Chapter II: Introduction (1)

Among the treasures of the Comedie-Francaise, interesting alike to students of letters and of art, is a painting by Vanloo. It bears the date of 1753, and represents a man of doubtful age--for it is hard to tell whether he is past his prime or not--yet, if the truth were known, one could not write him down for less than sixty-five. The face is life-like and attractive, full of an expression of gentle breeding, kindliness, wit, and subtlety. The eyes are rather dark, large, fine, and keen; with the thin lips, pursed in a half-smile, they form the most striking features of the countenance, and serve to give it that characteristic of _finesse_ so peculiar to the man. The well-developed brow, the full cheeks, and faint suggestion of a double chin, the powdered hair, the black silk coat, the lace _jabot_, are all in keeping with our conception of this French dramatist, whom a competent critic[1] of to-day has classed as greater than any of his contemporaries in the same field, than Beaumarchais, Voltaire, Regnard, Le Sage, and second only to Moliere, Corneille, and Racine. Marivaux, whose rehabilitation has come but slowly, and in spite of many critics, occupies a place to-day, not only with the ultra-refined, but in the hearts of the theatre-going public, which, I doubt not, even the most enthusiastic admirers among his contemporaries would not have dared to hope for him; for, next to Moliere, no author of comedies appears so often upon the stage of the Theatre-Francais as does the author of _le Jeu de l'Amour et du Hasard_.

In the very heart of Paris, and just back of the Hotel de Ville, stands the church of Saint-Gervais, a church of comparatively little fascination to the general student of art or history, although its mingling of Flamboyant and Renaissance styles may attract the specialist in architecture: but to the student of literary history it has a greater interest, for it is here that "poor Scarron sleeps." and it was in this parish that Pierre Cariet de Chamblain de Marivaux was born, and in this church, doubtless, that he was christened, although the register of baptism was destroyed at the time of the burning of the archives of the Hotel de Ville, in May, 1871.

The date of his birth was February 4, 1688, a year noteworthy as introducing to the public the first edition of the _Caracteres_ of La Bruyere, with whom Marivaux has often been compared. His father was of an old Norman family, which had had representatives in the _parlement_ of that province.[2] Since then the family had "descended from the robe to finance," following the expression of d'Alembert.[3] Ennobled by the robe, they had assumed the name de Chamblain, but unfortunately the latter name was common to certain financiers, and, to still better distinguish themselves, the family had adopted the additional name of Marivaux.[4] There seems, however, to have been no connection between them and the lords of Marivaux (or Marivaulx), a branch of the house of l'Isle-Adam.[5] Our author signed, himself _de Marivaux_ or _Carlet de Marivaux_.

His childhood was passed at Riom in Auvergne, where his father had been appointed director of the Mint. Gossot declares that Marivaux was six years of age when he was taken to Riom,[6] but does not give his authority for the statement. It is certain, however, that he was so young at the time that some of his contemporaries supposed he had been born there.[7] Marivaux received his early education at Riom, and later at Limoges, where the family went to dwell, and where his father was perhaps again connected with the Mint.

His biographers differ with regard to the education he received. His earliest biographer, de La Porte, maintains that his father "ne negligea rien pour l'education de son fils, qui annonca de bonne heure, par des progres rapides dans ses premieres etudes, cette finesse d'esprit qui caracterise ses ouvrages."8] Lesbros de la Versane gives the same testimony: "Ses heureuses dispositions lui firent profiter de celle (the education) qu'il recut," and adds: "Il fut admire de ses maitres, et il a fait les delices de tous ceux qui l'ont connu."[9] There is no reason why we should not accept the testimony of one who, in general, is so judicious in his statements as is de La Porte, and, particularly, when the adverse testimony comes from so evidently prejudiced a writer as Palissot.[10]

D'Alembert follows the testimony of Palissot and others, although he confesses that they are "in truth very ill disposed" towards Marivaux, and adds that perhaps they have very unjustly accused him of ignorance of Latin. Their pardoning him his lack of knowledge of Greek, d'Alembert cleverly ascribes to that "indulgent equity" which does not require of one's fellows that which one lacks himself.[11] The following extract from the _Spectateur_ will prove that, while Marivaux could read the Greek writers in translations only, he was able to read Latin in the original: "Si c'est une traduction du grec, et qu'elle m'ennuie, je penche a croire que l'auteur y a perdu; si c'est du latin, _comme je le sais_, je me livre sans facon au degout ou au plaisir qu'il me donne."[12] It is also known that he completed his law studies and might have practiced, but for the hatred which he, in common with so many other young _litterateurs_ in times past, had conceived for the profession.

Admitted early to the best society of Limoges, Marivaux enjoyed advantages from which he gained the polish that made him acceptable in the Paris salons of which he was later an habitue, When he was but seventeen years of age there occurred an incident, which, if it did not have so serious an effect upon his life as he himself believed, at least was not without its influence in fostering that spirit of observation and inquiry, not to say scepticism, with regard to the motives that influence his fellow man, which was so prominent a characteristic of this writer. Marivaux describes the incident in the first _feuille_ of the _Spectateur francais_, and, inasmuch as the sketch gives an excellent idea of the man, I translate it in full.

"At the age of seventeen I became attached to a young girl, to whom I owe the sort of life which I adopted. I was not uncomely then, I had a mild disposition and affectionate ways. The decorum which I noticed in the girl had drawn my attention to her beauty. I found in her, moreover, so much indifference to her charms, that I would have sworn she was ignorant of them. How simple minded I was at that time! What a pleasure, said I to myself, if I can win the love of a girl who does not care to have lovers, since she is beautiful without observing it, and hence is no coquette! I never left her without my affectionate surprise increasing at the sight of so many graces in a person who was not the more vain because of it. Were she seated or standing, speaking or walking, it always seemed to me that she was absolutely artless, and that she thought of nothing less than appearing to be what she was.

