SOURCE: “L'École des femmes: Marriage and the Laws of Chance,” in Intruders in the Play World: The Dynamics of Gender in Molière's Comedies, Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1996, pp. 77-98.

[In this excerpt, Lalande examines The School for Wives as a struggle between the “masculine” principle of Law and the “feminine” principle of Chance. Ultimately, she argues, the principles are reconciled, but the reconciliation is based upon the subservience the feminine to the masculine.]

Mon Dieu, ne gagez pas: vous perdriez vraiment.

—L'Ecole des femmes II, 5

It would be difficult to undertake a study of the dialectics of inclusion, exclusion, and intrusion of the female character in relation to the parameters of the comic circle without examining L'Ecole des femmes. The theatrical motif is immediately apparent and leads to an early division of the characters into three groups: director, spectator, and object of ridicule. These roles, however, do not remain static but are in constant mutation throughout the play. Not only can the real-life spectator easily identify the shifting parameters of play, but s/he can thereby examine the dynamics of participation and nonparticipation in the game. Within the context of L'Ecole des femmes, it is matrimony that is defined as a game of chance in which the relationship between men and women is intrinsically adversarial.

The play begins with an altercation between two friends, Chrysalde and Alceste, concerning the perils of wedlock. An interesting definition of marriage can be reconstructed by scrutinizing the dialectics of their argument. Alceste views it as a game of deception and trickery in which the adversaries are by the very nature of the institution, gender delineated:¹

Je sais les tours rusés et les subtiles trames
Dont, pour nous en planter, savent user les femmes.

(I,1)

[I know each cunning trick that women use
Upon their docile men, each subtle ruse,
And how they exercise their slight-of-hand.]

According to Huizinga, every game includes a set of rules or a code of conduct to be accepted by all participants, while cheating, a frequent occurrence within the ludic framework, implies the outward acknowledgment of these rules.² From Arnolphe's perspective, marital rules are the foundation of patriarchal hegemony and serve to subjugate the recalcitrant other who is continually striving to break free. Since ludic activity implies willing acceptance of the rules, woman's role in relationship to conjugal play is at best problematic. She must either internalize her own subservience in order to participate “freely,” passively accept her alienation, or, failing that, resort to deception.

Although rules are an important component in any game, the element of chance can be an equally pivotal concept. When Arnolphe later makes a mockery of cuckolded husbands, Chrysalde reminds him of the role of fate, thus establishing the tone for the rest of the play, which will bear witness to his reply:

Ce sont coups du hasard, dont on n'est point garant,
Et bien sot, ce me semble, est le soin qu'on en prend.

(I,1)

[Against these blows of chance there's no defense;
To me our vain precautions make no sense.]

Thus, participation in the game, which is always voluntary, implies the player's acceptance not only of the rules and restrictions but also of the risks involved. Arnolphe shows a keen awareness of the rules and of the ways in which they are circumvented through deceit, but his persistent blindness to the role of chance leaves him prey to a reversal of fortune. His desire to participate in the game without anticipating the risks dramatically increases his chances of disillusionment and loss.

More accurately yet, one might define marriage according to L'Ecole des femmes as a spectator sport:

Enfin, ce sont partout sujets de satire;
Et comme spectateur, ne puis-je pas en rire?

(I,1)

[In short, when all around lies comedy,
May I not laugh at all these things I see?]

As an outsider to the institution of matrimony, Arnolphe has hitherto distanced himself from the participants, thereby incurring no risks. Serge Doubrovsky reminds us that: “Le rire est ici un isolant. Arnolphe est séparé de ses contemporains, il se pose en s'opposant à eux. Ce spectacle, qu'il voit et juge du dehors, sans y participer, souligne son individualité irréductible. Il se singularise au sens profond du terme.”³ [Laughter here is an insulator. Arnolphe is separated from his contemporaries, he assumes his pose, by opposing them. This spectacle, which he sees and judges from outside, without participating in it, emphasizes his irreducible individuality. He makes himself conspicuous in the most profound sense of the term.] (Translation by author) Not content to privately witness the husbands' misfortunes, he discloses private scandals to the public eye, thereby enlisting the support of witnesses. Thus, he is not merely a spectator, but director, producer, and master of ceremonies as well. Arnolphe's indiscretion is an ostentatious means of displaying his superiority to others, though this superiority is predicated on a fundamentally negative principle: Arnolphe considers himself a hero of his times not because he is an object of admiration, but because he is not an object of public ridicule.⁴ Accordingly, the comic manifestation of the heroic project is defined in the negative:

On est homme d'honneur quand on n'est point cocu,
A le bien prendre au fond, pourquoi voulez-vous
          croire
Que de ce cas fortuit dépende notre gloire,
Et qu'une âme bien née ait à se reprocher
L'injustice d'un mal qu'on ne peut empêcher?

(IV,8)

[His honor's safe, no matter what his life,
Provided he enjoys a faithful wife.
Come now, how can you make our reputation
Depend on such a chance consideration?
Why should a well-born soul have to repent
Brooking a wrong that no one can prevent?]

Because the husband's honor is predicated in this instance upon his wife's fidelity, a relationship of dependency is established in which empowerment essentially belongs to his wife, even though it is ostensibly the man who enforces the rules. Nowhere is the paradox so clearly stated as in scene 2 of act 3:

Votre sexe n'est là que pour la dépendance:
Du côté de la barbe est la toute-puissance.
Bien qu'on soit deux moitiés de la société,
Ces deux moitiés pourtant n'ont point d'égalité:
L'une est moitié suprême et l'autre subalterne;
L'une en tout est soumise à l'autre qui gouverne …
Songez qu'en vous faisant moitié de ma personne,
C'est mon honneur, Agnès, que je vous abandonne.

