SOURCE: "Molière's Reactionary Theater," in Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the Western Society for French History, Vol. 13, 1986, pp. 115-22.

[Knutson is an American educator and critic whose writings on French literature include Molière: An Archetypal Approach (1976). In the following essay, he examines Molière's portrayal of social hierarchy and asserts that his theater may be considered "reactionary."]

Tragedy conveys its political message through the prism of exemplary history and its royal protagonists. The comic dramatist usually mirrors the affairs of lesser mortals, normally in their own time setting. To grasp the political significance of comedy, then, we must perforce look at the social fabric which it purports to replicate. We are thus led to social history and the uses that a literary scholar—in this case the Molière specialist—can make of it.

Our view of seventeenth-century social history in France has changed dramatically in recent years. The cut-and-dried picture of a society polarized between a stratified aristocracy and a rising bourgeoisie has yielded to the image of a complex, evolving hierarchy composed of loosely allied segments within the nominal orders, and with much more assimilation than was hitherto thought.

This new insight into seventeenth-century French social organization has had a considerable impact on literary scholars concerned with the relationship between cultural products and the society which produces and consumes them. It became readily apparent that many generalities about seventeenth-century French literature were founded on a simplistic interpretation of social background. Indeed, literary scholars were all too prone to study literature as a direct mimesis of social history. We now realize that literature, or comedy at least, offers an image of reality subject to an intricate process of idealization, caricature, amplification, and deletion.

It is natural that Molière, more than any of his contemporaries, should be at the focal point of these trends. Traditionally, comedy has been seen as a mimesis of mores, as in Cicero's famous definition "imitatio vitae, speculum consuetudinis, imago veritatis." And of all the comic dramatists of the period, Molière reproduced most persistently an image of his own life and times. Indeed, he was the first great practitioner in world drama of the comedy of manners.

A complex social reality whose intricacies are still being unravelled, a master of comedy who used that reality as his raw material, such are the given elements which I try to address in the following remarks. What picture of his times, however distorted, does Molière convey to us? How faithful is he to reigning values? To answer that question fully we would need to review the totality of that society itself—a task which obviously exceeds the scope of this paper. But perhaps if we limit ourself to one far-reaching aspect of that reality—the social hierarchy and the most problematic level in it, the nobility—and concentrate on Molière's picture of that particular order, we should be able to reach some tentative conclusions, or at the least invite a deeper study of the issue.

A final précaution oratoire before we get under way in a brief review of hierarchy in seventeenth-century France: my use of the word reactionary may seem unpardonably anachronistic; after all, the term dates only from the early nineteenth century. But one definition of the word seems quite timeless for me, and I would do well—if only for self-protection—to quote it from Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary: reactionary: "relating to, marked by, or favoring reaction." Now, reaction: "resistance or opposition to a force, influence, or movement, esp. tendency toward a former and usually outmoded political or social order or policy."

If the feudal tags still adhere to the various levels of society in seventeenth-century France, it is because the period itself viewed its image through the feudal prism and its three-fold divisions: Clergy, Nobility, and Commoner. To a degree, of course, it is proper to speak of these three estates, as they still existed as a political concept and occasionally as a reality. But under this nomenclature, momentous changes had occurred. The nobility in particular was in a state of crisis. Its feudal cohesion had already been eroded under the pressures of social and political developments. There was, of course, the surviving traditional caste which traced its ancestry far back in time and which took pride in the long-standing authenticity of its titles. But the growth, in the sixteenth century especially, of offices or charges, and the custom of awarding noble title with them, notably in the magistrature, led to a new nobility. We know it of course as the noblesse de robe.

The matter became further complicated at the beginning of the seventeenth century, when titles held by the robins became hereditary. Thus by Louis XIV's reign, three generations later, a second hereditary caste had come into existence. At the same time, a yet newer nobility was being created as a consequence of the centralizing thrust of a growing absolutism. The noblesse de robe had become entrenched and protective of its prerogatives and titles, however recently acquired. Richelieu, and later Louis XIV himself, slowly and relentlessly undermined its position and its institutional locus, the parlement, by fashioning an administration directly responsible to the crown and rewarded with instant noble rank, sometimes instantly hereditary. La Bruyère was scathing in his denunciation of these "premiers nobles de leur race," to paraphrase his scornful comment. Among the beneficiaries of this kind of accession was the commoner Colbert who became a marquis, and Le Tellier who had received the title of duke in 1650. An even more spectacular promotion had taken place in England, where James I made George Villiers first a knight, then a viscount, then an earl, then a marquis.

