[In the following essay, Mihaescu analyzes love relationships and the impact of chance in A Stormy Night.]

"RICA VENTURIANO": Oh, I am sorry, I apologize, but neither I am to blame, nor you, or Madam Zita either: The blame lies with the number plate on the gate … Madam Zita had written to me she lived at number 9 … I saw number 9 on the gate and I entered {He talks sotto voce with Zita, Veta and Chiriac).

DUMITRACHE TITIRCA (speaking to Nae Ipingescu): That's right. It's the builder who did it to me: he plastered the wall at the gate and nailed number 6 upside down; tomorrow I must by all means have him set it to rights, for fear of another conflict happening to me."

In I. L. Caragiale's A Stormy Night, these words are exchanged in the ninth scene of the second act, that is very close to the final curtain. Up to that moment, the spectator knows everything about the stormy night unfolded in the house of Dumitrache Titirca the Evil-Hearted, a timber merchant and a captain in the civic guard. But what has happened so far at number 6 which was turned into number 9 (by mistake, Dumitrache "thinks")? With almost imperceptible subtlety the author introduces and causes to cross each other, two series of events. The first series includes whatever is seen, is known, is offered by the author in packing of such transparence as not to arouse suspicions among modern audiences. To put it in a nutshell, Veta, Dumitrache's wife, maintains adulterous relations with Chiriac—the merchant's trusted man—innocently delegated by the same merchant to watch very vigilantly and "as closely as possible" over his honour as a family man. Therefore, the classical triangle, stable enough (it has been going on for a year), whose balance is however about to be upset through the intervention of Rica Venturiano, an archive clerk, a student of law and a journalist. Venturiano "sympathizes" through letters (carried to and fro by Spiridon, an apprentice in Titirca's house) and through an exchange of sheep's eyes made at the "Iunion" coffee-house with Zita, the sister-in-law of Dumitrache, who does not know the truth but suspects Veta, although unaware of the truth and suspected also by Chiriac, also ignorant of of the truth, who "accepts"—isnt it? the cuckold's honour of a family man. But the imbroglio is clarified—from Dumitrache's angle—when the police inspector Nae Ipingescu, Dumitrache's political friend, recognizes Venturiano (at a moment when his very life was in danger) as the columnist of the liberal journal The Voice of the National Patriot (the year is 1879), admitted by the two coffee-house politicians as "one of ourselves, a son of the people." Now the balance has been restored: Rica is going to marry Zita, Veta is patching it up with Chiriac, Dumitrache goes to bed with … his intact honour as a family man, while in the morning the builder Dinca is going to turn number 9 to its true position as number 6.

But is that so? Is A Stormy Night merely an illustration of the theme of the cuckolded husband, treated as an "imbroglio" and spiced by the often caricatural linguistic humour? Well, there is all this, but not only this. Because, into the information supplied by the events in the series that I should like to call transparent and into the messages included, which programme the interpretation of the dramatic text, the author inserts another series—discreet, I should say—of insinuating, insidious information, similar to those subliminal publicity inserts of a few fractions of a second, with belated though lasting effects. One has already demonstrated that in Caragiale's œuvre, nothing is redundant or fortuitious, everything has a meaning and a purpose, and that is why each word or even the signs marking silence must be regarded with the utmost attention. And, at the same time, with the utmost precaution, because Caragiale "plays" with his reader (spectator), misleading him, annoying him, then meeting him half way, only to abandon him the next moment. The writer very thriftily doses the information, occasionally reducing it to infinitesimal details. For instance, the text of A Stormy Night begins with what we might consider an ordinary stage direction regarding the decor: "A suburban room. Door upstage to corridor; windows on both sides of it. Wooden and wicker furniture. Doors downstage right and upstage: another door in the backround left. Leaning against the window bottom left, a civic guardsman's rifle with its long bayonet hanging by" (our italics—V.M.). Later on, we are going to learn that the gun is used by Chiriac. But what is the use of this gun in the decor of the political chat between Dumitrache and Ipingescu, during which the former also expresses his worries regarding his honour as a family man? Apparently, no use at all, when we first read the play. But on re-reading it (i.e. knowing the events in the transparent series) we immediately realize that it is a metonymy, whose function it is to enhance humour by licentious allusions. It is the symbol of adultery, the emblem under which the talk unfolds from the very beginning significantly enough; during it, Dumitrache confesses his fear that Rica Venturiano (for the time being an unknown person whom Dumitrache calls the "vagabond") makes attempts on his honour of a family man. Caragiale calls our attention to the fact that the gun now has "its long bayonet hanging by it" (our italics—V.M.) but in the fifth scene of the second act, when Chiriac urges Dumitrache and Ipingescu to start a chase after the unfortunate Rica whose ill-luck has brought to number 6 instead of number 9 (therefore to Veta instead of Zita, the woman he is actually courting), the stage direction is as follows: "Chiriac rushes to pick-up his rifle, which now has its bayonet attached." (Our italics—V.M.). With the bayonet hanging by it," as opposed to "with the bayonet attached to it": what does this opposition mean? In the former case, the relations between Veta and Chiriac are temporarily suspended, as the lover suspects his mistress of betrayal. The bayonet is attached to the gun only after the scene of their reconciliation, prolonged up to about eleven before midnight, when Chiriac "rushes to pick up the bayonet of his gun," while Veta "rushes at him to wrest the bayonet from him." Moreover, the woman confesses to her lover, trying to convince him of the innocence, that even at the "Iunion" public house she had only been obsessed by … his gun: "You know that it had rusted inside and you had started unloading it with that iron rod. I could hardly take my thoughts off that gun. I was pondering: 'Suppose the gun goes off in his hands. God forbid!"'