(III.2)

[For fraility your sex is made and reared;
Authority is vested in the beard.
Although you form half of the society,
Between our halves is no equality;
One is supreme, the other one abject;
One must submit, the other one direct; …
Note that in giving you my life to share,
Agnès, I place my honor in your care.]

The continual repetition of the word “moitié” demonstrates Arnolphe's underlying obsession with the notion of codependency and reliance on the unpredictable behavior of the woman who is to become his Other (half). Arnolphe wants to be without rival, thereby marking his difference from other husbands in a compelling manner. Arnolphe's honor, which is continually on display, has become pure spectacle. Therefore any slight, imagined or real, is tantamount to instant and total humiliation.

Arnolphe sets out to guarantee his marital rights by limiting the knowledge of his future wife, Agnès, who has been raised according to his personal specifications. The ingenue's inexperience is, however, an ideal breeding ground for vice as well as virtue:

Une femme d'esprit peut trahir son devoir,
Mais il faut, pour le moins, qu'elle ose le vouloir;
Et la stupide au sien peut manquer d'ordinaire
Sans en avoir l'envie et sans vouloir le faire.

(I,1)

[Now when a clever woman goes astray,
At least she knows, and means it just that way;
A stupid one may fall in the same snare
Not wishing to and wholly unaware.]

Chrysalde reminds his friend here that virtue and ignorance are incompatible concepts. True moral character is always a function of willful and rational freedom of choice. When decisions are not arrived at through conscious self-determination, chance predominates over reason.

Unbeknownst to Arnolphe, fate has already claimed its first victory. During his absence, a fortuitous encounter has taken place between the ingenue Agnès and the blondin Horace. Upon learning of the imminent threat to his plans, Arnolphe counters by establishing a rigid code of conduct. Fate, however, can only be circumvented through versatility and adaptability, it cannot be avoided by traditional means of empowerment. As Chrysalde reminds his friend:

Mais comme c'est le sort qui nous donne une femme,
Je dis que l'on doit faire ainsi qu'au jeu de dés
Où, s'il ne vous vient pas ce que vous demandez,
Il faut jouer d'adresse et, d'une âme réduite,
Corriger le hasard par la bonne conduite

(IV,8)

[But since we owe our choice of wives to chance,
As in a game of dice we should behave,
Where, when you do not get the roll you crave,
You must reduce your stakes, control your play,
and change your luck by caution and delay.]

Arnolphe's foolhardy self-assurance is founded on Agnès' ignorance. In choosing a four-year-old child as his bride-elect, he has sought to establish his ascendancy from the earliest stages of critical reason. He seeks to become the very source of her being, to mould her and in-form her:

En femme, comme en tout je veux suivre ma mode.
Je me vois riche assez pour pouvoir, que je croi,
Choisir une moitié qui tienne tout de moi …

(I,1)

[Right. Every man his way.
I have my own to choose a fiancée.
I'm rich enough, I think, to have felt free
To have my wife owe everything to me …]

In the realm of the masculine political order the female is expendable, except as a receptacle of the male. By directing Agnès' every action and thought, Arnolphe believes it possible to make her a mirror image of himself. It is this narcissism that reflects the subject's complete self-absorption and enclosure within himself. It is the tantalizing image of a perfect, self-sufficient whole rather than Agnès herself that becomes the object of his obsession. She enables him to project his own presence into an empty receptacle, for the only “other” one can depend upon unequivocally and whose desires are the unadulterated reflection of one's own is one's double (albeit an intellectually inferior copy of the original).

The first phase in Arnolphe's strategy is to make Agnès aware of her unworthiness and her lack. Subtending his admonition is the message that without him she is nothing, a nonentity, and that she needs her tutor to create and shape her:

Je vous épouse, Agnès; et cent fois la journée
Vous devez bénir l'heure de votre destinée,
Contempler la bassesse où vous avez été,
Et dans le même temps, admirer ma bonté,
Qui de ce vil état de pauvre villageoise
Vous fait monter au rang d'honorable bourgeoise.

(III,2)

[Agnès, I'm marrying you; and you ought
A hundred times a day to bless your lot,
To keep your former low estate in mind
and marvel that a man can be so kind
As I, who found you just a country lass,
And raise you to the honored middle class.]

In Arnolphe's view, Agnès' value is not intrinsic, but is derivative of his own identity. Patrick Dandrey confirms this in the following terms: “Agnès n'aura aucune des qualités que la nature et l'histoire prêtent aux femmes, parce qu'elle sera sans qualité aucune: définie par soustraction sans reste, par négation interne. Ombre obscure et fidèle de la seule positivité du monde selon Arnolphe: lui-même.”⁵ [Agnès will have none of the qualities that nature and history bestow upon women, because she will be without any attribute whatsoever: defined by subtraction without a remainder, by internal negation. Dim and faithful shadow of the only positivity in the world, according to Arnolphe: himself.] (Translation by author) According to Irigaray, “The rejection, the exclusion of a female imaginary certainly puts woman in the position of experiencing herself only fragmentarily, in the little-structured margins of a dominant ideology, as waste, or excess, what is left of a mirror invested by the (masculine) ‘subject’ to reflect himself, to copy himself.”⁶

Not only does Arnolphe assume the role of patriarchal lawgiver when he supplies his pupil with a document entitled Les Maximes du Mariage ou Les Devoirs de la Femme Mariée, but he also teaches her to be aware of her own ignorance by mocking her outrageous naïveté. Agnès can become his wife on condition that she accept the ‘void’ that masculinity needs to find in a woman. She must remain a nonperson in order to reflect her husband's image: her moon to his sun. What goes almost without saying is that from this perspective, the ideal wife is also the perfect child: the child bride, the woman-child, the sex kitten. Man is both husband and father to this creature (the word implies both the idea of creation and receptivity), whose presence allows him to supplant the mother by usurping the role of life giver and creator. Once again, within patriarchy the mother's presence represents the barely disguised chaotic forces of nature, ever threatening to invade the phallic order. By replacing the mother with the father as embodiment of reason and structure, the harmony of the patriarchal order is maintained. However, the paternal figure's attraction to the woman-child is troubling to say the least, for it borders on incestuous desire.

