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INTRODUCTION

CHRONOLOGY

BIBLIOGRAPHY

LE JEU DE L'AMOUR ET DU HASARD

LE LEGS

LES FAUSSES CONFIDENCES

NOTES

INTRODUCTION

In the very heart of Paris, and just back of the H?tel 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 H?tel de Ville, in May, 1871.

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, 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. 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.

"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."

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," 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."

Marmontel gives the following description of the habitu?s of her salon and of the desire that pervaded all to show their wit: "L'auditoire ?tait respectable. J'y vis rassembl?s Montesquieu, Fontenelle, Mairan, Marivaux, le jeune Helv?tius, 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, envelopp?e dans son ext?rieur de bonhomie et de simplicit?, avait plut?t l'air de la m?nag?re que de la ma?tresse de la maison: c'?tait l? Mme. de Tencin ... je m'aper?us bient?t qu'on y arrivait pr?par? ? jouer son r?le, et que l'envie d'entrer en sc?ne n'y laissait pas toujours ? la conversation la libert? de suivre son cours facile et naturel. C'?tait ? qui saisirait le plus vite, et comme ? la vol?e, le moment de placer son mot, son conte, son anecdote, sa maxime ou son trait l?ger et piquant; et, pour amener l'?-propos, on le tirait quelquefois d'un peu loin. Dans Marivaux, l'impatience de faire preuve de finesse et de sagacit? per?ait visiblement."

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'?tait pas question de cela ici." "Ce n'?tait point eux qui y mettaient de la finesse, c'?tait de la finesse qui s'y rencontrait; ils ne sentaient pas qu'ils parlaient mieux qu'on ne parle ordinairement; c'?taient seulement de meilleurs esprits que d'autres." 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." 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.

We cannot conclude, however, despite the testimony of Grimm, whose caustic tongue was none too chary of his friends, that intercourse with Marivaux was "?pineux et insupportable," for, were it so, he never would have been so cordially welcomed into society as he was, for which, according to the abb? 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."

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."

The following incident 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.

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-l?, en d?pit de la fortune qui n'a pu me l'enlever et qui m'a r?duit ? tr?s 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 bl?mes dont on la charge, c'est que je n'aurais rien perdu des autres biens si des gens, qu'on appelait sages, ? force de me gronder, ne m'avaient pas fait cesser un instant d'?tre paresseux, je n'avais qu'? rester comme j'?tais, m'en tenir ? ce que j'avais, et ce que j'avais m'appartiendrait encore: mais ils voulaient, disaient-ils, doubler, tripler, quadrupler mon patrimoine ? cause de la commodit? du temps, et moiti? honte de para?tre un sot en ne faisant rien. moiti? b?tise d'adolescence et adh?rence de petit gar?on au conseil de ces gens sens?s, dont l'autorit? ?tait regard?e comme respectable, je les laissai disposer, vendre pour acheter, et ils me menaient comme ils voulaient... Ah! sainte paresse! salutaire indolence! si vous ?tiez rest?es mes gouvernantes, je n'aurais pas vraisemblablement ?crit tant de n?ants plus ou moins spirituels, mais j'aurais eu plus de jours heureux que je n'ai eu d'instants supportables..."

Marivaux acknowledges his fondness of ease and idleness elsewhere, as well as in this letter, 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 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 n?ants 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 following anecdote, related by both Lesbros de la Versane and d'Alembert, 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. "H?las! 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 na?ve 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. 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," whom he had the misfortune to lose within two years , and whom he "regretted all his life." She left him with an only daughter, who later became a nun and took the veil at the Abbaye du Tr?sor.

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

There were at this time in Paris, besides the Opera, three theatres, --the Th??tre-Fran?ais , the Th??tre- Italien , and the Theatre de la Foire, to name them in order of importance.