Thus new offices with their concomitant claim to rank and privilege multiplied in the seventeenth century as the crown sought to drain away the assets accumulated by financiers, speculators and the like, in return for a title and respectability together with the opportunity to amass yet more through fresh means of extortion. One thinks of the tax-farmer bitterly caricatured by La Bruyère who began his career as a valet and, after various shady deals, "devenu noble par une charge," goes on to social distinction.

Thus an instant moneyed nobility penetrated more and more insistently the ranks of the Second Order, not only by the purchase of charges but by the acquisition of land, a distinctive sign of status, and a hypergamy reluctantly accepted by impoverished ancient families forced to exchange daughters for cash. There was consequently a fair amount of upward mobility—what Méthivier terms [in La Fronde] an "osmose fréquente des familles d'épée et de robe"—so much so that there was no longer any real line of demarcation between the Second Order and the Third Estate. To suggest, however, that there was a massive invasion of the nobility is to discount various inhibiting forces which made sure that no great dislocation of the social order took place. One had to work at advancement over generations sometimes and go patiently through the various steps of the process—"se décrasser par degrés," to quote Mousnier's vivid image.

A dynamic, shifting social scene, then, where noble values dominated, to be sure—why else would a taxfarmer spend vast sums to buy a bubble title?—but where great families, the more recent noblesse de robe and a cluster of freshly ennobled nouveaux-riches took their place under the same umbrella, eyeing each other warily and with a fair amount of hostility and contempt. For while the new nobility enjoyed its status de jure, it still had to seek social validation from a contemptuous gentilhommerie, while the latter was often scorned by the recently ennobled who felt that rank should be a matter of merit, not of birth. We have already seen how La Bruyère views the crass beneficiaries of sudden wealth—"les biens de fortune"—although, in a characteristic ambivalence, he showers contempt as well on truly titled grandees who fail to live up to their prerogatives. Does Molière share the same negative attitude toward social contamination, the same yearning for an ancient and perhaps mythical order where walls were impenetrable, where status symbols had only one meaning, and where rank and merit always dwelt together?

To address these questions, we shall have to examine Molière's portrayal of social hierarchy, the degree to which he idealizes, simplifies, caricatures, and ignores what he sees around him. For comedy, as was suggested earlier, holds only a distorting mirror up to nature. It is also unable, because of its very identity, to present the whole gamut of the various strata. We should not expect to find there the high prelates of the First Order, nor lofty kings and queens, properly at home in what Racine called the majestic sadness of tragedy. Comedy, as tradition would have it, is the purview of the commoner and his trivial pursuits.

Yet Molière did depict a princely caste on occasion. His only attempt at truly serious drama, the early Don Garcie de Navarre, presents that lower level of royalty; and even in the full momentum of his comic career, he wrote courtly entertainments like La Princesse d'Elide and Les Amants magnifiques where princes and princesses go about their amorous pursuits in a mood of refined idleness. But generally speaking, and certainly in Molière's renowned masterpieces, the highest nobility of the court, while lauded for its consummate taste (as in La Critique de l'Ecole des femmes and Les Femmes savantes), is kept respectfully at a distance.

Even so, Molière frequently added upper-class characters to the conventional social spectrum of his down-to-earth comedies. We must ask then how Molière situates them in the social hierarchy and what value judgments he attributes to their position. In the first instance, Molière's aristocrats can be classified geographically: those who belong to the minor provincial nobility, and those who live in Paris or who display metropolitan manners. The dramatist's picture of nobility beyond Paris and Versailles is invariably derisive: George Dandin's hide-bound father-in-law, "le baron de Sotenville"; Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, the self-styled "gentilhomme limousin … qui a étudié en droit" (thus a kind of hybrid seigneur de robe); and the ludicrous country countess of La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas. We may dismiss these characters as examples of a backward, dull and uncouth provincial life—except that in reality the provinces were the economic base of the entire country and boasted their own political and cultural centers. There was a much stronger regionalism in France than an essentially metropolitan high literature would suggest. In dismissing the positive side of life in the provinces, Molière simply echoes the smugness of his audience in its idolatry of Paris.

The remaining nobility may be conveniently divided into two broad categories: those carrying specific titles (for example, viscount, marquis), and those bearing unspecified rank but with stated or implied noble status. The latter group polarizes into members of the traditional warrior caste and characters to whom a "qualité" is attributed, but obviously not a high dignity.

Only two characters in Molière are true "gentilshommes": Dom Juan (by implication, as Done Elvire's brothers, who refer to themselves as "gentilshommes," place Don Juan in the same caste); and Adraste, the "gentilhomme français" of Le Sicilien. At the opposite end of noble dignity we find lower-ranking members of the gentry, people of "quality" but not carrying named rank. Thus the mincing Climène in La Critique de l'Ecole des femmes, and the poetaster Oronte from Le Misanthrope.