"One day in the country, when I had just left her, a forgotten glove caused me to retrace my steps to get it. I perceived the beauty in the distance, regarding herself in a mirror, and I noticed, to my great astonishment, that she was picturing herself to herself in all the phases in which, during our conversation, I had seen her face, and it turned out that the expressions of her countenance, which I had thought so unaffected, were, to name them correctly, only tricks; I judged from a distance that her vanity adopted certain ones, that it improved upon others; they were little ways that one might have noted down and that a woman might have learned like a musical air. I trembled for the risk which I should have run, if I had had the misfortune to experience again in good faith her deceptions, at the point of perfection to which her cleverness had carried them; but I had believed her natural, and had loved her only on that footing; so that my love ceased immediately, as if my heart had been only conditionally moved. She, in turn, perceived me in the mirror, and blushed. As for me, I entered laughing, and picking up my glove: 'Ah! mademoiselle, I beg your pardon,' I said to her, 'for having, up to this time, attributed to nature charms, the whole honour of which is due to your ingenuity alone.' 'What is the matter? What does this speech mean?' was her reply. 'Shall I speak to you more frankly?' I said to her: 'I have just seen the machinery of the Opera; it will still divert me, but it will touch me less.' Thereupon I went out, and it is from this adventure that there sprang up in me that misanthropy which has not left me, and which has caused me to pass my life in examining mankind, and in amusing myself with my reflexions."[13]

We could not have in miniature a more perfect sketch than this of the character of the man, with those peculiarities that were to make of him so original a writer, and little did Marivaux imagine that in the coquette of Limoges he "had seen the living and faithful image of his Muse,"[14] with all its archness, coquettishness, and ingenuity in style and expression. Marivaux had much of the feminine in his nature,--a rare intuition, a marked finesse in observation, an extreme sensitiveness with regard to his own and others' feelings, a dislike of criticism with a reluctance to reply to it, though never forgetting the attack, a certain timidity with men, a fondness for dress and luxury, an extreme love of conversation, generosity to the point of self-sacrifice, and a religious turn of mind in a sceptical century. His connection with the salons of Paris, where so much of his life was spent in the society of women, probably contributed largely to develop those traits that were doubtless innate.

With something of the coquette in his own nature, Marivaux had no patience with it in others. D'Alembert relates another incident, which will serve to show that not only affectation, but also everything that seemed to him too studied, received his condemnation. "One day, he went to see a man from whom he had received many letters, which were almost in his own style, and, which, as one may well imagine, had seemed to him very ingenious. Not finding him, he determined to wait. He noticed, by chance, on the desk of this man, the rough draughts of the letters which he had received from him, and which he supposed had been written off-hand. Here are rough draughts, said he, which do him no credit: henceforth, he may make minutes of his letters for whomsoever he likes, but he shall receive no more of mine. He left the house instantly, and never returned."[15]

At the age of eighteen[16] (1706), and shortly after leaving college, Marivaux made his debut in literature as the result of a discussion in which he maintained that a comedy was not a difficult thing to write. Upon being challenged to prove his point, he set to work, and, a few days later, brought to the company a comedy in one act, entitled _le Pere prudent et equitable, ou Crispin l'heureux fourbe_. It is the only one of Marivaux's comedies written in verse, which form of composition he adopted the better to test himself and to demonstrate his claim; but he took good care not to give to the public his comedy, "pour ne pas perdre en public," he said, "le pari qu'il avait gagne en secret,"[17] and it was not until nearly fifteen years later, when he had reached the age of thirty-two, that he entrusted a work to the stage. He did well to keep this comedy from the public, for it contained little that gave promise of genius, being juvenile in character, dull and faulty in versification, and largely, though poorly, imitated from Moliere and Regnard.

It must have been shortly after this that Marivaux returned to Paris to continue his studies, and possibly to prepare himself for the life of a literary dilettante. His means were sufficient to enable him to indulge his taste in this way. Here we find him admitted to the salon of Mme. de Lambert, held in her famous apartments, situated at the corner of the rue Richelieu and the rue Colbert, and now replaced by a portion of the Bibliotheque Nationale. It was a rendezvous of select society on Wednesdays, and particularly of the literary set on Tuesdays, and among its habitues may be mentioned such men as Fontenelle, d'Argenson, Sainte- Aulaire, La Motte, and President Henault. "It was," says Fontenelle, "with few exceptions, the only house which had preserved itself from the epidemic disease of gambling, the only one in which one met to converse reasonably and even with _esprit_ upon occasion."[18] Its influence was inestimable upon literary questions of the time, and it might be considered almost as the antechamber of the French Academy. The envious dubbed it _un bureau d'esprit_, and its form of _preciosite_, _lambertinage_.

That Mme. de Lambert had a great influence in forming the mind of the young author no one can read his works and doubt. A "_precieuse_ in the most flattering and most exact acceptation"[19] of the term, she promoted a similar turn of mind in Marivaux. His dislike for Moliere may have received its encouragement from her, as she was never quite willing to forgive that great genius for his attack upon _les femmes savantes_. Marivaux, too, had, as Palissot expresses it, "un faible pour les precieuses,"[20] and for the author of those famous attacks, a contempt as unfeigned as absurd. The high moral character of his writings and his ideas on marriage and children may readily have found their origin with Mme. de Lambert.