One of the advantages of a marital relationship in which the wife is a true reflection of her husband is that attention is always drawn to the dominant male figure, to the original, not the copy. The problem with an educated and independent woman is that the husband's presence becomes peripheral and incidental:

Moi, j'irais me charger d'une spirituelle
Qui ne parlerait rien que cercle et que ruelle,
Qui de prose et de vers ferait de doux écrits,
Et que visiteraient marquis et beaux esprits,
Tandis que sous le nom du mari de Madame,
Je serais comme un Saint que pas un ne réclame?

(I,1)

[I should take on some lady of esprit,
Full of her literary coterie,
Dashing off prose and verse in tender bits,
Attended by the marquises and wits,
While I, known as the husband of Madame,
Play the unworshiped saint ad nauseam?]

What Arnolphe has failed to realize, however, is that ingenuousness and idiocy are not synonymous, though he uses the terms interchangeably.⁷ Initially at least, Agnès is situated at an ambiguous moment that predates the onset of her sexual awareness. Her enlightenment will coincide with her encounter with Horace. In other words, there seems to be, at least in popular credence, a coalescence between nascent sexual awareness and intellectual awakening in women. What is interesting about such a concept, is that it is once again the more experienced male counterpart who becomes the vehicle for this enlightenment. As Agnès readily admits:

C'est de lui [Horace] que je sais ce que je puis savoir,
Et beaucoup plus qu'à vous je pense lui devoir.

(V,4)

[It is from him I know all that I know:
Much more than you, he is the one I owe.]

Despite her growing awareness, Agnès will never bypass the stage of obligation and recognition to achieve full autonomy. Her indebtedness will mark her dependency throughout the play. Furthermore, the bond of recognition effectively demonstrates a correspondence between the sexual and the intellectual identity of woman. The play conveys the impression that unlike men, women cannot separate their ability to reason from their emotional state or their reproductive function and that their thinking is implicitly muddled and confused by sensations, in other words, by their materiality: “Agnès libère sa parole comme se libère le désir, la sexualité: dans la relation; elle parle à, pour apprendre à parler; l'ambiguïté grossière des vers 1560/1562 (Vous fuyez l'ignorance, et voulez, quoi qu'il coûte, / Apprendre du blondin quelque chose?) suggère que la bouche et le sexe, le savoir et le désir sont solidaires.”⁸ [Agnès liberates her speech much in the same manner that sexual desire is unleashed: in the relationship; she speaks to in order to learn to speak; the crude ambiguity of lines 1560/1562 (you flee ignorance and want to learn something from the young man at all costs?) suggests that language and sex, desire and knowledge are solidary.] (Translation by author) Most of the laughter Arnolphe derives from Agnès' lack of knowledge stems from her inexperience in sexual matters:

Et parfois elle en dit dont je pâme de rire.
L'autre jour (pourrait-on se le persuader?),
Elle était fort en peine et me vint demander,
Avec une innocence à nulle autre pareille,
Si les enfants qu'on fait se faisaient par l'oreille.

(I,1)

[I simply marvel at her naivetes,
And could die laughing at the things she says.
Just fancy that, a day or two ago,
She came to me distraught, wanting to know—
So innocent, so candid and sincere—
If children are begotten through the ear.]

Arnolphe's dual role as spectator and stage director has already been discussed. In calling upon an audience of fellow laughers to witness the humiliation of others, he distances himself from the common masses, thus establishing his superiority. However, in recounting his personal adventures, he opens himself up to attack. In other words, once he switches from third- to first-person narrative, he becomes a vulnerable target of criticism. His need to inform others of his project is similar to that of Horace in act 1, scene 3. In mocking his younger rival, however, Arnolphe unwittingly targets his own shortcomings:

Enfin, mon étourdi n'aura pas lieu d'en rire;
Par son trop de caquet il a ce qu'il lui faut.
Voilà de nos Français l'ordinaire défaut:
Dans la possession d'une bonne fortune,
Le secret est toujours ce qui les opportune;
Et la vanité sotte a pour eux tant d'appas,
Qu'ils se pendraient plutôt que de ne causer pas.

(III,3)

[Well, my young fool will have no cause to beam.
He talked too much, and now he pays the price.
That is our Frenchmen's ordinary vice:
When they are lucky in a love affair,
Secrecy is a thing they cannot bear;
And vanity holds them so much in thrall,
They'd rather hang themselves than not tell all.]

And since no narration is complete without the narratee, no spectacle without an audience, Horace himself admits:

Et goûtat-on cent fois un bonheur trop parfait,
On n'en est point content si quelqu'un ne le sait.

(IV,6)

[And perfect happiness, if it's unknown,
Tastes flat; we cannot savor it alone.]

thereby offering a variation of his mentor's attitude. Horace's statement leads one to speculate on the intimate link between love and self-esteem. Once again, the object of desire is merely a reflection of personal worth and a validation of dominance in the sexual sphere. Arnolphe's project is essentially a theatrical one that requires the display of his ill-conceived sense of superiority.

The presence of the servants Alain and Georgette does more than merely add an element of farce. Their primary function throughout the play is to serve as guards who protect Agnès from contact with the outside world. The fact that they are utterly inept at this function merely leads one to draw certain inferences as to the futility of imposing external constraints on a person's behavior. The very idea that Arnolphe would need a backup system to his foolproof plan is an outward manifestation of his lack of control. Upon his return home, he questions Georgette as to whether or not Agnès missed him during his absence. The question itself suggests emotional involvement on his part and provides the servant woman with an effective means of targeting his vulnerable ego:

Elle vous croyait voir de retour à toute heure;
Et nous n'oyions jamais passer devant chez nous
Cheval, âne ou mulet, qu'elle ne prît pour vous.

