[In the following essay, Patterson examines the aspects of the genre sérieux, or serious comedy, in Fonvizin's The Minor, arguing that the play is a distinctly Russian example of the form as it is preoccupied with the dusha, or soul, and uses the situation of Russian serfdom to explore the choice between virtue and power.]

Although Denis Ivanovich Fonvizin was hardly a follower of the eighteenth-century French philosophes, he does seem to have fallen under the sway of some of their innovations in dramatic theory. One such innovator was Denis Diderot who, in 1773, set out from The Hague for St. Petersburg, where he met Fonvizin. We know that Diderot's two plays, Le Fils naturel (1757) and Le Père de famille (1758), were well received in Russia, and K. V. Pigarev has claimed that Diderot's aesthetics did indeed leave their mark on Fonvizin.¹ In this paper, I shall examine the elements of Diderot's genre sérieux in Fonvizin's most famous comedy, Nedorosl' (The Minor) (1782), and then I shall discuss an additional feature of the play, one which stems from the genre sérieux, yet provides the drama with a distinction all its own.

Before considering Nedorosl' itself, we will do well to recall exactly what Diderot meant by the genre sérieux. Central to Diderot's theory of drama is the notion that dramatic action should have a moral object in view. In his Entretiens sur le Fils naturel (1757), he claims that the median and the extremes of moral matters ought to be reflected in parallel dramatic genres, where tragedy and comedy incorporate the extremes, thus allowing a third type to focus on the median, on those actions which involve nuances from both comedy and tragedy. “It seems to me that these actions have been the most common to life,” he writes. “The genre which would take them as its object would be the broadest and the most useful. I would call this genre the genre sérieux.”² In an effort to arrive at a more lucid distinction among the dramatic forms, Diderot later formulated a definitive connection between the genre sérieux, or serious comedy, and a concern for virtue and duty. In De la poésie dramatique (1758) he explains: “Here, then, is the system of drama in all its extensions: The gay comedy, which has ridicule and vice as its object; the serious comedy, which has as its object virtue and the duties of man; that tragedy which would deal with our domestic misfortunes, and the tragedy which has public catastrophe and the misfortunes of the lofty as its object.”³ To be sure, Diderot believed that a poet should always have virtue in mind when he sets about his work; in the Entretiens we find the familiar Diderotian assertion that the purpose of a dramatic composition is to inspire in men “a love of virtue and a horror of vice. …”⁴ If the drama is to accomplish this, Diderot felt that it ought to present an honest portrayal of life. He in fact refers to serious comedy as the “honest and serious genre,” claiming that, because it is true to life, it is closer to the audience and may move the audience on a more intimate level than the purely tragic and comic forms.⁵ A tragedy, for example, may move an audience to fear and pity, but the moral questions raised in a serious comedy may have a more personal influence on the viewers, while at the same time producing much broader ramifications for society in general.

Given the importance he placed on honesty, it is not surprising to find that Diderot complained that the established comedies and tragedies of his time were not sufficiently concerned with the condition of society and that their subject matter was not faithful to real life. Since reality is itself a melee of joy and sorrow, the genre sérieux borrows from both the comic and the tragic to create a more accurate, even a more domestic, picture of life. Wildly gesticulating kings and hissing princesses were rather offensive to Diderot; instead of dramatizing the affairs of a lofty few, he would confront the viewers with images of themselves. Elaborating on the treatment of subject matter, he tells us that in serious comedy it is necessary to concentrate on the situation or circumstances as much as on the character, whereas the gay comedy is usually concerned with the character alone. The situation in light of its advantages and limitations, says Diderot, forms the basis of serious dramatic action, for it is within the context of the situation that the character's virtue comes to bear.⁶ Diderot makes a further distinction between tragedy and comedy along these lines, that the main character in a comedy usually represents a stereotype, while a tragedy converges on the plight of a specific individual. Moreover, “in the genre sérieux the characters are often as general as in the comic form, but they are always less individual than in the tragic form.”⁷ If the character in a serious comedy is to be an example of one who loves virtue and abhors vice, then he cannot be portrayed as an isolated individual. His moral concern must sufficiently lend itself to generalization so that the audience can become intimately involved in the action.

