."

Moliere went on with the management of his theater, and writing and bringing out new plays. One of them--"_L'Ecole des Femmes_"--was translated and amended into the English by Wycherly, and was altogether more licentious in plot than in the original language. It was very popular in England, but not so much so in France.

The next piece of Moliere's was ent.i.tled "_Impromptu de Versailles_,"

and was written at the command of the king. The king and his courtiers were accustomed to take parts in the ballets in those days, and Louis and his court took parts in the ballets of Moliere's construction. The soldiers who guarded the king were accustomed to go into the theater free. They took up a large s.p.a.ce, and Moliere represented his loss to the king, who abolished the privilege. The soldiers were very angry, and the next night they cut the door-keeper to pieces with their swords, and forced their way into the house. Moliere made them a speech, and peace was restored. The king offered to punish with severity the lawless soldiery, but Moliere requested him not to do so, and the new order was ever after obeyed without trouble.

One of his next acts was to hold up to ridicule, in a comedy, the medical faculty. The condition of the medical art at that time was such that it richly deserved ridicule. But no man can thus attack great bodies of men without making enemies, and Moliere had them without number.

The comedian was now at the height of his prosperity, and still he was unhappy. Separated from his wife, whose conduct was now shameful, he had no domestic happiness. He spent much of his time at his country-house at Antenil, where an apartment was always kept for his old school-fellow, Chapelle, for whom he always retained a warm affection. He was often alone, and preferred solitude, shutting himself away from society. A supper was once given by him to all his brother wits. He alone was indisposed, and as he took no wine or animal food, he went early to bed, leaving his friends merry over their wine. At last they grew so affected by the wine they had drank, that they were ready to follow a leader into any absurdity. Chapelle was, when tipsy, always melancholy, and on this occasion he addressed his companions in a strain of bathos which, had they been free from the effects of wine, would only have excited their laughter. But now they were in the same condition as himself. Chapelle finally wound up by proposing that they all proceed to a neighboring river, and end life together by plunging into it. He expiated upon the heroism of the act, and the immortality it would give them, and they all agreed to it. Moliere overheard them quitting the house, and suspecting something wrong, followed them. He came up with them upon the bank of the river, when they besought him also to die with them. He professed to be struck with the heroism of their plan, but demanded that it should be executed in the broad day. They fell in with his suggestion, and returned to the house. Of course, the next morning they were ashamed to look upon each other's faces.

Moliere wrote many new plays and farces, but his days were fast drawing to a close. He was overworked, and took little care of his health. The king asked him one day what he did with his doctor. "We converse together," he replied--"he writes prescriptions, which I do not take, and I recover." He had a weak chest, and a constant cough.

About this time his friends persuaded him to invite his wife again to his house, and she urged him to a more generous diet, but he grew the worse for it. He now brought out a new play, and could not be prevented from taking a prominent part in it. On the fourth night he was much worse, and friends gathered around him, beseeching him not to go on the stage longer. He replied, "There are fifty poor workmen whose bread depends on the daily receipts. I should reproach myself if I deprived them of it." But while making others laugh, he was actually dying. He was, while in the ballet, seized with a fit of coughing, and burst a blood-vessel. A priest was sent for, but such was their antipathy to the comedian, that it was long before one could be found willing to attend him. He expired with but few friends around him. Two sisters of charity whom he had been in the habit of receiving in his house while they were collecting alms during Lent, remembered his generosity, and attended his death-bed.

The archbishop of Paris refused the rites of burial to the body. His wife was much moved by this act, and exclaimed, "What! refuse burial to one who deserves that altars should be erected to him!" She ran to the king, who being offended by some indiscretion of hers, refused to interfere in the matter, though he privately ordered the archbishop to take off the interdiction. When the funeral took place, a mob of low people, excited by their priestly advisers, attended, intending to offer insult to the body, but the comedian's widow propitiated them by throwing a thousand francs among them. We see by this shameful treatment of a man whom France honored, and who, though not irreproachable in character, was as pure as those who persecuted him.

Moliere was almost universally honored--always excepting those bodies which he had ridiculed. He was very generous, and would, long before his death, have given up acting on the stage, were it not for his companions whose subsistence depended upon his appearance with them.

Very many years after, the eulogy of Moliere was made the subject of a prize; and when it was delivered, two persons by the name of Poguelin were honored by a seat on the stage.

At his death the band of comedians was broken up. His widow received a pension, in after years, of one thousand livres. But one of his children survived, and that one had no issue--so the race soon became extinct.