In between we find the largest category, characters with noble title: One count, the cultivated Dorante of Le Bourgeois gentilhomme (also described as a "grand seigneur"—an indication of the status we are to attribute to him); two viscounts (we may dismiss of course the "Vicomte de Jodelet" in Les Précieuses ridicules); Angélique's courtly suitor Clitandre in George Dandin, and the well-bred Cléante of La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas. There is one chevalier, Molière's spokesman Dorante in La Critique de l'Ecole des femmes. No fewer than four marquis populate Molière's theater (not counting the fraudulent "Marquis de Mascarille" in Les Précieuses ridicules): Acaste and Clitandre from Le Misanthrope, the anonymous marquis from La Critique de l'Ecole des femmes, and the same character as he reappears in L'Impromptu de Versailles, together with yet another marquis. (Monsieur de Sotenville, it will be recalled, is a baron, the only one in Molière's theater.) Among female characters, we find two marquises (Dorimène, the lady courted by Monsieur Jourdain) and the prolongation of Climène in L'Impromptu de Versailles where a specific rank is added to her "qualité." (We remember that the heroine of La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas is a Countess.)

To round out this inventory of rank in Molière, we should note that there is only one reference to office-holding. Cléonte in Le Bourgeois gentilhomme disclaims being a "gentilhomme" and scorns those who pretend to such rank, but he insists that his parents held "charges" Cléonte could thus belong, say, to the noblesse de robe, but, significantly, no title is indicated. There are as well four memorable examples of "double identity" whereby a low-born person claims a fraudulent title: Arnolphe/Monsieur de la Souche in L'Ecole des femmes, as well as the allusion to Thomas Corneille/Monsieur de l'Isle in the same play; George Dandin/Monsieur de la Dandinière in George Dandin, and Monsieur Jourdain/Mamamouchi (in the latter case the bourgeois is the victim and the beneficiary of a deception). A fifth, more marginal example could be added: Tartuffe's pretention to "gentilhomme" status (vv. 494-5).

So far we have confined ourselves to precise references to rank, merited, undeserved, or fraudulent as the title may be according to the various cases. But external attributes, life-style could denote a high position in society as well. Several families depicted by Molière could well belong to the gentry or the recently ennobled; such householders as Orgon (Tartuffe) or Chrysale (Les Femmes savantes) obviously "live nobly"—they enjoy an opulent existence as rentiers which absolves them from all demeaning "work." Indeed, only one character from that stratum is shown as economically active: Harpagon, the miser, whose usury is clearly seen as a betrayal of status. A final complication may be noted from the engravings which accompany the 1682 edition of Molière's works. Even in a bourgeois milieu like that of L'Avare, Valère, Harpagon's intendant, is shown wearing a sword, a status symbol which, in theory at least, only a nobleman could carry.

The picture of rank in Molière admits therefore of some ambiguity; we are after all in the realm of comedy where inconsistencies and fanciful elements are bound to occur. But in the interests of clarity, I will confine my qualitative remarks to the empirically evident, the specific references to dignities.

It is obvious, first of all, that Molière does not idealize all bearers of rank. The marquis in particular—a high order in the actual gentilhommerie—is subject to extreme caricature, although his rank is never considered fraudulent. He has simply become a clown figure, just as in English Restoration comedy, the knight recurs as a ludicrous stock-type.

Even at the top of the scale, with Don Juan, we must speak of a portrait with many nuances: clear-sighted lucidity, bravery where lack of it would be dérogeance blends in Molière's hero with bluster, unfeeling egocentrism and disrespect. In his depiction of the marquise, Molière shows neat even-handedness: one (in Le Bourgeois gentilhomme) is a cultivated, well-bred lady, the other (L'Impromptu de Versailles) is a posturing précieuse. The most consistently favorable picture emerges from the counts, viscounts, and the chevalier, all seen as people of taste and discrimination, whatever their moral blemishes—one, the Clitandre of George Dandin, is endeavouring to seduce the peasant's wife, while the Dorante of Le Bourgeois gentilhomme shamelessly gulls his middle-class friend.