What aspects of the genre sérieux may be found in Fonvizin's Nedorosl'? Although the prevalence of Russian serfdom may preclude a strict parallel with the domestic elements of the serious comedy, Fonvizin's play, nevertheless, appears to be a Russian counterpart to the French domestic drama. We find, for example, that the characters and the setting in Nedorosl' are indeed taken from real life, and Pigarev tells us that, in the figure of Mrs. Prostakov, Fonvizin has presented his audience with a realistic portrayal of the landed gentry.⁸ If at first glance Pravdin and especially Starodum should seem to be slightly removed from reality, G. P. Makogonenko assures us that they are in fact historical and social figures and that the Russian audience recognized them as such: “Starodum and Pravdin are precise characters, both historically and socially. They are not literary rubber stamps, but living personalities taken from real life. They are presented with the charming features of the enlightened nobility, with their patriotic zeal for the ‘beloved Fatherland,’ their disdain for despotism and slavery, and their sympathy for the peasants' situation. Thus, the audiences ‘recognized’ the prototypes of Starodum and Pravdin.”⁹ Recognition of both the stereotype and the individual by the audience is vital to the impact of any social or moral criticism which a drama might convey. As their names indicate, most of the characters in Nedorosl' are more stereotypes than individuals. However, Fonvizin offsets the labeled stereotypes to a certain extent in the character of Sophia, the only person in the play (with the possible exception of Mrs. Prostakov) who is placed in a dramatic situation. That is, she is the only one whom we see trying to resolve a conflict in her own mind, the only one who shows any evidence of actually having learned something from Starodum's homilies. She comes to a point where she might have the opportunity to live a happy life with Milon, but the Prostakovs have other plans for her marriage, and as long as she remains in their grasp, her happiness is threatened. We find her, then, in quite a troubled state at the opening of Act IV, and this is how she attempts to somehow comfort herself in a short but rather important scene: “Yes, it is true. How can the heart be unhappy when the conscience is at peace! One can't help loving the rules of virtue. They are the means to happiness” (IV.i). This is a noteworthy twist in the traditional motif of the unwanted marriage. Instead of employing the devices of intrigue and subterfuge in order to gain her ends, Sophia lends a patient ear to the promptings of her soul; all deception, be it amusing, clever, or otherwise, is out of the question. Thus, in a moment of sadness and disquiet she sets an example for us by recalling where her true happiness lies. The marriage plot is, in fact, a secondary one; Sophia and Milon are successfully matched by the end of the fourth act. The red thread of the play lies in Fonvizin's investigation of virtue, and his treatment of the marriage plot is one indication of his concern with virtue, a concern which is very much in keeping with Diderot's concept of the serious comedy.

Taking a closer look at the play, we see that Fonvizin addresses himself to three general aspects of Russian society: the educational system, the means of government, and human distinctions based on class or social rank. Mitrofan is an example of the result of the domestic educational system which was established under Peter the Great and which Catherine hoped to abolish. According to Peter's legislation, a young man was required to attain a certain level of education before he was allowed to marry. Such legislation was, of course, impossible to enforce, and the responsibility to educate lay in the hands of the parents. As Fonvizin's comedy suggests, a parent may have a somewhat distorted image of the child's capabilities and progress. It also happens, as the drama shows, that a parent who is not versed in the academic disciplines may not be able to make a wise selection of tutors for the child. Yet Fonvizin notes a more important disadvantage to such a system of education; blinded by her smothering devotion to Mitrofan, Mrs. Prostakov has lost sight of the primary goal of knowledge. If we are wondering what that goal might be, Starodum has the answer: “Indeed, I should hope that in the face of all the sciences the primary goal of all human knowledge would not be forgotten; and that is virtue” (V.i). Fonvizin's criticism of the educational system, then, does not necessarily pertain to the mechanics of the system itself; he is not looking for a more efficient means of instruction. Rather, he is reminding us what the end, the purpose of education ought to be. The idea is not to produce individuals who can talk at length about one subject or another, but to teach people to be virtuous. If the domestic system hinders the attainment of this goal, then perhaps an alternative would be in order.