In his book Les structures anthropologiques de l'imaginaire, Gilbert Durand called attention to the fact that the sword (but what is a bayonet if not a variant of the sword?) is a symbol of masculinity, virile at that. Naturally, Caragiale had no possibility to become acquainted with Durand's work, but the anthropological structures of the imaginary were not Durand's creations, only the preexisting matter studied by him. Therefore, Caragiale knew what he knew and knew it very well, handling symbols with infinite subtlety. Yet, it is not only this kind of information (suppose we call it illicit, destined for the careful reader) dosed with utmost precaution and thrift, but also the information which the characters themselves hold about each other. Depending on the quantity and particularly on the quality of that information, one can define the characters' behaviours as well as the pertinence of their speeches, on a scale ranging from stark stupidity up to ineffable subtlety. We may say that none of the personages in A Stormy Night is aware of the entire "scenario" but only with partial truths. Being to-tally engrossed in her feelings for Chiriac, Veta does not notice Zita's "idyll" with Rica and for that very reason risks to ruin her great love and to compromise the stability of her marriage. Chiriac himself, otherwise very much abreast of whatever happens in Dumitrache's family, is in his turn unaware of Zita's love and (crudely taking over the information supplied by his boss and interpreting it wrongly), comes to suspect his otherwise faithful mistress Veta. Zita on the other hand lives in the artificial universe of romances—of adventures and passion—and,—being under the spell of young Venturiano's epistolary style—ignores her sister's relationship with Chiriac. The apprentice Spiridon carries the billets-doux of Rica and Zita and, although he never states it in so many words, he seems to know a lot about Veta and Chiriac. There are at least two sequences in the play which justify this supposition: in the fifth scene of act one, Spiridon delivers a soliloquy confessing to the spectators on the one hand his fear and loathing of Mr. Dumitrache Titirca and, on the other hand, his warm feelings for Veta and Chiriac, whose names and deeds he always evokes together: "Man! This master of ours is the devil himself! That was no dullard who nicknamed him 'Titirca the Evil-Hearted' ! Why has he got this down on me? Really! My poor lady and uncle Chiriac! They are my luck, they can occasionally wrest me from the devil's hands, for if I were to depend on Titirca the Evil-Hearted alone, my own bones would be in danger! He would crush them all! "Beyond possible kindheartedness, though not supported by further evidence or speeches—what else if not the intention to repay his discretion in this way, determines the lovers to save poor Spiridon repeteadly?

And then, at the end of scene IV of the second act, when Dumitrache accompanied by Ipingescu catches sight of the importunate Venturiano's shadow in Veta's room and rushes in, resolved to avenge the compromised honour of a family man with his sword, the following dialogue takes place:

SPIRIDON (crying): Ouch, master, ouch! But what have I done, to you, master? How am I to blame if I fell asleep?

IPINGESCU (in an awesome voice, to Spiridon): Why are you not present when we call your name on the roll?

(…)

SPIRIDON: Ouch! Woe to me! (He weeps)

DUMITRACHE TITIRCA: Shut up! Where is Chiriac?

SPIRIDON (escaping to a corner of the room): I don't know …

DUMITRACHE TITIRCA (making a pass at him, while Spiridon runs to the opposite corner): But you do know how to eat and to sleep, don't you?

SPIRIDON: He is asleep in his own room, master.