Mme. de Tencin, to whose salon of the rue Saint-Honore Marivaux was likewise welcomed, was as different a character from the kindly, serious, upright, and judicious Mme. de Lambert as can well be imagined, and it was only after the death of the latter, in 1733, that her salon was particularly brilliant. Her youth had been most disorderly. At an early age she had assumed the veil, but, through the efforts of her brother, the abbe de Tencin, and later cardinal, who, doubtless, saw in her a powerful factor for his own promotion, she obtained her secularization. Coming to Paris a short time before the death of Louis XIV, she was ready to welcome the gross immorality of the Regency, and, for personal advancement, entered into a series of liaisons with Prior, the friend of Lord Bolingbroke, Rene d'Argenson, the Regent himself, Dubois, and the Chevalier Destouches. The latter was the father of her son, whom she abandoned on the steps of the church Saint-Jean-le-Rond, and who, reared by a glazier's wife, became the celebrated d'Alembert. Another lover, Lafresnaye, whom she had induced to put all of his property in her name, shot himself, or was shot, at her house. Although imprisoned on suspicion at the Chatelet, and later at the Bastille, she soon gained her liberty by the intervention of powerful friends. That she could maintain her position in society as she did is a striking proof of its terribly corrupt condition. In her declining years she sought to veil the disorders of her youth by more serious pursuits, and gathered about her a number of literary spirits of whom she spoke as her _betes_ or her _menagerie_.

Marmontel gives the following description of the habitues of her salon and of the desire that pervaded all to show their wit: "L'auditoire etait respectable. J'y vis rassembles Montesquieu, Fontenelle, Mairan, Marivaux, le jeune Helvetius, Astruc, je ne sais qui encore, tous gens de lettres ou savants, et au milieu d'eux une femme d'un esprit et d'un sens profonds, mais qui, enveloppee dans son exterieur de bonhomie et de simplicite, avait plutot l'air de la menagere que de la maitresse de la maison: c'etait la Mme. de Tencin ... je m'apercus bientot qu'on y arrivait prepare a jouer son role, et que l'envie d'entrer en scene n'y laissait pas toujours a la conversation la liberte de suivre son cours facile et naturel. C'etait a qui saisirait le plus vite, et comme a la volee, le moment de placer son mot, son conte, son anecdote, sa maxime ou son trait leger et piquant; et, pour amener l'a-propos, on le tirait quelquefois d'un peu loin. Dans Marivaux, l'impatience de faire preuve de finesse et de sagacite percait visiblement."[21]

Marivaux, in describing the feelings of Marianne upon being introduced into polite society at the home of Mme. Dorsin, makes an evident allusion to the salon of Mme. de Tencin, and shows how differently from Marmontel he regarded the spirit that marked those gatherings. As though to answer the latter's accusations, he exclaims: "On accuse quelquefois Ses gens d'esprit de vouloir briller; oh! il n'etait pas question de cela ici." "Ce n'etait point eux qui y mettaient de la finesse, c'etait de la finesse qui s'y rencontrait; ils ne sentaient pas qu'ils parlaient mieux qu'on ne parle ordinairement; c'etaient seulement de meilleurs esprits que d'autres."[22] All that was said there, he adds, was uttered with so little effort, so naturally, so simply, and yet with so much brilliancy that one could see that it was a company of persons of exquisite taste and breeding. Society, as depicted here, was not "full of solemn and important trifles, difficult to learn, and, however ridiculous they are in themselves, necessary to be known under penalty of being ridiculous." [23] One was made to feel at home, and what one lacked in wit was supplemented by that of the company, without one's being made to feel that what he seemed to utter was not all his own.

The description of Mme. Dorsin is that of Mme. de Tencin herself, seen through the eyes of an enthusiastic friend, and she knew the art of gaining friends, and of keeping them, too. In fact, she was never weary of doing for them, as Marivaux had reason to know as well as any of them, and, had it not been for her efforts, he would never have belonged to the French Academy. Her judgment of the literary productions of her friends was most unprejudiced and judicious, so that whatever met with an enthusiastic reception in her salon was reasonably certain of success in the world.

After the death of Mme. de Tencin, in 1749, Marivaux frequented the _mercredis_ of the _bonne maman_ Geoffrin, and, through friendship for her, sustained the candidature of Marmontel for the French Academy.[24] However, he must have felt ill at ease in company with the philosophers and encylopedists who gave dignity to her salon, and, with his love of admiration, must have sighed for the days when he shone so brilliantly in the circle that surrounded Mme. de Lambert or Mme. de Tencin; and, perhaps in sheer desperation, was led to seek in the salons of the brilliant but discontented Mme. du Deffand, of that poet too highly valued by her contemporaries, Mme. du Bocage, and of the actress Mlle. Quinault _cadette_, that form of _preciosite_ for which his mind was suited, and which he never found again, because he had outlived the fashion.