(I,2)

[She kept thinking she saw you coming back;
Each time a horse or mule or donkey passed
She was quite sure that it was you at last.]

When in the next scene Arnolphe's sexual desire for Agnès becomes apparent through innuendo, she responds that she has spent much of her time during his absence making “cornettes.” Such an answer should resonate in the mind of someone utterly obsessed with “cornes,” but it obviously eludes Arnolphe as he praises his pupil's pudicity. He is blind to the fact that his sense of honor is irrevocably tied to and dependent upon a young woman with no worldly experience, very little common sense, and no moral conscience.

Arnolphe's dependency on others becomes increasingly manifest in the following scene. His aforementioned need for an audience is echoed by that of Horace, who finds in his old friend Arnolphe a captive one. The latter actually encourages him to recount his adventures:

Je me donne souvent la comédie à moi.
Peut-être en avez-vous déjà féru quelqu'une.
Vous est-il point encore arrivé de fortune?

(I,4)

[It is sport for a prince; and what I see
Is an unfailing source of comedy.
Already you have smitten one, I'll bet.
Haven't you had some such adventure yet?]

To continue the theatrical metaphor, the younger man, who fancies himself to have staged a comedy of seduction, is desperately in need of a producer. He appeals to Arnolphe to lend him the funds to finance his endeavor. Much to Arnolphe's chagrin, however, he finds himself in the unusual position of being both producer and spectator of a play in which he is the object of ridicule, thus becoming his own enemy: not a deceiver deceived, but a laugher mocked. To add insult to injury, Horace expects his rival's active complicity through supportive laughter:

Horace: Riez-en donc un peu …
Je ne puis y songer sans de bon coeur en rire;
Et vous ne riez pas assez, à mon avis.
Arnolphe: (avec un ris forcé)
Pardonnez-moi, j'en ris tout autant que je puis.

(III,4)

[Horace: Then how about a laugh? …
I never heard of anything so funny;
I can't help laughing, not for love or money.
But you're not laughing very hard, I'd say.
Arnolphe [forcing a laugh]: I'm laughing—pardon me—as best I may.]

This is the direct result of Arnolphe's new identity as Monsieur de la Souche. Unbeknownst to Horace, he has taken on a nobleman's title. Ironically, however, the protagonist's double identity is reflected not only in the dual roles he plays, but in the contradictory and paradoxical nature of a double desire. As spectator, he feels compelled to learn the truth. As participant, he is driven by jealousy to know what he might otherwise prefer to ignore. He attempts to make use of this double identity to gain his rival's confidence, thereby transforming his passive observance into active resistance, his role of spectator into that of stage director. These constantly shifting parameters within the borders of the comic circle are a direct reflection of the struggle for power between the two male rivals. What remains enigmatic is the extent to which the feminine presence can emerge as a positive or negative force within this context.

Initially at least, Agnès' means to empowerment can only be defined negatively as the unconscious failure to meet Arnolphe's expectations:

Elle n'a pu faillir sans me couvrir de honte,
Et tout ce qu'elle a fait enfin est sur mon compte.
Eloignement fatal! voyage malheureux!

(II,1)

[A lapse of hers would cover me with shame;
Her acts may be imputed to my name.
Why was I absent? Why did I go away?]

The desire to create's one's mirror image in another would seem at first to permit the creation of a perfectly symmetrical coincidence of will, thereby ensuring total control over the object of desire. However, the smallest flaw in the creation will inevitably reflect back upon the creator, tying his destiny to hers and reversing the order of empowerment. Once again, Arnolphe's loss of control is echoed by his recognition of the need to remain continually vigilant. His own personal freedom is limited by the necessity to limit that of Agnès.

It seems interesting that in this play, jealousy appears to be an emotion reserved exclusively for men. The female characters neither feel it, nor comprehend it. Georgette cannot understand Arnolphe's possessive rage and must rely on Alain for an explanation. Jealousy is more intimately connected to self-esteem than to love. Women are defined throughout the play as redoubtable adversaries primarily because they lack the self-esteem necessary to feel jealous. Since their sense of personal honor is not tied to their husbands' moral conduct, they are free of the emotional turmoil such an enslavement would imply. Alain, of course, stresses the consumerism as well as the process of reification implicit in Arnolphe's definition of marriage in act 2, scene 3:

La femme est en effet le potage de l'homme;
Et quand un homme voit d'autres hommes parfois
Qui veulent dans sa soupe aller tremper leurs doigts,
Il en montre aussitôt une colère extrême.

(II,3)

[Well, woman is in effect the soup of man.
When one man sees others ready to swoop
And try to dip his fingers in his soup
He flies into a fury right away.]

But, as we have seen from the beginning, a woman's passivity can never be counted on. It is, paradoxically, man's desire to transform woman into a passive object devoid of ethical values of her own, that affords her the moral freedom to subvert his carefully constructed plans. In Arnolphe's mind, women are empowered by their disregard for moral principles and their absence of an honor code. They are viewed as the ultimate winners in marriage.

Woman's identity seems so closely connected to her sexuality in this play that it is not surprising that adultery becomes her principal weapon in opposing the patriarchal order. Unlike Célimène, in Le Misanthrope, however, the wives (who remain peripheral to the action but whose ever present danger haunts Arnolphe's imagination) do not remain evasive in order to increase their desirability while eschewing entrapment but rather they seek pleasure for its own sake. Their empowerment stems not from withholding but from their self-fulfillment through sexual gratification. The act of granting sexual favors is in itself an act of empowerment for it implies the freedom to bestow rather than to be taken. Within the confines of the patriarchal order, however, giving and taking are the prerogatives of men. The only form of “giving” permissible to woman is the art of self-sacrifice, in which personal pleasure is entirely sublimated and subsumed by the political order. Thus, it is necessary to establish behavioral constraints intended to limit personal freedom. The concept of sin, with its implicit consequence of punishment, now comes to the fore.