When taken unawares and at close quarters, Spiridon first hesitates whether to supply the violent Dumitrache with the information required by the latter. He hesitates because he is not sure whether Chiriac has reached his own room or is still lingering in Veta's in that prolonged reconciliation. Spiridon is playing for time, polarizing Dumitrache's attention and wrath, being convinced that the shouts would give a warning to Chiriac, if the later were still in Veta's bedroom. It is only after his shouts, his hemming and hawing that Spiridon gives the answer required from him, formulated as he wishes things to be and as they eventually came out.

Therefore Spiridon is in the know (or else the abovementioned speeches would be meaningless) but for the time being he is holding his tongue, in gratitude to his protectors.

Rica Venturiano is the caricature of the journalist intoxicated with and made dizzy by words, in his turn rendering other people intoxicated and dizzy through the fustian of his own articles—a bizarre mixture of neologisms and vernacular, of confusions and demagogy. His role in the play is that of mixing up things, actually of justifying the title of Caragiale's comedy. Without Venturiano, the night in Dumitrache Titirca's house would have been … perfectly wound: the captain in the civic guard would quietly have concluded his nightly round, while Veta and Chiriac would have enjoyed two more hours, Spiridon would have enjoyed his sleep, Zita would probably have read The Dramas of Paris for the fourth time. As it was, however … beyond the significance of the events whose protagonist he was, Venturiano's function in the play is also set off through an almost imperceptible detail, insinuated by the author as if by chance. Speaking about Ghita Tircadau, Zita's former husband, from whom he had eventually "divorced" her ("because he never illtreated her sir, at least with one kind word"), Dumitrache Titirca concluded: "Well, Sir, if the husband is not levent, what kind of a home could it be?" Therefore Tircadau had not been levent—i.e. generous, magnanimous and, at the same time, valiant, as this old Turkish word meant. On the other hand, Rica Venturiano signed his articles by abbreviating his name to R. Vent.—which in Romanian can also be read revent. Therefore, Tircadau was not levent, while Venturiano was revent, which is another word for rhubaro, i.e. a purgative.

Indeed, Rica Venturiano caused "honourable" people to go out of their usual patterns, to become violent.

Particularly subtle, very special is Ipingescu's attitude. From his speeches one might take it, at a first, superficial level of the interpretation, that the police officer was merely Dumitrache's mechanical echo, inclined to accept and to approve anything, without understanding anything of anything. His stereotypical word "Raison" gives his interlocutor full confidence, while sparing himself the effort of thinking for himself. When nevertheless he does that effort (in reading out and commenting upon Rica Venturiano's article in the newspaper), the result is a terrible confusion, in spite of the apparent logic that only Dumitrache Titirca can still accept. Ipingescu knows nothing about Zita's love affair with Rica, while about Veta's relations with Chiriac, his opacity is only surpassed by the cuckold's own credulity. Well, it seems so, but it is not so! When "read" through the grid suggested by the discreet series of events, the personage emerges much more complex than at first sight. From a certain point onwards, a few of his speeches force us to be rather cautious regarding his so called stupidity: Dumitrache narrates to Ipingescu the scene that had taken place at the "Iunion", the exchange of glances between the "employé" Rica and Veta (as the maniac of family honour thinks) followed by a narrative of their return home, escorted by the insistant "vagabond," "ne'er-do-well" and "ragamuffin." When Chiriac's voice is heard off, heralding his entrance, Ipingescu stops Dumitrache's narrative: "Here is Chiriac coming. He shouldn't hear about it." But why "shouldn't Chiriac hear about it? Because Ipingescu is aware of the latter's affair with Veta and wants to preclude any reason for suspicion! And then, when Dumitrache imparts to Ipingescu his project of settling money on Chiriac to facilitate his marriage, Ipingescu answers insinuatingly: "But what does your honourable wife say?" And, last but not least, when Dumitrache, in the street, wishes good night to Chiriac, who is holding Veta in his arms, Ipingescu adds with feigned candour: "And sweet dreams, honourable gentleman!" Ipingescu is abreast of everything and makes fun at the credulousness of Dumitrache, who has remained impenetrable to his allusions. Or, at least, such is the point of view of Ipingescu, whom we suspect of chuckling jubilantly in his sleeve. Yet, he is taken in, very much as the other characters are taken in, and as the reader (or spectator) is about to be taken in.