Marmontel, in describing the society that frequented the salon of Mme. Geoffrin, mentions d'Alembert as "the gayest, the most animated, the most amusing in his gayety,"[25] and goes on to say that Marivaux, too, "would have liked to have this playful humour; but he had in his head an affair which constantly preoccupied him and gave him an anxious air. As he had acquired through his works the reputation of a keen and subtle wit, he considered himself obliged to constantly display that turn of mind, and was continually on the watch for ideas susceptible of contrast or analysis, in order to set them off against each other or to put them through a test. He would agree that such a thing was true up to a certain point or under a certain aspect; but there was always some restriction, some distinction to be made, which he alone had perceived. This labor of attention was hard for him, often painful for the others; but sometimes there resulted from it happy observations and brilliant hits. However, by the anxiety of his glances, one could see that he was uneasy about the success that he was having or might have. There never was, I think, a more delicate, more tender, and more apprehensive _amour-propre_; but, as he carefully considered that of others, they respected his, and merely pitied him for not being able to determine to be simple and natural."[26]

Although this characterization by Marmontel may be true, too much must not be attributed to self-conceit, for Marivaux was rather timid and suspicious of himself at heart than self-conceited, and this very lack of confidence, this desire to please and to be thought well of, which caused him, at times, to emphasize before his friends his own worth, is a key to his nature, without which it would be difficult to understand him. This timidity of his explains his fear of being duped by the _ingenue_ of Limoges, as well as his mistrust of the man who made rough draughts of his letters, instead of writing them off-hand. That Marivaux was over- sensitive we must agree, for, although the testimony of his contemporaries may be somewhat biased by jealousy, it is too overwhelmingly unanimous to be gainsaid.[27]

We cannot conclude, however, despite the testimony of Grimm, whose caustic tongue was none too chary of his friends, that intercourse with Marivaux was "epineux et insupportable," for, were it so, he never would have been so cordially welcomed into society as he was, for which, according to the abbe de La Porte, he possessed all the qualities required, "an exact honesty, a noble disinterestedness,... a pleasing candour, a charitable soul, a modesty without affectation and without pretense, an extremely sensitive courtesy, and the most scrupulous attention to avoid whatever might offend or displease."[28]

A brilliant conversationalist, Marivaux excelled in the quality, no less rare, of being a good listener, and never gave way to "that distraction which always wounds when it does not provoke laughter."[29]

The following incident[30] will serve to illustrate the extreme sensitiveness of Marivaux. He had confided to Mme. Geoffrin a certain grievance against Marmontel. She, in turn, spoke to the latter of the fancied slight, although she assured him that, even in his complaints, Marivaux spoke only well of him, a small matter, but one that proves the nobility of our author's nature. When the occasion presented itself, Marmontel asked for an explanation of his grievance, and, with some difficulty, elicited the following reply: "Have you forgotten that at the house of Mme. du Bocage, one evening, being seated near Mme. de Villaumont, you both kept looking at me and laughing, while whispering together? Assuredly you were laughing at me, and I do not know why, for on that day I was no more ridiculous than usual." Upon an assurance from Marmontel that he was not the object of their amusement, he declared that he believed him, but it is doubtful whether he ever quite forgave him or forgot the fact.

This habit of suspiciousness grew upon Marivaux with age; but we must return to his early years at Paris and to his first literary attempts, after this long digression, which has served, I hope, to give something of an idea of the _milieu_ in which he moved, and of the influences at work upon the formation of his talent.

He had made his debut, as has been said, with _le Pere prudent_ in 1706. This was followed a few years later by three mediocre novels. The first of these, written in 1712, though not published" until 1737, appeared under the several titles of _Pharsamon_, _les Folies romanesques_, and _le Don Quichotte moderne_, and was, as one of the titles discloses, an attack upon the romantic novel, as exemplified in those of Mlle. de Scudery. It must not be considered a parody, but rather a weak imitation of Cervantes' _Don Quijote_. He was no more successful in _les Aventures de..., ou les Effets surprenants de la sympathie_ (1713-1714), written, in much the same style, or in _la Voiture embourbee_,[31] which appeared between the two publications of the former. This latter follows a familiar device: that is to say, one of the personages of the main narrative begins a story. which is continued by another when he reaches the end of his imagination, and so on. The purpose of the story was to turn to ridicule romantic love, but, following the expression of Fournier, it advanced only "cahin-caha, comme le pauvre coche dont il contait les accidents, et il finit par s'embourber avec lui."[32] He somewhat redeemed himself in 1715 with _le Triomphe de Bilboquet, ou la Defaite de l'Esprit, de l'Amour et de la Raison_, a fancy inspired by the game of cup and ball, so much in vogue at that period that it threatened to usurp the time and rights of conversation, and had even made its way upon the stage, in which simple matter Marivaux found occasion for moral observation.

In 1717 he allied himself with _le Nouveau Mercure_, a paper devoted to the interests of the _Modernes_ as against those of the _Anciens_. This quarrel over the comparative merits of the ancient and modern writers, begun in the first half of the seventeenth century with the abbe de Bois- Robert, Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin, and later Perrault, Fontenelle, La Motte, and others ranged on the side of the latter, while Boileau, Corneille, Racine, Rollin, Mme. Dacier, and followers strenuously upheld the honor of antiquity, had dragged on through the seventeenth and into the eighteenth century, until apparently the last word had been said by Mme. Dacier in her _Preface a la traduction de l'Odyssee_ (1716). Marivaux, however, by turn of mind and training a modern, and ever the champion of his friend La Motte, and, perhaps more to avenge him for the "grosses paroles de Mme. Dacier"[33] than to depreciate _le divin Homere_ (whom he made a point of always mentioning in that way), would not let the matter rest, and, in 1717, composed a burlesque poem entitled _l'Iliade ravestie_. Had he been familiar with the Greek language, he might never have committed this piece of literary impudence, but he knew Homer only through La Motte's reduction of the Iliad, which in turn was based upon Mme. Dacier's translation. If his object was to overthrow the great Greek poet, it must have been a bitter disappointment to Marivaux to see that his burlesque passed almost unnoticed by his contemporaries and was soon forgotten. The same year he wrote a _Telemaque travesti_, a parody on the masterpiece of Fenelon. This work was not published until 1736, when it was received with such disapprobation that he hastened to disavow its authorship.[34]