The government in Nedorosl' has its primary representative in the figure of Pravdin; he is the example which Fonvizin sets before us in his demonstration of how an enlightened state might function. As pointed out by Makogonenko, “Pravdin is profoundly convincing as an enlightened character of Catherine's self-government.”¹⁰ Pravdin is a government employee who has been sent to investigate the abuse of power by certain landowners in the local districts. Thus, we find him on the Prostakov estate explaining to Milon: “And so the true promptings of my heart will not allow me to pass over those malicious, ignorant people, who, having absolute power over others, abuse their power in evil inhumanity. You know our governor's attitude toward this … With what enthusiasm he is carrying out the humane designs of the higher authorities” (II.i). Because Pravdin responds more to an evil situation than a criminal one, the exercise of his duty takes him beyond the usual responsibilities of government office and into the realm of virtue and morality; or better, his response places the concerns of the government itself in the realm of morality and human rights. As we can see, the state does not act here in order to preserve its authority, but in order to meet certain obligations to the people. That the state should be obliged to guarantee various unalienable rights to its citizens was an idea that had been much discussed and bled for at the time Fonvizin set his pen to writing Nedorosl'. It is no small matter, then, when we note that Pravdin, as an agent of the government, corrects the abominable situation at the Prostakov estate. After witnessing Mrs. Prostakov's cruelty, he takes the house and village under the wardship of the government, declaring “A malicious mistress … cannot be tolerated by a well-ordered government” (V.iv). The punishment of evil is not the result of poetic or divine justice, but rather comes at the hand of an enlightened rule. Pravdin declares that the government will even be able to help Mitrofan by taking him into its service. When Starodum concludes the play with “Thus the deserved fruits of wickedness,” the just rewards of evil are doled out by the state. Finally, as one would expect, Starodum has some thoughts on government at the highest level. It is the ruler's duty, he says, to show the people where their true welfare lies and to make them virtuous; not an easy task, as Starodum well knows: “Ah, what a great soul must dwell within the tsar, that he may find the path of truth and never turn away from it” (V.i). As Pigarev has already indicated, here lies the meat of Fonvizin's thoughts on what an enlightened ruler should be,¹¹ and it is characteristic of both the serious comedy and the Enlightenment in general that the head of state should be so intimately tied to the concerns of virtue.