As we have been able to notice so far, each character knows something about the others—sometimes quite a lot. The only one who appears as a perfect idiot, impervious to the signals coming to him from all sides, seeking outside what is actually taking place under his very nose, is Dumitrache Titirca. He savagely punishes Spiridon for sleeping at various hours, for smoking in secret, while he praises Chiriac for watching vigilantly, "as closely as possible" over Dumitrache's conjugal honour. Dumitrache does practically everything in order not to see what is obvious to everybody else: Spiridon tells him that Veta is sewing the épaulettes of Chiriac's uniform, but to Dumitrache it seems the most natural thing in the world: Chiriac insistently urges him to go out sooner to do his nightly round, and Veta conveys to him the same message, scarcely disguised, ("She said you ought to come earlier tonight as she felt too lonely at home"), but the merchant sees nothing dubious in all that, on the contrary, he takes it for concern and love for his own person; Ipingescu makes all sorts of allusions to him but the man remains impassive; he finds a necktie in his wife's bed, but when Chiriac appeases his worry, reassuring him with the words: "Never mind! Bring it over, master. It's my own scarf, don't you recognize it?" Dumitrache's answer is astounding (and it elicits Ipingescu's last "Raison"—rather disconcerned this time): "Oh, God bless you, brother, why didn't you tell me so?" (philosophically, to Ipingescu): You see, that's how a man may be blinded with fury!"

What is unnatural, "topsy-turvy"—like number 6 turned into 9—seems to Dumitrache the most natural thing in the world. But does it actually seem so? Or, does he want to take things like that? If Dumitrache were a true idiot, the comic effect would be enormously diminished, for the other personages' "tricks" played on him would no longer have any justification. Innate, pathological stupidity does not give rise to laughter, but to sympathy if not to tears. That is why, let us assume for a moment that Mr. Dumitrache Titirca knows everything and turns a blind eye on the "manipulation" for reasons which are as yet mysterious. Do inacceptable inadvertencies appear in the dramatic text in this way? Hardly.

At the end of scene VIII of the second act, Spiridon promises Rica Venturiano to get him out of the trouble into which he had fallen. The next scene begins with a stage direction of particular importance for what we are out to demonstrate: suddenly, in the room on the left one hears a few slaps and Spiridon's yells. "There follows the scene when Rica is caught by Ipingescu and Chiriac. There is one thing alone to be inferred from this: that Spiridon could not withstand Dumitrache's "treatment" and betrayed Venturiano. But, if this is true, then why should we not assume that under similar circumstances Spiridon had revealed to Dumitrache the content of the billets-doux between Zita and Rica? Therefore, from a certain moment onwards, Dumitrache is perfectly aware of the object of Rica's affection, yet he pretends to suspect Veta revealing his "fears" both to Chiriac and to Ipingescu. Why does he do this? One interpretation alone is acceptable: because Dumitrache has long been aware also of Veta's liaison with Chiriac. He is aware of it and he puts up with it (we will see why) yet does not want those involved or the suspicious Ipingescu to know that he knows. It would be much too compromising and his "honour of a family man" would go to the dogs. But Dumitrache is indeed a stickler not so much for his pundonor, but for something much more precious in his own system of values: the appearance of honourableness.

That is why, through all his behaviour, he eliminates any possible suspicion on the part of Veta and Chiriac, while he dominates Spiridon through violence and threats (this is the real cause of the more or less groundless thrashings given to the boy); on the other hand, to Ipingescu, whose allusions he understands perfectly but ignores deliberately, he offers this "imbroglio". For Ipingescu it must be clear, when the knot is unravelled, that Dumitrache's honourable marriage has not for a moment been threatened from the outside.

As regards Veta's relationship with Chiriac, which Dumitrache knows Ipingescu to be aware of, the merchant acts the great scene of—let's say—the necktie. Definitely, he could easily have pretended not to have found it at all. But in this way, he would have allowed Ipingescu's suspicions to continue, together with the latter's consequent ascendency and upleasant allusions during their talks. The self-assurance with which Chiriac tells the truth (an attitude which certainly Dumitrache has stimulated for a long time, at his moment banking on a prompt reaction), to which is added the merchant's incredible feigned naivety do take the expected effect upon the ironist Ipingescu. He is reduced to saying "Raison!" as a personal conclusion, in the finale, this time however, without any connotation, but only expressing full agreement with his better skilled friend.

In A Stormy Night, the games of love (Veta-Chiriac and Zita-Rica) are programmed efficiently and supervised rigorously by Mr. Dumitrache Titirca, a past master at combinations, while the game of chance (number 6 turned into 9) is in fact merely an ingenious stratagem of the same, meant to cancel any shadow cast upon the honourableness of his home. In the morning Dinica, the builder, is going to amend the "error," the best—and especially the most moral—of possible worlds returning to its natural course. From the wings, Caragiale winks at the spectator who is now his safe ally.