Marivaux was now some twenty-nine years of age, and had had but little success as a writer. He must have felt that parody was not his forte, and, with his connection with _le Mercure_, an opportunity was presented to deal with actualities, where his powers of observation might come into play. He was, as he says of himself, born an observer. "Je suis ne de maniere que tout me devient une matiere de reflexion; c'est comme une philosophie de temperament que j'ai recue, et que le moindre objet met en exercice."[35] With his keen eyes constantly on the watch and his subtle mind ever ready to ferret out the eccentricities, defects, or hidden motives which some glance or gesture in his neighbor has revealed to him, and which a less delicate mind would have failed to grasp, going so far sometimes as to impute finesse where he has seen but the reflection of his own nature, he, nevertheless, presents to us, as no other author of the time, a vivid picture of the brilliant and refined society in which he moved, and sometimes, also, bold and clever sketches of the world at large. "C'est une fete delicieuse," he tells us, "pour un misanthrope, que le spectacle d'un si grand nombre d'hommes assembles; c'est le temps de sa recolte d'idees. Cette innombrable quantite d'especes de mouvements forme a ses yeux un caractere generique. A la fin, tant de sujets se reduisent en un; ce ne sont plus des hommes differents qu'il contemple, c'est l'homme represente dans plusieurs milliers d'hommes."[36] Wherever he might be, on the street, at the homes of his friends, at church, or at the theatre, he was ever a prey to this demon of observation. Behold him coming from the theatre; forced by the throng to stop a moment, he employs the time to examine the passers-by: "J'examinais donc tous ces _porteurs de visages_, hommes et femmes; je tachais de demeler ce que chacun pensait de son lot; comment il s'en trouvait; par exemple, s'il y en avait quelqu'un qui prit le sien en patience, faute de pouvoir faire mieux; mais je n'en decouvris pas un, dont la contenance ne me dit: Je m'y tiens."[37]

Whatever he saw became food for meditation, and, if not used at once, was treasured up for future need. Marivaux came at last to surmise that here lay the secret of his inspiration, but it was not for some years yet that he expressed himself, as he did in the _Spectateur francais_: "Ainsi je ne suis point auteur, et j'aurais ete, je pense, fort embarrasse de le devenir... je ne sais point creer, je sais seulement surprendre en moi les pensees que le hasard me fait naitre, et je serais fache d'y mettre rien du mien."[38]

In the _Mercure_ for August, September, and October, 1717, and for March and June, 1718, appeared from the pen of Marivaux "five letters to M. de M----, containing an adventure, and four letters to Mme. ----, containing reflections on the populace, the _bourgeois_, the merchants, the men and women of rank, and the _beaux esprits_." This seems to be a turning point in his literary life. He appears now to have grasped the idea of his own limitations and of his own powers, powers which will be disclosed, not only in his journalistic work, but in his novels and his plays. I refer to those excellences which are the direct result of the acuteness of his observation. These writings gained for him the agnomen of _Theophraste moderne_, which his sense of fitness and natural dislike of over-praise led him to disclaim in a letter to the _Mercure_ of October, 1717. That same year a _Portrait de Climene, ode anacreontique_, proves that he had yet to sustain a real defeat in the line of verse before he came to realize that he should confine himself to prose alone. The _Mercure_ of March, 1719, contained some _Pensees sur divers sujets: sur la clarte du discours, sur la pensee sublime_. The next year, 1720, however, was one of the utmost importance in determining his future career.

The statement has already been made that when Marivaux came to Paris his fortune, if not munificent, was at least ample for his needs, and, fond of his ease and indifferent to business affairs, he might have enjoyed independence for the rest of his life, had he not yielded to the influence of certain friends and entrusted his fortune to the speculations of the Law system. When the crash came, in May, 1720, he lost all that he had. In a letter, written in 1740, he relates the circumstances of the affair in so philosophical a tone that it is well worth reading. He says: "Oui, mon cher ami, je suis paresseux et je jouis de ce bien-la, en depit de la fortune qui n'a pu me l'enlever et qui m'a reduit a tres peu de chose sur tout le reste: et ce qui est fort plaisant, ce qui prouve combien la paresse est raisonnable, combien elle est innocente de tous les blames dont on la charge, c'est que je n'aurais rien perdu des autres biens si des gens, qu'on appelait sages, a force de me gronder, ne m'avaient pas fait cesser un instant d'etre paresseux, je n'avais qu'a rester comme j'etais, m'en tenir a ce que j'avais, et ce que j'avais m'appartiendrait encore: mais ils voulaient, disaient-ils, doubler, tripler, quadrupler mon patrimoine a cause de la commodite du temps, et moitie honte de paraitre un sot en ne faisant rien. moitie betise d'adolescence et adherence de petit garcon au conseil de ces gens senses, dont l'autorite etait regardee comme respectable, je les laissai disposer, vendre pour acheter, et ils me menaient comme ils voulaient... Ah! sainte paresse! salutaire indolence! si vous etiez restees mes gouvernantes, je n'aurais pas vraisemblablement ecrit tant de neants plus ou moins spirituels, mais j'aurais eu plus de jours heureux que je n'ai eu d'instants supportables..."[39]

Marivaux acknowledges his fondness of ease and idleness elsewhere, as well as in this letter,[40] and it would certainly seem natural, from what we know of the man, to accept his own statement. However, all men fond of idleness are not necessarily idle, nor do all lazy men lack industry. There are various motives that force them to labor, often mere pride, and more often still, necessity. Marivaux was a great worker, as his works in ten large volumes (as edited by Duviquet) prove, but they do not in the least disprove his statement that he was not fond of work, and it is undoubtedly true that, had it not been for the spur of necessity, he would not have written "tant de neants plus ou moins spirituels," and the world would have been deprived of his best writings, for the poorest work that he produced was done while he was rich.