Turning now to Fonvizin's criticism of distinctions based on social rank, the key figure is again Starodum as a man who acknowledges no artificial distinctions at all; he is simply the “friend of honest people.” When Pravdin dismisses the tutors in the last act, we observe that Starodum looks for qualities of virtue and a good heart in them just as he would with anyone else. He finds, for example, that Tsifirkin is an honorable man and treats him as such; of all the tutors, Tsifirkin alone refused monetary compensation, claiming that Mitrofan had learned nothing from him. As Makogonenko puts it, “To Mrs. Prostakov Tsifirkin is a slave, a servant; to Starodum he is a human being.”¹² Artificial distinctions are based to a large extent on ceremony, and Starodum, as he tells Pravdin, does not stand on ceremony: “Where formality begins, sincerity ends” (III.i). Once more, this is no light remark, for it comes in a world ruled by the aristocracy and therefore a world rooted in protocol. Yet Starodum has it that the important thing in life is to be a human being, a chelovek, rather than a member of one social stratum or another. As his father taught him, so he teaches his audience “Have a heart, have a soul, and you will always be a human being. Everything else is mere fashion” (III.i). If Starodum places little value on social position, he is equally indignant toward distinctions which rest on wealth: “The only respect that ought to be flattering to a person is that which comes from the soul; and the only one worthy of respect from the soul is he whose rank does not come from money, and whose distinction does not come from rank” (III.ii). The clothes one wears, the company one keeps, and other material markers are indications of social status and monetary distinction. It is easy enough to place one's humanity above this kind of vulgarity, yet Starodum takes his notion of a man's worth a step further; for even intellect cannot in itself form a basis of distinction among people. We find him teaching Sophia in this regard: “Intellect, when it is only intellect, is a mere trifle … The real value of the mind lies in virtue … It is by far higher than any astuteness of the mind” (IV.ii). Unlike position and wealth, the intellect is abstract; a nobleman may lose his title or a rich man his property, but no one can be robbed of his mental powers. How, then, does Starodum manage to move this too into the background of human worth? With the concept of blagonravie or virtue. This is a move which demands our attention, because it opens our eyes to a further dimension of what Fonvizin understood an enlightened individual to be. He has shifted, even leaped, from reason to something on the order of faith, from the mind to the heart and soul. Here it seems natural to recall that in his later years Fonvizin claimed that the follies of his youth arose not from a lack of faith, but from the pitfalls of reason.

Diderot's genre sérieux employs the tragic and comic aspects of real life in order to teach the value and substance of virtue. We have seen that Fonvizin's Nedorosl' does in fact deal with virtue and its ramifications in a situation from eighteenth-century Russian life. As Diderot suggests and as we can see in Fonvizin's play, a mixture of the tragic and the comic is a ready result of making use of the stage to instruct the audience in virtue. The comic element in Nedorosl' is obvious enough; Starodum and his virtuous followers win out in the end. The play's main tragic element comes in the character of Mrs. Prostakov. One might say that her tragic flaw is her excessive devotion to Mitrofan, a devotion which blinded her to both virtue and the true welfare of her son. Having fallen into the ways of wickedness, she reaps the bitter fruits of her actions and loses Mitrofan along with her house and villages. So it is that Starodum arrived expounding the tenets of virtue, and Pravdin came for the day of reckoning. Indeed, it is difficult to imagine a play which explores virtue more than Nedorosl'. Often referred to as the Russian Molière, Fonvizin has gone well beyond the Frenchman's comedy of humors and manners; he has extolled virtue as the goal of education, the basis of sound government, the mark of human merit, and the means to happiness. Thus, Diderot influenced the Russian dramatist, but the interest in examining such an influence is to enable us to obtain a sharper perspective on the departure from it. At this point I should like to say something about that feature of the play which, I think, issues from the genre sérieux yet provides the drama with a distinction of its own. I have in mind the drama's preoccupation with the soul or dusha. Recall, for instance, passages such as these:

PRAVDIN:
The real worth of a man lies in his soul.

(III.i)

STARODUM:
The only respect that ought to be flattering to a person is that which comes from the soul.

(III.ii)

MILON:
I believe that true courage stems from the soul and not from the heart. Whoever has it in his soul will no doubt have a courageous heart.

(IV.vi)

STARODUM:
Ah, what a great soul must dwell within the tsar, that he may find the path of truth and never turn away from it.

(V.i)

As the Age of Reason progressed, it became more and more evident that virtue and morality cannot rest on reason alone. In order to answer the question of how morality was possible, men of letters began to alter their understanding of where the roots of morality lie. There is a shift from the mind to the soul, as we see in Fonvizin's play; it is a shift from which Sentimentalism and then Romanticism grew.