Religion and sin are invoked in this play primarily as negative constraints designed to enforce law and order. Agnès' naive commentary points out the arbitrary nature of heaven's decrees, which Arnolphe is unable to justify in rational terms. If virtue is indeed, as was implied earlier, incompatible with ignorance, then by the same token so must be sin. The truly ignorant person, unaware of the margins between good and evil, is by definition amoral. In such a character, impulse is translated directly into action without passing first through the channels of moral scrutiny or critical reasoning: Agnès' discourse is that of “la pure nature,” according to her lover Horace, and she herself admits that she can exert no control over her impulses: “Peut-être qu'il y a du mal à dire cela; mais enfin je ne puis m'empêcher de le dire” (III,4). [Perhaps it's a bad thing to say that; but anyway I can't help saying it, and I wish it could be done without its being wrong.]

The sexual opposition serves as a metaphor for the conflictual relationship between nature and culture.⁹ In these camps the natural is associated with a feminine essence, whose history in metaphysics is associated with matter, and culture is associated with the masculine, a concept essentialized as “form” or “ideal.” And as Arnolphe obviously believes, the ideal can shape matter:

Ainsi que je voudrai, je tournerai cette âme:
Comme un morceau de cire entre mes mains elle est,
Et je puis lui donner la forme qui me plaît.

(III,3)

[I'll shape her soul at will, and mold her life.
Between my hands she's like a piece of clay,
And I can fashion her in any way.]

The spectator's first impression of Agnès coincides with that of her master: she is pure negativity, a void to be filled and shaped by imposition of the strictures of patriarchy. Through her sexual awakening, however, feminine nature reasserts its prerogatives, all the more forcefully as Agnès lacks the intellectual tools necessary to truly comprehend and internalize social conventions. Agnès' essence was essentially dormant, waiting to be awakened by Prince Charming's kiss. Thus, when Will G. Moore contends that L'Ecole des femmes portrays a struggle between Arnolphe and the forces of nature,¹⁰ he is right on the mark, for Arnolphe's frustration lies in his continual attempts to impose the strictures of symmetry on an object of both fear and desire: feminine “nature” whose chaotic forces cannot be harnessed by patriarchal law. The inevitability of the reaffirmation of nature is structurally parallel to the inescapability of fate. By Arnolphe's own definition of Agnès, she is incapable of sinful intent and therefore beyond the Law. The protagonist's attempts to threaten her with moral retribution fall on deaf ears. However, Agnès' growing awareness of her own sexuality leads one to view physical desire as an entirely innocent natural phenomenon.

It becomes increasingly apparent that within marriage (a microcosmic reflection of society itself), the sexual opposition provides a metaphor for a more essential coupling: the ultimately unresolvable conflict between the male principle, the Law, and the female principle, Chance. Fear of the feminine stems from the ungovernable nature of the forces of fate. Despite man's best attempts at elaborating the strictures of symmetry and order that are attained only through repression, a part of the game always remains unpredictable and beyond his reach. A reversal of the hegemonic order is possible at any moment. It seems appropriate that it is Agnès who indirectly hints at the impossibility of harnessing chance:

Arnolphe: Quelques voisins m'ont dit qu'un jeune
          homme inconnu
Etait en mon absence à la maison venu,
Que vous aviez souffert sa vue et ses harangues;
Mais je n'ai point pris foi sur ces méchantes langues,
Et j'ai voulu gager que c'était faussement …
Agnès: Mon Dieu, ne gagez pas, vous perdriez
          vraiment.

(II,5)

[Arnolphe: Just think: some neighbors came to me to
          say
That a young man came while I was away,
That you received, and listened to, this male.
But I would not believe this wicked tale,
And I proposed to bet them, to their cost …
Agnès: Good Lord, don't bet! Oh my! You would have
          lost.]

What is so interesting about the ingenue's presence within this comedy is that in spite of her as yet undifferentiated identity, in spite of her transferral as object of possession from one master to another, her presence alone serves to disrupt Arnolphe's carefully instrumented game plan. Furthermore, the protagonist's awareness of Horace's tactics serves no strategic purpose, for each new victory of his rival is always presented a posteriori, as a fait accompli. This is what Myrna Zwillenberg has termed the “retroactive reality” device within the play.¹¹ It only serves to emphasize the absurdity of man's attempts to anticipate events by applying logical rules of cause and effect and it undermines the very concept of rationality. It shows man's efforts to impose his will on events, people, and objects to be ultimately futile and meaningless. Arnolphe's parodic echoing of Pompée, the Cornelian hero's words—“Je suis maître, je parle: allez, obéissez” (II,5) [Enough, I'm master: when I speak, obey]—merely draws attention to the diminishing control he has over the events in question. When Arnolphe returns from his travels, Horace has already won Agnès' heart. Her tutor overlooks this important event, for his main concern is whether or not some thing has been taken from her: “Ne vous a-t-il point pris, Agnès, quelque autre chose?” (II,5) [Agnes, was there anything else he took?] The “thing” he is referring to is ostensibly her virginity. Thus, the reduction of a woman's worth to her hymen is an attempt to make the intangible tangible. Since it is virtually impossible to govern another person's emotions, Arnolphe imposes his authority externally, exerting control through physical constraints.¹² In this context, the hymen becomes symbolic of man's attempt to appropriate or possess a woman's body-as-object while disregarding her internal feelings. The hero is reduced to contenting himself with the possession of an object rather than a desiring subject:

Si son coeur m'est volé par ce blondin funeste,
J'empêcherai du moins qu'on s'empare du reste …

(IV,7)

[If I have lost her heart to this blond pest,
At least I'll see he shall not have the rest …]

Although Agnès never achieves full autonomy, she emerges progressively as an assertive force and this development would seem at least initially to be causally linked to each new external constraint. Thus, a pattern of action and reaction is established in which each new law is met by its transgression. However, since the transgression frequently predates the constraint, it appears less deliberate than fated. Agnès' first mutinous act of independence occurs when she changes Arnolphe's stage directions. The latter has ordered her to cast a stone at her lover Horace. She artfully turns this spiteful gesture to her advantage by attaching a message to the missile. It is interesting to note, however, that it is only in the following scene that Arnolphe specifically forbids her to write:

Le mari doit, dans les bonnes coutumes,
Ecrire tout ce qui s'écrit chez lui.

(III,2)

[It is the husband's job to think,
And what needs writing he will write.]

Thus the maxim has been transgressed before it was even issued.

Without realizing it, Arnolphe has schooled his pupil in the art of deception by requiring her to display a false image to Horace. Her own cheating is only a realistic consequence of a lesson dutifully learned. Ironically, her tutor even compliments her on her acting ability, which he attributes to his own talent as a director:

Oui, tout a bien été, ma joie est sans pareille:
Vous avez là suivi mes ordres à merveille,
Confondu de tout point le blondin séducteur,
Et voilà de quoi sert un sage directeur.

(III,1)

[Yes, all went well; I can't contain my glee:
You all followed my orders to a tee,
and put to rout that prince of libertines.
Now that is what good generalship means.]

Although Arnolphe admits that the best strategy might be to let destiny play itself out, thereby allowing Agnès to fall prey to her own fate, he cannot give up his compulsive urge to control and to impose his own order on the events in question. He has by this time acknowledged the adversarial forces of fate without, however, understanding the futility of countering chance: “Il se faut garantir de toutes les surprises” (IV,2). [I must protect myself against surprises.] As proof of this, each new precaution is met with predestined failure. This backfire principle is at the very foundation of passionate love itself. Since the intensity of the feeling is predicated on the desire for an absolute possession of the ever elusive other, Arnolphe comes to the painful realization that his passionate obsession is proportional to Agnès' growing autonomy. Thus the dialectics of his relationship with Agnès demonstrate the absurdity of his heroic project. Ultimately Arnolphe will be forced to accept his inability to harness the forces of fate:

Ciel, faites que mon front soit exempt de disgrâce;
Ou bien, s'il est écrit qu'il faille que j'y passe,
Donnez-moi tout au moins pour de tels accidens,
La constance qu'on voit à de certaines gens.

(III,5)

[Heaven, keep my forefead free from any horn;
Or, if it was for that that I was born,
Grant me at least, to help me bear the shame,
The fortitude of some whom I could name.]

Arnolphe uses the terms “destin,” “hasard,” “surprise,” and “accident” interchangeably, even though the first term implies the existence of an invisible order or an organizing principle, in contrast to the others. Although the unpredictable events seem to be chance occurrences, an underlying structuring principle does seem to be at work. Arnolphe's successive tactical moves consistently result in the opposite of the desired goal. As Horace gleefully exclaims:

Je viens vous avertir que tout a réussi,
Et même beaucoup plus que je n'eusse osé dire,
Et par un incident qui devait tout détruire.

(V,2)

                                                                                [I came to say
That things turned out in a delightful way,
Both better than I could have hoped, and faster,
Thanks to a plan that seemed to bring disaster.]

Once this cause-and-effect relationship becomes apparent, the only possible alternative is a policy of non-intervention and humble acceptance of adversity. Ironically, Arnolphe's resistance shapes his own destiny: he is the architect of his own fate. After years of observing the less fortunate husbands, he has yet to learn the lesson implicit in the following lines:

En sage philosophe on m'a vu, vingt années,
Contempler des maris les tristes destinées,
Et m'instruire avec soin de tous les accidents
Qui font dans le malheur tomber les plus
          prudents …

(IV,7)

[For twenty years, a philosophic sage,
I've watched the hapless husbands of this age,
Studied all their disasters, tried to know,
How even the most prudent are brought low …]

In his own words, there is no precaution that can guarantee against accidental occurrences. Thus, his goal is indeed an indication of hubris, for it would place him beyond the reaches of fate. However, Chrysalde once again reminds him: “Si le sort l'a réglé, vos soins sont superflus …” (IV,8). [If fate has willed it, nothing you can do can change it; it won't come consulting you.] Ultimately, this statement sheds a comic perspective on all human activity, which is seen as futile in view of man's inability to counter chance in even the most insignificant events.

The deeper one delves into the problematics of fate, the more one becomes aware of a fundamental dichotomy that the play itself is trying to resolve. The feminine concept of Fortuna, or chance, is a destabilizing principle. Because it is ultimately random and unpredictable, it rocks the very foundations of the Law. The fear it inspires is based upon man's disturbing inability to anticipate or control it. Ultimately the play strives to replace the feminine principle with the more neutral concept of Fatum, or destiny. Although fate is also seen as an ungovernable force, the very notion that it is preordained by some higher power is reassuring, for it eliminates the notion of absurdity and reaffirms the masculine order based upon a rational and comprehensible, if not always foreseeable, governing principle. In contrast, chance is by its very nature unreckonable and therefore disturbing because it defies anticipation. Within the play itself, there is a progressive substitution of terms such as “coups du hasard,” “accidents,” “surprises,” and “jeu de dés” with “destin,” “astre,” and “fatalité.” The final act is a demonstration of the rules of fate: ultimately an underlying and invisible structuring principle was in operation from the very outset—Horace's betrothal to Agnès. This structuring principle is analogous to the act of comedy writing itself. Although at first glance, Molière's play appears to lack any predictable structure, it becomes obvious retrospectively that it is kept from wandering by the retroactive operations of fate. Thus, although on one level L'Ecole des femmes represents the disturbing failure of one man's attempt to counter an adverse destiny, the comedy is ultimately reassuring in its reestablishment of law and order based upon a rational principle to which the protagonist was simply blind.