The loss of his fortune was a cruel blow, for it deprived him of the means of gratifying his fondness for dress and good living[41], and, worst of all, it debarred him largely from indulging his passion for charity. His generosity and fellow-feeling for others were so great that he really suffered at sight of their misfortunes, if he was unable to alleviate them. "Quoi! voir les besoins d'un honnete homme, et n'etre point en etat de les soulager, n'est-ce pas les avoir soi-meme? Je serai donc pauvre avec les indigents, ruine avec ceux qui seront ruines, et je manquerai de tout ce qui leur manquera," he exclaims in the thirteenth _feuille_ of the _Spectateur_, and it was this spirit of generosity that led him to deprive himself often of the necessities of life for the sake of giving to others, and even, at times, to give unwisely.

The following anecdote, related by both Lesbros de la Versane[42] and d'Alembert[43], goes to show how far his love of giving sometimes led him. One day he was accosted by a beggar, who seemed to him so young and strong that he was indignant, and, with a desire to shame him, asked him why he did not work. "Helas! monsieur, si vous saviez combien je suis paresseux!" was the unexpected answer of the youth. Marivaux, who hated all deceit, was so struck by the naive frankness of the reply that he gave him money to continue his idle way of life.

Another incident has come down to us from the same Sources[44]. A young actress, lacking in beauty and talent, had entered upon a career which Marivaux saw meant failure, and, to preserve her from the inevitable end, he persuaded her to enter a convent and provided the necessary funds, although at the price of great self-sacrifice.

Meanwhile Marivaux had married, at the age of thirty-three, a Mlle. Martin, "d'une bonne famille de Sens,"[45] whom he had the misfortune to lose within two years (in 1723), and whom he "regretted all his life."[46] She left him with an only daughter, who later became a nun and took the veil at the Abbaye du Tresor.

The Duke of Orleans, son of the Regent, through fondness for Marivaux, generously met all of the expenses of her installation.

Marivaux numbered among his faithful friends, La Motte, Fontenelle, Helvetius, Mme. de Lambert, Mme. de Tencin, Mme, de Bez, and, toward the end of his life, Mlle. de Saint-Jean, and, had it not been for their generous aid, he would have almost lacked the necessities of life, not to mention the means for his charities. Through the efforts of Mme. de Tencin, he received an annuity of three thousand _livres_ from Mme. de Pompadour, who had the delicacy, however, to spare his pride by allowing him to attribute the gift to the generosity of Louis XV. The chagrin, caused by the discovery that the pension came, not from the king, but from the favourite, is said to have hastened his death, which followed a few months later.

This was not the only allowance that he received, for his income in this way amounted to "some four thousand _livres_," and with this sum he could have been quite comfortable "had he been less sensitive to the misfortunes of others and less liberal; but he spent only fifteen hundred for his own needs, and the rest was employed for those of others."[48] His friend Helvetius helped to swell the sum of his annual income, but, although he had succeeded in prevailing upon Marivaux to accept of his benevolence, the latter had at once too much self-respect and too much respect for his friend to feel bound for that reason to smother his own feelings and ideas. "One day, in a dispute, he quite lost his temper with Helvetius, who accepted this attack with the most philosophical tranquillity and contented himself by saying, when Marivaux had departed: 'How I would have replied to him, if I were not indebted to him for having been kind enough to accept of my services!'"[49] A charming reply, which speaks well for the hearts of both men. At another time, when Marivaux was ill, Fontenelle, fearing lest he might be in need of money, brought him a hundred _louis_, but Marivaux, deeply moved at his friend's generosity, yet too independent to accept it, said simply: "I regard them as received; I have made use of them, and I return them to you with gratitude." [50]

Such a character was not likely to sue for the favour of the great. Only three of his writings, and these among his early works, contain dedications--_l'Homere travesti_ to the Duke de Noailles, _la Double Inconstance_ to Madame de Prie, and the second _Surprise de l'Amour_ to the Duchess du Maine.[51] His whole life exemplified the thought contained in these words from the _Spectateur francais_:[52] "Quand on demande des graces aux puissants de ce monde, et qu'on a le coeur bien place, on a toujours l'haleine courte," and we shall see this same attitude characterizing his relations with the French Academy.

There were at this time in Paris, besides the Opera, three theatres, [53] --the Theatre-Francais (known also as the Comedie-Francaise), the Theatre- Italien (or Comedie-Italienne), and the Theatre de la Foire, to name them in order of importance.

The Theatre-Francais had been regularly organized by royal edict on October 21, 1680, when the troupe of the Hotel de Bourgogne and that of the Theatre Guenegaud were united,[54] although its origin is much more ancient, going back as far as 1548, when the theatre of the Hotel de Bourgogne was opened by the Confreres de la Passion. In 1720 it occupied the Theatre de la Comedie-Francaise, on the rue des Fosses-Saint-Germain, since become the rue de l'Ancienne-Comedie. Its reputation, as a criterion of dramatic art, was already established, and this reputation has ever since been sustained.

In 1576[55] Henry III called from Venice a troupe of Italian actors, the _Gelosi_, and, from the time of their installation at Paris, in 1577, until 1697, when they were expelled from France by Louis XIV, for their temerity in ridiculing Mme. de Maintenon in _la Fausse Prude_, Paris had seen an almost uninterrupted succession of troupes of these Italian actors. Up to this time almost unlimited license in language and themes had been tolerated in them. The plays had been mostly in Italian, but, some time before their banishment, French had also made its way into their repertory, and, in spite of many complaints to the king on the part of the members of the Comedie-Francaise, who found this prejudicial to their interests, the French had held its ground, not, however, to the exclusion of the Italian, until after the time of their recall.