The Th??tre-Fran?ais had been regularly organized by royal edict on October 21, 1680, when the troupe of the H?tel de Bourgogne and that of the Th??tre Gu?n?gaud were united, although its origin is much more ancient, going back as far as 1548, when the theatre of the H?tel de Bourgogne was opened by the Confr?res de la Passion. In 1720 it occupied the Th??tre de la Com?die-Fran?aise, on the rue des Foss?s-Saint-Germain, since become the rue de l'Ancienne-Com?die. Its reputation, as a criterion of dramatic art, was already established, and this reputation has ever since been sustained.

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 d?nouement, and the play ends to the satisfaction of the lovers.

L'abb? 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.

Why was this preference of Marivaux for the Th??tre-Italien? In the first place, because he found the Italian actors better fitted to interpret him with that "brillante et abondante volubilit?" 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 Th??tre-Fran?ais, 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 Th??tre-Italien they might have received with enthusiasm.

Marivaux took the r?le, 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 Champmesl?, 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'indiscr?tions de ce genre."

Germany was a scarcely less enthusiastic admirer, and even so severe a critic of French literature, as was Lessing, could find words of commendation for Marivaux; but the latter was less prodigal in his admiration of the works of foreign literatures. "and preferred unhesitatingly our writers to those of any nation, ancient or modern," says d'Alembert.

The humanity of the man and his sensitiveness to the wrongs of others are manifest in the description of a young girl forced to beg for a mother, sick and in want, or to accept dishonor with the assistance of a rich man, whose aid is offered at so dear a price. The concluding words of this sketch contain a confession of his own weakness, but with an eloquent and vigorous attack upon those who basely sacrifice the happiness of others for the gratification of their own pleasures. "Homme riche, vous qui voulez triompher de sa vertu par sa mis?re, de gr?ce, pr?tez-moi votre attention. Ce n'est point une exhortation pieuse, ce ne sont point des sentiments d?vots que vous allez entendre; non, je vais seulement t?cher de vous tenir les discours d'un galant homme, sujet ? ses sens aussi bien que vous; faible, et, si vous voulez, vicieux; mais chez qui les vices et les faiblesses ne sont point f?roces, et ne subsistent qu'avec l'aveu d'une humanit? g?n?reuse. Oui, vicieux encore une fois, mais en honn?te homme, dont le coeur est heureusement forc?, quand il le faut, de m?nager les int?r?ts d'autrui dans les siens, et ne peut vouloir d'un plaisir qui ferait la douleur d'un autre."

Perhaps in no other writing has he attained the eloquence, sustained throughout the description, that characterizes the letter from a father self-impoverished for his son's advancement and then abandoned by that same son.

He was likewise an opponent of the strained relations that existed in most families between parents and children. Instead of the deplorable custom of making of each household a miniature court, in which the parents reigned over timid but unwilling subjects, he advocated intimate and loving relations. "Voulez-vous faire d'honn?tes gens de vos enfants? Ne soyez que leur p?re, et non pas leur juge et leur tyran. Et qu'est-ce que c'est qu'?tre leur p?re? c'est leur persuader que vous les aimez. Cette persuasion-l? commence par vous gagner leur coeur. Nous aimons toujours ceux dont nous sommes s?rs d'?tre aim?s."

Marianne is a young girl, beautiful and of high birth, who, when but a small child, has the misfortune to lose her parents in an attack by robbers on the road to Bordeaux. Sheltered by a priest and his sister, she reaches the age of fifteen, without, however, having discovered who her parents were. Deprived by death of her guardians, she finds herself at this early age alone and unprotected in the streets of Paris. She seeks the counsel of a kindly priest, who refers her to a rich and apparently respectable man, but in reality the personification of hypocrisy. Of his character study of M. de Climal, Marivaux was justly proud. Few, if any, however, will justify him in rating it superior to Moli?re's Tartuffe. Throughout her trials and temptations Marianne preserves her innocence and her hand for M. de Valville, a handsome and wealthy young aristocrat, who is really enamoured of Marianne, despite certain infidelities of which he is guilty, and which Marianne pardons with the same forbearing charity and kindly philosophy that characterize our author himself.