Within this framework, Agnès remains a symbolic representation of chance. Initially, her deep-seated alienation is the result of her lack of political, moral, or rational governing principles. Not having reached full autonomy or internalized a corpus of ethical values, she retains the status of object. Because of this lack, Agnès' actions are essentially random and unforeseeable and her presence is equivalent to that of an amoral force; she cannot control her own desire for self-gratification and pleasure: “Le moyen de chasser ce qui fait du plaisir?” (V,4) [How can you ban what sets your heart on fire?] Her inability to control through denial or repression that which exceeds the limits marks her, for the masculine, as the embodiment of a dangerous indeterminacy. Although she is therefore an unsettling commodity within the patriarchal hegemony, her status as nonperson, or object whose shape has yet to be determined, leaves her prey to victimization and abuse. On one hand, her presence in relation to the play world remains somewhat marginal because of her relative inertia and submissiveness. On the other, it seems the only way to control her as a symbolic representation of fate is to appropriate her. This idea is emphasized by the terms of economic barter employed in the following replies:

Arnolphe: […] est-ce qu'un si long temps
Je vous aurai pour lui nourrie à mes dépens?
Agnès: Non, il vous rendra tout jusques au dernier
          double.

(V,4)

[Arnolphe:                                                  … does it make sense
To bring you up for him, at my expense?
Agnès: Oh, no. He'll pay each penny back again.]

Agnès seems to recognize the inevitability of her transferability and her appropriation, which occur primarily through obligation. In order to turn this to his own advantage, Arnolphe attempts to bestow a magnanimous pardon on an unworthy object. This is a miscalculation: since Agnès is incapable of feeling guilt, she is equally unable to feel the weighty benefit of his forgiveness. Once again, the amorality Arnolphe has bred into his pupil works to his disadvantage.

Agnès' incipient autonomy seems to coincide with her recognition of indebtedness, and therefore her total liberation from a male tutor is never fully achieved. Although she demonstrates incipient playfulness and deceitfulness through the coalescence of her sexual and verbal awakening,¹³ which could bring about the disintegration of the male play world through her total disregard for the rules of the game, her sense of obligation toward Horace will hold these tendencies in check. Still, the audience remains fully aware that she possesses an intrinsic means of retaliation: infidelity. She not only owes her sexual and intellectual enlightenment to Horace, but she is also obliged to him for not having taken advantage of her vulnerability. The inference here is that she has not yet learned to govern her impulses and desires. Even her desiring suitor senses the danger of excess in such behavior and sees himself compelled to control the situation, imposing those very same rules that he would otherwise attempt to break:

Considérez un peu, par ce trait d'innocence,
Où l'expose d'un fou la haute impertinence,
Et quels fâcheux périls elle pourrait courir
Si j'étais maintenant homme à la moins chérir!

(V,2)

[Think how that madman's utter lack of sense
Exposes her in all her innocence,
And of the perils that she might go through
If I did not adore her as I do.]

Thus one senses a certain fear of unbridled female sexuality coupled with the titillation that it engenders. In other words, Agnès' peripheral presence alone is disruptive in that it causes both Horace and Arnolphe to react (rather than act) in ways contrary to their own interests.

The paradoxical dilemma evoked by this play becomes increasingly apparent. The male protagonist's attempts to retain exclusive control in the realm of scientia and reason by keeping the female character in the dark are motivated by a desire to keep the masculine play world intact. Any endeavor to gain access to self-determination and reason must be suppressed because it endangers the fragile existence of the balance of power within marriage. However, what occurs in effect is that the representative of the female principle, relegated to her status as nonperson devoid of ethics or reason, becomes an embodiment of the ungovernable amoral forces of fate, thereby disrupting the male hegemony even more effectively. This is ultimately why every strategic action undertaken by Arnolphe is followed by an adverse reaction. Paradox is the very foundation of the strictures of the play world that he has so carefully constructed.

How then can this oxymoronic situation be resolved? The first step would be to have woman become cognizant of her own passivity and to have her consciously internalize her submissiveness. The host of cheating wives alluded to in the beginning are empowered by their refusal to do so. On the other side of the spectrum, however, we have seen that Agnès' very ignorance transforms her into an instrument of fate. Arnolphe constantly attempts to summon her to orthodoxy by constantly reminding her not to violate the limits that circumscribe and define her. Because, however, he has provided her with no critical frame of reference, he is unable to co-opt her into internalizing her servitude as a natural condition so that she will assume her dependent position in the paternal order. It is Horace who will achieve this goal when Agnès openly recognizes him as her teacher/master.

Thus, Arnolphe's attempts to impose external constraints, be they physical or moral, upon the ingenue can be seen as totally ineffective in relation to the internal constraints that Agnès ultimately imposes upon herself. The protagonist's departure from the play world marks this failure. Having witnessed his displacement from spectator to director-producer as well as to object of ridicule, he refuses to acknowledge the new order along with its rules and thus becomes a spoil-sport whose expulsion from the play world becomes a necessity. His departure coincides with the arrival of the real father figure. His sexually equivocal role of father-lover is neutralized by splitting apart and being assumed by two characters: Horace and Enrique. Enrique, the patriarch of the new order, can symbolize paternal order and arbitration because, unlike Arnolphe, he is not swayed by the feminine. Thus, infringement of the incestuous taboo is avoided, and the destabilization implicit in such a double role, which threatens patriarchal order, is avoided.