Their exile lasted nineteen years, or until 1716, when they were recalled by the Regent. A new troupe was organized under the direction of Louis Riccoboni, a famous actor, and author, among other works, of a valuable history of the Theatre-Italien. Riccoboni took the young lovers' parts and the name of Lelio. The rest of the cast[56] was as follows: Joseph Baletti, called Mario, second lover; Thomasso Vicentini, called Thomassin, who took the roles of Harlequin; Alborghetti, as Pantalon; Matterazzi, the doctor; Bissoni, as Scapin; and Giacoppo, as Scaramouche;[57] with Helene Baletti, sister of Joseph Baletti and wife of Louis Riccoboni, who, under the name of Flaminia, for thirty-six years was to take the roles of _premiere amoureuse_, of _soubrette_, and the _travestis_; Silvia, who later married Joseph Baletti, and performed for forty-two years the roles of second _amoureuse_; and Violette, the charming soubrette, with one or two others of less consequence.[58] The characters are those of the old _commedia dell'arte_. However, written plays had now begun to take the place of the improvisation of the earlier Italian comedy.

Not long after the reestablishment of the Theatre-Italien at Paris, and, in fact, as early as the first of June of that same year, we find them housed in the Hotel de Bourgogne, rue Mauconseil, over the principal door of which, after the death of the Regent in 1723, was engraved the following inscription: _Hotel des comediens italiens ordinaires du Roi, entretenus par Sa Majeste, retablis a Paris en 1716_. In 1762 it lost its individuality, and became merged into the Opera-Comique, but that was some years after the last play of Marivaux had been staged, and does not concern us here.

The Theatre, or rather Theatres de la Foire, for there were two that were particularly noteworthy, that of Saint-Germain and that of Saint-Laurent, had had a more humble, though scarcely less early, origin than either of the other theatres just mentioned, for, as early as the year 1595, an ambulant troupe had played at the former of these two fairs. For many years their performances consisted largely of juggling, tumbling, tight- rope walking, and the like, interspersed perhaps with dialogues, which, in time, came to occupy the principal part. The characters were largely borrowed from the Italian _commedia dell'arte_. Extreme license of expression characterized these plays. Music often accompanied them. In fact the Theatre de la Foire was the germ that later developed into the Opera-Comique. Harrassed not only by the Theatre-Francais and the Theatre- Italien, but also by the Opera itself, they saw themselves obliged by the Court to abandon, in turn, dialogue and even monologue, and to depend upon placards as a means of expressing the plot to the audience. However, in spite of difficulties and opposition the Theatre de la Foire maintained its ground.

Among the authors writing for the Theatre-Francais were such celebrities as Crebillon _pere_,[59] Voltaire, Destouches, etc. No lesser names than those of Lesage and Piron were the support of the Theatre de la Foire. It remained for Marivaux to render illustrious the Italian stage[60].

Here it was, then, on the fourth of March, 1720, that he made his debut before the public with a comedy in three acts, _l'Amour et la Verite_. It may be recalled that _Crispin l'heureux fourbe_ had been presented only in private. Perhaps to give himself confidence in a line as yet almost untried, and which, after his boasting of fourteen years before and his rather unsuccessful attempt, he had come to consider as not so "easy" after all, he may have sought the aid of one of his co-workers on the _Mercure_. At any rate, the play was written in collaboration with the Chevalier de Saint-Jory, and was the only piece in which Marivaux accepted similar aid, "except for the musical diversions of his plays."[61] _L'Amour et la Verite_ failed to please the public, but, as it was never printed, we cannot judge of its merits.

However, that same year, Marivaux amply retrieved himself in the exquisite fairy-play of _Arlequin poli par l'Amour_, a comedy in one act, presented at the Theatre-Italien, October 20, and which Jules Lemaitre characterizes as perhaps of all his plays "the most purely poetical, in spite of the excess of _esprit_, and the one in which fancy is the freest."[62] It was greeted by the public with enthusiasm, and even such severe critics of Marivaux as La Harpe could find little to say against it,--that it "lacked intrigue" and had a "weak denouement " possibly, but after all that he had made of Harlequin, "of that ideal personage, who up to that time had only known how to provoke laughter," an "interesting" character "by making him in love."[63]

The plot of the play is as follows: A fairy, enflamed with love for Harlequin, on account of his beauty, has caused him to be brought to her realm, but, in spite of all her charms and graces and her assiduous attentions, she cannot awaken love in him, nor change him from the rude and clownish fellow that he is; and it is not until he meets with Silvia, the shepherdess, that love is seen to be more potent than all the charms of fairy-land to make of simple Harlequin, as of Hawthorne's Faun, a man. The developing influence of love is the theme of the comedy, and, although the development is rapid, as befits a play, it is nevertheless by graduated stages. Each meeting of the lovers fans the flame, and the need of secrecy but stimulates their wit, until, at last, by a cunning wile, Harlequin gains possession of the fairy's wand and with it, of her power. This, of course, brings about the natural denouement, and the play ends to the satisfaction of the lovers.

Many of the scenes are characterized by an artlessness and grace that recall Florian's _les Deux Billets_ or Musset's _A quoi revent les jeunes Filles_. It is the poetry of an epoch of prose. "All the poetry of the first half of the eighteenth century is in Marivaux, as all the poetry of the second half is in Jean-Jacques Rousseau and in Bernardin de Saint- Pierre."[64] The first two plays of Marivaux presented to the public were performed upon the stage of the Theatre-Italien, and throughout his life he showed a marked preference for that theatre.