An examination of how the concept of the soul functions in Nedorosl' may help us to better understand Diderot's remark that the serious comedy affects the audience on a more intimate level than other dramatic genres. By laying the foundations of virtue in the soul, Fonvizin placed all men on a common ground, at once equating the nobleman with the peasant, as well as the audience with the characters. With the dusha he created an arena for choosing; he opened the door to the closet of the closed eye, where each of us faces the Judgement, and thereby made both the choice and the responsibility for the choice possible. In the language of Kierkegaard, he has placed every man in an “either/or” position, with all the fear and trembling that goes with it. Furthermore, it is important to clarify what the “either/or” alternatives are. One is not called upon to choose either good or evil, but either good and evil or the exclusion of them. It is the choice between morality and power, between a world of the just and the unjust on the one hand and the world of the strong and the weak on the other. In Nedorosl' we find Starodum and Pravdin on the side of virtue, with the Prostakovs and Skotinin on the side of power. Skotinin's name and his love for pigs is much more than a comic reflection of his base nature; it is the embodiment of the law of the brute, of the rule by power, as opposed to a rule by morality. Along with the Prostakovs, he represents the negation of virtue; his is the world of master and slave where right and wrong and the measure of the individual are determined by whomever wields the whip. As the personification of such an ethic, Skotinin utters “You mean a nobleman really isn't free to beat a servant whenever he feels like it” (V.iv). As we can see, the meek in Skotinin's world shall inherit only a mouthful of earth.

It was mentioned earlier that, on one level, Diderot thought of serious comedy in terms of an interplay between the particular and the general. With Fonvizin's notion of the dusha in Nedorosl', this interplay begins to take on a rather profound significance, and the comedy becomes more serious than ever. If virtue resides in the soul, the individual as one who chooses becomes, perhaps paradoxically, higher than the universal. The choice between virtue and power becomes unavoidable; it lies in the soul of the individual while, at the same time, it is a choice which has implications for the universal and, as such, it carries with it a responsibility and duty to one's fellow man. Here we have something along the lines of what Saint-Exupéry was trying to come to terms with when he wrote that one man who discovers God discovers Him for all. Starodum understood the interplay between the individual and his fellow men, the duty of one to another, when he said “Just think of what duty means. It is that sacred bond which ties all of us to those with whom we live and upon whom we depend” (IV.ii). The concept of duty, then, springs from a very special relationship between the particular and the general; in Nedorosl', Starodum and Pravdin exhibit such a sense of responsibility whereas it is completely absent in Skotinin and Mrs. Prostakov. The latter has no conception of her accountability, as may be noted in her response to Pravdin when he is about to take over her estate: “Isn't it possible to somehow revoke the law? Are all the laws carried out” (V.v). Having no sense of the dignity of those around her, Mrs. Prostakov herself loses all dignity, even in the eyes of Mitrofan.

We have seen that Fonvizin's Nedorosl' may be taken as an example of Diderot's genre sérieux, but it is a distinctly Russian brand of the genre. The situation provided by Russian serfdom brings into play the choice between virtue and power much more strikingly than the comedies of Diderot himself. Fonvizin's concept of the dusha brings out further the ramifications of the choice, so that the audience is almost forcedly called upon to join in the drama. And we too are Fonvizin's audience.

Notes

1. K.V. Pigarev, “Razvitie russkogo Prosveshcheniya v bor'be s antiprosvetitel'skoi ideologiei” in Istorya Russkoi Literatury, I, ed. D. D. Blagoi (Moscow, 1958), p. 533.

2. Denis Diderot, Oeuvres Esthétiques, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris, 1959), p. 136. (Note: All translations in this article are my own.)

3. Diderot, p. 191.

4. Ibid., p. 152.

5. Ibid., p. 195.

6. Ibid., p. 153.

7. Ibid., p. 141.

8. Pigarev, p. 534.

9. G. P. Makogonenko, “D.I. Fonvizin” in Russkie Dramaturgi—XVIII Bek (Moscow, 1959), p. 267.

10. Makogonenko, p. 256.

11. Pigarev, Tvorchestvo Fonvizina (Moscow, 1954), p. 153.

12. Makogonenko, p. 267.