Like La Bruyère, then, Molière shows us a broad gallery of noblemen, some deserving their station and prerogatives, some farcically inept. But nowhere does the dramatist suggest that a character should be stripped of rank; nowhere does he challenge the right to hereditary title. But what of that other social reality, the large group of commoners ennobled in the past or the present by royal decree? We have seen that Molière makes only one passing reference to office-holding without suggesting any noble rank attached to it. Men of wealth who aspire to the Second Order he invariably derides as frauds guilty of absurd social pretensions—Arnolphe (and Thomas Corneille), Monsieur Jourdain, George Dandin. As Chrysalde exclaims to Arnolphe: "Quel abus de quitter le vrai nom de ses pères / Pour en vouloir prendre un bâti sur des chimères" (L'Ecole des femmes, vv. 175-6)—expensive "chimères" at that. The dramatist implies that one must be to the manner born, that the code of gentility cannot be learned (although rank alone does not guarantee genteel conduct!). Only one instance of extensive economic activity—Harpagon's money-lending in L'Avare—occurs in all of Molière. It is in this respect particularly that the dramatist blurs the realities of his time. Loans, especially to the crown, were made by the wealthy at all levels of the hierarchy, and Louis XIV was forced by his grandiose projects and costly wars to resort more and more to deficit financing. We have already noted the proliferation of functions and titles by which commoners acquired instant de jure presence in the Second Order. It is this shift which Molière all but ignores in his theater. In short, he seems to reflect the prejudices of the old nobility and their refusal to grant respectability to a new title, however firm its legal foundation.

It is beyond the scope of this paper to discuss the Third Estate in any detail. But when Molière represents it, the perspective is always that of this aristocracy. Servants may be perceptive and well-intentioned, but their speech and manners mark them as social inferiors. Peasants, such as those portrayed in Dom Juan, are uncouth and infantile creatures. Representatives of the middle class are labelled patronizingly as "bons bourgeois," ignorant, tyrannical and mean-spirited, incapable of the refined life-style of the happy few. Even fully-fleshed burgher characters like Arnolphe and Monsieur Jourdain are portrayed as inextricably enmeshed in their own inborn mediocrity.

When one adds to the picture of the Second Order these features of the Third Estate, it becomes evident that Molière presents society as largely fixed and immutable. The bourgeois belong forever to the Third Estate, and all attempts to escape upward are doomed to ridicule and failure. The nobility is insulated and protected by its longstanding titles, even if some of its members do not live up to aristocratic expectations. Such is Molière's theatrical image, then, so at variance with a fluid and ambiguous reality, a dynamic, shifting amalgam of orders and interests, characterized especially by a moneyed middle class on the rise and anxious to obtain status and privilege. While social climbing was hedged in by all sorts of strictures, the eroding boundary between the Second and Third Orders made it possible.

Given this distortion of social realities, it is quite proper, I think, to label Molière's theater as basically reactionary; the vision of society depicted is stratified, with each class in its eternal place, and with an uncontaminated nobility on top. Molière, like La Bruyère, seems to express a conservative reaction against forces pressing upward upon the Second Order and threatening to transform it.

Yet Molière's plays were successful with an audience which reflected almost the full gamut of his society—royalty, les grands, the gentry, the ennobled parvenu, as well as various sub-groups of the despised Third Estate. How could middle-class merchants, speculators, nouveaux-riches, and instant nobles derive mirth from a theater which dismissed their claim to status, which relegated them implicitly to mockery and oblivion? Here we leave the empirical for the speculative. It seems to me, first of all, that the human race has a great capacity for detachment when it comes to the depiction of its faults. As Sartre said somewhere, in tragedy we see ourselves, in comedy we see others. No doubt the garishly attired social climber of Molière's time, fresh from the purchase of an expensive title, took great mirth in the portrait of a Monsieur Jourdain.

Yet something else comes to mind. Supposing Molière had portrayed an open society, where the Arnolphes and the Jourdains could acquire discretion and taste by proper schooling and penetrate with full juridical and social credentials an upper class ready to accept them? What if everyone in our profession received Guggenheim fellowships and honorary degrees? The value of an honor is directly proportional to its rarity, or, to paraphrase a quip from Gilbert and Sullivan, "when everyone is somebody, then no one's anybody."

Viewed then from another angle, Molière's theater could well present a balanced picture of his time. While leaving the true nobility secure in its traditional ranks, he collaborates in a sense with the newly titled by endowing their status with a mystique of non-accessibility. The more difficult the jump may be seen to be and the rarer the success it betokens, the more value it will have. If a bourgeois who tries to become a gentlemen fails in comedy, the one who makes it in real life can only congratulate himself on a singular and well-deserved success.

A reactionary theater? An accommodating one? If we recall the dictionary definitions quoted earlier, reaction means resistance to social change, an allegiance to "a former and usually outmoded political or social order or policy." The order presented by Molière was surely outof-date, an apparent reaction to strong forces shaping a new social reality. But in times of change we need perhaps a reassuring image of stability and permanence to help us digest threatening innovations. Thus the ideological content of Molière's theater could be less a political stance than a comforting statement that all is well offered to a society poised on the threshold of momentous changes.