Taken as a whole it may be considered as a psychological study of a young girl's heart, as viewed by herself in maturer years. I am half inclined to say the heart of a coquette, for Marianne has much of the coquette in her nature, but she has, too, the nobler qualities of heart and mind. She is an epitome, in short, of the feminine side of Marivaux.

It was with great difficulty that Marivaux could prevail upon himself to draw a description or a reflection to an end, feeling, as he did, that there was always something left unsaid. His struggle with himself and his apology to the reader are sometimes quite amusing in their na?vet?. "Me voil? au bout de ma r?flexion," he says: "j'aurais pourtant grande envie d'y ajouter quelques mots pour la rendre compl?te: le voulez-vous bien? Oui, je vous en prie. Heureusement que mon d?faut l?-dessus n'a rien de nouveau pour vous. Je suis insupportable avec mes r?flexions, vous le savez bien."

Ce lecteur aime pourtant les licences, mais non pas les licences extr?mes, excessives; celles-l? ne sont supportables que dans la r?alit? qui en adoucit l'effronterie; elles ne sont ? leur place que l?, et nous les y passons, parceque nous y sommes plus hommes qu'ailleurs; mais non pas dans un livre, o? elles deviennent plates, sales et rebutantes, ? cause du peu de convenance qu'elles ont avec l'?tat tranquille d'un lecteur."

His whole nature, his kindliness, his compassion for human suffering, his hope for the ultimate welfare of all, inclined him to a kindly dogmatism, which included even those unbelievers "qui ont beau faire, pour s'?tourdir sur l'autre monde, et qui finiront par ?tre sauv?s malgr? eux." "La religion, disait-il, est la ressource du malheureux, quelquefois m?me celle du philosophe; n'enlevons pas ? la pauvre esp?ce humaine cette consolation, que la Providence divine lui a m?nag?e." He had a distinct dislike for philosophical arguments in refutation of things spiritual, and one day on being asked as to what he considered the nature of the soul, he replied, "Je sais qu'elle est spirituelle et immortelle, et je n'en sais rien de plus "; and when it was suggested to refer the discussion to Fontenelle, with his characteristic readiness of speech retorted, "Il a trop d'esprit pour en savoir l?-dessus plus que moi."

O? l'art d'Amour est toute enclose.

The poetic fantasies of the latter certainly recall the fanciful creations of the great English poet.

Dorante, a young man of honorable extraction, but poor, finds himself reduced to the position of steward or director in the house of Araminte, a rich young widow, to whose hand he is induced to aspire by Dubois, his former servant, now in her employ, who, by his profound knowledge of the feminine heart, aided by his master's comeliness, succeeds in overcoming the prejudice of social standing in the mind of Araminte, and triumphantly marries her to Dorante, in spite of Madame Argante's horror at the match and her enthusiastic support of the Count's suit.

This time it is a question of a rich young man, Lucidor, who loses his heart to a poor girl, another Ang?lique, but, to test her love and to learn, if possible, whether her affection is for himself rather than for his wealth, he puts her to a cruel test. He informs her that he has in mind for her a wealthy party and an intimate friend of his. In her artlessness Ang?lique concludes from his description that he means himself. In her joy she confides the matter to Lisette.

LISETTE. H? bien! Mademoiselle, ?tes-vous instruite? A qui vous marie-t-on?

ANG?LIQUE. A lui, ma ch?re Lisette, ? lui-m?me, et je l'attends.

LISETTE. A lui, dites-vous? Et quel est donc cet homme qui s'appelle lui par excellence? Est-ce qu'il est ici?

MADAME ARGANTE. ... Parle-moi ? coeur ouvert; fais-moi ta confidente.

ANG?LIQUE. Vous, la confidente de votre fille?

MADAME ARGANTE. Oh! votre fille, et qui te parle d'elle? Ce n'est point ta m?re qui veut ?tre ta confidente; c'est ton amie, encore une fois.

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