The ending reestablishes the permanence of the Law and stresses the perfect balance or coincidence of chance and reason. As Horace tells Enrique:

Le hasard en ces lieux avait exécuté
Ce que votre sagesse avait prémédité.

(V,9)

[In all this chance has managed, as you'll find,
Exactly what your wisdom had in mind.]

Thus, the masculine and feminine principles are reconciled, but this reconciliation is founded upon the final subservience of chance to reason. “Le destin” has simply executed what the father's wisdom had premeditated. The play's final optimism—if it can be called that—rests on the reaffirmation of the preeminence of the patriarchal law whose authority is sustained by “le Ciel, qui fait tout pour le mieux” (V,9). [Heaven, which does all for the best.] Such a dénouement is eminently logical within the context of the play. Those critics who dismiss the ending as hastily contrived or arbitrary¹⁴ have failed to note the determining role of fate throughout the play, which has paved the way for the final intervention of destiny.

Notes

1. Translation of L'Ecole des femmes from Molière, Comedies, trans. Donald M. Frame (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968; 1985).

2. Johan Huizinga, Homo ludens (Boston: Beacon Press, 1955): 11.

3. Serge Doubrovsky, “Arnolphe ou la chute du héros,” Mercure de France 343 (1961): 112.

4. James F. Gaines validates this argument in the following terms: “Since Arnolphe defines his own honor in terms of the dishonor, lowliness, and misfortune of those who surround him, one incidence of cuckoldry will be enough to destroy his chimerical ambitions” (“L'Ecole des femmes: Usurpation, Dominance and Social Closure,” Papers on French Seventeenth Century Literature 9, no. 17 [1982]: 616).

5. Patrick Dandrey, “Structures et espaces de communication dans L'Ecole des femmes,” Littérature 63 (1986): 68.

6. Irigaray, This Sex Which is Not One, trans. Gillian Gill (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1985): 30.

7. In a study entitled “L'Ingénuité d'Agnès. Etude d'un champ lexical dans L'Ecole des femmes” (L'Information grammaticale 24 [1985]: 20-27), Françoise Berlan discusses the various meanings of the term “ingénuité” in the seventeenth century and applies these to a careful examination of the use of this word and its derivatives in L'Ecole des femmes.

8. Dandrey, “Structures,” 77.

9. Marcel Gutwirth contends that “There can be no doubt about it: the shadow thrown by that ignorant waif is the shadow of the infinite power, the inexhaustible resourcefulness, the quicksilver elusiveness of the towering myth with which masculine imagination so readily identifies woman: Nature. Poised against the protean threat, armed with the incorruptible net of his own watchful devising stands man, whose ever inadequate response is Art” (“Molière and the Woman Question: Les Précieuses ridicules, L'Ecole des femmes, Les Femmes savantes,” Theatre Journal 34, no. 3 [October 1982]: 354).

10. Will G. Moore, Molière, A New Criticism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1949): 38, 107.

11. According to Myrna K. Zwillenberg (“Arnolphe, Fate's Fool,” Modern Language Review 68 [1973]: 304, 293), “The major thrust of each péripétie has been to replace Arnolphe's illusion with a retroactive reality which negates his pretension to power over the present … The emphasis on the role of fate in the dénouement deserves immediate consideration. The main characters need not have bothered to exert themselves because none of them bears any responsibility for the a priori decision taken by Enrique and Oronte. The final revelation of the two fathers cancels out all the systems; only fate has the last word.”

12. Doubrovsky exposes the fallacy subtending Arnolphe's heroic project in the following terms:

    Dans une perspective aristocratique saine, la domination absolue de soi est la condition préalable de toute domination sur autrui. C'est par ce biais qu'une éthique de la violence peut aboutir à une pratique de la magnanimité. Mais Arnolphe, lui, a compris à l'envers: il croit que c'est en étant maître de l'univers qu'on devient maître de soi. C'est la possession d'autrui qui doit permettre de se récupérer soi-même comme maître et comme chef. Dès lors, la dialectique du Maître et de l'Esclave, source vraie de la morale aristocratique, est pervertie en son essence et se trouve remplacée par l'insoluble dialectique de la victime et du bourreau. Au lieu de vaincre, à la manière cornélienne, une liberté en termes de liberté, Arnolphe va essayer de contraindre un être libre, de l'extérieur.

    (“Arnolphe,” 115-16)

    [From a healthy aristocratic perspective, the absolute domination of the self is the premise for the domination of others. It is through this channel that the ethics of violence can result in the practice of magnanimity. But Arnolphe has misunderstood: he believes that it is by being master of the universe that one achieves mastery of oneself. The possession of the other allows one to reestablish oneself as master and leader. It follows that the Master/Slave dialectic, true source of the aristocratic value system, is perverted in its essence and is replaced by the unsolvable dialectic of the victim and the tormentor. Instead of achieving a Cornelian victory, a freedom on freedom's terms, Arnolphe will attempt to constrain a free human being from the exterior.]

    (Translation by author)

13. Bernard Magné contends that in L'Ecole des femmes Agnès learns to speak while Arnolphe learns to be silent (“L'Ecole des femmes ou la conquête de la parole,” Revue des Sciences humaines 145 [janvier/mars 1972]: 125-40).

14. Critics who have drawn attention to the illogicality of the play's dénouement include well-known authorities such as Jacques Scherer (Structures de Tartuffe [Paris, Société d'édition d'enseignement supérieur, 1974]: 207), and René Bray (Molière, homme de théâtre [Paris: Mercure de France, 1954]: 218). It is, however, this very illogicality that is eminently logical within a comedy such as L'Ecole des femmes, which incorporates the chance factor within its structure.