His success was brilliant, and _Arlequin poli par l'Amour_ had twelve representations. At last Marivaux appears to have found his true sphere; but no, he has still to feel his way, and to experience another check, before entrusting himself to the promptings of his genius. His was not a talent to blossom in a night, and only an over-zealous friend could say of him: "Il ne se decida point pour les lettres, il fut entraine par elles. Il ne chercha point a devenir auteur, il fut etonne de l'etre devenu."[65]

At this time tragedy still held sway over the hearts of the French, although the period of its glory was past. As nearly every writer of the century had produced his tragedy, not to mention the immediate friends of Marivaux, Fontenelle with his _Aspar_ and La Motte with his _Oedipe_ and _Romulus_, it is not strange that Marivaux felt tempted to try his wings in this upper sphere. His _Annibal_, a tragedy in five acts and in verse, was produced at the Theatre-Francais on December 16, 1720. In this play the very qualities, destined later to procure for the author such splendid successes in his comedies, were either lacking or out of place. It survived four representations, three at the Theatre-Francais and one at Court, and then disappeared from the repertory, not to be taken up again until Marivaux was an academician, and as such, in the minds of many, of course worthy of applause.

Marivaux had the good judgment to abandon a style of composition for which he was in no way fitted, and, on May 3, 1722, returned to the Theatre- Italien with _la Surprise de l'Amour_, a comedy in three acts, and a decided success. His predilection for the Theatre-Italien was such that he gave to it twenty of his plays, while only ten were brought out at the Theatre-Francais. "Of the six plays of our author which were to remain in the repertory, only one, _le Legs_, was first played at the Comedie- Francaise; the five others, _la Surprise de l'Amour_, _le Jeu de l'Amour et du Hasard_, _l'Ecole des Meres_, _les Fausses Confidences_, _l'Epreuve_, appeared for the first time at the Theatre-Italien."[66]

L'abbe de La Porte declares, moreover, that, had it not been for his support, through lack of spectators the actors would have been obliged to give up their theatre.[67]

Why was this preference of Marivaux for the Theatre-Italien? In the first place, because he found the Italian actors better fitted to interpret him with that "brillante et abondante volubilite" of the Italian nature, which his plays seem to require, masterpieces, as they are, of dialogue and conversational style. Moreover, the Italians were performing in a foreign language and in a country in which they had a reputation yet to gain, and, consequently, were willing to accept suggestions from the author. At the Theatre-Francais, on the contrary, both actors and audience were under the ban of certain traditions, which hindered the one from performing with the requisite natural grace and the other from accepting without criticism that which at the Theatre-Italien they might have received with enthusiasm.[68]

The prestige enjoyed by the members of the Comedie-Francaise was not calculated to make them readily accept advice, and Marivaux was often heard lamenting over their intractability. The beauty of his plays depends upon the artless grace with which they are rendered. "Il faut ... que les acteurs ne paraissent jamais sentir la valeur de ce qu'ils disent, et qu'en meme temps les spectateurs la sentent et la demelent a travers l'espece de nuage dont l'auteur a du envelopper leurs discours."[69] Such were the recommendations of Marivaux, but all to no purpose. "J'ai eu beau le repeter aux comediens, la fureur de montrer de l'esprit a ete plus forte que mes tres humbles remontrances; et *iis ont mieux aime commettre dans leur jeu un contre-sens perpetuel, qui flattait leur amour-propre, que de ne pas paraitre entendre finesse a leur role."[70]

Mlle. Lecouvreur, of the Comedie-Francaise, who played the roles of the _jeunes amoureuses_, was the source of considerable annoyance to Marivaux. She would often catch the spirit of these subtle and metaphysical roles in the first performances, but, encouraged by applause, and to improve, if possible, upon her manner, would so force the action as to become affected in the later representations.[71] At the Theatre-Italien, however, Marivaux found an actress just suited to these roles, Giovanna-Rosa Benozzi, the famous Silvia.

It was as a result of the presentation of the first _Surprise de l'Amour_ that Marivaux made the acquaintance of the renowned actress.[72] With that characteristic timidity, which we have already noted, Marivaux had withheld from the public his name as author. Although Silvia had played her part well, she felt that there was still lacking a shade of meaning, which, if she only knew the author, she might grasp. Yielding to the solicitation of a friend of hers, Marivaux consented to pay her his respects, but on condition that he might keep his incognito. Upon being presented to the artist, he congratulated her upon her charming rendition of the play. Silvia was pleased with his appreciation, but, foreseeing possibilities in the piece as yet unattained by her, she said: "It is a charming comedy; but I have a grudge against the author... for not disclosing himself. We would play it a hundred times better, if he had merely deigned to read it to us."

Marivaux took the role, and, choosing a few passages, read into them all of their hidden meaning, with the fluent ease and clearness which had gained for him the reputation of a fascinating reader. Silvia listened with ever increasing surprise, and at last exclaimed: "Ah, sir, you are the author of the piece, or else the devil." He assured her with a smile that he was not the latter, and their friendship had begun, a friendship which had in it something akin to that of Racine and la Champmesle, for, from this time on, Marivaux wrote most of his plays with Silvia in mind; but here the comparison must end, for no closer relation has ever been suggested by any of Marivaux's contemporaries, and it is not likely that so tempting a bit of scandal would ever have been allowed to pass unnoticed by the eighteenth century, "si friand d'indiscretions de ce genre."[73]